Missing Elements (The Lament Book 3)

by P. S. Power

  That had never been her life's goal, of course. It wasn't even a dream, because until that moment, the ink on the paper still damp, meaning it could be rubbed into illegibility on a whim, Pran had never thought anyone else would care enough to try.

  Better, right there, on the very top, was her name. Pran the victim. Pran the murderer. Pran the student. The Bard. The fool.

  The winner.

  Smiling, she realized that it was just the case. It might not be the next day, and a week or two later it probably wouldn't count for anything good, but in that moment, she was on the right side. A tear came to her eye, and looking around, she saw that she wasn't the only one. True, none of the Guardians did that, or the Judges, but all of the downloads did. Even Doctor Millis. Even the ones that had voted against it that day.

  It was Soros that walked over to her however, the middle aged man giving her a quick hug, even if they didn't have that kind of a relationship.

  "So, Bard Pran... Do you have those songs ready for me?"

  She laughed, since it was clear that he'd thought she'd forgotten about him. Tears moving down both of their faces, she waved to Bard Ben.

  "Can I borrow your guitar for a moment?" She really only had the one thing to sing, but it was good enough for a first showing, she thought.

  "Apprentice Roy; Hero of Hilden."

  He was in the room, but everyone, including the High Councilors, stopped what they were doing to listen about him bravely fighting through a blizzard to go and instruct the town in fighting diseases with cleanliness. The melody was simple, but driving, since the best songs were, and the words were catchy enough that most people didn't get that it was about not being a slob or fearing a good washing up, even as it hammered the idea home over and again.

  Roy blushed, and buried his head shyly, but by the end of it people clapped, and Mara walked over to pound the boy on the back several times.

  "That's even pretty close to what really happened. We should all be proud of our Apprentice Shipman here."

  There was an odd sense to it all, but Pran realized that she really was. Even leaving herself out of the song, it was a good one, and Doctor Soros waved Millis over, pointing at the guitar with an old finger.

  "What do you think, Mike?"

  There was silence for a moment, but then a large smile from her old friend.

  "I think... That this is a very good place to start on making a better world. A fine beginning."

  From behind the men Guardian Saran laughed.

  "Well, if that's the first thing you want to try, I think we can get behind it! Why, I'll even learn the words myself and sing it in the streets!"

  That was high humor it seemed, but Pran nodded. It was, after all, a very good place to start.

  Chapter fifteen

  The next days were exactly what Pran had figured they would be, with a few telling differences. For one thing, a major one in her own personal world, was that Bard Clarice wasn't removed from office. No one even suggested it, which was weird, since everyone knew that she was in a stolen body now. That of a girl who had run away from her mother as a teen and then come back to be her Apprentice. Which, of course, only worked if Bard Gina was a download, too.

  It was so obvious that she didn't even ask about it. The only question was if the women had been traded out at the same time or not. It was creepier, but she didn't think that was the case and that Bard Gina had put her real daughter inside the System, away from her, all those years ago.

  At least the girl, the real Clarice, had grown up knowing that she had a mother and was, if not loved, at least cared for.

  Maybe.

  The rest of the events were pretty much exactly what she thought they would be. Everyone went away, and no one bothered to keep her in the loop. Even The Lament itself had to get back to work, the wedding being over for Paul. Pran didn't let that bother her though. She was a Bard, not some kind of statesman, so while Clarice worked at doing things with the other members of the council and her own people, there were things for her to do, too.

  Pran had to fight for time to create anything. Her first project, the statue of Judge Brown, suddenly had real historical meaning, since he was the Judge that stood for those that wanted peace, and to help them all. That part was new, but an announcement had gone out, and people at least knew the story of the people from the System. The Treaty of The Lament, too. Even if it was hard for a lot of them to believe, yet.

  Most of the work she had to handle was the kind done in writing, on paper. Like the new Apprentice schedule. That every student leaving art school had their name move across Bard Clarice's desk was a bit of a shock, honestly. It had never really occurred to her that one person was responsible for placing each and every new Apprentice with a master.

  That normally worked pretty well, most likely, since there were recommendations that came along with each student package, including their school records, advisements from Bards that might have heard or seen the work that the student had done and in some cases samples. Those were mainly drawings and a few paintings, but also some written works.

  It was shocking to Pran that Clarice simply asked her to do it one day. Especially since there was only one file on the desk, which she pointed at, before moving to work on the other, more important, things that had come in. Or possibly not. Clarice normally did those herself, and had been, even if it meant staying late at the office each night. Making sure herself that the kids got placed with the best master for each of their skills and talents. Pran had seen the woman skip meals to work on it, even as she was trying to hold society together and calm the nerves of the High Council, some of whom were suddenly afraid that they'd made the wrong decision completely.

  Not with this file, however.

  On opening, Pran got the idea. It was for Ricard Trombly.

  His family had been responsible for having her kicked out of art school and dispossessed totally. All to give him a chance at being Bard Clarice's new Apprentice. It hadn't even been likely, they just wanted to thin the applicant field a bit. She'd been minutes away from having to whore herself for food because of them. She'd also ended up nearly dying, thanks to what they set in motion, several times.

