by Laure Eve
White was silent. He forked a piece of meat and chewed, aware of eyes on him.
Frith pushed his plate gently away. ‘There are students in our training programme who can look into other places, travel into other countries, without leaving the comfort of their own rooms, through their dreams. There are some who can spy on others without them knowing anyone is there. They move their minds, somehow. I know the symptoms of Talent, and I know what to recognise. But in all the time I’ve been running the programme, I’ve only ever met one other student who can Jump the way you did today.’
White put his fork down, instantly curious. ‘I have met no one else,’ he said. ‘Who is this student? Will I meet them?’
‘His name is Wren. It’s quite extraordinary, what he can do.’
White filed the name away. Perhaps he would be introduced to this Wren at some point. Perhaps train with him. Would Wren be better than him? He felt a stab of jealousy and tried to ignore it.
‘Do you understand the Talent?’ said Frith. ‘How it works, where it comes from?’
‘A little. Do you have Talent?’
‘In many areas; but not in that one.’
‘How did you find out about it?’
Frith took a sip of wine, and chose to ignore his question.
‘You’ll work hard, please,’ he said. ‘I need to prove that what I’m doing is the right decision. You will prove it. Look at me.’
White raised his eyes like an obedient puppy. Frith was watching him, his face expressionless. He would not refuse that face. It was the face of his future.
‘You understand how important you are.’
‘Yes,’ said White.
‘You understand what that means.’
‘It means if I ever try to leave this country …’
He left it hanging.
Frith shrugged. ‘We don’t have implants here. But we do have other ways of tracking you. And quite a lot of spies in World.’
‘Listen,’ said White. The reverse had occurred to him, suddenly and sickeningly. ‘They know I am here. The police, they tried to catch me when I left to come here. Will they try to. To do something?’
‘Please don’t worry about that. You’ll be quite safe here, under my protection. And frankly, they’ll soon forget about you. It’ll become mired in bureaucracy and back and forth, and then they’ll be distracted by a million other things. Yours is a very chaotic nation. Too much going on. They’ll stop caring about you.’
White was surprised to find that he felt hurt. He knew that Frith was right. It should have been relief he felt. Relief that they wouldn’t care enough to come after him for his betrayal. But it stung him, very deep down inside, in a hidden and shameful part of himself that still desperately wanted their approval for what he was, wanted to be accepted and loved for what he was.
He saw now that such a thing was just not possible in World. But maybe it was possible here, and maybe he had done the right thing. And maybe he could be himself, and be happy.
So White looked into the face of the man before him, and accepted his offer.
He felt a cold hand grip his heart. But there was no choice, he told himself. No other choice.
CHAPTER 8
ANGLE TAR
Rue
It was a shoveller bird that woke her.
It had flown in through the open sliver of her window. She had been dreaming about Til. No strange places, this time.
Rue lay, listening to the bird buzzing and beeping. She heard someone moving about outside, and memories of the night before started to ooze through her sleepy content. She threw the bedspread back, startling the shoveller, who hastily winged his way outwards. She watched him go, sorry.
‘You up now?’ said Fernie, appearing at the window. She had on her floppy weeding hat that always made Rue laugh and cringe at the same time.
‘What time did you get back?’ said Rue, pushing her feet into her raggy slippers. Avoiding Fernie’s eye would arouse suspicion. Looking at her too much would be out of place.
‘Late. Not much later than you went off to bed, though, right.’
Rue shrugged. ‘Didn’t feel sleepy. Thought I’d wait up for you a spell.’
‘Hm. Come outside and have tea. It’s a goodish day, and we’ll be to the market in a stretch.’
Fernie and her hat disappeared. Rue shuffled to the kitchen, re-examining the last few minutes for any hint of self-betrayal. The smell of fresh mint tea drifted through the air. She poured herself a glass and wandered outside. It was a goodish day, and unwittingly Fernie had given Rue the perfect opportunity to talk to Til. He’d be in his usual place at the market, selling the morning’s freshly baked breads.
