CHAPTER 12

  Ran inhaled eggs, sausage. Guzzled orange juice. Stared at the inexorable, evil clock.

  Tek poked at his as Sarge complained about the news and Kiyo buzzed round them in her sweet, Kiyo way. Ran wanted to be angry with her, badly. Alas, she was too sweet.

  The family didn’t normally breakfast in the Pub, but with Gift so near more people were out earlier in shops. Kiyo wasn’t about to lose that business.

  Six or seven groups were spread across the bar and main room. Missy had come in early, unsmiling, odd for her, with small dots of black beneath normally cheery eyes and a bruise on her arm. Ran thought it was his imagination until Kiyo told her to take a week’s payed--Sarge nearly gagged on his toast--holiday once breakfast was finished.

  Ran’s copy of Mighty Thesaur: Myth and History lay open before him, but its first sentence alone had been read and reread in half an hour’s time. It had looked so tantalizing when he’d picked it weeks ago. Bad time to take another run at it.

  A collection of essays from prominent, setian Olde Honour scholars, each offering insights into the current state of research into the legendary megacity of the Northset. The lengthy essay that opened it bore the title "King of Cities”: Advancements and Technologies of Set's City in Text and Stone. "A Greater Place, I Have Not Known”: Ancient Authors on Thesaur, seemed more his line. The quote had been lifted from a silver-eyed Rockman explorer Ran had never before heard of.

  "Shit,” Sarge whispered and pushed away from the table. "Stupid council. Stupid, damn eggheads and . . .shit. Got to head in. You two be good.”

  Kiyo’s head poked out from the kitchen, "You’re off early tonight, right?”

  "Uh-huh.” His eyes were still on the news.

  "Honey?”

  "Eggheads. Can’t wire a damn light switch and I pay taxes?”

  "OLD FART!"

  "What'd you say?” Sarge tuned to his wife. "I know it ain't what I thought I heard. I know that."

  "She asked if you’re getting off early,” sighed Ran.

  "Yes, yes. Maw, how many times. . .” Sarge froze. "Damn." This he didn’t whisper.

  Kiyo pushed through the kitchen’s hinge-doors, seemed to glide across the room as mist, the upper half of her body unmoving. "Language,” she whispered, and Ran immediate thoughts were of death.

  The barflies stilled. Tables silenced. Bruce, the cook, hacked nervously on something in the kitchen.

  Kiyo’s pale blue eyes narrowed. "Why curse, honey?”

  "All this tension,” said Ran, but buried his head behind the book.

  Tek grinned.

  Sarge, wisely, whispered, "I have to go in tomorrow morning.”

  Someone at the bar ran for the door.

  "O-overtime and. . .I mean, it’s not like we don’t need it. Giving people weeks offa work and such--"

  "MORNING GIFT!” Kiyo didn't scream, more of a wail, really. Awaited an answer. Three seconds. Ten. "We’re all going into the city. You’ve known for three sh-darn weeks!” Silence only seemed to fan her irritation. "I have to get up twice as early just to get the kids downtown and back before next year’s Gift!”

  Sarge twisted up his face, tried to square his shoulders. Mistake. Kiyo’s limbs seemed to flail all at once. Now she couldn’t even speak.

  "I dunno,” said Sarge. "Maybe don’t go to Morning Gift this year? I mean, ya go every week. It’s not like Saga’s keeping score!”

  Someone whistled.

  "Who did that?” Sarge demanded.

  "I. . .I’LL. Will. Pretend. You. Didn’t. Just. Say. That.” Finally, Kiyo noticed the room. "EAT!”

  They all ate.

  "It’s a full-break,” Sarge pleaded, "ninety percent of the crew’s on holiday. It’s a lot of money, uh, honey.”

  Kiyo stormed into the back, her husband close behind.

  Ran’s eyes settled back into his note pad as the shouting descended into the house's lower half. Questions for the Word. The page was blank.

  Alone.

  He wrote: Who am I?

