by Ann Denton
Seven tables stood at odd angles throughout the room, stacked with papers and maps and reports, all stamped with the faint red eyeball seal that indicated, Ancient eyes only. The bed had been shoved into the far corner; sleep was an afterthought in this room. The stench of an old man’s poor housekeeping hung heavy in the air.
Tier ignored Lowe and Ein long enough to put them in their places and diffuse the tension between them. When he did look up, he slammed his hand on the desk. “I want you to stop this idiocy.”
Ein opened his mouth, but Lowe knew better. Lowe bit back a smile, eyes daring Ein to argue with the Ancient.
Ein, wisely, said nothing.
Tier glared at both of them in turn. “Why haven’t you found the key to that girl’s melts? Are you two muck-heads so incompetent?”
Lowe waited a minute, to ensure the question wasn’t rhetorical. “The Kreis who knew Klaren don’t remember much. The Typicals I’ve interviewed haven’t recalled much either. Konner, Klaren’s archival assistant, lied when I questioned him. Which calls into question the prior interviews.”
“Lied?” Ein interjected before Tier could reply. “About what? And why didn’t you bring me on these interviews?”
“He lied about seeing Klaren melt. He did tell me Klaren tried to sneak a girl in once, before his initiation. He didn’t tell me that bringing in people became a regular occurrence. I found out, just this evening, that Konner snuck people into the archive on a regular basis so Klaren could practice melting.”
“And why would he do that?” Tier leaned forward, suddenly quite interested. His gaze was intense, calculating.
Lowe shrugged. “Konner said something about external influences. Focusing on power sources.”
Ein gave an exasperated groan next to him. “That means nothing! All amygdalas are stimulated by external circumstances. Fear, lust, anger, all those intense emotions related to melting, are all stimulated by external influences. Those are the mucking power sources!”
“I know.”
“Useless!” Ein ground out.
“So, why would he lie?” Tier asked.
Lowe tossed his hands up. “Other than hating me for being Kreis, I really couldn’t tell you.”
“Oh, get over yourself. You’re hatable enough as a human being. Don’t go making this into a class thing,” Ein sneered.
“Children,” Tier chided. “Stop. Figure it out and fix it. Ein?”
“Yes, sir?” Ein fought to keep his tone respectful, when Lowe knew he was bursting to say a dozen more things.
“Get out.”
Ein stomped off and Lowe had to bite down on his smile. He loved whenever that arrogant sludge-sucker got put in his place. He turned to Tier, ready to commiserate about Ein, but the look on Tier’s face stopped him short.
Tier’s next sentence slit Lowe’s stomach in two. “I’m beginning to wonder if you can do any job right.”
Lowe paled. He wanted to argue. Wanted to defend himself. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t made real progress on either front. He’d been distracted by stupid things—like Blut, and Mala’s smile. He stared at Tier. “You’re right sir. To question that.”
“How come it all isn’t fixed yet, boy?”
“It will be.”
Tier stared at him.
“It will be.”
At midnight, Lowe strode down the archive aisles with purpose. He slipped soundlessly into a restricted section. He slid a knife into a doorjamb and jimmied the lock. He strode into a statistics room piled high with charts and chalkboards, numbers hissing warnings like snakes.
This room was for the Ancients. But Lowe needed information. And he needed it now. He scanned through shipment notices and ledgers, until he saw one for cattle. Perfect.
He memorized the stats. Memorized the maps. Left the room. Left the Center. Left Mala. And went out into the darkness to feed information to the enemy.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Exhausted, arms aching from rowing all night, Lowe raced the dawn. It was a race of slow trudging footsteps. The sky trailed golden rays in its yawning path as Lowe pulled up his boat and clambered over the rocky shore at Sonne Pointe. The dawn’s pink glow tiptoed over the mountains; Lowe climbed a rise toward the little outpost.
Lowe slunk inside the cabin with a grunt, not bothering to fully close the door. He sank into a chair facing the door and watched as the sun finally made its way into the sky.
