Rhian

I lived in the forest between Oskari and the Drop for two days. By the third night, I’d run out of snacks and squirrel wasn’t all that appealing, quite bloody frankly. The Crazy Bitch had the advantage at the minute, but that was all right. I needed her to feel comfortable while I came up with a plan. Also, I needed some time alone with my leaky eyes.

Strauss. Poor bastard. I could have gone to him, and I could have told him what the Crazy Bitch told me—that we might be expecting. Reckon he’d have fainted, then we’d have argued, then he’d have wanted to hug me, and I’d have wanted to let him. He’d have suggested we run again, build a life nowhere and everywhere. A life on the lam with a child three times cursed? Bugger that. The man needed his security and all the comforts he’d grown used to. He had a good thing going in Oskari for the most part. Bottom line: not telling Strauss right away might have been the wrong thing to do, but it seemed the best thing to do. Besides, I wasn’t even sure it was true. Never trust a Crazy Bitch.

So, by the time I ran out of snacks, I decided I’d scout out the Drop, see if there was any gossip, and score myself something to eat. Also, I was hoping by some chance I’d run into Feargus. I really needed him then. But as it turned out, there wasn’t much activity coming in or out of Amalia, so the Drop was dead quiet when I got there.

After burning some notes on a bowl of mashed potatoes and a sausage, I stepped out of the rest-house feeling fantastic. But with every bit of good comes a bit of bad. I spotted her, and she spotted me, and there was no going back. Councilwoman Faust—walking away from the ugliest carriage I’d ever seen. Of all the people I could have bumped into at the time, Faust was up there with the worst. I remember she had on this feathery coat, and I remember it on account of it fit right in with that beak of hers.

“Enforcer Sinclair,” she said.

I’d have liked it if she called me Rhian instead. Then I might have called her Zelda, or Zelly. Or Zelly-Belly. Anything to cut the bleeding tension.

“Hello,” I said.

“I was sorry I missed you in Oskari…”

Like hells she was.

“…but I’ll be sure to inform Councilwoman Kelly of your efficiency in a job well done. You should return soon, however. Your work is far from over, and the townspeople wish to thank the Partisan responsible for finding and freeing their loved ones—the brave woman who put the madman down. Well done, Enforcer.”

There I was, getting good credit for something I didn’t do. Didn’t kill the old man. Didn’t know anything about the freedom of any loved ones. Must have been a gift from the Crazy Bitch for accepting her offer. The truth is, I preferred bad credit for somethings I didn’t do. I might have been a bit of a masochist like that.

“Right,” I said. “There’s some strange shite going on in this goddess-forsaken territory, Councilwoman. We know it. You know it. It’s wrong. What you’re doing? Keeping all this from us? It’s bloody wrong.”

“How many trials have you stood before Assembly? Ten? Twelve? Assault, murder, arson, heresy—all things wrong but for the best, wouldn’t you say? Or have you changed your position? Unfortunately, it's too late for me to change my votes.”

Councilwoman Faust might have been a miserable old woman, but she wasn’t usually an arsehole. She’d had my back in the past, so maybe she did have her reasons.

I was still skeptical.

“Fine, but I generally do what I do to protect people from danger. You’ve gone and thrown us deaf, blind, and dumb into some sort of hell.”

“Yet you all survive. You have been given enough knowledge, and between you, display enough talent. My orders are yours to follow, and your business in Oskari has not concluded. Unless, of course, you wish to join your comrades in Endica. I understand Councilwoman Kelly has suffered significant losses.”

To be fair, she was a bit of an arsehole.

“What’s stopping me from getting word to Kelly about all of this?” I asked.

“By all means.”

I knew what that meant. That meant, “Go ahead, Enforcer Sinclair. Send your words. You can’t write them and I’ll make sure Kelly won’t see them.”

The Councilwoman stabbed a crooked finger toward the ugly carriage. “The gentleman inside awaits my instructions. Tell him my instructions are to transport you back to Oskari. Are we understood?”

“Whatever.”

As I stomped off toward the carriage, the old man at the reigns started smiling. He seemed all right, but I reckoned once we got rolling, I’d make a jump for it. Run like the wind and whatnot. It was a shitty plan. I knew it the moment the door to the carriage swung open, and a brown-eyed man popped his head out.

“Get in,” he said. Swanky bastard had on another nice jacket.

“Uh—no?” I’d changed my mind, Faust be damned.

I remembered what That Thing was capable of at the schoolhouse-slash-tavern. I remembered him flipping me across the room and ripping apart floors like a goddess-be-damned grizzly bear. I wondered how he knew the Councilwoman. I wondered why he was with the Councilwoman. Maybe they were lovers. Maybe Those Things weren’t all bad. Maybe Faust was all bad. I could’ve come up with a thousand conspiracies.

