by T. C. Edge
Burns smacks his lips once again. His eyes search around the room and I step towards a side table and fetch him a glass of water. He gulps it down, bringing some colour back to his cheeks, and then begins.
“I was all set to follow the procedure I discussed with Lady Orlando,” he says. “I was, however, a little delayed, and the High Tower was on lockdown with the fighting. Naturally, a member of the Consortium leaving the building without authorisation is likely to raise eyebrows, especially during such a time. So, I made a decision to stay.”
My brows crawl down my face and my eyes pull together.
“You were going to stay? Even though you knew the building was going to blow?”
He nods.
“Yes. I understand that I was to play an important role in bringing the people together. But, my primary responsibility was to ensure Artemis and the rest were killed. So, I stayed…”
I’m amazed at the sacrifice he was willing to make. Even for a Savant, not fearing death, it’s quite the heroic act.
“So what happened?” asks Zander.
“Woolf. It was her who informed Cromwell what was going on,” I grumble.
Burns nods.
“Yes, it was. It was all a bit of a rush really. Some Stalkers came and took us away. There was no time to gather all of the members of the Consortium, so only half of us escaped. I was one of them. Yet, they didn’t really know of my duplicitousness until Agent Woolf once more played her part. She informed on the fate of the High Tower, and on my position as a spy all at once. I didn’t discover that until slightly later, but I heard she managed to escape the church using one of your men? I assumed that was how she got the information.”
The question is aimed at my brother. He turns to me.
“Brie was there,” he says. “Rafe, one of our hybrids, was exposed to Woolf’s tricks. She used him to kill some of our soldiers and got away.”
He draws in a lungful of air at the memory of Burton’s death, who suffered the ignominy of having to use his dying breath to utter the words Woolf put into his head.
I heard those words. I remember those words.
You have your spies…and so do we.
That’s what she’d made Burton say. And from there, she screwed up all of our plans again.
“Yes, that’s what I thought,” says Burns. “Such a shame.”
“I tried to get in touch with you,” I say, “after it all happened. I did it a couple of times. Just yesterday, in fact, I thought you said: don’t trust me. Do you remember that, Commander Burns?”
He seems to search his own memories, his eyes turning to a daydream and going slightly blank. Clearly, he’s having some trouble remembering things, given what he’s been through.
“I do…a little,” he says, rather dreamily. “I heard that Artemis wanted to arrange a meeting. I was afraid that I might be used as a pawn in his game, so wanted to sound a warning just in case. I still think you need to be careful. Anyone so willingly given back by Artemis Cromwell isn’t someone you can trust.”
Once again, his candour surprises me.
“Well, Commander Burns, that’s exactly why I’m here,” says Zander. “I’m just going to have a look around and see if I can find anything, any order that might have been placed in your mind. I should tell you that we have two guards placed outside the door. I hope you understand.”
Burns chuckles.
“I quite understand,” he says. “Do what you need to do, young man. Go right ahead.”
He opens up his blue eyes, nice and wide, and stares straight at my brother. Zander takes a breath and positions himself directly ahead of Burns, and I watch from the vantage of a spectator as the mental examination begins.
As I well know, time operates slightly differently when exploring someone’s mind. Zander will take his time in there, but out here it will last only minutes most likely. I watch for a couple of them, before drifting back towards my chair at the side of the room.
Several more minutes pass, during which we suffer a single interruption: the nurse comes in, but I quickly shoo her out. She seems to know what’s going on, so hurries away and says she’ll return later.
From there, a fresh silence imbues the room and I sit and watch the odd display play out to conclusion. I’ve grown accustomed to playing more of a hands-on roll in such situations, and doing so from Zander’s vantage to boot. Seeing it from an outsider's position is strangely jarring.
Before too long, my brother is withdrawing. I watch him closely for a reaction to what he saw or discovered in the depths of Commander Burns’ subconscious, and see little to suggest there’s anything to worry about.
His next words confirm it.
“All looks pretty clean,” he says. “I couldn’t find any traces of an order.”
Commander Burns’ eyes flutter, as though waking from a trance. He regains his faculties quicker than most, no surprise given his own powers.
“Well, that’s good to hear,” he says. “It’s quite possible we’re being overly paranoid. But, that said, I’d suggest keeping a guard on my door for the time being. And, any contact with Lady Orlando should be supervised, just in case.”
“You really think that’s necessary?” I question, stepping from my seat. “If Zander didn’t find anything, what’s there to worry about?”
“Probably nothing,” says Burns. “But remember that Romelia Woolf is a very gifted Mind-Manipulator, and if she indeed interfered with my mind or placed something deep, it might be hard to locate after a brief examination.” Seeing my concern, he adds: “I’m sure it’s fine, but right now it’s best I stay here under guard.”
“I agree entirely,” says Zander. “No point in taking risks, and we’re all well aware of what Woolf is capable of.”
The decision is taken. With little more to add, we conclude our time with Commander Burns and set about leaving him to get some further rest. As we step towards the door, he draws me back around, calling for a private word.
