Trion Rising, page 7
“But you didn’t come out here and tackle me just to brag about what a good shot you are with a blob of glaep.”
“Not exactly.” Now he started fidgeting. “I was just wondering … what you saw. I mean, if an eidich—”
“If an eidich sees what really happened, that would be proof in a court of law. Right?”
He shrugged. “You said it. Everybody knows it.”
She didn’t answer, so he tried again.
“So, what did you see?”
“I have a feeling you’re not going to be the last person to ask me that.” Finally she raised herself from the path, dusting off her pants. “But I hate to disappoint you. I didn’t see anything, except what you saw.”
“Oh, come on. Really?”
“Really. With everything going on, I saw people with trays full of food, then I saw people staring at their empty trays, and then I saw Mentor Jesmet leaving. Not much proof, huh? Although …”
Something made her not want to repeat what their mentor had said to her in the hallway. Not that it meant anything. Margus scratched his head and stared at her, then kicked at the moss.
“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me something else.” He turned to go.
“Wait a minute.” She grabbed his arm. “My turn. Now you tell me.”
She wasn’t going to let him go until he gave her a straight answer. He hesitated but didn’t turn around.
“The other day you were saying how you thought Jesmet had to be a faithbreaker, right?”
He shrugged and she went on.
“So now you don’t think he is? And that’s why you were listening to his stories at the Temple?”
“Uh …” Now he sounded as if he was looking for an excuse, but she just crossed her arms and waited for him to explain. Finally he sighed and turned around.
“Okay, you really want to know? There was just a group of us hanging around, and we weren’t really looking for him or anything.”
“So?”
“So when he walked by,” Margus went on, “a couple of the guys just started talking to him, and then he got into this story, and then … well, I guess you know the rest.”
They continued on toward the school building.
“But it still doesn’t add up,” she said, “And you’re lying to me about something.”
“What?” He puffed out his chest and put a hurt look on his face. “I come looking for you, trying to help you out, and you call me a liar?”
“But look at the way you’re acting— all huffy. The shrugs. The looking at the ground. It all says the same thing: Something’s going on that you’re not telling me.”
“Oh, wow.” He kind of spun in a circle, looking up. “So now the great eidich is a great lie detector.”
“You can stop bringing up the eidich thing. You know that has nothing to do with anything.”
He stopped to let a probe scan him as they re-entered the building.
“I shouldn’t have followed you,” he said.
“Look, I appreciate it— except for the tripping part. But I still don’t know what you really think.”
“Okay, then. You know what I really think? I think there’s something very messed up here, starting with the field of mirror satellites we flew into, to the thing with the yagwar, all the way down to this whole Jesmet deal. I didn’t think so before, but now I do. And now I think it’s all tied together, somehow, and I think we need to find out what it is, before it’s too late. Before somebody gets hurt— like you.”
“You’re sounding like a big brother or something.” She supposed it was nice in a way if he really cared whether she got hurt or not. Slightly creepy, but nice.
But by that time they’d reached the hallway in front of the music rooms, and at least three or four more probes now circled overhead, recording who was coming and going, scanning hall passes. They’d obviously been brought back on line in a hurry.
“There’s one other thing, Margus,” she whispered. “About the earbud.”
He shook his head and pointed to his ear.
Tell me later.
She nodded, and the earbud still worked. She just hoped Mentor Jesmet wasn’t listening in too, as she let herself be swept into the music room with the stream of other kids. She saw no sign of the security who had confronted her earlier, and she still wasn’t quite sure if he’d seen enough of her to know who she was.
Mentor Jesmet, on the other hand, stood waiting behind a music stand, waiting for everyone to settle down so they could begin. He looked as if nothing had happened back in the cafeteria.
But honestly? Right now, Oriannon thought losing herself in the music sounded pretty good. Maybe that way she wouldn’t see anything that would get her into even more trouble.
For now.
“What do you mean, you didn’t actually see him do anything?”
After school that day Oriannon’s father paced back and forth across the living room, and he sounded exactly like Margus. Mrs. Eraz the housekeeper hadn’t returned from working her other jobs yet, or she might have warned him to calm down and that getting excited like this wasn’t good for his blood pressure.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” She sat quietly in her favorite comfy chair, twirling slowly to keep him from getting too close. “I was there, just like everybody else. But I wasn’t really watching when the food disappeared.”
