Blood Ties (4 page)

“Of what use is a ruler,” I countered, “who isn't willing to make the hard decisions even if it might put people's noses out of joint?”

Page stopped and studied me for a moment. “Have you no sense of history at all?”

“Very little. The past is past, and there's really nothing you can do about it.”

“You can prevent it from becoming the future,” she said. “The fact was that, early in his reign, Logan was a fairly reasonable sort. But then he started making certain decisions that favored industry, and before you knew it, he was in Reaver's pocket and endorsing child labor and eventually just slaughtering anyone who stood in his way or offered any manner of opposition. And those early decisions, Finn? They were the exact same kinds of decisions that our new and supposedly far more benevolent leader made. The exact same. The fact is, Finn, that when you've been touched by great darkness—as we both know has been the case with our beloved ruler—there's no going back. It's impossible to determine when it will assert itself once more. So if you don't think that our new ruler could easily head down the same path and wind up the exact same way as our old one, then you are sadly mistaken.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” I said. “I was there early on in the quest that brought our ruler to the throne. I saw the heroism close-up.”

“Yes.” And Page nodded as if I had just proven her point. “And because of that closeness, you developed a loyalty. Loyalty is commendable, up to a point. Unfortunately, it can also blind you to what people are becoming and makes you useless in making sure that their actions don't lead to disastrous consequences. You become insulated, a part of the bubble. I can't afford to let that happen, Finn. I have to remain on the outside, a watchdog on behalf of the people. I know the potential of what can happen because I've seen what happened before, and I'm not going to allow others to suffer for it because I let down my guard.”

“Even if others don't agree with you? I mean”—and I gestured around the room—“obviously they don't. You're the only one here. The last member of the Resistance.”

“They'll be back.” She sounded confident. “If and when things start to deteriorate, trust me, they'll be back.”

“You do allow for an ‘if,' I see.”

“Well of course. I mean, come on, Finn, do you think . . . ?”

“Do I think what?”

She looked away from me then. It seemed more like she was talking to herself than to me. “Don't you think I wouldn't like to be wrong? Don't you think I wish that Bowerstone and Albion and all the lands beyond get to be all peaches and cream, and people like Reaver wind up left in the dust as we march along a path to a happier and brighter future? I would love that.”

“Would you?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Because,” I said more sharply than I should have, “then you won't feel like you're needed so much. I think you'd rather be right and miserable than wrong and happy.”

Another woman might have been taken aback at the accusation. Page just stared, then shrugged. “Maybe that's true. I don't know. I guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?”

There was something in the way she said “we” that caught my attention. We had become friends immediately and always danced delicately around the prospect of being more than that. But now . . . ?

“Actually, I'm going,” I said. It burst out of me rather more than I would have liked, but there it was nevertheless. “So I'm not sure how much of a ‘we' there is since I am, in fact, going. As I said.”

“As you said,” she echoed. No one played her cards quite as close to the vest as Page did. “May I ask why?”

“It's just . . . it's time,” I said. “Despite whatever you may think, despite whatever outside vigilance you feel needs to be maintained against our ruler, just because you didn't like some of the decisions that were made—”

“It's more complicated than that.”

“I'm sure it is. Anyway, I came to Bowerstone with a purpose, and that purpose has been served. So I just think that it's best if I go elsewhere now.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“All right. Well, then”—and she shrugged as if the announcement of my decision meant nothing to her—which, for all I knew, it didn't—“safe journey, then. Do you know where you're going?”

“I'm keeping my options open.”

“How about home? Certainly it's been a while since you last visited with friends and family.”

“Home.” I laughed bitterly. “You obviously don't know Gunk.”

“Gunk?” Page clearly had no idea what I was talking about. “You mean, like . . . the crud that gathers in the corners of your eyes while you sleep . . . ?”

“No, that's the city where I was born.”

“You're joking.”

“I'm serious. Well . . . calling it a ‘city' might be kind of joking. Town. Village. Hamlet, actually, and even that might be kind of generous. It's somewhere east of Brightwood.”

“And it was actually called Gunk?”

“If we're going to be strictly accurate and aboveboard and all, I have to admit that that wasn't its actual name. But that's what my brothers and I called it.”

“Aha, so there,” said Page. “See? You have brothers. You can go and visit them.”

“No, I don't have brothers.”

“But you just said . . .”

“I have none. I had three. Three older brothers.” I sounded rather conversational about it. It was not without effort, for even though it was quite some time ago, the recollections were still like an open wound for me. “My eldest brother, Jason, was killed in a duel with an irate farmer, who also happened to be the husband of Jason's last sexual conquest.” Those circumstances resonated particularly strongly for me when I considered my own activities earlier that day. “The duel was fought using pitchforks, and my brother, who had never done an honest day's work in his life, made the fatal mistake of holding the farming tool the wrong way round.

“Then there was the second eldest, William. For whatever reason, even though he wasn't the closest to me in age, William was the one who I always felt the greatest kinship to. I got much of my sense of humor from him, and when I was reluctant to join in the family tradition of earning money through scams and bilking, William was the one most inclined to support my decision instead of calling me ‘weak' or ‘gutless.' I preferred the prospect of being a street performer, you see. Having people give me their money willingly in compensation for my efforts to entertain them, at all of eleven years old. Of course, as the audiences would gather, laughing heartily at my jokes, my brothers would work the crowd and relieve them of their purses and valuables without their knowledge.”

“Anyway, shortly after Jason wound up on the business end of a farming implement, William was arrested for trying to run a con game on the wrong person: a passing plainclothes town's guard. He was taken to Bowerstone and was never heard of again.”

