I thought of how, as a Provost’s son, everything had been done for Nate since he was born.
“Huh,” I said thoughtfully, putting one finger to my chin. “Wouldn’t he have to, you know, have any kind of skill for that?”
Nate’s face flushed, but he had no comeback.
“Two years,” the Loner warned us. “This plan has been in play for two years. Don’t tell me that Strepp sent me a couple of clowns.”
I glared. Two years? That meant the Loner had no intention of keeping Nate away from me—was yesterday some kind of test? He wanted to see how I’d react at being separated from my squad? I’ve had enough stupid mind games. “Okay,” I said. “Give us the brief.”
The Loner did, turning on the bank of large monitors that surrounded his desk. We saw several bird’s-eye maps of the President’s palace, and then a schematic map of each floor: four floors in all, and then a basement below.
“Memorize these,” the Loner said. “I’ve heard there’s been some remodeling of some areas, some redecoration. I haven’t been able to have that confirmed. But until you get inside to assess, this is the best we have to go on.”
We nodded.
“Once you’re there, Nate, you’ll report to Mal in the kitchen,” the Loner said. “He’ll show you what to do.”
“Washing dishes,” Nate said dully.
“Yes,” the Loner said, then turned to me.
“You’re starting as an undermaid, which is basically maid backup. You’ll do whatever they ask you to do.”
Nate snorted and I tried to change the mulish expression on my face.
“This will be great,” Nate said. “I’m sure that’ll come naturally to her.”
The Loner looked at us seriously. “You will do as you’re told,” he said. “You will not give away your identities or the fact that you’re on a mission. If you should be captured or found out, no one will admit to knowing you. No one will be able to come to your aid. Do you understand?”
I understand that I’m being screwed, I thought sourly, but said, “Yeah, I understand.”
“Nate?” the Loner prompted.
Nate didn’t look any more thrilled than I did, but he nodded. “Yeah. I got it.”
“Good. Okay. You guys get changed,” said the Loner. “And we’ll go to the palace.” With a flourish of the cape that mostly disguised his back deformity, he swept out, tall and thin like a stork.
“You know, I can’t call him ‘Loner’ anymore,” I told Nate. “He needs a new name.” I thought for a minute, then smiled evilly. “Blondie McMystery Man. It has a certain ring to it.”
“Fine,” Nate said. “But can you see me taking on the kitchen staff, armed only with a rolling pin and a sink of hot water?”
“I’ll be armed with a feather duster,” I pointed out, then mused, “Actually, I can think of seven different ways to kill someone with a feather duster.”
Nate looked at me. “You’re kind of scary and bloodthirsty,” he said. “I like that about you.”
I rolled my eyes and picked up the maid’s uniform. “Only ‘kind of’? I must be slipping.” But I thought of his words over and over—was Nate flirting with me?
84
“YOU ARE SHITTING ME,” I repeated, staring at the… palace that the President lived in. Sure, I’d seen pictures and floor layouts, but this was far, far beyond anything I’d imagined. It was enormous, taller than the United Bank and United Insurance buildings at home combined, and it went on and on, taking up a whole city block. The land around it wasn’t divvied up into neat rows of vegetables for the family’s use. There was no thought here of making every square foot count. For at least an acre in every direction it was lush, fragrant flower gardens. The precise symmetrical beds were lined with narrow paths of pale crushed stone. The tall iron front gates were wide enough to drive a farm combine through, and the drive itself was laid brick. Even the Provost back home had to make do with rutted concrete.
“I’ve tried to blow it up any number of times,” Blondie McMystery Man said wistfully, breaking into our stunned silence. “But it’s impregnable, even from above.”
I couldn’t respond. The President of the United and his family lived here—thanks to us, all the rest of the people. Cellfolk like me, Cassie, Tim and even Nate, provided everything these people ate, wore, drove, sat on… They were like fairy tale royalty. I thought back to the worn clothes Cassie and I had shared, the ancient radio in the kitchen where Ma had listened to Cell News. I thought about our dinky moped, our beat-up truck.
Looking at the pruned cherry trees, the carefully trained apple trees growing between windows, I thought of my mom, who had loved beautiful things. Her need for beauty had clashed so strongly with the reality of our lives in the cell that eventually she had been taken away for a mood-adjust. And had never come back.
/> Five years later Pa had killed himself, though it had been months between the poorly aimed rifle shot and his last breath.