So Spoke The Wanderer Pt. 4

[rivlee]

Depression

Two weeks later, Leckie’s body was finally starting to heal. There was still an ache in his bones, a parting gift from the fever, but he was able to walk around the Manor. He was also back on solid foods. He never thought he’d miss that godforsaken bread for breakfast, but it was so much better than more broth.

He sat out on his balcony with Hoosier watching the sunrise. Hoosier had been a surprise these past few weeks, a strong if sarcastic support.

“I miss bagels and schemer,” Leckie said as he ripped apart the bread. “I never thought I was that much of a stereotype, but god, I just want a Jewish deli. Right now. Can you conjure that up?”

Hoosier shook his head. “Sorry, Leckie, all out of magical delis.”

“What good is a wizard if he can’t give you comfort food on demand,” he said.

“The best I can do is your favorite meal from The Grounded Brigantine,” Hoosier said.

“Okay,” Leckie said, “I guess you can stay a little longer.”

“You’re far too kind,” Hoosier said. His words lacked their normal bite.

Everyone was treating him with the kid gloves again. He didn’t quite know how to react this time. He wasn’t frustrated or angry like before, just sort of numb. Apparently near-death experiences did that to him. Sledge and Hoosier had both tried to play off the seriousness of the illness, but that hadn’t succeeded. Leckie could see it, in the hard lines of Haldane’s face; the grim guilt-tinged smile on Eddie’s; and the way Roe and Snafu had hovered, lingering by his bedside far longer than needed.

Or maybe it wasn’t the fever. Maybe they were waiting for him to finally lose it. Leckie certainly felt that way, like he was starting to crack, but he was too world-weary to honestly care. He’d missed his chance with the elves, there was no way in the nine levels of hell anyone was going to let him ride that far out into the country again. He just had to convince Webster to sign off on his transfer papers and that was starting to feel like an impossible task.

His lips quirked as he thought of Herculean efforts, impossible tasks, and Pyrrhic victories. His Classical Studies professor would be so proud to see him now.

“It’s not like you to be so quiet,” Hoosier said.

“Actually, it is,” Leckie said. He put his bread to the side. “I’m known for being lost in my own mind, or my work. I can turn on the charm when needed, but really, I learned at a young age I needed to make a wealth of noise to be noticed.” He shook his head. “Sometimes it was better to just stay silent and hide.”

“So you’re going silent on us now?” Hoosier asked.

“No,” Leckie said, staring at the sun. “I’m going to fly the middle course.”

********

There was something going on with Haldane. Stacks of letters teetered on his desk top, all addressed to him. Not to the Watch Keepers, or the University, or the Manor, but to Prince Aindrea. It was causing some serious tension between Haldane and Eddie.

Leckie was keeping Eddie company to distract him. They lay with their bare feet dangling in the river. Eddie claimed they both needed some fresh air, and his offer of a lunch outside seemed more a command than a request.

“How are you?” Eddie asked.

It was a question, phrased many different ways, by a score of different people, that was slowly driving Leckie insane.

“I’m fine,” Leckie said.

“No, you’re not,” Eddie said. He pulled his feet out of the water, letting the sun dry them. He looked out over the river and reached a hand out.

Leckie couldn’t help the laugh that escaped as Bessie surfaced long enough to let her fins glisten in the sunlight.

“It’s okay to miss your home, and to find us lacking,” Eddie said. He closed his eyes and whispered a spell, thick, inked lines emerging all over his skin to form words, pictures and patterns. “I have to keep a glamour up here, around Andy’s family and citizens,” he said.

He pulled up his sleeve to show a truly beautiful set of blue and green lines on his arms. “This, the marks of my own family and people, are considered offensive here. Most of our marital fights have been over how much of myself I have to cover up to be considered acceptable. I spent the first two decades of our marriage full of resentment. How dare this child and his people force me to act like I am ashamed of myself.”

“Then why did you stay?” Leckie asked. He’d never head this part of the story. His interest piqued for the first time in weeks.