Her toes scrunched in the bare earth as she watched the horizon and sipped her tea. Fernie’s generous backside was wiggling as she worked a herb border.
‘What we on for today, then?’ said Rue.
‘You,’ Fernie emphasised, ‘will be learning your herbs. We’ll be making up some fresh mixes for quite a few of my jars are nearly out. Mayhap a square of soap or two. I can show you how it’s done, if you like.’
Rue made a non-committal grunt. When it came to the everyday practicalities, she could not rouse as much enthusiasm as Fernie seemed to expect her to. Doubtless she’d get the local soap maker to do hers when she became fully fledged. She didn’t see the reasoning behind doing everything yourself.
‘Will you go back to the Woolmaker’s?’ said Rue, trying not to sound hopeful. She liked having the house to herself.
‘We’ll both be going tomorrow,’ came the muffled voice. Rue rolled her eyes, playing with the sodden mint stalks at the bottom of her glass. ‘I know as how you don’t care much for the babies part of the job, but you’ve to learn and appreciate. You’ll understand when you see the kit and know you’ve helped bring it into the world.’
An image of those blood flowers floated through Rue’s mind and she made a sour face. There was no appreciating that.
‘Would she have died if you hadn’t been there?’
‘Who’s to say?’ said Fernie. ‘Maybe she would have got better on her own.’
Rue chewed on one of the mint stalks, watching Fernie work. ‘You’re too generous,’ she said. ‘You saved her; she would’ve bled to death if she’d’ve been on her own.’
‘There’d be some who’d argue ’twas Tro saved her. Or Buc who decided to spare her.’
‘Tuh. No one really believes in them.’
Fernie turned, still squatting. She sat back with a sigh, her heavy skirts rumpled up around her stockinged legs. She looked both comical and sweet. Rue felt a rush of affection for her.
‘You ought to be careful who you say such things to,’ said Fernie. ‘And how loud you say ’em.’
‘Gods are worthless,’ said Rue. ‘Never around when you need ’em, always underfoot causing trouble when you don’t. Ain’t that one of the first things you ever said to me? No one ever sees them, anyway.’
‘Or maybe they’re deliberately choosing not to be seen. I never told you not to believe in ’em, just ’cause I don’t. Just don’t trust ’em, that’s all.’
‘If one came round here,’ said Rue, ‘I’d tell him to be off and that we didn’t need his help, thank you kindly. We’ve been getting along quite well without him so far.’
Fernie laughed. ‘He wouldn’t think much of that.’ She pushed herself to her feet and swept off the hat. ‘Get some clothes on. It’s market time.’
It was busy today. Most of the customers were young, the older folk having come in the early morning to avoid the worst of the heat. Rue steadily avoided gazing straight to the bakery stall and kept her eyes forwards, her insides churning uneasily. She both hoped and dreaded that Fernie would send her over there to get some bread. She didn’t, more often than not – she liked to bake her own. Did they have any left in the house? Rue couldn’t remember and momentarily hated herself for forgetting to check before they left.
Her shoes kicked up
the gravel and sand mixture scattered across the village square flagstones. She trailed around, trying to appear enthused whenever Fernie turned and asked her opinion.
Where was he? At his stall? She’d risked a glance, but couldn’t see him there. Maybe he wasn’t tending today. Fernie was engaged in a mock argument with Shard the furniture maker and didn’t look set to leave his stall any time soon.
Rue wandered nonchalantly away. She started to cross the square, making her way towards Til’s stall. She’d only taken a few steps before she felt someone at her side and turned quickly; but it was only some boy, and her heart fell.
‘Hello Rue,’ said the boy. What was his name?
‘Hello,’ she said vaguely, still moving. She wasn’t going to stop and have everyone think she had something on with this boy.
‘What you doing?’ said the boy.
‘Looking round the market.’
