Soldier at the Door(64)

Any route is better than none when you can no longer find your way. Everyone knows that.

“But we can’t allow her to think she knows anything, that she’s as intelligent as she believes she is,” Brisack pointed out. “She must be put in her place.”

“I propose that we begin new research, a test of Mrs. Shin,” Mal said. “Let’s see how curious, intelligent, and nosy this creature truly is. I suspect she may be a cat. Most females are. This letter may have just been some feminine whim which will die away just as quickly, proving that she’s as flighty as every other woman. But if she writes again,” Mal’s voice developed a sharper edge, “and demonstrates that she’s passed our test, then we may have to develop some news ways of proving her.”

“What kind of test do you have in mind?”

“I’ve been thinking—she’s opposed to Full School, and a few quiet rumors have been floating that others may be unhappy as well. But we can drown several cats in one well here, so to speak. The Department of Instruction is already drafting a document expounding upon the finer points of Full School—” Mal’s sickly smile returned, “—and its goals for the future. That will demonstrate to any questioning citizens how little they really understand. Should anyone respond to it—and how—we’ll have a clearer picture of who we need to further humble.

“But I doubt anything will come from it,” he said, almost disappointedly. “People are stupid. And they’re too stupid to know they’re stupid, until someone points their stupidity out to them. This document will do that. Earlier this evening I read through the first drafts. It’s fantastic.”

Brisack’s shoulders relaxed that no decisions were his that night. “How long until it’s ready?”

“A few weeks, at least. Probably more.” Mal gestured to the letter. “We’ll wait on the Form Letter, too. Let her stew for a time.”

Brisack nodded. “There’s something else. I nearly forgot the reason we’re here—I haven’t heard anything from our new man in Edge. There should have been some kind of contact in the past four moons.”

Mal nodded slowly. “Not sure what happened to the new recruit I selected. I’m still waiting on the north about that. Communication has become exceptionally spotty up there. But it seems we still have an inside man, someone our observers in Edge likely put in, not knowing we had someone else chosen. Word filtered up recently through the relays that the other man will not make contact unless absolutely necessary. He sees his task as keeping Shin ‘in the game.’ To do so, he’s chosen to keep a low profile.”

“Hmm. If he’s too quiet, we won’t get much information, will we? Do we want to encourage this?” said Brisack.

“I realize it’s not exactly what you wanted,” Mal said, “but we have other sources until we find out what happened to the other new recruit. Let this ‘quiet man’ keep his low profile until we’re ready to demand something more.”

Brisack nodded and stared deep into the shadows of the room, willing them to stay in their places.





Chapter 7 ~ “Someone like her,

but not her.”





Perrin remembered the date: the 16th Day of Raining Season.

It was four weeks since Mahrree sent her letter to the Department of Instruction and, he was secretly relieved, she had yet to receive a response.

As he walked briskly home in the falling snow that evening he hoped again that if she did get an answer, it would be one of the form letters. The moment she’d left the house to put that envelope into the message carrier’s bag, Perrin had begun to regret it. She likely hadn’t said anything seditious or threatening, but merely the fact that she said anything at all could be construed as something more. That was just the way they thought in Idumea, as if the water in the city—specifically the springs that fed the red and orange Administrative Headquarters—caused paranoid delusions.

But then again, she was only a little wife from a tiny village and no one in the world would ever think twice about her.

The more he told himself that along his damp jog home, the closer he came to believing it.

He trotted up the front steps where snow was just beginning to accumulate, and paused before opening his front door, prepared for almost anything. He took a deep breath and pushed. The door stuck partway.

“Not surprising,” he mumbled, trying to shove it open. “Knew I should have tried the back door.” He slipped his body in as far as it would go, but it wasn’t far enough. His broad chest lodged securely between the frame and the door, and he realized he should’ve taken off his overcoat before trying to force his way in.