by T. C. Edge
Again, silence. Again, I offer some excuse.
“As I say, Agent Woolf, I was anxious and afraid for my friend. I know what incarceration at the holding cells means. I guess the memory was affected by my state of mind.”
It’s the best thing I can come up with. To suggest that the shock of hearing the news created some sort of break in my mind, leading to the memories being cracked and blurred.
Perhaps this is something Zander should have foreseen. After all, it was him who informed me that an agent would be arriving to search for clues about Drum’s escape. He should never have concealed and muddied that memory to such an extent. It was only ever going to lead to suspicion…
Agent Woolf continues to stare at me with her blank, dead eyes. I can feel her creeping about on the edge of my mind, just taking a view from afar. I stare back at her, maintaining as casual a countenance as I can manage, and work to shield my thoughts and turn them to other things.
It’s a fine balancing act, and my heart begins to work up a sweat once more. That too, will be something she can sense. My pulse, and my rate of breathing too, and the other imperceptible signs of nerves and awkwardness that I’m no doubt displaying to someone of her abilities and experience.
I begin thinking about Drum as a younger boy, about our friendship, about specific memories we’ve shared. Then I focus on one – on the day he found out about Fred and Ziggy’s death. About his grief and my attempts to comfort him.
I know that, if I focus on that memory alone, it’s all she’ll be able to see. However, if I allow my thoughts to stray too far off track, I may be unable to prevent her creeping deeper inside me.
Thankfully, it doesn’t last long, and her mental intrusion isn’t particularly invasive. It’s clear that she’s merely attempting to gauge my current train of thought, and to find out if I’m lying. I refuse to let her come to that conclusion.
I can’t let her come to that conclusion.
Then she turns the conversation elsewhere, trying to throw me off balance.
“I spent some time with your friend, Tess Bradbury, as well,” comes her serene voice. “I understand you share a room with her?”
I nod.
“There was confusion in her head over how you’ve been behaving in recent days and weeks,” she continues. “It would appear she has a great deal of temporary animosity towards you, focused around a belief that she isn’t being included in what’s happening in your life. There is clear jealousy there too, regarding your current courtship with Mr Shaw. Would you care to offer your side of the story?”
I feel her dart into my mind again, inspecting my thoughts. I keep them centred on what she’s just said – that, yes, Tess is currently unhappy with me. And that, yes, my current life has had a negative impact on our friendship.
“A lot’s been going on with me recently,” I say. “The Fanatics’ attack on Culture Corner, the ceremony just down on the street below the High Tower, the bachelor ball and courting Adryan. There’s been loads to get my head around, Agent Woolf. And I know that Tess is jealous. We’ve always been so close, but now our lives are starting to diverge. It’s just…the way life goes.”
It’s all the truth really. Minus, of course, a few other bits and pieces that I’ve been going through recently. Those thoughts are hidden, however, concealed by the ones I’m happy for Agent Woolf to see.
“Life does contain its twists and turns,” admits the Savant, still staring at me with a relentless intensity.
The only chance I get to break the cycle is when I turn briefly from her gaze. Doing so, she quickly suggests I don’t let my eyes stray from hers. The weaker the eye contact, the weaker her ability to explore the internal workings of my consciousness.
“However,” she continues. “What I found in Miss Bradbury’s mind went beyond the events you’ve spoken of. She appeared to have some vague knowledge of rather more exciting, and dare I say, illegal, incidents.”
A desire pulses through me to enter her mind now. To see exactly what she’s thinking. Oh how I’d love to know the truth of what’s in her head. She might just be toying with me. She might already have ascertained my guilt, wishing to only prove it by getting me to confess, either verbally or mentally.
I can’t, however. Should I enter her mind, she’ll immediately know what I’m capable of. A woman like her will be all too aware of my presence. All I can do is try my best to deflect her from my own head without her knowing.
It’s a true test of my new powers.
And right now, I’m beginning to feel the strain.
I break eye contact again, turning to look down at my hands. Once more, she orders me to look back up.
I’m starting to lose it. My thoughts are beginning to wander, my focus waning. I battle again to keep her at bay, but she’s strong, and unrelenting, inexorably working her way deeper into my thoughts and memories. Trying to uncover the truth that Zander has hidden away deep inside.
“I don’t know anything about that,” I say. “I can’t tell you what’s in Tess’s head. She’s always had a busy imagination.”
“Hmmmm,” she rumbles. “That isn’t the impression I got of her cerebral machineries. Her creativity is actually quite uninspired. You, however, are far more creatively inclined. Perhaps that’s why I find you rather difficult to read.”
“Um, is that a compliment?” I ask with an awkward smile. It’s some hopeless attempt to break the tension, and fails spectacularly.
“It’s merely a statement of fact,” she replies dryly. “It’s possible that Tess’s recollections of the more exciting incidents I speak of are merely dreams that you’ve had. Mostly, her recalls were based around things you said in your sleep. Active and creative minds such as yours are more disposed to that sort of thing. Sometimes, it can be difficult to differentiate between dreams and proper memories.”
