Take flight, p.21
Take Flight, page 21
“For instance, do different foods provoke a response?” continued Hopkins. “We’ll need to try every type of alcoholic beverage. That’s always an amusing set of tests. At least two of the team will drink with you . . . for control purposes. What else? Oh, various medications, just to make sure that an aspirin won’t make you explode. And of course, there’s always the question of how you react to different stimuli. Temperature, humidity, fear, exhaustion, hunger, sexual stimulation . . . don’t worry, we let you take care of that one yourself!” he said hurriedly, having caught Lyn’s horrified look. “But we will need to monitor the process. Ignorance is dangerous. And besides, you can’t have sex until we’ve signed off that it will be safe.”
After the celebration cake was devoured down to the crumbs, Lyn was told she had an appointment with Pawn Blom. She hadn’t seen him once in the two months since she had begun her assessment and training. Evidently, the Checquy wanted her to focus on the vital task at hand. Now that she had passed her tests, however, it was apparently time for the next stage in her education.
“Dr. Allard and her team have given you clearance to become a fully enrolled student here at the Estate,” said Pawn Blom.
“What was I before?” asked Lyn suspiciously.
“Legally, you were just a ward of the Checquy,” said the Pawn.
“I was getting paid that much just to be a ward?” Her paycheck was pretty damn extraordinary.
“Yes. But now you will be formally enrolled in the school, which brings a commensurate change in status, additional pay, and new responsibilities.”
“Like what?”
“You can now be summoned to active Checquy duty immediately, working under the Official Secrets Act, the Unofficial Secrets Act, the Secret Officials Act, and the Official Acting Unofficial Secret Officials Act.”
“So I could get the call right now to go do . . . what? Fight monsters?”
“Yes, theoretically,” said Blom. “Although that’s unlikely at this stage, especially given your combat skills.” He sniffed. “Early evaluation has stated that you are fighting at a beginner level. Your physical trainer is designing a regimen for you suited to your temperament and abilities, but we’ve already enrolled you in the basic kindergarten-level martial arts class.”
“I’m learning how to fight kindergarteners?”
“You’ll be learning, with kindergarteners, how to fight,” corrected Blom meticulously. “Although I believe there is a specialized course in how to fight very short people. Your academic adviser will work with you to plan a course of study beyond the core curriculum. Your career adviser will sit you down to talk about possible paths within the Checquy.” He continued down his list.
“I expect that since you’re coming from civilian life, you won’t need a sociability coach to prepare you for interactions with normal people. Your financial planner will assist you with money-management strategies. Your therapist will have a consultation with you. The chaplain will have tea with you. Oh, and someone will give you a tour of the Estate and show you where your peg is and where the toilets are.”
“So I can move about unsupervised?” asked Lyn eagerly.
“Absolutely,” said Pawn Blom.
“Outstanding.”
So far, her view of the Estate had consisted of her suite, a generally deserted guest gym, the testing building, and the paths between them. She’d heard and seen the other students about, but her schedule and movements had been so curtailed by the need to learn control that she’d really had nothing to do with them. At times, seeing a little girl in the distance suddenly increase the length of her shins to go striding across a playing field like a stilt walker or a teenage boy becoming a dodecahedron of ebony tumbling along a lawn, Lyn had felt a bit embarrassed at the idea of all these children knowing how to control their powers when she couldn’t. The prospect of getting a bit more freedom was very exciting.
“You’ll be moving out of the guest quarters into a dormitory today, and I’ll take you to meet your dorm parent. Then you’ll be introduced to your roommate.”
“Oh, a roommate! Okay . . . there are other adult students here?” Lyn said eagerly. She was definitely looking forward to meeting people who weren’t scientists.
“No, not at the moment,” said Blom. “I believe your assigned roommate is fifteen years old.”
“What?”
“We don’t say ‘What,’ we say ‘Pardon,’” said Blom primly.
“Saying ‘Pardon’ implies that I’m at fault,” retorted Lyn. “A fifteen-year-old?”
