I nodded in acknowledgement. “Do you have the list of refugees?” I asked.
It was Henrik’s turn to nod as he approached the desk, placing a piece of paper in front of me. I picked it up. I already knew that Alejandro and Cad weren’t on the list—I had helped Henrik in the interview process. But still, it didn’t stop me from wishing that somehow they had been overlooked, and their names would be here, coincidentally, far from their homes, among these random Patrians.
They weren’t, of course, and I set the paper down and looked at Henrik. “Any thoughts?” I asked. “About our new guests?”
Henrik opened his mouth, and then closed it, seeming to reconsider what he was about to say. I motioned for him to sit down, and he did, taking the time to collect his thoughts. After a moment, he looked up. “Nobody in the group seems to have ever been a warden, but they could be liars. Most of the group consists of dockworkers and laborers from in and around the warehouse district.”
“Well, it kind of makes sense, but then… why wouldn’t they seek shelter in town?” I asked. I had only interviewed people for general details—names, occupations, ages, etc. I had left the more detailed interviews to Henrik, trusting his knowledge of Patrus and interrogation techniques. After all, he was a former warden.
“People wouldn’t take them in,” Henrik informed me. “There was a lot of confusion and rioting and looting. So… they left. Took what they could and high-tailed it out.”
I leaned back in the chair, considering his words. “How are they?”
“Scared, mostly. A few are angry, which could be good or bad, depending on how it’s channeled.”
I nodded slowly, understanding what he meant—anger could get people to fight, but it couldn’t guarantee that they would follow orders. “So how honest do you think we should be with them?”
Henrik’s mouth thinned, practically disappearing behind his graying beard. “If you’re asking about the king—I don’t think there is anything we can do to avoid it. The king won’t like being confined to his room. That one is like a spoiled child. I rarely say this, but he would’ve benefited from a good whooping.”
I smiled at him, amused by the image of King Maxen receiving a spanking. “How can we ensure that if one of them is a spy, they won’t try to escape after learning the truth?”
Henrik drummed his fingers over the arm of the chair, thinking about it. “Well, I think taking their names and making sure there is a description is a good start. Creating a worksheet or a chores list to make sure we know who is supposed to be where at what time is also a good start. But we’re running short on eyes to watch them, Violet—the seven of us can’t handle them, and the king, and Ashabee’s staff.”
I paused to consider the problem from all angles. “Tap the staff to watch the refugees,” I finally said, and Henrik smiled.
“You got there faster than I did—I must be getting old.”
I inclined my head to him, feeling mildly flattered, even through the weariness that held me and my dread of my next task. “No, it’s been a long night for us both. I’m just… I’m just too wired at the moment.”
Henrik’s gaze flicked to the gun sitting on the desk just to the left of me, and I followed it, taking in the black piece of metal that I might be using to end a man’s life in a few minutes. Not a random stranger, either—a person who had fed and sheltered us, though unwillingly. The father of a dear friend. A deeply prejudiced person, but a person who had smiled on the steps to see his daughter drive through the gate. And yet, I couldn’t see a way around making that decision.
Henrik looked at me, his blue eyes filled with empathy. “I don’t envy your position,” he said softly.
I held his gaze. “What would you do?” I asked.
Henrik looked away, his lips disappearing behind his beard in another grimace. “I can’t answer that—I’ve never been in this particular situation before.”
I waved my hand, leaning forward. “None of us have, Henrik. I could really use some help on this one.”
Henrik blinked slowly and turned back to me, his mouth reappearing in the form of a frown. “It’s kind of an issue of point of view—to us, Ashabee murdered innocent people. To him, he murdered trespassers who might have represented a threat to him or the king.”
“He just acted! He didn’t give us any time to make a decision!”
“It’s his home,” Henrik replied, and I fell silent.
“Do you think I should spare him?”
