by Andy Havens
Shirley smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “It’s what I do. Bring a touch of the human to all the red tape. The doctors and administration have their big book of rules, but people need the human touch, too.”
“I completely agree.”
“Anyway… it’s such a nice day and all our conference rooms are full, so Mr. Lynne suggested y’all chat in the gazebo by the pond. It gets a lovely breeze and I can have Donnie bring out a cart with drinks and snacks. How would that be?”
“Delightful. Thank you so much, Shirley.”
She led them around the side of the building and got them pointed down the path toward the gazebo and then waved them away, promising that someone would be out soon.
They walked the fifty yards or so to the gazebo—a large one with several round, wooden picnic tables and benches underneath—and took a seat facing the pond.
“It is a lovely view,” said Kendra, leaning back on the table behind her.
“It is. And I’m not surprised he didn’t want to talk inside.”
“Yeah. Makes sense. Keep the House and Mundane sides separate.”
They only had to wait a few minutes before a young man in a crisp, white orderly’s uniform trundled a coffee service down the path. It made a pleasant, jingling racket on the stones and Wallace stood to help him tug it over the concrete lip of the gazebo.
“Thanks,” said (presumably) Donnie. “It’s not heavy, but it doesn’t tip real easy.”
“No problem.”
Donnie took black, cloth napkins off some buckets of ice with sodas nestled inside and pulled the top off a serving tray with a variety of pre-wrapped snacks. With a friendly wave, he jogged back down the path to the main building.
Kendra popped open a Coke and drank half of it at once, enjoying the burn and the bubbles. Wallace took a generic, store-brand orange soda and sat with it unopened.
He’d begun to pick through the snack choices when they heard a voice behind them on the path.
“Mr. Bradstreet. How good to see you again.”
Wow, thought Kendra. That is a quiet guy. I didn’t hear him even a little.
As Kendra turned to greet him she thought, he is the most non-descript person I’ve ever seen. If you wanted a picture of “generic man” for a model, he’d be it.
Medium height. Light brown or dark blonde hair, but with that bit of white or gray that touches most men in middle age. Light skin that wasn’t exactly pale. Eyes that could have been green or hazel or brown depending on the light.
Just a regular guy, she thought, extending her hand to shake his after Wallace had done so.
“And you are?” he asked, and she realized that, no, they hadn’t ever introduced her by name.
As they shook hands, she felt that odd, twisting feeling again. Something about grass. The smell of the grass?
“I’m Kendra White.”
“Oh! So you found her, Mr. Bradstreet! I’m so glad.”
“Call me Wallace, please.”
“Found me?”
“Yes. Wallace here came to visit me at my office. He and his greenman friend, whose name escapes me, were looking for you and thought I might help.”
Fayton moved past them into the gazebo and plucked a bottled water from the bucket, opened it and took a swig. He sat on the nearest picnic bench and gestured for them to join him.
They sat and Kendra asked, “Why did they think you might know where to find me?”
“I think it fell under the ‘no stone unturned’ principle, actually,” Fayton answered. He was dressed in khaki slacks, a light blue button down shirt and a dark gray sports coat.
The uniform of the modern middle manager, Kendra thought.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, it seemed to me at the time that they’d exhausted their reasonable means of finding you. So they did a little digging and found out that I was the one who’d recommended Dr. Sasha Lyonne to your mother back when the idea of you seeing a therapist was first proposed.”
“You know Dr. Lyonne?”
“Oh, no. She was involved peripherally in some of my ventures. She was, primarily, an associate of Earth. But when your mother expressed an interest in getting you a counsellor, I thought she’d be a good fit. She knows enough of the Ways that she could sympathize with your situation while still providing a solid set of Mundane treatments.”
“Like the heavy-duty anti-psychotics she had me on.”
Fayton looked pained. “We know almost nothing about crossover illnesses between Mundanes and Reckoners, Kendra. We were operating under the assumption that your exposure to your mother’s loss had robbed you entirely of the Ways, but left you with some severe psychological trauma nonetheless.”
Kendra nodded. “You did know my mother, though. Right?”
“Oh, yes. She worked for me for quite some time. A remarkable woman and highly skilled Breaker. In time, I believe she would have graduated to the Second Circle.”
Kendra nodded. She’d heard most of these details. But it was odd to meet someone who had known and worked with her mom before she’d become a Mundane.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Fayton. And thanks for the kind words about mom. I understand that she wouldn’t recognize you at all, but if you ever want to come for a visit, you’re more than welcome. I could introduce you as a… guidance counselor or something.”
“Please, call me Niles,” Fayton said, nodding and patting Kendra on the knee. “And that might be nice someday. But I don’t think you tracked me all the way here to talk about the past. However you did locate me doesn’t matter. But using the Librarian’s actual name to conjure me out of an important set of meetings where I’m in the Seeming of Carl Lynne? I assume it’s important.”
“It is,” answered Wallace.
Fayton waited patiently, sipping on his water, so Wallace continued.
“Mr. Monday and Warden Ezer believe that there may be a possible breach of the Law in progress. Or, if not currently happening, soon to happen.”
