Donor 23 (27 page)

“You’re my knight,” his sister flattered him.

Bash had bowed to her saying, proudly, “My lady.”

Occasionally, strangers discovered the old city and the library. He and his sister would hide in the attic, while the unknown and unwelcome visitors rummaged around the books for a while. But soon they’d leave, often with an armful of books.

They lived in the library for a year, using it as a base for their treasure hunts and their weekly trips into the nearby cities and towns. But they rarely sold any books. Books held a special place in their hearts. The library was their secret.

On one of their forays to the seaside to gather treasures, his sister offered that they should split up to cover more area. Typically, they stayed together during their quests. She was only thirteen, after all. But Bash wanted to move quickly, and he could do that better without her. So, against his better judgment, he acquiesced to her request.

That day they were in a desolate part of the beach. Bash traveled farther than planned and was late returning to the meeting place. His sister did not return at all; she was nowhere to be seen. Running along the beach, he eventually found her sack, abandoned on the dirt near the water. The sand all over the area lay undisturbed. No footprints led away from the water’s edge or from the sack. Frantically, he searched in vain for her, running along the water each way, listening for any cries and
looking for her out in the waves. For two weeks he camped at that spot. He knew in this area rogue waves occasionally rolled onto the shore. Or perhaps a riptide caught her. Maybe she saw something in the shallows, waded out, and was swept out to sea. And he wasn’t there to save her.

After that loss and the accompanying guilt, Bash turned into a wanderer, never putting down roots. He never let anyone get close to him. He made his home on the ocean for a few years, working on a fishing boat in the great gulf. Then he turned his talents to the land—to trading, smuggling, and gambling—all of which also require a lot of traveling. No opportunity to settle down.

Bash remembered his sister in the books, which he kept with him.

The Governor stood admiring a large wall map, hanging in his office.

“What’s the status on 23?” he asked Biggs. “We were going to arrest her friends and send them out west? It’s been what…a month since I gave the order?”

“Yes, sir. We did arrest them—uh, one of her friends, at least. And we’ve already sent him on his way out west. Still looking for the other. I’m sure they’ll pick him up.” Quickly changing the subject, Biggs added, “I did some research on 23. Found something interesting. It might be useful, sir—more useful than her friends.”

Biggs waved a manila folder in the air. Gates strolled over to where Biggs stood at a large table, along with other aides busy at work. “Let’s see.”

“You know her mother was arrested and her father died during her escape?”

“Don’t recall. Why?” Gates didn’t care about the girl’s family. “Is this important?”

“That was her whole family. Most importantly, she informed on her mother.”

Gates grew impatient. “People inform on family members all the time.”

“Yes, well, that fact may be more important when you see this.” He opened the folder and pointed, “Here. This part, Governor.”

Gates read it. He closed the file pensively and slowly.

Biggs waited without complaint. After a while, he stammered, “Sir, shall I relay this information to the TEO’s in the field? It may be useful for them—”

“No.”

“May I inquire why not, sir? This,” he motioned to the file, “would most likely get her to give herself up.”

“Chess.”

“Sir?” the aide didn’t understand.

     
“Violet, do you play chess?” He glanced over at the girl.
She was the only good thing that came out of that day at the Fitness Center,
he thought. It was too bad about her boyfriend, for Gates hated to waste donors’ lives. But Violet had been especially obedient—and eager to please—since then.
She obviously thinks that boy is still alive
.

Looking at the ground, she shook her head. “No, sir.”

Gates turned back to Biggs.

“Patience. Patience is the friend of any good strategist. In chess you always think a few moves ahead. Let’s see how the TEOs do, using her friends.” He tapped the folder. “We’ll just keep this information under wraps for now. You play poker, don’t you, Biggs? This’ll be an ace up our sleeve.”

28

J
oan! Joan!” Reck ran up frantically to Joan’s tent. Joan had been helping the kids get ready for bed. “Hurry, a fight. It’s Bash.”

Crackling Fire jumped up, but One Who Sees said firmly, “You stay here.” Then to Old Owl, “Watch them please,
Noshi.
”

The women and Reck rushed to the outer reaches of the camp. The men had marked off a large square in the dirt, while Bash prepared to fight another man. People placed bets. Bash rolled up his shirtsleeves as Joan and One Who Sees approached.

One Who Sees asked worriedly, “He Smiles, what’s going on?”

“Well, ma’am, that man over there insulted Isabel. I can’t let that stand,” Bash replied.

“Don’t blame it all on me,” Isabel interjected, “I suppose the fact he called you a
cheater
has nothing to do with it.”

“As an old playwright once wrote, ‘If a man has not honor or a good woman,’” Bash countered.

Joan could tell he had been drinking.

“All right, time,” called an old man, wearing a top hat and holding a pocket watch.

Bash’s opponent walked to the center of the square. He was huge—a full foot taller than Bash. One Who Sees and Joan were taken aback at the sight of the large man, and they looked questioningly at Bash.

“We were sitting down when I accepted his challenge,” he whispered to the women.

One Who Sees warned him, “You can’t do this.”

“I have to play the cards dealt to me, my dear.”

He then turned to Isabel, “A kiss before battle,
mi amore
?”

