It had been a productive, albeit stressful two weeks for Nezumi. While he waited for the parts he ordered from Yoming to arrive, he took to examining the hulk of the computer he and the kids had rescued from the dump. He discovered upon opening the system unit, that the mechanisms and wiring inside were copper, which fortunately meant that they had grown the protective layer of patina that was particular to the metal. As he wiped the interior clean, he thought about how furious Ei would be if he knew he had made off with some of his precious copper.
Several pieces of the unit were salvageable, and those that weren't, he had Yoming order along with the parts he needed for the drive recon device. Whomever the Resistance had as a contact in No. 2, they were good. The parts came in swiftly and correctly, and Nezumi entertained a distant regret that he didn't ask for more. Although he guessed Yoming would've had a few unpleasant things to say about that if he had. Be that as it may, he had asked only for the most essential pieces, the barest minimum to get his projects done. The parts list for the robot was absolute, but he did not splurge on the computer, and at the end of the week, what he built was less a computer than a glorified calculator. He only needed to write code and process numbers, so the limited function was not a problem to him, but Kaze seemed a little put out when Nezumi informed him that it didn't have any games on it.
The robot for the drives was a little more difficult of a task, and he spent several tireless, frustrated afternoons on the undertaking. He had a vague idea as to what kind of design the robot should have: it had to be quick, efficient, and most of all, inconspicuous. He was in the midst of deliberation over the question when Tsukiyo crawled up onto the table and spat a screw out in front of him with a small cheep. Shion had lent the mouse to him, because his job required that he constantly travel in and out of headquarters, and he wanted Nezumi to be able to contact him if need be. The mouse bopped up and down behind the screw, and Nezumi got the feeling it was waiting to be praised.
"So you picked up a screw. Is that anything to be proud of?" he snorted at the rodent. "You're gonna have to do a lot better than that if you want my approval."
The mouse stopped bouncing and surveyed him with grape-colored contempt, before hopping off the table and scuttling away.
That was when the idea to model the robot after a mouse came to him. They were small and quick enough to avoid detection, and although a mouse in No. 6 would be startling to a citizen, it would not be immediately suspected if seen. Besides, Shion's efforts in the past had already proved that using mice as a go-between was viable.
Tsukiyo apparently did not hold grudges, because when the mouse returned, he continued to try and help Nezumi with the parts. Nezumi allowed him. He was partly responsible for inspiring the design, and although Nezumi would never admit it out loud, he felt somewhat partial to the mouse. Between the two of them, the robotic mouse was more or less completed. The only things left now were to program it and test the mechanisms.
Shion had gone out more than two hours ago to respond to a report about a child who wasn't doing so hot by the dumpsters, so Nezumi was left to finish the project in peace. Or, at least, he was hoping to be left to himself, but apparently everyone else at headquarters had loads of free time.
"How's it going?"
Safu came up from behind him and peered at his work. She had been checking his progress periodically throughout the last two weeks. She claimed to be keeping watch on him to make sure he was doing his job properly, but despite her clipped comments and detached demeanor, it was easy to see she was legitimately curious.
"If I don't get interrupted too often, I should have it done in a few hours," Nezumi answered.
She walked around the edge of the table to stand opposite him and squinted at the product.
"A mouse?" Safu arched a critical eyebrow. "Conceited, much?"
"I've never claimed to be modest. However, its appearance has more practical significance than that."
To Nezumi's ever-growing annoyance, Kaze entered headquarters just then and, drawn in by the lure of sociability or some other compulsion equally as incomprehensible to Nezumi, waltzed over to them.
"What's up, guys? Whoa! You finished the robot?" Kaze leaned over the table to get a closer look, but thankfully did not venture to touch it. "Cool design," he said with a nod. "It's like the whole thing is your signature. You do that on purpose?"
"It's designed this way in order to escape notice," Nezumi explained, a hint of smugness coloring his words. "It's fast and it's equipped with an ID chip, so it'll be virtually undetectable. It should have the drives out of No. 6 before they even know what hit them. Plus," he added with a smirk, "it's adorable. Give it a couple years; every household in West Block will have one."
"Yeah, they're pretty sweet," Kaze agreed. "You know…" He ran his thumb along the edge of the shotgun in his chest holster. "If you put explosives in there, it could be a really handy weapon."
"Mm, yes. Because the first thing I want to do after spending days building them is blow them up."
"Just sayin'." Kaze shrugged. "Anyways, it looks good. Nice job, Nez."
Nezumi flinched. Safu smirked, but Kaze was too busy looking away to witness the full extent of Nezumi's revulsion.
"Hey, Boss! Get a load of this mousebot!"
Nezumi cursed internally.
He looked over his shoulder to see Yoming lurking at the back of the room. The older man was staring intently in their direction, but he made no acknowledgement of Kaze's invitation. The crow perched on his shoulder was also turned their way, and together they presented quite a foreboding image.
"Nezumi. Would you come here for a minute?"
Yoming kept his dark eyes trained exclusively on him as he spoke the words in a clear monotone. Safu was no longer smirking, and Nezumi took that as a confirmation of his suspicions that the man's bleak tone belied a more sinister mood. Nezumi picked up the robot on the table and sent Kaze a parting look before dragging himself over to Yoming.
"I have a new job for you," he said without preface.