“I’ll be outside,” says Zander, who exits into the corridor outside to update the guards on their orders.
I step back towards Burns, who seems to have remembered something. With a tired grouping of movements, he gingerly reaches into a pocket in his grey jumpsuit, and draws out a pierce of white, folded card that immediately has an affect upon me.
“I picked this up off the floor of your cell in the High Tower,” he says. “When they discovered my deceit, I managed to keep it hidden for you. I hoped I’d get a chance to return it.”
My fingers shake as I’m handed the card and open it up. The faces of my parents now hold a new grief, a new meaning. For the first time, I look upon them knowing of my mother’s name, knowing for sure what their fate was.
My eyes grow wet. A thin voice escapes me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
A warm smile, natural and true, builds on Commander Burns’ otherwise weary face. His eyes change shape for a just a moment, his exhaustion fading.
“I can see how much it means to you,” he says. “It’s a thing that some Savants feel deep down, right at their core. None of us knew our parents. Most don’t care. Some do. I can relate, in part, to this longing you have, Brie. It has shaped you into this girl, this woman, who stands at the centre of this struggle. At least you can say that; that your parents’ death paved this path for you. That their ends helped determine a course that is leading you to do great things, as it has your brother. In the end, their sacrifice won’t be in vain. You will help see this nation restored, and your parents can have no greater legacy than that.”
I stay silent as he speaks and have no words when he stops. I merely look at him with soft, wet eyes, my fingers gripping the dulled edges of the card.
His voice once more stirs me from my stupor.
“Now go, Brie. I must rest. And you have work to do. Good luck.”
He doesn’t know of my orders to visit Rhoth with my brother beyond the city. We never told him about that. Yet, he knows tha
t I’m embroiled in this now beyond escape. That the coming hours and days will continue to stretch me, to demand my time and attention until all priorities have been met and there’s time for rest.
And that’s one thing I’m coming to realise – rest is a luxury now, and the time it eats up is at a premium. We do it to recharge and nothing more.
Too much demands our attention to overindulge in such things.
17
The evening passes quickly.
After updating Lady Orlando on our meeting with Burns, my brother and I split apart with the promise to meet the following morning at first light down in the atrium. He takes his leave, sweeping off with a fleetness of foot to suggest his work isn’t quite done for the day.
Mine is.
I choose not to engage with my friends that evening, despite having a bit of time to myself. I’m well aware that a visit to Compton’s Hall will bring a tirade of questioning along with it, and I don’t have the energy right now to deal with such things.
So, I retreat to the safety of my room instead, knowing that only Tess might come to join me. It appears she’s been given some access to the HQ, authorised to choose between staying in my room and sticking with the kids in Compton’s Hall not too far down the street.
I’m not surprised when the door knocks and she enters. She finds me sitting on my pallet, back against the wall, lost in thought as the events and discoveries of the day play out in my mind.
“I heard about the meeting,” she says, cruising in. She’s got that look in her eye that suggests she’s keen on mining for information. “It’s all true, right? There’s a ceasefire?”
I nod wearily and she moves in towards the desk, hopping onto the shiny metal surface and letting out a bottled up gush of air, as if she’s finally got full confirmation that she can relax.
“That’s great news,” she says. “So, the war’s over?”
“Not quite.”
Her face discards the frame of relaxation and works up one of worry.
“What does that mean?” she asks, eyes pinching.
“Just that…I wouldn’t get too comfortable,” I say, trying to remain as cryptic as possible. But, I’ve let too much out already. As my best friend, she’s quite adept as reading between the lines and picking up on any silent cues I give off.
She knows something’s up. Something very serious.
“So…what’s happening then?”
The earnestness of her face, suddenly flush with a childlike innocence, tries to draw the truth from me. In all honesty, I’ve grown fed up with having to lie to people I care about, but it’s a trend I’m forced to continue for now.
“Oh, just…I doubt this peace will last. I can’t really speak about it, Tess.”
“Right.”
“I want to, I do. But, I…can’t.”
“No, it’s fine, Brie. Probably best I don’t know anyway, right.” She offers an awkward laugh.
“Yeah, maybe. I’m, um, going back outside the city tomorrow. Maybe I’ll be able to tell you more after that…”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Going outside the city right now?” she cuts in.
“I’m not going far. Just to the church to speak with Rhoth. And, I’ll have Zander with me so I’m sure we’ll be fine. Oh, and I forgot to mention, Drum’s coming home.”
“What?! Drum’s coming here?!”
“Yup. Part of the bargain we struck with Cromwell. He was pretty much threatening us saying he had a load of Stalkers near the mines. He didn’t say it in so many words, but the suggestion was clear.”
“That he’d kill them all?”
I nod.
“So what happened?” continues Tess.
“Lady Orlando struck up a deal. Told Cromwell to order his Stalkers to escort our people back here.”
“So, sounds like he’s serious about settling things? If he’s willing to help bring our own people home?”
“Yeah, it’s kinda complicated. It’s all a give and take, really.”
