CHAPTER FORTY-ONE - ANALGESIC CONFESSION
The cold-house was no more welcoming as darkness drew in. Another storm was on the horizon - out here, they came like the tides. The sun drove the clouds back, drove the snow away, but... well, the moon and stars offered no such relief. And the great banks came crashing back down, snow howling, like striding into a wall of floating sandpaper. Like being stripped down, layer by layer, the warmth of the body fleeing inwards and curling around the organs like a startled child, desperate to preserve itself, terrified of how the vast, cold world continue to steal it away with each new gust, each new melting flake, each new exhalation of warm air that grew steadily colder and colder until... damn. Tanner was still slightly afraid of the cold. Afraid of what it held. Afraid of the things out there which didn't feel the chill, and stared with cold, dead eyes, colder than any quantity of ice. She shivered in her large coat, staring out at the approaching cloud-banks, the crashing crests of snowy waves coming ever-closer. Midwinter would come when the sun gave up the ghost and faded away for most of the day, and the snowstorms would have their time to play with the colony during the bottomless night. Once more, Tanner wondered why people came up here, why the Rekidans had chosen to settle... and a moment later, she wondered if the enormous statues were part of it. The sun was an inconstant friend up here - it blinded you, it turned the landscape into crystals that drove horses mad if they stared at them for too long, it burned the skin a lobster-red, and when the time came, it abandoned you completely and left you to the happy, sharp fingers of clawing frost and biting snow.
In a place like this, why wouldn't you want to build high walls, and mount your gods upon them, staring defiantly into the approaching storms. And to their credit, even after the Great War, the statues still stood. The boundaries were still marked. It wasn't a glorious battle, nor a loud one, but it was slow, it was enduring, it was endless. Maybe that was how the people were, too. Not going to stage riots and protests, foment dissent in their inns... but they very well might just be lingering. Weathering the storm in a quiet, unobtrusive fashion, and when the chaos faded, the dust settled, the sun shamelessly ambled back over the horizon to dignify them with a meagre day... they would remain. And the others would be gone. Swept away by the interminable pale.
Well. At least there was one thing to remain enthusiastic about. And she was unscrewing it now.
Had to keep Sersa Bayai's telescope away from her eye, or she'd be liable to lose an eyelid to the coldness of the metal. Just looking at the thing was enough to make her feel a little better about the universe and her place in it. It was... nice. Damn nice, if she was to put it bluntly. The metal was sanded over to stop it glaring in the light, the entire construction was admirably sturdy, the lenses were fine and clear, and despite being well-worn, none of it had really been damaged. It moved smoothly and perfectly. And she was deeply appreciative She stared off at the cold-house from a distance, murmuring as she did so.
"Time?"
"Still half an hour to go until the shift ends. Think you'll be able to pick her out?"
"Think so. Should be able to pick out the young man, too. He might be worthwhile."
"I say the young woman. Whichever comes our way first, then."
"Hm."
A long pause, and she focused on the low, ominous structure up on its solitary hill. Kept imagining it as an anthill, riddled with passages, filled to the brim with twice-dead meat and other rations. She almost imagined, just for a moment, workers slithering down there. Going down trapdoors, and finding tunnels packed so tightly with food that you couldn't reach the ground, you could only slither between the gaps, gnawing your way through like a rodent. Halls of glittering, ruby-like meat, cured until it had the same texture as glass, gleaming white bones protruding here and there, long chains of sausages clustering along the walls until it would seem like getting squeezed down an enormous intestinal passage. Nonsense. But still. What stood before he was a sarcophagus of meat, standing atop a barrow-like hill, and she knew there were cellars, large ones too, packed tightly enough to refuse a giantess entry. Might as well let her imagination run wild with it. Marana's voice cut through once again, distracted her from her dreams of barrow-meat, which probably said more about how hungry she was. Hadn't managed to gnaw on much more than that bread crust, really. Nuts.
"...is that your telescope? I forgot to ask."
"No."
"Well?"
"Sersa Bayai's. I talked with him earlier today. Didn't tell him we were doing this, but he... well, I suppose he anticipated us needing it."
"How kind of him."
"Indeed."
