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“Where’d he go?” She unfolded her arms. She stepped forward and came to stand beside Rector, staring into the empty cell right along with him. “If you forced me to give you my best guess, I’d say he had a long nap and woke up feeling better—feeling clearer, and stron
ger. I’d say he pulled off the mask, or his lady friend pulled it off him. He’ll have to eat and drink. One of ’em will take care of it. ”
“You think they’re that smart?”
“I think instinct is an interesting thing, for all the things it can tell a body. What are your instincts telling you, these days?”
He frowned at her. “What?”
“You heard me. What do your instincts say about being here, staying here? You going to hang around the Vaults, or go to the Station? You going to stay inside Seattle, or seek your fortune someplace else?”
“I’m gonna…”
He thought of his small room in the Vaults, not unlike the room he’d had in the orphanage a few weeks before. He considered the Station and Yaozu and Bishop, and Zeke and Houjin, and earning an honest living or a dishonest one, but earning something, somewhere.
“It looks like you folks need a few good men around here. ”
“We do,” she replied too solemnly to imply anything.
“The place is falling apart. Yaozu’s got money, but not as many people as he needs. And those docks—the ones the captain’s setting up at Decatur—he’ll need people to man them. The patch job where the wall’s broke—what’d they use, canvas? That won’t hold anything, and it’ll take a lot of fellows a few weeks to fix it, at least. Never mind all the tunnels falling down and the buildings rotting where they stand, if they still stand. There are jobs in here, that’s all I’m sayin’. And there aren’t any jobs out there, in the Outskirts. Not for someone like me, unless I want to go back to selling. ” He said it offhandedly, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him.
Angeline went ahead and asked. “Do you want to go back to selling?”
Why lie? “Yeah, I do. It’s easy, and everyone’s always happy to see me. ”
“But?”
“But,” he paused. “I can’t handle the sap anymore. That’s not to say I don’t want it, but I know I can’t have it. It’ll kill me. ”
Which didn’t stop him from promising himself, in the back of his head, that next year, on the anniversary of leaving the orphanage, he’d treat himself. On his birthday, he was allowed; that’s what he’d decided. That was the only thing that held his cravings at bay, the prospect that this lull was only temporary and it couldn’t possibly last. He hoped maybe he’d be strong enough, come next birthday, to put off any indulgence until the birthday after that … and then the birthday after that. Each year it might get easier, or it might not.
But for now … for now he needed to think. He needed to figure things out. He’d resolved to survive another year, and he’d need his brain if he wanted to make that work.
So. Yes. Just for now. No more sap. Not until next year.
Next year he’d give it a shot, or he wouldn’t. Next year he’d start seeing ghosts again, or they’d leave him alone. Next year, maybe he’d have a better idea of what he wanted, or where he wanted to be, and what he wanted to do.
But for now …
Epilogue
Mercy Lynch adjusted the electric lantern, propping it atop a stack of weathered, damp-swollen books. The light burned brightly across the desk in her office, in her clinic, in her city; it spilled across her hands, and it cast weird shadows across the woman who stood behind her, overseeing her progress.
Mercy frowned at the paper and tapped her pen’s nib into the inkwell. “Miss Angeline, how do you spell your name? I’ve got the first part, but I don’t know about your daddy’s. ”
“You could just spell it ‘Seattle’ if you want to. ”
“I’d rather do it right. ”
Angeline smiled, and patted the younger woman’s shoulder. “You don’t have the letters for it, not in English. But when I write it down for white folks, I do it like this…” she said, taking a pencil nub and scratching Sealth on the nearest scrap of unused paper. “And that’s close enough. ”
“Thank you, ma’am. That’ll work just fine. And thank you for keeping an eye on that redheaded boy. ”
“Somebody had to do it. ”
“I’m glad it was you. You’re a good reporter, and now that we’ve got all these notes between us, I’m getting a picture of what sap withdrawal looks like. After a fashion. ”
“You really didn’t think the boy would make it, did you?”
