Poor World (18 page)

The morning air was thick and even more intense than the day before. My hair was damp, and I hadn't ever had a blanket in that place.

I replaced the diamond with care, then left the room, feeling briefly better when the cleanup spell zapped away all the grime. The hallway was empty, so I retreated back into my room, closed the door gently, and pulled out the papers from beneath my cot, where they had lain untouched since the previous morning.

I needed to write to the girls, and I couldn't be caught doing it.

My first job was to get the knives. Every time I'd gone to the practice area — which was the only place I knew where weapons were stashed — there was a class, if not at least a tutor hovering about. They even practiced at night — all night, according to Dejain. Glowglobes would make the practice areas, which were on the other side of the compound from me, as bright as day. It was too late for a night raid anyway. Razzmatazz's plan was to be put into effect that night.

There was no chance I was going to be able to snaffle those practice knives.

So maybe it was time to risk asking the girls.

I wrote:

Can any of you swipe some knives for me? I have to have 'em for plan. I'll be here as much as I can today. Hurry. CJ

I folded it up real small and put it in my sleeve, making sure that the button was tight. Then I went into Kessler's office, where he was busy with stacks of papers all over his desk.

He scarcely spoke to me while I breakfasted. That was fine with me.

Soon as I was done, I headed straight for the practice courts. I planned to stay there all day, if I could get away with it. If Kessler, and Alsaes, and the tutors wanted to assume that I was diligently practicing to kill Clair, they were welcome to their thoughts.

Very soon I was hotter and stickier than I'd woken up. The thin layer of clouds overhead kept the heat lidded, but did not ward one speck of light. The horrific glare of the sun made my head ache. I slowed down a bit on the obstacle course — except when I was being watched — and I spent extra time at the archery range. I was terrible at it, but it required the least amount of movement.

No tutors spoke to me, but once or twice a couple of them got together and conversed in whispers while staring in my direction. You can imagine how wonderful that made me feel.

When I reached the knife throwing area, I kept watching out of the sides of my eyes. The whole camp seemed to be up and moving about by then. Three times tutors hovered about, watching, and then faded again. No one ever spoke to me.

One practice group came and did knife, sword, and staff drill, moving down the courts — then they trotted past me again, on their way to the archery range and obstacle course, their faces crimson and shiny.

Two more groups worked through, and I pressed on, sticking to the courts where I did not need a partner.

I was back at the knives again, my headache pounding nastily, when at last Faline's group appeared. By then the heat was making me almost dizzy. But we followed pretty much the same pattern as the day before.

Poor Faline! She didn't look like herself at all, but like some kind of doll copy, with her grim face, and her freckles blotching her red skin. She gave me one look of pure misery as we traded notes, but neither of us risked calling attention to ourselves by speaking, and she turned immediately away.

Just in time, too. Her tutor jerked his head in our direction, and frowned, until he saw her walking away from me.

I trudged back to archery and wasted some time there, until I heard Faline's group leave, then I moiled right back and weighed in again.

o0o

Faline took the note back, and when she got to the kitchens on her normal duty run, she handed it off to Gwen, who hid out by the potatoes and read it, then came back, looking worried.

“We need to talk to the others,” she muttered at an opportune moment.

They didn't know if — or when — they'd see the others. Faline had hopes. In the last day or so, the schedule had gone so topsy-turvy they'd had more time to meet one another and talk than any time previous.

More important, they'd managed to talk to Irene, who told them about ‘the Plan' words — explaining that Seshe had figured that their medallions kept them from succumbing. Faline wanted to zombify everyone all the time, but Gwen fiercely said, “
Don't
joke. Not now. Not about this magic stuff — it's our lives, Faline.”

Faline sighed, and got back to work.

Her reward was to see two groups come in for an early lunch — Diana's and Irene's.

Faline was supposed to be restocking the kitchen. Ordinarily food was brought in by magic transfer each night from somewhere else in the world, making early morning the stocking time. But the unknown magician had had a schedule change, which in turn altered Faline's orders; her practice was now early morning, enabling her to see me, and she made her deliveries just before lunch. The day before she'd found that if she was slow enough she got an overlap with the groups coming in to eat.