“We all have our duties,” Eddie murmured, fingers tracing a mark near his wrist. “I stay because of Andy. He’s never asked me to cover myself but he never truly understood it. He’s beloved here; no one dares to say a word against him. His consort though, now that’s another matter.”

“You really do know what it’s like to want and leave here,” Leckie said. It made sense, some of Eddie’s sad but knowing comments. It stuck him then, how hard it must be for him. Leckie had a chance to go home for good, but Eddie had given that up for what? Haldane didn’t seem like that much of a prize.

“How do you survive?” he asked.

“Bessie helps,” Eddie admitted, waving his hand as she emerged again. “If I didn’t stay here and monitor his work, Andy would drop dead from stress. I’ve developed a taste for living on dry land. It’s complicated.”

“But you’re still a Siren; your soul belongs at sea.”

Eddie pointed to the river. “And that way leads me home. It’s enough to know the choice exists. I have more to do here. I have more important things to do here.”

“The letters,” Leckie said.

Eddie nodded. “Andy is not the true heir. That goes to his cousin, Larkin. We all fear that when he receives the throne from Queen Catriona, war will come. Resistance movements are popping up near Ville. For the sake of their own necks, Andy and Romus have to start thinking in the long-term.”

“Romus?”

“Andy’s heir. He’s a friend of Snafu’s.”

“Is he married to a werewolf?” Leckie asked.

“No,” Eddie said, confused, “my sister, Florentina.”

“Ah,” Leckie said, drawing the word out. It was nice to know that Haldane wasn’t as perfectly calm as he seemed. “He does a good job of hiding it.”

“Andy firmly believes that those he’s sworn to lead and protect should never see the toll of his personal problems. It helps him draw strength to put on that mask each morning,” Eddie said.

“You don’t approve of it?” Leckie asked.

Eddie didn’t answer; just let the glamour cover the markings on his skin.

“We all have masks,” Leckie agreed.

“And yours is cracking,” Eddie said.

Bessie squealed in agreement.

********

After speaking with Eddie, Leckie was overcome with the urge to research the royal family. If there was one thing Bob Leckie knew how to do, it was research. He’d made an enjoyable livelihood as an investigative reporter. He even dreamed of being a historian one day. He pictured himself old and grey, wearing tweed jackets and living in an office full of books.

Some kids wanted to be a fireman. Leckie always wanted to be a mixture of Lenny Bruce and Walter Cronkite. His habit of always questioning meant he was pretty damn suited for that dream. Taking in information was never a problem for Leckie. He was good at observation, knew to look for the unspoken reaction in people, knew that sometimes what was missing remained more valuable than what was there.

He stood in the middle of the University library, surrounded by stacks of ancient books, tablets, and scrolls full of a truly dizzying royal family tree. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He didn’t know how to find what he needed. He didn’t even know how to start. For once in his life, he didn’t know how to do a simple card catalog search in a library. He’d even tried the damn Handbook. This wasn’t like the Records room; nothing came out with a verbal command. Jay wasn’t even around to ask. No one was here, in this dark room with its ceiling high stacks.

His hands started to shake.

Leckie backed away from the walls. He carefully set the books on the table and sat down, shaking his hands out. They wouldn’t stop. Or maybe it was him. His whole body seemed to be shaking. Or maybe it was the room itself. He felt the bile start to rise in his throat and closed his eyes. One deep breath, two. The blood was rushing in his ears, he could feel the sweat prickling on his skin, his heart was trying its damnedest to beat out of his chest.

“Leckie?” Hoosier asked. His voice was muffled, but still so very Hoosier.

A cool hand grasped the back of his neck, palming the skin there, holding him steady.

“Come on, Leckie,” Hoosier said, voice far too soft, “let’s get you home.”

A laughed bubbled up; it came out strangled and dark, half-a-sob.

“Back to your room, then,” Hoosier corrected.