Stelle appeared out of nowhere, startling him awake.
“Broken bones hurt less,” Lowe intoned
“Than broken promises,” Stelle finished. “Unusual password this time.”
“I was tired.”
She gave a grim smile. “Aren’t we all?”
“What do you have?” She pulled a leather backpack from her shoulder and reached inside to unroll a canvas. The material crackled in protest. Two layers of paint deep already, this might be the last time the vintage print could be transformed. Stelle grabbed a charcoal stick and leaned forward. Lowe noticed a welt on her hand.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing you can change,” Stelle’s eyes flashed.
“I was just trying—”
“Well don’t. I don’t do comforting. I made a mistake, that’s all. Now Kay’s gone.”
He saw her clench her jaw to quell the emotion.
“Was she your friend?”
“Don’t talk about it.” Stelle huddled over her canvas. “Tell me what you have.”
“Just one question. You were gone so long. I thought … Did I do something wrong?”
Stelle jerked her head up. Her brown eyes scorched his. “Yes.”
Lowe couldn’t tell if she was serious. He opened his mouth, but she cut off any apology he might have made.
“What’s past is done. I need your intel.”
And so he told her about the cattle, about how the butcher’s men transported meat for several northern divisions of the Senebal armed forces. She nodded and sketched as he spoke, and slowly the tension between them eased.
“I can help you draw a map of the route, if you want,” Lowe offered. A little part of him, the part still attached to his childhood best friend and first love, couldn’t bear for her to be mad at him.
Stelle handed him the charcoal and raised her brow. “You know it never turns out well when you try to draw.”
Lowe bit back a grin as he settled in next to her, shoulder to shoulder. He turned to the task at hand but couldn’t help retorting. “I seem to remember the portrait I drew of you came out pretty good.”
Stelle laughed and jostled him, messing up his scrawl. “I had three legs.”
“That was a staff and you know it.”
A comfortable silence fell and Lowe finished his sketch, marking towns and paths, putting a dashed line over the expected route.
“Thanks,” Stelle muttered, glancing it over. “I’m in with Keptiker. So he’ll like this. Those Wildes and their raids. Maybe it’ll help me get closer.”
“Troe’s cousin?” Lowe couldn’t help but be impressed.
“Yeah. One of the few he trusts.”
“Good,” Lowe responded. It was time to leave. But he was tired. And Stelle wasn’t rushing off. He sat on the floor, then lay back, hands tucked under his head. A few more minutes won’t hurt.
Stelle sat sketching next to him. And for a while Lowe pretended they were young and innocent again. Until she spoke.
“Do you remember how I used to drag you off to say good-bye to guard members when they were about to leave?”
“Yeah. I thought you were crazy.”
“So did a lot of people.”
All the adults had grumbled. Two little kids getting underfoot while they did weapons checks and readied their boats to set off. But nothing could stop Stelle. She was a force. Lowe grinned.
Stelle reached for his shoulder. She gave it a squeeze, then tugged one of his hands out from behind his head and clasped it in her own. Her hands were soft and cold
like silk.
Lowe’s thoughts immediately flashed to Mala. Then back to the present. He looked at their hands and then back up at her, confused.
“Do you love her yet?”
“What?”
“The woman you just thought of.”
Always too damn perceptive. Lowe’s mind uttered a string of curses. Because even in his thoughts, he wasn’t ready to answer that question.
“No. I … we just met. What does this have to do with anything?” He grumbled.
“My mistake,” Stelle replied. She dropped his hand and went back to her things. A second later, she asked, “Do you remember who we’d hug?”
“What?” Lowe turned onto his side and propped his face in his hand to look up at her. He didn’t understand the question. Questions. She was taking the conversation in too many directions.
“We didn’t hug everyone. When we were kids. I only hugged people I thought weren’t coming back.” And with that, Stelle scooped up her canvas and materials and was at the door before Lowe could move. A blinding wall of sunlight lit her from behind when she opened it.