"So... going to see the handsome moustachioed soldier in his barracks? And is that coffee I smell on your breath? Goodness, somebody had a rather good day today, hm?"
Tanner shot her a look, barely visible in the gloom. Marana's grin, though, that was entirely visible. Bright as the surface of the damn moon.
"Oh, come now. I'm only asking."
"No, you're implying. And I don't like your implications."
"Oh? And what implications would those be?"
Tanner glared.
"Nothing."
"Go on, say. Really, we're out here for another half an hour, you might as well."
Tanner gritted her teeth. Returned to staring through the telescope into the darkness. Still nothing. Nuts. Why couldn't the person she was stalking come out at the appropriate time? Oh, goodness, Tyer had probably thought that, hadn't he? She shuffled, trying to be more hidden. They were at the base of the hill, huddled behind a snow-bank, out of sight of most houses. Good thing, too. The last thing Tanner wanted was to get reported to the governor for stalking and harassment while investigating Tyer for stalking and harassment. Maybe she could claim she was just doing it to get into the mentality of the criminal, figure out who he was, what he wanted, how he worked. In other news, in order to more effectively prevent theft, she was going to start stealing things, just to really test local shopkeepers on their anti-shoplifting measures. It was an innovative method for law enforcement she called the Tannerian Operation.
Don't ask how the Tannerian Operation worked in cases of necrophilia.
Gods, Tanner, stop it. Absurd creature. Lazy camel. Obscene cave-dwelling salamander. Absolute opposite of an eel.
Might as well talk. Might stop her thinking.
"It's nothing."
"...you went out walking with him, didn't you? And I saw you with a little hint of redness around your collar when you saw him a few days ago."
Tanner could feel Marana pressing closer. Could smell the vague hint of a tipple of alcohol on her breath. Could sense her smile.
"I think somebody has a little flame burning for-"
Tanner snapped. Mentally and verbally.
"Marana, you're old enough to be my mother, and I refuse to talk about... about canoodling with you."
Marana was silent.
Oh, gods, had she hurt her feelings?
Oh, gods, had she insulted Marana so deeply that-
"...canoodling?"
A pause.
"Canoodling?"
Tanner's face was absolutely rigid as she stared at the cold-house on the hill.
"Cah-nooh-duh-ling."
Not dignifying her. Not dignifying her. Old enough to be her mother, by gum. Not dignifying her with a response. Her breath stank of alcohol.
"Tanner, I am, without a shade of a shadow of a whisper of a doubt, not talking about canoodling, my dearest darling delectable, I'm talking about making the beast with two backs, the release of the undergarment unicorn, the sub-duvet jamboree, the cross-party coalition in the Parliament of Love, a spot of horizontal refreshment, that spot of activity your parents engaged in at one point, the addition of mayonnaise to one's beef sandwich, weaving the tapestry thatched from two sets of hair, arching the spinal bridge, the finest vocal exercise you may ever participate in, , Tanner, I'm talking about-"
Tanner was moving.
Quickly.
Marana barely managed a squeak before Tanner hauled her up from the ground by her lapels, holding her several terrifying inches above the ground. The older woman swung back and forth like a clumsy chandelier, paralysed by shock, staring up at a very, very angry giantess, a long, worm-like vein twitching imperceptibly at the side of her forehead, while her knuckles turned the pure white of the driven snow all around them. Tanner was keenly aware of how delicate Marana was. Could throw her, and she'd crumple. Could shake her a little, could simply squeeze. Tanner's muscles were like steel wire, and Marana had been braising herself in wine for longer than Tanner had been alive. Her body was softened, and while some people would snap if Tanner went for them, she imagined Marana would squish and pop like a ripe grape. Her purple nose certainly made that seem like a possibility - one good solid honk of that thing with one of Tanner's enormous hands, and maybe she'd manage to juice it.
...no.
No.
Psychopaths thought this way.
She very, very quietly set Marana down on the ground. Anger made her voice utterly calm, and her face utterly still. Her face didn't even redden. She simply set Marana down, brushed her shoulders off, and returned to her sentry post.
"Marana, do not talk in such a manner again. I don't appreciate it."
Silence.
"Very well, honoured judge."