‘Yeh.’
Silence ensued. Rue noticed that a handful of similar boys were standing in a group not far from them; watching and grinning to each other.
‘So, what you doing tonight?’
‘None of yours,’ said Rue. She had intended it to be offhand but it came out sharp. The boy blushed.
‘Nope, none of mine,’ he agreed. ‘Just wondered is all. If you’d be free.’
Rue stopped. ‘For what?’ she asked, though it seemed obvious.
‘To meet me.’
‘To do what?’
‘Anything you like.’
It was Pake. That was his name. He was stocky, shaped by farm work. About her age, she knew. Nice eyes. Decent manner. But that was all he had. There was no magic there.
‘Um,’ she said, trying to think of the right combination of words that would get her out of this. ‘Well. I’m real busy.’
‘You can just tell me a time, then.’
Don’t be a coward, Rue girl. Don’t string him along. Just say it.
‘Um. No,’ she said, and then shut her mouth firmly, stopping any more vague excuse words coming out that might make him think he could still worm a meet from her.
He waited for a moment, and then smiled, nervously.
‘No?’ he said.
Rue shrugged. ‘No,’ she repeated.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Um.’ He took a step back.
Rue felt her face bloom crimson in mortified sympathy.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just. Um. Sorry.’
Pake turned without a further word, his eyes away from her.
He went back to his group. Rue spun hurriedly on one foot and started walking, hoping she wouldn’t trip or look stupid, feeling their glances landing on her back, over and over, like birds pecking at a seed.
Where was Til? She needed him to be right there, so she could stop the horrible feeling that everyone was talking about her as she walked. As she approached the bakery stall she saw that it was busy as always, but there was no sign of Til. She looked helplessly about.
Women milled in front, chatting, laughing, and cooing. Then, like a puppet, Til sprang up from behind the wooden table, loaves in hand. She worried for a moment that he wouldn’t see her, but his eyes fell on her straight away. He nodded, turning back to the woman in front of him. Of course; she would have to wait until he’d managed to get rid of his customers before they could talk properly.
They did like to hang about. Rue watched them impatiently as they flirted and laughed. Til wasn’t as silent and brooding as she remembered. She dawdled until the last woman finally left, and moved up to him before anyone else could approach.
‘What do you need?’ said Til.
‘I just wanted to see how you are. I mean, after last night.’
‘I’m well, thanks. Your advice was good.’
Rue smiled tentatively, hoping for more, but Til merely looked at her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted. ‘I measured it wrong. I’m really sorry. It was stupid.’
Til said nothing for a long moment. Finally he shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. It wore off quick.’
‘Oh … good,’ said Rue. ‘If you’re going to tell Fernie, could you let me explain to her first?’ She tried hard not to sound shaky. ‘I’d rather I fessed, if that’s all right by you. I don’t want her thinking that I didn’t have the guts.’
Til shrugged again. ‘I weren’t going to say anything, unless you wanted me to. What breads you looking for, then?’
‘I didn’t come for breads. I came to talk to you.’
Til laughed, sounding awkward. ‘Why?’
Rue knew her face was flushed and it made her angry. Why?
‘Because of what happened, is why. I don’t … I’m not. I don’t feel bad towards you, it being my fault and all.’
‘Glad you don’t, Rue. And anyway, I told you your advice was good. You said to talk to her, so I did.’
Rue floundered. ‘You did?’
‘I did.’
‘What did she say?’
‘None of yours,’ he said easily. Rue gave him a proper look. He was light in manner and seemed boyishly happy, at odds with his usual mysterious reserve. Her heart sank, heavy with misery.
‘Well, and so it went right with her, then,’ she said, trying for casual.
‘Early days, but …’ Til grinned. It was a beautiful boy grin and lifted his whole face so that it shone. ‘Sure you don’t want some breads? I made some Noisy Surprise.’
