They surrounded Carlyle, the trash in their hands far less menacing than the hands themselves.
Carlyle seemed surprised himself at his answer. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit, Cousin!” One of them seized a fistful of Carlyle’s hair.
“I mean it. I didn’t realize it until now, but the whole time Kosala was telling me how they didn’t make the decision to spare Mycroft Canner, they never told me who actually did. I don’t know. I should know!”
“Don’t give us that crap. You know. You’re just trying to…”
“Hey up there!” the lead Servicer called from the trench, cupping garbage-spattered hands into a makeshift megaphone. “I thought you might like to know I called the police! They’ll be here in about one minute, so I’d run if I were you! If you leave now we’ll tell them a dog knocked the trash bot over, but if you stay, assault on Servicers, plus wrecking a public robot, plus harassing that Cousin, plus trying to force a sensayer to break vows, that’s going to be one fat old fine!”
“Shit, they’re right!” The skies were suddenly the enemy as the little mob searched for the falcon-streaks of cop cars.
“Book it!”
“You got lucky this time, Servicer shitsacks!”
“Bring the Cousin!”
“Leave the Cousin, they’ll track them.”
“Take a picture, we can find them later.”
The troop stunned Carlyle with a camera flash, then bolted.
Watching the troublemakers run, leaving their fingerprints on the robot and their signatures stamped on the pavement by their Humanist boots, not a few of the Servicers laughed at the amateurs.
“Hey, sensayer,” the Servicer leader called up, “you’d better be more careful what you say about Mycroft Canner or you’re going to have mobs after you too!”
Carlyle leaned over the bridge’s rail, gasping as he saw the Servicers clustered barely ten paces outside the plastic flaps of Bridger’s cave. “What are you doing down there? That’s a private yard!” Actually, it wasn’t, but one tended to forget that the ever-empty public garden of the flower trench did not belong to its young master and his toys.
“We’re here on a job. Come on down, I’ll show you.”
“Shouldn’t I wait here for the police?”
All below laughed.
“The police aren’t coming. That was what we in the business call a big fat lie. That makes us both liars, doesn’t it?” The Servicer leader winked. “Everyone knows Mycroft only sees European Doria-Pamphili. Isn’t that right, Cousin Foster?”
Carlyle tensed. “You know who I am?”
The Servicer grinned, like one who’s just revealed a good poker hand. “It wasn’t hard to guess. It’s okay, people, that’s the sensayer Mycroft said might come, the good one, not the evil one. Now let’s get the picnic cleaned up and see what we’ve lost.”
The other Servicers snapped to it, fifteen of them, their dappled uniforms making them look like boars around a watering hole as they bunched over their banquet.
“Then you do know Mycroft Canner!” Carlyle rushed down the stairway.
The Servicer leader met him at the bottom. “Of course. Who else do you think called us here, the Tooth Fairy?” A hat, that is how one could spot the leader, the only hat among the bunch, a cloth cap, black in this case, round with a small brim in the front and a central button. It is an unofficial uniform which sprang up somehow as those closest to me began to be regarded with some fraction of the reverence I receive from my peers; I do not have the right to discourage it.
Carlyle started with the obvious: “Where’s Mycroft now?”
The Servicer Captain shrugged. “Stuck somewhere is what they said, but off the streets, safe. I’m supposed to tell you that a kid called Bridger has been moved to a safe house, but they’re fine, and have all their important toys with them.”
You wonder, reader, how I sent word if I am trapped without my tracker? She will not override Dominic’s orders, but no nun can resist a sinner pleading on his knees for her to help him make a single call.
“What are you doing here?” Carlyle asked.
“Mycroft asked us to box this stuff up.” The Captain pointed to a pile of crates, which the Servicers were loading into a car, like bees filling a comb. “It’s an amazing collection.”
Carlyle peered into a box, finding fifty plastic action figures packed with care within.
“This cave’s all packed, but the other is taking longer.” A slop-spattered elbow pointed up-trench, where a newly trampled road ran past Bridger’s cave another fifty meters to a second entrance concealed within the walls.
“A second cave?” Carlyle repeated.
“There’s a lot more packing left to do if you’d care to help. Mycroft also said to warn you that the evil sensayer Dominic is planning to kidnap and rape you, so you should stick with us to stay safe.”
Carlyle chewed on that one for a moment. “Can you take me to Bridger?”
The Captain smiled. “Sorry, Cousin. Safe houses are only safe if you don’t leave a trail to them.”
“Please, it’s important!”
“No can do. You hungry? There’s plenty to go around.”
There was indeed, for their efforts had not been in vain: the picnic survived, burgers and hot dogs, cookies and pies, chips and salads, jellybeans irregular like pebbles, chocolate truffles round as if hand-rolled, mad layered cakes four and five tiers tall, and fruits of every color heaped in mounds as if by a miserly monkey. Drinks stood ready too, bottle upon bottle of the rarest juices and colored sodas, all dutifully labeled, and not a few of them misspelled.
The Servicer Captain laughed as Carlyle gaped. “Look at that fruit, almost too beautiful to be real, isn’t it?
Carlyle laughed to himself, a silent, breathy laugh. “Yes, perfect. The perfect power to feed the Servicers.”
“What?”
Carlyle waved the ‘what’ away. “I thought you were only allowed to accept food for work.”
“We are working. Mycroft knows we’d work for them for nothing, but they always leave a spread. So, how’d you get lucky enough to have our Mycroft looking after you, too?”
Carlyle took an unhappy breath. “Do you really all know Mycroft Canner? All the Servicers know?”
The Captain’s eyes, better than most at reading men, grew narrow. “Off the record?”
“Off the record,” Carlyle confirmed.
“If you’ve met Mycroft then you know it doesn’t take a genius to realize there’s something special under there. No one knew what at first, but with time we figured it out. There are signs.”
“Yes. Yes, it would have to come out sometime.”
“Not every one of us has actually met Mycroft,” the Servicer Captain continued. “Everyone knows, though. It’s amazing how many people can keep a secret when they know the whole world will turn into an angry mob if it gets out. You know one died this morning.”
“One what?”
“A Servicer the mob mistook for Mycroft. I’m sure there’d have been more deaths but we’ve practiced for this, moving in groups, handling crowds. The administration didn’t think to plan for our protection if word got out, but Mycroft did.”
“I’m sorry.” You will not blame Carlyle for having a one-track mind. “Look, I can’t explain why, but I really, really need to see Bridger. There’s never been anything so important.”
The Captain’s smile beamed condescension. “Is the world going to end in the next couple hours if you don’t?”
“It might.”
“I’m sorry,” she answered, “but I genuinely don’t know where Bridger is, just that it’s a safe house. I’d help you if I could. Look, nobody can trap Mycroft for long. Stick with us and we’ll get a visit, or another message, soon I’ll bet, and then you can ask Mycroft to take you to Bridger. Meanwhile, relax and have a…” The Captain frowned, lifting a green striped ball from the picnic blankets. “Do you know what kind of fruit this is? We’ve been trying to guess at some of them for an hour. The inside has pink and orange blotches and tastes like raspberry, but none of us has ever seen one before.”