Tanner very, very slightly clenched her jaw. Marana settled back down beside her. And neither of them spoke about this incident again. Tanner wasn't going to explore what she'd said. Sersa Bayai was an esteemed professional, and she'd found his company pleasant on her walks. First face she'd seen from the colony, really. Not everything came back to... carnality, some things could just be pleasant and peaceful and nice. Just because Marana had... canoodled with someone she found at a random inn... feh. Feh. Tanner was going to try and put this out of her memory as soon as possible. Didn't like thinking this way. There was higher business to engage with.
For instance...
The minutes dragged on, and Marana quietly informed Tanner after each interval of five minutes. Didn't sound overly... hurt, but... nuts. Nuts. Tanner had frightened her, made her keenly aware that Tanner was large, strong, and could definitely take her in a fight. Especially if there were no guns involved. Tanner hated it when people became aware of this, hated it absolutely. Made her feel brutish. Thuggish. Dull. Made her think of when she was younger and had slightly less restraint, more of a habit of breaking things by accident. Gods, she hoped Marana wasn't-
"Sorry. Didn't mean to go that far."
She didn't sound like she apologised for things very often. The words came out uncertainly.
Tanner hummed.
"It's quite alright. Just... please don't do it again."
"Of course, of course."
A pause.
"...but for a hint of personal advice, and this is completely minor, you might want to avoid using the term 'canoodling' when you do, ah, ever choose to discuss this. Sounds odd."
Tanner didn't reply. But she filed the information away for later use. Yes, sure, when the time came for her to frankly discuss that, she'd be careful not to sound 'odd', like talking about that so openly wasn't odd in the first place. Feh.
"...ah. And here they come."
The shift was changing. Day crew stomping out. Night crew lingering. The dark figures were silhouetted against the last lingering scraps of pale sunlight, and they moved hurriedly, as fast as their weary limbs could take them. The telescope was wonderful, highlighting them... yes, they weren't wearing their damn huge coats, they were people now, not just odd voices coming out of anonymous uniforms. Man, man... there. A woman. Young. Recognised the frame, vaguely, from when she'd removed her coat slightly to get a cup of coffee from the samovar. Tanner murmured to Marana. They were to head for her immediately - it was a bit too early for the inns to serve alcohol, meaning, the workers would likely be heading home to clean up a little before doing anything else. So, they'd be splitting up. They'd picked this spot well, they were easily able to move to the road leading up to the hill, and could filter away into the narrow passages between houses, listening to the distant crunch of heavy work-boots on new-fallen snow, barely audible over the rising wind. They waited... yes, splitting up. Tanner wasn't the most tactical person, but she still knew how noticeable she was, and how easily Marana could blend in - tell her to hide in the shadows, wait there with a cigarette in her hands, like she was just about to light up, if these dratted matches weren't so damp. Good excuse if she was caught. Wait. Watch. Tanner kept an eye on her from a more secure position, hidden further away from the road.
Marana waited.
Tanner waited.
The footsteps crunched closer...
And diverged.
Moving in different directions.
Marana's cigarette immediately lit up, a little ember flaring in the darkness. With a tiny gesture to accompany it. Two gestures. And both of them were excellent.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Heading that way.
Heading there alone.
Luxury of the cold-house's position was that it was easy to isolate people - one road in, one road out, and the small scale of the colony meant there were only so many directions people could go in. If Tanner had felt like it, she might've looked up the woman's address, asked the governor for some advice, but... no, no, this was working just fine. Didn't want the governor to know all of her tangential thoughts. When she had results, she'd go to him, spill the beans. But every time she'd interacted with him since starting this case, she'd left feeling either embarrassed or annoyed. If she could do something alone, put bluntly, she would. As was her prerogative. Hoped that wasn't overly arrogant of her, but...
No, had to move.
She rushed through the snow as quietly as possible, largely sticking to patches where it was more packed in by footprints, as opposed to where it was fresh and would crunch underfoot. She moved, following the sound of soft footsteps...
Slid between two houses, briefly afraid of getting stuck...
Deep breath. Deep breath. About to make physical contact with someone else. Come on. She could do it. She could do it.
And she placed a heavy hand on a certain someone's shoulder with all the happy friendliness she could muster.