Oh, wonderful, Nezumi thought.
"I want you to build me a camera for my crow."
Nezumi blinked. The crow ruffled its feathers.
"A small but durable one," Yoming continued. "I plan to use it to record footage of No. 6's army when the Hunt comes, and it might get violent. I need it to hold together if things happen to get rough."
"I see. That's very conscientious thinking. Well, if you want a camera, you're going to have to buy me more parts."
"I already ordered them. I'll have them brought to you."
Nezumi furrowed his brow. Yoming's manner was peculiar to him. He could sense a strong undercurrent of negativity radiating off the man, and yet his conduct was stiffly businesslike. Perhaps the anger he was picking up on had nothing to do with him. The man was heading an entire organization against the likes of No. 6, and West Block was not problem-free besides. Now that he was seeing him up close, Yoming did look rougher than usual. The stubble on his chin was approaching a small beard, and the gray streaks in his hair were more conspicuous than he remembered. The man looked tired. Nezumi appreciated the professionalizing effect it had on him.
"Great," Nezumi said, injecting a little more energy into his voice. "I'll get right on that just as soon as I finish all my other projects."
Yoming's eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. "Hm. I trust your work is going well?"
"Very well, thanks."
The man did not ask to see the robot and Nezumi did not offer to show it to him.
"And how's that computer of yours?" Yoming said, his voice finally taking on that gruff calm before the storm quality that Nezumi was familiar with. "Lili told me all about your search for it. How nice you were to her and her friends. She says you're nothing like I described you to be."
Ah. Perhaps this was the resentment I was sensing? He doesn't like the thought of his niece and me getting chummy?
Nezumi smiled blithely. "Is that so? That's kind of her. However, whatever your concerns may be, I assure you, you have nothing to fear. She only has eyes for Shion."
"Yes. Shion. And how are you finding things with him? Comfortable?"
"The kid can't cook a meal to save his life. Besides that, I have a few more suggestions as to how my stay could be improved, if you're interested."
The expression on Yoming's face hardened, and Nezumi realized he had finally overreached himself.
"I can see he's done nothing to fix that arrogant attitude of yours," Yoming said with stony restraint. "Then again, he always was a sentimental fool."
And here it comes, Nezumi thought drolly.
"I don't know what he's been filling your head with, but you don't have a place here. Your stay only lasts as long as you have something to contribute to the cause. I don't know why you haven't tried to run yet, but you can forget any notions you have of a future here."
"As hospitable as you've been, I can think of many other places very far from here that I'd rather be. I will not overstay my welcome."
"Good. Because as far as I'm concerned, you're still a product of No. 6, and I think I speak for the rest of West Block when I say that no one would have qualms about letting you go down with the rest of that god-forsaken city."
The corner Nezumi's mouth quirked up. "I'm not so sure. I think you might be a little out of touch with the sentiments of your subordinates."
Yoming looked affronted, but then a wry sneer twisted his lips.
"You think you know Shion?" Yoming reached up and scratched underneath his crow's chin. The bird clicked softly. "Have you ever seen a mad dog, Nezumi?" Nezumi frowned at the change in his demeanor. "There are loads of them, all over West Block. The problem is they're hard to spot. At first they seem perfectly tame—friendly even. But it's only a matter of time before they start lashing out at anything with a heartbeat. I'd be careful if I were you."
Nezumi tilted his head at the man's smugness. His meaning was easy to guess, but as he was already fully aware that Shion was not a delicate flower, he found the lecture rather flat.
"That's a very clever conceit," Nezumi said with overt sweetness. "Have you ever considered ditching the terrorist gig and becoming a writer? The odds of success are about the same."
Yoming didn't bother to hide the depths of his unamusement.
"I'm gonna go back to work now, but if you need me I'll be over there contributing to the cause."
"You do that," the man all but snarled.
Nezumi credited fatigue and a general sense of superiority as the main reasons for why Yoming resisted throttling him on the spot, but he also liked to pretend that the man held a secret grudging respect for his witticisms.
XXXX
Four hours later he was finished with the robot and Shion still had not returned. He waited a few minutes, but the other teen remained MIA. As Shion instructed, he scribbled an under-fifteen-word note of his status onto a slip of paper and sent Tsukiyo to deliver it. Half an hour later the mouse returned with the equally short reply:
Ask Safu or Kaze to bring you home. Sorry. – S
Nezumi seethed as he read the words a second time. He crumpled the paper and tossed it into the trash.
That jerk wants me to do what?
The only people left in headquarters were Kaze, Yamase, and a few other members that Nezumi didn't know. Yoming had slunk off not long after their conversation, and Safu had disappeared a few hours ago to deal with a man's complaints about rations, because she was actually busy doing her job on a regular basis—not that Kaze and Yamase weren't.
It seemed like Yamase's eternal vocation was to stand by the window in silence and watch for suspicious activity, and he performed this tedium so valiantly day in and day out that Nezumi couldn't help but wonder at his fortitude.
Kaze's work schedule was more sporadic. His primary contribution was to be the only person in the Resistance crazy enough to tinker with explosives, but Nezumi had also witnessed him handling shipments of food and supplies, and he imagined he had other employments outside the confines of the church. Regardless, it seemed like he had a lot of free time, which he chose to spend in headquarters because 1) his friends were there, and 2) Yuki spent her afternoons working, as Nezumi learned one day last week when he growled at Kaze to stop hovering and go hang out with his girlfriend.