  That... Wasn't actually Ricard's fault though, she didn't think. He was decently skilled, being a good solid player, and funny on stage, when he wanted to be. His dramatic work was a little weak, but that would probably improve with seasoning. That was, she knew, the real point of being an Apprentice. Having enough time to improve in a safe environment where someone else was responsible for what you did.

  Like what Bard Clarice was doing with her at that moment. Putting the future of a person that it seemed like Pran would be holding a grudge against in her hands, to see what she'd do to him. That could be almost anything really, she knew. From placing him with a poor and traveling master that could barely afford to feed himself, much less some kid he didn't want around, to doing the same with one of the top performers in the world.

  Neither of those really fit the boy, however. He was skilled enough, and could be good, if he got away from thinking that having powerful relatives meant his place in the world was assured. His real skill was in being funny, she thought. It was even in his file. The Headmaster of her old school suggested that he'd do well with someone of that sort, even.

  Tapping the recommendation she nodded.

  "I think that The Great Marin Lester would work well for him. Ricard is funny, but can play the straight man, too. I think they'd fit well together. His musical ability is good, but he'll never be much of a soloist. What he really needs is to be away from Compton. His family could ruin his chances of really making his own way, I think. You said that Marin is successful, didn't you? He can afford to have someone around and train him well enough?" She made it a real question, since she didn't know that man that well, having only spoken to him twice. He wore nice clothing, but it was also patched, to give him a motley appearance. He was always clean, however. Tidy too.

  Lo
oking up at her, Clarice smiled hugely.

  "That would be a very good fit, I think. I'd half thought you'd stick him on the western desert run, with Mobley. It's the worst position on the continent, in case you're wondering. Putting him with Marin Lester is actually... Responsible. Don't you want him punished?"

  Did she? That had never really been her plan, had it? Ricard was just some boy to her. His family had hurt her, a bit. They'd left her sad and alone, but she was always sad and alone. Or had been. Now she had friends. Clark and Mara, Doctor Millis, even Clarice and Kabrin, though the man did keep hinting that he'd like to spend the night with her. It was flattering, and only a little annoying. Still, when it came down to it, she knew that he'd stand by her. Why? Well, that one was harder to answer, but it seemed true, for now.

  She shook her head a bit and smiled.

  "Not really. He's not perfect, but I don't think he would have set his people on me, if they'd asked him about it first. That reminds me, I still owe the school a statue of Michael Morse. I should get Doctor Millis to come in and sit for it. He looks more distinguished now, don't you think?"

  It was a sudden change, but Pran was going to need another large project soon. She was almost ready to cast the bronze for her Judge Brown work, the mold being made and sitting in the other room. Clarice had signed off on the metal for it and it was being paid for, making it a real work, that would give her some actual coin. Enough for a new coat, even.

  For the last few days it had gotten so cold that she'd had to borrow a blanket from Clarice's and walked to work wrapped up in it, like a cloak. If she'd been an Apprentice in truth, then the High Bard would have paid for things like that if she needed them, but she wasn't. That meant making do, until she had a chance to get things going. It wouldn't take too long, she didn't think. In the spring Pran would have the funds from the shipments she'd arranged, for instance. There had been more of that too, in the last days, since winter had set in early in most places.

  The funny thing there was that Clarice had assured her, many times, that it was closer to normal than not. The early winter was just how the world would be, from then on.

  Pran looked at the large window to the left, and sighed. It was snowing. The white flakes were big and wet looking too, which meant they were going to stick to the ground outside. That wasn't too bad, really, but being cold was better than cold and wet. There would be about three more hours of daylight however.

  Given that she knew where The Great Bard Marin Lester was staying, she figured that she should go and try to sell him on the idea of taking Ricard on.

  When she mentioned it to Clarice the woman nodded, thoughtfully.

  "Agreed. Normally we just send a letter, but a Bard of his stature should be courted a little bit. He'll treat the boy better if he knows that the recommendation is a personal one from you, too. Not that he'd abuse him otherwise, but it won't harm anything either. Hearing that he's a personal friend of yours, being given a top assignment like this will please him to no end. Even if he is successful enough that he shouldn't need his ego stroked that much. Bards... Well, you know how it is."

  She went back to work, her made up face rosy at the cheeks. The woman was older, but not ancient yet. Her face had lines, but a lot of them showed that she spent a good bit of her time smiling. In many ways, the woman, from the past or not, had been as kind to her as anyone else ever had.

  Her, Clark, Mara and Clair. That was, as much as she really had anyone, her family, wasn't it? Oh, not really. Pran knew better than to count on anyone in the world when things really came down to it, but it was about all she'd ever had that way. Friends that considered her to be that in return.

  On that warm set of feelings, Pran got up and recovered her blanket. Using that made her seem poor, but for the time being, she simply was. If anyone thought less of her for it... Well, they would, wouldn't they? Worse, it was still true. That wouldn't last forever, she didn't think, but for the time being, she was just an impoverished young Bard. So, fitting the tradition, if nothing else.