Lowe held up a hand to block the light.
Stelle’s voice floated over to him. “I was wrong once in awhile. About who we’d see again. But not often.”
“You knew who was skilled and who wasn’t. Who could handle what,” Lowe shrugged. “You would have made a great captain.”
Stelle shook her head. “No. I’m still wrong once in awhile. But not often. But I’ve been wrong about something big.” She bit her lip.
Lowe sat up. “Was some info I gave you bad? Did something happen?”
Stelle shook her head sadly. “Not you. It was me. I thought I knew something. I’ve been looking for someone. And I can’t find her.”
“Can I help?”
Stelle gave a harsh laugh. “I doubt it. I don’t even know her name.” She rubbed a hand over her eyes, turned away, not giving Lowe time to process her cryptic answer. “Two weeks. And I’ll need more info.”
Lowe nodded. “Meet here?”
“Come up with a better password.” In a flash of sunlight, she was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Have you ever been in love?” Verrukter slung himself into Lowe’s hut, landing roughly on Lowe’s legs.
“Ow!” Lowe shoved him back, making his reed hut sway precariously. “Man, I was sleeping!”
“Yeah. I know.” Verrukter made a show of shrugging while he stole one of Lowe’s blankets and made himself a cushion out of it. He sank onto the floor next to Lowe.
“I am not the person you need to be having this conversation with.” Lowe fell back on his pillow, running a frustrated hand over his face.
“Yes you are.”
“Go find Dez,” Lowe groaned.
“Done. She hasn’t. But what about Mala?”
“Why is everyone asking me that?” Lowe grimaced, putting his arms over his eyes. Verrukter, in all his thoughtfulness, had not shut the door when he’d burst into the hut. And now the sun’s rays were shooting white hot beams at his face.
“Because she’s your first. So I’m wondering if she’s your first …”
Lowe sighed. “I dunno. Okay? It’s been what, a month? Geez.”
“Well, like how long do you think it takes you to know?” Verrukter asked.
“Why me?”
“Just can it, okay? I need to ask someone. Before I go do something stupid.”
“You do realize what you just said.”
“Yes. Yes. I’m stupid. Ha ha. Moving on.”
“Who do you think you’re in love with?” Lowe sighed.
“Neid!” Verrukter’s tone was indignant.
“No offense. But how was I supposed to know?”
Verrukter stood, stooping so he wouldn’t hit his head on the low ceiling. “I hope she doesn’t love you. Because you’re clearly mucking oblivious, man.”
“Are we done?”
“Yeah.” Verrukter moved toward the door.
“Good.” Lowe closed his eyes. They popped back open of their own accord. “Hey wait!”
“Yeah?”
“What’s the stupid thing you’re about to do?”
Verrukter laughed. “Retire.”
That made Lowe bolt upright. “You’re joking!” Verrukter was two seconds from a promotion. He can’t just walk away.
“Not joking.”
Lowe sat up, then followed Verrukter out of his hut. The winter wind bit at their noses. “Really?” Lowe had to ask again.
“Yeah. So, I take it you’ve never thought about it?”
“Retirement?” It was the farthest thing from Lowe’s mind. I’ve got two missions and two lives on my hands. How can I even think about stepping down from that? Or away from them? There was a difference. Lowe recognized it as their faces flashed through his mind’s eye. Stelle’s grimace. Mala’s laugh. But he wasn’t ready to acknowledge it.
“A future … without all this.” Verrukter lifted up his hands. “Just with her.”
“I–” Lowe was at a loss.
“Obviously you haven’t. Damnit.”
Lowe didn’t know what to say, what to do. He was floored. He just stood next to Verrukter, shoulder to shoulder, as they both stared out at the waves.
When Mala came walking up the platform to see him, Lowe started.
“I. Hey!” He was falsely cheerful. “How’ve you been?”
Verrukter muttered something and hurried off, squeezing around Mala on the narrow walkway.
