Guardian: Shower Thoughts

Morning found me in the same cot I'd woken up in yesterday, awakened by an unintelligible shout. Outside the door, no one was in sight, but a still-steaming plate of pancakes, ham, and more eggs waited. Now I sat, the edge of the cot biting into the backs of my thighs, and contemplated the dirty dishes in one hand and the small card that had accompanied the meal in the other.

"Bathe," I read aloud, flipping the card between my fingers in a half-hearted attempt to spot any other clues. I sighed and rose to my feet, hands still encumbered. Crossing to the door, which I'd left propped open hoping to see a familiar face, I poked my head out. The same unremarkable hall and the same unrelenting light greeted me.

"Nobody home, I guess." I stepped out and directed my feet toward the kitchen. 'Or you think this was the way.' I paused at an intersection before going straight.

"Why is this place such a maze?" I checked down another hall branch, trying to remember if Kit had led to the right or left here.

"Where are you taking that plate?"

The voice made me jump, and I spun around, dropping my fork. Behind me — now in front — a tall, red-head in a skimpy black top and too-short skirt stood, one hand resting on her hip and the other gripping a double-headed axe. Most of her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, but sweat glued the tendrils that had escaped to her face and neck.

'Bones! Why does she have a weapon?' My eyes locked on the axe handle's dark stains. 'Has she been using it?'

When I just stood there, gaping like a fish, she stepped closer, ruthlessly invading my personal space. She searched my face with narrowed emerald eyes. Nodding briskly, she knelt, still holding the axe. My breath froze and remained caught in my throat as the woman rose to hold the fork in front of my nose.

"Breathe." She placed the utensil on my plate with a sharp click and stepped away.

I staggered back, too, taking a ragged, half-choked breath and biting my lip.

"Uh…" 'Come on — say something! She's not going to use that axe on you… probably.'

"It's a simple question." The woman's green eyes seemed to flicker when she blinked, like tiny flames burned within.

"The kitchen?" I swallowed, my eyes flicking from her axe to her eyes.

"That's a white plate," she said, as if it should mean something. At my blank stare, she continued. "You're headed for the alternate kitchen. White plates go to the full kitchen."

I frowned, glancing toward where I thought I was supposed to go. 'Wait, didn't Kit say something about the alternate kitchen?'

"I'm sorry?" 'Bones! Could you sound more wishy-washy?'

"Don't be sorry; don't take white plates to the alternate kitchen." The woman shook her head, and her long red hair slashed through the air. "Look — go back this way." She pointed in the direction I'd come from. "Turn right at the first intersection, go straight through the next three, and turn left at the next. You can't miss it from there."

"Yes, ma'am." I ducked my head in an awkward bobble and edged past her.

"When you get there, have Diana tell you how to get to the showers. You can't eat that and expect Kit to hang out with you. Not without cleaning up first."

"How—" An icy shiver raced up my back, and I spun to face the woman. But despite the short time I'd taken my eyes off her, she was gone. "How did she know I was with Kit? How the bones does she move so quietly?" I glanced at the plate. 'And why does it matter which kitchen white plates go back to?'

I returned to the route the woman had set, suppressing the urge to look over my shoulder. 'If she's there, you don't want to know.' I had no trouble following the directions, even without a sodalite's guidance, and though I saw a few other women in the same black outfit the redhead wore, none challenged my passage. And, true to her words, once I turned the last corner, a massive kitchen lay beyond a double-width door.

At a glance, it looked at least twice the size of the one I'd been in last night, with at least a dozen stoves, as many prep stations, and three sinks. A second glance hinted that the full kitchen wasn't in view; a white-aproned woman bearing a vegetable-laden tray popped around a corner, apparently coming from another section. She deposited the cut vegetables into a pot, gave it a quick stir, then departed, tossing a laughing comment I couldn't make out over her shoulder to another woman who added a palmful of powder to the pot. Another chef basted a chicken as it rotated slowly over an open flame. Two more seemed to race as they pulled noodles, thwapping the dough vigorously.

I gave up trying to figure out what each woman's task was and searched the room with a frown. 'There's got to be at least one guy here, right?'

"Stop holding up traffic," a brusque voice commanded.

I jumped again, but kept my utensils on the plate this time. This woman had dark hair cropped short, and a matching apron covered her black uniform.

"Dirty goes on the right," she said, pointing to a short stack of dishes that yet another woman scrubbed.

