The Partisan Chronicles [Dystopia | Supernatural | Mystery]

Rhian

The weeks changed but nothing else.

Bows were drawn. Arrows flew. Partisans squealed.

"Relax your arms," I shouted. Some listened, some didn't.

Round two, three, four, five.

Some would come crying the next day with welts the size of their fists.

Round six, seven, eight.

"Look, if at least two of you can go ahead and hit the goddess-be-damned target, I'll dismiss the lot of you for the afternoon."

Round nine, ten, thunk.

Round eleven, twelve, thunk, thunk, thunk.

"Congratulations, you're all suckers. People are gonna bribe you. People are gonna trick you. Hit the target because it's your job to hit the bloody target, follow?"

There were five twelve-year-old, grey-eyed Strachan all together. There were blondes, redheads, two boys, three girls—but what does it really matter? They were all disappointed they wouldn't be getting out early. Look, it wasn't on me to be liked. It was on me to do my damnedest so they wouldn't grow up to do something stupid and die. Besides, I gave them their prize once they learned to fight for something they thought they'd lost.

Round fifteen, four of five targets hit. I'd have to work on the one with the lazy eye.

After the little ones ran away from the range joyously and whatnot, I had a real problem on my hands. It wasn't as though the problem appeared out of nowhere. More like, I'd been ignoring it for the past twenty minutes. Councilwoman Adelaide Blanchett. She wasn't the worst of the lot, let me be clear about that. But we had a history, and it was a messy one. Also, she hurt my eyes. What, with the bright purple dress and hair like a goddess-be-damned forest fire.

"Enforcer Sinclair, what do you think you're doing?"

"Well, I was preparing the next generation to follow your orders for the rest of their sorry lives." It was true, but she was probably referring to the fact I let the kids go early.

Councilwoman Blanchett turned her nose up at me. No big feat—she was tall, I'm short. At least she kept it clean. Meanwhile, I sized up the lass in a leather apron beside her. She was about seventeen and a dead ringer, only she was grinning ear to ear.

"I have not come to argue politics with you, Enforcer," the Councilwoman said.

Then I reckon I said something like, "Splendid."

Whatever it was, the lass in the leather apron giggled and the Councilwoman clucked like a chicken in my imagination.

"I've come to introduce you to my daughter, Adeline."

The one called Adeline squeaked. Reckon by that she meant, "Hello."

"Right," I said. "I feel my life changing. Now, how about you tell me what this is actually about?"

"It is the Assembly's indubitably supreme and utterly urgent request that Adeline join you for your lessons henceforth, forthwith, and so on, and so help me," is not exactly how it went, but it'll do.

"Uh," I replied, on account of I could be eloquent also. "What for?"

"I will let the Squeaky Lass explain," the Councilwoman sort of said, and then she was gone, and I was left alone on the range with a smile that was getting on my tits.

It was quiet until it was uncomfortable.

"So, I'm Rhian. And are you all right, lass?"

"I'm aware who you are, and truly, it's such an honour to finally meet you."

"Uh huh." Clearly, the lass wasn't all right. "Why are you here?"

"To assist with your lessons, and while it should only be for about three weeks, I sincerely hope we'll learn to be friends. Is it true you saved my mother's life?"

"Why. Are. You. Here?" Maybe I hadn't been clear enough. Sometimes I wasn't clear enough on account of poor elocution and whatnot.

"Why? Well, to train the children in the use of black powder of course."

After hearing the terrible news, I marched straight southeast across the grassy range in the direction of the Strachan spire. Which is exactly what it sounds like—a spire full of Strachan. I scowled the whole way up all five flights of stairs.

The trip took about a minute.

Fire-weapons? Horseshite. The perfect weapon for any half-wit with funny ideas and a pair of fingers. I'd seen the effects of fire-weapons in Delphia (another of Auditoria's territories, for all you rock-people), and I couldn't help thinking of a thousand new ways I might meet my maker. One cranky innkeeper and a bad day later, boom, afore you know it, you're dead and having your head mounted on a wall. No amount of Palisade training would save my freckled arse then, would it?

After darting up the stairs, I barged into the Councilwoman's office faster than her secretary could look up from twiddling her thumbs.

"Weapons integration with Blanchett's spawn? Not happening."

Councilwoman Kelly didn't seem to mind about the barging on account of she was a reasonable lady. She leaned back in her chair and kicked a leg up on her desk. I liked her office, all done up in wood and green.

Aye, I liked her office, but I sure as shite didn't want it.

"We can't contain progress to Palisade," she said.

"Then I'll have no part."

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"You've got no choice."

"Truer words."

Kelly sighed, nudging her head for me to have a sit across the desk. I did.