Kaze was currently entertaining himself by throwing bits of stucco he peeled off the wall at Yamase. Yamase bore the assault with an air of patience that would make the Buddha envious. Kaze caught him staring and held the shavings out in a gesture of solidarity. Nezumi shook his head in polite refusal. The older man shrugged and turned away, a few flakes escaping through the gaps in his mangled fingers.
Screw this.
He waited until Kaze turned his back to replenish his arsenal and then strode to the door.
"See ya later, Yamase."
Yamase's brow creased as he watched him walk out, but as no one called out to him, and he spent several minutes strolling down the street afterward without being chased down by Kaze, he supposed the other man was not inclined to rat him out. He hooded the superfibre he was wearing over his head and continued toward the bunker with a sense of smug satisfaction.
The main street was awash with people. It was nearing dinnertime, and everyone with money was elbowing to get the least rancid of the meats, vegetables, and breads, while those without money were waiting patiently for something to get dropped in the frenzy. Anything that was not food or coin was insignificant, which meant Nezumi had the pleasure of virtual invisibility as he pushed through the crowd.
He pulled his hood down once he descended the stairs into the dank corridor. He tried the door, but it was locked.
Shit. What if he isn't home?
He cursed a second time out loud for not thinking about the possibility earlier. The last thing he wanted to do was sit outside waiting god-knows-how-long for Shion to return. He thudded three times on the door and listened. There was nothing at first, but then he thought he heard a clatter from within. He stepped to the side as Shion opened the door.
"Nezumi—"
"I'm not some child you can pass around. I'm perfectly capable of getting home by myself, so next time you decide not to show up—"
"Nezumi, quiet," Shion hissed.
Nezumi raised his eyebrows, but the other boy's face was pleading and he was motioning to something in the room behind him. Nezumi peered over his shoulder. There was a child sleeping on Shion's bed.
"She's very sick," Shion whispered in response to his questioning look.
"So you brought her here?"
"I'm sorry. But she has nowhere else to go." Shion stepped back so that he could come inside the room and continued in a hushed voice, "Her father died about a week ago, and apparently she's been wandering around on the streets ever since. It's freezing outside. I couldn't just leave her."
The girl was young, no more than seven years old, and she did, indeed, look "very sick." Her skin was pale and there were dark, sunken circles under her eyes. She was propped up against the wall with the pillow wedged beneath her back, but she wasn't under the covers. Judging by her labored breathing and the towel draped over her forehead, he guessed she had a fever, but the bucket on the floor beside the bed indicated far more unpleasant symptoms were also expected.
"What does she have?"
"Pneumonia. —It's not contagious," he said as an afterthought.
Nezumi hadn't thought pneumonia was, but it was somewhat reassuring to have it confirmed.
Shion was already back in caretaker mode. He was boiling tea on top of the heater, but he didn't look very happy with it.
"I wish I had more basil," he muttered to himself.
Nezumi stood beside the organ, unsure of what to do. Did Shion expect him to pretend the child wasn't there and carry on like normal? It's impossible. But I'm no doctor, so there really isn't anything else to do… Maybe I could go into the corridor and explore those other rooms. Now that he'd spent more time in the bunker, he was sure no one lived in them, so he assumed that they must be other storage rooms. Nezumi turned to the organ. Perhaps that's where Shion got the miscellaneous décor.
"Sorry, but can you get me that cloth?"
Shion pointed at a cloth on the table. Nezumi hesitated. He was wary of approaching the child, but she appeared to be in the midst of a fitful sleep, her chest collapsing with each shallow breath. He stalked around the table, plucked the cloth off it, and tossed it to Shion. The other teen caught it and used it to cover the side of the teapot while he transferred it to the table.
"—Mommy?"
Nezumi's heart leapt into his throat. The girl was looking at him with a blearily pained expression. He drew back, shooting an accusatory look at Shion. Shion's face was drawn in fear.
"Mayumi." He rushed to the girl's side. "Mayumi, you have a high fever. Look at me, okay?"
Nezumi backed away from the bed toward the shadows between the bookcases. The girl was hallucinating, he supposed, but acknowledging the reason behind her actions did not make them go away.
"Mommy," the girl croaked more desperately than before, struggling to push herself further into a sitting position.
"No, no, sweetie," Shion shushed, pressing her shoulder gently to keep her from overexerting herself. "Don't try to get up. Look at me. Here." He reached over to the table and took a glass off it. "Drink this. It'll make you feel better."
Shion tilted her head forward so she could sip the water he held to her lips, but the girl continued to whimper.
"It… hurts," she choked. She pushed the cup away and devolved into a spasm of coughs.
"I know. I know," Shion repeated.
He patted her back as she wheezed, fluttery guttural gasps that induced a tickling sensation at the back of Nezumi's throat. The fit grew more violent by the second, and Shion picked up the bowl beside the bed and placed it in front of her. She dry heaved into it, but eventually the coughing subsided.
"I want… my Mommy," she sobbed raggedly.
Shion tried to soothe her, but she continued crying for her mother in a parched, inconsolable litany. It set Nezumi's nerves on edge.
I can't watch this.
