Truancy Origins (52 page)

Edward quickly weighed his options. This was a perfect opportunity for him to declare his allegiance to the Educators; he could lead this man right to Umasi, earning the gratitude of the Mayor himself, to whom he would offer his services in destroying the Truancy. Not a bad start to a career, but upon further consideration, Edward decided that it was too risky. Umasi would not be killed, but left free to warn the Mayor of his treachery. What's more, there was no telling that the Enforcer would not simply try to kill Edward and take the credit all for himself.

No, Edward decided, it was not the right moment to jump the gun. Instead, a different plan began to take shape in Edward's head. It wouldn't do to have the Enforcer stumble across Umasi's stand and risk having the boy returned to the safety of the Mayor's custody. What's more, after all the acting Edward longed to set his true nature loose, to prove, if only to himself, just what he was capable of. A single Enforcer in an abandoned district on his own—Edward couldn't ask for a finer victim than that.

His mind made up, Edward peered over the edge of the building again. The Enforcer was moving slowly, but following a set path. Running a few calculations through his head, he shimmied down the fire escape, then vanished down an alley as fast as he could. He had seen enough of District 19 to know something about its shortcuts, and managed to reach a distant block long before Rothenberg. Knowing that he had precious minutes to act, Edward looked around and swiftly spotted an old set of trapdoors in the sidewalk that provided access to the building's basement. The lock had long since rusted away, and Edward had no problem in flinging the doors open.

Seizing a heavy trash can from a nearby alley, Edward dragged it across the street and into the basement, making sure that it left a trail in the soot and dust that the Enforcer would be sure to see. He had to descend an
irksome flight of stairs to reach the bottom, but once there he found it completely pitch black. He felt his way to an open door that led to another room and stowed the garbage can in there. Then he shut the door behind him, slipped beneath the stairwell, and drew his gun.

The trap was set. There was nothing more that Edward could do but to wait for the Enforcer to fall into it.

 

T
hough it would not be immediately apparent to anyone who walked into the flower shop, Noni could hear every word of spoken conversation uttered therein. Zyid was holding an urgent conference at the moment, with Gabriel, Frank, and a few other officers in attendance. Noni merely continued throwing knives at a wooden target, an exercise that had become trivial for her. She gave no indication that she was listening to what was being said, and Zyid never did either. But they both knew that she was. Every time a report was given and its messenger dismissed, Zyid would ask Noni for a recap and her opinions. She never failed in this regard, and though Zyid showed neither approval nor displeasure, she could tell that he was pleased.

Noni had natural talent for eavesdropping. She was used to observing without being noticed, though she was increasingly observing that others were in fact noticing her. She had been seen in battle more than once now, and Zyid kept her close. The Truants had taken note, and among the rumors that were whispered was the assumption that she had abilities that she did not. To avoid them, she maintained a cold and distant approach, and for some reason it seemed to work. She had earned some respect, but neither wanted nor needed any friends.

She had not participated in the celebrations of the previous night, when nearly all of the survivors of the assault on the Enforcer station had returned, giddy with success. There was a general feeling of accomplishment, of hope, now that they had proven that the Enforcers were not invulnerable. There had been an undercurrent of mourning for Amal, but the Truants who had once been vagrants were used to death, and the others were quickly growing accustomed to it. As for Noni, it didn't bother her. Her whole world was built on one person, and so long as he lived, she was secure.

Noni glanced furtively over at Zyid. He was now deep in conversation with Frank, Gabriel, and the other officers, serious looks on all of their faces. Zyid had let the Truants have their party the previous night, though he, like Noni, had taken no part in it. Noni wasn't even sure where he had gone. Then, midway through the celebrations, Gabriel's group showed up, the last to arrive. Noni had noticed immediately that something was
wrong. Gabriel seemed grim, worried, and though all of his comrades were with him, many of them looked inexplicably pale. As if from nowhere, Zyid had appeared, hustling them off into a room for debriefing. Whatever had befallen them, Noni realized an hour later, could not have been good; Zyid emerged looking troubled, a rare expression for him.

