Green Jack (5 page)

He looked
alarmed, staring more intently at the red drops, random as bullet
spatter. It wouldn’t tell him anything. The oak leaf was speaking
to her. It meant she could trust him. But the swan meant something
different for him. “Don’t trust anyone,” she warned him, glancing
over to make sure the soldier hadn’t heard her. “Your
secret---.”

“Killian, what
the hell?” A girl with black braids darted up the Cella steps and
shoved Jane away. Jane staggered and everything went white, just
for a moment. She saw the
fat pink moon, a church spire,
rooftops covered in red dust, the road leading away from the
City.
She saw
a red fox in a field of crocus flowers, she
saw guns, she saw fire, she saw leaves.

The soldier
tasered the girl before she could make sense of the images. Numen
shot white fire up the back of Jane’s head like lightning. She was
surprised she didn’t smell her own singed hair. She held onto the
column beside her, knuckles popping under her skin. She couldn’t
fall over, couldn’t faint or react. They’d know something had
happened with her numen. She couldn’t explain it, not now, not
ever.

The girl
sprawled on the ground, simmering with fury. Even forced to lay on
the wet pavement, she showed more bravery than Jane had ever felt.
This wasn’t someone who hid, though judging by the images Jane had
seen, she ought to consider it. She was a like one of those tiny
puffball mushrooms in the woods, ready to explode with poison. It
was innocuous until someone fed it to you.

Killian’s hands
were up in surrender but he was standing over her, trying to shield
her. The soldier traded the Taser for a gun, the black merciless
eye swinging between them both. His hand trembled slightly.
“Please, don’t,” Jane said to him quietly. “She didn’t hurt
me.”

“She could
have, Numina. The next one might. There are rules. We have
orders.”

“I know,” she
agreed. “And I’m grateful you were so quick. But she’s
nothing.”

The girl’s
black eyes flashed. Jane might have winced at her choice of words,
but they were effective. The soldier lowered his gun. “You’re both
banned from the Blessings for six months,” he said. He aimed a
recorder at their copper bracelets. It looked like a tiny metal
pencil with a blue tip that lit up. The microchip in their
bracelets flashed once in response. “Now get out of here before I
change my mind.”

Killian hauled
the girl away, even as she spat curses under her breath. He didn’t
look back. Jane smiled weakly at the soldier. “Shall I read your
omens?” she asked. Nothing distracted people like a glimpse into
their own future.

He looked
pleased, excited. “I’ve never been read by a proper Oracle.”

She didn’t
correct him by reminding him she was still a novice, just drew more
blood-red liquid into the straw. He watched her so reverently it
made her feel slightly ill.

“Long day,”
Kiri said a half an hour later, pushing the earth-brown veil off
her head. “I heard more details about strangers’ sex lives than I
ever want to know. And no matter how many times I tell them I don’t
need the information for the blessing, they just won’t stop.” She
leaned back on the bench. “I prefer the ones who want more
eggplants instead of babies. Who the hell would want to have babies
in this pit, anyway?”

Jane massaged
the back of her aching neck and tried to look as if she was paying
attention. The others were mostly quiet and tired; Kiri was the
only one who could talk through a coma. Rain pattered lightly on
their heads. It was soothing, the coolness a balm to the fire still
burning at her nape.

Until the wagon
pulled past a man sleeping on a rusted metal gate. The contrast of
the gilded wagon with the brittle pavement, the grey buildings, the
man’s rusty gate, were deliberate and calculated. So were the
Protectorate soldiers who descended on the sleeping man from across
the street.

They moved
between the wagons, guard dogs growling and straining at their
chains. It was over in minutes. There was screaming and blood and
red teeth.

The captain
nudged the man with the toe of his boot. Another soldier picked up
the burlap sack he’d used as a pillow and upended it. Wet leaves
tumbled out, no doubt gathered from the saplings growing out of
window panes all around them. Forbidden but surely not worth such a
mauling. “Not him,” the captain said, looking at the clumps of
leaves, disgusted. They walked away, leaving him pressed against
the wall, clothes and flesh torn off his legs.

“We have to
bring the Green Jack home,” one of the soldiers explained to Jane
when he caught her expression. “The streets aren’t safe.”

