Unfit (9 page)

  “I think her name is Taylor,” says Kajo.

  “Did she tell you?”

  “No. It was written on her prison cell when I got her out.”

  Taylor sits back watching us, but ignoring what we say. Her thoughts are all twisty. Little bits and visions from many demesnes. Signs written in languages I cannot understand. Strange and majestic sights, as well as an incomprehensible sense of time.

  It must be what chronomancers see in their minds. But she was able to join the duel with the Namika of Farrich. Perhaps she’s also a Lightning. That might be why she was in prison. She might be a rogue chronomancer-electrokinetic mix.

  “Maybe she’s a Chrono-Lightning,” I say.

  “You still think I’m a Lightning?” asks Taylor, suddenly. But she offers us no more.

  She reminds me of Kimberly in a way. Except even Kimberly will respond if pressed with a question. Taylor is like a tenfold Kimberly. Where does Kajo find these women?

  Oh well, it is tiring to wrap my head around. I make myself comfortable and get some sleep during the ride home. If Taylor decides to start talking, I miss it, waking only when I feel the car slow down.

  Kajo’s driven me to Greg’s house and descended to the driveway.

  “Goodnight, Kajo,” I say.

  “Good morning, you mean. It’s almost dawn.”

  I climb out of the car and walk up to the front door. It opens before I get there. Greg awaits me. He must have waited all night for me.

  “Thank you, Greg,” I say, linking arms with him.

  He half carries me through the door, where we hug.

  For a brief and glorious moment I have rapport with him. I read his admiration and wonder at Kajo and the flying car. And he’s proud of me. Proud of me when I raced off after Tiller that night, just like he is now. For the first time he can see my mind. I can tell he’s shocked; a bit overwhelmed by the depth of my feelings for him. It floods his mind, unintentionally breaking the rapport.

  “Let’s sneak upstairs, Kwan,” he says.

  We find our way upstairs to my room and into my bed. Things progress quickly into kissing and gentle touching. And though I’ve known it would come eventually, it takes me a little unprepared.

  It hurts more than it’s supposed to, I think. And he goes way too fast. But I’m too light-headed to give it much mind. And it’s over quickly, anyway. He cradles me in his arms and rocks me as the sun rises.

  “I must go now,” whispers Greg into my ear. “To maintain appearances.”

  I stiffen, preparing to cling to him to stop him from going.

  “Here’s to many more sunrises together,” he says.

  “Okay, for a line like that you’ve earned a reprieve.”

  I watch him dress and slip off, before rolling out of bed to gather the sheets up. There’s a change of bedding in one of my dresser drawers. The housekeepers thought of everything.

  I think the new day has my name written on it.

  After dropping the sheets off at my parents house, there’s not much to do since school’s out. I sense that Kajo is in town. When I let my mind lead me to him, I find him at his house.

  I recall in his mind that his house had been destroyed during the tax office riot. Yet here it stands, with Kajo rocking in a chair on the veranda. The house looks almost exactly like I remember it. The only new thing is the car he has dropped in the back yard. I can see the windscreen poking over the fence.

  “Like it?” asks Kajo. “I only just finished rebuilding it from scratch.”

  “Don’t tell me you fabricated an entire house out of nitrogen.”

  “No. Mostly carbon. But the same process.”

  I start to wonder if there are any limits to what Kajo can fabricate. Even the grass feels “false” under my sandals as I approach him. I stoop to pick some, but it resists my tug. Kajo’s lawn is made of plastic.

  “Like I’m really going to mow it now that I can make artificial grass,” says Kajo.

  “And where is Taylor?”

  “Sleeping. Inside. Been so ever since we got back.”

  “Her ordeal must have sapped all her strength away.”

  “I was hoping she’d wake up before my meeting today with the town’s telekinetics.”

  “Is it about the riot?”

  “Apparently the power is out and they want to see if I can help relieve stress on the grid.”

  “Apart from repairing the station, I don’t see what you can do.”

  “Oh good, you’re versed on this then. Come with me. Tell me what you know about the riot on the way.”

  The telekinetics have asked Kajo to come to the broken station across the street from the tax office. It’s just a ten minute walk from Kajo’s house. Long enough for me to tell Kajo about Tiller, the chronomancers and Hattie.