The incident went unnoticed by the rest of the Truancy, and neither Zyid nor Gabriel or any of his subordinates had made mention of it as far as she could tell. Noni yearned to know what was so terrible that it could trouble Zyid, but she had not yet mustered up the nerve to ask. And so she watched in silence, out of the corner of her eye, as Zyid finished talking with his subordinates and sent them out of the shop. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, and then, as she knew he would, turned to her.

“So, Noni,” he said, “I trust that you were listening.”

“Yes, sir. You've contacted a student named Alex in the District 1 School.”

“Correct. Have you figured out why?”

“You . . . before he died, you sent Amal to get blueprints for the District 1 School . . .” Noni recalled, to which Zyid gave an encouraging nod. “ . . . so . . . so are you planning to attack that school?”

“More than just attack it,” Zyid said, an intense glint in his eyes. “I intend to demolish it.”

“You mean . . . blow it up?”

“Precisely,” Zyid said, turning to examine the papers on his table. “With Rothenberg out of the way, we need to make our grand City debut on our own terms. I'm not sure how much the Mayor knows about us, but I will make sure that he does not doubt how serious we are.”

“Yes, sir,” Noni said, hesitating for a moment before plunging on with the question that had been bothering her for a day. “Sir, may I ask what Gabriel told you last night?”

Zyid looked up at her sharply, the very action itself a silent rebuke. “Nothing that need concern you, Noni.”

“Is it . . . dangerous?”

“Very.”

“Then I want to help.”

“Appreciated, but unwanted. It is a personal matter. I will not tolerate interference.”

Zyid's tone indicated that he would not accept any discussion on the matter, and Noni did not press him. But though she kept her silence, Noni came to a decision as she began throwing knives at the target again. No matter what he said, if Zyid ever found himself in danger, then Noni would
be there to help in any way she could. After all, she knew that she could face any terror while at his side, but absolutely none without him.

 

R
othenberg slowly descended the stairs, not really paying attention to the strange trail that he was following. It looked like something heavy had recently been dragged along the ground, all the way down to the basement. Rothenberg didn't really expect it to actually be anything of interest, but there was little else to investigate without stumbling blindly around the district. As he had feared, District 19 looked different without the blizzard, and he had no idea where the lemonade stand had been before—if indeed it was still there at all.

No, Rothenberg no longer had any hope of satisfying the Mayor. Reality was unpleasant, but there was no denying it. Rothenberg was now weighing his options, wondering how best to get out of the mess he had found himself in. There wasn't much. If he tried to lie low within the living districts, the Enforcers would track him down; despite their failures in fighting Truants on their own turf, Rothenberg knew better than anyone what they were capable of. Returning empty-handed was not a happy prospect either, so what else was there? Rothenberg refused to even consider fleeing to the abandoned districts like a filthy child vagrant.

Scowling at the world and the foul hand it had dealt him, Rothenberg reached the bottom of the stairs. It was nearly pitch black down here, and Rothenberg knew that he was in some sort of basement. But no matter, the trail had led here and he was interested in what lay at its end. Stepping forward into the darkness, Rothenberg found a doorknob, which he turned to reveal an utterly dark room. Stepping into the inky blackness, Rothenberg felt along the wall for a light switch, found one, flicked it on . . .

. . . and heard a gun being cocked behind him as fluorescent lights hummed to life, illuminating the drab basement. Instantly alert, Rothenberg froze, cursing himself for his carelessness. Several moments passed and nothing happened. Rothenberg began to relax. Whoever had ambushed him clearly didn't mean to kill him just yet; that meant he had options. Rothenberg decided to wait and see what the person wanted.

“Well, what have we here, an Enforcer with the guts to work alone? What an uncommon phenomenon.”

Rothenberg was startled by the voice—it belonged to a child! And yet it was different, very different, from any he had heard before. There was an undercurrent of cruelty, an unspoken promise of brutality in every syllable. It was chilling, not only in and of itself but because, after years of viewing them all as the same, Rothenberg was only just beginning to
understand how different children could be. Instinctively Rothenberg's hand crept towards his gun.