Fayton sat back in surprise. “That’s. Well. Really?”
“Yes. It’s not something we can discuss here. But he is trying to gather representatives from as many Houses as possible at the Sanctuary Cathedral.”
“The Cathedral? In Persia?”
It’s been called Iraq for a while now, thought Kendra, but she nodded along with Wallace.
“And you’re asking me to represent Release?” he seemed genuinely surprised.
“Yes, well,” Wallace stuttered a bit, “I don’t see that we’d be able to find Lady Percy in time and I don’t think that she and the Warden would, uh…”
“Quite,” agreed Fayton. “They would not.”
“But,” he continued, “that doesn’t explain why you asked me.”
Wallace shrugged. “No offense, but we’re trying to do this pretty quickly. That’s pretty much it. You already know more about Kendra’s story than most. And you seemed like a reasonable and helpful person when Kaolyn and I came to see you.”
Fayton tipped his head in thanks.
“When are you holding this gathering?” he asked.
“As soon as possible. I believe Ezer will be going there later today. Not sure about the others.”
“Really. That’s not a lot of warning, is it?”
“I know it’s a pain,” Kendra said, “But it seems like a good idea to at least have someone from each House while we’re discussing this, uh… issue. That way if there’s any talk about, I don’t know, unfairness or something… “
Fayton nodded. “I understand. This might just be the first meeting. More of a ‘fact finding’ commission, and then, if the situation warrants, we could make it more official.”
“That’s exactly right,” agreed Wallace.
Fayton looked around the gazebo for a moment or two, clearly processing. He didn’t look pleased or displeased, excited or troubled by the prospect. Just thinking.
He is a very bland dude, Kendra thought
for about the tenth time in as many minutes.
Finally, he turned back to them and said, “I see no reason not to attend. I can’t promise anything other than to listen and speak my mind. I’m in no way authorized to make any promises on behalf of Release, but I can carry any questions or suggestions back to my House.”
“That’s all we ask,” said Wallace, pleased that it had gone so easily.
“And you have representatives of all the other Houses?”
“All those not involved in the, uh… possible… breach,” answered Wallace.
“Of course. One caveat, though. There’s no way I can be there immediately. I am in the midst of some very important meetings here today and tomorrow. Then I have some urgent business to wrap up back at the House. But I could certainly be there two days from now. By sunset, local.”
Wallace seems a bit peeved that the man didn’t just hop in our car right away, Kendra thought. Out loud she said, “That should be fine. I don’t think there’s any real urgency to the meeting. It’s based on years of observation on the Warden’s part. So two days shouldn’t matter.”
“It’s really the best I can do. If you can find someone from Release who can make it sooner, please feel free. I’m interested. Fascinated, frankly. But I’d understand.”
Wallace seemed to come around. “No, that’s fine. We appreciate that it’s a strange and untimely request. And we don’t know how long the meeting will take. So you may be away for at least a couple days.”
Fayton nodded. “I surmised as much. Which is why I need this time.
“But after that,” and here he grinned in an uncharacteristic and almost charming way, “I’ll see you in the Cathedral. Where, I hear, they have some of the best coffee in the world.”
“Coffee?” Kendra asked. “I like good coffee.”
“Then you are in for a treat, I would say. The monks craft what I’ve heard is the finest roast in history. Though they will not export it. To sample the stuff you need to visit their Sanctuary. I haven’t ever had the chance to do so.”
Kendra recalled that BD had ales on tap that he wouldn’t let people take out of Bardonne’s. Must be a similar marketing strategy, she thought.
“I am looking forward to that, Niles,” she said, holding out her hand for him to shake again.
They shook hands all around and as they touched, Kendra realized what she’d been feeling since they passed through the gate.
It’s like when I was in the Librarian’s test! she recalled with an involuntary shiver. Wandering around in that field with Uncle Bran, trying to find a way “out” before dawn. Everything seemed normal, but it was some kind of façade.
Releasing her hand, Fayton gave him a card with his private, Reckoner mobile number in case plans changed.
“Thank you for thinking of me,” he said as he escorted them back to their car.
“Thank you for joining us,” said Wallace.
“Yeah. Thanks,” added Kendra.
They left him standing there, waving pleasantly as they pulled out.
While they were driving back toward the security gate, Kendra told Wallace about what she’d been feeling and how it seemed similar to her time in Monday’s Way of testing.
“Hmmm,” mused Wallace as the guard opened the gate and waved them through. “You know what it might be?”
“What?”
“Both your Uncle Bran and Fayton are from Release. They’d both have Ways around them that could feel similar. I’ve noted a kind of… fingerprint or smell or commonality between Ways from a particular Domain sometimes, myself. It’s like being able to tell wines from a region or something.”
“Maybe,” replied Kendra. Is that it? I mean, I’ve never met any other Reckoners of Release.
“Anyway,” Wallace concluded, “We got what we came here for, so now we can go on to the Cathedral. I just got a message from Monday that said he and McKey are heads-down in research, but that Ezer, Vannia and some new person from Flux will be converging on the Sanctuary later today.”