Henrik hesitated. “I think you should do what you think is best for the rest of us. We’re all following you and Viggo, Violet. You two have brought us all together here in this… weird little resistance movement. We trust you, so we’ll support whatever actions you take, no matter how final they are.” Henrik stood up then and offered me a kind smile before turning to go.
I exhaled. Henrik’s non-answers had not been the clear-cut advice I’d been hoping for, but they made me feel as though I really was capable of making this decision, and I appreciated it. I hadn’t intended this to fall on me, had never imagined myself as a disciplinarian. But Viggo had buried the dead, and I had called Jay off, wanting to spare the boy the pain of killing an unarmed man. He had been through too much already to add that particular stain on his soul.
I sat alone again for some time, wrestling with my problem.
I still hadn’t come up with a clear answer when Ashabee entered, his right eye, already a garish shade of purple, almost sealed shut. I stared at him—at his upturned nose and the defiant expression in his gaze.
“Sit down, Colin,” I said, gesturing to a chair. I’d chosen to use his first name. For one, I felt it would help convey to him the gravity of the situation. For two, I wanted to show him I was not afraid of him, and felt like his equal, if not superior. And for three, it would certainly throw him off balance. I wasn’t sure why—but my instincts were telling me to keep this man off balance.
It seemed to work, because after a considerable pause, he limped over and sat down, a flash of nervousness crossing his face. I stared at him for a long time—long enough for that nervousness to take root and grow. His eyes darted between me, the gun on the desk, the wall behind me, and the floor, then back to me again, over and over again.
I broke the silence first. “I’m having a hard time deciding what to do with you, Colin,” I said softly, keeping my voice low so that I knew he was hanging on every word—he would have to. I looked away, at the monitors, seeing the freshly dug graves holding eight people.
“To do with me?” Ashabee protested, his eyes wide in genuine alarm. “I was trying to save us! To help—!”
His words faltered as my head whipped around and I speared him with a seething glare. “You had no authority to activate those guns,” I hissed. “We made it perfectly clear that we were in charge, not you.”
“But… but… this is my home!” he pleaded.
I scowled at him, unable to keep the disgust off my face. “You killed eight people tonight,” I whispered. “Eight human beings who were afraid and looking for help.”
He said nothing, but the defiance was back, and it was strong enough to make me almost want to pick up the gun and pull the trigger. I shook my head at him, feeling my heart start to ice over.
“You’re a coward,” I said a little more loudly. “You’re a coward and a murderer.” I reached for the gun, but had barely placed a hand on it when Ashabee threw himself to the ground.
“I’m sorry!” he cried from his knees, his hands clasped together. “Please, I’m unarmed, and I haven’t done anything to hurt you, not even when my daughter shot me. Please—I promise—I’ll never do anything without permission. I promise. I promise. Please.”
I gritted my teeth together, all my disgust for the man changing tone. I looked away, staring at a painting depicting a man in a rowboat, escaping from poisoned earth and river toward green fields and forests. The sound of Ashabee’s begging filled the room. After a few moments I slowly pulled my hand away
from the gun.
“Now I can see why Amber didn’t want to say goodbye to you,” I said.
“A-Amberlynn?” the man sobbed. “She left? Without even…”
“You wouldn’t even have noticed if I hadn’t told you, would you? And she said to tell you to go to hell, actually,” I snapped, wanting this whole thing to be over. “Enough. Get up. Stop crying.”
Ashabee obediently rose to his feet and sat down, quivering in fear, tears sliding down his cheeks. Rolling my eyes, I tossed him a box of tissues from the desk, and he caught it, snatching several pieces to dry his tears and blow his nose.
I waited until he was done, and then leaned forward, clasping my hands together and resting them and my forearms on the desk. “I’m letting you stay, but you will be confined to your quarters. If you ever find yourself alone in a room with Jay or Viggo, then you shout for help—hopefully one of us can get there in time to keep them from ripping you apart. When we leave, we will leave you here, to continue your life in your home as you see fit. And that’s a lot more than you deserve, because between you and those eight people buried underneath the wall... I would much rather it have been you who died. Do you understand?”