"Thanks." I took a step forward before stopping. "Uh — is there a Diana around here?"

"You're looking at her."

"Oh! Sorry — I didn't think… Nevermind." My cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I was supposed to ask you how to get to the showers."

Diana's face screwed up, clearly conveying how ridiculous she found this.

"It's weird," I said in a rush. "But I got this note, too." I whipped out the card. "And this redhead said—"

"Redhead?" Diana cut me off. "Axe or sword?"

'Bones! There's more than one?'

"A-axe." I fidgeted with the plate.

"Katchin Sharris." Diana's face twisted into a wry smile. "I should have known."

"Captain? Sharris?" 'She's in charge of this place? And Sharris like the House of Sharris?' The family, famous for their flame-summoning line, traced their lineage back to the foundation of the Trade Routes. I swallowed hard.

"No, Katchin," Diana corrected. "You don't want to meet the captain." She pressed a thin earpiece I hadn't noticed and spoke into it. "Hey, can I get an escort down here? One of the boyos?" She paused, then added, "I don't care — I'm not the one who segregated the lockers. But I'm not crossing—" Another, shorter pause. "Okay, okay." She sampled a sauce-coated spoon proffered by another woman and held up an index finger. "Look, I've got a full menu to prep. I don't care who you send — just get someone down here."

She tapped the earpiece and shook her head. "Add a pinch of thyme and a good shake of salt. Check it again after it simmers for a bit." Diana turned from the cook. "Take care of the dish, then wait at the door. And not in the middle, mind you! Folks gotta come and go. Someone'll be along to get you sorted."

"Okay…" I slipped around the edges of the kitchen, deposited the plate and utensils, and hurried back. I clung to the left doorpost, trying to be inconspicuous and stay out of the way while I waited.

Fortunately, the wait wasn't long, as Erebus popped around the corner before I could go back to counting chefs.

"Cairn," he said by way of greeting. His face wasn't exactly happy, but it wasn't as hostile as it had been yesterday. "Causing trouble again?" His lips twisted into a smirk, lightening the words from outright criticism to tease.

"Well, the morning seemed dull. And apparently, I stink." I held up the card.

Erebus glanced from the card to the kitchen before jerking his chin toward the passage.

"You had meat with breakfast, didn't you?" Erebus went straight at the corner, leading into fresh territory.

"Yeah," I said, distractedly. "How big is this place? And what's up with the kitchens? Alternate kitchen?"

"Massive. The alternate kitchen handles…" Erebus tipped his head, as if considering his words. "… alternate diets, I guess you'd say. Like Kit's. She's sensitive, so… bath time."

'An alternate diet that requires someone else shower? That doesn't make sense.'

"You seem to know Kit pretty well." I glanced at Erebus, hoping his body would provide details his words might lack.

"Yeah, no." He shook his head. "You do remember who her brother is? Not touching that."

"Seriously?" My mind flashed back to last night. "That Bastard Jack really has a sister?"

At Erebus's arched brow, I grimaced and searched the hall.

'Bones! Kit got steamed when you almost called him that yesterday.' The coast appeared to be clear, though, so I pressed my luck.

"Since when?"

Erebus stopped and gave the passage his own once over.

"I will tell you this once. Jack Frost has a sister since he said so. And I can't say for certain he's killed anyone over it, but he's willing to." He swallowed, his throat bobbing. "Not happy to do it, maybe, but I've never seen him happy."

'And how much time has he spent around Jack Frost, hmm?'

"He froze the entire spaceport and laughed the whole time he did it," I pointed out. The hallway felt like it had eyes, and I nudged Erebus into motion. "I don't want to see him happy."

"No one's proven that." Erebus pulled aside a door flap and gestured me into a room with slatted, wooden floors instead of the canvas I'd grown used to. Benches bisected the middle, and a rack of showerheads with chromed pipes hugged one wall. The opposite wall held cubbies and a shelf with fluffy white towels and toiletries.

"It doesn't have to be proven — everyone knows he did it!" Following Erebus's lead, I stripped my denims, standing in my underwear. "And what about the things he's done out on the Trade Routes?"

"Also not proven," Erebus said, and tossed his denims into a waist-high cube. "Sonic cleaner. Put yours in, too." Glancing at my boxers, he snorted. "All of it."

"Bones! Whose side are you on?" I threw in my shirt and pants, then shucked my undies and added them. "Why are you defending him?"