Diana and Irene quietly timed it so that they reached the food line together; when all five girls were within whispering distance, Irene flicked her eyes to the left and right and all the girls looked into the faces of any army members within earshot and said, “Let's review the Plan,” or “Tell me about your part in the Plan,” or whatever variation they could think of.

The order followers blanked out and the team leaders started gabbling their orders.

Under cover of it, Gwen said (after digging her elbow in Faline's side — Faline was snickering helplessly), “CJ needs knives. Now. Can't get any.”

“For who?” Irene asked, flicking her ponytail back — and checking to make sure that no tutors or Alsaes had snailed up.

“Plan. Don't know more.”

Irene kept her gaze toward the doors. Alsaes and the top tutors were apparently immune to the spell that zombied everyone else.

“Don't like it,” Irene said. “Is she acting all alone?”

Gwen shrugged, her face worried. Sherry bit her lip, making sure that all the plates of the people got filled.

“I'll get 'em,” Diana said. “We got plenty. Bring 'em at dinner. Can't get 'em to her, though. We get
no
free time outside of meals.”

“Dhana will,” Irene said. “Her spy group does their seek'n'find right after dinner. Ours is before — no good.”

Just then the Plan people stopped talking, and blinked around, some looking at their food, others turning away to find tables; the girls all drifted apart, moving with practiced ease with their crowd.

Sherry and Gwen exchanged looks. It was up to them to make certain that Dhana got the word.

 

o0o

 

I'd taken a bit of a break, just to get away from the horrific heat and drink some water. My stomach was so upset I had to be motionless for a time, after a full morning of practice.

The midday sun made it difficult to find any shade, but I managed by leaning against a wall next to a building, my eyes half-closed against the torturous glare of the dusty ground.

When I was completely alone, I took out the note.

Gwen tried to be cheery and uplifting, but I could tell that she and the others were scared. She said that Alsaes had picked on Irene, which was dangerous, I knew. Luckily, of all of them, her acting talent was best. She might have gotten his notice by being mouthy, but she'd be good at faking the good little kiddie if she had to.

Gwen ended with a plaintive query about the three in the jail, and signed it
Gwen on the Pen
.

A violent jolt of homesickness nastied its way through me. I tucked the letter into my waistband with the previous one. I knew I should destroy those notes, but touching them — knowing they were there — helped bolster my courage.

A short time later I saw Dhana running toward me, her feet skimming lightly over the dust. She alone seemed the better for the intensifying humidity — at least it was moisture.

“That was fast,” I said in relief.

“Only got a moment. Diana can get the knives. How many?”

“Five — six — I dunno.”

“Right. Six. Be back at dusk. And your plan?” She swiped her hand impatiently over her forehead, and then glanced up, smiling suddenly.

There was the tiniest stirring of a breeze, and hot at that, but it promised a change in the weather.

“Jailbreak,” I said, sighing.

“Need us for anything besides swiping knives?”

“Nope. Nothing you could do. Hope I make it.”

“You have to,” Dhana said earnestly. “We can't. I gotta scram.”

We parted; me sorry to see her go, but grateful to be able to leave that sun and heat.

I scunjed my way back to Kessler's building. How I hated that place! But at least it was out of the sun, and also the diamond was there.

I walked between two buildings, one of which cast a little shade. I walked close to that wall, wishing I could feel that breeze again.

As I emerged onto the main street, I saw Kessler and Alsaes disappear into Alsaes's building, followed by a group of adults.

I floobed across the street and ran until I reached my room. The air was horrifically hot and still, for the window faced east, but it at least the sun no longer poured in the window, only on the roof. With the door closed, I sat on the bed and pulled out the diamond.

It lay on my palm, sparkling with subdued color. I knew it was important, I could feel it. But how?