Leckie didn’t remember the walk back; his face was buried deep in Hoosier’s neck, breathing in that familiar scent of smoke, sun, and magic. He didn’t know how Hoosier managed to wrangle the two of them, they were matched in height, but Leckie was broader. He supposed wizards had their ways.

He could feel the floor move from stone, to wood, to carpet as they went further into the Manor.

“What the hell happened?” Snafu asked.

“Get Roe,” Hoosier ordered.

Leckie didn’t say anything as Hoosier slowly lowered him into the bed. He just turned to his side and tried to get the shaking to stop.

There was the sound of the curtains whooshing closed, but Hoosier was next to him, pulling Leckie’s boots off. Normally the casual display of magic would warrant a comment or five, but he couldn’t make his mouth work.

“It’ll be okay,” Hoosier said. His fingers massaged a circle into the bare skin of Leckie’s left ankle.

Leckie nodded, head scratching against the cotton of the pillow, giving an answer he didn’t really believe. Hoosier didn’t either; it was there in his eyes, honest worry. And Leckie couldn’t even bring himself to joke it off. He was never comfortable with honest emotion, and he couldn’t handle it right now, not what he saw there. Not what he felt.

“Liar,” Leckie finally forced out through chattering teeth.

Hoosier tangled one long-fingered hand in his hair and muttered, “Go to sleep, Leckie.”

He woke up sobbing.

Leckie wasn’t the crying type. He just didn’t do it. Part of it was the culture. No boy wanted to look like a sissy as a kid, or a pussy as an adult. He’d shed a tear at his parents’ funerals, but he never flat out sobbed about anything.

Now he couldn’t stop. He hated feeling numb, but this was even worse.

“It’s not an uncommon reaction,” Roe assured him from his bedside.

Leckie blinked, swollen eyes struggling to adjust to the meager candlelight. Hoosier was gone and the room was silent, save for the sound of herbs sizzling in a small firepot. The air smelled like lemon and lavender.

Roe handed him a glass of water, watching with careful eyes as Leckie drank it all.

“Can you make it stop?” he asked, grateful the shaking was gone.

Roe took the glass from his hands and placed it back on the able. He turned back to Leckie, studying him with those eyes which saw beyond the corporeal.

“I can make you unconscious,” his voice rambled out, “but other than that, no, Robert, I can’t make this stop. Whether or not you want to admit it, you are mourning the life and time you’ve lost.”

Leckie appreciated the honesty. Roe didn’t use the platitudes; there was nothing about him being patient, about waiting until the proper event. Roe understood that time was precious and Leckie didn’t exactly have it in spades. A Reaper probably got that better than anyone.

“I don’t do this shit, Doc,” he said.

Roe nodded. “I know, Robert. That makes this even more disturbing for you. Your body isn’t reacting the way it normally should and you have no idea how to handle it.”

“You got anything in that magic bag of yours to help?” Leckie asked.

Roe shook his head.

Leckie lay back down and stared up at the ceiling, letting the smells of the herbs try and soothe him back to sleep.

********

To Leckie, it felt like he’d spent a year living in this dark state, where all the sounds were muffled and everything was wrapped in a hazy gauze. In reality, it was only a month since he’d lost it in the library. He hadn’t done much since then. The passing of time blurred, not in the pleasant way, like in Midwood, but in the forgetting-to-change-clothes-and-take-showers way.

Leckie wasn’t used to feeling so very damn futile.

“I’m depressed,” Leckie told Hoosier, admitting it out loud for the first time.

He was in Hoosier’s work room, watching as he concocted potions and measured out ingredients. There were scraps of paper everywhere, a haphazard mess that made complete sense to Hoosier. It was comforting here, with the light coming in through a stained glass window, and Hoosier’s steady voice muttering incantations.

“I noticed your disposition was less sunny than usual,” Hoosier said.

“You don’t have any magic potions in there to make it all better?” Leckie asked.

Hoosier shoved himself into Leckie’s side, forcing him to open up his space.