“You heard him say he did it, though, right? That’s what several other witnesses said.”
She shook her head. And she couldn’t help wonder what kind of “witnesses” he was talking about. Mentors? Or other students?
“All he said was ‘Actually, I don’t care much for glaep, either.’ And then he left.”
And her father knew that would be a word-for-word recollection.
“Nothing else?” Still he looked as if he was having a hard time believing it. She shook her head no.
“Nothing else. That doesn’t prove he made all the dumplings disappear, does it? Sounds like a great magic trick to me, though. People were pretty excited about it.”
Finally her father’s face relaxed, just a little bit.
“I can understand glaep doesn’t sound like a great meal.” He turned back to serious just as quickly. “But it’s very good for you. And the Assembly is interested in getting to the bottom of this.”
You and Margus both, she thought, and it seemed odd to her that the Assembly itself was so interested in something at her school.
“In fact,” he went on, “just a few minutes later, another probe was taken down— out in the hallways. We received a report that a young girl was at the scene, but that she ran away. You don’t know anything about that, do you?”
Her mouth went dry. So here’s where the new trouble began. And she couldn’t lie to her father, though she opened her mouth to try a couple of times. The words just wouldn’t come, as if frozen in her lungs.
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Now he stopped pacing as he stared straight at her, leaning in and holding the arms of the chair so she couldn’t squirm away. “So was it you, Oriannon, or someone else you know?”
His eyes told her she couldn’t escape his question. She chewed on her lip and finally managed to force out a squeak.
“Me. But—”
That was all he needed. He stood up with a heavy sigh, hitting his forehead.
“That is the last thing I want to hear about my own daughter. What were you thinking?”
“Dad, I—”
“Do you know how much trouble you can get into for vandalizing one of those probes? You could be refused for Seer Codex, you know. And that’s just for starters.”
Part of her bristled that he would even think she could do such a thing. Vandalize a probe? Margus might, maybe, but not her. But a second part of her breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t know the whole story. And a third part wished he did.
“I know all about that, Dad. But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t touch any probes, and I didn’t have anything to do with it breaking down. The security just saw me in the hall, and he asked me a couple of questions, but then he started talking to someone else on his comm, and I sort of left.”
Sort of. He looked back into her eyes. Did he have his own ways of seeing if she told the truth?
“It’s the boy, isn’t it?” He snapped his finger. “The Leek kid? Ever since you started hanging around with him, you’ve been acting differently.”
“I’ve been trying to stay away from him, Dad. Honest. He just followed me today.”
Once again, all true.
“Well, you tell him to— no, you don’t tell him anything. You just stay away from him, the way I told you before. How else can I explain that you shouldn’t spend time with a boy from a lowborn family? And if he still bothers you, I’ll see to it that—”
“Daddy, please. It’s not his fault. He’s not evil, and he’s not making me act any different than I always act.”
She realized how that sounded, tried to back up. How did she always act?
“I mean, it’s not him, and it’s not … it’s not me. It’s …”
Oriannon might have finished the sentence, except that it would have meant heaping hot coals on Mentor Jesmet’s head. And still she could not do that, not yet. Fortunately her father let it go.
“All right, then,” he told her, pacing back to the windows again. “But listen: We still don’t have a handle on what’s going on at your school. Just remember it’s more important than ever that you keep your eyes and ears open. Especially during your music times.”
She frowned, the not-so-willing volunteer.
“I don’t know how much I can help.”
He reached down and rested his hand on her shoulder, the way he always did when she was a little girl. “You’ve all been practicing for your big concert, no?”
She shrugged and nodded. Practicing, and then some. Their performance loomed in three short weeks.
“All right, then.” He went on. “That gives you a chance to watch what he’s doing.”
The he in this case, of course, would be Mentor Jesmet.
“So even if it seems like a little thing,” he said, “you be sure to tell me if you see—”
“I know.” She interrupted him. “If I see anything strange.”
If the last few days were any clue, that would be very soon.
9
Good thing no one asked her what this jumble of sound seemed to taste like. Like burnt rubber boots, or moldering peaches. Like mud. She would not try to explain how the sound of school orchestra instruments tuning up could take on these humble, horrible tastes. They just did.