  There was no sense in hiding what she was doing, so she pulled the old and well worn grey thing over her shoulders and tied it in place with a bit of rope that she'd found in the workroom. It would hold it closed well enough, in case of wind. The little sap was in the back of her trousers, under the rope, but she hardly noticed it anymore. Carrying it daily had just become her habit after all. The new pressure reminded her that it was there, but she didn't bother moving things around. It was just different, not painful.

  Bard Clarice might still have her job, but Tims was gone from his, and had been for weeks. Why that was, she didn't know personally. Then, as the second in command of a military service, he might just have better things to do than run people meals and messages. Like stop the Firmament forces. That part was going well, it seemed. Some of them resisted, but most had simply been taken in, for reprocessing. That meant the people who the bodies belonged to would get them back, unless they wanted to stay in the System. Some of them had left loved ones behind however, and would want to see them again.

  Robest was still on the first floor, and when she looked in the chubby boy looked up guiltily from a plate that was filled with cookies. Seasonal ones that held nuts and fruit. In a few days everyone would close the offices down and head out for whatever their family traditions required of them over the holidays. For a month. They hadn't gotten that off from the art school, but most people in the city would be shutting down for the whole time. Not everyone, since the plan only worked thanks to about twenty percent of the people staying at work the whole time. They'd take off the month after that, though.

  High Councilors and their staff got it off, and that meant floor boys and the cooks did too.

  Even Pran did, which was leaving her at a loss as to how to keep herself occupied. This was what she was thinking as she walked out onto the gray stone of the street. The snow was, as she'd suspected, starting to cling to everything, but it had just started, which was changing the color of the normally brown stone. The ground was damp, but not too slippery, yet.

  Having been around for a while now, Pran had picked up a few shortcuts, and moved between two buildings that were set close together, her eyes peeled, looking for attackers. Not everyone loved her, but she was pretty safe for the time being. She simply looked too poor to have many coins, which was true. She also didn't look girlish enough for most people to try and grab for sexual purposes, yet. That kind of thing was rare anyway. Nearly unheard of in the capital, since the Guardians and Judges would be all over anyone trying something like that. If you wanted that kind of thing it was easier just to save up a few coins and hire it done for you anyway. Prostitution was legal everywhere, but most small places didn't have anyone like that. Lincoln was huge though, and had a good twenty women that did that sort of work.

  For a while though no one would be confusing her for one of them, she didn't think.

  It meant she felt a bit of a shock when she saw an attack taking place after coming out from between the stone buildings. At first she could hardly credit it, since the small, thin, rather aged man that was being set upon was Donal. The dung cart man. He was dressed warmly, but even though there were six people going after him, their faces all covered with rags, he put up a better fight than she would have. Much better, in fact. Two of the larger forms went down, before a third managed to get behind him and use a choke hold. The man didn't go out easily, hammering elbows into his assailant's middle over and again, but as she ran toward the collection of people, Pran saw him slow down in his movements a lot.

  "Get him in the cart! Before anyone-" The man looked up at her, his eyes familiar to her, but not instantly recognizable.

  "Let him go!" Pran tried to move atypically then, without pattern or rhythm. She nailed it totally, of course, since the moment she tried to step left suddenly, then twist and roll toward the collection of bodies, she fell flat on her face. Hard.

  It was enough that her nose bled freely, even as sh
e got to her feet, feeling stupid. No one cared if you were bleeding in a fight though. That meant you had to ignore the pain and just press on, no matter what. It didn't really work for her very well, given that one of the smaller people simply pulled out a weapon and shot her with it. Pran recognized the feeling as she went out, her mind suddenly going numb.

  A sonic.

  The first thing she realized, was that even though it was dark, she wasn't in a regular cart. No, she was riding along the bumpy road too fast for that. There was no horse that could have pulled it along at that rate and survive it. The seat she was lying on was padded, but there was no light that she could notice. The world roared however, meaning that this was probably one of those tech machines. Her hands had been tied, and well, if the lack of movement she was showing counted for anything. The rope was rough, so made of hemp, or some other plant fiber. That meant she could cut it, or even break the threads with a sharp nail or small knife, if things were set up correctly.

  They weren't however. Not if the goal was for her to get her hands free and escape.

  No one was around her, but she could hear people to her right, on the other side of the wall, talking softly. It was too loud to really make out what they were saying clearly, but she could tell there were three of them, and they seemed pleased with themselves. That, or the two men and one woman were insanely practicing a comedy routine. There was a whole lot of chuckling, either way.

  The real seeming kind.

  When the vehicle stopped, Pran got ready to fight, but didn't get much of a chance, since the wall behind her turned out to be a door, and when it opened half of what had been supporting her was gone suddenly. With a helping hand from one of the large men, she was tugged into a bit of snow, on the muddy ground.

  "Get her on her knees." The voice was rough, but again, familiar. The two other people helped her up, not bothering to hit her or anything fancy like that. It was probably a mistake, if they were planning on doing anything that needed her to kneel.