Flawed (21 page)

I'm exhausted from my parting with Art, from my lack of sleep, from imagining Carrick's searing over and over again. I'm afraid of being caught by the photographer. I'm just completely zapped. They've taken all the goodness from me. I am just a scarred shell. But this new question about Art makes me sit up. Pia notices my body tense, and I'm annoyed with myself for being so obvious.

“Everybody knows what happened on Naming Day. Art was at the courthouse, it was on TV. Anything you want to know about that you can watch for yourself.”

“That's not what I asked you.” I think she's like a cat, rubbing her shiny legs together in her too-tight pencil skirt. She leans forward, a sly smile on her lips. “I've caught you out on two lies, Celestine. One”—she counts it off on her manicured, peach-colored fingernail—“you met Art at school today. I've seen the photographs of him entering the library, where I know you both met, and I will keep it between you and me if you cooperate with me fully and give me the interviews that I need.”

My heart pounds.

“And two, you didn't receive a sixth brand. There is no proof, no documentation, no record whatsoever of that event taking place. I checked the files.”

She sits back, obviously enjoying the stunned look on my face.

“You know, you scared me when you told me, Celestine, and I think that was your intention. Perhaps you wanted me to confront Judge Crevan about it, write an article, cause a stir. Talk like that can be very dangerous, Celestine. Those kinds of accusations could have the power to bring down Crevan and the Guild, not to mention myself, and I won't let you use me to do that.”

I can tell that she's annoyed that she feels used, that I tried to trick her. She is using the Art photographs as retribution. A part of my mind that never thought like this before kicks into gear; it whirls into action, spinning, plotting, planning. I had no idea that Crevan's giving me a sixth brand would get him into so much trouble that it could bring down the Guild. How could it? If I'd known that, I would have thought about it more carefully. I wouldn't have just blurted it out to her. I have power?

“Is it your intention to bring Crevan down, Celestine? Are you trying to bring Art into your plan? Turn him against his own father? Is Enya Sleepwell in charge of an attempt to set up Judge Crevan? Just what on earth are you planning, Celestine? Because everybody knows you're planning something.”

She is so pleased with herself, as if she's caught me out in my great big master plan. She waits for me to break down, to cry, to confess. Instead, I throw my head back and laugh. She has given me an idea.

Confused, she fidgets in her seat and readjusts her skirt, uncomfortable with my reaction.

“I bet you didn't ask Crevan about the sixth brand, did you?” I ask.

“Of course not,” she says, slightly flustered.

“No, of course you didn't. Because you're afraid of him. Because you know he's unhinged.”

“Judge Crevan is not unhinged,” she says, clearly as if somebody else is listening, as if I'm setting her up. “And I'm not afraid of him.… I simply wouldn't ask him something so ridiculous. I would need proof first. I asked your mother about your sixth brand,” she says with another sly smile. “Even she can't vouch for you. She wouldn't even admit you have a sixth brand. She wasn't even in the viewing room for your fifth brand, Celestine; none of them were. Your family was removed for unreasonable behavior. The reports say it all.”

The reports have lied.

No wonder Mom seemed nervous when I returned home from school. I thought it was because of Pia's presence, but it was because she'd been asked about the sixth brand. She is afraid Pia will write about it, but what Mom doesn't understand is what I now understand. Pia will never write about it because Crevan will never allow her to,
because he shouldn't have done it
.

“Who wrote the reports?”

“The guards on duty.”

Tina, June, Bark, Funar. They lied for Crevan.

“So basically my grand master plan won't work because there's no proof,” I say.

“Not an iota.” She grins.

I think about it. I relive the moment it happened, the pain I felt and the strength I had in not giving in to Crevan by refusing to repent. The most painful moment in my life also became the moment I showed the most strength and courage. And I think of Carrick, his hand pressed up against the glass. I also remember Mr. Berry, with his camera held up in the air, recording the event. I never knew it was important before, but we have all the proof I need, and I'm not going to reveal that to her. For some reason, Mr. Berry has not come forward with that information. I should have that video in my own possession. That video is power, and maybe that's why Mr. Berry is keeping it, for his own interests.

“I can show you proof right now, if you wish.”

She looks around the room, possibly thinking somebody is going to jump out of a hiding place.

“Before I share it with you, you have to promise that you will fully cooperate with me,” I say, turning the tables. “I know you're not going to write about my seeing Art today, and I know you won't publish the photographs. You're just using them to threaten me. I know that because, if Crevan finds out that you knew where his son was today and you never told him, you will be in a world of pain. You knew where his precious son was, and you let him get away? Do you know how long he's been searching for him? I could cross the road right now and tell him.”

That has worked. She
is
afraid of him.

“Fine,” she says, swallowing. “I'll bury it. So where's this proof?” She's trying to act like she doesn't believe me, but I can see her fear. She's afraid of the sixth brand being true, afraid that the head of the Guild is a fraud, that everything she believed in isn't true.

I stand up. I step closer to her, and she pushes her back firmly into the chair, hands on the armrests, and braces herself. I turn around and lift my T-shirt, lower the waist of my trousers so she can see the base of my spine. I can't see her face, but I can hear her intake of breath. The brand on my lower spine is that disgusting. I squirmed when Crevan seared me. I felt the pain without the anesthetic, and ironically the
F
is not perfect at all, just red bubbling skin. I lower my T-shirt but don't sit down again. Instead, I make my way to the door.

“Thank you, Pia. This interview has been highly informative.”

Instead of catching me out, what she's done is given me an idea. If I have the power to bring down Crevan with my sixth brand, then I will do it. Then Art and I can be together. But to do that, I need more proof and I need help. I need Mr. Berry's video, and there's one more thing. I'm not waiting for him anymore. I need to find Carrick.

