Beating Heart Cadavers (7 page)

“And he doesn't know which department they're from?”

“He doesn't know that they came – he wasn't home.”

“So how do you know he got a visitor?”

“Because I was here.”

Mason had to pause for a moment in order to sort out the details.

“So you're at the ambassador's estate?” he said. He seemed to want to know more, but the moment didn't allow for it. “And someone came to the door?”

“Yes.”

“And you answered it?”

“He thought that I was Mari,” Fields said.

“If he thought that you were Mari, then I doubt he was from Matt's work,” Mason said, echoing her thoughts. “Or has any knowledge of Matt's life at all, really.”

“That's why I found it so odd. Well –” Fields backtracked, “– that and the fact that he picked the lock.”

As Mason made a noise of agreement, another thought occurred to Fields.

“What color do the Spöken wear?”

“The Spöken?” Mason paused, suddenly hesitant to go on. “It's – well – silver.”

“That's a pretty ostentatious color for people who don't want to be seen,” Fields said.

“That's what I've always thought, but I've seen them for myself. They're like giant forks and knives wandering around their headquarters.”

Fields formed a picture of his statement in her head and tried to imagine Jasper with his too-pale skin in a shimmering shade of gray, but the image that came to the forefront of her mind was that of a giant walking spoon that reflected his indecisive face. She shook her head.

“You're sure it's silver? It couldn't be brown?”

“I'm not that colorblind, Ladeline. It's metallic. The whole headquarters are, too.”

Fields frowned. The inkling of a thought had just occurred to her when Mason spoke again.

“And I suppose that he didn't say what he was really doing there, did he?”

“Not exactly,” she replied, toying with the edge of the notebook. “Not that he had to.”

“Meaning?”

“He was trying to find something.”

“And you … intercepted?”

“I was very polite, Mason. I was impersonating Mari, after all.”

“I'm sure – I just don't think you should be wedging yourself into government affairs.”

“Does that mean you're not interested in what it is?”

Mason hesitated, seemingly deciding between two very different inclinations.

“I didn't say that,” he said at last. “What is it?”

“Something you'd be interested in, given your previous profession.”

“I'm a professor now, Ladeline. That's all.”

“That doesn't mean you can't take a look, does it?” she asked. “Come on, Doctor Mason. Help me out.”

Mason seemed to think it over.

“Does it mean you'll come see me again?”

Even though she was quite alone, Fields suppressed her smile, as though if she didn't he might be able to detect even just a hint of it in her voice.

“Do you still live in the blue house up near the Onerian Gardens?”

Mason paused.

“I do,” he said hesitantly, “though ... I always thought that it was gray.”

Fields gave a lackluster sigh and clicked her tongue in mock ridicule, but the corners of her mouth had turned upwards at last. His house
was
gray.

Ch. 9

The stale smell of fetid air greeted Caine when he returned home, and for a moment he thought that Mari might have left his dinner on the stove to burn before realizing what it truly was. Unlocking the front door, he clicked on the light and waved a stream of smoke away from his face. It would cling to Mari's curtains and make them reek.

Fields was sitting in the kitchen reading when he entered.

“Lad?”

She looked up at him as he spoke, her eyes traveling over his black uniform before coming to rest on his face. She blinked.

“You grew a beard,” she said. She cocked her head to the side as she decided what she thought about it. “It covers half your face.”

“Thank you,” he said, though he was quite certain that it wasn't a compliment. “You look – older.”

He had known Fields for nearly twenty years now, so he didn't mind telling her that she was far from the nine-year-old girl that he had met in the schoolyard with her braided hair and indefinite scowl, though it was rather surprising that she wasn't the same as the person that he had seen a year ago, either. She was three years younger than him, and yet her face had begun to draw in a way that shouldn't have happened for years to come, with patches of sunken skin and darkness beneath her eyes. At least the scowl was the same, though, Caine thought. Even when she smiled, it seemed, the scowl was the same. He had never minded it before, but now he wished that he could get her features to soften.

“Could you put that out?” he asked, watching as she took another drag from her cigarette and sent a sprinkling of ash and embers onto the floor. “Mari would be upset if she knew they were in the house.”

Fields gave him a look.

“And?”

“And I'd like you to put it out,” he returned, his voice rather harsher than he had intended.