Female 25 shrieked and leapt a full foot in the air before crashing down to earth, pale as a sheet, shivering like a leaf, staring up with large eyes at Tanner as she loomed, titan-like, over the frightened vacuum maintainer, maker of twice-dead meat, guardian of the underground flesh labyrinth.
Oh, gods, she'd frightened her, smile, smile, smile, be reassuring!
Tanner smiled.
Female 25 whimpered.
Well. Couldn't back out now with a few apologies. Time to commit.
"Hello."
The sound the woman produced could maybe be rendered as 'hualaeweleny'.
"I'm very sorry to bother you. If it's at all convenient, could we have a talk? I just want to clear a few things up from yesterday, if that's alright. There's an inn around the corner. Would there work? Or would you rather somewhere else?"
The woman gurgled, but managed to ease out a small, polite request.
Her home.
Now that was unusual. Confronted by a strange giantess. Confronted with the possibility of interrogation. And she wanted it to happen somewhere out of public view? Unsupervised? Unscrutinised? Completely alone?
Tanner's smile remained small and faint, but her mood markedly improved, even as she felt guilty for startling the woman so badly. Very badly. Oh, gods, she was going to have nightmares about the look on her face, she should get the woman a cake, a pie, some liquor, maybe a basket of goods... a basket, definitely.
It appeared she'd found something.
* * *
The woman's house was much like all the others, and she shivered constantly as she removed her coat and boots. Tanner hesitated, glancing at Marana, red in the face from running to catch up with them. Marana gestured, indicating a firm approach. And Tanner, carefully, delicately, like a bear riding an inflatable ball, picked her way past the woman and found her way to the kitchen. Tea. That's what a startled woman needed. Tea. And what do you know, she had plenty of it. In Tanner's experience, tea was what you needed after a shock - she'd had more than enough shocks in her life. Tea and sugar, if at all possible. Tea was warming, domestic, associated with nothing more than the winding down of the day's affairs. Sugar replenished a little of the body's energy. Alcohol was for tearful confessions and slobbering nonsense, alcohol was for passion. Tea was for a little nip of warmth before sleeping. And no-one was at their most guarded when in what she might term 'the pyjama state of mind'. Sugar... no, the woman lacked it. Well, no matter, Tanner had brought a healthy quantity of the stuff. Her pantry might not be well-stocked with meat, vegetables, fruit, eggs, essentials, basic nutrition or the vital building blocks of a healthy life, but it did have a little jar of sugar. So, she was probably doing fine. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the woman's pantry, and she suppressed the urge to begin to gnaw.
"Tea?"
A vague sound. That was agreement. Marana appeared to be setting her down in the small chair used for dining. The kitchen was tiny, and left room only for Tanner (hunched over the stove), and the woman sat at her table. Marana hovered in the door-frame, arms crossed, clearly trying not to pant through her mouth like an overheated dog. No, dignified people breathed through the nose. Because everyone knew that the hole you expelled snot from was clearly the more dignified place for the passage of life-giving air, as opposed to the font of all human rhetoric and the means for consuming all the fruits of human cuisine. Hm. Odd thought, related to the ugly business earlier. If humans vomited eggs out of their mouths instead of... doing this the other way, would discussing canoodling be so vulgar?
On second thought, she was just going to make some tea. Tea was easy. Tea was good.
The woman stared at the two of them, eyes wide. In the harsh kitchen light...
Hm.
Her hair was oddly fair.
Tanner smiled in the gentlest fashion she knew.
"...out of interest, what's your name? You don't need to give it to me, but I keep thinking of you as Female 25."
The woman was silent.
"Fair. Can I ask one small personal question, though?"
Silence. Staring.
"Are you from Fidelizh?"
A quiet nod. Tanner's smile endured.
"I'm from Mahar Jovan, both of us are. But I was taught in Fidelizh, lived there for eight years. Whereabouts are you from?"
"Colonial."
Well, that meant her name likely ended with 'Dol'. Common colonial suffix. Female 25... Femadol 25? Alright, Femadol 25 she'd be. Worked for Tanner, not like she'd be writing it down or saying it out loud. Hopefully.
"I'm very sorry, again, for bothering you."
