Twig

by wildbow

  She had made a sound, but I’d been able to afford staying still. Not a good thing, not entirely safe, if it was a precursor to her coming after me, but the ball was more in my court.

  I’d made a sound, it forced her to react. Staying where she was risked that I’d go after her ‘brothers’. Or that I might loop around and find another angle to use in going after the puppeteer. Or anything.

  But seeing the globe, knowing it was a ruse, it forced a decision. She had to figure out where I really was. Was it a ruse, or was I leading her one way while slipping through to go after the puppeteer?

  Given a fifty-fifty chance with no clue otherwise, the strings pulled her back to the puppeteer.

  I passed the globe and the door it had touched, and felt a cool draft. The excuse for the globe’s movement. She’d slipped in through the window, had used it to make her exit, or both.

  I rounded the corner to the west side of the school, moving as fast as I could toward the dormitories and the Lambsbridge gang.

  Even just approaching the boy’s dormitory, I could smell the sickness. Over a thousand students periodically venting fluids out of every orifice. Looking through windows, across the corner of the yard, I could see that many lights were on in hallways, though not necessarily in the rooms themselves. Staff doing patrols and making sure the students were alright.

  I couldn’t quite see with the trees in the corner of the yard, but I saw motion. Fast motion.

  The other Lambsbridge members. Running away or giving chase?

  I only had a half-second to make the call, picking up speed, making noise as I ran. A glimpse through two sets of rain-covered windows, past branches and leaves.

  I saw Helen’s eyes, and I saw Gordon’s.

  The focus, the killer instinct.

  I picked up speed, running faster. My feet were bare and wet, partially from water that had dripped off the rest of me, and the tile was slick. I managed to keep my footing, but there were one or two points where I wondered if I was going to slip. Approaching the bend, where my hallway met theirs at the corner of the dormitory, I could hear them.

  As we intersected, I spotted the smallest of Mary’s ‘brothers’, eight or so years old, with two knives in hand. Red haired, flushed in the face, but with a very cold look in his eyes. Those same eyes widened as I sprinted his way.

  Surprise.

  Almost unconsciously, he switched his grip on one knife around, so the blade pointed down.

  I dropped to the floor. Still soaked with the rain, I slid on the tile.

  He leaped, to avoid tripping on me, and I grabbed one foot. It slipped from my grasp, but I’d put him off balance. He flopped over, belly hitting the floor.

  Spry little bastard. He was already on his feet when Gordon caught up with him. Without slowing, Gordon slapped one knife-hand to the side, caught the other wrist, and slammed the kid into a wall.

  The kid went limp. Gordon held his wrist, letting him dangle.

  The kid’s eyes opened, and he jerked his other knife hand, pointed at Gordon’s middle. Helen’s foot went out, pinning it against the wall.

  “Damn,” the kid said. I thought I might have seen a glimmer of fear in his eyes, but Gordon hauled him away from the wall, then cracked the kid’s head against it, hard. He paused, watching, then did it again.

  The knives fell from the boy’s hands.

  “Lillian, got something to put him under, just in case?”

  Lillian did. She hurried forward, pulling her bag around in front of her to retrieve a syringe. She squirted out almost half of it before jamming it into the boy’s stomach, depressing it.

  “No interrogation?” I asked, as I picked myself up.

  “This is the second we caught up to,” Jamie said. “First was uncooperative enough that I don’t think Gordon is willing to entertain this one.”

  As if to explain, Gordon turned and lifted up his shirt. A bandage was already showing some blood.

  Helen and Gordon let the tyke drop to the floor. Gordon collected the knives, offered one to Helen, who shook her head, then stuck both into his belt.

  “They’re better than I am,” Gordon said.

  “At?” I asked. “Fighting?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Wouldn’t say that. Using a knife? Throwing something? Definitely better. Fighting? Eh. Brawling? Definitely not.”

  “No real-world knowledge,” Jamie said, looking down at the boy. He looked up at Gordon. “No visiting seedy parts of town to trade money or drink for some lessons from the meanest guys around.”