“Look,” I said. “I don’t mean to be rude seeing as I’m sure you’re interesting and all, but who in the six hells are you? And what were you doing with Faust?”

“Common interests. Get in.”

“I’m fine thanks.”

“Rhian, why do you insist on biting the hand?”

“On account of I’m done with your kind and all the horseshite that comes with. Piss off.”

“What have I done to upset you?”

Apart from saving Michael’s life that night at the schoolhouse-slash-tavern, the Mystery Man hadn’t done much. I might have been feeling pricklier than normal.

“Were you not listening when I told you to piss off? Or is that not a term you folks use around here? It means: Go. Away.”

“I understand you’ve finally met my sister,” he said.

And there I was again, remembering the Crazy Bitch alone in her room with a face like thunder. I saw the lad asleep in his bed with the bedside lantern and whatnot. Then there was the big old “R” stamped on the mysterious letter Gus read in a mysterious voice—exactly like the big old “R” stamped on the side of the ugly carriage.

“You’re the shadow at my back,” I said.

“Yes, and I’m offering you aid. What good will you be to the cause ignorant, exhausted, malnourished, and scavenging in the forests like a feral creature?”

“What makes you think I’d be doing that?”

“These are my lands, Rhian. Run, I’ll catch you. Hide, I’ll find you. We have matters to discuss, and you need to recuperate. Please, get in.”

So, I got in.

What can I say? He said please and I was tired.

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“And you’re how old?” I asked.

“Three hundred and ninety-seven.”

Three hundred and ninety-goddess-be-damned seven.

“Right-e-o,” I’m sure I said, seeing as there wasn’t much else to say. Oldest person I’d met was Number Two on the Assembly, and she was about a hundred and fifty. It was late middle-aged by Senec standards, and she looked it, too. Mystery Man didn’t look a day over thirty-five. I studied the latch on the door. The carriage was moving in a direction that wasn’t Oskari, but I knew where we were going. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen the path leading up to the giant house in the forest I was living in for two days. I just didn’t take it.

“You have questions,” he said.

Obviously I did, starting with, “Have you got a name?”

“Alexander Ruza,” he replied. “My elder sister is called Lidia.”

“Right. I’m no mathologist, but how does that work?”

“Lidia was just shy of seventeen when she died.”

“Wait—what?”

“We are lifelike, but we are not alive, Rhian.”

The horses slowed when curving around a bend, and that’s when I should have made my move. But there’s that saying about curiosity and cats, or Strachan, or whichever. Point is: I was finally getting some answers, and there was something sincere about the brown-eyed man. The way he said my name didn’t give me the willies.

“If you’re not alive, then you’re dead. But you don’t smell dead. Can I touch you?”

Alexander Ruza had one hell of a charm. I trusted him more and also less because of it. It was all too bloody easy, wasn’t it? Coming out of nowhere to save the day with his fancy words and his ugly carriage.

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For the record, he didn’t feel dead.

“We’re not alive, but we’re also not dead. It could be more accurate to say we are reanimated? Suspended in time?” Alexander shrugged.

“So you can really do it all—the mind tricks, the empathy—everything?”

“Technically we can do the collective sum of what Partisans can do—everything except precognition. I’ve determined that because our lives have essentially ended, we are not able to perceive a future that doesn’t exist. As for what we can do? Your warrior is stronger and far more physically capable than my sister. Lidia has always been lazy and impatient. We are only as strong as our greatest efforts, and hers is a game of the mind.”

“How about you?”

“I would annihilate your warrior, and while you may outrun me, I would outlast you. But mine is a game of heart.”

“So, what’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch to my offer of aid, Rhian. You have no love for Lidia and I have nothing but. Despite this, our end-game is the same. We must stop her.”

Normally I wouldn’t question why a person doesn’t take out a target themselves—especially where there are family ties. Most people haven’t got it in them. But this one? He’d slain a few to survive. I could tell.

“Why not just take care of her yourself?”

“Because she made me what I am, and we cannot destroy our makers.”

I imagined Alexander taking a swing at Lidia’s neck and being stopped by an invisible wall, but then I reckoned the reason went a lot deeper than that.

Odds were, Alexander actually did want his sister out of the picture, and he’d keep me alive long enough to do it. Put yourself in the man’s shiny shoes for a tick. Anyone who’d lived three hundred and ninety-seven years without going mad or lopping their own head off had survival instincts leaking out their arsehole and whatnot. The Crazy Bitch was probably just as much a pain in his neck as she was in ours. She was fucking with his peace of mind. ‘Course, odds were even the man was a menace of his own.

What do you think? Place your bets.