“Could I give you something full of false feelings, of course I could. But the effects would be temporary and you’d be left in a worst place than you are now. There’s a reason why it’s considered unethical to brew potions and perform magics which alter a person’s natural state. I don’t like doing it. Makes me feel too much like a Necromancer, like I’m controlling someone’s whole life. Couldn’t live with myself if I did that.”

Hoosier didn’t often talk about the official side of his powers and position. Or perhaps it was that Leckie never bothered to ask. It made him feel like a selfish bastard, that he could take so much of Hoosier’s time, his body, his patience, but he didn’t know that his very powers were governed by laws.

He didn’t know what to do with all that guilt, so he just defaulted to his norm.

“You’re really not trying to take over the land? There goes my dreams of being the power behind the throne,” he quipped.

Hoosier laughed. “If you’re looking to slip into the heir’s bed, you’ll need to talk to Burgin. Not that Florentina will let anyone usurp her position. She will set your ass on fire.”

“But she seems like such a pleasant young woman,” Leckie said. He’d only met her once and she’d been exceedingly kind. Hard to imagine her as a Siren, especially since Burgin also appeared to be a gentle soul.

Not that anything was ever what it seemed here.

“As long as you don’t fuck with what’s hers, she’s harmless. Rest assured, Leckie, Burgin is most definitely hers.”

“It’s just so incestuous. She’s Eddie’s sister.”

“And Burgin is Haldane’s adopted heir. He just also happens to share a taste for the fiery and aquatic.” Hoosier shuddered. “I don’t know if I could sleep with someone whose family and people have built a reputation on luring sailors to their deaths. Granted, it’s kept us from being invaded, but it’s just so damn morbid.”

“Haldane seems to do it just fine,” Leckie said.

“Yeah, but Andy’s insane, like all the Sidhe. He just hides it well,” Hoosier said.

Leckie actually laughed at that. Haldane’s façade didn’t give away one iota of a fact that he was currently trying to battle a possible coup. He went about life like it was normal, as if his biggest worries were Snafu burning the carpet and Eddie not eating enough at dinner.

It struck him that even though Haldane had the luxury of years, he didn’t necessarily have the time.

“Are you worried?” he asked.

“I’m always worried, Leckie, it’s what gives me my surly manner,” Hoosier said. His fingers rested on Leckie’s hips, settling on the bruises he’d left there last night. “The Queen will not give up her throne without a fight. She still has another two centuries until her abdication. Larkin may be power hungry; Ville might be a shithole that needs more whorehouses to keep its people from spending their free hours thinking about revolutions; but Queen Kitty and her Consort aren’t exactly going to sit back and let this go on unchallenged.”

“You seem pretty damn certain in your convictions,” Leckie said.

“I could spend all my free hours worrying about political ramifications and what might happen, but we’ve already got one miserable bastard in this relationship, Leckie, and I got to tell you, it’s not me.”

“What are we going to do?” Leckie asked, surprised at how lost his own voice sounded.

Hoosier placed a light kiss to the back of his neck. “We’ll muddle on through,” he said, strong hands keeping Leckie so very grounded.

********

Three months of this bullshit and Leckie was moving back to frustrated on the emotional scale. He took that as a good sign, feeling something other than hopelessness for a bit. The Veil Drop was three months away and Leckie highly doubted, in his current state, that Webster would give the okay for him to leave.

Hell, Leckie hadn’t left the Manor in two weeks.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Snafu said, barging into Leckie’s room, breaking up his thoughts.

Snafu was fully dressed with shoes on, which meant he was going outside of Merrymec. He looked mildly annoyed, which translated into pretty damn angry in anyone else.

“What the fuck do you want?” Leckie asked.

Snafu walked over to the bed and glared at Leckie. They were engaged in a staring contest for a good five minutes until Snafu tilted his mattress at the perfect angle to send Leckie sprawling out on the floor.

“You’ve been in here for a week. You need a shower. The pixies are complaining about the stench and your moping is bothering the ghoul in the dungeon.”