  “Hattie is a drag on your resources,” says Kajo, as we get within sight of the ruined tax office. “You’d be best to cast her from your mind.”

  “She’s also a living, breathing person.”

  “You operate your life at a loss, trying to pull her along. If you were a guild, you would fail.”

  “Oh Kajo. You’re so...”

  I stop and rethink. Pragmatic is the first word that comes to mind. Perhaps Kajo has a future career as a tax collector.

  There are people milling about at this intersection. Roughly two dozen people who look like workers from the factories down the street. They’ve cleared the street of the bits of fallen cable and other sharp objects, so now cars can get through. There’s still no cable for the buses, and of course, there’s still no power, since the station is a wreck.

  The workers have disassembled the power-station. They’ve hauled out the car-sized glass chamber that forms the core. Other bits and pieces lay about. I should know the names of all these parts from school but I can’t remember. There should be tubes to bring energy-rich gas to the chamber and pipes to release the exhaust. But those tubes and pipes have been stolen by the post-riot looters.

  The anger of the riots still hovers around this place. It’s like the will of all those people has remained after they left. Remained to soak into the street and walls around us, infesting the intersection with unresolved hatred.

  One of the workers gets up from a group of three gathered around a pile of intricate coils. He dusts off his hands as Kajo and I approach.

  “You would be Mister Blue,” says the man, sticking out a hand. Kajo grasps it, and they shake. “Name’s Sam. Glad you could come.”

  The man thinks to extend his hand to me. I see the thought clearly in his public mind and have to nudge it away before he acts on it. No forced-rapport handshakes for me in such a dreary place.

  “Seems the station’s busted, Sam,” says Kajo.

  “Yes sir, Mr Blue. Since the other stations are carrying the excess load, we’re getting brownouts across the demesne.”

  “I see,” says Kajo, looking about.

  Personally, I find it incongruous that this older, experienced worker is calling Kajo “Mr Blue”. Kajo’s my age. And he’s not high family; he doesn’t have a last name.

  “Without the buses on this road people pack into the other bus routes. It’s making congestion and raising tempers,” says Sam. “Things would be just so much easier if we could get this corridor operational.”

  Kajo extends his powers, and the pile of coils suddenly comes alive. The coils collect themselves into a long S-curl and twist up into the air. Meanwhile the glass core rises slowly from its perch by the sidewalk.

  Core, coils, and other scraps of metal all float up and beeline for the broken station, sending the workers scrambling away in surprise. We all watch as pipes grow from thin air and fasten themselves to the core. Strands of brick form and knit themselves into side-walls, where they harden and crystalize.

  The core and its parts float into the station just before the front wall forms. The strands stitch themselves into a covering roof and seal themselves.

  Kajo’s face is a mask of concentration as he does all this. He absently traces patterns in the air with his left hand. I watch him work with awe. It’s the most magical use of power I have ever witnessed.

  Finally, sixteen new copper wires protrude from the substation. They snake out to the electrodes on the building next door. And two reach across the street to attach to the lamppost. More still form horizontal wires for the buses to use.

  Power comes on immediately. There are no loud clacks to signal load changes. Kajo’s new electrical power-station hums with quiet efficiency.

  “That’s the stuff,” says Sam, as the workers cheer.

  “It is done,” says Kajo. He turns to go home, so I fall into step with him.

  “Wait!” says Sam. He and his fellow workers run ahead of us to form a small line, blocking Kajo’s path.

  “Yes?” asks Kajo.

  “We’re wondering when you will declare?” says Sam.

  “I’m not declaring. I will seize this half of the demesne. The Coalition can keep the west.”

  “Hillvale Demesne needs you as Namika. You must declare soon, or Penderson will try it.”

  Penderson, the suited merchant-guilder man from the riot. I don’t fancy him becoming Namika. Especially if he’ll pay assassins to remove his competition.

  “If Penderson wants to declare, let him defeat the Coalition,” says Kajo. “I want nothing to do with them.”

