Twig

by wildbow

  She’s lonely, and she doesn’t like a ‘loss’. She senses something’s wrong, and she wants to be part of the group, in the midst of it.

  She was a Lamb, through and through.

  When she reached past me to swat at Jamie’s ponytail, or to pull the string from around the base, I put an arm around her. She stopped, a little confused.

  “It’s a hug, dum-dum,” I said. “Half of one, anyway.”

  “I have knives, Sy,” she said. “You don’t get to call someone dum-dum when they have knives.”

  But she was smiling. She messed up my hair.

  Jamie and I watched as she took the side hallway, heading to her lab. Jamie gave her a wave.

  I saw how Jamie walked, the way he held his book.

  “She didn’t ask how you felt about your appointment,” I noted.

  “Nope. It’s not being poisoned, though.”

  I nodded. “Do you want me to sit and wait?”

  He didn’t respond right away, but I did see a nod out of the corner of my eye.

  “I can do that,” I said.

  Fray got to him. Talking about the dangers.

  We reached Jamie’s laboratory. Project Caterpillar.

  I took the book as he handed it to me.

  The doctors were already waiting, and they flocked to him as he entered the room. I remained in the doorway, watching, too far away to make out words in the jumble of voices, hugging his book to my chest

  Jamie disrobed. He pulled off his sweater and the shirt beneath, then unbuttoned his belt. It wasn’t that he felt so casual about his nudity here, but more that there was no choice.

  The scars and the ridges carried down his entire body. They were more pronounced along his spine and between his legs, to the point that there was nothing left that was even remotely recognizable.

  He half-turned, seeing me looking, and he didn’t flinch, he didn’t hide. He handed one doctor his glasses, and undid his ponytail.

  Switches were flicked. Lights went on around the room. Large glass containers were lit up, with gray-pink blobs within. Brains, the largest as big around as I was tall. Each one was connected to the next, a chain.

  A caterpillar, in a way. Segmented, promising a future transformation. Just what that would be remained to be seen, but all I knew was that there wouldn’t be a caterpillar anymore.

  Jamie made his way up a slight dias to his throne. The chair had machinery worked into it, metal blades that weren’t sharp, with bundles of wires running from them, into the first glass tank.

  I looked away as they started plugging the individual blades into the slots and gaps in Jamie’s modified, extended spine, along his arms, and beneath his hairline.

  I flinched as the switch was thrown, and the lights flickered.

  He was giving them all of the information he had gathered, storing it in the tanks. They would, fingers crossed, give it back, helping him to organize, consolidate, and structure it.

  One day, as Fray had said, they wouldn’t be able to give it back.

  I turned my back on the scene, my eyes on the fires and the crowds, but I did stay with him for the remainder of the appointment.

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  Enemy (Arc 4)

  The old man stared out the window as he talked. The rain was coming down hard. Cups clinked softly as tea was poured, while the rain beat a drum on the roof. The entire building creaked with the way the wind blew the branches that extended from the outside.

  “We need soldiers,” he said.

  “We have soldiers,” Cynthia replied. She was dressed in the latest fashion, with a shorter dress and a long jacket that hugged her body, corset-like bindings closing it at the front. “We have three men for every one the Academy is prepared to field.”

  Avis shook her head, “They have experiments, and regiments of stitched prepared for war. Even with the sabotage, one stitched is worth ten soldiers.”

  “I’d argue that,” Louis said. He was seeing to the tea. He looked like a proper hunter, with a plaid print to his jacket, the red and the black matching to his maroon slacks and fine leather boots. He was an odd pair, put next to Percy. Louis’ build was barrel-chested and muscular, he was clean-shaven, and his ginger hair was wavy, though cut in a flattering way. Percy was narrow, pale in complexion, with his straight black hair slicked back from a widow’s peak, his beard combed and mustache waxed, an early gray at the temples and corners of the mouth.

  The old man favored a more moderate approach. Louis attracted attention because he was a manly sort, Percy because he was a scholar, likely the sort of teacher many schoolgirls had been enamored with, before the touch of grey reached his hair. The old man walked a middle ground, where he could go unnoticed in virtually any place in Radham.

  “I’m sorry, Louis, but I agree with Avis,” Percy said, picking up one cup of tea and walking over to hand it to Avis.

  One or two members of the group snuck looks at the old man. He could see out of the corner of his eye.

  “Avis is right,” the old man said.

  Tea in hand, smiling, Avis took a seat in the corner, dropping down with enough force that the Birdcage next to her rocked, the occupants protesting shrilly. She put out one hand out to steady the cage, then set her tea down, one ankle folding over the other. Her dress was ten years out of fashion, following the lines of her body down to the ankle, a vest keeping the ruffles contained to the collar and the sleeves, but her hair and horn-rimmed glasses were in vogue.

  “You’ll have to say why,” Cynthia suggested.

  “Avis can explain,” the old man said. He was more than capable, but he needed to curry favor where he could, and this would be one of the last times he interacted directly with the woman. Avis was too important. She was only one step away from being in complete control of all communications within Radham Academy, and she was charged with many of the more covert ones, the ones that necessitated flying messengers.

