by Devon Monk
If I could believe he’d go through with it.
I was prepared to bargain for my brother’s freedom, my grandmother’s safety, my property’s protection, and House Brown’s voice.
I had not expected I would be offered anything for me, personally, in the deal.
Certainly not human rights for a monster.
Of course, it wasn’t that much of a bargain. Just this morning I’d had all the freedom I’d wanted. If I refused to sign, I could still run and hide like Neds thought I should.
I looked around the room, at all the shiny, smooth technology and the world power that I knew it controlled. If I left House Gray, he’d find me. He’d have every eye of every human in the world looking for me.
Even people claiming House Brown had been known to work deals on the side with the other, legitimized Houses.
It was a lot to take in. More possibilities and unknowns than I wanted to deal with. I didn’t even know why his brother accused him of being incompetent. Maybe he was incompetent, and throwing my fate in with his was suicide.
“How much time do I have to decide? To decide all of this?”
“Not long.” He exhaled, nodding as if he could hear my thoughts. “It is a lot to weigh and balance. And as you said, you’ve had a very long day. I think a few hours of sleep might be in order for both of us. You can give me your answer in the morning.”
He stood away from the desk, walked around behind it, and pulled out a single sheet of real paper. He glanced at it, then turned it around on the desk.
“Take your time reading through this. If you have questions on the terms, I’d be happy to answer them. I am going to turn all the recording devices back on now, so . . .” He nodded.
I picked up the paper. It was a contract for ten years’ employment and allegiance to House Gray. It appeared to be straightforward, but I wanted sleep and a clear head before I made up my mind.
Oscar did something to make all the portraits in the room seem more lifelike. I guess that meant our conversation was being recorded again.
“I will talk to you in the morning,” Oscar said. “Rest well. Abraham will show you to your room.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Right on cue, Abraham opened the door. “Miss Case. This way.”
I left the room, and Abraham fell into step beside me.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Peaches and sunshine.”
“If you’d like to talk—”
“All I want is a shower and a bed. I am tired and, no matter how we cut it, I’m about to become someone else’s property. It has damaged my cheer.”
“I know this is hard. . . .”
“Do you?” I stopped so I could scowl at him. “Do you know what it’s like to lose everything you have? Everything you love because people are going to die if you don’t surrender?”
“Yes,” he said, a steady darkness in his calm eyes. “I do. I was the first to sign away my rights to end the Uprising. I was the first to shoulder the yoke of being declared nonhuman so others could be free. I know very well that pain.”
“Well, it’s new to me,” I said. “And it hurts like hell.”
“I’m sorry, Matilda.”
“Tell me it gets better. That the years of being someone else’s property makes it easier. That you don’t care about the life you had, the freedom, the happiness.”
He stood there silently, his jaw clenched.
“Gold,” I said, all the tired of the day swallowing me in a smothering wave. “Isn’t that just gold.”
I started down the hallway, which opened into the sitting room where Neds were standing near the door.
“We leaving?” he asked hopefully.
“We’re sleeping,” I said.
Left Ned swore.
“Rooms are this way,” Abraham said.
I picked up my duffel and my rifle and followed through another wide, well-lit hallway with even more rooms and halls and alcoves reaching off from it.
“Mr. Harris,” Abraham said. “This will be your room.” He stopped and opened a door to the left.
It was a lovely, modern-looking suite that probably cost three times what I paid Neds in a year.
“And where’s Matilda sleeping?” Right Ned asked.
“Just down the hall.”
“Get some shut-eye,” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Tilly . . .”
“It can wait,” I said. “But I promise, you and I will talk. Room’s this way?” I started walking, and Abraham followed.
He opened a door on the right.
I sucked in a breath, caught off my footing by its extravagance. Every room I’d been in was tastefully underdecorated. But this room was nearly the size of my entire house, and completely packed with fineries and luxurious fabrics, fripperies and art.
I’d never seen a place so well appointed.
“This is too much,” I said. “Much too much. I’d be more comfortable with something less fussy. Like a broom closet.”
“All the broom closets are full,” he said. “Of brooms. There are no less-fussy rooms to put you in. And for . . . everything . . . this is not too much.”
“Is there a shower?”
He didn’t step into the room, but pointed over my shoulder. “Bedroom is through that door. Shower there. I’ll be out in the main area. If you need anything, let me know.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a time machine? So I can go back and ignore you knocking on my kitchen door, and this”—I waved at the room around me as I stepped in—“would never have happened.”
He made a tsk sound through his teeth. “I’m afraid the time machine is on back order.”
“Of course it is.” I sighed and walked toward the bathroom. “Good night, Abraham Vail.”
“Good night, Matilda Case.”
I heard the door close.
The room was silent in a way I’d never experienced. No wind across the roof, no birdsong sinking through the walls, no creaking and settling of old wood or ticking of bugs.
Silent as death.
I didn’t like it.