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When we were little and we’d have a minute, Gus and I would sit around wondering what it’d be like to be one of the upper-class Barrens. “May we offer you more tiny food, Sir? Madam?” we imagined we’d be asked about thirty-three times a day. Then we’d eat all the tiny food in the world, and drink enough wine to fill the sea. There’d be parties, and people, and hoity-toity conversations about feathered hats and the state of affairs or something or other. Even in our imaginations, it was hell.

Everything except the tiny food.

Anyhow, it was fun to think about, and it was nothing like wandering around an old mansion with nobody to talk to except the butler. Peter was all right, though. He treated me like a person, which was nice because I am one. He’d ask me loads of questions I’ve never been asked like, “How are you feeling, Miss Rhian?” and, “How can I make your stay more comfortable, Miss Rhian?”

The truth is, I was so bloody comfortable I was uncomfortable.

“Been working for Alexander long?” I asked. For all I new, Peter was three hundred and ninty-goddess-be-damned-seven also. (He wasn’t.)

“For nearly three decades, Miss Rhian.”

“Is he good to you?”

“I would not be here if he weren’t.”

Somehow, I expected a different answer—as if the man wouldn’t have a choice, that Those Things would use mind tricks or power plays to keep people enslaved against their will. I mean, Palisade did it, and they were supposed to be the good guys.

But never mind. Point is, Peter had a choice in life, and so did I. If you’re wondering why I stayed, here it is: for the first time in my entire life, I wasn’t thinking about survival. I wasn’t thinking about the next poor sap I’d run my blades through, or about Palisade, or what I was gonna eat if not the poisoned dinners in the mess hall. Also, I wasn’t paranoid. There wasn’t a thing threatening about Peter, or Alexander, or their pretty house in the middle of the forest. And a house is a house, but Alexander Ruza’s was something else.

Swirly stairs going up, arches and corridors leading this way and that. There was a cellar, and a kitchen, and whole rooms for proper baths, and there were even toilets. But of the seventy-five thousand rooms I explored, the library was my favourite.

It had comfortable couches and a portrait of a honey-blonde man in a purple suit.

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On my third day as Miss Rhian, I woke up in the middle of the afternoon in a pile of pink pillows. Peter was standing over me with an apple and a mug of crisp, clean water. He apologized about fifteen times for waking me up, but he said there was something I ought to see in the attic—something the Master reckoned I’d be happy seeing. It was the only room I hadn’t snooped around in. In my experience, nothing good ever came out of an attic, but the Master was a clever man, and the attic became my new favourite room.

There were props, and costumes, and mannequins. Stacks of canvas in all shapes and sizes. There were paints—red, blue, green, almost red, sort of blue, kind of green, white, black, I’m tired of this now. As much as that was all really nice seeing as I loved making pictures, the real surprise jumped out at me like a thing that’s fast.

There was hugging, and squealing, and then there was me asking, “What in the six hells are you doing here?”

“Visiting my best friends Alexander and Peter,” Feargus said.

Peter, who was still lurking, smiled and rubbed his shiny head. He did that a lot. “Master Jack, Miss Rhian, is there anything you need before I leave you to reacquaint?”

“How about lunch?” I asked.

“A sensible choice. Any requests?”

“Anything,” I said. “As long as it’s tiny.”

Peter bowed and disappeared down the ladder, closing the hatch.

“All right, what are you actually doing here?” I asked.

Gus had great hair. Curly but not too curly. Long, but not too long. Kept it flopped over his eyes most of the time. Anyhow, Gus ran his hand through his hair. That’s all I’m trying to bloody say.

“I’m here because you need me,” he answered, as if I should have already known.

“That’s a shite answer, but you’re not wrong," I said. “I’ve really missed you, mate.”

Gus snatched a prop rapier from the weapon rack and plopped a feathered hat on his head. “Aye, me too. Most days it feels like I’m missing my left arm, but eh—reckon you ought to paint me while we’re here,” he said, posing like a goddess-be-damned idiot.

Seeing as there wasn’t anything better to do, I chose a round canvas and a sharp pencil. Gus was an excellent model. He was great at speaking through his teeth.

“I was in Oskari the other day,” he said. “Why weren’t you?”

“On account of there’s a Crazy Bitch,” I said, as if it would explain everything. “Also, I might be pregnant, so—that’s a thing.”

“Stracha’s Steed. Strauss?”

If I were confessing to anyone other than Gus, they’d have stopped to remind me the thousand ways I’d fucked up. There ought to be more people like Gus.

“Aye, and somehow the Crazy Bitch knows. She said if I meddle in her crazy business anymore, she’ll seduce another old man into kidnapping the world and whatnot.”

