The desk, like most things the state made, was heavy, built for maximum functionality and length of life. Its lock was the size of a small mouse and its hasp, Pol knew from his own desk, went deep into the wood and metal. But he found he knew how to pick locks just as he knew how to search for bugs. He took out a pocketknife, the regimental one he’d taken from Pol 137, and began working carefully with the tip inside the keyhole.
He was close to getting it when the telex when off. The loud, clanking noise made him jump. He closed the knife and went over to peer at the paper.
Research had found a match: a Bronze 2 construction foreman originally from Madamar. The name and address were there and it was not far, in the Bronze housing on the west side of the city. Pol put his knife in his pocket and grabbed his coat.
20.2. Sixty-Forty Denton Wyle
By the time Denton reached the horseshoe gorge he’d been walking for six hard days and nights, alone. The journey itself had changed him. He had already done things, and thought things, that were like nothing Denton Wyle had ever done or thought before.
After he’d emerged from his vision of Jacob’s ladder, his sickness was gone, as the old man had promised. And he’d had an undeniable certainty about what he had to do. He hadn’t liked it, but that was no longer material. So he’d borrowed several knives from the Khashta tribe. One of them he put in his belt. The other he tied with a vine to a long branch, making a rough spear. Then he began the long trek to Sapphia.
He had pressed his pace because he had a gnawing sense that Eyanna was already in trouble. The last night he slept only for a few hours, following the riverbank in the dark. But when he drew close to the entrance of the horseshoe gorge, it was already too late. Through the foliage came the tender grunts of beasts and the muffled cries of Sapphians.
Denton stopped in the jungle, the sounds on his ears turning him cold. How soft they were for what was actually going on, and how ghastly.
His memory of the skalkits, of what had happened that morning in the clearing, came back to him in vivid, reeking color. How easily the beasts had consumed the Sapphians, how enormous they were, how intelligent, how strong. When he’d left Khashta he had not even let himself think that it might come to this. If Eyanna was there, she was among the victims in the clearning, there was nothing he could do. He could never fight the skalkits.
The momentum that had gotten him this far—self-disgust more than anything—deserted him. He was swamped by a sense of futility and insignificance. He would have to turn around and leave. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried. Right?
Then he remembered the feeling of someone behind him, cutting his bonds when he’d thought all hope was lost. Eyanna had done it. She had faced the skalkits.
He was no less terrified, but he raised his spear up in one shaking hand and the knife in the other. It felt stupid, out of character, like a rag doll wearing armor. Who did he think he was kidding? He couldn’t do this. Yet he crept on, step by step. And suddenly he could see the clearing through the trees.
There were two skalkits, the same ones that had almost fed upon him, and there were three empty, bloodied trees, the vines hanging down ripped and worn like used dental floss. One of the skalkits was tonguing the ground underneath one of the trees. The other was licking a forelimb clean.
Two of the trees were still occupied. On one was a Sapphian boy, barely a man. On the other was Eyanna.
Denton was both genuinely relieved to see her and, shamefully, disapointed. It wasn’t too late to save Eyanna. She wasn’t, for example, dead. That meant he actually had to do this. He took a deep breath, his stomach starting to get seriously upset, and began to edge around the clearing. He would approach her from behind her tree. The skalkits wouldn’t be able to see him. He would do just what she had done. He’d cut her bonds, keeping himself out of the skalkits’ sight, and they’d slip away noticed. It could work.
But as he moved, the bunny instinct in his brain had something more to say about it.
What if the skalkits smelled him? Or heard? Or what if Eyanna couldn’t slip away? What if the skalkits went after her? Could Denton do what she had done, draw their attention? No. No freaking way. He didn’t have her speed or stealth; it’d be suicide.
He went on.
From the trees behind Eyanna he could see the way her arms were tied. They were red and swollen; the vines were tight. He tucked his spear under his arm to free his hands and slipped out into the clearing. He was a nervous wreck by the time he reached her. His hands were all goosey, and twice the edge of the knife slipped off the rubbery vines. He cut and cut and cut, his ears ringing with the pounding of his own blood. He couldn’t see the skalkits but he could hear them. They did not seem to be getting any closer. The freaking vines took forever.
And while he cut, Denton did not feel brave. He’d thought that he might, once he was in action, that some latent testosterone might kick in but, no. He was petrified and sweating and nauseous and not remotely manly. He hated this.
The vines broke. Eyanna was free.
Denton wanted to turn immediately and flee but he made himself edge around the tree to make sure she was okay. The skalkits came into view. One of the skalkits was yawning hugely, but one—the smart, evil one—was already looking at his next victim. He was stalking the boy with that intent expression. The Sapphian was tied to the tree, his head slack on his chest in either unconsciousness or resignation.
For a moment, Denton was mesmerized. Then he remembered that he was, like, in danger, and he turned to look at Eyanna and she was gone. He scanned for her, panicked… and saw her white-gold hair like a beacon. She was across the clearing, just inside the trees. She was standing there, watching him, and he thought she must have run when she’d found herself freed, and then had remembered to worry about him and had come back to make sure he got out.
Good old Eyanna. Wasn’t she sweet?
He motioned at her to go and started backing away toward the woods himself, quietly, quietly. And for a moment he thought they were actually going to make it. The skalkits were full and not paying attention and, anyway, the boy appeared to be next on the menu. They were going to survive this intact, and then all he had to figure out was how to get her…
Eyanna moved into the clearing. She was not leaving. She was heading for the boy.
Denton ran through about a million curses in his head. Of course it couldn’t have been that easy. Oh, no! He had way too much payback coming for that. Somewhere up there, someone was having a laugh riot.
He ran into the trees, still cursing. He ran for quite aways before he realized what he was doing. He was running away from the clearing. He was abandoning Eyanna.
He stopped, overcome with frustration. He stood there debating with himself. It was the old Denton and the new having it out. The old Denton was adamant, and he had a point. He had already risked a lot to free Eyanna. It was not his fault if she wanted to throw herself back into the frying pan. He was not responsible.
Crap.
He got glimpses of the clearing through the leaves as he snuck back, spear in one hand, knife in the other, and neither one feeling any less ridiculous. He saw the skalkit nuzzle the vine that held the unconscious boy’s arms, lips drawn back, teeth gnashing. He saw Eyanna creeping toward them from the side of the clearing, completely exposed.