  “But they’re still really, really good,” Gordon said. He looked at me. “How’d it go?”

  “Mr. Percy, our puppeteer, uses sounds to make them compliant if they get antsy,” I said. “He’s here, with Mary.”

  “Percy,” Jamie said. He paused to consider, then nodded. “Okay.”

  “Attended the academy without being a student. He knows of the Lambsbridge project, but doesn’t know the particulars. Still no idea on greater motivation or plans. He’s hurt, getting medical care.”

  “Hurt?” Lillian asked.

  “Brick smashed him in the face out of nowhere,” I said. “Puzzling.”

  Gordon was on one knee, searching the little kid. He collected four knives and a small sack with a weight inside, which he examined.

  “Blackjack?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. He tossed it to me.

  I gave it a look-see, then pocketed it. “Our headmistress got a letter in her office, recommending that she call the Academy, discreetly, to ask for a thorough search and examination of the student body, keep everything locked down. I didn’t expect her to be up and about this early, but it works. Puppeteer is here, kids are here. The noose is in place.”

  “They only need a push, then,” Helen murmured.

  I matched her flat stare with a grin. “I love you, big sister.”

  Her expression unchanged, she reached over to rap the top of my head with her knuckles.

  “Ow.”

  Gordon tied the kid’s wrists and ankles, then hefted him, folded over one shoulder. Gordon was big for his age, the kid was small, but Gordon made it look effortless, which was something else altogether.

  “Which way?” Gordon asked.

  “Mary was that way,” I said, pointing down the way I’d come. “Puppeteer is in or near the front office. The third boy is… up to you to figure out.”

  He shook his head. “Last we saw, he was near the kitchen, sent this one after us, we were busy staying out of the way while the little one used all his bullets trying to gun us down.”

  “The others had guns?”

  “Have,” Jamie said. “The oldest one has a gun, still.”

  I nodded.

  Gordon started walking, and the rest of us fell into an easy formation around him.

  “Um, have to backtrack a bit, but I wasn’t keeping up with the discussion,” Jamie said. “You said the quarantine was arranged. They’re searching the entire student body?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Us included?”

  “Ideal world, we won’t be here,” I said. “Even if we are, we can adapt. But I wanted to pressure them, and this does that.”

  Jamie frowned.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “I’m not good at adapting,” Jamie said. “Less than you three, anyway.”

  “Sly is right, though. The pressure we’re putting on them is a good thing,” Gordon said. “That said, the ten year old very nearly killed me, this one was hard enough to keep from slipping away, let alone catch. Helen wouldn’t put up a fight, and you, Jamie or Lil would die in two seconds flat if any of them got within arm’s length of you.”

  We were making our way past the kitchen. The smell of vomit was thicker here, not just because we were close to the place the poison had first taken hold, but because we were between both dormitories.

  “I hate it when people call me Lil,” Lillian said.

  I made a mental n
ote of that, storing it for future use.

  Gordon did the opposite and apologized, “Sorry, Lillian. What are we thinking we do with the oldest clone, Mary, and the puppeteer?”

  “Separate them, pick them off one by one,” Helen said.

  “Mary is devoted to her creator,” I said. “And the last one—”

  “The teenager,” Jamie said. “Oldest of the clones. Physically the strongest, presumably the most trained.”

  “You don’t have eyes on that one?” I asked.

  “No,” Gordon said. “We’ve glimpsed him, but he was leading this trio. Keeping his distance.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip for a second. “Doesn’t work. I don’t see it. They’re going to band together.”

  “I agree,” Gordon said. “I’m betting he knows his fellows are down, or he will when we turn up. He’ll stick with Mary, and both of them will stick with their puppeteer.”

  “Brothers,” I murmured.

  “Hm?”

  “They’re Mary’s ‘brothers’, to Mary and the Puppeteer. Mary is their sister. It’s a little family unit.”

