Shadow Road: Book 1 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy

41. Warring's Daughter

11th of Nema, Continued

The Director's office was spacious, with a desk in a large curve of windows overlooking a beautifully manicured garden. There wasn't time to admire the view, however. The Doctor, NaVarre and I walked in, and the Director immediately closed the door behind us, locking it before turning to face the three of us, his expression serious. "They've stopped putting food in the cargo bins."

NaVarre let out a breath and moved to stand near the desk.

I wasn't sure quite what I was supposed to do, or where I should be, so I eased into the corner nearest the door.

"That's not the worst of it," the Director continued, addressing NaVarre. "The last several groups we took were obviously starving when they were loaded into the bins. We only saved ten out of the last bunch. The others are old – too old to have been sold on the Blocks, far older than the Coventry's normal fare. Three are miners with Salt Lung. One is a retired foot soldier with terminal Li-Padh disease, another lost two limbs and half his face to an incendiary in the war. Four are street women addicted to Whitecloud."

"I think it was deliberate. I think they filled those last bins with the sick and dying so we would have nothing but graves to dig," the Doctor said quietly, settling into one of the armchairs in front of the desk.

The Director nodded. "The message seems clear enough. They know about the Opposition, and this is their response. We'll only be sealing the fate of future shipments with every bin we take."

NaVarre crossed his arms over his chest, closed his eyes and ground his teeth together.

"Did you get to Warring?" The Director asked after a moment.

Eyes still shut, NaVarre shook his head.

The Longallis shared a glance. "So, the information —"

"It's out," NaVarre muttered, his voice hoarse. "He got it out. I just have to find it."

The Doctor's gaze landed on me, then, and she tilted her head, appraising me. "Pardon, my dear, but you don't have the look of someone fresh off the Road. How did you get swept up in all this... madness?" She cast a meaningful glance at NaVarre, her unspoken question hanging in the air, 'And who are you?'

"This is Warring's daughter," NaVarre said, not quite looking at me.

The Longallis were suddenly very quiet.

I looked down at my hands. Picked at my thumbnail. Anything but find out if that silence was full of pity.

The Doctor finally cleared her throat. To my relief, she changed the subject. "I can't tell you how much we appreciated what you did today... How many languages do you speak?"

"Standard and Low Altyran, Ronyran, two forms of Tettian, High and Low Edonian and Lodesian..." I recited, still examining my fingers. "I also speak Illyrian, Panesian, and a few dialects of Caraki... and I can get by in Tradeslang."

Dr. Longalli coughed out a short laugh. "Would you like a job? We are in desperate need of a translator."

"Quite right, wonderful idea," the Director said, his voice just a little too jovial. "My dear, I wonder if Miss Warring —"

"Westerby," NaVarre muttered. "She's going by Indaria Westerby."

"Miss Westerby... would like to meet Jinny and some of the girls from the dorm before the gopher runs back down to town?"

"Yes," the Doctor said slowly, giving her husband a searching look as she got to her feet. Her hesitation was gone as soon as she turned to smile at me. "Yes, that's an excellent idea. They can see that you get to the hello on the beach tonight, then, too."

I blinked at her, feeling distinctly like a piece of spare furniture nobody knew where to put. It was clear that the Director wanted to speak to NaVarre alone, though, so I nodded, joining the Doctor as she moved to unlock the door.

I was right. As soon as Dr. Longalli held the door open, the Director stepped forward, his hands at his hips, his words low and tense: "The Shadow Road is still active. Orrelian is getting desperate. He's operating blind. Without Warring, we have no way of knowing where or when the shipments are being made."

NaVarre sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "I know." Then he shook his head, jaw tense. "We can't keep sniping at ghosts. We have to take the fight to them."

The door closed behind us, then, and the Doctor pocketed the key. "I'm so sorry. That must have been dreadful."

I pressed my lips together in a tight smile, then followed as she led the way out of the Administration offices and down the hallway to the Language Studies suite, where Jinny was preparing to leave for the day. After a brief, very polite, much more official introduction, and instructions to take me down to the beach and make me feel at home, the Doctor left, and just like that I had been handed off like a spare lounge cushion.

Jinny took it in stride, however, apparently well-used to dealing with new arrivals. She came around her desk, a big smile lighting up her pretty oval face, and linked her arm through mine, ushering me back out into the hallway. "I must say, it will be wonderful to have another wordy sort of person here, although I should warn you, you won't believe how much work you're going to save me tomorrow." She pulled a face, then grinned. "But for now, we'll just settle for getting you to the hello."

There it was again. "What is a 'hello on the beach'?"

She took a left into a smaller hallway that took us to a side exit and a portico over the drive. "Whenever our ships come home, we have a party on the beach in Fox Cove to welcome everyone. To say 'hello.' Basically, it's just an excuse to eat a lot and dance."

"I see," I said, letting her pull me along. A dance sounded like a very long end to an already long day.

A flock of other girls had gathered beneath the portico, and as Jinny and I stepped out onto the crushed shell of the drive, the gopher came rattling around the far end of the building. A matter of seconds later we were all jouncing our way back down the hill.

The chatter of the girls around me blended with the deep rumble of the ancient gopher engine. An odd, twisting, hollow sensation had settled into the pit of my stomach that wasn't entirely due to the lurching of the seat beneath me. This new life was rushing along, twining around me already, pulling me in. How long before it started to come apart around me?

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