"I'm not," Erebus said. He grabbed a washcloth and a bar of soap, then turned on a shower. "Believe me, I know how he got his name. But Kit's malleable — too much so — and Jack gives her the space to grow. He pushes for it."

"And that makes up for the rest?" I lathered my own cloth, speaking louder to be heard over the water.

"Standing up for your sister? It counts for something."

I shook my head, sudsing up my hair and rinsing it before I spoke again.

"I don't get this place. You, and Lila, not—" I clamped my lips shut before the warning tingle could spread beyond the skin that touched my quartz. 'You can barely think about how you got here, much less ask questions. So you're left gossiping like an old hen.'

"Hey." Erebus shut off his shower. "The seal — it's not permanent. Mergen said she'd talk to us about it later today."

"Yeah?" I scrubbed my face, gave it a final rinse, and shut the water off. I took a deep, steadying breath. "So, Katchin Sharris — is she on fire, or what?"

"Bones and feathers!" Erebus laughed and threw a towel at my face. "She's married, and could break you into five parts before breakfast!"

"Ah." I grinned. "That means you've thought about it."

♫♪♫♪

Refreshed and clean — though the dirt stains lingered on Erebus's pants — we found our way through the maze to an out-of-the-way scaffold. A series of tubes and lights were clamped to the metal poles at both the middle and top levels. The lights weren't on, however, and the top provided a stunning view down to a stage where two cellists sat in a pool of light. Beyond the stage, the dark cavern of the tent was lit by runner lights along pathways and stairs with flickering candles hinting at tables filled with shadowed patrons.

A tap to the sound dampener let the soft strains of the strings reach my ears, and I lay back on the platform, forcing my muscles to relax.

"Is this what the EMBG does? Yesterday—" I shivered. "I don't even know what yesterday was. Can you call that music? And today it's classic cello?"

Erebus dangled his feet over the edge and lay his arms on the railing, careful to avoid the tubes and wires. He yawned, half-asleep in the darkness.

"Eccentric Music Bar and Grill. They nailed the eccentric part," he chuckled. "Food's not bad, either."

I nodded, unable to argue.

"The bar, though? Maybe stick to water."

"Ha! That bad?" 'Not that there was much variety at the Post. Just homebrew, or whatever someone brought in from a run.'

"Some of it's quite tasty. They travel and get products from everywhere, it seems like."

That explains the tent. I huffed a small laugh. Wait. He says travel and everywhere — he means the Trade Routes. I slipped around the thought, delicately testing the edges of the seal. 'It shouldn't trigger if you only think about the forbidden topic. But Mergen hadn't been very clear about what the line was.' I forced my muscles to go lax again and searched for warnings.

"So, you and Lila. And Mergen, I guess. Why are you here?"

"We're all buddy-buddy, and you don't know that?" Erebus flinched and rubbed his breastbone. "I'm Mergen's apprentice."

"I do." My frustration seeped through before I tamped it down. "The whole Post knows you're being groomed as the next Memory Guardian." A prestigious post — the Memory Guardian was one of the three Guardians that led the Guild as a whole. But while record crystals showed some past leaders led with an iron gauntlet — and there were times that ruthlessness had been the only thing standing between the Guild and destruction — the current leaders were relaxed. We observed formalities only when necessary and skipped them when they proved useless, and everyone trained from induction to know the difference.

"Well, part of the apprenticeship is learning about our allies." Erebus shifted, and I waited for him to go on.

The cellists concluded their piece with a flourish and rose from their seats to the audience's obligatory applause. Lights on and a flurry of black-clad women swarmed the stage. They whisked away the stools and brought in a set of broad risers with harsh metal-on-metal clangs. In an incredibly short time, a 16-piece band, complete with trap-set, brass, and electric guitars, was doing a soundcheck. Then the white lights dropped, the tubes lit up in a kaleidoscope of colors, and the drums led the band into a fast swing-tune. My fingers pattered on the scaffold in rhythm with the song.

Then I realized Erebus hadn't finished answering my question. I brushed the dampener, tuning the band out, and sat up to watch his profile.

"And Lila? Wasn't she posted—"

"She's not officially posted anywhere." His voice was harsh. "Bones! Don't you vultures get tired of circling?"

"Vultures?" Disgust pooled in my stomach. Flits did not call one another that. "Look, I'm not a Guardian — yet — but that doesn't make me a — a carrion-eater." My gut pitched. "That's really what you think?"

I shoved to my feet, and the scaffold rattled.