  “I notice you called Helen a sister,” Jamie said. “Interesting.”

  “One isn’t related to the other,” I said.

  “I seem to recall you going on at length about the intricacies of the human mind,” Gordon said. “Everything impacts it on some level or something like that.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Whatever. Let’s joke around about Sy really wanting a family, deep down inside. Mary’s situation has made me realize it’s what I really want. It’s a yearning even.”

  Hands settled on my shoulder. Prey instinct, wham. It took me a moment to realize it was because I saw Gordon, Jamie, Lil, and the smallest clone, but I didn’t see Helen.

  Her arms wrapped around my shoulders from behind, and she hugged me tight, before leaning forward to give me a peck on the cheek. Too perfunctory to be anything serious.

  I didn’t move a muscle.

  “I’ll be your big sister if that’s what you really want,” she said.

  “Sarcasm,” I said, still not moving. “I’m not sure what we are, but I don’t think ‘family’ is exactly it, and I’m really truly okay with that.”

  She pulled away, giving me a rap on the head as she stepped over to Gordon’s side. I caught a glimpse of a wry smile on her face as she gave me a sidelong glance. For my benefit. Her way of letting me know she’d been joking too.

  Geez.

  “We’re the Lambsbridge orphans,” Gordon said, as Helen leaned against the wall beside him, raising her hand to fix the placement of a strand of hair. “That’s all we need to be.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “But,” Jamie cut in, “part of being the Lambsbridge Orphans is doing our job.”

  “Which brings us back to the ‘how’,” Gordon said. “You guys think you can hold your own and keep one of them busy while I confront the other? I’m not sure I can take the older one.”

  I shrugged. “Don’t have to ‘win’. Assuming the headmistress reached out to the Academy, which I do assume, it’s all a matter of time.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” Gordon asked.

  “I’m never wrong,” I said.

  The sudden burst of protest that came from every corner and every mouth overlapped to the point that I couldn’t pick out individual words.

  “Point—” I started. I was talked over.

  I rolled my eyes. I was pretty sure at least half of them were doing it to try to be funny.

  “Point taken,” I managed.

  They stopped.

  “Get it all out of your system?” I asked.

  “It’s late, our sleep was interrupted, we’ve been on edge all week,” Gordon said. “Thanks for that. The laugh helped.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him.

  I studied them. Most were in uniforms, though Jamie was wearing pyjamas with shoes, an odd combination. He’d left our room too quickly to get dressed first. I’d never changed into my pyjamas, myself.

  Gordon was hurt, and it showed a little in how he held himself and his expression, and Helen was a little rumpled, though unharmed. Lil, oddly enough, seemed more together and comfortable than I’d seen her in a long time. Maybe ever.

  She saw me looking and hugged her bag of medical stuff to her chest, glaring at me over the top of it.

  “You’re home,” I said.

  She didn’t move, but the glare became a more perplexed expression.

  “This. It’s where you belong. Or the Academy is, and this is a close second.”

  She didn’t reply immediately. Her eyes moved, taking in the surroundings.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “Sorry we’re not sticking around for longer,” Gordon said.

  “I’m okay being anywhere I don’t have to worry about getting poisoned or stabbed,” Lil said.

  “Just an hour or two more,” Gordon said. “If Sy’s not wrong about the quarantine.”

  “Trapping ourselves in here with skilled murderers,” Jamie said. “What could go wrong?”

  “Corner the rats and hope they don’t bite too hard,” I said.

  “Speaking of,” Gordon said. His voice had dropped, which helped complete the thought.

  We were further from the more lit dorms, now. In less secure territory. If we made it around to the front office, I would be very close to having completed a full circuit around the building.

  The conversation was, I supposed, our way of touching base, leveling each other out, propping each other up. Helen was being selective in what she said, letting me know she was glad to have me back in her peculiar way, but she didn’t need reassurance in the same way.

  The attitudes of the individual members of the group changed as the surroundings did.