  Ran crossed this out. "Who do you think you are, Ran?” The Word would say, and Ran would strangle him.

  I wish Wordhealers were more like Firsts. They probably have all sorts of specialists who can tell you exactly what’s going on in your brain. Fix it with a click, a keyed sequence to make a broken brain work the way experts think it should.

  Sarge appeared in the kitchen door and, carefully, kissed his wife. A treaty.

  "If you’re not with us at Gift," Kiyo sang, "I’ll gut you butt to mouth.” Not a treaty, then. A mere armistice.

  Sarge messed Tek’s hair. To Ran he said, "Be sure you really want it, boy. It’s stressful as maw.” As he left he greeted some new customers, a group of five, coming through the door.

  "Ser Pau!” Kiyo’s death-eyes faded, and she hugged a smaller woman in the group. Ser Pau, their underbook’s runner, assistant, was subtly striking as always. Pale white and green-eyed with a lightly-freckled heart face. The only thing he knew of her was she loved Olde Honour’s lovey poets. Not a stupid woman. The small man with her was Berea, and the bigger, darker one Ikon. The remaining two he didn’t know.

  Ran surveyed the room. A few Cresters, always in fedoras and long scarves, always loud. "The Words can’t pretend Wordheal, no, the whole Nameless world’s shrinking! We'll cross-continent communication before long, and we still debated dead men. The Gift’s changed before, it can again.” Murmurs, nodded heads. Someone else said, "It will change or it will die.” They all thought this profound, and said so.

  An Old Oddie, always casted furtive, offended faces everywhere, at the next table frowned, bowed his head and joined his whispering friends. They went everywhere draped in the biggest, brightest red ribbons would all about them. He'd seen more than one trip before.

  "If only Wayfarer were here!” someone cried. Vox. Loud even for Cresters. His friends clicked their fingers. At least Ran thought they were friends. Didn’t seem like they ever said anything nice about him, or anyone (he did the same) when he wasn’t around. "Underbook Pilgrim’s conveyed the Gift from Red Isle all the way to those sun-worshipping gray eyes. You know I’ve been asked to talk in a few weeks by Ferapa himself? It would be a waste if I hadn’t been. Why else take all those classes?”

  "Loser,” Tek said around a pancaked-packed mouth.

  Ran nodded, and finally gave up, packed away all into his bag. But as he was pulling the mouth shut the light caught something. He pulled it out. The biblio! He’d forgotten all about it. It whined mechanically as he pried the cylinders apart. Why had he taken it? But what was that? He looked closer. The words on the page had cycled from the previous night. Impossible. Thing had no power. "Huh.”

  "What?” Tek, suddenly interested, sat forward.

  Ran read aloud, "Produce your proofs, you so-called rokkae! Interpret the past, compose the future, you reputed rokkae! Tell us so that we can see what has been; or else what has yet been?"

  "Maw you talkin’?” said Tek.

  "It's the Tex--"

  "No FEEEEEELLLLLING!” The sound rent the air, not a scream as much as a great belly laugh but also still a scream. Every head in the Pub turned. Kiyo, one eye closed in surprise from the sudden sound, stood where she’d been placing coffee before Ser Pau’s group, and one of these was a reclining man decked in a light powder blue jacket that gleamed oddly. A broad, white, gleaming bald head beneath which sat the widest, goofiest smile Ran had ever seen split his face. Ser Pau, seated just to his right, smiled timidly, patted his arm. He batted at her like a kitten, stood, and approached.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Kiyo--”, then he tripped over his own foot. "Well,” the stranger sighed, and smashed forehead first into the sturdy wood table, his head jerking violently back.

  Tek laughed like a lunatic. Ran sat in horror. But slowly the shiny head, sporting an angry red spot, rose above the table. Still he smiled. "Ouch.”

  The Pub followed Tek's raucous laughter as the man stood.

  "Fool,” said Vox.

