E (11 page)

Then it dawns on me, suddenly.  This mark proclaims me
someone else’s property.  Of course I would never have done this to
myself.  But a slave owner?  Why not?  The mark is hidden to
protect the owner’s property interests, but permanent, final.  A mark of
ownership.  A reminder for those who might stray.  No wonder slavery
repulsed me so.  I've been a slave before.  But why, then, do I feel
the need to be… somewhere?  Confusion and emotion overwhelm me.

I hold my face in my hands, and let myself cry.

Food prices remain ridiculously high.  The effects can be
seen throughout the Outpost.  We're not the only ones eating smaller
portions.  Even the stale, moldy cakes cost three times what they did
previously.  The beggars have it worst.  In three days we witness the
Sentries take five of them for stealing.  That's what we
see
happen.  The real numbers will be much, much higher.

I'm thankful for the decision I made in the game, even if it
almost got me stabbed.  I know now that we're going to need everything we
can get.  But money wasn’t the only outcome of that fateful game. 
Today, as I walk into the Rustler on my own, I already know what to expect. 
No one bothers me.  Over the last two days, I've come here with Jonas and
Apollon.  There has always been a place for me at the card table.  A
few people have bought me drinks.  People I never knew before try to
ingratiate themselves with chatter.  No one wants to be on my bad side.

Or more accurately, no one wants to be on Apollon's or Jonas' bad
side.  I suspect my friends have always been this intimidating, but
perhaps people needed to be reminded.  Or maybe they weren't sure Apollon
and Jonas would put themselves at risk to back me.  Now, there is no
mistake.  Even Sumter, as I walk in today, lowers his gaze,
muttering.  His left cheek and ear are covered in bandage.  He looks
nervous, but not dangerous.  There's an empty chair beside him.  I
know, if I want, I can sit there and play cards.

But I'm not interested in joining the card table yet.  Maybe
in a while.  Right now, I want to sit, and think.  Apollon and Jonas
are out talking to people in the marketplace, trying to feel out if there’s
anywhere they still might peddle Miranda's stuff.  Miranda is storming
around our shack, completely out of parts to assemble.  She talks a lot
more, now that she has nothing else to focus on.  She makes me want to
hide.  But I know if I sit out back Oscar will find me.  And as much
as I adore Oscar, I don't want to talk to him right now.  I’m shrinking
away from everything.  Wanting only to be inside myself, deep down where
no one else can find me. 

I take a seat on a bar stool and place a coin on the bar.  I
shouldn't be spending it.  The act brings with it a surge of guilt. 
But I won this money.  I can buy one drink if I want to.  Then I can
sit here as long as I desire, and block everything else out. 

Arthur Adner swipes the coin away and replaces it with a shot of
cheap whiskey.  He says nothing to me.

I'm tempted to down the shot.  To let the slow burn move
through my chest and then up into my head.  But I want to stay here as
long as I can, so I sip slowly.  My mind presses into the deep well of
mixed emotion I've been filling up.  The white spire is center in my
thoughts.  I'm always trying to reach it, and never moving.  Am I
really meant to go somewhere?  Really meant to find something?  Why
would I always dream of it, if it means nothing?  Its every detail is so
clear in my mind.  The sun gleaming off the white plaster.  The blue
sky, hanging clouds.  Surrounding buildings, with broken windows. 
The shape of the skyline, always the same.  Is this place real?  Does
it exist?  Is this where I came from?  Or is it a symbol of something
else?

I'm so absorbed, so entirely fortified in my thoughts, that I
don't notice the subtle change in noise until much later, when someone leans up
against the bar beside me.  I look up, the words
go away
already
forming on my lips.  I freeze.

Matthew's eyes graze over me, tracing my body, my face, almost
randomly.  Now, up close, there is something in them I couldn't see when I
viewed him from across the street.  Something hard and formidable. 
Something that tells me to be very, very careful.  He takes a moment to
view me, then smiles.  "I'm Matt."

My mind scrambles.  All I manage in reply is, "I
know."

His hazel eyes flick out over the barroom.  He leans back
casually, both elbows resting on the bar behind him.  When he looks at me
again, his eyes narrow on me, not malicious, but scrutinizing.

