All Alex knew was that his own parents hadn’t come by looking for him, and that he hadn’t gone into Quill to seek them out, either. It was an easy choice. He knew his parents put their full support behind Aaron because Aaron was a Wanted. And they always would’that was just the way Mr. and Mrs. Stowe were. Alex knew better than to expect a happy reunion. Or a reunion at all.

Lani touched Samheed’s arm. “You’ll never know unless you talk to her. It might be okay,” she said. But they all knew that hers was the rare example of things working out okay. Her mother and younger brother, Henry, were now living here in Artimé, while her father, Gunnar Haluki, the former spy and new high priest of Quill, resided in Quill’s palace for the time being to govern, now that the former evil High Priest Justine was dead.

Samheed twisted the toe of his boot in the grass. “You guys don’t understand,” he said. “It’s different for me.”

“Sam, come on. You didn’t have a choice,” Lani said wearily, as if she’d said it more than once before. “And besides, it wasn’t you. It was Mr. Appleblossom.”

“Because of me.”

Lani’s eyes sparked. “If he hadn’t done it, there’d only be three of us standing here right now.”

No one could refute that, so they remained silent.

“Mr. Today?” Samheed asked, looking up. He searched the man’s face for answers.

But Mr. Today had none. “The decision is yours alone,” he said. “I’ll stay with you if you choose to speak with your mother. And if you choose not to, I’ll ask her to leave.”

Samheed gazed out over the lawn to the strip of sand at the shore, thinking, his jaw set. He muttered bitterly under his breath and turned back to seek wisdom once again from the old mage’s eyes. Finally, angrily, he kicked at the ground and shook his head at Mr. Today. “Tell her no.”

Blindly he broke through his circle of friends and headed toward the shore. They watched him go, but no one followed. They knew Samheed well enough by now to let him brood alone.

That Mess Called Quill

Aaron Stowe stepped outside the university into the hot, gray morning and scanned the road toward the palace, the peak of which he could just barely see from this distance. This tallest point of the palace was bent just slightly to one side, almost as if it had to hunch over to fit under the barbed-wire ceiling of Quill, or perhaps it helped hold up this sky border along with the forty-foot-high walls that encircled the land.

Aaron remembered the times he’d spent in the palace as assistant secretary when the High Priest Justine was alive. Only months ago he’d had so much going for him’his highly praised creation of the Favored Farm for the Wanteds, the solution to the poor Quillitary vehicle performance, and the big fix for the water shortage throughout Quill. He’d had vast plans to work his way into senior governor status and someday rule the land. But all his hopes and aspirations were shattered by former Senior Governor Haluki, who had stripped Aaron of his title and all the privileges that went with it, sending him back to university like an ordinary Wanted.

Aaron cursed the name of Artimé and all that belonged to it, for it had opened up so much chaos and insanity into his structured, regulated world. The only good thing was that Haluki was being extremely cautious about making changes, and hadn’t ventured to do much of anything yet. Though, Aaron mused, if Haluki did make a drastic change and Quill rebelled, Aaron might just have the faintest chance at becoming something once again.

He wrinkled up his nose. The smell outside was getting worse every day. Garbage piled up along the streets, and waste of all kinds was not getting buried properly. Quill was turning into a giant cesspool now that half the Necessaries had left their duties here and flocked to Artimé. None of the Wanteds would take over such menial, dirty tasks’that was sure. It was far beneath them. So things sat as they were until the remaining Necessaries could get around to it after their regular tasks were completed. It wouldn’t be long, Aaron knew, before Quill was in real trouble. The only question was how Aaron could capitalize on this latest development now that his glorious leader was dead. He pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering. Wishing. Dear High Priest Justine . . . if you only knew what they’ve done to us. He felt a rare pang in his chest at the memory of her but stifled it immediately knowing full well she’d have condemned anyone for feeling things.

Across the narrow road two men paused in their walk to look at the mess in the ditch. “I went to Haluki yesterday about this,” one said to the other.

“Useless thug.”

“Shh,” the first said, looking over his shoulder. “He’s the high priest.”

“Still,” said the second. “What’s he doing about it? What’s his big solution to this mess? S-s-songing?” He stumbled on the unfamiliar word.

“He suggested we clean it up ourselves,” the first said, picking his teeth with a makeshift toothpick and then tossing it onto the pile of junk. “And milk the cows, too, while we’re at it. Can you imagine that?”

A group of three walkers approached and overheard the conversation. They congregated to offer their complaints as well. “He told me to pick my own corn if I want corn,” one said. “Looked me right in the eye and said it.” The others shook their heads in disbelief.

Just then a group of university boys brushed past Aaron on their way into the building. “Hello,” Aaron said, but the boys ignored him, as everyone had done since the battle. Ever since people found out he’d had a hand in this whole mess. Aaron kept his expression cool. He looked down at the dirt and then he closed his eyes for a moment. With a heavy sigh, he turned and followed them inside.




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