Another pulse of guilt. The tea finished boiling, and she brought a heavy metal mug over for her, setting it down on... hm, no, not directly on the table, that would be uncouth. She reached into her pocket, grabbed her notebook, tore a page out and folded it enough to serve as an appropriate guard. One didn't damage a host's table. Femadol 25 stared mutely at the mug, like she was incapable of comprehending it. Tanner pushed it gently towards her. And began. Nervousness was spiking in her gut - and whenever that happened, it was really rather easy to talk.
"Please, have some tea. It'll help you calm down. I hope I didn't startle you too much - did I grip you too hard? I'm sorry if I hurt your shoulder, very sorry, I didn't mean to do anything of the sort. We'll be out of your hair as soon as possible, we just have a few questions we wanted to ask. Oh, this is my associate, Marana. You know me, obviously. In fact... actually, I can get some money out, have a meal at the nearest inn afterwards, our treat. Having some warm food is always good after a bit of a shock - and I always find the food tastes better when it's acquired frugally, don't you? Now, I know the bouncers can be a little selective with who enters the inns after a certain time, I'd recommend the Empty-Throne, very good pies there. Try the steak and kidney, the innkeeper does them in suet, they taste wonderful, but if the bouncer says it's full, then there's... what's the nice place that's near the Empty-Throne? Right, of course, the Glimmering-Crane, they're good as well, and if neither are available, then of course we'll be happy to fund any other inn you choose to visit. And if you have any complaints about our conduct, we're at... well, ask around, and you can find the address. Hm, on second thought, let me write it down for you. Find us there, and we'll be happy to go over things together. If we've gone beyond our remit, it's important for us to correct ourselves. And-"
The woman snapped.
"Oh my gods, please, just ask me a question."
Marana's smile was audible.
Tanner felt slightly better. It was nice to release a big old exhalation of silly words. Usually she clamped down on it, but... well. Anyway. First time trying that deliberately. Goodness, she was developing interview techniques. Cross-examinations were never this dynamic.
"...well, to start with, what do you know about Tyer?"
Femdol 25 gritted her teeth. Hesitated. Seemed to realise there was no way out of this. Tanner kept her face completely flat, as it usually was, but her eyes were wide with concern. She genuinely wanted to help. Hoped the woman understood that.
"I don't know anything about him."
Tanner said nothing. If she talked, if she tried to confront her with evidence, it would become immediately apparent she had none, just a series of hunches. But her startled reaction, and her continued startled reaction after the initial contact, was enough to tell Tanner that there was something here. Not sure what it was, but...
"I mean it. Nothing."
A long pause. Silence. Femdol 25 reached for the tea, sipping it with affected casualness, but her lips were so rigid with tension that the slurp was almost comically loud, loud enough to make the woman wince, putting the tea back down with a too-heavy clunk. She was at that tense stage where her entire body felt clumsy and useless, yet she was hyper-aware of every detail. Tanner had... knowledge of that state. Could feel it clawing at her skin now, in point of fact. Just a little.
"I don't know where he's gone, I don't know what he did, I don't know. I know nothing."
Her tone was more protesting.
"You want me to say something dramatic? There's nothing. We worked in the same cold-house. I don't know where he is now. We maybe interacted a little, but not enough to build a relationship or anything."
This, from the woman who'd said 'piss off, I don't talk to judges'. From that, to talking to Tanner about underground tunnels, to talking about 'interacting a little'. She was breaking down. The process made Tanner feel very slightly uncomfortable, though. Tanner reached forward, inadvertently looming over the smaller woman. Her voice was low. Sympathetic.
"Did you ever feel threatened by him?"
The woman flinched. Anger mounted in her eyes.
"No. No, I did not. Not once. Harmless. Completely harmless, and not in a pathetic way, he was gentlemanly, and..."
She trailed off.
And there it was.
Gentlemanly. Quite the opinion of someone she only interacted a little with.