For a moment Fields looked as though she would retort, but then she removed the cigarette from her lips and smeared it out against the table, leaving a long mark of black on the wood. When she was done, she tapped her fingers across the surface of the table, not seeming to know what to do with them now that they were empty.

“The house is quiet,” she said.

“Well, it's midnight. It ought to be.”

Fields hummed, though she didn't seem to agree.

“So you got a new job,” she said. “Congratulations, Ambassador.”

“You don't have to sound so pleased.”

“I just never pictured you in politics, is all.”

“I never pictured you running away to Hasenkamp, but I suppose things happen regardless, don't they?”

Fields raised an eyebrow.

“You know why I left,” she said, her tone carefully void of emotion. “I'm not very welcome in Oneris anymore, in case you've forgotten.”

She gave him a look, but he turned his head away, feigning that it was simply too dark to see her withering glare.

“But that's nothing,” he said after a moment. He went to the coffee pot and fiddled with it, hoping to make himself a cup, but he still hadn't figured out how to work it. Not wanting to admit that Mari always did it for him, he quickly gave up and pretended that he had changed his mind. “They didn't prove anything, and they haven't arrested you. You're still allowed here. You're still Onerian. You can stay.”

“Maybe I don't want to, then.”

“That's ridiculous – don't tell me you prefer the Wastelands to here.”

“I prefer not being monitored at every moment so that the government can find legitimate enough proof to arrest me,” Fields countered.

“It's not that bad – and it was ten years ago. They've forgotten it by now.”

“Have they?” She took a pouch from her pocket and proceeded to roll herself another cigarette as though he hadn't just asked her to put the last one out. She tapped the blend down so that it was sitting evenly over the paper and gently rolled it back and forth until it formed a cylinder. “You think they'd forget if they knew what really happened?”

“I asked you not to smoke.”

“Mari won't know.”

“She –” He paused and took a breath, knowing that he had no argument. “Just put it out, Lad. I don't want to be around you when you're smoking.”

“No, you don't want to be around me when I'm
not
smoking,” Fields countered, lighting it. “The government's got you working late, I see. Do they pay you overtime?”

“There're a lot of things to go over. We're just trying to hasten things along.”

“What about Simon?”

“What about him?” Caine tried, but then dropped the act. There was no use pretending with Fields. Mari was right: she was smarter than he was. “He's in West Oneris.”

“Still?”

There was a brief moment in which Fields might have looked sympathetic, though by the time that Caine had glanced up at her, the look had vanished. It was very possibly just a trick of the light.

“So he hasn't been home at all? Not even before –?”

“No. They don't want him having any visitors, they say, and they're not letting me bring him home, so ...” He broke off with a shake of his head, no longer willing to discuss it further. Though he might have once confided in Fields, the time when he didn't feel ridiculed for doing so had passed, and her understanding wasn't the one he needed. He had waited months for her to return, but now that she stood just feet from him in the kitchen, he just wished that his wife would just come down the stairs and stand beside him instead.

“I'm – sorry – about what happened, Matt,” Fields said.

“Are you?” His tone was cold, and he leaned back against the counter as he observed her, his arms crossed over his chest as though they might protect her words from striking him. “Is that why you came back to Oneris? To tell me that?”

“No. I came back for my brother.”

“Jasper?” Caine made a face and scoffed. “Why? Has he gotten himself into trouble again?”

“He's a Spöke.”

“That's one of the highest jobs in Oneris, Lad. You should be pleased, not concerned.”

“I'm always concerned when it comes to my brother.”

“Maybe you shouldn't be. It's not like he's concerned about you – though you always seem to involve yourself with the people who care the least about you in return.”

“Really? Is that why we're friends, then?”

“I'm not the one who should be explaining myself here: you ran off without a word. You didn't even come back for the funeral –”

“Fine. I was wrong, and I apologize,” Fields said tersely.

“Your sincerity is overwhelming,” Caine returned, his voice teeming with sarcasm. “I don't even know why you're here. You came back to find your brother: don't let me get in your way.”

He stepped back as though to flourish her through the door with a wave of his arms, but she remained in her place. The first half of her cigarette had burned down to ash between her fingers, though she didn't seem to notice.

“Was there something else?” Caine asked. His voice was still harsh, but in the moment, seeing how she had paused in quiet thoughtfulness, he rather wondered if he had at last gotten through to her and made her feel just a hint of remorse for what she had done.

She ran her tongue over her teeth.