 

THIRTY-SEVEN

I HAVEN'T HEARD
from Art since we parted in the library. I run through our conversation over and over in my head and try to convince myself I shouldn't have brought Carrick up. What an idiotic thing to do at such a time. If I hadn't, Art and I would still be okay. But in my heart, I know we wouldn't. I can't play along with his moods just to stay together. It wasn't the same between us in that library. Everything felt different. He couldn't even bring himself to kiss me. One thing I'm sure of, though, is that yesterday I wanted to find Carrick to thank him, today I need to find him because I need his help to activate my plan. If there's one person who would want to take down Crevan as much as I do, it's Carrick. I can't do this alone.

My last class of the day is French, but the teacher refuses to teach me, so I will be in the library by myself once again. It is the perfect opportunity to get some time on my own, to be somewhere without anybody knowing. I catch up with Juniper in the school corridor. Everybody makes a wide circle around us.

“Losers,” Juniper mutters.

“Tell Mom I had to go somewhere this afternoon, tell her not to wait for me. You guys go home without me.”

“What? She'll freak out. Where are you going?”

“Tell her I'm fine. I just want to be independent, get a grip on my new life by myself, blah, blah, blah. She'll go for that.”

Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “What are you up to, Celestine?”

There's a standoff between us. Neither of us trusting the other.

“Tell Mom I'm meeting Pia Wang for an interview.”

“Are you really?”

I roll my eyes and walk away. She's not the only one who can meet people in secret.

*   *   *

After Susan, the school secretary who has almost become my baby-sitter during classes where teachers refuse to teach me, has checked up on me, my plan is to escape out the door of the library. I push at it, but it's locked. I bang at it and kick it in frustration, absolutely
nothing
going my way.

I slither down to the floor to cry in frustration, and suddenly it opens and I fall backward outside. Mr. Murray is standing there.

I scramble to my feet.

“I didn't help you,” he says simply, then turns his back and goes about his work.

I don't step outside. As much as I want to grab this opportunity to find Carrick, I don't want Mr. Murray to get into trouble. He's been the school's groundskeeper ever since I've started here and probably even before that.

“It's illegal for you to help me,” I say, testing him, giving him one more chance to close the door on me.

“No, it's not,” he says, still not looking at me, scraping his muddy boots on a rug. “There's a mark on the sole of my foot that says there's no law against a Flawed helping a Flawed.”

“What?” I look down at his feet, but he continues rubbing the muck off.

“You'll just have to take my word for it.”

“But … but you don't wear an armband.”

“Exactly, so nobody knows. I'm off the radar.” He finally looks at me.

“I've never heard of that before.”

“There are cracks that you can fall through. Harder for you, of course, being a household name, but if you look for them, you can find them. They don't win all the time. Be careful.”

I nod, stunned by this. “Thanks.”

I hurry away from the school, managing to avoid the dwindling press numbers by cutting through the trees. I don't want to travel on a bus—I think that would attract too much attention—so instead I take a bike from the city's bike-sharing scheme. There are thirty stations around the city. You take a bike from one station, cycle it to wherever you need to go, and park it at the nearest station. Highland Castle is one of the busiest tourist spots in the city, as well as employing a huge number of people, so it has one of the largest bicycle stations outside. I cycle across Humming Bridge, weaving through the tourists. It's a struggle to cycle uphill, so I abandon cycling and push it instead up the ironically named High Road. I don't think there's such a thing as anybody actually taking the high road to Highland Castle. As I'm locking the bike, I hear the familiar sound of people calling and yelling in the courtyard. It takes me back to my own experience and terrifies me, stopping me in my tracks until I realize it's not aimed at me. Somebody else is walking to court.

Because that is taking everybody's attention, nobody notices me. I buy a cap from the tourist shop, making sure not to cover my temple in case I'm caught, and push my way to the front of the crowd. I get there in time to see a man and a woman, holding hands, making the walk from the Clock Tower to the court. The woman is crying uncontrollably, and they are clinging to each other. There are two guards on either side of them, but I don't recognize the guards at all. This is good. It means I can go to the Clock Tower while the court is in session and speak with Tina. Hopefully, after all I went through, she will give me Carrick's address.

The gathered crowd is nothing like the scene I had during my trial. I look up at Pia's filming location, and there she is, live on air sharing her prejudiced thoughts on more innocent victims.

“You're disgusting!” the woman beside me shouts as the couple passes, and she spits. Her phlegm flies through the air and lands on the woman's shoe. This makes me flinch, and the woman walking by cries even harder, tucking herself under her partner's arm even closer.

“Did you see her face?” The woman beside me laughs, as do a few other spectators.

“Should have aimed for her face,” a man says angrily.

“What did they do?” I ask.

“Have you not been reading the news?” she asks, surprised. “They're all over it.”

I shake my head, and I can tell she enjoys having the opportunity to tell me the story herself, as though her disgust with people is the only thing keeping her going.

“She and her husband took their dying son out of the hospital, without permission, because they didn't agree with his treatment. Flew him across the world, were on the run for weeks; poor fella could have died. They took him to Spain. To get another treatment.” She rolls her eyes. “Sure, what's wrong with our hospitals? They just can't play God like that.”

“But … did the treatment work?” I ask.

“They flew back this morning. The Whistleblowers got them before they even got off the plane. The little boy is back in the hospital. He's grand. They're going to let him continue the alternative treatment. The Spanish police interrogated them but let them go. Nothing illegal, apparently, but it's wrong. That boy could have died getting there.”

I shake my head, and she's satisfied by my response, but I'm not in agreement with her. I know now that I am totally and utterly against any Guild decision. The woman looks down and sees the
F
on my sleeve. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops and her face twists in disgust. Before she alerts anyone, I push my way back out of the crowd and hurry to the Clock Tower.