“I thought you where the ghoul in the dungeon,” Leckie muttered.

“Funny man,” Snafu said. He grabbed the comforter and tugged, leaving Leckie bare on the floor. “I finally get why the wizard still bothers with you.”

“Fuck you,” Leckie said, grabbing for a pillow.

“You’re not coming near me smelling like that,” Snafu said. He threw a set of towels at Leckie’s head. “Clean yourself up, we’re going on a field trip.”

“A real one or are you just taking me to a brothel again?” Leckie asked. It was an honest question. Apparently Snafu came from the Sex Solves Everything school of thought.

“You’re beyond the aid of a good fuck,” Snafu said.

Leckie couldn’t deny his spark of intrigue. It wasn’t often that Snafu willingly sought him out. They had a mutual understanding of respect and avoidance.

He threw on his near threadbare t-shirt and a jacket. Snafu wasn’t in the room, which meant the bastard was probably at the bottom of the stairs, tapping his foot and cursing Leckie’s name.

He purposefully took the long way down the stairs.

“You’re being a jackass,” Hoosier said, sticking his head out of his work room.

“You know where he’s taking me?” he asked.

Hoosier shook his head. A shimmering dust fell off his hair and formed a shiny puddle on the doorstep.

Leckie reached a hand out and felt his brow furrowed as he studied the glittering gold dust.

“Are you deconstructing Tinker Bell in there?” he asked.

“I always wanted to fly,” Hoosier said, “but no. It is pixie dust and thanks to Snafu I dropped about five handfuls too much into my potion.”

“Is that why you won’t come out?” Leckie asked.

“Leckie, you’ve seen me naked and at my most vulnerable. I promise you, you don’t need to see me with fawn legs.”

Leckie felt his lips quirk and tilted his head to steal a glance.

“Don’t even think about it,” Hoosier said. He pointed to the stairs. “You better get your ass down there. There are consequences for upsetting Snafu. Don’t anger the man who’s taking you out past the city walls. He might just leave you in the wilderness and do you really want a repeat of that?”

“How do I know he’s not planning to kill me and dump my body in a ditch somewhere?”

“Because that would make Sledge very, very sad,” Hoosier said. It apparently explained everything.

Knowing Snafu, it probably did.

Leckie tried to lean forward for a kiss but Hoosier threw his hands up.

“You’re not going to Ville covered in pixie dust. You’ll be shot down by the archers before you have a chance to blink.”

“Banned substance?” Leckie asked.

“Highly. Caused a mass riot there about two centuries back,” Hoosier said.

“Leckie get your ass down here,” Snafu’s voice carried through the house.

“You’re being summoned,” Hoosier said.

“Try not to kill yourself while I’m gone,” Leckie said.

“Likewise,” Hoosier replied. He slid the door closed, the unfamiliar sound of clomp-clipity-clomp ringing out from the floor.

Snafu led the way down to the coach.

“Daddy gave you the keys to the car?” Leckie asked.

Snafu gave him the finger. Apparently that gesture translated over well.

They’d traveled for a good twenty minutes past Merrymec’s walls before Leckie started asking questions. Sledge hadn’t explained the joy of Are We There Yet? to Snafu; Leckie only abused him a little.

He finally gave up the game. “Where are we going?”

“New Gate,” Snafu said.

Leckie heard rumors of the New Gate market on the outskirts of Ville. He never thought to see it for himself, not while he dwelled in Haldane’s house. He understood that Haldane had to walk a very safe line and couldn’t leave his own seat of power. People took land boundaries very serious here, they weren’t just lines drawn on maps, but actual variant sects of power. Haldane’s town cropped up over the years from the staff at the Manor, but it was still a tiny village compared to the massive city at the mountain’s base. The only thing that kept Haldane’s home safe was the power of his position.

It helped Merrymec that everyone feared the wrath of the Sirens too. Apparently they were cousins of the Banshees and various other warrior tribes.