And Oriannon would have popped another peppermint lozenge in her mouth if she didn’t have to tune up her own instrument just then. She straightened her long black dress and tried to block out everything else: sights, sounds, smells, and tastes.
But really, how often did they get a chance to play in a grand performance hall like this? With a lofty, ornamented ceiling with carved twin suns above, gold leaf on the wall, balconies, and chandeliers. This was a place to hear a symphony.
Too bad it was just the Ossek Prep Academy orchestra.
Even so. Mentor Jesmet had promised the Corista Assembly a performance, and a performance they would receive. Everyone in the orchestra had been practicing weeks and weeks for this. She closed her eyes for a moment, just to be sure she could still see the notes, hear the music they’d learned.
“How’s this?” Brinnin called to them from the top of a tall ladder where she was hanging a woven cerulean leaf wreath. Not that the grand hall needed any more decorating, but Brinnin thought so.
“Perfect!” Oriannon called back without opening her eyes. “Now just get down from there. You’re making me nervous.”
And so was Margus Leek, for that matter. Those boys with the drums always had a bit too much time on their hands, a fact which Margus demonstrated for them as he sauntered up to the empty conductor’s platform.
“All right, young people!” He raised his hands in his best Mentor Jesmet imitation. “I want to hear those last three measures again, only this time put your hearts into it. Give me the soul of the music. Understand?”
Some of the other kids giggled, which only encouraged him more.
“Play it with all your heart, see?” He wrinkled his face in concentration, the same way Jesmet did when they played— or when they practiced. “And when this is all over, I’ll bring you a special treat at our next practice: spinach dumplings!”
Even Oriannon had to smile, but for a different reason. She just sat still and waited as the real Mentor Jesmet made his way quietly into the auditorium, from the back. Maybe he was enjoying this as much as everyone else. The giggle level went up, and Margus brightened at his success as a comedian.
“Oh, but I forgot, sorry. I got rid of all those dumplings. Just like I got rid of all the probes in the school building. But does anybody miss them? I thought not. Are we ready?” He picked up Jesmet’s baton and waved it at them. “A one and a two and a …”
By this time all the kids were pretty much doubled over, watching Jesmet standing behind his student with his arms crossed and a smile on his face. The smile told them Margus had nothing to worry about, except being embarrassed.
“Here, I’ll take that.” Jesmet gently lifted the baton from Margus’s hand, which of course made Margus jump out of his skin and the kids laugh even more. But the smile drained from Oriannon’s face when she noticed Brinnin out of the corner of her eye, still decorating from the top of her ladder.
Brinnin had leaned precariously to fix just one more golden ribbon to the wall, and her weight shifted just enough to tilt the ladder dangerously to her left. If she called for help, no one heard her over the laughter.
But now Oriannon could only stand and point, a silent scream on her lips as Brinnin clawed for a way to stop her fall, grabbing handfuls of ribbons as she tumbled down and down, two long stories down to the rows of chairs below.
Now everyone heard the clatter of the ladder, heard the awful thud of Brinnin’s head hitting the chairs— a horrible snap. And all the laughter stopped while Oriannon vaulted from the stage and rushed up the aisle to see what had happened.
“No!” Oriannon held back tears of shock when she reached Brinnin, or Brinnin’s body. The poor girl had been thrown free of the ladder and now lay sprawled between two rows of seats, broken and not moving. Her arms had twisted horribly and her head lay in a way that said she was no longer with them. That had been the snapping noise— her broken neck. And Oriannon heard the yells from behind her, panicked but well-meaning.
“Don’t move her! Don’t touch her!”
Instead she leaned her face down close to Brinnin’s, holding her breath, listening and feeling for any spark of life.
She heard nothing, felt nothing.
“Brinnin?” she whispered, and by that time several other horrified students had gathered around too. “Brinnin …”
“Somebody call for help!” yelled another, and Oriannon wished it would help but knew it could not. Her tears dropped to wet the dead girl’s own cheeks. Because even though Oriannon had never seen a dead body up close before, she knew without a doubt she was touching one now. Of course Oriannon couldn’t claim to be a healer, a doctor. But she knew.
Brinnin didn’t breathe, didn’t move, had no pulse in that spot below the jaw where a person could always feel a pulse. The life had left her. The girls next to Oriannon began to wail too.
No. No. No! Why did Brinnin have to insist on climbing up the ladder, just for those silly decorations?
