Chapter 9 - Shrimp and Ranks
July
I sometimes ask myself what my life would have been like if Roden had never found me.
My name would probably be carved amongst those on the tall, white stones surrounding the very edges of Libera, like pale fingers stretched in a final cry for mercy.
One of those children Roden failed to sense in time, who developed the gift too late and were damned to lose their minds because there was nobody there to train them.
Roden keeps saying there will come a day when we will save those souls, even if their ravenous talent has consumed their minds. But, for now, I can only harvest their souls and deliver them to him for a painless end.
Not quite the same end the Nistarei receive instead. They are turned into empty vessels piled in controlled areas, where our Writers try to find a way to reuse their bodies and lingering memories.
I realise I’ve been staring at the square outside my window for too long when my forehead becomes numb.
Primrose Square is quiet this evening. A young couple holds hands under the marble arches leading to the beach. Beyond the couple, the slim shadows of the torches dotting the shore of Libera stretch on the sand before disappearing into the water.
This is where I spend almost half of my monthly wage—a place with an ocean view and a perfect hiding spot to spy on other people’s everyday lives.
Libera’s selection of restaurants is quite limited; students prefer not to spend money when the Academy kitchen is open twenty-four-seven and affordable. But I promised Galen I would treat him tonight. Besides, expensive food and service mean fewer ears eager to listen to your every word.
Our chefs try hard to keep up with Horigean cuisine. Still, the list of local producers is very short because we need to ensure that only a few trusted people know how to find Libera so as not to risk the secrecy of our location.
Sipping by a window at my now lukewarm drink, I spot Galen strolling down the road with his nose up in the air, listening to music.
His favourite way to cool down and find the right way to be civil with a friend he’s just argued with.
I don’t see him dressed up so often, but when he does, I know he means business. And I am his business tonight.
When I lift my highball glass, it catches the reflection of a bike flashing in and out of the street lights opposite the restaurant.
Why is Lucretia cycling so fast alone at this time?
She’s not famous for being spotted on her own.
I try to hide behind the thin slice of cucumber drowning in my drink, and I re-emerge from my pathetic hideout only when I’m sure she hasn’t detected my presence and is not coming back to ask me about Galen again.
The bell dangling above the door frame announces the arrival of a new guest. With his charming smile and refined appearance, his hair pulled back, and his strategically unshaven but still perfectly groomed stubble, he looks so in control and the perfect fit for whatever situation he finds himself in.
“I think someone’s waiting for me…” I hear Galen saying to a young man behind the reception desk.
“Forgive me if I don’t pull out your chair,” I tease him after the host walks him to our table.
“Never mind, you’re already paying for the bottle of the most expensive wine on the list that I’ve just ordered for us,” he winks.
He sits, fingers interlaced over the table like a businessman ready to talk profit and loss. “So… I’m all ears.” He props an elbow on the table, casually resting his right cheek in his hand. But he’s studying me like a cat does with food before eating it.
I knew he would not waste a minute.
I grab both sides of the table and take a deep breath. He’s wearing contacts tonight, but I prefer him with glasses. At least there’s always a thin barrier between me and his piercing eyes, and I can always check how my face reacts to his words in their reflection.
I lean forward, and he copies me as if we’re teens about to share a secret.
I push it all out, no time to ponder, “What were my last words to you the other night? I know I told you something before I discovered the odd shade of that woman’s soul, or else, I wouldn’t need to write it down.
Does this have anything to do with the recycling squads?
You’re always itching to repeat any words I gave you after a mission as soon as you can…
But you haven’t yet…” Right to the point before we can even order starters.
I only blink once, and the amusement on Galen’s face disappears. I retreat like a turtle back into its shell.
His eyes shoot left and right, making sure nobody is close enough to us when he whispers, “What the hell? I thought we were here to discuss your next mission. What’s with the rec…
” He leans in closer, beckoning me to do the same.
“The squads? Seriously? First, the mission near Brenath. Now—this? What’s with you and risky situations lately, eh? ”
I can see through Galen as though he’s the translucent slice of cucumber in my drink. And I’ve never seen him in such distress.
