Flora made to grab the metal box and heard, “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”
The prisoner was standing now, up against the bars.
“And why is that?” Flora asked.
“It’s Old World tech.”
Flora laughed. “Maybe it is.” Flora tapped on the box with her finger while eyeing the prisoner. Maybe this would be a useful bargaining chip.
“What’s your name, Spoke?” Flora asked.
The woman paused before responding, perhaps contemplating the merits of revealing her identity. “My name is Cecile.”
She had a funny accent Flora couldn’t place, and it was a strange name, even for a Spoke. “You don’t come from Seeville, then?”
“I have been in Seeville recently, but I come from the north, from a different… tribe.”
“Did you happen to notice any prisoners in Seeville, any Essentialist prisoners?”
Cecile looked thoughtful. “I did see some servant types. I’m not sure if they were indentured bandits or SLS servants. I know they used to have SLS servants, a long time ago. I heard a few people talk about them. Why do you ask?”
“SLS—is that your word for Essentialist?”
Cecile paused before responding. “Yes, I’m sorry.”
“You Spoke people are so backward,” Flora said. “Why use a crude short form like SLS for a word as simple as Essentialist?”
“If you say so,” Cecile said.
“Yes, I do say so. SLS sounds more like someone stuttering.”
“That’s not what it means.”
“Oh, really.”
“Look, my people, we don’t come into contact with your people up north, so we don’t know much about you.”
“So what does it mean?”
Cecile remained reluctant to answer.
Flora reiterated, more emphatically this time. “What does it mean?”
“It means… smells like shit. Because, you know, they say the sanitation systems here are a bit lacking and well, they claim you don’t bathe very often. I don’t think it’s right, but it’s what most people mean when they say SLS. I only used it because the Spokes use it.”
Flora felt herself reddening. She tried to think of a good retort. “At least we don’t smell like grease and smoke all the time. At least we don’t bind the earth with metal, coal and rubber, desecrating sun, seed, and soil.”
Cecile just shrugged.
Flora walked back over to her desk, taking another look at Cecile’s belongings.
“Actually, I remember now,” Cecile said. “I was working on a project in the Hall of Records in Seeville just a few days ago. They did have a list of servants. Some were from the raids a few years back. So a few of the servants must be SLS—pardonnez moi— Essentialists.”
A modest glimmer of hope fluttered in Flora’s chest, but she didn’t let on. She knew there was still a good chance Granger was dead, but this meant at least someone had survived the raids. Unless this woman was lying, of course, which was quite possible.
“Why were you looking at the town records? What are some of the names of the servants?”
Cecile contemplated her questions. “Like I said, it was a project I was involved with. I was trying to locate a few talismans. I’m sorry. I don’t know any of the names of the Essentialists from the raid. Otherwise I would offer them. I’m sure Seeville would exchange some for me, maybe even more than one.”
“Doubtful,” was all Flora said. She pretended to ignore Cecile. She sat down to work on her letters, but she couldn’t get Cecile’s idea out of her head. A prisoner exchange was exactly what she was hoping for.
“What’s your name?” Cecile asked.
“My name isn’t important,” Flora said, and she made a waving motion with her hand as if shooing a fly.
“I see, dommage,” Cecile said, speaking some foreign word and sitting down in her cell.
Flora began writing Reed’s recruiting letters.
Not much later the door from the main administrative offices opened, and Chief Darkwind entered. Darkwind had on his ceremonial frock, which had two angular green streaks painted on each side. His head and face were clean-shaven, and dark green eyeliner contoured his deep brown eyes.
Behind Darkwind was a burly man who contrasted heavily with the chief. He wore thick layered garments, some of them looking like tough armor. They were overlaid with a vest with vertical streaks of yellow on each side, the sign of the Merchant Mercs, mercenaries for hire that had been frequenting Grand Caverns of late. His shoulder length hair was tangled with streaks of grey. He also kept a full beard, similarly peppered. He squinted at her when he saw her, sizing her up, his eyes harsh and serious.
Flora took a knee for Darkwind. “Greetings, Chief. How can I be of service?”
He gestured for her to stand. “I came to see the Spoke prisoner. This is her?”
“Yes, Chief.” Flora nodded toward Cecile’s cell. “She claims her name is Cecile.”
Darkwind stood in front of the cell, cradling his hands while the big merc brooded behind him. He said, “Prisoner. Why should we not kill you, here and now?”
Darkwind wasn’t the type to mince words.
Cecile said, “I’m not from Seeville. I’m not even a Spoke, truthfully. But I have some influence among the Spoke tribes, an important station in the north. If you don’t let me go, it may result in reinforcements coming to Seeville’s aid.” Cecile glanced over at Flora. “You could even exchange me for some of your prisoners. I’m sure the Seeville Spokes would agree to that.”
Darkwind was nodding. “And how can I believe you?”
Cecile considered his question thoughtfully. “There’s nothing I can do to prove my station and importance, but I can prove to you where I’m from. You may want to ask your curator about my… tribe. Your curator should know my appearance is distinctive among the people in the north. I also speak French fluently.”
Darkwind donned a skeptical look. Then he went to look at Cecile’s belongings on the desk. “This was on her person?”
“Yes,” Flora responded.
“Prisoner, what’s in this box?”
Cecile’s eyes darted back and forth with internal calculation. She said, “We found it in the satellite.”
Darkwind raised his eyebrows and glanced at the merc. The merc said, “They did grab something from inside the object before we captured her. Could be that’s where it’s from.”
For several seconds Darkwind’s hand hovered over the box. “What’s in it?” he asked again.
After some hesitation, Cecile said, “I’m not sure.”
His hand hovered a moment more then it retreated to cradle his other hand. “Well, I suppose we will have the curator examine it.”
Darkwind scrolled his eyes over Cecile for a few more moments, and then turned to the merc. “She seems cooperative enough. See to checking on her story.”
“Yes, Chief,” the merc responded.
Darkwind and the merc walked out the way they came in.
Flora had been watching Cecile’s reaction to the conversation carefully. Now Cecile retreated from the bars and lay down on the bench at the back of the cell, some inner tension relieved. Did her unease have something to do with the box?
“So this came from the shooting star, did it?” Flora asked, placing her own hand over the box.
Cecile sat upright again. “Yes, as I said. It’s Old World tech. I don’t think you want to mess with it.”
“Uh huh.” Flora grabbed the box and carefully looked at the exterior. There was a latch on the side with a keypad. “I know you think we’re a bunch of smelly savages, but not all of us Essentialists are completely ignorant. And not all of us are skittish about Old World tech. Many of us believe there is much to be learned from it.”