“Brinnin, why did you do this?” Oriannon sobbed. “How could you be so … stupid?”
But she felt strong hands on her shoulders then, lifting her to her feet. Mentor Jesmet, pain written all over his face, gently moved Oriannon to the side.
“Why did you let her do this?” Oriannon spit out the words before she could think. She just needed someone to blame. Someone to hit. “You shouldn’t have let her work on a ladder like this. It was too dangerous. It’s your fault she’s … she’s dead!”
He didn’t answer back, only closed his eyes and nodded his head slowly. And when he finally opened them again he gave Oriannon the chills with his long face, as if this had been his best friend.
“I’m glad you care,” he finally told her, but in a voice softer than she’d ever heard him speak. “That means a lot.”
He paused for a moment, sighed, and glanced up at the ceiling. And then he simply reached over for Brinnin’s hand to pull her up from between the chairs, pulled her up straight as if her arm wasn’t all broken, as if none of this had happened. Just reached down and pulled her to her feet, just like that. When he let her go, she balanced on her own, like a corpse whose legs had suddenly stiffened.
“See?” he told them. “No harm done.”
And then Brinnin blinked, gulped for air. She stared at them now with wide eyes. Oriannon nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight.
“So, you think the ribbons look good up there too?” Brinnin asked them, sounding a little hoarse and a good deal confused.
Oh, but if she was confused, what would Oriannon be? The crowd backed away with a gasp, while Brinnin walked over to the fallen ladder as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
“That’s weird.” She stopped and looked around as if she was trying to figure out a puzzle. “How did the ladder get down here? Did I do something wrong? Did I—”
The back doors flew open just then as a security rushed into the room.
“Where’s the accident?” The guard noticed their ladder and hurried over. “Who’s hurt?”
Brinnin couldn’t explain any more than could the rest of the orchestra, and no one seemed in the mood to volunteer details. But she picked up her ladder and pushed it off to the side against the wall.
“My fault, sorry,” she told him with a funny shrug and one of her lopsided smiles. “I guess I need to be more careful. But I’m fine. You didn’t need to come running just because we dropped a ladder. We didn’t break it or anything.”
Give it to Brinnin, thought Oriannon. She sure knows how to talk to those securities.
“Not exactly.” Now he started fidgeting. “I was just wondering … what you saw. I mean, if an eidich—”
“If an eidich sees what really happened, that would be proof in a court of law. Right?”
He shrugged. “You said it. Everybody knows it.”
She didn’t answer, so he tried again.
“So, what did you see?”
“I have a feeling you’re not going to be the last person to ask me that.” Finally she raised herself from the path, dusting off her pants. “But I hate to disappoint you. I didn’t see anything, except what you saw.”
“Oh, come on. Really?”
“Really. With everything going on, I saw people with trays full of food, then I saw people staring at their empty trays, and then I saw Mentor Jesmet leaving. Not much proof, huh? Although …”
Something made her not want to repeat what their mentor had said to her in the hallway. Not that it meant anything. Margus scratched his head and stared at her, then kicked at the moss.
“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me something else.” He turned to go.
“Wait a minute.” She grabbed his arm. “My turn. Now you tell me.”
She wasn’t going to let him go until he gave her a straight answer. He hesitated but didn’t turn around.
“The other day you were saying how you thought Jesmet had to be a faithbreaker, right?”
He shrugged and she went on.
“So now you don’t think he is? And that’s why you were listening to his stories at the Temple?”
“Uh …” Now he sounded as if he was looking for an excuse, but she just crossed her arms and waited for him to explain. Finally he sighed and turned around.
“Okay, you really want to know? There was just a group of us hanging around, and we weren’t really looking for him or anything.”
“So?”
“So when he walked by,” Margus went on, “a couple of the guys just started talking to him, and then he got into this story, and then … well, I guess you know the rest.”
They continued on toward the school building.
“But it still doesn’t add up,” she said, “And you’re lying to me about something.”
“What?” He puffed out his chest and put a hurt look on his face. “I come looking for you, trying to help you out, and you call me a liar?”
“But look at the way you’re acting— all huffy. The shrugs. The looking at the ground. It all says the same thing: Something’s going on that you’re not telling me.”
“Oh, wow.” He kind of spun in a circle, looking up. “So now the great eidich is a great lie detector.”
