by T. C. Edge
Weary and weak as I am, I try nothing, make no attempt to escape. I’ve been broken, both physically and mentally, the drugs making me nothing but a normal girl, incapable of doing anything against the Stalker who presses me quickly on down the corridor.
Returning to my prison, where Cromwell awaits, I look upon the chair with trepidation, before being bound back to its limbs. And with the brief few moments of respite over, I find myself back where I started, with Cromwell’s icy blue eyes bearing down on me.
“I apologise, Brie, for not considering your physical needs. I will station a guard outside the door in future, to ensure you can use the bathroom whenever you have to.”
He nods to the guard, who exits the room.
I don’t say thank you. I just sit in misery and discomfort.
“Right, now onto business,” continues the Director. “I have with me the communication device that your husband used to commune with the Nameless. I also have the code to unlock it, extracted by Commander Burns yesterday evening. I have considered your proposal at some length, and will agree to it. If the Nameless give Romelia back to me, I will present them with Mr Shaw.”
My eyes creep up from my lap, now finally rid of the picture that had been tormenting me, discarded to the floor as I was led to the bathroom. They meet Cromwell’s eyes with a question.
“You will?”
He nods.
“As you say, it’s logical to do so. If Mr Shaw has such disdain for his own people, then it’s with the Nameless that he belongs. Their ranks, after all, are filled with such people. Romelia, however, is a loyal and admirable Savant, and belongs here in the High Tower.”
“So, have you…hurt him?”
Cromwell glares at me for a moment.
“He has suffered no permanent damage.”
“What! What does that mean?! I want to see him…I need to…”
“You will NOT see him,” comes Cromwell’s deep and resonant voice, cutting through mine. “Don’t push your luck, Brie. You will find it runs out very quickly.”
I drop my chin. He’s right. This is more than I can have hoped for, and really, I can’t have expected Adryan to be completely untouched.
“OK. What do you need from me?” I ask.
“You will speak with Lady Orlando. And pray she answers. I am short on patience right now. Other things demand my attention.”
Other things. Like plotting a course into the underlands and hunting down my friends. Those things.
He withdraws the communication device from his suit pocket, and begins tapping in the code. I watch nervously, wondering if there’s a trace on it. If any connection with Lady Orlando will somehow signal her whereabouts.
There’s nothing I can do about that, though. I’m sure, seeing as they must know Adryan’s been taken by now, they’ll have the necessary security in place to prevent any trace from taking hold. Or, to be ultra safe, she might just ignore the call entirely.
The twelve digits are input, Cromwell’s old fingers clicking on the buttons. I watch as the small screen on the little rectangular box glows to life, and Cromwell continues to tap in instructions onto the touchscreen.
Burns must have had that unearthed from Adryan’s head as well, the specific process required to make contact with Lady Orlando’s signal.
Then, having completed the protocol, Cromwell steps towards me as the sound of static begins to crack. For a few moments, that’s all that happens. Just static, an unpleasant sound that makes me want to block my ears.
And then, suddenly, the static fades, leaving behind nothing but silence. And in that silence, the lightest of breathing can be heard.
I look at Cromwell, and he nods to me, pressing the device a little closer to my lips.
And from my lips, I whisper: “Hello? Lady Orlando…are you there?”
My heart clatters within my chest. Since she set me on this journey, a journey to my death, I haven’t spoken with her once. All I’ve gotten are her orders, passed through Zander or Adryan, the woman refusing to meet with me even when I spent those nights down in the underlands with my brother.
And now, under such terrible circumstances, we’re set to speak again.
She doesn’t reply at first, and I wonder if she’s really there. I say her name again, and then give mine.
“Lady Orlando, it’s Brie. Brie Melrose,” I say, using my real name, not the name taken from Adryan, a name that was only given to him when he himself was stolen from his parents.
But then again, I suppose the name Melrose isn’t my ‘real’ name either. It was merely one applied by Mrs Carmichael when she took me in.
I wait again for the response, and slowly, quietly, it comes.
“Brie,” cracks her voice, familiar and yet barely known to me. But I know it’s her. “You’re not with Adryan, are you? Who are you with?”
I dart my eyes up to Cromwell. He nods.
“I’m with Director Cromwell,” I say.
There’s silence on the line.
And then she whispers again, a tepid fury to her voice: “Artemis…”
I look once more at Cromwell, see a crinkle flow across his visage at hearing her say his name. He goes so far as to turn his eyes quickly to the window, spreading over the northern quarter, before returning.
“Are you safe, Brie?” asks Lady Orlando. “Have you been mistreated?”
I think of my treatment. Being locked to this chair, given no food, and barely a gulp of water. Really, it’s more neglect than anything else.
“I’m OK,” I answer. “Are you? Is Zander?”
She takes another moment to answer. Knowing that Cromwell is listening, she chooses her words carefully. I wonder, in fact, why he admitted his presence. I suppose he probably thought that she’d smell a rat, one way or another, and wouldn’t be so foolish as to give me any information that might prove incriminating for her cause.
And, in any case, even if I was alone, Burns would only come and extract the details of the conversation anyway, learning of any secrets passed down the line.
