by wildbow
I thought of Lacey.
Jamie was shaking his head.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Jamie said. “If I try to argue, you’ll win. You’ll say something about the poisoner being a woman after all, and you’re faster on the draw than I am, so okay. I forfeit the argument. You’re right.”
Gordon frowned, clearly annoyed.
“Either way, I’m thinking we don’t want to scare him. Or her,” I said, adding that last bit for Jamie’s benefit. I saw a slight smile on Jamie’s face at that, and a slight deepening of Gordon’s frown of annoyance, which was even better. “If we assume our puppeteer is operating under fear right now, tying everything up and attempting to remove us before we can uncover him, or packing up and running, then we don’t want to push him too far.”
Gordon nodded.
“How do we seize the initiative if you’re worried—” Jamie started.
I reached up, shushing him.
We’d approached a corner, and the man in the red jacket was further down the hallway. He wasn’t moving, slumped against the wall.
“You think you need me?” Gordon asked.
As if in response, the man in the red jacket passed gas. It was a long, high pitched sound.
He sighed in audible relief, patted his rear end with his hand, checking, then pulled himself away from the wall.
I took a second to admire the man’s courage before saying, “I don’t think so.”
Gordon nodded, but he didn’t move from the base of the stairwell while Jamie and I headed toward our room.
“Hello, Mr. McCairn,” Jamie greeted the man.
“Jamie. And… I don’t recognize this one.”
“Sylvester,” I said.
“To your rooms, stat. I’m doing a headcount as we speak.”
You’re standing there suffering, or you’re acting, but you’re most definitely not in the midst of doing anything else, I thought.
Still, I obeyed.
I closed the door, then immediately began studying our surroundings. Jamie sat on his bed.
“You were saying?” he asked.
“We head back to our room, and you tell me about the faculty.”
Jamie nodded. “Where do I start?”
“Headmistress.”
“Not a lot to say. She was a teacher for five years before her superior came down with a pregnancy, she took over, and she did a good enough job that she kept the job while moving from place to place. When Mothmont sprung up, they went looking for someone with a squeaky reputation and clean face to watch over it all.”
Squeaky reputation. That didn’t mean it was a clean reputation, but it changed the tone of things. Was it ambition at the heart of it?
I nodded. I searched the room, looking over the desk, opening the drawers.
Nothing of particular interest. Ink bottles, pens, a kit for sewing, in case we needed to mend our uniforms…
I removed the contents of the drawers, setting the items on top of the desk. I considered them.
“McCairn?” I asked Jamie, when I was done considering.
“Ex-military. Does drills with the boys, looks over the boy’s dorm.”
“Physical education?”
Jamie nodded.
“It’s all an act,” I said.
“Is it?”
“Yes. Dressing up, playing up the accent. They picked him because he was local, not because he was upper crust.”
“Do you think he’s a consideration? If he’s picking off the powerful, maybe he doesn’t like being the low man on the totem pole?”
“I’m more likely to think he’s beholden to this place than an outright enemy. Besides, how does he control the children? Who else? Second person at the table, between McCairn and the headmistress. Academy-trained?”
I turned my attention to the chests at the foot of our beds. I opened the lid, and then tested the weight of the lid itself.
Solid wood, three feet by two feet, give or take.
“Not Academy trained, no.”
Returning to the desk, I claimed a pen, then set to unscrewing the hinges from the bottom portion of the chest. “Who is he?”
“Mr. Percy. He teaches the younger years. Fundamentals of Academy science.”
“But he’s not Academy trained?”
“Teaches it from the books.”
I pulled the lid free of the chest itself, hinges dangling. I set it aside. “Help.”
Jamie was on his feet. Not a question as to why. He just obeyed.
Together, we moved the chest to the base of the door. The entire thing must have weighed six or so stone. A piece of furniture unto itself.
I upended the chest, so the side was facing up, and then dragged the lid over. I climbed up onto the chest so my eyes were level with the top of the door, and the two of us managed to raise the chest’s lid up to the same level, resting the end of the lid near where my toes were.
“Get the chair?” I asked. “And a book or something.”
He did. Standing on the chair, he had a little less height than I did, but he was able to help me, lifting the lid higher. When it got too high for Jamie to really help, he used the book for extra leverage, while I used my other hand to steady it.
In the process, we managed to get the entire thing up so it rested on the top of the doorframe, flush against the wall.
With one hand up to keep it from falling down on top of us, I took the book from Jamie and adjusted the bend of the hinge, until it bent at a right angle.
I opened the door a crack, peered through to make sure the hallway was empty, then gave the hinge a solid whack with the book.
The hinge punched into the wall.
Tentatively, I let go.
“You have the oddest sense for decorations,” Jamie said.
“I left the screws on the corner of the bed.”
“Ah, sure.” Jamie went to fetch the screws.
“If he’s had access to the books, he could know something. Percy.”
“He could,” Jamie agreed. “But if he was this good, why wouldn’t he be employed by the Academy already? He’d rather be headmaster? It’s weak.”