  They part for him, and I follow him away from the intersection. Their public minds are very open and clear. They think Kajo cannot sit on the fence of leadership. If Penderson wants to be Namika, he can’t simply allow Kajo to exist alongside him, running the other half of the demesne. It’s a duel he cannot escape.

  The only problem will be convincing Kajo of this before it surprises him.

  “I must rest now, Kwan,” says Kajo, turning to me when we reach the front of his house.

  There are lines of fatigue in his face. Creating an electrical power-station from scratch has exhausted him more than he led us all to believe.

  “So, you have limitations. I was beginning to think you could really do anything.”

  “Very real limitations. I may sleep like Taylor does. If you need me,
shout
really loud, okay?”

  “Okay Kajo, bye now.”

  He smiles weakly and turns to leave. Namika in all but name and desire. I let the matter drop for now, so he can sleep without stress.

  I return to the Lanarrs’ and find Greg in a celebratory mood about his exam results.

  “Come, Kwan, we’ll go party tonight in Credd.”

  “But I have lessons.”

  “Oh, I’ll get my mother to postpone. It’ll be fun.”

  We end up spending the evening in an opera house in Credd. It’s the second time I’ve ever left the demesne, and that in the same week. Something I hope won’t be a habit, because the drive is long in the Lanarrs’ family car.

  The opera is spectacular, even though I understand nothing of what they sing. Watching all the rich scions of high family around me is almost more interesting than the show itself. And when we get back home, everyone’s asleep, so there’s a chance for some alone-time with Greg in my room.

  On the weekend, we go to Rion to see a play. Greg even talks about taking me dancing later on, when I’ve had more lessons in it. He says my repertoire needs fleshing out before I can fit in. Unfit to even have fun with high family. It’s like a mantra to me, driven home during each lesson under Alešan’s gaze.

  “One-Two-Three. That’s it, ladies. Kwan, try to be more flowing between phrases. You look like you’re stopping to think about what comes next.”

  “It’s hard, Mrs. Lanarr. The patterns are unnatural.”

  “They have to be. It’s part of the challenge of this step. Watch how Alešan does it.”

  She says that just to goad me. It’s a test of my resolve. There’s no other explanation.

  Alešan is better than me in every subject, even sewing. The only area where I surpass her is in patience, for she could never stay at a task long enough to complete a sewing project. I suspect her cooking skills may be inferior to mine, but our lessons do not take us into the kitchen.

  She’s much better than me, and so smug about it. Mrs. Lanarr’s tactic works every time, despite me being painfully aware of it. I work on the dance transitions as if they could save the world.

  “That’s it, Kwan. Now you’re putting heart into it.”

 
Heart my foot. I wish I could cut Alešan open so you could see the stone she has where her heart should be.

  “And don’t scowl so. Dance is supposed to be enjoyable.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Lanarr.”

  After lessons I go to my room to work on chemistry. Memorizing these weird and esoteric element names makes me sick. And Mrs. Lanarr prefers we don’t read human anatomy books written by bios who actually understand the body. Instead, we have to read these dull scientific books that treat the body like a cluster of independent organs.

  The books are written in Standard, and they have giant fourteen-letter words that slide around under my eyes, like bugs trying to squirm off the page.

  One hour is all I can take of it before I have to set the book down and rest my eyes.

  There’s a faint call nagging at my mind. I feel like someone needs me. My mind drifts to my family, but they’re all at home, minds unworried. Kajo sleeps. He’s not been up since the rebuilding of the power-station.

  Could it be Mara? I risk a peek at her mind.

 
Hi, Kwan. Everything is alright. Thanks for checking in on me.

  Her mind shows her at a campfire with a small cartage guild. They’ve stopped their four long rigs at a campsite for the night. There is celebratory dancing going on in that demesne to commemorate the Namika’s wedding. It is a welcome day off for them, and the food is plenteous.

 
Still heading north
, says Mara.
I will reach you soon. But I have to let you go. I don’t want them to sense me talking to you
.

  I release the connection. Mara’s safe, so who could that “need” be from? Reiki? No, she’s hanging out with some boy I’ve never met. My other friends Sanny and Francesca are reachable. They are together, reading like I am.

  It takes a lot of checking. Everyone from Dave and Kimberly, down to friends from school, before I think of Hattie.