Written In Red Part 23

"I didn't have time for breakfast this morning," Meg said. "Would you go over to A Little Bite and ask Tess for some coffee? Tell her it's for me, and she'll know how to fix it. And ask her if Howling Good Reads has any copies of the Lakeside newspaper."

The Hawk stared at her. "The Lorne makes the newspaper. He's over there." He pointed in the direction of the Three Ps.

"Not the Courtyard's newsletter. I'd like a copy of the newspaper the humans read."

"Why would you want that?"

The Crow looked up from his pen arrangement to stare at her too.

Clearly being too interested in human activity was suspicious behavior here, even if the person was human. But something bad had happened, something that had caused Simon to leave in a hurry. Maybe she could find out what it was without cutting.

"As Liaison, I should be aware of what is happening in the human part of the city," Meg said, choosing her words with care. "And I can check store ads and make a list of things that might interest the terra indigene."

After a moment, the Hawk nodded and left. Meg smiled at the Crow and brought the handcart of packages into the sorting room.

Some were small enough to go with the mail. Others she would pack in the BOW for deliveries, along with her personal delivery.

The Hawk returned with a large coffee, a newspaper, and a small bag. He set them all on one end of the sorting table.

"HGR gets newspapers," he said. "Tess will tell Vlad that you are to get one now. There is food. There is no mouse in it, but the Merri Lee said you would like this meat better."

Thank the G.o.ds for Merri Lee. "Thank you." When he stared at her, she added, "I don't need any more help right now."

He turned and went into the back room. Meg was reaching for the coffee when he walked back out, naked. He went right by her, vaulted over the counter, then held out an arm for the Crow, who hesitated but hopped on his arm. The two of them left the office. The Crow joined its friends on the wall that separated the delivery area from Henry's yard. The Hawk stood in full view of anyone driving by long enough to make Meg wonder how to explain the cause of all the car accidents when the police came calling. Then he shifted and flew off.

Putting all the pens back in the holder, Meg went into the sorting room. There was nothing to do until the mail truck arrived, so she ate her breakfast and skimmed through the Lakeside News from first page to last. She found a few things she thought might be of interest to the Others, but she'd ask Tess or Vlad before doing anything.

What she didn't find was any kind of news that would explain why Simon had left in such a rush that morning.

Monty hesitated in the doorway of Captain Burke's office. Something about the way the man sat behind the desk gave the strong impression that intruding for anything but an emergency wouldn't be tolerated.

But when Monty took a step back, Burke said, "Come in, Lieutenant, and shut the door."

He shut the door and approached the desk.

"Something on your mind?" Burke asked. He sounded subdued.

"Simon Wolfgard and two other terra indigene caught a westbound train this morning," Monty said. "Henry Beargard called me with this information and suggested that a patrol car be at the station to ensure good behavior on the part of the humans. Officer Kowalski tells me this is unusual because the Others travel by train all the time and police presence isn't requested." He studied Burke. "It means something, doesn't it?"

"It means Simon Wolfgard knows more about what's happening out west than we do," Burke replied. He sighed and sat back. "Most likely, the newspapers and television news will receive a watered-down version to avoid things escalating out west or spreading to other parts of Thaisia."

Monty shivered. "Sir?"

"In hamlets that have less than a thousand people, the Others don't have a Courtyard. They don't need one because there is no way in or out of those places except on roads running through terra indigene land. But the Others usually have a house at the edge of the village, a place for mail and packages to be delivered and the place where they have electricity and telephones and where they enjoy the technology we've developed. The gards take turns using the house and looking after it, as well as dealing with the mail and deliveries.

"Last night in Jerzy, a farming hamlet that provides about a quarter of the food for one of the bigger cities on the West Coast . . ." Burke stopped and just stared straight ahead for a long moment. "Well, we don't really know what happened, except some young fools hopped up on some d.a.m.n thing figured out the Crows had gathered for a movie night, broke into the house, and attacked the Others. One of the Crows managed to reach the phone and call for help, and a couple of them got away and alerted the rest of the terra indigene. The police officers who responded to the call were shot by the intruders, along with several Crows. That much is clear. After that . . . The Others caught some of the attackers and killed them, right out on the street. And then they went crazy. Some of the people in the village, instead of staying in their houses, grabbed whatever they could for weapons and went out and escalated the fight."