The bathroom was big enough Lizard could sleep in it, and there were all manners of tubs, benches, nozzles, showerheads, and spigots set among the marble and silver and glass. It smelled of sweet soap and lime blossoms.
I shut the door behind me, then bent, unlaced my boots, set them off to one side, and shucked out of my clothes.
I turned on the water to let it warm up the marble shower. I opened my duffel and pulled out my pajamas, pushing the scarf Grandma had given me to one side.
Speaking of time machine. She had said the little sheep attracted time and stored it in their wool. I glanced around the room. I didn’t see any cameras, although there was probably some kind of recording device here.
This seemed like a good chance to give Grandma’s theory a whirl, here alone, where I wouldn’t feel stupid when it didn’t work. I gathered the scarf up onto the bench where I was sitting, found the knot at the end of it, and took a second or two to loosen it with my fingernails.
The clock on the wall was an old-fashioned model, ticking away with a second hand. I kept my eye on the second hand, and tugged on the yarn, pulling a stitch.
Nothing.
Well, that was disappointing.
Just for kicks, I ripped out an entire row of stitches.
The second hand stopped.
I was still breathing; my heart was beating.
But the hand on the clock paused and the shower stilled, every drop of water frozen. I counted three seconds.
Then the clock ticked, and the water fell in a rush so loud and sudden, I jumped.
Holy handbasket. I stared at the scarf. A small, logical part of my mind insisted I had imagined it. Maybe I
was seeing only what I wanted to see.
So I tried it again, this time pulling out row after row. The clock stopped, the shower stopped, and while everything around me had seemed still and quiet before, there was an underwater weight to the stillness now.
I stood with the scarf in my hand and touched the spray of water. The droplets pushed away from my fingers but did not fall. I could move, I could pick up something and put it down, but the world was frozen in place.
And then time started up again, water rushing, clock ticking, the stillness just stillness.
Prickly heat rolled over my skin. That was all kinds of unnerving. It made me itchy.
I tucked the scarf carefully back into the duffel and brushed my palms together like there was dirt there.
Okay. I could stop time.
Maybe. If it worked again the next time I pulled on the yarn. And there was no reason to think it wouldn’t. Except that stopping time was impossible.
It wasn’t a time machine—the hands on the clock hadn’t rolled backward. But that scarf did seem to be a pause button of sorts.
Grandma had been right. The sheep somehow caught up bits of time in their wool.
I wondered if my dad had intended for that to happen, or if tinkering with sheep DNA, plus the wild nanos mutating in the soil, had had unintended consequence on the little critters.
And how had Grandma discovered it?
Well, it didn’t matter. Having a little time in my pocket might come in very handy.
I stepped into the shower and let the strong, hot spray of water tumble over me to wash away the dirt, sweat and worries of the day.
16
No one imagined the fall would happen so quickly. The world balanced on a fragile tipping point for years. Then, suddenly, everything collapsed. Food supply, water supply, economic and political engines, loyalties and borders. And from the ashes of that fall, the Houses rose.—2090
—from the journal of L.U.C.
I woke with a start and sat up, pushing my back to the wall before remembering I wasn’t home. I was at House Gray in the cavernous, pitch-black bedroom.
Something had pulled me out of sleep. A sound. I didn’t sense another person in the room, didn’t hear breathing or movement. Then a soft electronic chime at the bottom of the bed rang out three quick beeps.
“Bo,” I said as I fumbled at the table next to the bed, hoping to hit a light. Finally touched something that set off a yellow glow around the ceiling.
I bent over my legs and dragged my duffel from the foot of the bed across the acre of quilt toward me.
I dug out the old walkie-talkie and pressed the receiver, hoping the signal would hold.
“Tilly?” Bo’s voice crackled over the line.
“I’m here. Is there something wrong? Is Grandma all right?”
“She’s fine and everything’s fine,” Bo said. “I wanted to make sure you’re doing all right. You seemed in a rush when you left. It’s a lot of trouble with a House, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But it’s not more than I can handle.”
“Which House is it, baby sweet?”
That was a strange question. “I thought you said the less you knew, the better it would be.”
“I changed my mind. If something happens to you and you need help, someone should know where you were last at.”
“If something goes wrong, you could be held on charges of aiding and abetting, and a long list of other crimes. You know that, Bo. This isn’t a smart move. This isn’t like you at all.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “Blame a woman for caring.”
I rubbed my eyes. “I don’t blame you. I just think it’s better if you don’t know . . . any of what I’m tangled up in right now.”
“But you’ll call? Soon?”
I had never heard her sound so needy.
“What’s really wrong, Bo?”
“Nothing, nothing,” she said in a rush. “I’m just worried, is all. You call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“I will,” I said. “Thanks. Give Grandma a hug for me.”
“Will do.”