Chapter 7

Saffron

Saffron hated
Ritual days with a passion generally reserved for wet boots and
protein paste rations.

Soldiers
wearing masks of copper and tin leaves stood at attention. Saffron
had her knives, but they had rifles. Not to mention everything
else.

And now she had
Argent to deal with.

He had the
pale, faintly waxy complexion of someone who spent too much time
underground, and a silver tooth he liked to flash like it was worth
something.

He’d also lent
her money she hadn’t paid back yet.

She tried not
to react. Killian would notice. He was standing next to her,
waiting patiently for the stupid ceremony to be over. He was always
patient. And quiet. But he knew damn well, even before she’d tried
to punch him, how she felt about him visiting an Oracle. They never
bent a knee to the Numinas. It was their one small rebellion.

He leaned
against a hydro pole, decorated with cheerful green and gold
ribbons. More ribbons festooned the bronze statue of Cartimandua,
Legata of the Protectorate. It was considerably newer than the
figure of the Green Jack behind it, the stubs of burned out candles
at his feet. One of the toes of the Green Jack statue was polished
to a sheen, touched by countless hands for good luck. Saffron had
never understood how a giant bronze toe would help her feed her
Oona and so she never bothered. She’d caught Killian touching it
once, and she’d teased him until he tried to dunk her in a rain
barrel.

None of it
mattered anyway, especially not with Argent moving towards her with
that silver grin. He was behind her too quickly, knife tip pressing
into her kidney. Various elbows and torsos blocked them from the
soldier’s view.

“Saffron, I’ve
missed you.” His voice was gravely and interesting, it was how he
managed to talk himself into moderate power in the underground. At
least for a Core rat. “Ah, ah. I wouldn’t.”

Killian’s hand
froze on the pommel of the katana poking up behind his
shoulder.

Saffron
shifted, her boots cold and wet. “Argent, I don’t have your money,”
she said tightly. She couldn’t look at Killian. It was stupid to
have been tempted by real paper and watercolour paints and pencils.
She should have stuck to the nubs of coal from the fire barrels
lining the streets and the plaster of the apartment walls.

“That’s bad
news, love,” Argent said. “Real bad news.”

“Yet,” Saffron
amended. She couldn’t afford Argent drawing attention to her, not
with her stolen leaf mask. “I have a lead.” If Jedekiah at the
sideshow where she worked could pay her wages this month. Argent’s
dagger poked an uncomfortable hole through the back of her jacket.
“If you kill me, you’ll never get your money,” she reminded
him.

“But I’ll get a
bit of sport and send a warning to the others who owe me a
debt.”

“In the square
on a Ritual day?” She asked. “Not likely. Give me two days,” she
added. “I’ll give you interest.”

“Damn right you
will. Double.”

She clenched
her jaw over a stream of insults mostly involving his mother and a
goat. “Fine.”

“Two days and
twice the credits. I prefer seeds or batteries.” Argent yanked her
sleeve up, slashing down on her forearm in three long slices before
she could jerk out of his grasp. Pain throbbed and burned as blood
oozed out of the cuts. Even if she managed to clean them, the cuts
would leave scars, as intended.

“Three credits,
Saffron. This way you won’t forget.” Argent shoved her into
Killian. “Cross me again, and your ass is mine to sell.”

Killian fussed
over the cuts as the drums sounded. Soldiers marched down the empty
street, led by the standard bearer with his gold-fringed flag. The
Directorate symbol was in Ogham, an old language from across the
sea based on trees: a straight line bisected with two short
parallel lines on the right, like winter branches. Back in school,
a teacher had once told Saffron that some of the European cities
still existed but since it was unlikely Saffron would ever see a
boat, never mind sail on one, she’d stopped paying attention.

Cartimandua
followed on a huge horse. It was fatter than any person Saffron was
ever likely to meet. Cartimandua herself was slender and strong,
like a sword blade. She wore a leather tunic with a bright red sash
better suited to a Roman empress. As the Legata, she was tasked
with securing the City and protecting the Green Jacks. Tattooed
Numinas from the Cella waited in their ceremonial chitons to read
omens or pray, or whatever it was they did up on the dais.
Cartimandua faced the crowd with a smile.