“OK,” said Kendra. She still wasn’t sure about why she was along for this. For a moment, she seriously considered asking Wallace to just drop her back at home.
Now that Ezer isn’t hunting me, I’d be safe there, she thought. Unless Rain had friends or something and they’re after me. Or those Blood guys. Well, crap…
As they drove back onto the Narrows, she consoled herself with the hope of legendary coffee.
* * * * *
In any library—Mundane or Reckoner—worth its salt, there is a room that connects to The Library via a Way of Sight. For Mundanes of a certain stripe, that connection can be palpable. It’s usually not in a well-trafficked area or main room. It’s often a place that is hard to find or requires cutting behind some interestingly positioned furniture. Or it’s at the end of a barely visible hallway behind some shelves.
Most Mundanes pass these places by. They are looking for a specific item or have a single section that interests them. They are in a hurry. They have children waiting for them after story time. They are students looking for their favorite quiet nook. They are weary professors getting away from office hours. They are looking for a desk with an outlet and a good Wi-Fi connection.
But others can feel the space calling to them. They sense the draw of curiosity and imagination, the subtle power of open inquiry. The place where ideas find you, if you are quiet and listen. The place where you might meet the person who has the answer to a question you haven’t asked yet. Or maybe the person who will ask you a question you didn’t know you had the answer to.
Most people will see this place as just two chairs tucked into a corner under a mediocre landscape painted by a generous alumni. But to those sensitive to the Ways of Sight… it’s a crossroads of the improbable.
In one university library there’s a short hallway with two bathrooms on either side and a non-descript, unmarked door at the end that most people assume is a storage closet. It is not. If you go through, you’ll find it actually leads to a small reading lounge with four comfortable chairs, a low table that is clearly meant for you to put your feet on and a bust of Torquato Tasso, the 16th century Italian poet. There’s one tall window that lets in light from the north and a set of shelves on the wall with an odd assortment of seemingly unrelated books that were donated by Someone Important.
It is an odd room. Rarely frequented by any but those who feel the passage of Sight.
Solomon Monday sat in one of the comfortable chairs with his feet up on the low table reading one of the odd books: an analysis of folktales about ghosts that haunt farms.
Helen McKey entered the room and sat in the chair opposite his and put her feet up.
“Agricultural specters?” she asked, noting the title of the book.
Monday put it down on the table and stretched his arms above his head.
He looks tired, she thought. He needs to sleep again soon, I think.
“Ghost stories, per se, became more popular during the time after the migration of people to cities,” he said. “That’s why we have so many horror tales about hotels and asylums and circuses and train stations and such. But there’s a rich history of rural horror. It’s just, for most of today’s readers, the outdoors itself is scary enough.”
And by “today’s readers,” she thought, he means everyone born after Aldus Manutius.
“What about the ‘scary cabin’ stories? Those are rural.”
“Yes, but they appeal only because the campers are from the city or suburbs. The location itself is part of the horror. For someone who grew up on a farm or in the woods? The locale is a comfort not a terror. But move that person to a city? Even after a generation or two, the tunnels of the subway and the basements of the tenement seem like terrifying holes in the great subconscious of the city’s hordes.”
McKey nodded. “What about graveyards?”
She was teasing him and he knew it. And she knew it. But he played along.
“Graveyards are on
ly scary to idiots and children,” he replied, as she knew he would.
He’s a horror snob, she thought with an inner smile.
To Monday, all her Seemings were visible at once, of course. He didn’t need to know (nor did he care) how she appeared to other Reckoners or Mundanes. To any students or staff who came through the door, she’d look like something between Mrs. McKey and Hieretha Mac Aodha. Perhaps a visiting professor of linguistics or psychology. A mild yet somewhat fey woman in her mid-forties with a couple odd tattoos showing at wrist and ankle. Someone interesting but not out-of-place on a large, urban campus.
Someone whose light blazer concealed a surprising number of weapons, both obvious and arcane.
Monday looked like whatever he wanted or needed any individual person to see at any given moment. He hadn’t given a conscious thought to his Seeming in more than two thousand years. It was as automatic as a smile or frown.
McKey would watch him, though, through the eyes of others. It was fascinating and educational. She’d learned a lot about how to make and maintain her own appearance based on his nearly automatic Ways.
He is entirely himself, she thought for the thousandth time.
Putting the book on the table beside their feet, Monday leaned back and asked, “So… give me your summary.”
The others had all left for the Cathedral. They’d meet there, along with the new woman, Annie, from Flux and Niles Fayton of Release. But Monday had asked her to gather all her intel and present him with a short synopsis.
“A lot of evidence supports what the Warden is saying,” she began. “There have been a number of odd murders among the Houses that all fell within the rules of kanli, but upon closer inspection had ties back to Blood or Earth. That is, the beef itself might have been other Houses, but there were connections.”
“Understood. Continue.”
“We were aware, at the time, of some of the rumors about Kendra’s mother. The idea that somehow her ‘accident’ wasn’t an accident and that, somehow, either Release or Increase had caused it in order to gain leverage over the other or Flux.”
“But we’d put that to bed if I recall.”