“Huh,” Gus said. “You don’t look pregnant.”

“Am I supposed to look pregnant?”

“I mean, the Crazy Lady’s got nothing on you if you don’t look pregnant. Nobody would believe her if she tried using it against you. She’s crazy.”

“Aye, but that won’t work for long, and it won’t stop her kidnapping the world if I go back to Oskari—which, by the way, is where I’m supposed to be according to Faust. Never mind she’s got That Varis spying on our every piddle.”

While we chatted, I carried on drawing. I’d fill in the colours later.

“Just tell Varis it’s ours. She’ll get word back to Palisade, and Kelly will be thrilled.”

“What about Strauss?”

“Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? From what I understand, loads could go wrong and he’d never have to know. But, loads could go right and you’ll sort it out because he’s a good man and he loves you—he really does.”

“All right, but what about the Crazy Bitch and her crazy plans? Never mind kidnapping the world, she threatened to hurt everyone else, too. Michael, Strauss, even That Varis. She might be a twit, but I don’t want her dead.”

“You’ll just have to stop her, won’t you?”

“What do you know about Those Things?”

“What things?”

“Not Barrens, and not Partisans, but—”

“Oh, like Alexander?”

“Aye, the Crazy Bitch is one of Those Things. And get this—they’re siblings.”

“Alexander and the Crazy Lady?”

“Aye.”

“Oh.” Gus frowned. “That’s sad.”

“How about you?” I finally asked. “What have you been doing, anyhow?”

Gus stalled for a minute, adjusting the feathered hat on his head. “Soon, all right? I’ll tell you everything—promise.”

What can I say? He might have been Gus to me, but he was still Agent Finlay.

It went quiet for a while, and it stayed that way until Peter called us down for lunch.

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The table had too many chairs.

While Gus and I sat across from each other at one end, Alexander sat on the other side in the far northern reaches of Endica. I’d find out later it wasn’t that he didn’t want to sit with the peasants, it was so that he didn’t accidentally make us sick. But never mind. The food was delicious, and it was definitely tiny. There was tiny meat, and tiny potatoes, and tiny forks for tiny fishes. Tiny fruit, and tiny cheese, and I needed that tiny cheese more than I’d ever needed anything. But I didn’t eat it. I didn’t want painful gas even more than I wanted the cheese. So, I forked a potato instead. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about the child that may or may not exist. Then again, I was about three-quarters the way sure it did.

Frankly, I don’t really need to get into details about that.

I forked another potato, and this time I imagined it was Councilwoman Blanchett’s head. Never mind the shite they’d put me through for all the years. Never mind the orders, the politics, or the stress. The truth is, I liked my job most of the time. But I was a grown goddess-be-damned woman with working parts, and what happened in Delphia was my goddess-be-damned right. I should have been allowed to rub up against whoever-the-bloody-hell I wanted, and I should have been allowed to feel how ever I wanted about the outcome.

I ate Councilwoman Oranen next.

“Rhian, I hope you haven’t found us overbearing,” Alexander said. Even though Peter had served him a plate, he still hadn't eaten anything. Apparently Those Things can't, but This One liked pretending. “One can’t be too cautious in your condition. I saw my late wife through several miscarriages and while it may be none of my business, I only wish to protect you from the pain.”

I squinted across the table. The man was getting on my nerves more and more. Alexander Ruza hadn’t said a thing out of order since I’d met him. He didn’t twitch, didn’t flinch, didn’t slip up with a single word. Then again, he’d had centuries worth of practice.

“Say, Alex—I didn’t know you were married,” Gus said.

Alex? Bloody hells.

"Her name was Isabella." Alexander looked at me then. "You may have seen her portrait in our home in Istok, prior to your setting it on fire. Unfortunately, now I’ll have to rush to have it rebuilt before the next Fire Fair. Much as I’ve evolved over the years, I still cannot resist the compulsion to repeat the pattern.”

“Uh—”

I ate Councilwoman Faust.

“I will tell you everything after lunch. All about my childhood in Oskari, and my life in Istok, and about what happened to Isabella and our daughter. First, we should discuss my sister. While I cannot devote myself wholly to the cause, I have information about her that you cannot get elsewhere. To defeat my sister, you must understand my sister. For we, like a story, are cursed by our greatest blessing—doomed to repeat, an infallible example of immortality. The times do change, the circumstances do differ, and the details often vary. But there is no escaping the cycle. What we did in life—what we were in life—we remain eternally.”

“Right,” I said. “And what were you?”

“A talented carpenter, a successful business man, a devoted husband and father. Destined to have it all, destined to lose it all. I was not without flaws, but I was a good man—a kind man.”

“What about Lidia?” I asked.

As it turns out, that was a loaded question.