Tanner felt like she was in Tom-Tom's house again. Hunting for something she already knew the basic outline of, a truth which she was convinced existed somewhere, and... yes, like phantom pain, she could feel the crackling impulses where it ought to have been, and she was convinced it should be. Which this how hunches worked? Was it a good feeling for a judge, or a shameful one, fit for private investigators who rummaged around in negligee drawers and sniffed around hotel rooms for traces left by adulterous lovers. Hm. She wasn't sure what truth she could feel here, but she knew there was something. Femdol 25 was clearly unwilling to tell it. And if she was unwilling, why? What was so precious? What made her so immediately hostile? Tanner felt, with most of the colonists, that something was being hidden - but for once, there felt like there was some damn passion behind it all, like hiding was an actual struggle, not a casual response.
And finally...
"...for crying out loud, knew this would happen. Knew it. You knew in the damn cold-house, you knew in there, you knew from the moment I told you to piss off. Oh, all the others went in and out, but there was me, sweating like a fucking pig. You knew."
Tanner really hadn't.
"And then I went for coffee. Couldn't stand the others glaring at me, like I'd done something wrong. Felt like throwing up. Just needed air, I was boiling in my coat, but there you were, there you were with your questions. Damn you. Damn you. Knew this would happen, knew someone would catch us out, knew it from the second Tyer didn't come into work."
Tanner hadn't really meant to be mean. She pushed the mug closer, and the woman gladly took a swig from it, like she was knocking back a shot of something strong and pungent. The warm liquid soothed her, the sugar revitalised her, and her voice steadied. Tanner said nothing. Simply watched. No idea what to say. Silence felt recommended in such circumstances. The woman coughed, and looked over at Marana, like she was appealing to her for clemency.
"She's asking me about an ex-lover, can you imagine? How'd you think she liked it if I rummaged in her damn drawers and pulled out all her soiled nighties? No, no, she's too buttoned-up for that, I think she just sits there in her dress and stares at the wall until someone sticks a key in her back and winds her up. Clockwork potato."
Tanner felt hurt. Now she needed a cup of tea, honestly. Her face was still flat as could be, and she tried not to think about the size of her nose. Failed.
Gods, why was it so prominent? Why did all noses look weird when you actually paid attention to them? Urgh.
Ex-lover?
She crossed her hands over each other, cultivating a little luck. Adjusted her golden pince-nez, and tried to see the woman kindly. Reasonably. As a decent judge ought to. The god on her back dug its fingers into her shoulders, and demanded she be a good arbitrator, sympathetic to emotion but never participating. A sommelier, but not an alcoholic. Swill the wine around her mouth, but spit it out afterwards, let not a drop go down her own throat. Lighthouse amidst the storm. Thus was the place of the Coral-Spinal-Judge.
"...yes, we... we were... together. For a time. It's... we didn't used to work in the cold-house, alright? And please, please, don't tell the others I told you this. I don't know what's up with them, I don't want to know, but after this, either leave me alone and never talk to me again, never reference a word of this to anyone else, or at least take me to the governor's mansion so I can just live there until spring comes, then buy me a ticket home. I'm done with this fucking madhouse."
A pause, a shuddering breath. Odd, seeing this from the outside. Someone with a great deal pent up, letting it all spill out uncontrollably, relishing in the catharsis, yet eager for more once the first taste hit their lips. Tanner knew the experience well. It was why she tried her best not to do it - once you did, it became a standard practice, and that could be repeated over and over. Catharsis was a drug like any other - you built up immunity, you demanded higher doses, and eventually you were a shambling wreck animated by need alone.
"Can you promise this? A ticket home?"
Tanner glanced at Marana. Not for any reason, just... support. And the appearance of professionalism. Seemed like the sort of thing a competent person would do.
"I'll look into it with the governor. I can't promise anything more immediate."
"...fine. Fine. I suppose."
Femadol 25 took a deep breath, trying to get herself under control.
"...yes. Yes. We were ex-lovers. Back in the day, we worked on the same crew in the city. We went in, we moved rubble. It was boring, but it was... you know, you had an honest ache at the end of a day. What more can a girl ask for. The work make my arms ache, the lover made my legs ache, I had everything I could want. All I needed was to go to a fucking theurgic college to make my head ache, then I'd just be fine and dandy, aching all over, feel really damn fulfilled with my life."
Marana was clearly suppressing a laugh. Puerile individual that she was.