Mala squinted her eyes and gave Lowe a weird look, as if she knew he’d just been thinking about her, wondering about her and what they were to one another. But all she said was, “I wanted to check on you. You were sleeping when I got done with training for the day. I thought you might be sick.”
She held up a bag. “It’s rolls and an apple. I thought you might be hungry.”
Lowe took the bag, still having trouble maintaining eye contact, though his eyes had no trouble wandering down the clinging violet wetsuit she wore.
“Thanks.” It came out weird and awkward. He felt weird and awkward. He knew Mala could feel it, too. Before he knew what was happening, he confessed.
“Verrukter just came by for girl-talk. And I had no mucking idea what to tell him.”
Mala laughed. Deep throated, full-belly laughed. It was like the peal of a bell. It broke the spell of awkwardness. She even gave a little bit of a snort, which made Lowe laugh.
“That guy.” Mala wiped a tear from her eye. “He’s so clueless.”
“Yeah. I know. It was painful, to say the least.”
“Why didn’t he try Dez? Or Dea?”
I should have mentioned Dea, Lowe’s thoughts flickered to Beza’s mom.
“He could have even asked me, and that would have been a better option.”
Wait. What? Lowe jerked his head to gaze at Mala. Why you? What would you have told him?
He tried to read her face, but she was waving at Alba, who stood on the central platform, next to a docked submarine, urgently beckoning for Mala to join her.
“Hope you’re feeling better. Sorry I have to go but I promised Alba we’d have girl time,” Mala said in a rush. She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then she hurried off.
Lowe sat on the floating walkway outside his hut, staring after her, wondering how his life had gotten so confused.
Can’t I just go back to killing people? He sighed and bit into an apple.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tier searched his tables for the file he wanted. His jowls jiggled whenever he shook his head after pulling the wrong one.
Lowe tried not to clear his throat impatiently. He put his arms behind his back and tapped his fingers on his elbows. It was time for another meeting with Stelle.
No progress had been made on the Mala front, unless a frustrating celebration of her eighteenth birthday that resulted in dual meltdowns counted.
Lowe ran a hand through his hair, recalling
that night. Everything had been going well. She didn’t celebrate birthdays (few did), but he’d convinced her to come to his hut. He’d been so sure he’d be able to control his meltdown. But as soon as he’d kissed Mala, the damn radio from Stelle went off, vibrating against his spine. That was all it took. Both of them had transformed.
He’d ended up holding Mala’s crying, sopping-wet figure again. She’d melted into Stelle and then jumped immediately into the frigid water to change back. She was convinced she was a failure. It had taken him an hour to convince her it was his fault. Not the way he’d wanted the night to go. But he was out of ideas on controlling her melts. And though Ein’s testing methods were getting wilder, the so-called genius wasn’t having any more luck.
So, Lowe was still stuck at the Center. He’d considered sneaking into the Archive again but had decided Tier’s anger was worth braving this time. Too many trips to the Archive, and he was likely to get caught.
The Ancient had turned a resigned eye to Lowe and returned to his folders without comment. Not the expected reaction. But a welcome one.
Finally, Tier pulled a file from a stack and flipped it open. He grunted and walked toward Lowe.
“Lumber shipment,” said Tier, handing the pale folder to Lowe. “From Eicholz to Das Wort, in two days.”
Lowe looked over the manifest and nodded. He looked over the lumber counts. It was a significant shipment. Stelle could use this. Most Senebals migrated south when winter came, but the Erlenders couldn’t escape the cold. Their rocky northern territory saw snowdrifts deep enough to trap them indoors. Wood was a desirable find. A good target.
Lowe handed back the folder once he’d memorized the names of the boats and their routes.
Tier took it and tossed it onto a nearby table. “Seven klicks north, right on the river, there’s a building under the trees. Overgrown with grass and weeds, half in the ground. You blink twice and it’s gone, even if you know what you’re looking for. It’s a flour mill.”