  “We got the last two by moving around as a group,” Gordon murmured. His voice was lowered so he wouldn’t give us away. “They were trying to keep us away from any place we could arm ourselves or hole ourselves up. Cornered the first one in the kitchen. Second one was faking sick. Jamie figured him.”

  I nodded.

  “They’re going to be ready for us to come as a group,” Gordon said.

  I nodded again.

  “We may not be able to keep them from running if they want to run, even if they don’t have a trap.”

  I exaggerated my nods until I lost my balance, and bumped into him. He elbowed me.

  “This is serious.”

  “Don’t get shot,” I said, echoing Jamie. “Give me a chance to talk to them. Mary is off-balance enough I think I can get to her on a level. She’s pissed because I threw a brick at the man who brought her into this world.”

  “That’s harder if they’re all together,” Gordon said.

  “I don’t know how up to talking the puppeteer is,” I said. “Again, brick to face.”

  “You keep saying that like you’re proud,” Jamie said.

  “It was a beautiful throw.”

  “So you are proud,” Jamie said, voice quiet.

  “Yeah,” I breathed the word. “Gordon couldn’t have done better.”

  “You’re the filthiest liar,” Gordon murmured, smirking.

  “Can we stop talking?” Lil asked.

  We obeyed.

  The hallway turned, and we came face to face with a scattered group of youths.

  Gordon drew a knife, but Helen’s hand reached out, stopping him from going any further.

  They were ordinary kids. Miserable kids in pyjamas who looked like they’d died and been brought back as stitched. These would be the especially sick ones who needed help, ones who, if the metallic smell to the bodily fluids was any indication, had been so violently ill that blood was involved.

  We were near the infirmary.

  “Next door on the right,” Jamie murmured.

  Gordon gave him a tight nod.

  Gordon and Helen edged closer to the door, while I ducked low, to peek past their knees.

  Mary, unarme
d, standing in the middle of the brightly lit room, ribbons removed, hair in relative disarray.

  Gordon was fastest to grasp that something was wrong. He shoved Helen backward, and Jamie caught her. I reacted too, backing away, not entirely sure why until Gordon turned the other way.

  The room opposite.

  A pistol went off, the bullet striking the doorframe where Gordon’s head had been. It was almost too loud in the hallway where there was nothing to absorb the sound, the sound bouncing off the walls, an echo that played off the ringing in my ears.

  The sick children around us screamed, panicking. They leaped up from chairs and the floor of the hallway.

  The screams continued as the children got in our way and obstructed our movements. One tried to hide between me, clutching the back of my shirt, and made it hard for me to rise to a proper standing position.

  It was a moment of stupidity that left me mostly in the front of everything as our third boy stepped out of the room he’d been hiding in, pistol in hand. He wore a uniform, but he had a cloak and hood on over it, possibly to conceal himself better in the dark.

  For all my talk about effective use and prediction of bugs’ movements when the box was shaken…

  “Oy!” Gordon shouted. “Got your kid brother here!”

  I saw the hesitation. The pistol’s barrel slid away from me as his focus turned to Gordon and the youngest clone.

  I started to move, ready to kick up and try to knock it away or out of his hand, but the kid behind me still clung to me, and I immediately knew I wouldn’t make contact.

  For an instant, I thought we hadn’t accounted for all the clones, but then he made a small sound of fear. Human frailty, not maliciousness.

  Gordon was heading for cover, still carrying his burden, turning his body and running almost sideways so the littlest clone was more between him and the gun-wielder. The gun moved, wholly focused on Gordon.

  One shot rang out, and the clone moved to reload.

  Did Mary warn him that I’d said Gordon was most dangerous?

  I made my escape, grabbing the kid who’d clutched me and dragging him behind, even though it slowed me down.

  The third shot was aimed at me. It hit the same boy I was trying to rescue, leaving me to stumble as my grip broke.

  Helen grabbed me and pulled me around the corner. We were right at the bend in the hallway where the hallway at the southern part of the school met the long hallway from the eastern part.