by Gwynn White
And now the King was dead.
Helena Deschapelles, Director of the Dealers and Keeper of the Cathedral, looked up from her desk. "Are you certain?"
Her assistant Octavia Underlead handed over the intelligence report. "Read it for yourself."
Surveillance report: direct order to the office of the Police Commissioner from the office of the King to prevent Dealers from offering aid to constituents outside the Pot of Gold, such order to be enforced by all means necessary including death. Effective immediately. Noted by my hearing and sight this 13th of October, Pianola Seed, Dealers Intelligence.
* * *
Helena stood. "Call a meeting at once."
She paced her office. This was the tenth in a series of reports coming in from all over the city. Trash being sprayed with ashes, the elderly taken from their homes then dumped outside the fence. Gentlemen beaten and dragged outside the city after falling asleep on park benches. Something was happening, and it wasn't good.
For three hundred years the Dealers had protected the city of Bridges on direct orders from the Kings, beginning with the Inventor King himself. But unlike the others, this King hadn't sought their report on taking the throne: he had turned against them.
It came to her: King Taylor didn't trust his son. He meant to give the secret knowledge of the Heart of Bridges to another. King Taylor was an old man; perhaps he had already done so. One of the grandsons, perhaps?
Moving to her cabinet, she pulled out the long drawer of files on Polansky Kerr. Evidence supported the suspicion that Taylor Kerr's death wasn't an assassination by his guard, as his son asserted, but patricide.
Octavia returned. "We await you, Director."
Around the oval table sat her most trusted advisers. Helena gazed at the white marble walls, the stained glass windows depicting the Acts of the Dealer throughout the ages, the symbols of the Holy Cards surrounding them. Blessed Dealer, guide me, she prayed. Thousands of women's lives depended on her decision today.
"My beloved sisters. It is clear we have a threat to the Dealers' future, and by extension, to Bridges itself. But this is the tournament the Dealer has presented to us, the reason our hands have been dealt onto the Grand Board at this time and not another. We must take the long view, not base all our actions on one hand, on one play of the cards. The Dealers must never fail our people. So I have come to a decision: we must cease handouts at once."
Murmurs filled the room.
"However, this does not mean we give up aid. We increase it. We build more places for the people to go. Aid stations will now be engaged with providing the elderly, the pregnant, and the widows work in exchange for food and bed. We shall become an employer. Surely Polansky Kerr, of all people, would want to see his citizens busy."
Scattered laughter.
"Everything shall be documented, and if the police wish to close us down, that will be documented as well. We offer no resistance in word or gaze; we simply slip into the crowd, send our evidence to safety, then return when they leave."
"A scissors play," one woman said.
"Exactly," said Helena. "We deliberately lose. But only for this round. My sisters, this city is no longer ruled by men, but by boys. And boys love to win. We'll let them win and win and win until they choke on it. Until they destroy themselves." And at the end, we shall hold the high cards. "They will win, yet the Dealers ... we Dealers will survive."
Acevedo looked up from his desk after class, and Jack Alcatraz stood there. "Mr. Spadros, may we speak for a minute?"
"Certainly. Sit, please."
Since his declaration the other day, Jack had become more and more withdrawn. Acevedo suspected his father's problem — whatever it was — gave Jack cause to worry. Today, the boy seemed tired. "We'd like to have you for dinner tonight."
"I'd enjoy that, thank you."
"Would you speak with my dad?"
"About what?"
Jack glanced away. "Something happened yesterday, something bad. I don't know ... I can feel it, my dad's ..."
"Bothered by it?"
"Yeah." Jack shook his head, just a bit. "He won't talk to me. I know I'm just a kid. I get it. He doesn't want me to worry. But ..."
Acevedo smiled. "He needs a friend."
"Yeah. That's it." Jack relaxed.
Acevedo reached over, patted the boy's shoulder. "You've done well. I'll be glad to talk to him."
"Thanks, Mr. Spadros."
