CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 

 

The bright sign hung above a double glass door, its bold letters bringing attention to an otherwise unnoticeable grocery. Nestled between a fashion boutique and a hardware store, in a street on which shops succeeded one another, Kinsi’s new business had a lot of competition. Henry had glimpsed his old friend through the windows twice, however, chatting with clients as he served them. Here he had a solid line of customers, at last, not a single patron too poor to buy more than handful of instant noodles.

He shouldn’t have come. Ferrea was a ghost town, no longer part of his life. It mattered little how much he longed for a tranquil beer in Paul’s pub. His daily lot consisted of scheming the downfall of the Clarin twins with a mad chemist and a blue engineer. Nothing ordinary there, and he was dying for a pause from all of this clandestine-broadcast and government-overturning nonsense. Seeking out Kinsi might be a mistake, but it was also an opportunity he couldn’t resist.

Henry took a deep breath, crossed the busy street, and pushed through the door. The bell rang but with the constant stream of people going in and out, nobody looked his way. He slipped into the first row, out of the cashiers’ view, and in his haste he bumped into a tall, gaunt man. As he apologized he noticed the pockmarked face. A Plague survivor. Henry wondered if the stranger had heard the broadcast, if he’d follow their radio one day, join them. The other man smiled and wished him a good day in a whispery voice. As he left, Henry allowed himself to slow down and appreciate his surroundings.

This grocery was twice the size of Kinsi’s old one, with a high ceiling and an airy feel to it. Fruits were piled in large baskets, their bright colors dazzling him. No doubt they were fresher than anything Ferrea had offered in the last year. As heartwarming as the stall of glistening cucumbers, carrots, and lettuce was, however, Henry did not linger. He moved to the aisle with instant food and canned soups, where he knew he’d find his trademark meal. Buying anything else wouldn’t feel right. He grabbed an armful and made for the tills. Nervousness had turned his hands into sweaty messes. What if Kinsi wanted nothing to do with him after their fight?

Customers kept Kinsi so busy he didn’t look up until Henry dropped all the noodle packs in a heap on his counter. The grocer’s jaw dropped but no words came out. A flush crept up Henry’s cheeks. He forced a greeting out to break the bizarre tension.

“Hey.”

“Henry!” Kinsi strode around the counter and gave him a tight embrace. Everyone else had their eyes on him now, including Kinsi’s unknown coworkers. Not good. “I’m so glad to see you here, my boy! Tia’s been worried to death since—”

“I know, I’m sorry!” Henry interrupted. The less the grocer spoke of his suspicious disappearance, the better. “Someone visited about my father.”

The smile vanished from Kinsi’s lips and he returned behind his counter without answering. His nose twitched, as it always did when he wrestled strong emotions under control. He grabbed the first pack of noodles and began Henry’s bill.

“It’s Wednesday,” Henry said. “Perhaps I could tell you over a beer?”

“Ah! You’ve always been one for traditions. What will it be when you grow old and bitter?” He began sliding the noodles into a tote bag. “Whatever your old man did, it’d better be good because you sure gave your other family some sleepless nights. That’ll be two-forty-eight.”

Henry bit his lower lip and handed him the money. He’d disappeared into the night without a note of reassurance and hadn’t spared a thought for Kinsi and Tia. Had he learned nothing from a decade of worrying about his father? Lenz had inflicted this treatment upon him and he’d hated it, but in the end he’d done the exact same thing.

“I’m sorry, Kinsi. Really am.”

The grocer gave a non-committal shrug and handed him his change. “There’s a good pub a block down the road. Be there at the usual time.”

“I will,” he promised.

He grabbed his bag and hurried out of the grocery, red-faced and unable to look back. Kinsi was angry at him, rightly so, but Henry needed someone to talk with now who wasn’t a rebel. Andeal’s dangerous universe had closed upon him and created a bubble he had to pop. Soon they’d fly out again, radio in tow, and he wouldn’t speak to anyone innocent for months. Henry used to love solitude but his new responsibility weighed on him. Kinsi had always been there when he needed to vent. He would be again.

In fact, he was already inside the pub by the time Henry walked in that night.

The small establishment had none of Paul’s ambiance. Garish red bench seats lined the walls in half-circles around black metal tables and took up most of the space. Courtball posters covered the walls and a blue-and-white shirt—probably Reverence’s sport team’s colors—hung behind the counter. A few men had clustered around a dartboard on the far end of the room. Two radios, one at each end of the room, played the national broadcast, but the announcer’s drab voice was buried by cheering and the buzz of conversations.

Kinsi had selected an isolated table, far from the dart game. As Henry pushed through the packed crowd he noticed another familiar face. The pockmarked customer he’d bumped into earlier sat stretched on a bench seat, at his ease, with a huge tome propped against his knees. He smiled as their gazes met, then returned to his reading. Despite the city’s ridiculous size, Reverence’s neighborhoods acted much like a small village: if you hung around, you ran into the same folks over and over again.