He clenched his jaw and walked to the bed. Shion looked surprised when he grasped his shoulder and nudged him aside. The surprise turned to astonishment when Nezumi spoke to Mayumi in a soft, tranquil voice—a woman's voice.
"There, there. It's all right now. I'm here."
He did his best to ignore Shion's gaping as he kneeled down beside the child.
"Ma… Mommy?"
"That's right. Stop crying, okay?" he said gently.
Her wheezing breaths were even worse up close. He could see how hard her chest was working to draw air into her lungs. He pushed the thought from his mind and focused on the towel on her head. It was no longer cold, so he peeled it off and brushed back the strands of hair that stuck to her forehead. The girl murmured at the coolness of his hand and turned her face toward him. Her lips had an alarmingly bluish tint to them.
"My… chest... It h… hurts..."
"Everything's going to be fine. You've been very brave. I'm proud of you. Try to sleep now."
"No," she rasped. The force behind the word sent her into another brief coughing fit. "S-scary," she managed in between breaths.
Nezumi instinctively knew the reason for her fear. She was afraid that if she closed her eyes now, she might never wake up again, and he knew that everything she feared was true. This girl would not be leaving this room alive; it was not even likely she would survive the next few hours.
Nezumi struggled to keep his serene expression in place. He did not know what mothers did to calm their sick children. His recollections of what a mother was were scarce. He only had one memory of his own.
"Mayumi, would you like to hear a song?"
"A… s-song?"
"Mm-hmm." The girl nodded weakly. "Okay, I'll sing for you. But you have to close your eyes. Don't be afraid. Even if you close your eyes, I'll still be here. I won't go anywhere until you're asleep. I promise."
The girl trembled. Her eyelids fluttered once, and then slid closed.
"There's a good girl." He cleared his throat and began to sing in a clear voice.
The wind carries the soul away, humans steal the heart
O earth, O tempests; O heavens, O light
Let everything cease,
Let everything be,
and live
O soul, my heart, O love, my memory
Return home here
And stay
It had been a while since he'd sung out loud, and his throat felt raw from the effort. It seemed to have the intended effect, however. Mayumi's forehead was still pinched a little, but her breathing had become threadier. He cast a look at Shion. His head was bowed, and under the fringe of his dark hair, Nezumi could see his eyes were closed as well. He looked like he was praying. Nezumi smoothed Mayumi's hair and started the second verse.
The wind carries the soul away, humans steal the heart
But here I will remain
to keep singing
Please
Deliver my song
Please
Accept my song
Nezumi withdrew his hand. The creases on Mayumi's face had relaxed and there was the faintest smile playing on her lips. Shion rose beside him and leaned over the bed. He placed his fingers against the side of the girl's neck.
"She's gone," he said quietly. "Thank you, Nezumi. Thanks to you, her soul was carried away quickly. She died a good death."
"What the hell does that mean?" Nezumi pushed himself off the ground and rounded on Shion. "'She died a good death.' What kind of idiotic line is that?" His gaze fell on the still child. He wrinkled his nose. "Are all the children you bring home like that?"
The deep brown of Shion's eyes were muted by the lantern flame.
"Yes. When I bring them here, I already know."
"Then why do you—?"
He snapped his mouth shut. A wave of nausea washed over him and the vertigo was so strong he had to turn away to hide its effect.
"Nezumi?"
"There is seriously something wrong with you," he muttered. A dull throbbing blossomed in his temples. "What kind of masochistic idiot brings children home to die?"
"I do it because— Because the children I bring here don't have anywhere else to go. They're dying, and they have no one and nothing. I can't just stand by and pretend I don't see it. So when it gets too bad, I take them here and try to make their last moments as full of warmth and peace as possible. They deserve at least that much."
Nezumi shot him a sideways glare. "That's such utter bullshit. What does that do? If they're dying, they're dying. One hour of warmth makes no difference."
"It makes every difference."
"No. You know what? Screw you. Screw you and your god complex. I don't want anything to do with this."
He crossed the room and threw open the door.
"Nezumi—"
"Shut up. Just talking to you gives me a headache." He slammed the door behind him.
The sky darkened as he marched down the path to town. He had no specified destination, but his mind was too busy reeling with anger and jolts of pain for him to think too hard on that point. Eventually, the pounding in his head forced him to slow down, and he ducked out of the flow of people to lean against a wall.
In, out. In, out.
A few minutes of this breathing exercise helped to bring the pain in his temples down to a pulsing. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
What is wrong with me?
"You okay, boy?"
An older woman had stopped to peer at him. Nezumi felt a flicker of apprehension. He knew as well as any that compassionate types in West Block were few and far between, so it was very likely this woman had an agenda in talking to him. It could be as bothersome as trying to sell him mysterious cures for his ails, or as malicious as scoping him out for a mugging. A more detailed look at her showed that her arms were already occupied with a basket of flowers, so his thoughts tended toward the former. Regardless, he slipped a hand into his pocket and closed it around the knife within. He had been keeping one on him ever since his third lesson, although he didn't think Shion or Safu knew yet.
The woman tilted her head. "Don't I know you? Aren't you Shion's friend?"