“Not another inch, Enforcer, unless you'd care to get shot.”

Rothenberg scowled and stopped his hand. Behind him the boy's footsteps began pacing back and forth. Rothenberg was being sized up. He found that that notion was alien to him. Being sized up by a child? What had become of the City?

“Hm, come to think of it, I believe I know who you are.” The voice suddenly sounded delighted. “Yes . . . we've met before, haven't we? But you've never seen the
real
me, have you, Rothenberg?”

“What're you babbling about, brat?”

“Oh, so you don't recognize me after all?” the boy said with mock hurt. “Well, that's not surprising. You hardly seemed sober at the time. But I don't mind—I've heard quite a bit about you. The great Enforcer Rothenberg, the terror of the vagrants, the brutal man that the Mayor sent to war against his own sons!”

Rothenberg was surprised that the boy knew about his exploits, but he was shocked to find that the kid's voice was not filled with fear, anger, or even malice. Instead the voice now dripped with scorn and mockery, as if it were discussing a bad joke. Rothenberg clenched his fists angrily. He would make sure that this child, no matter who he was, paid for not showing more respect.

“Aside from your size, you certainly don't look like much,” the voice continued, “so I suppose that I should commend you for getting this far.”

“This is an abandoned district, boy,” Rothenberg growled. “Who said you could come here?”

“Who said I could come here?” the voice repeated. “Why, I did.”

“And do you think you can just do whatever you want?”

“Of course. You're not the brightest coin in the Mayor's purse, are you?” the voice mused. “If I feel like visiting an abandoned district, who's going to stop me? You? By all means, Enforcer, try it.”

Rothenberg snarled incoherently, but did not move, silently acknowledging the boy's point.

“Do you really think you can get away with pointing a gun at an adult?” Rothenberg demanded, changing the subject.

“Oh yes—as a matter of fact, I believe I can get away with much more than that,” the voice said. “I suppose that I should reintroduce myself. My name is Edward. Don't forget it again, Enforcer. Within a few years you and the rest of your colleagues will serve me . . . provided that you survive that long, that is.”

“So you're not the Mayor's son?” Rothenberg said.

“That pacifistic fool?” Edward laughed. “Please. I have greater ambition
than to rot in an abandoned district. I think you can identify with that. After all, the two of us are obviously kindred spirits.”

“Oh yeah?” Rothenberg snorted derisively. “I don't think so.”

“Oh, but it's true,” Edward insisted. “We have much in common, you and I. We both care nothing for others, we are determined to realize our own ambitions, and we are both clearly prepared to resort to brutality to do so. Really”—Edward chuckled—“the only significant differences between us are our ages . . . and your relative lack of intelligence.”

Rothenberg stiffened in shock at the insult, and in that instant his patience snapped, and his hand darted for his gun with astounding speed. Despite his encounters with the Truancy, Rothenberg was sure that Edward would not pull the trigger in time. The possibility that a
child
would shoot him in the back without hesitation, in cold blood, still did not yet occur to Rothenberg.

With most other children, he might have been right. With Edward, he couldn't have been more mistaken.

Edward didn't hesitate, carefully aiming his gun lower as Rothenberg reached for his pistol. Before Rothenberg could even draw his pistol from its holster, a deafening bang burst throughout the room, followed a moment later by an earsplitting shriek. Edward's lip slowly curled up into a satisfied smile as he circled around Rothenberg's writhing body.

“How careless of me—I think that I've shattered your kneecap,” Edward said with mock concern. “I can't imagine how painful that must be. Not to mention that you might never walk on that leg again.”

“You . . .” Rothenberg gritted in disbelief through his teeth, flopping about like an oversized fish. “You . . . you're just a . . .”

“Student? Child? Legal inferior?” Edward finished mildly. “True enough, I suppose—at least for now. But look at you, Enforcer, squirming about on the floor. To me, you're nothing but a worm.”