“I… I understand,” he stuttered after a long moment.
I leaned back in my chair and watched as he picked himself up to leave, his eyes still watery.
Suddenly a beeping sound sang out from the computer, and I turned, staring at the screen. Any small sense of accomplishment I’d felt at subduing Ashabee turned into abject horror as a heloship appeared on the monitor, just as it was touching down, the crest of Matrus emblazoned boldly on its side.
24
Viggo
Henrik’s voice was low, but urgent, and the urgency was what jerked me from sleep. I looked over to see him standing at the door. It was midmorning. “Matrians,” he said—possibly repeated. “Now!”
I was out of bed, gun in my hand, within ten seconds, following him down the stairs and through the hall. Violet was already at the front door, Ashabee next to her, and I felt a stab of fury when I saw him. The two were in some sort of stand-off, and I prayed he hadn’t said one cross word to Violet, because it would be the final straw. As far as I was concerned, that man didn’t have the right to live, let alone speak to Violet.
“I can’t trust a thing you say,” Violet said to the man, and I silently cheered her on.
“I’m just saying they might not be here for you,” Ashabee whispered insistently, and Violet ground her teeth in annoyance. Ashabee’s eyes flicked over to me, his alarm intensifying, but he kept talking. “You’ve heard the news! They’re taking the ‘wealthy and influential’ back to the palace for protection. They’re here for me—they might not even know you are here!”
Violet had told me that news when we were out on our scouting mission. Supposedly, the Patrian elite were also there to greet the Matrian delegates in the diplomatic relief program—who were being led by Princess Tabitha, and had brought soldiers to help quell the fires and stop the looting. I scowled.
I was certain they were doing just that, and more, trying to buy the good will of the people—at least in the public eye. About what they were doing behind closed doors, I could only make dark assumptions and hazard terrible guesses. The news had disheartened us all, and I could tell the fact that Tabitha was in the country horrified Violet. But on the plus side, Henrik had told me that Maxen had taken to his room all day after reading it.
“Look at you, though,” Violet said to Ashabee, and I wrenched my mind back to the present. “Your black eye is going to tell them that something is going on!”
Ashabee’s fingers found his face, as though testing it, and he flinched slightly, but he was undeterred. “Then I’ll tell them that there are refugees here. They came in the night, and we got into a scuffle before I realized what was going on.”
Violet’s face was diamond-hard as she stared at him. “I still can’t trust you, not after what you did.”
Ashabee scowled back. “Then trust that I will do this for his majesty, and not for you.”
Violet considered this, and then pulled her gun up between their faces. “If you tell them anything,” she whispered, her voice eerie in its coldness, “I will put a bullet in your head, and then in ‘his majesty’s’ head. Do you understand?”
Ashabee paled, his eyes widening in alarm as he took in the sincerity of Violet’s threat. I knew Violet would never stoop so low as to kill someone in cold blood, but I had no doubt that at this moment, she truly wanted to. What had happened with the refugees hadn’t changed the situation of the world, but it had gotten us all in a dangerous mood.
Ashabee nodded hard. “I won’t say a word,” he replied, straightening his shirt. He reached past Violet, clicking something on the door. A panel lowered, revealing a computer screen that gave us a view of both the bottom and the top of the steps that led to the house. “These cameras have microphones,” he whispered. “You’ll be able to hear everything.”
Violet’s eyes took it in, and she gave him a tight nod. “Go,” she ordered.
Ashabee turned and grabbed the doorknob, taking a long, deep breath before stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind him.
I pushed in close to Violet, and she briefly moved her gaze to me before turning back to the screen, holding her breath. We waited in silence as Ashabee limped down the stairs, approaching a tall, well-built Matrian woman who was waiting patiently at the bottom, her hands clasped behind her back.