I make myself turn toward him.  "I'm Eden," I
say.  I think my voice is level.  Level enough.

"Eden," he says simply.  Again, he takes a moment
to look over the people at the tables.  Then he turns toward me, looks me
up and down.  His fingers brush lightly over my arm.  The wheels are
turning behind his eyes, though his manner is casual.  "Surely,"
he says, "I would have remembered someone like you."

I desperately want to retreat, but I know that would be the wrong
thing to do.  My mind claws for purchase in this conversation.  And
then, before I even know I'm doing it, I smile.  I withdraw my arm from
his touch, but only so I can raise my hand to brush my hair aside from my
forehead.

When he draws back, it's only the slightest movement of
surprise.  Alarm.  His eyes flick back and forth across my face now,
reevaluating.  Then, quite suddenly, he grins.  It's a broad grin,
easy and natural, and I actually feel myself relax in response to it.

"Well," he says, "slipped right through my fingers,
didn't you."

I laugh, and there's a brief moment where I'm thinking he's really
not so bad.  Then I remember the old lady.  Remember that everyone in
the Outpost is afraid of Matthew.  Remember that I am not, no matter how
natural his smile is, talking to a friend.

But he's chuckling, clearly amused by me.  And I figure
that's a good thing, at least as things go.  When he's done laughing, his
smile turns thoughtful.  His eyes keep moving over me.  "I'll
buy you a drink," he says, waving Arthur over. 

Again, I want to retreat, but I don't imagine anyone in the
Outpost would refuse Matthew's gesture of goodwill.  I don't like the idea
of him giving me anything, though.  So I say, throwing him a sly, sideways
smile, "No, I'll buy
you
a drink."  Arthur Adner is
already placing two shots in front of us, and I see that he has poured from the
most expensive bottle he has.  I scoop the coins from my pocket and place
them on the counter before Matt can protest.  It's more than I can afford
to spend.  In fact, it is everything I had brought with me to bet in the
game.  But I don't hesitate or flinch.  Matthew's eyes glance from
the coins to my face as he picks up his drink, and I know he's gotten the
message.  I'm doing just fine, thank you.

I pick up my drink and swallow a mouthful.  This one will go
down much quicker than the last.  "After this," I say, as though
I'm reluctant, "I have to go.  My friends are expecting me."

He doesn't say anything.  We just sit, and eye each other,
and drink our whiskey.  It's smooth and warm, and sweeter than the
other.  If circumstances were different, I would probably be enjoying it
immensely.  I pace myself, so I don't seem too eager to go, but finish
within a few moments.  I set my glass on the bar with a final thunk, and
spin my body around, find my feet.  There, I pause, and give him a smile
that I hope will be enough to charm, and too little to enamor.  "It
was nice meeting you, Matt," I say, and I turn and walk away.  The
way he watches me go without saying anything-- just watching, watching-- it's
entirely unnerving.

***

The next time I see Matthew, it's from a distance, and he is
seething.  Apollon, Jonas, and I duck back into the doorway of Canson’s
store as we spot Matt striding down the middle of the street, flanked on either
side by three goons.  They're headed somewhere with long, purposeful
steps.  He's saying something to his men.  His face, set in a scowl,
looks like it belongs on an entirely different man than the one I met at the
Rustler.  I've not mentioned the encounter to anyone, though Apollon gave
me an odd look one day, so I wonder if someone has said something to him about
it.  Me talking to Matthew.  Is that news that would travel around
the Outpost?

That day put a dent in my pocket.  A huge dent.  Not
only paying for the drinks, but leaving without playing cards.  None of my
friends have asked where the money went, but it's two days later and I have yet
to make it up.  Last night, Donegan was part of the game, and Apollon and
Jonas insisted we leave as soon as we walked in.  Now, seeing Matthew
storm off in the opposite direction, I turn to my friends, about to suggest
heading to the Rustler.

Before I can do so, Apollon slips out of the door, gesturing for
us to follow.