Acevedo felt touched by the boy's trust in him. Since the talk with the class, Acevedo hadn't learned much of anything. But he had begun to call on his former students, just to see how they felt and what they knew, and to ask about their classmates. He told them he planned a reunion, and each was pleased to tell him more.
He pulled out a chart. So far, he had over 100 names of those who he had either contacted (just a few) or who personally knew others that still lived in Bridges. Acevedo set a special mark on the ones who were labeled "trouble" — those might be the very ones who could help, if it came down to violence.
Acevedo wasn't sure what he was going to do with this chart, but he might need help, and these were the people most likely to help him.
Rolling up the chart, he took it with him. This was something he didn't want anyone else seeing.
Xavier put the dishes in the sink to soak, and turned to Mr. Spadros. "Some wine?"
"Yes, thank you."
Jack and Joy had left the table early, which was odd: Xavier expected Jack would want to spend time with his teacher. Xavier set the wine bottle and glasses on the table, and began to pour. "Jack said you were ill recently. I hope you're improved?"
Mr. Spadros nodded. "Very much so."
Xavier didn't know who else to turn to. But he hesitated. Should I put this man in danger? "I wanted to thank you for reassuring your students."
"Oh?"
"Jack told me his classmates were upset by recent events, but that you spoke to them and now they feel much encouraged."
Mr. Spadros gave the slightest of smiles. "I'm glad I could be of help."
The man almost seemed as if he were waiting for something. "What do you think of the recent events?"
Now Mr. Spadros hesitated. "I understand why they might feel upset by them."
Xavier had a sudden insight: This man is a teacher of history. Today, we're in history. "Two forty-seven all over again."
Mr. Spadros smiled. "So you remember your course-work after all these years."
In the year 247 After the Catastrophe, a warlord assassinated the leader of the United American Survivors. After eight years of genocide against the Krissins, he and his men were overthrown by a collaboration between rebel forces and a traitor in his own ranks. He understands the situation, Xavier thought. He's here to help. "Let's take a walk."
Surprise crossed his former teacher's face, but Mr. Spadros rose, put on his coat and Derby hat, and followed Xavier out to the street. Xavier turned right and went past the row of homes, towards the shops, speaking softly. "There's a possibility we're being watched."
"Oh?"
"My children's lives were threatened."
"Oh."
"By Polansky Kerr." Xavier refused to call that madman a king.
Mr. Spadros didn't speak for some time. "Jack told me something happened. Was that it?"
Xavier was so disoriented by the question that he stopped in his tracks. How has it come to this? He faced Mr. Spadros. "This was after he killed my second, a man I've known for over twenty years, then murdered King Taylor." For a moment, he couldn't speak as the images flooded his mind. "Cut their throats right in front of me, so fast I couldn't stop it." He had to make his teacher understand. "I couldn't stop it!"
Mr. Spadros held on Xavier's upper arms. "Xavier. Look at me. Breathe."
"Is he well?" A woman stood a few paces away, peering at Xavier with concern.
"He just got bad news," Mr. Spadros said. "Come on, son, I'll take you home."
The woman smiled and nodded, then went
off. She thinks he's my father. In a way, that was how he felt about the man. He and his actual father never spoke much, unless the old man wanted something.
They walked along, Mr. Spadros grasping Xavier by the upper arm with one hand, his other behind Xavier's upper back. Xavier stopped. "There's more. He means to kill them all. The outsiders. The people, outside the fence. Burn their homes to the ground, then hunt the survivors like animals."
Mr. Spadros turned pale. "Are you certain?"
"For gods' sake, I stood next to him as he planned it!"
After a moment, Mr. Spadros said, "We'll have to do our best not to let that happen."
Xavier felt a surge of relief. If anyone could find a way out of this, it would be Mr. Spadros.
Mr. Spadros said, "When will it happen?"
"March 12th."