“You can stop bringing up the eidich thing. You know that has nothing to do with anything.”
He stopped to let a probe scan him as they re-entered the building.
“I shouldn’t have followed you,” he said.
“Look, I appreciate it— except for the tripping part. But I still don’t know what you really think.”
“Okay, then. You know what I really think? I think there’s something very messed up here, starting with the field of mirror satellites we flew into, to the thing with the yagwar, all the way down to this whole Jesmet deal. I didn’t think so before, but now I do. And now I think it’s all tied together, somehow, and I think we need to find out what it is, before it’s too late. Before somebody gets hurt— like you.”
“You’re sounding like a big brother or something.” She supposed it was nice in a way if he really cared whether she got hurt or not. Slightly creepy, but nice.
But by that time they’d reached the hallway in front of the music rooms, and at least three or four more probes now circled overhead, recording who was coming and going, scanning hall passes. They’d obviously been brought back on line in a hurry.
“There’s one other thing, Margus,” she whispered. “About the earbud.”
He shook his head and pointed to his ear.
Tell me later.
She nodded, and the earbud still worked. She just hoped Mentor Jesmet wasn’t listening in too, as she let herself be swept into the music room with the stream of other kids. She saw no sign of the security who had confronted her earlier, and she still wasn’t quite sure if he’d seen enough of her to know who she was.
Mentor Jesmet, on the other hand, stood waiting behind a music stand, waiting for everyone to settle down so they could begin. He looked as if nothing had happened back in the cafeteria.
But honestly? Right now, Oriannon thought losing herself in the music sounded pretty good. Maybe that way she wouldn’t see anything that would get her into even more trouble.
For now.
“What do you mean, you didn’t actually see him do anything?”
After school that day Oriannon’s father paced back and forth across the living room, and he sounded exactly like Margus. Mrs. Eraz the housekeeper hadn’t returned from working her other jobs yet, or she might have warned him to calm down and that getting excited like this wasn’t good for his blood pressure.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” She sat quietly in her favorite comfy chair, twirling slowly to keep him from getting too close. “I was there, just like everybody else. But I wasn’t really watching when the food disappeared.”
“You heard him say he did it, though, right? That’s what several other witnesses said.”
She shook her head. And she couldn’t help wonder what kind of “witnesses” he was talking about. Mentors? Or other students?
“All he said was ‘Actually, I don’t care much for glaep, either.’ And then he left.”
And her father knew that would be a word-for-word recollection.
“Nothing else?” Still he looked as if he was having a hard time believing it. She shook her head no.
“Nothing else. That doesn’t prove he made all the dumplings disappear, does it? Sounds like a great magic trick to me, though. People were pretty excited about it.”
Finally her father’s face relaxed, just a little bit.
“I can understand glaep doesn’t sound like a great meal.” He turned back to serious just as quickly. “But it’s very good for you. And the Assembly is interested in getting to the bottom of this.”
You and Margus both, she thought, and it seemed odd to her that the Assembly itself was so interested in something at her school.
“In fact,” he went on, “just a few minutes later, another probe was taken down— out in the hallways. We received a report that a young girl was at the scene, but that she ran away. You don’t know anything about that, do you?”
Her mouth went dry. So here’s where the new trouble began. And she couldn’t lie to her father, though she opened her mouth to try a couple of times. The words just wouldn’t come, as if frozen in her lungs.
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Now he stopped pacing as he stared straight at her, leaning in and holding the arms of the chair so she couldn’t squirm away. “So was it you, Oriannon, or someone else you know?”
His eyes told her she couldn’t escape his question. She chewed on her lip and finally managed to force out a squeak.
“Me. But—”
That was all he needed. He stood up with a heavy sigh, hitting his forehead.
“That is the last thing I want to hear about my own daughter. What were you thinking?”
“Dad, I—”
“Do you know how much trouble you can get into for vandalizing one of those probes? You could be refused for Seer Codex, you know. And that’s just for starters.”
Part of her bristled that he would even think she could do such a thing. Vandalize a probe? Margus might, maybe, but not her. But a second part of her breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t know the whole story. And a third part wished he did.
“I know all about that, Dad. But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t touch any probes, and I didn’t have anything to do with it breaking down. The security just saw me in the hall, and he asked me a couple of questions, but then he started talking to someone else on his comm, and I sort of left.”