“We’re fine,” is all she says.
I try to read her voice, her words so sparse. There’s tension there, but she’s still fairly calm. I wonder if the underground city has been attacked yet. And if not, why? They know of the route there now. Unless it’s been blocked off, or they’ve all relocated, I’d have expected the Nameless to already be involved in all-out war.
“Why are you calling, Brie?” she asks me.
I don’t delay like she does. Immediately, I say: “Adryan. The Director is willing to negotiate his release.”
“And why would he do that. Why…Artemis?” she asks, addressing him directly.
I turn my eyes to Cromwell again. He lifts the communicator to his mouth.
“Because, Cornelia, I would like my agent back,” he says.
A frown hovers over my eyes.
Cornelia? That’s her first name…
He knows her first name…
Again, Lady Orlando doesn’t speak for some time. Nor does Cromwell, waiting patiently for her next words.
“So you want to do a exchange?” she asks finally. “Adryan for Agent Woolf?”
“Yes, Cornelia, that is what I want.”
The tension down the line is palpable. I can feel it for myself, even though nothing seems to show on Cromwell’s face. But there’s an odd energy that comes from him, some ancient feeling or memory. My immediate thought is that these two share history.
That they know each other well.
And with that thought comes another: Lady Orlando is a Savant…
I’m drawn from my thoughts and suspicions by the continuation of their tense exchange. My mind returns to the only hope that remains in me – getting my husband to safety.
Yet, from the other end of the line, from somewhere out beyond the boundary wall, I hear a coldness imbue Lady Orlando’s voice.
“How can I possibly trust you, Artemis?” she says. “For all I know, this is just a
nother of your devious plans, another of your terrible traps…”
“I give you my word, Cornelia,” says Cromwell calmly. “I have more use for Romelia than I do Mr Shaw. While he deserves to be punished for what he did, I concede that Romelia deserves the opposite. She does not deserve to be there among your band of rebels.”
“Oh, I beg to differ, Artemis,” seethes Lady Orlando. “Agent Woolf deserves everything she’s going through. She has a twisted soul, a darkness inside her. We’ve discovered awful things in the depths of her mind.”
“Well, our paths have most certainly diverged, Cornelia. Of that there is no doubt. But consider this in a reasonable manner. You wish to see Mr Shaw safe, and I wish to regain my Agent. Whatever our views upon them, those are the bare facts. Now, will you agree to this exchange or not?”
I listen, barely able to breathe, as the two do battle. My frown descends lower and lower, a starkness filling my face. And the longer Lady Orlando takes to answer, the more my hope wanes.
And with her next word, my heart deflates.
“No,” she says. “Adryan knew the potential costs of his actions. He knew just where they might lead, and was willing to accept them. I’m afraid I have no trust in you, Artemis. I cannot agree to this deal.”
My voice can’t be contained. It storms up my throat and into the room, drawing Cromwell’s eye.
“No!” I call. “Please, Lady Orlando, you have to save him! You can’t let him die!”
Cromwell’s eyes flicker briefly at the sudden explosion of sound. Then his cool complexion returns, and he holds the communicator a little closer to me.
The room goes quiet once more. I hear tight breathing on the other end of the line. Adryan’s fate, hanging in the balance, sits upon Lady Orlando’s shoulders.
But she remains immovable.
“I’m sorry, Brie,” she says as softly as she can manage. I feel my lips curling immediately. “But nothing Artemis does can be trusted, and Adryan was well aware of the risks he faced. He has been a wonderful servant to this cause, but his part has now expired. I’m sorry…”
“And mine!” I growl, an anger coursing through me. “We’re both just expendable to you, aren’t we?! You don’t care about losing either of us. Don’t try to pretend that you do…”
“Brie, I…I do care…”
“NO YOU DON’T! You sent me here to die. And now you’re letting Adryan die too, after everything he’s done for you. Maybe that’s what you deserve…maybe…”
I bite my tongue and scrunch up my eyes. The tears of anger and pain try to assemble, but I don’t let them. I hold them back and let my heavy breathing fill the room.
And down the line, I hear another whisper: “I’m sorry.”
I hold my eyes closed for several long moments. And right before I open them, Cromwell’s impassive voice crackles back into the room.
“If that’s your final say, Cornelia, then so be it. Mr Shaw will suffer the full punishment in accordance with his crimes. But mark my words, he will not be the only one to share that fate. Soon, my men will get to your people…”
And before he can finish, the signal cuts off.
And opening my eyes, I see much memory flash across Cromwell’s face.
And with it comes an unmistakable anger.
7
My failure is now complete.
First the mission, and now my chance of saving Adryan. A final, desperate plea to get something out of this debacle has concluded with the same result.
And for that, I hate her.
Lady Orlando. Cornelia. Whoever the hell she really is. I hate her for what she’s done.
I’m left alone once more with nothing left to hope for.
My use, and Adryan’s, has been depleted and spent. Now, there’s nothing left to be done but punish us for our crimes.
But before that happens, I’ll spend my time in anger, and not grief. I’ll stew on Lady Orlando’s betrayal, and the callous manner in which she stuck that final nail in Adryan’s coffin.