Nezumi narrowed his eyes. He did not know this person's face, but the fact that she knew his was disquieting. He didn't see a bandana on her, but it was possible she was a Resistance member that had seen him at some point, either in headquarters or walking from there back to the bunker. Even if she was just a stranger that recognized him from one time he and Shion passed her on the street, if she happened to mention seeing him, and word got back to Yoming, it could be dangerous.
"You've got the wrong person." He pushed past her into the busy street and jerked the superfibre over his head as an extra precaution.
I have to get off the main street.
He cut away from the market and headed into an alley that led to the outskirts of town. He could practically hear Shion's protests about wild dogs and bandits, but the boy's opinion was not one he wanted to entertain tonight.
The alleyway spat him out in a maze of ruins. There were large chunks of stone strewn in every direction, most of them crumbled halfway to sediment. An elaborately carved pillar leaned against the rusted skeleton of an arched ceiling. He approached it and found that the figures of several women clad only in thin, curve-hugging robes decorated its base. Vines wove in and out of the windows and cracks in the walls.
The magnitude of what the structure must have been was staggering, and, in fact, the scope of the ruins was too large to be just one building. More likely, a complex of buildings once existed where he now stood. His attention was drawn to a set of crumbling stairs, which led into the vine-encrusted carcass of one of them. The face of the building was more richly decorated than those around it, and Nezumi imagined that it might've been attractive in its prime.
Could this be the hotel?
The longer he stared at it, the more convinced he became that it was. He knew the activities that went on there, and as he was not interested in that brand of diversion, he turned away to find somewhere else to weather the ravages of his migraine. Then he remembered that Safu also lived there.
The time they spent at knife practice had taken the edge off their initial hatred, but their regard for each other was a far cry from friendship. The streets were dangerous and cold, and the throbbing in his head was slowly spreading to his neck and upper back, but he didn't want to deal with Safu, and he doubted she would take too kindly to a surprise visit from him.
A second bout of nausea forced his hand.
He picked his way carefully up the steps and entered the cavernous lobby of the hotel. The walls were paneled from floor to ceiling in multicolored glass. The uppermost panels had shattered, their shards creating a jagged patchwork over the floor, but the bottom panes were in fairly good condition. The walls and ceiling still clung to shreds of white paint, and a startlingly undamaged chandelier swayed faintly in the wind that whipped through the paneless windows.
The rubble and leaves crunched underfoot as he strode toward the only light in the room: a candle atop a stone table. A woman was standing behind it, and although her features were difficult to make out in the poor lighting, when Nezumi drew close enough to ascertain them, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.
"Yuki. Good evening."
"Nezumi?" She came around the table to greet him. "What are you—?" She halted a few feet away from him, her eyes performing a quick sweep of his figure. "Have you been drinking?" she asked in a small voice.
Nezumi winced internally. I look that bad?
He made a concerted effort to stand up straighter and try to appear like he was in no danger of vomiting, despite feeling otherwise.
"No, Yuki, I haven't. Is Safu here? I need to see her."
Yuki did not look convinced, and what's more, she was now looking at him with a kind of confused pity. "Safu doesn't work here."
Nezumi's face contorted. "No. That's not what I meant. I just want to talk to her."
Yuki stood staring at him for several excruciating seconds. At last, though, she sighed and motioned for him to follow her up another set of stairs. The hallway at the top was long and narrow, lit at intervals with a row of mounted candles.
"Does Shion know you're here?"
"Which room is Safu's?"
Yuki frowned. She led him to a broad wooden door and knocked.
"Safu? Someone's here to see you."
The door opened and the hall was bathed in the pale yellow of lantern light. Safu took one look at him and made a face very much like she was expecting flowers and got a rat instead.
Yuki murmured that she had to watch the table downstairs and said goodbye. Nezumi felt her eyes lingering on him as she walked away.
"What are you doing here?"
"Whatever you're thinking, I'm just here to talk."
"…Is this about Shion?"
Nezumi smiled wanly. "Yes, this is about Shion."
She scowled and yanked the door a little more open. "You have five minutes."
Her room was small and sparsely furnished, but the items in it had personality. There were a few books sitting on the windowsill and there were two picture frames on the wall, each with a pressed wildflower in it. Other than that, there was a short table in the center of the room and a bed in the corner.
"So?" Safu crossed her arms. "What about Shion?"
"I hate him."
"You came here to complain about Shion?"
"You're damn right I came here to complain. The kid's an idiot." Nezumi paced relentlessly in front of the table. "Completely hopeless. How is he even alive?"
"—Are you drunk?"
"He brought a dying child into the house!"
"…He does that sometimes."
"Nothing he does makes sense."
Safu's arms dropped to her sides and her expression morphed into one of reluctant concern. An unsurprising reaction, considering Nezumi could feel himself losing the battle to remain composed in the face of the excruciating pain.
"Alright. You. Sit."
Nezumi didn't argue. He dropped down on the edge of the table and rubbed his temples. His jaw hurt from clenching it, and there was a disgustingly bright metallic tang filling his mouth.
"I'm going to get Shion."
Safu's voice seemed to come to him from between layers upon layers of cotton. The noise in his head had mounted until he couldn't even hear his own breathing—just a maddening din of high-pitched buzzing.
"I can't do this," he growled. "I need to get out of here."
Safu said something. Her alarm was plain now. His vision started spotting. Safu took a step toward him, but there was nothing she could do. He was already falling.