“Great, another
speech,” Saffron muttered. A nearby soldier cuffed her on the back
of the head. The soldier eyed them both until Killian dropped his
gaze to his boots. Saffron simmered.

“Today we bring
justice to three outlaws.” Saffron snorted at the word. There was a
reason that the Elysians called the processional way to the square
‘the Corpse Road’ and it had nothing to do with justice. The three
prisoners who were brought out in chains would have agreed. The
first looked to be about fourteen, scared and sullen. The
Directorate were probably thrilled; younger criminals had a better
chance at being strong enough survive the process.

“This boy
stands accused of climbing into a tree and breaking some of its
branches,” Cartimandua explained, managing to sound both
disappointed and deadly. Trees were protected throughout the City,
taking so much as an acorn could get you arrested. “But the
Directorate is merciful. Instead of execution, we offer him a
chance to become sanctified, to wear the leaf mask of a Green Jack.
To redress the debt he owes our society.”

It sounded
merciful in theory but Core rats didn’t suddenly become saints. And
no one was likely to cast a statue of him in bonze to touch for
good luck. A leaf mask was brought out on an embroidered pillow by
a Seedsinger, wearing a chiton the dark brown of fertile earth. The
mask was a knotwork of leaves in every shade of green. Already, the
birch tree in the left corner of the square was suddenly growing
yellow catkins, even though it had been raining for weeks now,
without a ray of real sunshine.

The Seedsinger
pressed the mask to the boy’s face, fastening it tightly around his
head. He stood stiff and silent for a long breathless moment. The
crowd fell quiet, waiting.

The leaf mask
wilted, draping uselessly from his eyebrows. The boy made a strange
animal sound. A little girl near Saffron began to sing a lullaby to
herself, even though Elysian lullabies were not known to be gentle
or comforting.

The boy hung
uselessly from the post, an offering rejected.

The next two
outlaws were scavengers like Saffron, caught with illegally
collected herbs. The leaf mask refused them both. Cartimandua was
furious. A leaf mask without a host would die within hours. There
would be one less Green Jack in the world.

Elysians were
seized from the crowd and dragged up to the dais. Soldiers made a
barricade of themselves along the alleys and sidewalks as canisters
filled with sedatives were loaded into riot guns. If the crowd
resisted, they’d be dropped like stones into a lake. Saffron
thought the only thing worse than being forced to wear a leaf mask,
was being dragged unconscious to the same end.

But an old
woman suddenly stepped towards the pile of bodies, and the mask
accepted her. Her rheumy eyes were cold and unafraid. She spat at
Cartimandua’s feet. “I hope you starve.”

Cartimandua’s
expression was so bland and unruffled it sent shivers up Saffron’s
back. The old woman couldn’t be touched now that she was Green
Jill, not even after insulting the Legata. But her rebellion would
be short-lived. It didn’t take a Numina to know she wouldn’t be
able to sustain the mask for long

“There’ll be
another Ritual day by the end of the week,” someone muttered.

Saffron pushed
through the crowds the very second the soldiers removed the street
barriers. “I’ll see you later,” she told Killian. “I have to find
Jedekiah.” She didn’t wait for a reply, only jogged away, shoving
other Elysians out of her way when they were too slow.

The Lucky Cat
Traveling Sideshow hadn’t traveled in years. When the Wall went up,
Jedekiah had already traveled for nearly a decade before setting up
in Elysium City and getting trapped there. He remembered a time
when you could walk down to the lake and watch the litter float
against the piers. That was before fresh water became scarce and
the guards shot anyone within a mile of the shore. Just ask
Saffron’s father who’d died trying when she was only two. There
were no tokens or passes to be bought to reach the lake, they
didn’t exist. Even Society were forbidden access. Jedekiah didn’t
much care, as long as he had his sideshow.

Saffron
practically knew what he’d been eating the first time the power
flickered and folk hurled themselves at the outer Walls. She knew
every detail because Jedekiah had been telling her the story once a
week for the last two years. Part of the reason he’d hired her, she
was sure, was because she listened to him prattle on. His own
daughter Dahlia ignored him. If Saffron stayed because of Jedekiah,
she thought about quitting nearly as often because Dahlia.