“I had wanted to ask you something,” she said at last. “For – for help.”

“For help?”

“I need to get to Jasper, and the only way of contacting him would be through Spöken headquarters, but obviously I can't enter without the code.”

“So?”

“So now that you're ambassador, your identification number is high enough to gain entrance, isn't it?”

Caine stared at her for a long moment.

“Are you asking me to give you my identification number, Lad?” he asked.

“I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't desperate,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically low.

“Entering Spöken headquarters is risky enough for you as it is, not to mention that it's illegal for me. I'd lose my job. I'd lose Simon.” Caine shook his head. “I can't risk all of that – not for you, Lad. Not anymore.”

“No. I suppose you won't,” she replied, and stood up to leave.

“So that's it? That's all you came to say?”

“I think that's all there is to say.”

“Really? After a year, there's nothing else you want to talk about?”

“It's difficult to speak to someone that I don't know anymore.”

“You know exactly who I am. You always have.”

“So it's true that you're shutting down the charging facilities, then?”

Caine stopped, taken aback.

“Where'd you hear that?”

“Mason might've mentioned it.”

Caine scoffed.

“Oh, good – so you're both against me.”

“We're concerned about you,” Fields said. “It's not like you to make a decision that'll kill an entire group of people. Not unless someone's twisting your arm.”

“No one's twisting anything,” he replied. “Except for the two of you, maybe, with the idea that the Mare-folk should be protected.”

“I wasn't aware that 'protected' and 'allowed to live' were the same thing.”

“They're not people, Ladeline – not like us. And they've been draining Oneris of resources for decades now, and using up time that doctors could be using trying to save actual people –”

“The Mare-doctors are all gone now,” Fields said. “They have different lives and different jobs. Any problems you have with hospital protocol is the fault of Oneris.”

She flicked her cigarette towards the sink. A stub of ash fell into the drain.

“Why'd you take this job, Matt? This isn't who you are.”

“What would you have me do? Keep the Mare-folk alive, let them keep charging their hearts so they can run around infecting Onerians?”

“That's exactly what I'd have you do – what I'd expect you to do!”

“Come on, Lad: be honest. You're not really angry at me – not over this. You're just pissed that I won't give you my identification number.”

“No, I understand why you won't give me your number,” she returned. “Not about protecting your job, but about protecting your son. But I don't understand how you can go through with shutting down the facilities when people's lives depend on them –”

“Because they're not worth it, Ladeline! And I understand how Mason thinks they are, but you? What do you get out of it, except for another excuse to hate Oneris enough to validate you running away and hiding up in Hasenkamp when you should be here?”

“Don't forget the reason I'm hiding,” Fields said, her voice low. “Don't forget what I did for you.”

“Don't change the subject,” he snapped. “You can't hang that over my head every time you don't have enough of an argument to prove a point.”

“So that's it, then?” she asked. “You'll go through with it? Hoard all the Hilitum until the last Mare-person is dead?”

“They're already dead. They've always been, so long as those metal contraptions have been sitting in their chests, and that's all they'll ever be: beating heart cadavers.”

Fields pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth, her jaw locking in resentment.

“And what will happen to you,
Ambassador
? After you've shut down the facilities and the Mare-folk's hearts begin to fail?”

“What do you mean?” he said. “I won't be affected. I don't have a metal heart.”

“No, I know,” Fields replied. “You don't have a heart at all.”

She turned and swept from the kitchen before he could reply, her long coat cutting against his form as she breezed past, and a chill entered the house as she left despite the fact that she had only opened the door for a moment. He stood in the empty kitchen for a while longer, listening to the silence she had left behind that he wished would be filled with the sound of Simon giggling as Mari danced around the room in her patterned robe, but then he pulled himself away and went upstairs.

After splashing water over his face in the bathroom, he gazed at his hunched reflection in the mirror, wondering if he ought to get rid of his beard. Mari preferred him clean-shaven: she didn't like the way his face scratched hers when he pulled her close. But he hadn't pulled her close in so long now that it didn't seem to matter.

He entered his bedroom without turning on the light and made his way over to the bed. Mari hadn't been disturbed by the commotion below, though had she known that Fields was there, she would have had something to say about it. He laid down quietly beside her, but couldn't see her in the darkness.

“Mari,” he said, imagining that she had heard him when he had come into the room. “I love you.”

But she gave no response.