She said she cared. She tried to make it sound like it wasn’t easy, that Adryan had signed up for all of this. And yeah, maybe he did. But so damned what! She has a chance to extricate him from this nightmare, and she won’t take it.
And, frankly, it’s grown obvious where this detachment stems from: she is a Savant.
I suppose it makes sense to me in some way. Even when I first met her, there was this coldness to her, something I perhaps mistook for the calm authority that a leader of such a cause needs to employ.
But clearly, there was more to it than that. Her natural inclination is to think logically, to make reasoned choices without falling into the trap of emotion. And so, to her, the logical choice was to leave Adryan here, to keep hold of Woolf, and to make sure that no trap could be sprung during the exchange.
Maybe, if I had the time, I could see that logic in a different light. Maybe I could consider her position - leading these rebels, battling this injustice - and imagine that her choice was the right one under such circumstances.
But I’m not thinking like that. Such thoughts are blurred and buried in my mind, covered and dominated by my own stark emotions. Emotions that call for this man I care for so deeply to be saved, for everything he’s done to be rewarded.
But no.
Instead, he’s to be punished for his bravery and endeavour, for living his life under the constant threat of discovery and death, for putting himself on the line for the sole purpose of saving others.
He should be honoured, and raised aloft, his name shouted among the people as a hero. That will never happen now. He will suffer the opposite: his name lost and forgotten, along with all those he tried to save.
I sit, locked in that chair, my mind tormented. Counting down the minutes and hours before the inevitable. Wondering just when it will come.
And wondering, too, just how Lady Orlando found herself at the head of the Nameless. Wondering what the hell happened in her life to lead her from here to there, from the High Tower and Inner Haven, to that ancient church in the outerlands.
I wonder about so many things, and begin to doubt it all.
Doubt her own ambitions and motivations, the agenda that she’s spread through the many who comprise her cause. Doubt her scheming and plotting, and what her real motives are.
Does she really want to save the people? How can she profess to such a thing if she won’t even save Adryan, the man who helped all of this happen?
Or is it just power that she desires? To see herself supplant Cromwell at the summit of this building, to rule on high and send down her own doctrines for the people to bow down to and follow.
Truly, I doubt it all. In my misery and sorrow and grief, I don’t know what to believe.
And in many ways, I just want it to be over.
I just want to die.
The day passes, the marching hours shown only by the movement of the sun. I turn from that too, turn from the window looking out on the city, and merely shut my eyes and close myself off from the world.
And sitting there in silence and darkness, I begin to mumble to myself.
“Just do it. Just do it already…”
My words grow louder, and before I know it I’m shouting them out at the top of my lungs.
“DO IT. DO IT ALREADY. JUST KILL ME!”
I shout so loud, still hidden behind my eyelids, that I don’t hear the door opening and shutting. I only know that someone’s entered when I feel a hand cover my mouth, blocking off my voice.
My eyes click open like a ventriloquist dummy and I see a calm face before me.
“Quiet now, Brie. You don’t want to strain your voice.”
The middle-aged face of Commander Burns greets me, his blue eyes steady and composed. My muffled screams end abruptly as he withdraws his palm, saying: “Now promise you’ll stop screaming,” as he does so.
I grind my lips together, my promise kept. But I can’t help from speaking my mind.
“What do
you want,” I growl through heavy breaths. “You heard what I was saying. Just be done with this. End it…”
My eyes, bereft of tears, are still bloodshot and stark. My cheeks are equally blushed, my relentless screams giving my entire complexion a glowing red tint.
Burns looks at me with a margin of pity.
“You’re not to die yet,” he whispers quietly.
“Then when?” I breathe. “I can’t stand this torture…”
“And you won’t have to for long, Brie,” he assures me. “But you won’t die either.”
My eyes widen and a silence pervades the room. I stare into his blue irises and wish I could dip into his thoughts.
“Then what?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer.
“The Director has other plans for you,” he says quietly. “Powers such as yours are too rare to go to waste…”
My insides clench, and a fresh fear assaults me.
“He’s going to recondition me,” I say. “He’s going to make me a slave…”
Commander Burns doesn’t counter the claim. He just looks at me and begins to nod, ever so slightly, to confirm what I was too afraid to believe, too afraid to give voice to.
If I’m reconditioned, all memories of my past will be removed. I will cease to be me, but will merely become a vessel, a weapon, nothing but another servant to join the Director’s ranks.
A Stalker. A hybrid hunter, sent out with the rest of them to hunt my brethren.
I might find myself in front of Drum, or Sophie, with no inclination to spare them. I might even come face-to-face with my own twin brother, my mission to do nothing but kill him. To strike him down as he hesitates, unable to do the same to his sister.
He’ll look at me as I am now, as his twin. But I’ll look upon him as nothing but my enemy, my memories of him erased, my love for him banished.
I can see it all now, see how Cromwell’s mind is working.
Maybe that is his exact plan. To recondition me and then set me free, turn the tables on the Nameless and use me as a spy. Send me onto the inside to murder my brother, murder Lady Orlando, destroy them all as they sleep.
I can’t bear the thought of it.
“No…” I whisper. “I can’t…”