As long as he didn’t run into any of the Radio Tower’s guards from that night, he should be fine. Henry kept his eyes to the ground as he hurried across the room and plopped down in front of Kinsi.

“Didn’t know you were a courtball fan,” he said.

“I’m not, but their ale is something to behold, the service is quick, and I don’t mind the noise.” The grocer hailed a waitress and ordered two more pints. Then he put a small bag on the table. “Cucumbers.”

Henry didn’t need to ask whose gift this was. He brought the bag close with a smile. “She had room for a garden?”

“She wouldn’t buy a house that didn’t. The tiny yard at my daughter’s almost drove her mad. That’s not something I ever want to see again.” He stopped as the waitress came back with their drinks. Henry’s eyebrows shot up—that’d been quicker than Paul, and they had dozens of others to see to. Kinsi grabbed the handle and drank deep, cleaning half of it in a single shot. “We aren’t here for Tia’s garden love, though.”

“I guess not. It’s a bit of a long story.”

“I’ve got all night.”

In truth, Henry would rather talk of Tia’s garden craze. News from Kinsi’s headstrong wife warmed his heart and made him forget the mess he’d stepped into, if only for a second. Everyday banter was what he’d come for but until he explained himself, he’d have none. He tried to drown the disappointment with fresh ale.

“Did you hear about the radio hijack? The Noodle Show?” he asked.

“Who didn’t? It’s on everyone’s lips, any time there’s no soldier around to hear.” Something seemed to cross Kinsi’s mind. He squinted at Henry. “Did you name it?”

Henry hesitated. Just how much could he entrust Kinsi with? The old grocer was no revolutionary and it wasn’t fair to get him involved.

“These rebels…the guy who knew my father is one of them. He named the show. After me. Lenz had given him something for me before he died, a message they didn’t understand. I left to help them decipher it. I needed to know.”

Kinsi settled back in his seat and studied him with questioning eyes. Under the table, Henry tapped his foot. He tried to remain calm, but a doubtful expression surfaced on the grocer’s face and he knew his story wasn’t enough. Kinsi crossed his arms and spoke in a slow, deliberate manner.

“That does not explain the kicked-in door or the inquisitive Union soldiers that followed, looking for one of their own.”

Henry’s heart sped. The Union did not know a worse liar than him. How could he justify Vermen’s disappearance? He cast a furtive glance about. No one seemed to pay them any heed. He wiped his sweaty forehead, though his arms were just as sticky from the heat. Before he tried to explain, however, Kinsi raised a hand and stopped him.

“Did they force you? Hurt you? Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Is the captain alive?”

“I think so. We never hurt him but the bombs—”

“We…” Kinsi repeated. He leaned forward, more concerned than ever. “Boy, I can tell you stepped into a big fat mess. There’s something healthier about you though, a drive that had died with the Races, so if you tell me you’re in there willingly, I won’t slip a word about it.”

Henry didn’t bother to hide his immense relief. His shoulders relaxed, he downed his ale in one hearty chug, then he bent forward and let his voice fall into a calm whisper. Now that they were talking about it, spilling the rest became easier.

“Father left because he had proof that mom’s death wasn’t natural.”

“She died of the thresties.”

“Exactly.” He paused to let the information sink in. Kinsi rubbed his face but didn’t comment yet. “He’s right, Kinsi, and the rebels have tons of evidence pointing to the same conclusion. That’s what the radio is for.”

“So you’re saying someone created the Threstle Plague.”

“Clarin.”

“He discovered the cure.”

“Yes. Discovered.”

Henry wasn’t good with sarcasm, but Kinsi grunted as he caught the implied meaning. He kept his eyes half-closed, pondering.

“Will you listen to our radio?” Henry asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell others to do the same?”

The grocer’s mouth quirked at the question. “I might.”

“You have to. We think Clarin could have another virus ready. He was testing—”

“Stop, please.” Kinsi slid out of the bench and left a large bill on the table. Henry’s stomach twisted as he understood what it meant. “Be careful out there.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Henry, I’m out of my depth here. I’ll keep your secrets and follow your radio, but the soldiers have got your name and it seems to me that every minute in your company puts the rest of my family in danger. If you’re ever out of options you can come and I’ll help, but otherwise this business ain’t mine, and I’d rather be kept out of it.”

Words flitted through Henry’s head as he searched for a way to convince Kinsi to stay and chat, but everything he came up with sounded false and self-serving to him and, in truth, it was. He’d sought only to fulfill his needs by coming here and hadn’t even thought of the danger he put Kinsi in.

“I’m sorry,” he said as his foster father turned to leave.

“Don’t. At least we know you’re alive…for now.”

The grocer slipped into the crowd and disappeared from view. Henry slumped against his seat and tried to ignore the growing lump at the bottom of his stomach. He’d needed to escape the entrapping knowledge and fake, just this once, that he knew nothing of the Clarin brothers’ evils. He couldn’t. There would be no release—not until everyone knew.