"If the feathers match." Erebus didn't look at me.

I nodded slowly, swallowing down the sour taste in my mouth.

"Guardian Erebus, please recall I didn't come here for you. Or Lila. The Routes don't revolve around you or your sister." Shifting, I hopped to the scaffold's top rail and used it to launch myself toward the clearly labeled exit at the furthest end of the bar.

"Cairn!"

Fingers brushed my tail feathers, but were too late to stop me. Nothing would, short of a few Guardian tricks I didn't think Erebus would be willing to use. 'But apparently, you don't know what Erebus will do, do you?' In a flash, my mind supplied a handful of counters. 'If he wants a fight, bring it.'

"Kack-kack-kack!" My falcon's distinctive cry echoed through the tent, piercing the band's music.

A couple of patrons ducked as I flew over their heads. A black-clad woman — 'What is it with that outfit? Is it their uniform?' — held the canvas door flap aside. The harsher light of the hall stabbed my eyes, but I didn't let the minor pain slow me down. The passage wasn't familiar, either, so I flew straight. 'Get to the edge of the tent and you can carve your way out if you have to.'

At the second intersection, a grinning man with tawny blond hair blocked the way, pointing to his left. I turned, my wings beating in a blur as I took the corner. The next juncture was empty, and the one that followed, but the third had…

Is that the same man? The tawny hair and the build were the same — only the grin was missing.

"Kack-kack-kack!" 'No, his hair's longer, and he's got a sword.' He, too, pointed to his left and, lacking a better idea, I flew down that hall. The next intersection had another copy of the man — this one scowling with arms crossed over his chest. He jerked his chin to the right, where another copy held open a flap. Zipping through, I burst past the entrance kiosk into the open air and flapped hard to gain altitude.

"Kack-kack-kack!" My chatter sounded querulous to my ears, and I hoped no one read too much into it.

A smaller, rusty-brown kestrel darted past my beak, and I pulled up with a startled squawk. Slender but fast, she — or so I assumed from her muted coloration — pulled up as well, spinning around my stalled flight before darting off toward the city.

I circled, catching a bit of updraft, and traced her flight. The kestrel didn't seem to appreciate this, though, and turned back.

"Klee-klee-klee!" She pumped to gain height, screaming at me.

'What? She can't be — yes, she is coming in for another stoop.' I rolled away, angling toward the path she'd set and keeping my speed slow enough that she chivied at my tail. Then, once the EMBG's tent had fallen behind and the city walls loomed above us both, the kestrel darted ahead, landing on a fence post and bobbing her tail anxiously, as if trying not to fall off.

I swooped down, shifting to land on my feet, and ran the last few wingspans to the fence. 'Show-off,' a small voice whispered. 'Practical,' I countered, and almost believed it.

"I hope you're well this morning, Lila," I said, watching the kestrel closely.

The bird shifted, leaving Lila perched on the post, legs swinging like a child in a too-large chair. Her denims were wrinkled as if slept in and her cheeks were thin, emphasizing the sharp lines of her face. Her dark hair was braided into a tail, and it draped over her shoulder to trail onto her stomach.

"Cairn, wasn't it?" Giggling, she smiled prettily, and I blushed. "Are you enjoying your stay in the past?"

"What?" The warmth that had come from her remembering my name faded fast. My quartz tingled against my chest, both in warning and threat.

"Aw, did you think I'd missed it?" Her head tipped to the side, and the smile vanished as if it had never been. "You shouldn't underestimate me."

Cold sweat slicked my palms, and I took a step back.

"How — You're not supposed to—" I locked my lips, fighting to steady my shortened breaths. 'Didn't Mergen seal her, too?'

"Don't worry. I won't tell. I just need to know what Trade Route you took. What it looked like. How it felt." She hopped off the post and walked toward me. "You wouldn't grudge an old classmate a simple… easy… request. Right?"

"I—" My throat locked, and I clawed at it even as I knew it would do nothing.

"Tsk." Lila followed me to the ground when I collapsed to my hands and knees, and she raised my chin to search my eyes. "Sealed tight, poor thing. Well, that old moth won't keep you locked forever. But I can't have you telling her about our little chat, so…" She pressed her lips to my forehead, hot against my clammy chill, and a jolt shot through my head.

"That will keep you from remembering for now." She smirked. "Looks like a year of trailing around after the Memory Guardian wasn't wasted after all."

A distant crack of thunder reached my ears as blackness dragged me under.