Burke clasped his hands and pressed them on the desk. "By the time police reinforcements from other hamlets arrived, the fight was over and the Others had disappeared into their own land. We don't know how many terra indigene died in that fight, but one-third of the people in Jerzy are dead. We know the humans started it, so the survivors are d.a.m.n lucky the Others left anyone alive."

Burke's voice had risen to something close to an angry roar.

Out of the corner of his eye, Monty saw men jerk to a stop and stare before hurrying away.

"How did you find out about this, sir?" Monty asked.

Burke sagged, his face an unhealthy gray. "One of the officers who responded to the call is the son of a friend of mine. The Others found Roger and took him to the clinic. Saved his life. The other three police officers didn't make it. So Roger was the only one who knew for sure what happened up to his being shot. My friend called me this morning, both to tell me about Roger and to warn me about something Roger had heard before he pa.s.sed out." He pushed back from his desk and stood up. "I will be talking-quietly-to the chief, to other captains, and to all the team leaders in this station. The chief will decide who else needs to know."

"About the attack?"

Burke shook his head. "About something that pumps up aggressive behavior. One of the attackers was boasting about having gone over wolf' and how they would become the enemy in order to defeat the enemy."

"G.o.ds above and below," Monty whispered.

"So if you hear any whispers about humans having gone over wolf' or about something on the street that pumps up aggression, I want to know. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." He hesitated, not sure he wanted to know. "What about the rest of the people in that hamlet? What will happen to them?"

"The Others let an ambulance come in and take Roger to a city hospital. They did that because he had responded when the Crows called for help. Then they barricaded the roads. Now the only ways out of Jerzy don't lead to anyplace human, and right now it's unclear if people would survive if they tried to leave. But one thing has already happened in the city that is supplied by Jerzy."

"Rations," Monty said. He remembered a winter as a child when his mother was making more soups and got so angry when he or his siblings tried to take a second piece of bread. That spring, he and his father and brothers had turned a piece of their backyard into a vegetable garden, and his mother learned how to can fruit for the hard times, and never went to the butcher shop or the grocery store without her ration book.

"Rations," Burke agreed. "And you can bet that will be news in every city throughout Thaisia, even if the reason isn't. That will be all, Lieutenant, unless you have something to add."

"No, sir. Nothing."

As Monty walked back to his desk to check his messages, he remembered Vladimir Sanguinati's words.

Next you'll be eating your weak in order to keep the strong healthy.

He sank into his chair, his legs trembling. Was someone trying to provoke a war between humans and Others? Did anyone think humans could win?

And if humans started a war and lost, what would happen to the survivors? Would there be any survivors?

Monty took out his wallet and opened it to the picture of Lizzy. He stared at that picture for a long time.

I will do my best to keep you safe, Lizzy girl. Even if I never see you again, I will do my best to keep you safe.

Putting his wallet back in his pocket, he went out to find Kowalski.

"Yes?"

"By the G.o.ds! Did you hear about Jerzy? All those people dead!"

"There was some mention of a hamlet by that name, but the news reports were very vague."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"What happened has nothing to do with me. As for what you should do, this seems like the time to adjust the price for your crops. The prophecy did say an incident would create an opportunity for great profit."

"But the prophecy didn't say anything about slaughter!"

"Why should it? You wanted to know if you could make more profit on your farms without further investment. Prices always rise when there is a shortage. Since you own most of the farmland in another hamlet that supplies the same city, you'll have great influence in setting the prices for a variety of crops."

"But you didn't say the shortage would be caused by people being killed!"

"And you didn't ask about anything but profit when the girl was cut."

An uneasy silence. "I should have phrased my request more carefully. I didn't mean to imply I had been given an inferior girl."

Quiet menace. "You paid for a cut on one of my best girls, and that is what you received."

"Yes, of course. You run the finest inst.i.tution, and all of your girls are of exceptional quality. But for my next appointment, could I reserve cs759?"