XXXX
The meadow grass all but buried him. His hair was long—longer than he ever remembered it being. Or rather, he did remember, but it was a fuzzy time from before the shifty looks and painted smiles that were so much more deeply imbedded in his memory. It brushed his shoulders and fanned out behind him as he ran.
A voice like the dappled light of a forest canopy was calling his name and he was desperate to reach the person to whom the voice belonged. If he didn't get to them soon, he felt like they would disappear forever. He batted away flower stalks and serrated blades of grass, growing ever more frustrated with the slowness of his pace.
Won't I ever grow? If I weren't so little, I would be much faster. When I grow up, I want to be as high as the trees by the river.
This thought filled him with a surge of energy so powerful he almost tumbled into the pond as he tore himself from the hold of the thick meadow grasses.
"There you are."
His breath stuck in his throat. A woman was sitting on the bank. The tendrils of her long, dark hair fluttered in the summer wind, and the lush purples and pinks of the flowers woven around the crown of her head made her skin look pearlescent in the sunlight. She was exquisitely beautiful, and her eyes, clear as morning dew, were smiling at him.
"Come here."
She held her arms open wide, and he climbed into her lap and rested his head against her chest. She rocked him for a moment, humming a sweet tune.
"Would you like me to sing you a song?" she asked, running her fingers through his hair. A shiver of pleasure danced down his spine at the gentle touch.
"I can sing," he blurted. He was overcome with a near frantic urge to make her happy.
"You can?" There was an ear-to-ear smile in the question.
He nodded and clambered out of her lap. He sucked in a heady breath of air and began to sing. He put his entire heart into the melody, drawing inspiration from the still water of the pond and the undulations of the grasses beyond it. When he finished, he felt dizzy with pride, knowing that the quality of his song was sure to please the woman. He beamed and spun around to face her.
But she was gone, and she took the sunlight with her. He stood in a brown void. The air reeked of something thick and cloying, and his stomach churned as it leeched the summer scent from his nostrils. There was a stout figure ahead, staring down at two identical boxes. The sight of them made his throat constrict.
"Such a pity," the figure said in a voice as stark as the trees in winter.
It looked at him. The eyes hiding behind its spectacles reflected nothing.
"Come here."
He drew back.
The muted lines of its face warped into sneer. "Takashi."
"No! No, that's not my name! That's—" Panic-stricken, he searched for the woman. "Who are you? Where—?"
"Don't kick up a fuss. Can't you see you're bothering everyone?"
Hordes of dark shapes huddled around him, shaking their heads. They mumbled emotionless words and empty promises, but no one came to help him. A wretched sob escaped his lips.
"Please. Please, make it stop. Please."
Nezumi inhaled sharply.
"Oh! He's awake! Look, he—"
"Shh! Don't yell. The poor thing isn't well."
"Oh. Sorry…"
Nezumi blinked. There were dark shapes in the periphery of his vision, but these were not like the ones in his dream. They were sharper. And they smelled strong. Overwhelmingly strong, like creams and spices. He cleared his throat and focused on making sense of the shapes.
He blinked the bleariness from his eyes and the shapes revealed themselves to be faces. Three women were hovering over him. One was fanning his face with a paper fan. She had peacock green eye shadow. He squinted as the air hit his eyes.
"He looks so scared," giggled one with pixyish features. Nezumi recognized the voice as the one that shrieked when he woke up.
"Leave him alone," said someone outside his line of vision. "Don't you worry. Safu went to get Shion."
Nezumi lifted his head. The redheaded woman that he and Shion met outside the bar was standing off against the wall. She smiled warmly at him.
Nezumi scrambled to take stock of his situation. The room he was in was not Safu's. The walls were a richer red color and completely bare except for a mirror hanging on the opposite side of the room. He was lying on his back on a dreadfully hard couch. In addition to the three women crowding him and the redheaded woman, there was an old woman sitting in a chair in the corner. She was dressed simply in a blue frock, her white hair tied tightly atop her head. She had the air of an aristocratic lady, and although she seemed out of place in the realm of the West Block, she somehow seemed to fit perfectly into this moment. She didn't stir when he sat up, and continued knitting what appeared to be a sweater.
In essence, he had no idea where he was and he knew no one in the room. This did not sit well with him. He remembered storming out on Shion and finding himself in Safu's room, but the particulars were murky, likely due to the searing headache he had at the time. He remembered fainting.
His expression soured. Wonderful. Why is Safu always around during that unfortunate event? More importantly, why the hell did that happen?
He felt fine now. His head was pulsing softly and his neck was sore, but thankfully he was no longer dizzy or nauseous.
"Do you want some water, sweetie?"
One of the women held out a cup to him. Her lips were a deep shade of purple, and something about the color reminded him of a pair of dark eyes. His brain sputtered back into gear.
"You said Shion's coming?" He directed the question at the red-haired woman.
"Yup! Should be here any minute now. You just sit tight, little mouse." She winked at him.
"Mouse?" The pixie traded glances between the woman and him. "You're Shion's mouse? So Aya wasn't kidding?"
Nezumi sighed and the women backed away to give him room to stand.
"As kind as you ladies have been, I think it's time for me to go."