New Gate catered more to the people than the proletariats since it was outside the city, but the goods came from all over. While the elite and certain parts of the city center had access to the more advanced technology, most of the citizens lived closer to an agrarian lifestyle. It was still more Dust Bowl than Medieval Hamlet, but there wasn’t an urge here among the people for trains, planes, and automobiles.

It wasn’t a simple life at all, just a more Spartan existence.

It didn’t take them long to arrive, not with the coach. The field was full of carts, wagons, a rare tamed horse, stalls, and people. There was the smell of roasting food, and sweating humans, and it all made Leckie’s nose wrinkle. Snafu was doing the same, so at least he didn’t feel like a complete asshole.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

“I figured you’d want to be around people who smell like you,” Snafu said.

“Fuck you,” Leckie said.

Snafu smirked. “You keep saying that, Leckie, I might just have to tattle to Hoosier. Don’t think the Magic Man would like that too much.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re evil?” he asked.

Snafu shrugged, passing over some coins for a cob of corn. “Sledge calls me the bane of his existence when I wake him up.”

“You technique needs work,” Leckie said.

He looked around at the stall with all their wares. They carried items from the shiny and colorful, to the dark and leathery. There were things for work, for food, and for pleasure; all a sign of a successful society. A few people gave them suspicious looks, but friendly faces wanting to make a sale were the norm.

“Why are we here?” Leckie asked, again.

“I need to pick up some sketch pads for Sledge and Haldane’s ear cuff order is ready for pick up.”

“Haldane wears ear cuffs?” Leckie asked, baffled. He’d never seen that and didn’t imagine Haldane as the type.

“He doesn’t, but Eddie does for the Ball. Haldane commissions a new one each year.”

“Ball?” Leckie asked, distracted by a stall selling glass flowers that seemed to move.

“When the Veil drops, it’s a big deal for us. It’s in the-” Snafu started.

“-Handbook,” Leckie interrupted him, “ I know, I read that. I just didn’t think Eddie went all Sunday Best for them.”

“It’s not really for him,” Snafu said, a truly dirty smile on his lips, “though I’m sure he gladly reaps the benefits.”

Leckie pinched his brow. “More than I ever wanted to know.”

Snafu shrugged. “They get a little loud and the house has good acoustics.”

“Snafu,” Leckie warned.

Snafu stopped at a stall with a large green awning over the top. There weren’t many people milling about and those who were had actual gemstones woven into their clothes. Snafu didn’t notice, or more likely didn’t care, but Leckie tugged the collar of his jacket higher, trying to hide his own worn clothing.

Snafu held out his corn to Leckie while he dug in his pockets for a letter. He pulled out a piece of parchment bearing Haldane’s green wax seal.

“I’m here to pick up an order for the Manor of Merrymec,” he said, holding out the letter. His other hand went to his teeth to pick out the corn kernels.

Leckie knew his face was burning and he didn’t even try to hide it.

The clerk must’ve been used to Snafu, because she didn’t blink an eye, just took the letter and wandered back into her stall.

“I know you know how to be civil, why don’t you ever try?” Leckie asked.

Snafu took his corn back. “Why are these people better than me? Why should I bow and behave in front of them? They ain’t no better than me or you, Leckie, just because they work with metal and jewels. They’ve got their own worth, but what gives them the right to look down on a body like me? Or Roe? Or Hoosier? Just because we don’t put pretty things in our hair and act like fools?”

Snafu had a point, as he always did, with his fool’s wisdom. Basic manners were still an important thing.

“It’s called being a nice person,” Leckie said.

“What do I know about nice?” Snafu asked. “What do you know about it?”

Leckie had to give him that one.

The clerk came back with a beautifully ornate wooden box and handed it over. Snafu took it with his free hand and pocketed it before walking off.

“You’re not even going to check if it’s correct?” Leckie asked.

“I trust them to do their job and it ain’t mine to open,” Snafu said.

He dropped his cob on the side of one of the stalls and moved Leckie to the far corner of the market.