‘No thanks,’ said Rue. ‘Fernie makes her own mostly and we’ve not run out.’
Another customer had approached and was waiting for them to finish. Rue took the opportunity to leave as fast as she could.
As she walked away she prayed no one was looking at her, because she knew that her face had fallen to the ground.
CHAPTER 9
ANGLE TAR
White
‘Ignore them,’ said a voice.
White looked up.
The boy smiled.
‘They’re not used to foreigners, that’s all,’ he said, sitting across from White with his breakfast plate balanced carefully on his hand.
‘They do not bother me,’ said White. He turned slightly away from the tableful of students goggling at him.
‘They don’t?’ the boy asked, amused. ‘They would me. My name’s Wren, by the way.’
Wren. The Talented student that so impressed Frith.
White watched him crack open an egg and dig his spoon enthusiastically into the shell. Wren had a nice enough face, sandy hair, and a soft round body that spoke of good living and no hard work, but he was quite ordinary-looking. Except for his eyes. His eyes were different. Expressive. Shifting through amused, fierce, then excited, all in a moment.
And his Talent was obvious. He carried it like a cloak around his shoulders. It hung proudly from his frame. He was definitely not shy.
But then, none of these students were.
White unenthusiastically stirred his oatmeal. Frith hadn’t really prepared him for the staring part of it all.
After saying yes to Frith’s offer, and making his choice, such as it was, in that tiny interrogation room, White had stared at his plate until someone had entered the room and quietly cleared it away, and then brought in dessert; pears baked in sugar, so soft each spoonful melted on his tongue.
As they ate, Frith had told White all about the university where he would be studying. It sprawled across a goodly section of Parisette’s fashionable East Quartier. White remembered seeing it from the outside – a haphazard, village-like place surrounded by a smooth wall too high to climb. Frith gave him a map of the campus, a huge piece of stiff cloth paper that folded into pocket size with careful creases, buildings labelled with tiny, curling script and colour coded according to area of study.
He described the lessons White would have. He talked about the respect that White should show his tutors. He told White to be a silent, empty glass, to learn and to absorb and only speak when spoken to.
He would be reported on, said Frith, just like every other studen
t in the group of Talented he would study with. They would monitor his progress, so he should try his hardest to impress, but not to show off. Frith said that he could take White straight to his new home on campus, if he liked. White could stay there tonight, and start his lessons in the morning.
He knew he was supposed to find it too fast, too overwhelming, all at once. Lessons in the morning when he hadn’t even slept in a bed for weeks. He was supposed to ask for more time. He was supposed to widen his eyes and stammer that it was too soon. He was supposed to look puzzled and wonder why they weren’t going to put a guard on him at all times, afraid that he might try and run back to World at any moment.
But these were pointless thoughts. A guard certainly wouldn’t be able to stop him going anywhere he liked. They knew that he would never go back to World, not now. And how prepared would a few more days of nothing make him?
Better to start tomorrow. Better not to give himself time to think. So White nodded and looked serious and said that was fine. He thought he caught a ghost of admiration in Frith’s eyes, and felt the comforting warmth of approval.
Frith got a maid to draw White a bath, a completely new experience for him. It sat, a giant tub in the middle of a bare, tiled room. White was alone, but felt like the room watched him somehow as he slid uneasily in. He scrubbed and scrubbed at his skin, marvelling at how black the water turned as weeks of dirt bloomed within it. But the water was heavily perfumed, the smell clinging to his skin even after he was dry and dressed in new clothes. By now it felt impossible to keep awake, but Frith was waiting for him outside the room. He was handed a heavy mantle coat and told that they were leaving.
The journey was dark, too dark to see much outside their coach window. Ghosts of buildings drifted past as they rattled through the streets, unformed in the sparse street lighting they had here, all tall irregular lamp posts that threw everything into shadow more than they did relief. He only realised that they had arrived at their journey’s end when the coach stopped and Frith said, ‘Here we are.’