They walked back in silence. When they returned to home, a sudden fear struck: my children are asleep, alone, defenseless. And Polansky Kerr has threatened them. Xavier rushed to his children's rooms, and even though they both slept peacefully, for the first time in his life, he didn't feel safe in his own home. His hands shook. "I can't stay here anymore," he whispered.
Mr. Spadros kept his voice low. "You'll have to. If we do anything different, the men who watch will report it to the King. The best way to keep them safe is to make him believe you're on his side."
On his side?
"I'll send a note with Jack," Mr. Spadros said in a normal tone. "Just some ideas on how you can help him with his studies."
Xavier nodded. He thinks someone listens even now. "I appreciate you coming by."
Mr. Spadros clapped him on the shoulder. "My pleasure. Thanks so much for dinner, it was excellent."
Xavier couldn't remember what they had eaten until he closed the door and faced the dishes in the sink. But it didn't matter. For the first time in a while, he had hope.
As Acevedo got into his steam automobile and returned home, a glance behind him made him appreciate his Uncle Vinny for the first time. They used to play Who's Following with his brothers growing up, and these men were amateurs.
Family is everything, Papa said. Acevedo just felt as if he had gained a whole new one. Xavier Alcatraz might be a Throne Guard, but he was badly out of his depth here.
I'm not too close behind, he thought. He could imagine what Uncle Vinny would say when he heard about this.
* * *
"A history teacher trying to take on the whole city. Well, it could be worse," Uncle Vinny said.
Acevedo laughed in spite of himself. "How?"
Uncle Vinny grinned. "You might not have me helping you."
The thought of his uncle helping him didn't exactly make him feel better.
"Look," Vinny said. "I know you're good at history, and military strategy, and all that book shit. But this is gonna be war. Real war. In the dirt gang carnage. We're gonna have to do things you might not like. Deal with people you wouldn't trust to slop pigs. Bad things will happen."
Acevedo nodded. He knew that, in a theoretical sense. But ... "I just want to keep those children from getting hurt."
"Dammit, Acevedo, you're not listening. Most of those children will die, if not from the war, from the aftermath — the food supply disruptions, the bandits, hell, just the shock of it all. Their parents will die. A lot of those who fight will die. Everyone will lose what they have now. They may end up cursing your name on both sides. Do you understand?" Uncle Vinny peered at him. "Do you want to get rid of Polansky Kerr or not?"
Yes, Acevedo thought. "They're going to die for sure if we don't do anything."
"Just remember that when you start wondering if it was worth it."
Chapter Eight
October 17th
It was Saturday, and the weather was nice for October, sunny and warm. Xavier sat on his front porch, holding the letter from Mr. Spadros in hand.
Mr. Alcatraz:
* * *
If Jack does these extra credit assignments, I'm sure he'll succeed. I even have some prizes for him.
1) A report on the Armory — a red firework. I know how much he loves them. It's imperative he do this assignment first.
2) A report on the Royal Family — a blue firework. I'm looking forward to his accomplishing this assignment. He must turn it in by the end of class at 3:00.
If these are completed on the date we discussed, nothing further will be needed. If these assignments are not completed in a timely manner, we'll need to bring the situation outside the classroom.
I have every confidence in your ability to help create the success we both desire. If you have any questions please feel free to contact me.
* * *
My Most Sincere Regards,
* * *
Acevedo Spadros,
Instructor, Bridges History
* * *
Xavier understood the why. He knew what needed to be done: seize the Armory, capture the Royal Family. He even knew why the Armory first: they had to control the weapons.
Doing it the other way round could fail if Polansky Kerr's supporters had the presence of mind to arm themselves. The Guard could find themselves under siege — and if his supporters were anything like the King, the lives of the Royal Family would mean nothing to them. They'd storm the palace, and it'd be all over.
But he couldn't get away from this fact: Mr. Spadros wants me to be the traitor.
Xavier had respected and admired his teacher since he first met the man. But Xavier was Head of the Guard. Could he go against his vows? Commit treason?