I shrug, sinking back in my chair, and flip through the menu to avoid eye contact, “Why are you freaking out? I was just making conversation. You know as well as I that a red soul is not…expected.” I can see his eyes getting wider and his eyebrows nearly disappearing under some loose curls.
“Besides, every single student speculates at least once a week on what happens to the Nistarei’s souls we retrieve by the hundreds any other day. And I’m not talking about the good ones…Oh, the sea bass sounds delicious…” I add impassible.
“July stop.”
“Stop what? Expressing a simple opinion about a subject that’s supposed to be part of our job? I - seriously - I don’t know why everybody is so touchy when it comes to learning.”
The skin on his knuckles stretches, revealing the bones flexing beneath. “This is not about learning. Souls are fickle, and you were handling that of a not-very-reputable Horigean. That could have been anything, but you had to opt for the most dangerous and absurd theory?” he hisses.
Now it’s my time to make my point. “A theory? Then, please explain how centuries of rotten souls can be contained in the Fields. If the Writers can only plant back souls if they were nearly pure when harvested, and we know there aren’t that many, where do we find the space to store millions of corrupted souls?
The maps count a few dozen active fields.
Not a lot for the amount of souls I alone collect in six months’ worth of work. ”
I knock back what’s left of my drink, then put the glass down on the table as slowly as possible, hoping for an answer, but all I find is Galen’s face drained of all its blood.
I sigh, “If you don’t feel like sharing, at least tell me—what did I say to you that night?”
He remains immobile, but his mouth moves, “How long have you been looking into this?”
I shake my head, “My last words first—please.”
My knife and fork clink loudly, and my glass dangerously tilts over when Galen pulls at the white tablecloth. He not only leans towards me, but navigates the space between us, dragging his chair next to mine.
“This may be fun for you, and I know how much you like a great discovery. Especially if you’re the one with the credit.
But you know how a well-told rumour can turn into propaganda.
And you know that part of our history has been banned from being told.
Even speculating about the fate of rotten souls can be seen as insubordination,” he whispers in my ear, cocking his head towards mine, giving the impression of two lovers about to be cheesy in public.
“Fine then…” I flap my napkin in the air, unfolding it and flattening it on my legs.
My chin is so high when I speak that the muscles in my neck hurt.
“Let’s forget I even mentioned it. Shall we order?
” I respect Galen and his rank, but his affection for official or unspoken rules sometimes gets on my nerves.
“Sof,” he places a hand on my shoulder and takes the menu away from me with the other. “Don’t give me that look. When you said you wanted to talk tonight, I thought it would have been about the Rogue and your desire to dive back into it so soon. Not your sudden need to test Popplewish’s patience.”
I give him a side-eye because if I open my mouth, we will probably end up fighting and get kicked out of the restaurant.
His chair complains when he moves back to his side of the table, offering me space to think and breathe. “Fine, I’ll do the talk first,” he declares when I lift a finger to call the waiter over.
I point at random dishes on the menu, hoping I don’t pick anything like liver or kidneys.
“And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have the same,” Galen answers in such a rush he doesn’t even look at the waiter, who leaves the table after glaring at us with disdain.
“Your words for me that night,” Galen continues. “You said something about stolen souls.”
“Is that it? No context, no reason why I said that?” I narrow my eyes.
When I leave a message for my future self, I use as many details as possible.
Galen interlaces his fingers under his chin, looking as innocent as a lion cub. “That’s it.” He echoes me.
“Now,” he smiles at the waiter who’s back with our orders and politely thanks him. “Please feed my curiosity and tell me when you decided to entertain your beautiful brain with the RS.”
I hold a fork loaded with a giant shrimp dipped in sweet chilli sauce in front of my mouth, “You mean the rec—”
“Yes, July,” he pinches his nose, looking at me with half-lidded eyes, “those.”
I smirk and stare at him over the pale pink shrimp. “Apparently, the higher your rank, the smaller the chance the students will open up to you. I think I know something you don’t know.”