"You're leaving? But you're not well!" squawked the woman with the peacock eye shadow. She waved her paper fan as if that proved it. "Wouldn't you rather wait 'til Shion gets here?"
"I'd really rather not."
But today was not his day.
The door flung open and Shion burst into the room, bright-eyed and breathless. Safu shuffled in behind him, her mouth pressed into a hard, disapproving line.
"Nezumi."
Shion took a step toward him, and just seeing the range of emotions playing on his face left Nezumi feeling exhausted.
"I'm fine," he sighed, holding a hand up to halt the other teen's approach. "I had my beauty sleep and now I'm feeling much better."
Shion backed down, but the helplessly pained look he gave him produced a niggling sensation in the pit of Nezumi's stomach.
"Is this boy a friend of yours, Shion?"
The injury in Shion's features cooled instantly at the sound of the old woman's voice. A hollow passivity settled in its place. He lowered his head and turned to face her.
"It's been a while, Madam. Have you been well?"
The Madam remained nestled in the chair in the corner, but she did cease her knitting.
She smiled primly. "Very well, thank you. I assume you've been keeping well, too? You haven't visited once these past few months. You must be terribly busy."
The atmosphere in the room felt brittle, as though both Shion and the Madam were treading the rim of a frozen lake, all too aware that one misstep would puncture the thin veil of formality they had stretched between them.
"I wish you wouldn't be such a stranger." The old woman tightened the threads of the sweater in her lap. "It seems like just the other day you and Safu were running through these halls, not a care in the world. But I suppose now that you're older you have other priorities."
"Grandma," Safu hissed.
Shion had no visible reaction. The rest of the occupants of the room shifted uncomfortably.
"Thank you for taking care of my friend," Shion said at last. "I'm sorry for any inconvenience we might have caused. Please excuse us."
Shion bowed deeply from the waist and then motioned for Nezumi to follow him from the room. Nezumi thanked the women and the Madam directly for their care. The women smiled, wished him good health, and encouraged him to drop by again sometime. The Madam merely inclined her head. Safu walked them out.
"Sorry about her," she said as they reached the bottom of the staircase.
"You don't have to apologize, Safu. Thanks for your help."
Nezumi cleared his throat. "Sorry," he grunted at the girl, swallowing the bitter taste the word left in his mouth.
Safu scowled. "Next time you have a fit, do yourself a favor and stay away from me. I don't care how annoyed you are at Shion. He's the closest thing there is to a specialist here, so I suggest you suck it up and at least try to let him help you."
Had he complained so much about Shion? After some thought, he did remember voicing his frustrations to the girl. But as he had already made the effort to apologize, he didn't feel obligated to comment further.
An eternity passed in silence.
"I think it's about time we went home," said Shion.
The episode ended without further incident, and he and Shion began what Nezumi realized might be a long walk back home. He turned out to be correct, but not for the reason he thought. Shion had yet to ask him a single question—about his headache, about why he was at the hotel, about anything. Part of him was glad for it, but mostly he was uncomfortable. The quality of Shion's silence felt like a lecture in and of itself.
Nezumi cleared his throat. "So that's what a real grandmother is like."
"Mm. How'd she compare?" Shion said with reasonable normalcy.
"Startlingly similar in some respects. I have a theory: a sense of passive-aggressive disapproval must be a natural side effect of old age."
Shion attempted a smile.
"But, 'Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his humor?' —I think not." He chanced a second look at Shion, and was relieved to find that the quote had coaxed him into a more convincing show of amusement.
"Are you really okay?" Shion's mood changed so abruptly Nezumi didn't have enough time to mask his surprise. "I won't push you if you insist you are, but… This is the second time. You can't blame me for being worried."
Nezumi turned away. It was becoming increasingly obvious to them both that he wasn't okay. There was something very wrong about the magnitude and frequency of his headaches.
And this last one… It was very similar to that time.
The symptoms had been just as, if not more, intense as the time all those weeks ago when he tried to escape and She refused to let him leave. The nausea, the migraines, right down to the deafening buzzing, it was all the same. She had not spoken to him this time, though.
From the way She talks, She seems to be biding Her time. To destroy No. 6... Is She getting close? And if She is, why is She taking it out on me? This is stupid. I don't know anything.
Shion took his silence as a hint to back off and huffed. "I just…" He raked his fingers through his bangs. "I wish you'd let me help you."
Nezumi frowned at the earnestness of his voice. Was it his job as West Block's doctor that made him so fixated on helping others? Or perhaps it was his personality that called him to the profession. You would think with all the work he has to do, it'd be a relief to have someone that wasn't begging him to cure their ills. He's some kind of workaholic.
Shion stared forlornly at a group of people huddled around a trash can fire.
Why is it so important to him? Nezumi felt like he had already had this same thought a million times before. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Do you have any tea at home?"
"Tea?"
"Yeah. For headaches. And sore muscles, too, if you can manage. That couch they had me on was horrendous. Even worse than the one in your room, and that's saying something."
Shion's eyes widened. "Oh! Yeah. I have mint and a little bit of feverfew left over, both of which are great remedies for head and muscle pain."
"Great. How about you make me some when we get back."
"Yeah, sure. I can do that."
Shion appeared to be considerably cheered at the prospect and Nezumi had to increase his pace to keep up with dark-haired teen's springing step.
He's far too easy to please.