“I do dream a lot,” I say, seeing an opening. “I didn’t know I talked in my sleep, though…”
“Well, you do.”
“And, um, what was it that I spoke about? What did Tess hear?”
I regret asking the question immediately. Hearing the specifics is only likely to turn my thoughts to such things. I make sure to focus hard once more and keep my true recollections hidden, just as Zander taught me.
“Well, nothing particularly concrete,” says Agent Woolf. “I discovered fragments only. A firefight. Raging water. Poison. According to Miss Bradbury’s memories, such things have been prominent in your unconscious mind.”
“Dreams,” I say. “Just dreams I guess.”
Her stare seems to stiffen. She leans in just a little further. Then she shakes her head ever so subtly.
“It’s curious, really,” oozes her voice. “All these sleep talking incidents have taken place after the escape of Joshua Brent, during which a firefight occurred between the men transporting the trucks, and those who sought to free their occupants, your friend included. It’s curious, too, that you have dreamt of raging water, given the account of our men. Of course, this wasn’t reported on the news, but one fugitive managed to escape their clutches via an underground river. A river that, after careful exploration, has been found to lead beyond the city walls, right into the toxic and poisonous swamps of the south.”
I steady my mind as she speaks. I steady my head, and my breathing too. Her words grow increasingly cold and empty, and her eyes stare with a burgeoning concentration, intense and penetrating.
“So, after the escape of your friend, during which a firefight took place, and someone escaped down an underground river and out into the toxic marshes. After all of that, you began to dream of the same events, it would appear, mumbling about such things in your sleep. Curious, don’t you think, Miss Melrose?”
I don’t answer. I can’t answer. I flash my eyes away from her, breaking the seal. My steady pulse begins to hurtle, and my breathing grows more shallow, audible now in the silence of the room.
“What’s strange, however, is that you have no
such recollections of any of these events in your head,” she adds. “Perhaps, therefore, it is all just a coincidence.”
I turn my eyes back to hers. They’re blacker than ever, more lifeless than ever. A brief hope burgeons in me once more before being expunged.
“However,” she continues. “My experience has taught me not to believe in coincidence. There is something about you, Miss Melrose, that I do not trust. You are an enigma to me, and that alone makes me doubt everything you tell me. There are strange things going on inside your head that require further exploration. Now sit completely still, look right into my eyes, and just try to relax. It’s time I searched a little deeper…”
My body continues to react, my focus waning. I’m not prepared for this. I’m not prepared for her.
I can’t fight her off forever, not here in this room. This horrible, uncomfortable room. Eventually, she’ll break through, unearth the truth of who I am, what I am, what I’m here to do.
And when that happens, I’ll be executed, and so will Mrs Carmichael, and the kids from the academy will be tossed out onto the street. And the secret entrance I know to the underlands in the north will be discovered. And a force of Stalkers and Con-Cops and City Guards will be sent down there to cut right into the heart of the Nameless.
It will all come crashing down around me. Right here, right now, my mind is being pulled apart, Agent Woolf’s fingers getting a grip inside. And soon enough, she’ll prise me open and uncover the treasure within.
And so it begins. I sit ahead of her, looking into the darkness of her eyes, everything else seeming to fade to nothing around me. I try again to re-gather my focus, to prepare for the onslaught, to let my defensive instincts take over and my mind show its full power.
And as I do, a noise echoes inside my head, and I find myself coming right back into the room. The blackness grows lighter again, and the hateful face of Agent Woolf appears before me, her eyes now rising to look beyond me and at the door behind.
The sound comes again, more forceful this time.
It’s knocking. Someone’s knocking on the door.
As Agent Woolf calls out: “I’m busy,” I turn to see the door opening up anyway.
And before my eyes, the shape of another Mind-Manipulator appears, dressed in the lightest of greys, his eyes ice-blue and hair brown and neatly arranged. A well-rehearsed smile lights on his face, so welcoming against the endless frost of the agent, and yet still not completely human in nature.
Behind me, Agent Woolf stands to her feet. I look to her and see her perform a little bow to her superior.
“Deputy Burns,” she says. “Is there something you need?”
I turn back to the Deputy Commander of the City Guard, Leyton Burns, a man who portrays a brighter countenance than most of his kind. He looks to Agent Woolf with a fairly stern expression.
“Romelia,” he says, “I do need something, yes. I need this young woman right here.”
Agent Woolf shows the most emotion I’ve ever seen from her: a tiny frown, a hint of confusion.
“Sorry?” she asks.
“I know you’re aware that Miss Melrose here is courting Mr Adryan Shaw,” he says firmly. “Their arranged meeting time has already expired, and yet here you are, holding her back. That is unacceptable.”
“But I have important business with her, Deputy.”
“Business that can wait, I’m sure,” he says briskly. “You know how important the courting process is. It is sacrosanct, Agent Woolf. You cannot interfere with it. That is something you should know. Now, Mr Shaw is awaiting Miss Melrose outside. I will escort her to him. Don’t let an incident like this happen again.”
His voice is firm and direct. Agent Woolf’s expression threatens to show more life, but remains predominantly unaffected by the reproach.