  "Hey,” the bald man pointed at Vox as he pulled out a chair, "shut up," and then sat across from Ran. "Gentlemen, that is how you embarrass someone when it is you yourself that ought to be embarrassed.”

  "What?” said Ran.

  The man tapped his bald head, said in one breath, "I might have a concussion don't quote me. These yours, Kiyo?”

  Kiyo appeared over his shoulder, coughing her own laugh, "Yes, yes these are my boys. Little monster is Tek, and the quiet one, Ran.”

  "Nod,” the man said with a nod to each boy. He looked down to the biblio. "Didn’t think I’d see such a nice one out here.”

  Kiyo’s eyes widened, narrowed. "Where did you get a biblio?”

  "Broken,” Ran said with no small amount of suspicious speed, "I. . .Cree, that’s my boss at the bookshop, let me have it. Part of my paycheck. But, broken. I mean, it’s broken. It won’t cycle. Uh, did I mention it was broken?”

  Kiyo’s thin eyebrow arched. "Nod’s in town for Gift. He’s staying with our estate’s shelter. Remember we’re helping them paint tomorrow after Morning Gift?” Tek moaned, Kiyo bopped him for it.

  Suddenly Missy, looking even more exhausted up close, exploded from the back, arms filled with plates. Gushing apologies, Kiyo moved off.

  "Broken, eh? Mind if I look?” Nod held out a hand crisscrossed in callouses, gridded with scars.

  Ran placed the biblio in Nod’s hand, and he unrolled it. "Ummhmm. Do you understand?”

  "I guess. I mean, not really. I need more context," he smiled shyly, "or a tutor, I guess.”

  "Hmm. Wise man to admit it. It’s from one of the Reeds. You know who the Reeds are, I’m sure?”

  "The Archives?”

  "Bingo,” said Nod, but his eyes said, More.

  "Uh, they’re called 'reeds' because Ante plays them. Like a flute. The notes belong to Him, not the reed’s.” Ran cast an eye at the Cresters. They didn’t care for Rokk's Sebi name.

  "GOOD!” Nod screamed, and pounded the table. "Sebi name and everything! Bonus points!”

  "I read a lot.” Ran shifted uncomfortably. "Kiyo thinks I read too much about the Text than I do the Text.”

  "Take what you can get. The Reeds played reminders of the contract. Ante isn’t just the author of the contract, see?” He tapped the biblio. "He’s the author of history. The other rokkae suck and are stupid, only characters themselves.”

  "Oldies’ stuff,” Tek sighed.

  Nod’s eyes drifted to Tek. "Didn’t see you down there, little man. Oldies?”

  "Some people,” Ran scowled at Tek, "call the more, uh, well, traditional Given that. Usually in Ferapa’s estate, like us.” He began to ramble, as was his way when people stared or even looked at himm too long. "The other big group is the Cresters. They don’t like negatives, in people or the Text. They want only Heir, 'Love ends Rules.’ Urba, that is, uh, Word Urba, had a few really popular talks about how the Rules stopped with Heir. It's what Letters wrote, I think.”

  The strange man stared at Ran, and the longer he stared the more his eyes twitched, and then he loosed a most long, dreadful screeching, scraping sound.

  Tek laughed, and more heads turned. Ran was in maw.

  Ceasing his screeching, to Tek, Nod asked. "Wanna see a trick?”

  Again unimpressed, hating to be treated like the kid he was, Tek frowned. "I don’ like ma-ick,” he said through a full mouth.

  Nod leaned forward until inches from Tek, "'Ma-ick?’ Did I say 'ma-ick’? You said 'ma-ick’. What’s 'ma-ick’?’” Tek smiled, caught himself, shrugged.

  Ran throat ticked, so he took a drink of his juice, heard a fork clink against a plate and when he looked again, the stack Tek had been sawing through were. . .

  Tek dropped his own fork, searched on and around the table. "Pancakes!?” he finally cried to Nod.

  Nod swallowed.

  "Where’d you get the fork?” Squealed his brother. "Magic!”