  Avis liked to take her time before making a statement, which was a predilection that matched her other job well. Everyone in the room waited, some patiently, some impatiently, for the woman to speak.

  The old man quietly thanked Percy as tea appeared on the small table by the window.

  “Have you ever seen a real fight, Cynthia?” Avis asked, sounding more than a little arrogant.

  “I’ve been in more real fights than I could count. It is, in fact, a large part of what Louis and I do here.”

  “I’ll rephrase. Have you seen a battlefield? War?”

  Cynthia shook her head.

  “I have,” Louis said.

  “With humans?” Avis pressed.

  “I was one of those humans. You know this.”

  “From my experience on battlefields, I know that when you send men into a fight, they’re scared. If you tell them they have to shoot or be shot, many will not shoot. Humans naturally trend toward wanting to survive and being part of a group.”

  “And war doesn’t support either of the two?” Cynthia asked.

  “War most definitely supports both,” Avis said. “However, it should be stressed that fighting in a war doesn’t. The difference feeds the endless restlessness between the nobility and the people.”

  “How very clever,” Cynthia said, in a droll tone.

  “In an actual war, you’ll see two or more groups of people trying to poke their head up out of cover, work up the courage to aim their weapon and then pull the trigger to kill the other person. You have to twist their arms to make them go over the breach, you play on ideology, or you convince them, and I do very much mean convince them, that they have no other choice. A stitched has no such reservations. A stitched doesn’t tend to stop and turn tail when his friend next to him gets gunned down.”

  “That’s not necessarily a good thing,” Louis said. “It’s easy to lose an entire regiment to the same machine gun, if the man giving orders isn’t prepared. There are tradeoffs. The Academy needs infrastructure. While the war is ongoing, they won’t have it.�
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  Avis sipped at her tea, then said, “We agree there. The logistics of it all… so long as we have the roads blockaded and bombed, they can’t move from A to B. Without the trains and wagons coming in from the farms on the outskirts, they can’t eat or feed their experiments.”

  “But,” Cynthia said, “you said we need soldiers, Godwin? You’re not confident?”

  It was a question she asked while already knowing the answer. She was very much in his camp, and she was informed. He had talked to her about this before.

  Godwin took the question as his excuse to turn and face the occupants of the room. “No, I’m not confident. Things are still preliminary, the people are on our side, but we’re not moving forward, and the Academy is figuring out solutions. It’s what they do. The Academy retook Westmoreland.”

  “The mountains of Columbia are the Academy’s primary mining operation in the west,” Cynthia said, for the benefit of the others present. “Westmoreland, Columbia is the second highest producer of weapons for the Crown States. For as long as they have it operational, they’re going to be armed.”

  Godwin nodded. “It’s a coup for them. They’re going to start retaking ground. On the large scale, with Westmoreland, and on the small scale, here. They’re nosing around, looking for us, specifically, and they’re getting close. There were advantages to being in Radham, our close contact with Avis foremost among them—”

  “Thank you,” Avis said, preening.

  “—But the risks are too great. We were able to lead things in the abstract, now we need to be more direct. We’ll need to split up. Each of us in a different city. To be effective whilst we’re doing that, we’ll need soldiers.”

  “And the regular rank and file won’t do?” Louis asked.

  “Those are men. I believe we need more capable individuals. As of right now, odd as it may sound, Academy dropouts and individuals like Mr. Percy here are in higher demand than the best the Academy has to offer. The Academy’s people currently have no other choice but to work for the Academy, but the people who have the knowledge and lack the loyalty… they can be swayed to either side, and they’re favoring ours.”

  He had the rapt attention of everyone present. Louis seemed most comfortable hearing all of this, and was busy pouring himself another cup of tea.

  “I’ll reach out, speak to some people, and I’ll have the money. What I need you to do right now is find the people with the necessary skills. The Academy has been quietly removing quite a number of them. Mr. Percy was one close call in that respect. We’ll find them and make them offers they can’t refuse. If the money doesn’t sway, quietly let them know we have the knowledge, and if you feel they’re worth the risk, we’ll go a step further and actually tell them who we are, inviting them to the inner circle.”

  The others nodded.

  “I’ll miss this,” Cynthia said. “Losing the more intimate setting, having a voice without shouting.”

  “I can’t imagine you shouting,” Percy said.

  Cynthia smiled at that.

  “For the time being, focus on staying safe, make sure you aren’t being followed, particularly by Dogs.”

  “Or little children,” Percy said, frowning.

  “Especially little children,” Godwin agreed. “Louis. A man named Reverend Mauer is managing one of the larger and more successful revolutionary groups. I think you and he would complement each other nicely. Would you reach out?”

  “I can.”

  “And Cynthia, we’ve already discussed it—”

  “Already doing what I can. They’re slippery, and they don’t want to be found.”

  Godwin nodded. “Percy? Keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “I’d like to think I’m making soldiers rather than recruiting them,” Percy said.

  “You are, indeed,” Godwin said. He took a sip of his tea. “The most dangerous time and place for you is when you’re on your way from Radham to your new accommodations.”

  “Which are where?” Avis asked.