Sort of. He looked back into her eyes. Did he have his own ways of seeing if she told the truth?
“It’s the boy, isn’t it?” He snapped his finger. “The Leek kid? Ever since you started hanging around with him, you’ve been acting differently.”
“I’ve been trying to stay away from him, Dad. Honest. He just followed me today.”
Once again, all true.
“Well, you tell him to— no, you don’t tell him anything. You just stay away from him, the way I told you before. How else can I explain that you shouldn’t spend time with a boy from a lowborn family? And if he still bothers you, I’ll see to it that—”
“Daddy, please. It’s not his fault. He’s not evil, and he’s not making me act any different than I always act.”
She realized how that sounded, tried to back up. How did she always act?
“I mean, it’s not him, and it’s not … it’s not me. It’s …”
Oriannon might have finished the sentence, except that it would have meant heaping hot coals on Mentor Jesmet’s head. And still she could not do that, not yet. Fortunately her father let it go.
“All right, then,” he told her, pacing back to the windows again. “But listen: We still don’t have a handle on what’s going on at your school. Just remember it’s more important than ever that you keep your eyes and ears open. Especially during your music times.”
She frowned, the not-so-willing volunteer.
“I don’t know how much I can help.”
He reached down and rested his hand on her shoulder, the way he always did when she was a little girl. “You’ve all been practicing for your big concert, no?”
She shrugged and nodded. Practicing, and then some. Their performance loomed in three short weeks.
“All right, then.” He went on. “That gives you a chance to watch what he’s doing.”
The he in this case, of course, would be Mentor Jesmet.
“So even if it seems like a little thing,” he said, “you be sure to tell me if you see—”
“I know.” She interrupted him. “If I see anything strange.”
If the last few days were any clue, that would be very soon.
9
Good thing no one asked her what this jumble of sound seemed to taste like. Like burnt rubber boots, or moldering peaches. Like mud. She would not try to explain how the sound of school orchestra instruments tuning up could take on these humble, horrible tastes. They just did.
And Oriannon would have popped another peppermint lozenge in her mouth if she didn’t have to tune up her own instrument just then. She straightened her long black dress and tried to block out everything else: sights, sounds, smells, and tastes.
But really, how often did they get a chance to play in a grand performance hall like this? With a lofty, ornamented ceiling with carved twin suns above, gold leaf on the wall, balconies, and chandeliers. This was a place to hear a symphony.
Too bad it was just the Ossek Prep Academy orchestra.
Even so. Mentor Jesmet had promised the Corista Assembly a performance, and a performance they would receive. Everyone in the orchestra had been practicing weeks and weeks for this. She closed her eyes for a moment, just to be sure she could still see the notes, hear the music they’d learned.
“How’s this?” Brinnin called to them from the top of a tall ladder where she was hanging a woven cerulean leaf wreath. Not that the grand hall needed any more decorating, but Brinnin thought so.
“Perfect!” Oriannon called back without opening her eyes. “Now just get down from there. You’re making me nervous.”
And so was Margus Leek, for that matter. Those boys with the drums always had a bit too much time on their hands, a fact which Margus demonstrated for them as he sauntered up to the empty conductor’s platform.
“All right, young people!” He raised his hands in his best Mentor Jesmet imitation. “I want to hear those last three measures again, only this time put your hearts into it. Give me the soul of the music. Understand?”
Some of the other kids giggled, which only encouraged him more.
“Play it with all your heart, see?” He wrinkled his face in concentration, the same way Jesmet did when they played— or when they practiced. “And when this is all over, I’ll bring you a special treat at our next practice: spinach dumplings!”
Even Oriannon had to smile, but for a different reason. She just sat still and waited as the real Mentor Jesmet made his way quietly into the auditorium, from the back. Maybe he was enjoying this as much as everyone else. The giggle level went up, and Margus brightened at his success as a comedian.
“Oh, but I forgot, sorry. I got rid of all those dumplings. Just like I got rid of all the probes in the school building. But does anybody miss them? I thought not. Are we ready?” He picked up Jesmet’s baton and waved it at them. “A one and a two and a …”
By this time all the kids were pretty much doubled over, watching Jesmet standing behind his student with his arms crossed and a smile on his face. The smile told them Margus had nothing to worry about, except being embarrassed.