“Only seniors get rooms to themselves, and Georgina was the oldest girl who didn’t have a roommate,” said Blom.
“I’m not a senior? Really?”
“No, you only just started. Now, first we need to get you kitted out.”
“Excellent—you would not believe how much I am looking forward to clothes that are not hospital scrubs.”
“Here’s your school tie,” said the quartermaster, a large Scottish man with a shaved head and military bearing. “And, finally, here are your garters,” he said, passing over two strips of elastic tipped with Velcro at either end. “You can get a detention if you’re wearing socks and they’re not pulled up.”
“Right,” said Lyn dryly. “Thanks.”
“Uniform is to be worn every weekday until five o’clock or if you’re doing sports or combat activity. And for chapel on Sundays.”
I can’t believe this is happening. The image of herself in a school uniform had been the most demented thing she’d seen since that one consulting scientist had abruptly departed a meeting by swallowing himself.
“That’s your on-campus uniform taken care of. Normally we’d set you up with a public one as well.” He gestured at a mannequin in a corner that was wearing the most astonishingly ugly outfit, an eye-burning ensemble of purple and orange stripes. Lyn recoiled. “But because of your age, we’ll have to find you something else. If you went out in public wearing that, it’d get more questions than we want. And now let’s pull together your go-kit.”
“And what’s that?”
“It’s a bag you take with you if you’re called out on a mission.” He placed a large duffel on the counter. “Core equipment to serve you for four days out in the field. First, you’ll need five pairs of socks and five pairs of knickers.” He produced what she could only assume were official government-issue underpants. They were spectacularly uninteresting. “Madam Smiling over there will get you fitted for some combat bras, although you can also wear whatever suits you best.”
Lyn watched as he added intimidatingly chunky combat boots, placing them next to her polished leather school shoes. Then there were two sets of dark waterproof coveralls, five sets of beige disposable coveralls, five T-shirts, two pairs of sturdy trousers, a baseball hat, a wide-brimmed sun hat, some disposable booties, two head nets to protect against mosquitoes and midges, a chain-mail head net for other things, a flat box of latex gloves, and a pair of thick leather gloves. Also sunscreen. Insect repellent. Chemical mace (which was, ill advisedly in her opinion, in a package that looked identical to the insect repellent). Safety glasses and a box of disposable respiratory masks. A long oilskin coat with a curious short cape over the shoulders.
“What if something takes more than four days?” she asked curiously.
“If the Checquy is unable to provide you with fresh supplies within four days, then you’ve got worse things to worry about than dirty undies,” he said gravely. He added a toiletries bag containing various articles, including an official Checquy toothbrush (unmarked but with a pointed handle apparently sufficiently hardened to act as a weapon if necessary). He inquired flatly about her preferences regarding menstrual products, then placed a box of tampons in the bag.
“Now, weaponry.” He put a startlingly large machete into the bag and added another that appeared to be made entirely out of wood.
“Why wood?” asked Lyn.
“Sometimes there’s things that can’t be harmed by metal,” said the Scotsman darkly. “Always best to have options.”
“No weapons made of glass?” asked Lyn jokingly.
“We’ve actually got some glass daggers and swords in storage,” he said conversationally. “There was a Pawn back in the early twentieth century who could render glass unbreakable, but it gets a bit tricky if one of the weapons gets lost. We’re supposed to be concealing the impossible, not scattering it about. So we hand them out only if we know we need them specifically.”
“Yeah, right,” said Lyn. She raised her eyebrows when he produced what she recognized as an expandable baton. “My husband has one of these.” She picked it up, startled by its weight.
“Oh, aye? Is he a copper or just, like, a violence freak?”
“No, he’s a policeman,” said Lyn. “And he had to undergo all sorts of training before he was allowed to have one.”
“Yeah.” The quartermaster nodded knowledgeably. “They can do some ugly damage.”
“Yes. So shouldn’t I get some sort of training before you give me this?”
“Well, you’ll be getting training eventually, but you know, you’re not going to be subduing football hooligans who will sue you for police brutality. If ever you need to use this, you’ll be hitting something with it as hard as you bloody well can. It’s not complicated. So it’s a standard part of the kit we give out to everyone here.”