The line went silent and I stared at the walkie-talkie before putting it back in the duffel. I didn’t know what Bo’s problem was. She’d been a nice enough neighbor, but had always been more than happy to keep her distance from anyone else and the problems they might be involved in.
Why did she want to know which House I was dealing with?
A soft knock on the door got me out of bed. I smoothed back my hair as I left the bedroom. I crossed the spacious living area, then opened the main door. Neds stood there, wearing his overalls, jacket, boots, and bad attitude.
“So, did you make a deal with these devils?” Right Ned asked quietly.
“I haven’t done anything yet. But I don’t see how I can get out of it. Oscar said he’d help find my brother and keep Grandma and the land safe.”
“And what are you giving him in trade?”
“He wants me to sign a ten-year contract with House Gray. Before you argue about it, I have people to look after. There’s no one but me standing between this world and the one I belong in.”
Left Ned sniffed. “We weren’t arguing.”
“You’re doing fine,” Right Ned said softly. “Making hard choices on your feet.” He nodded. “Just wish you’d asked us for input. We like . . .” He stopped, tucked his hands into his pockets, and looked over at a blank spot on the wall. Then: “You know we want what’s best for you and your grandma and the farm. It’s been a home to us too. And it’s not like we’ve never had to deal with a House. We understand the experience.”
“Would have liked it if you spoke up earlier,” I said.
“We did,” Right Ned said. “But the second Abraham walked over your doorstep, you were done hearing us.”
“That’s not true. I’m listening right now.”
“A lot of people are listening right now,” Right Ned said quietly. “How about we go get a coffee?”
“Where?”
“Out,” Right Ned said. “Let me take you out for a cup. So we can talk.”
He seemed sincere and Left Ned seem annoyed, so basically they were acting normal.
I wondered if I should check in with someone—tell Abraham we were leaving, or let Oscar know he could find me down the street.
No. I’d spent too much of my life making decisions on my own to stop and get a committee vote for coffee.
“I’ll meet you by the elevator. I have to get dressed and grab my coat.”
I did just that, and slung my duffel over my shoulder. The rifle would have to remain behind, but I hesitated over the handgun. I dropped it into my duffel.
I could hold my own in a fight, but sometimes the presence of a gun went a long way in making sure that fight never happened.
I shrugged into my coat as I strode down the hall, a little surprised no one had stopped us yet. The big windows in the main room showed the darkness of night hadn’t cleared yet. It was very early morning and the sun wouldn’t rise for about an hour.
Here and there across the city, little winks of light glittered in strings, streets and buildings cupping the glow.
Neds waited for me by the elevator door.
“We can just go out the way we came in?” I whispered.
“Unless you’re under House arrest. Are you under House arrest?” Right Ned asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Then we can go,” Left Ned said.
Right Ned held his hand out to the open elevator door while I walked in. He waved at whatever camera was watching us from the room, got in the elevator, and pushed the button for ground level.
“I’d understand if you want nothing to do with this trouble,” I said.
He stared up at the line of buttons as they lit, on
e by one. “You don’t think I took the job on the farm because I thought it was boring, did you?”
“Not a lot of excitement in planting and cleaning up after critters,” I said.
“A dragon, a unicorn, pocket sheep, those things in the pond . . .”
“The leapers.”
“. . . the leapers, and the flock of cockatrice out back. Unusual. When I first saw the place, it crossed my mind it might be a little trouble.”
“Like me.”
“Like you.” Right Ned shrugged. “I know I can walk out. We both know. And you don’t see us leaving, do you?”
“No,” I said, “I don’t suppose I do.”
The elevator let out a sweet little bell sound and the doors opened wide.
Neds stepped out, and I was right on his heels. I’d expected some kind of shine and neon out here, but it appeared we were in an older neighborhood, or one that had been restyled to appear older.
That slight claustrophobia of buildings stacked too close to one another and looming over me was bumped up a notch by the crisscross of wires that created a net just a few feet over our heads. Above that, several elevated tube lines arced off between the buildings, and a zigzag of stairs and multilevel sidewalks were broken up by narrow doors and small, dusty windows.
Just because there wasn’t a lot of neon didn’t mean things weren’t glowing. Windows, doorways, the edges of the sidewalks sent off yellow-and-amber light.
More than enough light to reveal the crowds of people moving over the street. Some strolled, others jogged and wove through the knot of bodies, each wearing a main House color on his or her torso, some embellishing clothing with stripes or designs in other colors.
But the thing I hadn’t noticed from my brief view of the city in the car was how many people were wearing bright-colored thread worked like stitches around their wrists, or, for some, across their faces.
“Are all those people stitched?” I asked.
Left Ned snorted.
“No,” Right Ned said. “It’s a fashion. A sort of removable tattoo.”
“Stitches?”
“People like the galvanized.” He started down the sidewalk. “See them as heroes, as stars. Wear their colors, follow their fashion decisions, put on fake stitches. That sort of thing.”