  “I’ll let you know in private,” Godwin said. He frowned. “From here on out, we’re operating in cells. I trust each of you. Do as you deem appropriate. You’ll each be in touch with one other cell. If you find you can’t reach them, then and only then should you reach out to me or Avis. Make preparations. We’ll meet in the morning, I’ll let you know particulars, and you’ll each leave.”

  “So soon,” Cynthia said.

  “Right now, we’re safe, we’re free, we have control of the roads and the railroad. In two days, that might change,” Godwin said.

  Cynthia frowned, but she didn’t argue.

  The others were already standing, and the ones who weren’t wearing jackets pulled some on, with many getting umbrellas. Cynthia lagged behind the rest.

  “Thank you, by the by, for the tea, Louis,” Godwin said. “I enjoyed that one.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Louis said. “I left you a small box of the teabags.”

  “Good lad,” Godwin said.

  Percy and Louis left together, with Avis a few paces behind.

  The door clicked shut.

  Cynthia took a moment to pick up the scattered saucers and teacups, holding two in each hand on her way to the little sink.

  “Something on your mind?” Godwin asked.

  “Percy.”

  “Ah.”

  “We told him that all of his creations were destroyed by the Lambs. If he discovers that they recruited one of them…”

  “He’s very passionate, whatever he expresses on the surface.”

  “He is.”

  “What a very inconvenient man.”

  “A very good way of putting it,” she said.

  “I’d hoped to discard him, but he has a damnable way of making himself essential.”

  “I’ll watch him,” she said. “I just wondered if you had any thoughts.”

  He went through the little building and extinguished lights, then pulled on his raincloak. He joined her in exiting the building.

  They were joined by the pair of experiments that had been standing in the hallway. Cynthia’s. The things were tall, narrower around than even the lithe Cynthia, and draped in rain cloaks that dragged on the ground. Each had large eyes and bat’s ears placed on otherwise underformed and unadorned faces. Chinless, noseless, the mouths frozen in a perpetual expression of a child that had just put a ball through a stained glass window. Neither blinked as rainwater ran down from their too-short foreheads and over the balls of the eyes, or even bounced off the orbs themselves.

  Radham glowed, even at night. Temporary lamps with flickering bioluminescent lights within were placed at regular intervals between the regular lights, giving the patroling squadrons of stitched soldiers a better view of the surroundings. It was only approaching sundown, but the rain came down hard, and the gloom gave the impression of a later hour than it really was. Bridging the gap between winter and spring, it was an especially cold rain, cutting right through the raincloak, flesh and muscle to dig into the bone.

  The eyes of a dozen stitched soldiers watched as the two of them walked down the length of the street, unblinking. The heads of the stitched moved slowly to track them, each of them moving in unison.

  The riots had been quelled, but the fact that Radham needed to keep a boot on the throat of this downed enemy was a win. It bred resentment, and it limited how freely Radham could move.

  Cynthia spoke up, when they were out of earshot of the stitched. “I was thinking. Lambert Academy, in Greysolon?”

  Godwin casually looked around to make sure they were alone. It was probably safer than being indoors, he had to admit. The bat-eared experiments were on the alert, and the rain made for a lot of cover.

  “A win for us, as much as Westmoreland was a win for them.”

  “A win might be understating it. Lambert academy burned, the people that weren’t burned alive were rounded up, made to kneel, and put to the knife. It was symbolic, something the other revolutions co
uld aspire toward.”

  Godwin grimaced. “Bullets would have been kinder.”

  “Bullets are precious to some.”

  “What got you thinking about Lambert?”

  “Most burned or faced the knife, but not all. There have been rumors about a set of Lambert’s experiments roaming around. I asked Avis, and she doesn’t think they’ve been in touch with any of the other Academies.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking they might not be particularly attached to the other Academies. They’re almost human, they’re functional, they can work and earn food and shelter, but I can’t imagine it’s easy for them. It’s not what they’re meant to do.”

  “What are they?”

  “Lambert’s clean-up. Lambert doesn’t have enough work, so it sends them out here and there. They’re more about the kill than the capture. Four individuals.”

  “What’s the difficulty?”

  “If I’m wrong and I reach out, they’ll come after me.”

  “You’ve dealt with worse, Cynthia.”

  There was a pause.

  “No?” he asked.

  “If they came after me, I’m not certain I could survive it.”

  “Then play it safe.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “You don’t sound convinced they could be swayed.”

  She shook her head, shifting her umbrella to her other hand, “I’m not.”

  There was another group of stitched at the end of the block. They were accompanied by a creature that stood twice as tall as a man. Even from the other side of the street, Godwin could smell it. A chemical smell.

  “Curfew,” one stitched called out, sounding more like he was imitating the way it sounded than actually uttering the word.

  Cynthia offered a little bow and flourish in response.

  “Curfew!” the stitched hollered the word, emphasizing the wrong syllable, raising his voice to be heard as they continued walking, the stitched falling behind them now. “Soon! Bell tolls!”

  Too dumb to realize she had been acknowledging it.

  He felt uncomfortable and unhappy, the words ringing in his ears.

  “I long for simpler times,” he said, abstractly.