“Everyone? You’re giving weapons to the children?”
“Only those over twelve.” He caught her expression. “Let’s face it, for a lot of these kids, a baton’s a bit of a stepdown in the offensive-capability department. And they know exactly how much trouble they’d get in if they used it for unauthorized purposes.
“These are not your standard children,” he continued. “They’re trained to be professional, honorable, and self-disciplined. Like warriors. So you don’t see a lot of the usual kid behavior. For instance, there’s rarely any bullying. Partly because they all have powers, and partly because they know they’ll be relying on one another in a few years. The person you’re pushing around today may be the person you’ll someday need to pull your arse out of the maw of a giant rat. They understand that, ’cause it’s drilled into them from day one. Anyway, here.” He handed her a thick packet of money. “Count this, and sign for it.”
Lyn counted it, twice, and looked up in amazement. “Two thousand pounds!”
“Yeah, and we’ve got the serial numbers listed, so don’t get any amusing ideas about dipping into it for coffee money when you leave the island. They do a random check at least once a year.”
“This is for my go-kit? Why would I need this when I’m out in the field?”
“You realize that when we say ‘out in the field,’ it’s not necessarily an actual field? You get deployed everywhere—little towns, big cities, forests, fens. Money can be an important tool—it’ll solve almost as many problems as a machete and with a lot less mess. Just make sure you get a receipt for everything.”
“What are these playing cards for?” Lyn asked. The quartermaster had placed a small shrink-wrapped deck on the top of the bag. “Tarot?”
“Nah. It can get dull, even at manifestations. There can be a lot of downtime between the fountains of bats and the clouds of bile.”
“Georgina, this is Mrs. Lynette Binns, your new roommate.”
“Please, call me Lyn.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Lyn. Welcome.”
“Thank you.”
Georgina Rackham was the most professional-looking fifteen-year-old Lyn had ever seen. Her posture was ramrod straight, and she was immaculately turned out. Her school uniform was ironed to within an inch of its life. Her red blazer gave no sign of ever having been worn before that day, and her gray skirt hung as straight as if little lead weights had been sewn into the hem. It was like a schoolgirl outfit that a marine drill sergeant might prepare for going into a highly unorthodox war zone. Her chestnut hair was braided with mathematical precision. Her shoes were polished to a mirror shine. She was actually standing at attention. She had the kind of poise that one got from either growing up with money or knowing exactly how to kill everyone in the room.
Hell, it could be both, thought Lyn. The kid had probably been making more money every year since she was born than Lyn or her husband made annually in their grown-up jobs. And, God, what’s her power? Is it considered rude to ask? Am I going to be sharing a room with a girl who might turn me into a pangolin if she gets irritated?
“Well, I shall leave you two to get to know each other while Lyn unpacks,” said the dorm parent, a slim lady who was a couple of years younger than Lyn. “Georgina, you’ll take her to the dining hall at dinnertime, yes?”
“Of course, Mrs. Chu.”
Mrs. Chu nodded approvingly and shut the door. Lyn and Georgina stared at each other.
“Well, this is unbelievably weird,” said Lyn.
Georgina shrugged a reassuringly teenager-ish shrug. “I assumed that I would be getting a roommate at some point. I just didn’t think that it would be someone who was—how old are you?”
“Thirty-five,” said Lyn.
“Yes, I did not expect that. Anyway, that’s your bed, I made it up for you.”
“Thank you, that was very kind of you.” The bed had been made military-style, which was not something one normally saw done with a plump flowered duvet, but Georgina had somehow managed to force it into hospital corners.
“That’s your desk, and that’s your wardrobe. We share a bathroom, but it’s just the two of us.”
“Thank God,” said Lyn, who had endured communal bathrooms for a sizable portion of her youth and had sworn never to do so again, an oath she took just as seriously as her marriage vows. Plus, the prospect of daily showering with a bunch of teenage girls was just too hideous for words.