As they neared the bunker, a feeling of apprehension revisited Nezumi.
"Is she still there?"
Shion slowed a bit. "No. She isn't."
"What'd you do with her?"
"I found out her father used to be a Disposer, so I brought her to them."
"Don't those guys hate your guts?"
"…Not all of them."
As soon as they were safely inside, Shion went around the room and lit all the lanterns while Nezumi lit the kerosene heater. The room no longer bore any signs of Mayumi's presence. The bed was made and the cups were neatly lined up on the edge of the coffee table next to the pot and kettle. Shion had time to clean up the mess and deliver the child's body to the closest thing she had to kin.
How long was I out for?
Shion instructed him to make himself comfortable on the couch and set immediately to dropping leaves into the kettle to steep.
"The properties in these plants help control the constriction of blood vessels, which relieves the pain and nausea from migraines. If taken regularly, they can significantly reduce the frequency of headaches," Shion explained as they waited for the water to boil.
Nezumi felt like he was watching an advertisement. He wondered if Shion always gave his patients a play-by-play of what he planned to do to and prescribe for them.
The tea was odd tasting. The brightness of the mint sat on top, but then there was a bitter undertone at the end. It tasted very much like an herbal remedy. Nezumi drank it dutifully, while Shion helped himself to his own.
He was in the middle of pouring a second glass when Shion began to make "the face," the one that meant he was preparing to say something, but was unsure of how to do so.
Nezumi straightened and faced him. "Speak. I am bound to hear."
Shion wet his lips. "Safu was telling me—when she came to get me after—she said you were talking about how you needed to get out of here."
Nezumi sniffed. "Oh. Well that's not news, is it? I never volunteered to be here in the first place."
"I know..." Shion's voice got quiet all of a sudden. "Nezumi," he said with soft urgency. "You should go."
Nezumi's heartbeat quickened.
"Don't stay here. If you want to leave, once you're feeling better, pick a time and make a run for it." The uncertainty in Shion's eyes solidified into something fierce, and the light Nezumi saw burning there transfixed him. "I'll cover for you. If you tell me before you leave, I'll make up some excuse to tell Yoming and the others. I can say you're sick and need to be on bed rest. It'll be days before they'll know you're gone, and by then they won't be able to do anything about it." Shion shook his head. "I don't want to hold you here, and Yoming can't make you stay. He's too busy dealing with everything that's coming. Get away while you still can."
The words sounded like a plea as much as a proposition. Nezumi was rooted to the spot. His brain processed every word Shion said, but he was powerless to respond. What were the chances? Someone was finally offering to let him have what he always wanted, completely tax-free with no strings attached. The prospect of freedom was dangling right in front of him, all he had to do was reach out and grab it.
But he couldn't. Not even if he wanted to. The cruelty of it was so sublime he felt like screaming. He laughed instead.
"You think I'm still here because I'm obedient?" He chuckled darkly. "Do I seem like the obedient type to you? Believe me, if I could, I would've been long gone by now, Yoming, and the Resistance, and your aspirations of destroying No. 6 be damned. I couldn't care less about any of it."
Shion looked shocked. There was no other way of putting it. Of course he would be; Nezumi had just dismissed the offer of a lifetime without so much as a second thought.
"I don't understand," Shion said faintly. "Then why haven't you—" The meaning of his words seemed to catch up to him. "What do you mean, 'if I could'? If Yoming or your hatred for No. 6 aren't the reasons you're still here, then what's holding you back?"
Nezumi smirked, but there was no mirth in it.
Ah, yes. There's a clever boy, Shion. Always the one to ask the pertinent questions, the complicated ones, the ones I don't want to answer.
Any other day he would have brushed Shion off with a line about it not being his business, because it wasn't. But what would that do? It wouldn't hurt him or Shion, but they wouldn't get anywhere either. Who was he trying to protect by hiding the truth? Himself? From the embarrassment of having to confess he heard voices, maybe, but that wasn't going to go away by staying quiet about it. Her? It looked like She was going to do whatever the hell She wanted, regardless of what he said or did, so none of it mattered.
He was frustrated; his head hurt; he was hungry, and had been ever since he came to West Block. He was tired. And Shion wanted to help.
"That first day, when I tried to escape," he began haltingly, "I didn't just pass out. I— Something kept me from leaving." It sounded disgustingly stupid when he said it out loud. He clicked his tongue.
"Something?" Shion's face was blank as he repeated the word.
"The voice from my dreams—except I wasn't sleeping. I was conscious, and She told me She needed me to help Her destroy No. 6, and that I wasn't allowed to leave until it was done. If I try, I get knocked out. It sounds really stupid, but that's the truth."
Shion was quiet for a long time and Nezumi spent the entirety of the silence wishing he could be unconscious again.
What possessed me to confess this? I can't remember how I thought this was a good idea.
"That's scary."
Shion's voice was steady. The slight frown that tugged at his lips conveyed his hidden concern, but it was not the type of concern Nezumi was expecting. It was not judgmental, but compassionate.
Nezumi looked away just the same. "Yeah, well… It is what it is. Worrying about it won't help."
His half-filled glass of tea was still sitting on the edge of the table where he placed it before the conversation started. He left it untouched and sat down on the couch. Shion held his own glass in his lap, and he stared down at it as if its contents could provide some answer.