AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Finlay doesn’t skip a beat. He doesn’t even seem surprised. “But she’s the bestsellin’ author in the country, ye must be stockin’ her.”
“We don’t,” the man repeats shortly.
“How no’?”
The man doesn’t answer, instead returning to scan the books.
“How?”
“Look, we’ve given our apologies to the student newspaper and have already spoken at length about this.”
Finlay gives the man a perplexed smile. Rory watches the interaction intently over his copy ofBrave New World. “Aye, fine, but ye huvnae spoken taemeabout it, and I’m the one askin’. I’m no’ fae the papers. I’m just an ordinary bloke wantin’ tae buy some o’ Tilda Raleigh’s squirrel books.”
“Whatdoes Tilda Raleigh write?” I ask Rory, mystified by Finlay’s comment. Rory snaps his copy ofBrave New Worldshut and places it back down on a stack of books self-aware enough to still be markedDystopian Fiction.
“She’s a kids’ author — writes about a family of squirrels living in a big treehouse. It’s very popular reading material among the five-to-eights.”
I blink, baffled that an author who writes about anthropomorphic squirrels has been on the receiving end of a campaign of mass censorship. At the very least, I’d been expecting an entire catalog of searing sociopolitical takedowns.
The bookseller places both hands on his desk as if to intimidate Finlay. Finlay doesn’t even blink.
“We stocked her work before we were made aware of her damaging, royalist views,” the bookseller says, so blandly it sounds rehearsed, but it doesn’t stop my jaw from swinging open.
“She writes books aboutsquirrels!” I snap, utterly taken aback, and the bookseller flicks his dispassionate gaze in my direction.
“This shop doesn’t stand for hatred. If you’re here to cause trouble, I’ll call security on you.” He snatches the phone receiver from beside him in a pointed manner, staring irately at the three of us.
“All hail King James, aye?” Finlay sneers in a mocking tone. “Repeat the mantras and report the non-believers. Pathetic!”
He storms out of the store, his kilt fluttering behind him. Rory and I follow after him, which takes a while because Finlay’s pace seems to double in time with his rage. But the studs on his jacket shimmer brightly in the low-lying sun, guiding us to him, and eventually Finlay stops, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
“Just… where d’ye draw the line wi’ this crap? Cannae even buy a book. Shop thinks it knows best — it’s patronizing shite, that’s whit it is.”
“They’re idiots,” Rory says shortly. “Can’t let students read banned material. Can’t let them think for themselves. Thinking, after all, can lead to wrongthink.”
“I swear tae God, this whole thing is the mad dystopian power fantasy o’ some creepy wee control freak.”
“That’s a nice bunch of words to sum up Benji,” I say.
Rory scoffs. “King James, if you please. His ego’s so vast he thinks he’s the first King James, too, and that he doesn’t require regnal numbers.”
It turns out that Finlay’s stormed so far across the grounds that we’ve ended up back at the stalls. As we pass the stall that sells custom tees, I stop in my tracks.
“I’m going to make a shirt,” I murmur, and Finlay and Rory watch me with interest. As there are fewer people here now, no one seems to be operating the stall. Thankfully the system seems simple enough to figure out. Into a primitive computer, I type the words I want printed across the shirt and, after a few minutes, watch the printing press stamp my creation onto a plain white tee.
I hold up the white shirt to inspect it then turn it over for Rory and Finlay.
In a bold black typeface, the shirt readsTHOUGHT CRIMINAL.
“Nice,” Rory says approvingly. As I’m pulling out my coin purse, Rory tosses a twenty-pound note onto the table like it’s lint from his pocket.
I shake my head. “I can pay.”
“Don’t bother,” Rory remarks lightly before strolling off into the distance, leaving Finlay and me to gaze after him.Rich jerk, I think to myself.
With an unimpressed harrumph, I pull my new shirt on top of my old one and flatten it down my body.
Finlay’s eyes roam across the words on my chest. “Well, if this isnae the sexiest I’ve seen ye, sassenach…”
“I should hope not,” I say, having stripped and teased and danced naked for them in the past, and Finlay gives a loud bark of laughter as we catch up to Rory.
“Whit can I say? I like my lassies strong in mind as well as body.”
Rory’s gaze is fixed in the middle distance, past the stone pillars and into the university quadrangle. Already, students gathering with banners — black banners with the red Antiro symbol. There’s no sign of Jonie or any of her friends. It’s still early, but with the initial presence of so many Antiro supporters, I wonder if it will make her think otherwise about turning up.
“I’m sick of this,” Rory murmurs suddenly. “I’m absolutely fucking sick of Benjamin Moncrieff ruining my day.” His gaze turns conspiratorial as it flicks between me and Finlay, and he takes both our hands in his. Finlay looks pleasantly surprised by the gesture. “Let’s get out of here, yeah? Let’s blow off some steam.”