"Cs759 is not, at present, on the roster."

"That's a shame. She has the finest skin. It's like she begins to attune to a prophecy even before the cut. When will you put her back in the roster?"

"Soon. I antic.i.p.ate that she will be available again very soon."

CHAPTER 10.

Meg sat back on her heels and stared at the Wolf pup, who stared back at her. Sam seemed shy, which made sense since she was a stranger, but he also seemed interested in getting to know her. At least, he seemed that way while she refilled his food and water bowls. But when she reached into the cage with a couple of paper towels to pick up the p.o.o.p in the back corner, he snapped at her-and kept snapping every time she tried to reach in farther than the bowls, which were in the front of the cage.

"Come on, Sam. You don't want to smell p.o.o.p all day, do you?"

The pup talked back at her. Since she didn't speak Wolf, she had no idea what he said, but she had the impression he was embarra.s.sed, and her noticing the p.o.o.p only made things worse, but she didn't know what to do about that. The terra indigene weren't human, didn't think like humans even when they were in a human skin. She'd learned that much in the week she'd been working for them. But they did have feelings. She'd learned that too.

She glanced at the wall clock and sighed. If she didn't get moving, she'd be late for work again.

She secured the cage door. "All right. You win, because I have to go to work. But this discussion isn't over."

He talked back, then lowered his head.

She'd bet a week's pay-if she had a paycheck yet-that Simon didn't take that kind of lip from a puppy. Of course, she didn't think Simon Wolfgard took that kind of lip from anyone.

She got to her feet and studied the pup. Why was he in a cage? If she asked, would anyone tell her?

He wasn't always in the cage. Sam had been outside the other night. Simon would rip her to pieces if she let Sam go outside and something happened to the pup. But there had to be something she could do that would keep them both safe so she could take him outside.

"I'll see you when I get back from work." No response to the words, but as she locked Simon's front door, she heard Sam's squeaky-door howl.

Telling herself she shouldn't feel guilty about leaving Sam by himself-after all, Simon did it all the time-she hurried to the garage, unhooked the BOW from its power supply, and headed for work. She still tended to stomp on the power pedal when backing up. Remembering all those training images from movies-clips of cars speeding up a ramp backward and sailing over another vehicle-kept interfering with the reality of a flat exit. But she was feeling more confident about forward driving, especially now that the main roads in the Courtyard were down to pavement.

She turned the sign on the office door to OPEN one minute after nine o'clock. As she poked her head out the door to say good morning to the four Crows on the wall and the Hawk who had claimed the top of the wooden sculpture-and the best view inside the office-she noticed Elliot Wolfgard coming out of the consulate.

Good clothes. Power att.i.tude. Most of the men who had come to the compound and looked at her skin with a greed that was almost s.e.xual had good clothes and that att.i.tude.

Giving him a brisk nod, she withdrew and went back to the sorting room, closing the Private door partway. Then she braced her hands on the table and closed her eyes.

It had been a week since her last cut. Fear of making a bad cut with an unfamiliar blade had sufficiently dulled the craving for the euphoria. Fear and remembering things Jean had told her.

"They cut us so often for the money. I remember my ma saying that the more you cut, the more you want to cut. But Namid gave us the good feelings as a reward for cutting when folks need help." Jean paused. "Of course, when cutting is the only thing that makes you feel good, most girls won't fight when they're put in the chair."

Was this what withdrawal felt like? The Walking Names always said the girls needed the cutting. Truth or lie? Did she really need a cut or did she just want the euphoria? Since she could make her own choices about her body, did it matter?

Top side of the arms would be the safest place without a watcher. Or the legs, as long as she stayed away from the inner thighs.

Slipping her hand in her jeans' pocket, Meg caressed the razor, her thumb running over the cs759 engraved in the handle. A designation, not a name. And that did matter.

She heard the thump of boxes being set on the counter. Pulling her empty, trembling hand out of her pocket, she went out to take the first delivery.

Asia bought two takeout cups of hot chocolate at A Little Bite, then walked over to the Liaison's Office.