  "NO!” Nod screamed, he liked to do that, and the adjusted his jacket in a way that would look cool if he had hair. "Slick.”

  Tek’s eyes sparkled.

  "Now, as I no longer bore the little man...” Nod spoke, if possible, louder than before. "’end of Rules’,” he repeated, "Meh, true. 'Context,’ say you, right on. Cresters, eh? Stupid.”

  From his inside the powder blue jacket he pulled small copy of the Text and as he did, for the first time, Ran noticed the gaudy belt wrapped about his waist. Bulky in spots, unusually thin in othhers, it was black with bright red edges, and looked comically big around him. Nod caught Ran staring. "I have terrible taste.” He thumbed the Text until he found what he wanted. Placing the tiny book on the table, he slid it before Ran with a finger on the page, said, "I may be wrong, but I doubt it. Read here to here.”

  Ran read quickly, silently. Everyone in the Pub was staring now.

  "C’mon,” Nod whined like a dog. "I see you understand.”

  Ran swallowed, "The way it’s written isn’t how I’ve heard it. The way I’ve always heard it used is to say, 'they're irrelevant,’ or, at least, don’t matter as much. But. . .

  "Don't be afraid to look dumb man," said Nod. "Not when you're telling the truth. I'll look dumb for ya. I promise."

  Everyone was really looking at Nod, so Ran said, "It’s about how Given treat each other.”Love ends. . . it means loving other Given completes the Rules.”

  Nod flipped back a page. "I may be wrong but I doubt it." He pointed. "What do you think?"

  After reading, Ran said, "This says Heir ends Rules." He had forgotten the Pub, the eyes. He was just a reader now. A reader speaking to another reader about a book. "But this is about inheritance. Not the Archives. Can't be anyway."

  "Why?" Nod sounded half mad, half excited.

  "Its surrounded by quotes from the Lawman, other reeds, you highlighted them all, so it can't be about ending the archives. These last two chapters are about Sebi."

  The man slapped the table over and over, then rubbed his hand. "Ow. Indeed.”

  Someone coughed, aggressively, across the room, but Nod paid no mind. Brought Ran back to reality though, and all the faces. By degrees the cough became louder, and then rougher, reaching a crescendo as a kind of squawk-hack.

  "SOMEONE CHOKING A CAT OR WHAT?!” Man Nod was loud.

  Vox’s chair, which the panting man had forgotten to release, squealed as it was dragged, and he soon he stood directly over Nod, who finally looked up.

  To the room Nod said, "This guy’s about to pass out.”

  "Antiquated views on man’s ability to improve his own lot, strange fool you are. If you have nightmares about your imaginary vengeful rokk's dietary preferences that is your problem. Sebi nonsense. Do not vex honest, enlightened Given with it.”

  Nod pointed over his shoulder, toward the southern wall, "A whole town would agree with every word you speak's over there. Maybe you'd be happier.”

  Ran froze. The Pub was stunned. Even Tek blinked.

  "Compare. . .to narokks. . .”

  "Underbook’s not here to cram ears with big words for ego points, but to speak truth to broken and Given alike.” Nod turned, but Vox remained over him. "He still there?” the bald man whispered to Tek, who grinned, nodded. "Creeeeeeepy. . .”

  Two heartbeats. Five. Ten. Rigid as wood, still dragging the chair, Vox returned to his table, threw down coin, and wobbled out, and only released the chair when Kiyo ripped it out of his hand. The other Cresters followed.

  "I think you just became my hero,” Tek said to the sounds of the Pub resuming.

  Kiyo appeared with more cakes. "Thanks for chasing the mouth off, I’ve never been able to stand the guy.”

  "May have cost you enough money today. Sorry. I got a big mouth.”

  She waved this off. "They’ll be back. No one else can stand 'em, and their food can’t compare to mine.”

  Nod was already soaking the cakes in syrup. "I’ve been won over by both your argument and my own 'never turn down free food’ policy.”