“Here, I’ll take that.” Jesmet gently lifted the baton from Margus’s hand, which of course made Margus jump out of his skin and the kids laugh even more. But the smile drained from Oriannon’s face when she noticed Brinnin out of the corner of her eye, still decorating from the top of her ladder.
Brinnin had leaned precariously to fix just one more golden ribbon to the wall, and her weight shifted just enough to tilt the ladder dangerously to her left. If she called for help, no one heard her over the laughter.
But now Oriannon could only stand and point, a silent scream on her lips as Brinnin clawed for a way to stop her fall, grabbing handfuls of ribbons as she tumbled down and down, two long stories down to the rows of chairs below.
Now everyone heard the clatter of the ladder, heard the awful thud of Brinnin’s head hitting the chairs— a horrible snap. And all the laughter stopped while Oriannon vaulted from the stage and rushed up the aisle to see what had happened.
“No!” Oriannon held back tears of shock when she reached Brinnin, or Brinnin’s body. The poor girl had been thrown free of the ladder and now lay sprawled between two rows of seats, broken and not moving. Her arms had twisted horribly and her head lay in a way that said she was no longer with them. That had been the snapping noise— her broken neck. And Oriannon heard the yells from behind her, panicked but well-meaning.
“Don’t move her! Don’t touch her!”
Instead she leaned her face down close to Brinnin’s, holding her breath, listening and feeling for any spark of life.
She heard nothing, felt nothing.
“Brinnin?” she whispered, and by that time several other horrified students had gathered around too. “Brinnin …”
“Somebody call for help!” yelled another, and Oriannon wished it would help but knew it could not. Her tears dropped to wet the dead girl’s own cheeks. Because even though Oriannon had never seen a dead body up close before, she knew without a doubt she was touching one now. Of course Oriannon couldn’t claim to be a healer, a doctor. But she knew.
Brinnin didn’t breathe, didn’t move, had no pulse in that spot below the jaw where a person could always feel a pulse. The life had left her. The girls next to Oriannon began to wail too.
No. No. No! Why did Brinnin have to insist on climbing up the ladder, just for those silly decorations?
“Brinnin, why did you do this?” Oriannon sobbed. “How could you be so … stupid?”
But she felt strong hands on her shoulders then, lifting her to her feet. Mentor Jesmet, pain written all over his face, gently moved Oriannon to the side.
“Why did you let her do this?” Oriannon spit out the words before she could think. She just needed someone to blame. Someone to hit. “You shouldn’t have let her work on a ladder like this. It was too dangerous. It’s your fault she’s … she’s dead!”
He didn’t answer back, only closed his eyes and nodded his head slowly. And when he finally opened them again he gave Oriannon the chills with his long face, as if this had been his best friend.
“I’m glad you care,” he finally told her, but in a voice softer than she’d ever heard him speak. “That means a lot.”
He paused for a moment, sighed, and glanced up at the ceiling. And then he simply reached over for Brinnin’s hand to pull her up from between the chairs, pulled her up straight as if her arm wasn’t all broken, as if none of this had happened. Just reached down and pulled her to her feet, just like that. When he let her go, she balanced on her own, like a corpse whose legs had suddenly stiffened.
“See?” he told them. “No harm done.”
And then Brinnin blinked, gulped for air. She stared at them now with wide eyes. Oriannon nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight.
“So, you think the ribbons look good up there too?” Brinnin asked them, sounding a little hoarse and a good deal confused.
Oh, but if she was confused, what would Oriannon be? The crowd backed away with a gasp, while Brinnin walked over to the fallen ladder as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
“That’s weird.” She stopped and looked around as if she was trying to figure out a puzzle. “How did the ladder get down here? Did I do something wrong? Did I—”
The back doors flew open just then as a security rushed into the room.
“Where’s the accident?” The guard noticed their ladder and hurried over. “Who’s hurt?”
Brinnin couldn’t explain any more than could the rest of the orchestra, and no one seemed in the mood to volunteer details. But she picked up her ladder and pushed it off to the side against the wall.
“My fault, sorry,” she told him with a funny shrug and one of her lopsided smiles. “I guess I need to be more careful. But I’m fine. You didn’t need to come running just because we dropped a ladder. We didn’t break it or anything.”
Give it to Brinnin, thought Oriannon. She sure knows how to talk to those securities.