“Right, but…didn’t you say the wilds are, like, really dangerous? Won’t some die coming home?”
I can’t deny the possibility of it all. My shrug probably seems a little callous. Really, it’s more a reflection of my weariness.
“I’d say they’ll be safe with a unit of Stalkers. Plus we’ve got some of our own soldiers there, like Pearson. He’s good.”
“OK. That’s good, though,” she smiles. “I can’t wait to see Drum again.”
“He’s changed a lot, Tess. He’s not as meek as he was.”
“Adapt to survive,” she says. “Everyone’s changing right now.”
She’s got that right.
We talk for a little while longer, my flapping tongue struggling to stop from revealing the secrets it holds. There’s one, though, that’s particularly liable to slip off and into the room. Right now, I could really do with another opinion on my family tree.
It’s odd, speaking about Cromwell in such a fashion now that I know just who he is to me. I have to remind myself sometimes that he is a blood relation, that he’s so closely linked to me. We have such a history, both secret and embedded in the past, and right out in the open for all to see, the entire city now well informed of my attempt to assassinate him.
I just feel as if our paths are converging, bit-by-bit. That above all the other directives and orders and requirements set upon each of us at times of war, there’s one primary function that I have to see through: his death.
As the evening rumbles along, Tess makes a remark that brings it home for me.
“You really hate him, don’t you?” she says.
“Who?”
“Cromwell. I can see it in your eyes every time you mention his name.”
I recoil a little and avert my gaze. I can be obvious with her, but can’t afford such a thing with my brother. He might just get suspicious and sneak into my thoughts.
“Er, of course I do,” I stutter. “Don’t you?!”
“Well, yeah. I hate the idea of it all. But it’s really personal with you, I can tell. I mean, it’s understandable, seeing as you’ve had a few, um, run-ins with the guy. But still, I’ve never seen you look so…scary. When you talk about him, you become that person no one wants to meet in a dark alley, you know. There’s this flame in your eyes that lights up really bright.”
“Hmmmm, very poetic, Tess. Yeah, I hate the guy. I hate him, and I hate Woolf. She’s like his sycophantic little sidekick with her white face and black eyes. I’d have happily killed them both today if given the chance.”
My words have Tess leaning back a little bit, shifting slightly down the desk away from me.
“And you say Drum’s changed,” she whispers quietly. “Aren’t you worried about…”
She stops short, bites her tongue, and shakes her head.
“About what?” I ask, rather fiercely.
She shrugs.
“Nothing.”
“No, come on Tess, what were you saying? Am I worried…what, that I’m becoming a killer?”
Her eyes return to mine. She nods slowly, her head a little low. She looks almost frightened. I don’t like it.
“I guess,” she says. “Just, the things I’ve heard you’ve done. The things I’ve seen…”
“Oh, you mean those Con-Cops in the southern quarter? Tess, they were killing people. What was I supposed to do?!”
“I know, I know. I get it, of course I do. I mean, you’re a soldier now, and this is war. But…you told me about those people in the old train station, where you found Brandon…and Nate. The Voiceless, right? You um…”
“I cut their throats,” I say blankly. “And I stabbed their leader right in the heart. And when I left, I let a bunch of men burn alive. They were paralysed, but they could feel it all. I let them get eaten by those flames, and I’d do it all again.”
I can feel the room darkening as I speak. I can feel a swell of anger beginning to build inside me. I can feel my breathing quicken, my
pulse rise, my eyes narrow and jaw clench.
Tess continues to slide away from me. I can see the mingled fear and concern in her eyes when they meet mine.
“If I can do all of that, I can happily kill Cromwell and Woolf,” I continue, filling the sudden silence with more words. “I’ve crossed a line, Tess. There’s no going back now.”
“But there is,” she whispers sheepishly. “You’re just one person. You don’t need to keep fighting.”
I laugh and shake my head. And through a huff of air I say: “Oh, Tess, how naïve you are.”
And when I look back at her, I see that she’s moving away, heading for the door.
She stops at the threshold and looks back at me.
“Brie, you try to sound like a killer, but it doesn’t work. It’s not you, not the real you. Just…think about what you’re saying. You should hear yourself…”
She shakes her head and fills the room with a final, drawn out breath. Then, turning away, she departs.
I’m left, stewing, my mind as dark as night.
And were it not for the supreme hate that now fills me, I’m sure the tears would come. But they don’t, burnt away by my wrath before that can gather and fall.
I sit, and stare at nothing for some time, mulling over my best friend’s words, over the change that’s happening in me, the darkness that fills me. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to change like this.
But, like everything else, I don’t know if I have a choice.
She can act all high and mighty all she likes. But she hasn’t seen what I’ve seen. She hasn’t done what I’ve done. She doesn’t know what it been like to be me over these last few months.
I never wanted this. It’s been thrust upon me, these powers, this past. I’ve been drawn into something against my will, and I’ve had to adapt to survive, just as she damn well said.
I can’t help what’s happening. I can’t help who I am.
And I can’t help what I’ve done.
It’s my burden to bear now. And in that I have no choice either.
18