“Finn, I'm so sorry,” she said softly.

“But wait, there's more!” I said with far more exuberance than I should have displayed, as if this was something that was genuinely a good thing. “There was my big brother, Quentin, who contrived to accumulate enough gambling debts to have a price put on his head. Quentin's death I remember most clearly of all, because I got to see it with my own two eyes. When the assassins and bounty hunters came to collect his suddenly valuable head, I did what I could to protect him. But no matter how accurate the shots from my rifle, nothing could change the fact that I was shooting peas instead of bullets. I had not yet been able to afford a real weapon, you see,” I continued when I saw the question in her eyes. “My brothers had instead gotten me a pellet gun because they'd discovered my knack for shooting with nearly supernatural accuracy. They set up a booth at the local fair in which they challenged all comers to pit their targetpractice skills against me. Me, who was scarcely out of short pants. I must have seemed easy pickings, but, obviously, I was not. Once we got done fleecing all the local clods, we soon had to rely on traders, passersby, and occasional tours of neighboring villages, out of which we would more often than not be run by the authorities.

“While my accomplices spent or gambled most of their earnings, I saved every gold coin I could to fulfill my burning ambition of exploring Albion one day and becoming a great adventurer, such as the ones whose stories I read in two-penny pamphlets and thirdhand storybooks. Every day and every night, Page, I dreamt of getting out of that damned place. So why in the name of any of the gods would I go back there, especially with such wonderful memories attached to it?”

“And . . .” She hesitated to ask. “And what of your parents?”

“My poor, shop-keeping parents? Tell me, Page: What do you think the fates of their three eldest wound up doing to them?”

She didn't answer. She didn't have to. I knew, and she more or less obviously figured it out.

Instead, she stared at me, her gaze fixed upon me, and she said, “You never told me any of this before. You've always been vague about your life. Why?”

“Because I didn't want you looking at me the way you are now, with that sort of oblique pity.”

“It's not pity. I mean, I feel bad for you, but—”

I put up a hand and waved her off. “Don't. All right? Just . . . don't.”

“Okay.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Whatever you say. So if you're going to go, then go. You have to do what's best for yourself.”

“And so do you,” I said. “Why not come with me?”

The edges of her mouth turned upward ever so slightly. “Is that an example of the sense of humor you displayed on the streets of Gunk?”

“I'm completely serious,” I said.

“Is that why you came here? To ask me to join you in wandering aimlessly around Albion?”

“You say that like it's a bad thing. Truthfully, I came here because I didn't want to just disappear without telling you that I was leaving. But now I see you here, by yourself, without any true mission or purpose no matter how much you might claim otherwise, and all I can think is that it's an utter waste of potential. Come with me.” And I was truly warming to the idea. “We would make a great team. We already
have
made a great team. You and I, exploring, adventuring. No cares or responsibilities beyond a dedication to accomplishing great and amazing things. And if things here in Bowerstone deteriorate for some reason, you can always come back here and pick up where you left off.”

“Or,” she said, “I could stay here and continue to monitor the situation in order to try to prevent things from deteriorating to an unmanageable degree.”

“And what's your endgame?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, how long does this go on? Do you just stay down here in the sewers, watching, waiting, monitoring the world with constant suspicion until you grow old and die?”

“Let's hope not,” she said. “But if that's what is required, then that's what shall be.”

I studied her, and it was as if there was a shroud upon her. Not a real one, of course, but one that she had draped over herself so that no one in the world could see beneath it to the real her, whatever that might be. “What happened in your life,” I said, “that made it so that you feel you are utterly undeserving of happiness?”

She laughed at that. “And is that what wandering about Albion with you would amount to, Finn? Is that what you define as happiness?”

“I don't know, but I sure as hell don't think that sitting around in a sewer all your life is. Look . . . I told you about my past just now, but you've shared nothing of yours. Tell me what's going on. Tell me why it has to be this way.”

“It doesn't have to be. But it is. It is what it is.” She patted me on the shoulder as if I were an obedient puppy. “On your way with you, Finn. If you encounter some sort of emergency that requires my aid, well . . . you know where to find me. Beyond that, enjoy your adventures. And when you tire of them and want to return to serving a cause, feel free to rejoin mine.”

“I appreciate the offer,” I said. The moment seemed to call for a hug or even a kiss; instead she turned her back to me and focused all her attention on the map spread out before her. “And in return, I offer—”

“Trust me, Finn: There's nothing you can offer me.” She didn't even look back at me. I suspected at that point that there was nothing on the map of such overwhelming interest that it required her entire focus. She just didn't want to look at me.

“You know what I think?” I said, unable to restrain myself. “I think that you like hiding down here so that you don't have to face the world.”

“And what I think,” she replied, her voice devoid of any trace of emotion, “is that you have strong feelings for me. Feelings beyond simply that of friend or ally.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“Is it? Then why come here at all to tell me of your departure? Your invitation to join you wasn't simply some last-minute impulse. It was the entire reason for your returning to me. You're torn, Finn. You're fleeing Bowerstone because you do not wish to stay here with me, yet you desire that I join you because you cannot bear to leave me behind.”

“My, my,” I said. “Your ego is so massive, it's astounding you don't snap your neck just trying to lift your head in the morning. Believe me, Page: Where I go and what I do have absolutely nothing to do with you. Now if you'll excuse me, there's a whole wide world out there calling to me, and right now I have to tell you that the main attraction it presents is that you're not going to be there. Oh, and one other thing—”