"Look, Rhian, progress means production. Production means exposure. Exposure means Old Man What's-His-Nuts blows up Joe Partisan because it sounds like a bloody good time. The Assembly agrees it's too late to outlaw the weapons now the Barrens know they exist. Think smugglers, extremists, martyrs—a whole new brand of Barren and Partisan rebels with a steel-barreled leg to stand on. We can't beat them, so we join them."

"Then why keep me landlocked? Put us on the job instead, and we can sabotage production. Reckon me and Gus alone could run an operation to sniff out the worst of it. Cut the suppliers, slow it down a wee bit."

"Aye, I hear you. Except there's basically zero chance of that happening. And even if I could sway the Assembly, Finlay's out on a job—can't say for sure how long."

I'd been alive two decades and I could count the times me and Gus had been split up. It'd take about a second.

"What? Where?"

"Amalia. Something to do with Faust's pet priest."

"What? Why? And when did we start helping Faust?"

"When keeping you and Finlay landlocked together was costing me more than I could afford. It was Amalia or Endica for him. What would you have done?"

As I said, not a single sane Partisan had much to say for certain about Amalia. Sure, we'd all heard the stories. Beasts as big as houses. Rock-slides, mudslides, and trees with roots that'll eat you. Giant sinkholes, giant arseholes. Some are lies. But Endica? It was basically war. It was the uncertain versus the certain and neither was a brilliant place to be.

Gus would have more fun with the trees.

"Fine," I said. "Why have I not gone with him?"

"Malicious intent, arson, destruction of Palisade property, fraud…"

So, I might have been charged with every one of those things, and all at once.

But it'd been for the best.

And I didn't exactly do some of it.

I was bored.

It's not like I was the sentimental sort, but a person gets used to certain things after a while. It was Fifth-day, and Fifth-day was Catch-Up-With-Michael day. But seeing as Michael was about to be shipped off to Endica, and Feargus was off helping Strauss pick the grit out of his navel, I was on my own after leaving Kelly's office. Which would have been fine if I'd had anything interesting to do. I could have gone down to the mess hall to watch people eat their poisoned supper, but I only had to go down one flight of stairs to get to my dorm and I was feeling lazy.

See, Palisade was designed to look a bit like the rest of the world. One big compound in the middle, six directions with six spires dedicated to each of the six breeds. All with—you guessed it, you terrific genius—six floors.

The first floor was for all the impractical whatnots like lecture halls and libraries. I'm sure they were lovely. The second was for the fresh Partisans and the non-violent special cases. The third floor was for those in training, the fourth for those in active duty. The fifth floor was for the ones who'd seen enough to deserve a nice view and a fatal fall. Those dorms were bigger and the folks living there didn't get bunkmates.

My room was on the fifth, Gus stayed in the dorm to the left of mine, and I couldn't be bothered to meet the person on the right. That room was cursed. There was a new occupant about ten times a year. No sense making nice.

That night, I raided the snacks I kept stashed under the bed with a bottle of Hocks. I played darts against myself and we tied, tossed knives up at the rafters until I got tired of pulling them out, went for a wee, and answered the door when there was a knock.

For the fun of it, I saluted my visitor—fist to heart. "Commander, Sir, Michael, Sir."

"Good to see you're still alive," he said.

"No big surprise, is it? I haven't exactly been active lately."

"I know, but I couldn't think of another reason you'd miss out on an evening with me."

Good old Michael. The man had an excellent smile. It worked for him on account of he was otherwise ordinary. Taller than the average Amali but shorter than the tallest. His hair was brown and boring. Everything in its proper place, like one of those man-sized dolls.

"Reckoned you'd have your hands full getting ready for deployment."

Michael shrugged, and then he sauntered right on in and made himself comfortable on the corner of the bed. I sat cross-legged on the floor looking up.

"I'll be heading out in the morning," he said. "I couldn't very well leave without rubbing my favourite Strachan for luck."

That was a superstition. Not an innuendo. Dirty bastards.

"Reckon you'll be out long?" I asked. The truth is, there was no way of knowing if he'd be back at all. I was being polite.

"No idea. Kelly's been sending scouts, but we're not getting anything back."

"She ought to stop sending them, then."

"Yeah, I know. We're walking blind into a snowstorm. Literally. It's so fucking cold up there, Rhian—never go. Anyway, I hear Councilwoman Hall petitioned for Finlay's help."

"Gus is gone," I said.

"Really? I'm surprised Kelly agreed to send him. He's an expensive asset."

"Gus is gone to Amalia to be with Strauss."

"Oh, that's strange. What's he doing with Strauss?"

I shrugged. "Uncovering the meaning of life? Helping him find his personality?"

"I like the second one."

"Me, too," I said. "Wish I'd thought of it first."

Michael smiled and there was a pause. The kind of pause that's a bit awkward but also a lot comfortable—seeing as we were old friends and all. It was the pause that came before asking for a favour.

"Any chance I could stay here tonight?" he asked.

There was a chance. I understood.

"Too quiet in yours?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Aye," I said.

And that was that.