  "I never could have done that,” Ran said.

  "What?”

  "What you just did. Say what you believe with. . . I don’t know, force, I guess. Conviction. I have no answers. For anything.”

  "Questions are a better, more honest place to start than lying. Sounds profound, right? Should write it down. Never have time to write things down.”

  "Time?” Ran looked at the clock, sqealed, grabbed his bag and threw the biblio into it. "Sorry, Mr. Nod. I have to go! Kiyo I’m going! Nice to have met you. Tek, wanna come?”

  Tek shook his little head, "I wanna know how Nod got those stinkin’ pancakes.”

  Before he could turn, Nod grabbed Ran’s arm. "You ever want to talk, I’ll be in Wordheal for a bit. Like your ma said, staying at the shelter.” Nod released him. Ran’s arm hurt. What a grip.

  "Yeah. . .” Ran stepped out into the clear-skies of morning and wondered what possible justification he'd ever have to talk to the odd man again. "Thanks.”

  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

  He’d forgotten the old crone until he passed the alley. The day was warm, so why the chill? He stopped at the alley’s mouth. Mismatched eyes. That was all he remembered. He turned back, shook his head, turned again. Walked away.

  Two different eyes. And odd sense of kinship kindled within Ran, and he wondered if there were more two-eye colors out there. He’d never seen one, never heard of one.

  Pym walked around the corner, bright hair bouncing in kindred sunlight.

  "Gasp,” said Ran.

  Her yellow eyes rose as she took him in. Had just said 'gasp’? Did she frown because she saw him? She’d been concentrating. What an idiot he was! She was irritated. He interrupted her!

  Pym smiled, said with a honey voice, "Oh, sorry Ran. Didn’t see you!” She was just trying to make him feel better. He didn’t care.

  "I was just going--” Talking was easier with Tek around.

  Her eyes brightened. "A delivery? Can I see?”

  He stomped down the compulsion to dump all in his pack at her feet. A love-offering. "No!”

  She frowned.

  "Not 'no’! as in 'I won’t’ but 'no’ as in 'I’m not working’". He put out a hand to lean against the wall but there wasn’t a wall. He’d already passed the corner. He just caught himself. Shaking pllarshaker shake shake shake!

  "You ok?”

  He turned, if he didn’t acknowledge it it didn’t happen, instead squeaked, "What you doing 'round here?”

  Pym wrinkled her nose, thought before responding. "See if Tek wanted to scavenge. Probably not a good idea to do it too much, now that I think about it. Don’t want your mom--what you looking at?”

  She’d folded her arms, as if hugging herself, lowered her head. Ran saw the bruises on her arms and neck.

  "I. . .”

  Pym’s eyes went down to her arm, straightened them so the sleeves covered again, pulled up her collar. Now she was angry.

  "I’m sorry.”

  "Don’t,” she warned. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her angry before, seeing her eyes water. "Don’t pity--”

  "It’s not! We all have stuff.” He racked his mind, desperately seeking self-abasement. "I cry before bed.” WHAT AM I DOING?!?!?! his mind exploded.

  On anyone else Pym’s smile would have looked mocking. She cocked her head.

  "I mean,” Ran started, "sometimes. Only sometimes. Not like every night.” This wasn’t working. He needed to leave. "Sorry. Tek’s back at the house. I got to get going. See--” he tripped as he turned. Why even try to live?

  "Ran!”

  Hhe couldn’t not turn when she said his name so happily. "What about?’”

  "Uhhh. . .”

  "Before bed, I mean.”

  I don’t know who I am? he thought. "Shit, Pym, I don’t know.”

  Her eyes fluttered.

  Why not? he thought. She was smiling now. He didn’t think he’d ever said it aloud. Not even to himself.

  "I feel like I don’t have a name. Sometimes.”

  She smiled wider.

  If you don't leave, his mind warned, I'm going to do my best to stop your heart. "K. Gots to go. Bye.”