We trail along at a distance behind Matthew's crew, keeping pace
with them.  I'm thinking this is a terrible idea, but Apollon looks
intent.  Jonas doesn't protest.  So I follow along.  They lead
us all the way through town toward the Outpost gate.  There's a battered,
solar-powered vehicle parked by the wall, its black cells gleaming, but missing
in places.  Three men stand outside it.  They greet Matthew gravely
and start talking and gesturing wildly.  He listens with crossed arms and
a frown.  After a while, they bring around one box, and lift some of its
contents-- a few dented cans, an abused head of cabbage, and a loose scattering
of beans and dried corn kernels.

"The supply shipments," Jonas murmurs beside me. 
We're standing about half a block off, under an awning that's only partially
attached to a dilapidated brick building.

I shake my head, wanting to be away.  But Apollon says,
"Looks like someone's hijacking the caravans."

Jonas peers at Matthew's group.  "Maybe," he
says.  He and Apollon exchange glances.  "Do...."

Whatever he was going to say trails off as Matthew, turning back
toward the Outpost, sees us.  His frown has not disappeared, and now his eyes
narrow on the three of us.

Apollon grabs my arm and pulls me with him, turning to
retreat.  "Come on," he says.  We start walking quickly
away, but all three of us look back over our shoulders at Matt.  He's just
standing there, watching us.  And it's
my
gaze that he meets.

***

Over the course of the next few days, things get even more
interesting.  I only manage to play a couple of card games, because, for
the most part, we're lying low.  I'm not sure if this is because Matthew
saw us, or because of the state of the Outpost in general.  The beggars
are worked into a frenzy of hopelessness, accosting people on the streets in
places where there are no Sentries.  A sense of desperation is taking
hold, boding bad things to come.  People are trying to save up what they
can, but the exorbitant cost of food and basic supplies means that there's
little left to spare.  Everyone is broke.  Almost everyone. 
Even at our card games, the pot is small.  Some players have stopped
coming all together.

There seems to be an increase in the number of people working for
Matt, and every single one of them is well armed.  Clearly, he's been
recruiting.  But why, exactly, is he building an army?  The question
makes me shudder.

Finally, during a game of cards, I hear something that begins to
explain what's happening.  Taylor and Jacob are now working for Matthew,
so it's them that tell us about Outpost Two.  Apparently, a conflict
between Grey, the big boss of Outpost Two, and Matt has morphed into a larger
mess.  It started with the slave trade.  No one really knows the full
story behind it, but Matthew's people claim that Grey took offense at something
that should have been easily smoothed over.  Maybe he
wanted
to
start this fight, they say.  Grey has a reputation for being power hungry
and greedy.  He takes over anything he can.  He thinks he owns
everyone.

As I listen, I think about Matthew.  Aren't they describing
him?  Does he really have a right to own the people he sells like
animals?  And why
should
we give him part of everything we
earn?  What does he do for us in return?  I think all this, and I say
nothing.

Jacob and Taylor continue to tell us about shipments being
attacked on their way to the Outpost.  These are goods that have been paid
for, and they're being stolen right out of our hands.  Matt is
furious.  He's trying to negotiate with Grey, but who knows how that will
go.  So, as a backup plan, he's recruiting.  He needs people who can
fight.  Jacob's eyes flick to Apollon and Jonas, at the bar, but I don't
think he's aware that he's done it.  This sets me on edge, so much that
I'm not even paying attention to my cards.  When it's my turn to bet, I
have to quickly scan my hand and make a first-instinct decision.  I
fold.  My cards are terrible and there's nothing in the pot anyway. 

The game disbands before it really gets going, players pulling
out.  I break even, technically, but I have to leave twenty percent for
Matt.  I walk away worse off than I was when I got here.

Apollon and Jonas don't say anything to me about it.  Their
jaws are clenched, their faces set.  I feel that I've disappointed them--
disappointed all of us.  But we walk quietly out of the Rustler, no words
exchanged.  The heaviness of the moment immerses me.  What will we
do, I'm thinking.  We can't go on like this.  Pressure and panic rise
in my chest.  I want to run.  Apollon's hand touches my shoulder,
patting gently.  I glance back at him, expecting a sympathetic look, but
instead, his face goes deadly still.  His fingers jerk away from my back. 
He's not looking at me.