“Mr. Ashabee,” the woman said once he was down. The microphones picked up her voice faintly, but distinctly. “I am Maia Nelee, special advisor to Princess Tabitha.” My mood darkened. Tabitha’s name being dropped couldn’t be a good sign.
“Greetings, Warden Nelee,” Ashabee said graciously, dipping his head in an only-somewhat-wobbly bow. I was impressed at how calm and level his voice was, all things considered.
“Mr. Ashabee… before I begin, are you all right?”
Ashabee started, and then laughed, as if he suddenly remembered his limp and the condition of his face. “We had a bit of an incident last night. Several refugees from the city thought they could hide out here. They didn’t know anyone was at home.”
Warden Nelee’s face was impassive as she regarded him. “I see,” she said dryly, her tone blatantly reflecting her doubt. “Are you saying that these refugees are holding you prisoner?” she asked, arching an imperious eyebrow.
“No, no… nothing like that! We have made amends, and I didn’t feel right turning them away. Not after what happened with our defense system, anyway.” He coughed, clearly embarrassed. “Several of their people were killed.”
Nelee looked around, taking in the two trucks and the rigged gate. “It looks like a small battle occurred here,” she remarked, and Ashabee shrugged.
“I can see what you’re saying, but I assure you, they meant no hostility. They even helped repair the gate, and luckily their vehicles weren’t damaged too much.”
There was a span of silence, and then Nelee offered up a charming smile. “What a remarkable story,” she announced. “One I am sure you will be telling your grandchildren.”
Ashabee gave a polite chuckle, which turned into a cough. “I assume you are here to collect me, madam?”
Nelee inclined her head, confirming his words. “I am indeed, Mr. Ashabee. But before I do, I was wondering if you had recognized any other important officials among the refugees.”
Ashabee’s face reflected his confusion and he shook his head. “I did not,” he offered. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, with the explosions, several key members of the government have not been located—including, unfortunately, King Maxen. But… our teams have yet to recover a body, so we’re hoping that, if he did manage to survive the assassination attempt and the explosions, he might have turned to those he knew for help.”
“I see,” Ashabee stated. “So… no one is certain that the king is actually dead? Because the refugee
s were certain he had died, and—”
“I see I’ve said too much,” Nelee interjected coolly, cutting him off. “Mr. Ashabee, I hope you can understand—we don’t want to give anyone false hope. Just because his body hasn’t been recovered doesn’t mean it won’t be soon. We’re simply trying to explore every possibility, no matter how remote. I can assure you, the Matrian government is here to help your people recover from this terrible affair.”
“I completely understand,” Ashabee replied smoothly. “Please—whatever I can do to help, I am at your service.”
I had to admit, I was impressed. Ashabee had given the performance of a lifetime. His reactions and responses appeared so genuine. It might even have convinced me… although I still would’ve searched the place.
I held my breath, waiting to see if Nelee was that smart. “I appreciate that, sir. I have a second heloship waiting to carry us away, but may I have your permission to leave these wardens here, so that they can hand out food, water, and blankets? As well as give medical attention to those who need it?”
She was not just that smart. She was smarter. That was an amazing ploy, one that kept the Matrian bottom line while allowing her to work on her primary objective: locating the king. I saw Ashabee falter for a moment, surprise lighting up his features.
Then he smiled earnestly. “Of course,” he exclaimed. “I’m sure they would be most appreciative—we have food and water, of course, but it won’t last for long, I’m sure.”
“Well, it was very gracious of you to take them in,” Nelee said. “May I ask, how many refugees are there? Do you have specifics?”
“My valet Jefferies had the good mind to take down names, although to be honest, I have been dead asleep since our altercation.” He gave a self-depreciating laugh, which, surprisingly enough, caused Nelee to smile.
“Of course, I understand. We can speak with him to get the particulars.”
Ashabee nodded, and Nelee turned slightly, pressing a finger into her ear. “Bring the escort ship,” she ordered. Within moments, we could hear the sound of a second heloship’s engine drawing closer.
The Gender Game 4: The Gender War Page 20