"We worked on the same crews. Then we got to talking. He was... is, I don't know, he's nice. Gentlemanly. Not a creep, just... nice. Polite. No intention behind it, he just treats people with basic respect. We got to talking. We got to... more than talking. Out here, you know, you... I mean, cots are small, but we managed. I don't want... want to fucking talk about my love life, not with the walking potato and her wino friend."
Marana's laughter no longer needed suppression. Tanner nodded, allowing her to continue.
"...then things just got strained. We ended up on different shifts, different areas. Time was, we were side by side. Now, we were at other ends of the city. Different times, too. He'd get home, I'd be asleep. I'd get home, he'd be getting ready for work. Annoying, I complained about it, nothing happened... then, I get this message from the overseers, quick as you like. Get to the cold-houses, it said. We need more help there, it said. Useless fucking job, I monitor dials and tell someone else if something goes wrong, I know as much as a fish knows about how to fly, I don't know. Ever tried having a relationship where people work miles apart, with weird shifts, so neither of us can talk to each other for more than an hour? Every tried having a relationship where the man gets weirder and weirder, keeps looking out the windows, keeps asking me if something weird happened today. I'm around a fucking time bomb, poking glass jars, wearing a cloth mask in a giant brick coffin, yes, things weird happen, the entire place is weird."
Another breath. Tanner smiled sympathetically, but said nothing. No idea what to say. She'd never... been in a situation like that, in basically... no, no, Eygi. Long-distance friendship. Zero physical contact for nearly half a decade. Could understand. Not that Tanner's friendship with Eygi had rotten away, she thought it was still perfectly stable. Eygi replied infrequently, but that was because Eygi was busy, and Eygi wasn't good at letters. If she was, she might still be studying to become a judge, might've stayed longer than a handful of years. Tanner was fine, she made up for Eygi's deficiencies with her own abundance. Not that Eygi was deficient, she was just efficient with her words. There, efficient, not deficient. Anyway.
"...so, yes, maybe we drifted apart. Weeks of just stuck up there in that miserable coffin. It's all Rekidans, too. All locals. You want to know what a Fidelizhi colonial and a Rekidan shantytowner talk about all day? Fuck all. You know what, I think they just hate me up there. I think they just have me up there because it makes the governor happy, and once they get sick of me, they'll cut me up and stuff me underground with all the meat we keep down there. Not that I ever see it. You know how embarrassing it is, potato-woman, to get interrogated about something you know barely anything about? I was just improvising. Shitting myself the whole time."
Tanner really didn't mean to do that.
Why couldn't confessions happen over tea and biscuits? Why did they all need to be tearful and emotional? Tanner disliked both of those things in people around her, they made her viscerally uncomfortable and out-of-place. Like seeing a wild animal calmly bending the bars of its own zoo cage. Interesting from a distance. Terrifying at close range. And inevitably going to result in her getting her throat torn out by a mangy desert-dog.
Right. Confessions. Tanner didn't do these often. Her thoughts were going a thousand miles an hour.
Were her hands in the right place?
Should she maintain eye contact and intimidate her soul into submission, or break eye contact and make her comfortable?
Feh.
Femadol 25 took over the duty of being an active agent, thankfully.
"Weeks of that. Plenty of weeks. I'm bored, I'm tired, I'm sick of this, I want to go home. And then, one day, I turn around, bunch of blanched cabbage for vacuum sealing in my hands, and what do I see? Him. Tyer. Standing right there, in one of our coats. Says he arranged to come here. And now, maybe, things get better. He's nice. Good conversation. But we're not... like that, not at that point. Still on different shifts. But he keeps an eye on me. Nice enough."
A sigh, another slurp of tea.
"...then this. Then, fucking, this. And I have no idea what's happening, no idea what's going on, but let me tell you this - he's not a bad person. He's a gentleman. I've combed my hands through his hair, I know what he's like, I know he's good. And then he vanishes, then he vanishes and a judge is looking for him, all my colleagues are weird, I panic, I say something about the cellars, which is fine, the cellars are there, and my colleagues already don't like me, but talking to you for longer than two seconds makes me public enemy number one, and... I don't care. I want to go to the governor, and you can tell him to get me home, I do not care about anything else. Am I understood, potato?"
Tanner blinked.
"I'll try."
"You'd better. I don't want a knife in my stomach tomorrow."