He sat, listening to the birds chirp, the children play under the apple trees lining the street. The plan Mr. Spadros gave him was good, but it was by no means guaranteed: bloodless military coups were rare. If he failed to capture Polansky Kerr, the rest of this letter meant civil war, unleashing its most violent members on the city. All this would be gone.
I have to choose which half of the city to save.
He leaned back, disheartened. It was more complicated than that. Polansky Kerr lusted for control, for domination. When he had killed all the poor in Bridges, he'd find some new group to blame and kill. And on, and on, until he either died or was brought down.
A sudden thought: In 247, was there a man who could have stopped that horror, but didn't?
Xavier didn't want to be that man.
There were well over five months before the attack. Perhaps he could contact the Feds — surely they'd be interested in stopping genocide.
No, Xavier thought. If Polansky Kerr got one inkling of it, Jack and Joy would be dead. And from what he remembered of history, the Feds were just as likely to seal the Aperture (the only way in or out of this dome), let the matter run its course, then seize the city. Hundreds of thousands might be dead by then, the survivors exiled to other cities for the remainder of their lives.
Xavier spread out the crumpled letter in his hands as the Riverfront Train's whistle blew off to his left in the distance. Seize the Armory, capture the King. That's all he had to do, by three am on March the 12th, and they'd be free.
I can do this. He was a guard, not a soldier. But he could learn, and he could train his men. This didn't have to be a civil war. Both sides of the fence were worth saving, and if he could save the entire city, Xavier decided, he would.
Blocker Goolsby went past. He could tell when a man wasn't in a mood to talk, and Mr. Alcatraz hadn't been in a talking mood the last few times he'd been by. His children seemed well — it was strange. But then he remembered that the man was in the palace guard.
I guess I wouldn't feel like talking much either, having to be around that hateful old King all day.
"Hey, Blocker," Mr. Alcatraz called out.
"Hey, Mr. Alcatraz." He didn't go to the porch. I'll wait to see if he wants me over there.
"Listen, I got a question for you."
Blocker went to the porch, just past the steps, and leaned his hand on the support. "Whatcha need?"
"You know anyone who's —" Mr
. Alcatraz hesitated. "For example, if you thought someone was going to break into your house, hurt your family."
Damn, Blocker thought. No wonder he's not in a talking mood these days. "I know someone who can help you. You want them gone, or you want protection?"
The man gave Blocker a smile. He knows who's after him, and he's going after the guy himself. "Protection. For my children."
Cold rage. "You leave that to me. No charge."
Mr. Alcatraz seemed surprised. "You sure?"
"Damn straight. You live in Wheelcard territory, Mr. Alcatraz. No one's gonna come here and fuck with anyone in our area, 'specially not a Guardsman's children."
The relief on the man's face made Blocker feel like he was doing something worthwhile. "Don't worry, Mr. Alcatraz, we'll take real good care of you."
Like Xavier, Acevedo and Uncle Vinny sat on the front porch, but they were drinking beer. "So what's your plan?" Vinny said. "How do you want to get this started?"
"Well," Acevedo said, "we should find out who in the city is against the King. I'll begin with my former students. Just simple questions: What do you think of the new King? How do you think he's doing so far? If the person seems amenable, I'll say I want to do something about this. Who do you trust the most that might be willing to help?"
"Wrong," Uncle Vinny said. "Completely wrong. The people in this city don't care. If they did, the fence wouldn't be up in the first place. They're not going to risk destroying their homes and livelihoods for a bunch of poor people."
Acevedo felt deflated. "What do you suggest then?"
"We gotta get to the people who do care. Outside the fence."
"Okay."
"And we gotta get muscle. That's gonna be the hard part."
"Muscle?" When Acevedo had written to Xavier, he had only a vague notion of who might be fighting — more a populist "storm the Bastille with pitchforks" scenario than anything else. This sounded like his uncle had something more plausible.