The room itself was cozier than she had anticipated, with none of the antiseptic institutional features she had dreaded. Rather than easily moppable linoleum, the floor was covered in a plush dark red carpet. The walls were freshly painted, and the handsome furniture looked as if it hadn’t weathered the depredations of too many generations of students. There were curtains at the windows, and those windows were unbarred and could actually be opened, so a sweet sea breeze was coming in.
All in all, it was very cozy, although nowhere near the hotel-like luxury of the suite she’d been occupying for the past two months. It was clear that Georgina had hurriedly cleared half the room of her possessions—there were still marks on the walls where posters had been taken down, and some piles of books on Georgina’s bookshelf weren’t quite as orderly as the others.
Lyn looked curiously at the girl’s side of the room. The desk was very tidy, with no computer, and paper notebooks were stacked on one side. (Lyn had been advised that the Estate placed a heavy emphasis on writing by hand.) One of the notebooks was open, and she noticed that Georgina had that day attended a lecture on the poet Keats and taken exquisite, meticulous notes.
Above the bed was the sort of taped-up collage of photos, posters, prints, and postcards that seems to grow across the wall like a ruffled coral reef. There were pictures of Georgina with other girls in Checquy uniforms, one of her running in some sort of school track event, and a couple of her in a formal dress and a fancy hairstyle on the arm of a nervous-looking and very skinny boy in a tuxedo. These were interspersed with pictures of actors Lyn recognized and musicians whose music she supposed she might vaguely know but whose faces she could not have picked out of a lineup. A battered-looking teddy bear sat on the bed, leaning against the pillow. On the bookshelves was a mix of textbooks, novels, and some magazines.
“How do you get possessions?” asked Lyn. “Do we get to go shopping?”
“Sometimes we do field trips off the island,” said Georgina. “But we get pocket money every week, and we can ask Mrs. Chu to order us things. We have access to the internet in the computer lab, but it’s read-only. We can’t post things or e-mail people or anything. Not till we graduate. And even then it’s very restricted under the various Secrets Acts.”
“Students, before dinner, I would like you all to meet Mrs. Lynette Binns. Mrs. Binns, if you would stand up, please?” Lyn felt her face flushing as she stood. The dining hall was large, with a high vaulted ceiling of white plaster crisscrossed by dark wooden beams, and filled with many round tables at which were seated the members of the student body of the Estate school, aged seven to nineteen. All of them, along with the faculty sitting along a table on a dais at the end of the room, were now staring at her.
Oh God, I hope my powers don’t activate under tremendous embarrassment. They haven’t tested that one yet.
She put on a smile that felt massively unconvincing and that probably showed too many teeth and looked around. A sea of faces stared back at her curiously. There were no walls of flames at any of the tables, but there were some distinctly odd-looking individuals, including what appeared to be a bear seated on its haunches on the floor so that its eyes were at the level of its dining companions.
“Mrs. Binns is a new student here,” said Frau Blümen, “and she is still learning about the Checquy, so I expect you will all make her feel welcome.” The ensuing deathly silence did not feel particularly welcoming, but Lyn told herself it was because they were all obediently remaining silent. “She will be attending a variety of different classes with different years, so no matter your age, she may be your classmate. Mrs. Binns, would you like to say anything?”
“Oh, yes, thank you, Frau Blümen.”
You don’t have to be afraid of them. You don’t even know if you feel nervous because they have superpowers or because you’re in front of a crowd of a few hundred people.
“First, you don’t have to call me Mrs. Binns, you can just call me Lyn. It’s, um, it’s extremely weird to be back at school.” There were some smiles at that, especially from the younger children. “I expect I’ll get lost a lot, so I’ll probably end up asking some of you for directions to class. What else? Oh, before I came here, I was a librarian in South Shields. I have a husband, Richard, who is a policeman, and I have a daughter, Emma, who is three years old, and she would think you are all amazing. So I’m glad to be here, and I look forward to meeting you and studying with you here, and I guess we’ll eventually be working together out in the world, so, yeah, thank you very much.”