He grabbed Isabel. One could describe it as almost manhandling her. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her close. With his other hand, he grabbed her throat, holding her chin and forcing her face up to him. Their lips touched. He bent her body backward, and his kisses moved down her neck. Joan felt embarrassed to witness this scene, as if intruding upon an intimate moment. She wanted to turn away, but didn’t. She was captivated by them, and she thought of the kiss she didn’t have with Duncan.

The audience hooted and catcalled. But Bash and Isabel were oblivious to them, to the shouts, to the impending fight, and to the world. For them at that moment, only the two of them existed. Then, just as quickly, they broke apart. The crowd cheered.

Bash, overcome with love, with looming disaster, and maybe with drink, gushed, “Isabel, you are my love, aren’t you? Isabel?”

Joan picked up Bash’s flask from the ground and eyed him.

“
In vino veritas,
” he told her, with a sly grin. In wine, there is truth.

Isabel understood him. “Arch, you know how I feel, have always…” Isabel had known Bash on and off for almost ten years. They would meet up often on their journeys. During that time they slowly—intentionally—became close, and she developed strong feelings for him. However, she didn’t pressure him. She knew of his past and the reasons for his aloofness. Still, every time he moved on, her heart sank a little. But she was focused and self-sufficient, and she would move on as well.

Now, she pulled him to her. Her hands she wrapped intensely around his neck—squeezing, almost choking. Their lips disappeared together, like butter and oil melting as one on a sizzling pan over a hot fire.

The giant grumbled, “Come on, lover boy.”

The two broke apart.

“So, what’re the rules?” Isabel asked to all.

“No rules in a fist fight,” the giant growled.

The old man in the top hat banged two tin cups together, and Bash and the giant began pacing around each other. Bash started with two quick jabs to the man’s abdomen. Nothing. No reaction. The giant let loose with a left hook to Bash’s face, sending him flying backward. Bash moved swiftly, dodging the giant’s swipes. He swayed back and forth. At one point Bash ducked low to the ground, kneeling and trying to stay out of arm’s length of the giant. He was not always successful, as the giant’s fists met Bash’s face countless times. Finally, the old man clanged the tin cups together to signal the end of the round.

Bash came back to the women. One Who Sees wiped the blood from his face.

Isabel left for a moment. Then she came back, “Well, I have some good news and some bad news.”

This brought a smile to Bash’s bloody visage, and he raised his gloved hand to touch her face. “Good news first.”

“He broke his right hand on your face,” Isabel informed them.

Bash smiled and uttered through his bloody lip, “My strategy’s working. And the bad news?”

“He’s left handed,” Isabel said, “and he’s got a heck of a left hook.” She tended to his bloody nose.

Joan had been studying the giant’s technique.

“Bash, listen. He drops his left hand just before he pulls it back for his hook, and his feet are off-balance, right then. Try to hit him then, when you see him drop his left hand. But hit his face. Don’t bother with body hits. They won’t work,” Joan advised him.

Bash looked at her skeptically.

“Trust me,” Joan assured him.

“And for a little more help,” Isabel said, “give me your right hand.”

Bash held up his gloved hand, and Isabel shoved small rocks into the glove, up over the knuckles.

“No rules, remember?” Isabel smiled and winked.

The tin cup sounded, and Bash headed back to the giant. Ducking and weaving for a minute or two, Bash let the giant grow weary of trying to hit him. Bash saw it as Joan explained. The giant dropped his left hand and started to pull it back for a hook shot. Bash pulled back his right, and let fly an elegant right hook. The giant was off-balance, and he stumbled, trying to maintain his footing. Bash kept returning, his right and left hands pummeled the giant’s face. The man fell to his knees and froze for a second, while Bash paused. Then the goliath collapsed forward, flat on his face—out cold.

Later that night Joan tossed and turned instead of sleeping. She couldn’t get the sight of that kiss out of her head. The few kisses she had shared with Reck were never like that. When she did fall asleep, she dreamt of Duncan.

Dr. Jules Chin added a little more cream to her iced coffee. It was a hot, humid summer day, and her clothes were starting to stick to her.

Sitting on the outdoor patio of the café, she made an effort to sip the drink and began flipping through the pages of a newspaper. To anyone watching, she appeared to be reading, but in reality she kept scanning the immediate area, looking for anything out of place.

After finishing most of the drink, she glanced at her wrist phone. It was time to return to the medical center. As a new resident, she didn’t get long breaks. Folding up the newspaper, she left a tip for the waiter, stood, slipped her purse over her right shoulder, and walked away. The newspaper lay on the table. She didn’t look back.

Jack casually stood up from a table at the same café. He barely glanced at Chin, but he did notice her purse hung on her right shoulder. He walked by her table, as he headed for the street and discretely picked up the newspaper when he passed.

It wasn’t until Jack returned to the Fitness Center and locked the door to his office that he opened the newspaper. This was the third time Dr. Chin and he had performed this ritual. On the first inside page, he began searching intently. There it was—a number, hand-scribbled into the newsprint: 5. He turned the page and saw another number: 3. He repeated the search for the next five pages and found seven numbers in total: 5311997. A donor’s number—a donor soon to be arrested and taxed for a major donation. Tonight he would get word to the underground, and hopefully this donor would be smuggled out.

29

J
oan walked to Bash’s tent to find Reck, hoping to go on a morning walk with him. She found Bash, sitting on the ground and resting against his saddle. Isabel snuggled in next to him.