I nodded. Taking the first screw from Jamie, I used the pen to set it in place, just enough to be firmly in the wood, still sticking out.
“Strangest sense for decoration,” Jamie observed.
“Shut up, and give me a screw,” I said.
Jamie obliged.
It took only a minute to get the screws into place. Set randomly, as my reach allowed.
“Sewing kit?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “And while I work with that, unlace your shoes.”
“You’re aware this is going to make a racket when it comes down?” Jamie asked.
“I’m aware,” I said. “But Gordon was right. It makes sense for me to be out and about… except I don’t like leaving you defenseless.”
“I’m better in a brawl than you are.”
I frowned. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“It’s depressing, because you still suck at it,” I said. “My worry is that they won’t give you a chance to scrap with them. If the situation calls for it, this will at least give them pause.”
I put the first pin’s point against the wood, then pressed the cover of the book against it until it stuck out. I started with the second pin.
“Laces done.”
“Both shoes?”
“Yeah,” he said. He handed them to me.
“Lie down, get a wink or two,” I said. “I’ll wait around until they’re done the headcount, then I’ll disappear. You leave me a signal if it’s unsafe for me to return?”
Jamie nodded.
☙
No plan went a hundred percent smoothly.
Sitting in the dark of the room, I could feel the lingering headache from my appointment. The lights were off, the building was almost silent, but for the sounds of people continuing to be ill. There was nothing t
o distract me from my own pain.
The shoelaces hung limp in my hand. With my own shoelaces attached, they strung up to the board I’d fixed above the wall. It bristled with collected screws, needles, broken pen tips, and a few choice pieces of glass.
The limited length of the shoelaces had meant I’d had to sit on the corner of Jamie’s bed or the chair, and even though sitting on the bed meant getting periodically kicked as Jamie tossed and turned under his covers, it was far more comfortable than the hard wooden chair.
I didn’t mind the company, even if the company was asleep.
My trap here wouldn’t kill, but killing wasn’t the aim.
Couldn’t interrogate the dead.
Every few minutes, I’d hear someone being sick or crying out, the rustle of running footsteps, or smell rank aromas from nearby rooms.
The trick was to connect the sounds. I drew a mental picture, tying it all together, sequences of events.
It was when I heard a murmured conversation and the rustle of footsteps without any sound of distress to precede it that I tensed.
Young voices.
Moving the shoelaces to one hand, I slid back reaching as far as I could, and put my fingers over Jamie’s mouth.
He was awake in an instant. I felt his hot breath between my fingers.
He nodded.
Floorboards creaked. The doorknob rattled.
The light from the corridor outside was blinding as the door yawned open.
“Hey,” Ed said. I could only barely make out his smile. “You’re up.”
My eyes widened.
Three people. Ed and his buds. Boys who hadn’t sat at the table with me, Gordon, and the rest of us.
They’d collected their food around the same time Gordon had, as part of Gordon’s pack, even if they weren’t feeling too kindly toward my orphan brother.
I considered all the options, then sighed.
“Ed,” I said. “You don’t know the sort of mess you’re getting yourself stuck into.”
He approached me, and I felt a kind of resignation as I let the shoelace slip from my slack fingers.
“Sy,” Jamie said.
“Shut it,” Ed said. “Stay put, don’t make a fuss. Our business is with Sy.”
“Right,” Jamie said. “Yeah.”
“What’s Gordon going to think?” I asked. But it wasn’t really an ask. More a statement, to Jamie.
“Gordon’s got his head up his ass,” Ed said. “Now keep your voice down. Don’t bother calling for help. We’ve got someone keeping McCairn busy upstairs.”
I bet, I thought.
He grabbed me, and he hauled me up. I didn’t try putting up a fight. It would have been useless, and I hoped they’d get sloppy and give me a chance to surprise them.
With his buddies, he marched me forward, glancing this way, then that, before forcing me over toward the stairs.
We were half a flight down before I heard Jamie’s running footsteps above, going up to talk to Gordon.
I hoped to hell they’d be able to find me in time.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” I said.
“I know well enough. You’re an ass, Sylvester, and you made enemies. Now it’s catching up with you.”
I decided to keep my mouth shut.
The descent continued until we reached the first floor, then continued down another flight.
Once we were at the bottom, I could feel the heat in the air. The area was barely lit, the lighting buzzing audibly, flickering now and again, threatening to plunge us into darkness.
The boys opened a door.
There were no lightbulbs, but a very large furnace blazed, casting irregular orange flames throughout the room, while leaving much of the rest in darkness.
“Mary,” I guessed.
“Got it in one,” she said, from the gloom.
I nodded slowly. “You’ve been paying a lot of attention to me.”
“I’ve been paying enough,” she said.
She leaned forward. The light from the fire flickered over her face.
“What’d you tell them?” I asked. I jerked my head to one side.
“The truth. That you insulted me. A bigger boy beating you up, you can use that. Get pity from girls, from my friends. But if a girl beat you up? You’d never live it down.”