"You think that's a risk?"
The woman snorted.
"A freak in rags comes up to you in an alley, do you think 'oh, there's a low level of risk here', or 'oh, this is just a person, and a person like me', no, you go 'this man is here to kill me, his hand is around a knife, I'm about to die'. You know."
And on that, she ended. Speeches never ended correctly, not with a final, dramatic declaration. She was spilling her guts onto the table, vomiting up words in a senseless stew, punctuated with too many expletives for comfort. There would be no clear beginning, middle, and end. She began her story, then her story stopped needing to be told. And Tanner was left sitting in confusion. Not a bad person. Gentleman. He's good. And then Tom-Tom, and the others. Habitual drunk. Knife enthusiast. Loner. Oddball. The neighbour, confirming Tom-Tom's account. But now... now she had evidence. Now she had someone willing to testify to his character. Someone credible. Her old images of her judgements were fading away, and she was left with confusion. What was happening? Why would this have happened the way it did? Why was Tyer in this position to begin with?
And why had Tom-Tom come to her, talking about a stalking lunatic who punched her, then harassed her over the course of a few days?
Why?
And what did it all mean?
The woman slumped back in her chair, exhausted. Tanner felt the same. A character reference. Had to get this back to her house, back to the governor, back to somewhere. After days of grabbing on... it was like grabbing the loose little spurs of a fingernail, the tiny hooks which came off after a tiny tug... and then hitting something good. A proper notch, to latch into, to tear, to clip the nail down to reasonable size with a single, solitary yank. That was what it felt like. She had her notch. She had her solid purchase. All she had to do was pull hard enough, and this might be cleared up. Too many tangents had failed to be resolved, though. Far too many. Cages and cast-iron. Cultural phantom pain. The broader patterns which linked this all together. She could find the limited connections, but the broader pattern eluded her completely, and without that, this was all meaningless. Arrangements could be made for transport, certainly. She left the kitchen, with the distraught inhabitant, and ordered Marana to go and find a guard, any guard, and get him to come here. She wanted someone to escort Femadol 25 to the governor's palace, it was more secure than her own house, and her own house had Tom-Tom in it, someone implicated in this whole mess. Unless the governor was implicated? She stayed Marana, paranoid twitching up her spine. Was the governor in on this? Was Mr. Canima? Was that why his men had known who was involved in the initial stages of the case, but immediately afterwards became as useful as a salmon with a horse saddle? How high did this go, and what exactly was... this? What did this even mean? What was this?
The woman spoke suddenly, her voice echoing hollowly in the empty space of the kitchen, rattling from cabinet to cabinet, bouncing between the sad remnants of a single woman's pantry, full of half-eaten things gnawed dispassionately.
"...you don't know what... love is, really."
Was she drunk?
Tanner checked. No, no, nothing. She was just exhausted. Coming down from a high she might've never experienced in this way.
"...love is the... thing you cling to, when it's cold, when you've got nothing left. We were poor. We were weak. We shovelled rubble out of a ruin. Sometimes we found skeletons. Little ones. I remember, we got... blasting caps for one segment. Blasted out a whole chunk of compacted rubble. And these little skeletons went up in the air, all in pieces. Covered in black threads, must've been their clothes. I saw this little pale arm going up, up, up... like one of those fireworks that spin around, over and over. Gleaming. Then it came down, shattered, just a pile of crap at that point. Swept it up and moved on. Burning and sweeping. Love's the thing that keeps you going when you're digging up the skeletons of children out of their rotten cribs. Love's the thing that keeps you going through that. Makes everything make sense. You're turning children's skeletons to dust, staring into that blank eye sockets, but... you've got a warm chest to lie on, a too-small cot to share, a shared meal to huddle over. And you think you're doing something right. If you keep doing this something, you'll make another generation, you'll keep going. And all of this becomes a memory. Love's a future. Ever since he just... drifted away, I don't think I've done anything right. I'm just existing. You wouldn't understand."
Tanner stared at her.
The woman stared back with one eye, the other hidden by a curled arm as she lay, face-down on the table.
Said nothing.
And when Marana came back, she murmured something very, very urgent into Tanner's ear. Something that made her almost jump out of her skin.
'He's been seen.'