She merely nods and says: “Yes, Deputy Burns. I apologise for interfering.”
I remain rooted to the spot as the exchange takes place, turning my head back and forward to watch it play out. In truth, I don’t really need to, what with my enhanced peripheral vision. To maintain the illusion of regular sight, however, I make an extra effort to crane my neck to the left and right.
Eventually, it ends on Deputy Burns, whose eyes turn down to mine.
“Brie, come along now,” he says. “Mr Shaw is waiting.”
I grip the arms of the metal chair and release myself from its clutches. And turning from Agent Woolf for the final time, I see a darkness pervading her, and a look that says one thing…
I will get you. Soon enough, I’ll discover the truth.
74
A flood of relief works through my veins as I step out of the room alongside Deputy Burns. I’m unable to show it, however, and do all I can to keep it hidden deep inside me. Yet some is unstoppable, my breathing hastening enough for the Deputy to notice.
Outside the room, he shuts the cold metal door tight and spreads his eyes over me in his own unique fashion.
“I apologise for the actions of Agent Woolf, Brie. She should never have subjected you to an interrogation so close to your engagement with Mr Shaw. Are you OK?”
I nod but say nothing, my voice too brittle. I don’t quite know what to think about the man. That’s the second time he’s saved me, after stopping that Con-Cop from jabbing me outside Culture Corner a few weeks ago. I should be grateful for that, even though all he’s really doing is his job.
Then again, this man is complicit in the terrible plot unfolding around the city, working to put into practice the orders of Director Cromwell. During the last attack by the Fanatics on the market, his own men died, a number of City Guards caught in the blast.
He must have had knowledge of it. And yet, still, he did nothing to deter his own men from being on duty there. He let them die, just to further the cause of his master.
I allow the thought a few moments to process in me, before shedding it from my mind. And when I look at him again, my distaste for the man has been shifted back again, replaced by a grateful smile.
“Thank you for interrupting, Deputy Burns,” I say. “How did you know about my date with Adryan?”
“Oh, well, I like to keep my ear to the ground,” he says, somewhat cryptically. “I have close affiliations with the Council of Matrimony, as all high ranking officials do. It’s an important institution, and crucial in seeing us prosper. I heard from my men that you were seen being brought here by Agent Woolf, and thought I’d come fetch you. Again, my apologies.”
“There’s no need, but thank you,” I say.
He nods respectfully, and begins leading me towards the hall. Once more, I glance at the archives with some measure of desire, my mind briefly pulsing with thoughts of my father and, by extension, my mother too.
Deputy Burns seems to catch me looking. As we move towards the lift, his voice smoothly drifts to my ears again.
“Now tell me, Brie…did I see you at the site of the most recent attack?”
We enter the lift and it begins to plummet.
“Um, at the market?” I ask, trying to hold back my burgeoning anger at what I witnessed that night.
“Yes. When I first arrived, I believe I saw you on the edge of the square, away in the shadows.”
There’s no point in me denying it. He clearly saw me, and I saw him.
“Yes, I was there,” I say. “It’s close to my academy. I actually had two friends die in that attack…”
I can’t help but glare at him. His eyes remain quite impassive.
“A terrible shame,” he says. “First the attack at Culture Corner, and then the one at the market. You do find yourself in some odd and dangerous places, don’t you, Brie?”
“I guess I’m just unlucky.”
“Well, I’d counter you there,” he says as the lift doors open and we step into the busy foyer. “After all, your presence at Culture Corner led to your appearance here for the ceremony. In turn, that put you in front of many of the eligible bachelors of Inner Haven. And now, well, you�
��re courting a fine young man. So, not so unlucky after all…”
“I suppose,” I say blankly. “That’s an interesting way of looking at things, Deputy.”
“More logical, really. Who knows where a particular action or event will eventually lead you. Something terrible can bear positive fruit in the end. I said it before, and I’ll say it again now. You’ll make a fine addition to our ranks here, Brie. I’m sure you’ll do wonderful things…”
I scan his expression and end up confused. He really does like to talk, this one. He seems to derive some pleasure from the sound of his own voice.
He turns again to the main doorway, the natural light outside now fading fast, replaced with the all-encompassing illumination given off by the High Tower.
“Right then, Brie. It was nice to see you again, if only briefly. Mr Shaw is waiting outside. Enjoy your evening together.”
He nods courteously once more, before slipping away towards the lifts.
I still maintain my poise, holding things together as I work my way towards the light and send my eyes to the street beyond. The sight of Adryan, standing alone and staring at the doorway, sends an echoing shudder of relief through me.
Still, I don’t let any emotion show as I go towards him, and he performs his little bow as he always does when we greet. I do the same, then look into his silver eyes and feel my resolve weaken.
He appears to notice my crumbling façade, and so quickly lays his hand on my lower back and begins working me northwards across the street.
“Come on, let’s get you to the Court House,” he says softly.
I shuffle as fast as I’m permitted to go around here, without wanting to draw attention. Staring forward, I take in nothing. Not the crowds of dead-eyed Savants pouring from the High Tower. Not the monumental structure itself, usually so impossible to not gaze upon in wonder.