“The truth, huh?” I asked.
“Do you disagree with my version of events?”
I considered.
I sighed. “No, I suppose not.”
Not if it meant that she’d clean up Ed and his cronies while dealing with me.
“Because I really wondered if you were that type of person. If you were that much of a scoundrel.”
I shrugged. “I’m not denying that I’m a scoundrel. I do have to wonder what you are.”
“That, Sylvester, would be telling,” Mary said.
“Are you going to start fighting yet?” Ed asked. “The little ass gets a whupping from me, and goes straight back to cozying up to your friends, disrespecting them, disrespecting you. I want to hear a proper apology from his lips.”
“I’m not really the apology type,” I said.
“That!” Ed said, “Right there. I want you to make it so I never have to hear him say anything like that ever again.”
“Not until you’re gone,” Mary said.
“Huh? I want to see.”
“A girl has her modesty,” Mary said.
“That’s bull,” Ed said. “We went out after curfew and brought him here.”
“I’ll make you a bet,” Mary said. “If he turns up at school tomorrow, I’ll give you my company for an entire day. We can go out on the town over the weekend.”
“She’s leaving school tomorrow,” I said.
“The trouble with being a little grease-stain, Sylvester, is that your words lose their power. Anything you say comes out sounding like a lie.”
“You really have been paying attention,” I said.
“One day for each of us,” Ed said.
“One day for each of you, or he’s so embarrassed he never turns up again,” Mary said, her voice soft. “Win-win.”
“Sure,” Ed said.
“Do me a favor, though?”
“Hm?”
“His friends are probably hunting for him. There’s a stash of cards and dirty books in the kitchen, behind the shelves by the stove. Duck over there, hang out for a while before going back to your room.”
“For real?” Ed asked.
“For real. I’ve seen the cook boys goggling over it.”
I hung my head.
Ed’s group wasted no time. I could hear the door shut behind me.
“You’re good,” I said.
I heard a click.
I recognized it as the sound of a gun lever.
“You’re very good,” I said, raising my arms.
“I saw your showing against Ed. There’s no way you’re that bad in a scrap. It’s a show.”
“It really isn’t,” I said.
“I’m going to assume you’re lying and stay comfortably at a safe distance,” she said. “You’re going to tell me about your friends. Share what you know. In exchange, I’ll be merciful.”
“Merciful?”
“I’ll shoot you properly, once in the head, once in the chest. Then I haul you over and push you into the furnace before taking my leave.”
“The alternative being?”
“I take your legs out from under you, then hold you up to slow cook you while you’re alive.”
My eyes were adjusting to the gloom. I could see the look in her eyes.
She totally would.
I exhaled slowly. “Okay.”
“Good boy.”
Previous Next
Taking Root 1.7
“Catch,” Mary said.
Something flew at me. I couldn’t see it in the darkness, and it bounced off the door by my head.
I figured out where it had bounced off to and collected it. I felt it r
ather than looking at it. A key.
“Without turning around, lock the door. If it opens or if you try anything funny, I shoot.”
I did as instructed.
“That was a little too fast,” she said. “Stand with your back to the door. Try the knob.”
I did. I turned the knob to the side, tugged on the door, turned the knob all the way to the other side, and then tugged on it again. The door rattled against the frame.
“I stand corrected,” she said. “Toss me the key.”
I did.
Unlike me, she did manage to catch it, but she had the benefit of the light from the furnace. She held it up to the light, examining it.
While she wasn’t looking directly at me, I glanced around the room. There was a workbench with tools on the far end of the room, and she sat on the corner of it, legs dangling and not reaching the ground. She wasn’t wearing her uniform, but a sweater, cloak and hood, and a skirt with stockings and boots. The gun was in her lap, pointed at me, and other weapons sat within arm’s reach. A hatchet, hammer, and the knife she probably planned to use if it came down to it.
By contrast, there was nothing of substance near me. I was uncomfortably close to the furnace, but the door didn’t quite face me, so I got the heat without the benefit of the light that streaked across the room in lines. The space around the furnace was kept clear, so fire wouldn’t catch. A coal-operated monstrosity of a thing. There was a pile of the fuel in the corner, a sliding door on the chute where the coal was deposited.
We’d voiced our suspicions aloud, that they would strike at us and then disappear to finish their missions. I had a sense of what her escape route was.
I started to slide to the floor.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Stop.”
I stopped halfway, legs bent, back flat against the door.
“I was sitting down,” I said.
“I don’t trust anything you do. Certainly not this,” she told me. The way she phrased certainly was good. Very proper, enunciated like a girl raised by the best teachers.
“You’ve made it clear that I’m going to die,” I said, holding my position. “I didn’t expect it this soon, but I’ve always figured it was going to happen. If there’s a chance I get to die sitting down, just after an interesting conversation, I consider it a pretty good end.”
She moved her head, and the light from the fire danced across her face with the motion. “This isn’t a conversation. It’s an interrogation.”