“Hoosier said you’re a writer.” He waved at a cart filled with gorgeous hand-bound journals.

They were beautiful and smelled like all the things Leckie had ever loved and held dear.

He picked one up in awe, carefully fingering the cloth cover and the hand cut pages on the inside. “These are too beautiful to write in,” he said.

“They’re journals, Leckie, you have to write in them,” Snafu said.

“Just because you choose to deface archival works with your scrawl doesn’t mean we all have such disregard for books.”

“Or you could stop acting like a jackass and just buy a few of the damn journals so that vendor can feed his family.”

“You take the romance out of everything, Snafu,” Leckie said.

Snafu shrugged. “It’s my gift.”

Leckie shook his head but did end up buying a few of the journals and inkwells.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he said.

“Do you?” Snafu asked as they walked back to the coach. He lit his cigarette with a flame that appeared from his palm. “Then next time I’ll just let you come on your own.”

“I thought only wizards could do that,” Leckie said, gesturing to the dissipating flames.

“I got wizard blood somewhere down my line. It didn’t fully manifest like it did for Hoosier, but I can do a few simple spells.”

Leckie never would have guessed that. “So, you’re not just a Reader of the Last Thought?”

“I’m pretty much a mutt, Leckie,” he said, like it was general knowledge. “All of us who come from the servants are like that. We ain’t like the royals, we don’t got to keep our lines pure.”

“So Hoosier’s not a pure wizard?”

“Nah, that’s one of the reasons he’s so down in the levels. They prefer the pure lines, the wizards. It pisses so many of them off having someone like Hoosier working for Prince Charming.”

“Why?”

“’Cause he’s some country boy from a family of garden spell witches. He didn’t go to no fancy school, or apprentice with one of the wizards from the City, and yet he’s got a cushy position working with the next king.”

Leckie was honestly confused. “I thought Haldane said he wasn’t the heir to the throne.”

“He’s not, technically speaking, but there’s no way in hell the people are going to take Larkin over him. Larkin doesn’t know how to lead, he just knows how to be an asshole.”

“And Haldane is aware of all of this? I thought he was looking for a way to put down the coup,” Leckie said.

“He is,” Snafu said, “but it’s going to happen, by his will or not. I think he likes living in the Land of Denial right now, but Eddie sure as hell knows. Then again, Sirens know everything.”

“Everyone says that.”

“Water goes everywhere, Sirens know its language,” Snafu said.

“Loose lips sinks ships,” Leckie quoted, laughing at his own joke.

“You ain’t too bad,” Snafu said, blowing a cloud of smoke in his face.

Snafu parked the coach and went back up to the house, but Leckie decided to stop by Sledge’s house first. He needed to talk to another Wanderer.

“I need a purpose,” Leckie said, sitting across from Sledge at his dinner table.

Shifty, in his role as cook, snorted.

“Agreed,” Sledge said. He pushed a journal into Leckie’s hands. “Collect our stories.”

“What?” he asked.

“If you’re going to leave, you might as well take some of our stories with you.”

“You’re not going to try and talk me out of leaving?” Leckie asked.

Sledge shrugged. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do. You will make your choice regardless of what I say. I just believe in preparing for every eventuality.”

Leckie picked up one of the journals. “And you think this is preparation.”

“I think if you’re going to make any decision with a clear mind you need to go back to the things which have always brought you joy in life. You’re a writer and a historian, Bob, you love to collect and spin tales. You know enough about us now to do it with some sort of justice.”

Leckie patted Sledge on the shoulder. “You’re not too bad, Eugene.”

“I’m honored you think so highly of me.”

“You really think Webster will let me go home?” he asked.

“If it’s the choice of your soul, he’ll have no say in the matter,” Shifty said, looking out into the night. “You came here without your notice and you may well leave in the same manner. Webster and his bureaucrats can’t fight the pull home if it’s meant for you.”

“I knew there was more to it than what’s in that damn Handbook,” Leckie muttered.

Sledge just put a hand over his eyes and laughed.

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