Aaron glanced over his shoulder even though he knew no one was in the house. It was more out of habit, or perhaps because he knew he was doing something terribly against the law. Just being here made him worthy of a life in jail . . . or worse.
But he also felt strangely confident about not getting caught. It was clear from looking around that the Halukis had closed up the house as if leaving permanently’which rarely happened in the past before Artimé, except when the last of a family had been sent to the Ancients Sector. And even then, there was another family eagerly waiting to move in. But now with people vacating daily and moving to Artimé, and with all the added confusion in Quill these days, Aaron felt that if he were careful to come and go through the back door and limit his outdoor movement to after dark, he could get away with living here for quite some time.
He took a handful of peanuts and ate them as he surveyed his new living quarters. The kitchen and gathering space was twice as large as the entire home Aaron’s parents lived in. There was a table with four sturdy chairs, and a sofa and two lounge chairs in the gathering area with soft cushions. Who needs so many chairs? he wondered as he tested them out. A family of four needs four chairs at most. Aaron furrowed his brow at the waste.
He wondered about all the homes that stood empty now in the Necessary quadrants. “All those extra furniture items just sitting there,” he mused. “Beds, chairs, nonperishables, cooking equipment, waste-burying shovels . . .” Aaron moved through the house, noticing all the unnecessary things that the Halukis had, and he burned with anger once more.
“High Priest Haluki,” Aaron said matter-of-factly, “one day you will beg me for your life.” He moved down the short hallway. “And I will not give it back to you.” He paused, a little surprised by the cold words that had just come out of his mouth. But he cleared his head and continued on, entering a closed room that contained a desk and a large double-door closet. Aaron peered at the desk, noting a few books and papers. He stepped behind it to the closet and put his hands on the doorknobs.
When he pulled them open wide, he could only stare at the contents, completely baffled. His forehead wrinkled as he puzzled over the giant glass cylinder before him. He reached out tentatively to touch its surface, murmuring, “What in the name of Quill is this?”
A Skirmish
Coming toward the gate’everyone in Artimé still called it “the gate” out of habit even though the gate was no longer there’were two hulking, serious types from Quill. “Fresh out of the university?” Arija guessed to Tina, one of her companion girrinos, as the young men approached.
“Not wearing Quillitary garb, no book bags, a bit tired around the eyes but pale . . . ,” Tina murmured. “Definitely indoor workers. Not old enough to have children in here, though.” She and Arija stood, snorting a few times for effect.
The two stepped closer uneasily. “We’re here to see our brothers,” one said.
“What are your names?” Tina asked politely enough.
“Dred Crandall,” said the taller one.
“Crawledge Prize,” said the other, whose hair curled around his ears and dripped with sweat.
“And you’re here to see . . . ?” Arija was skeptical. Crandall and Prize? They had the same last names as two of the governors. As far as she knew, the Halukis were the only governor’s family here. But Arija certainly didn’t know everyone in Artimé.
“Our brothers,” Crandall said again, impatiently this time. He scratched a small scab on his neck.
Arija and Tina stood aside. “Do you know where to find them?”
“We’ll find them,” Prize said. He and Crandall passed through the opening and strode quickly to the footpath, looking a bit startled by the bright colors as they gazed left and right at the people milling around munching on breakfast pastries and strolling across the grass.
“Keep an eye on them,” Arija said to the other two girrinos, whose names were Opal and Penelope. “Be ready to call for help if necessary.”
Moments later, angry shouts rang out from the lawn near the mansion. Crandall and Prize had approached a group of Necessaries and were attempting to yank two of them away.
“Come on,” Prize said, trying to get the Necessary to be quiet. “Your little vacation is over. You are required in Quadrant One.”
“No! Stop! Help me!” the Necessary shouted, catching the attention of two teachers, Mr. Appleblossom and Ms. Claire Morning, who were enjoying a rather spirited discussion of musicals versus plays nearby.
Mr. Appleblossom bounded over and Ms. Morning kept up easily with her long strides.
“What’s going on?” Ms. Morning asked, her normally kind voice quite curt this morning.
The Necessary tried to yank his arm away. “They’re trying to force us back to work in Quill,” he said, breathless.
“They have duties,” said Crandall. He glared at the two teachers, who looked fairly harmless to him. He took a better grip of the arm he was holding and turned toward the gate. “Come on,” he growled.
Mr. Appleblossom spoke up. “Your pompousness and attitude is boor. Now kindly take yourselves right out the door.”
Prize stared at the theater instructor. “What?” he asked, for Mr. Appleblossom’s manner of speaking in rhyme took some getting used to.
“Out and out! Away, away, away! Do not return again another day!” Mr. Appleblossom gestured impatiently toward the gate and even stomped his foot.