I wished I'd spent more time with Clair's magic books, instead of stopping when I'd gotten to the level where I could put together easy spells. The hardest one I'd mastered was the multiple transfer.

No help for it now. I stowed the diamond away, and forced myself to get up and leave the room. The cleanup spell made me feel briefly better, but when I stepped outside the building the heat was the fiercest it had ever been.

I squinted down the street against the white glare and shimmering air. Kessler, Alsaes, and that group of adults walked in a diagonal across one of the intersections, everyone moving at Kessler's customary quick speed. Ought I to be with them? I wondered. Did it look suspicious if I wasn't?

I ought to look busy, and I remembered what Kessler had said the night before about convincing the prisoners to be loyal. What it meant to me was that he expected me to try — which meant I could indeed visit the jail.

So I gnackled straight across the street into the jail.

“Puddlenose!”

Within a few moments, he snarled, “Halt in the name of the law!”

“Where'd you pick that sickie up?”

“You taught it to me,” Puddlenose protested. “Always wanted to use it!” As I joined them, he dropped his voice considerably, and whispered in Mearsiean, “How's Operation Krush Kessler?”

That was another one I'd taught him, leftover from TV days.

“Gnarg. The girls are getting knives for me. Wish I could get you guys better weapons, but how could I get 'em under my clothes? Now. Here comes the stupid question.”

“Ask away.”

“Are you ready for tonight?”

Puddlenose and Christoph squawked some richly satisfying insults, I pretended to be offended, and Puddlenose let loose with a mighty horselaugh that surprised us all, him included. He definitely was feeling better.

After a bit more chatter I left, having cheered myself a little by cheering them. At least, Puddlenose and Christoph. Who knew what Rel thought?

Who cares? I thought narrowly, and thought more about Puddlenose, whose laughter used to be the first thing one noticed about him. I realized how long it had been missing.

It made me think about Alsaes, specifically why he'd picked Puddlenose, of all people, as a target. Puddlenose had been forced by Shnit a couple times in the past to think of himself as the Chwahir ‘heir' — if, of course, he submitted to these horrible mind-spells that Shnit had concocted. Shnit had wasted all that time on Puddlenose just because he loved the idea of sending a Mearsiean to destroy the other Mearsieans. Especially a blood-relation of the queen. But Puddlenose had made it really clear to anyone with half a brain that he had no intention whatsoever of being heir to Chwahirsland. Heir to anything — he'd even made Clair promise not to stick him with MH if something happened to her, which is why Yours Truly is second banana.

That Kessler would choose Puddlenose, and then me, meant that his reasons were only partly merit. There had to be plenty of kids our age who were just as smart, as good at war junk — far better than me, easy enough to find! Some of his reason therefore had to be twistiness tied in with his own past. But that didn't explain why Alsaes — who apparently wanted to be second in command to Kessler — picked on someone who
turned down
that position. If Puddlenose had said yes, it would make sense for Alsaes to go after him.

I had a feeling if I could figure that out, I might figure something out about Alsaes, and Kessler, too. Anyway, I thought as I emerged from the jail, so much for Kessler's pure merit. Picking an heir from among Shnit's enemies would only make sense to others of Shnit's enemies. If you wanted true merit, he should never have asked Puddlenose at all — not when he had Rel on hand. Rel was good at
everything
— that was why he was so annoying!

Outside, I discovered that during my short visit the glare had softened slightly. I looked up, and saw real clouds. A big, uneven line of them over toward the horizon, all various shades of gray.

A steady breeze had also kicked up, fitful and hot, promising spectacular weather to come.

I decided I'd better go back to the practice courts, so I rounded the corner — and the breeze was stronger, almost a wind, cold air mixing with the heat.

This time it was easier to do my Good Kiddie act. I started with the obstacle course and rammed my way straight down the courts. It was almost fun in the strengthening wind and cool air. My arrows and knives went wide, but I didn't really care, though I frowned and tried to look serious. I ran to the targets for each retrieval, my skirts and hair flapping wildly so I almost felt I was flying.