Chapter 19: Good Thing — The Key of Oslov

Volume 17: The Tinderbox

Chapter 19 Good Thing

Chapter Notes

These chapters are getting long toward the end of the story, but I’m still trying to stick to posting once a week! Thanks for reading.

Chapter Notes

These chapters are getting long toward the end of the story, but I’m still trying to stick to posting once a week! Thanks for reading.

13 October, year 374

When the most controversial episode of Their Ways Parted had its premiere, Kai made sure it was playing on the cylinder in the patrons’ lounge of the Brothel. It was a work night for Councillors and most other government officials, so only a smattering of patrons occupied the plush booths against the walls of the dimly lit room.The Brothel workers who weren’t on duty pulled up chairs to watch as Councillor Dahlstellar revealed his dark secrets. The Upstarts gazed curiously at the gathering. Some of them watched the screen, too, their mouths gaping open as they forgot that Laborer entertainment was supposed to be beneath them.Kai loved seeing Strutters get sucked into his story. They knew they shouldn’t care about Drudge characters, yet they couldn’t help themselves. Maybe it was Stefan’s beauty that enthralled them more than Kai’s narrative, but either way, the heady sense of power almost made up for the humiliations of his life.Tonight his nerves kept distracting him, though. Trying to calm himself, he’d started drinking too early in the evening—which was why, he supposed, he hadn’t objected when Besha sat down beside him.Besha was also drinking too much, and he was getting too close. He prodded Kai in the ribs whenever he had a commentary, which seemed to be every five seconds or so.“Freli looks so much fatter on camera, don’t you think?”“I know you have to include scenes like this, but I’m bored.”“Ooh, that was a nice line.”“Is it really so hard to make Stefan’s hair lie flat?”“Shush!” Kai elbowed the Councillor back. He glanced over at Stefan, who sat in a booth all by himself, eyes fixed on the screen. The poor boy already had to deal with nosy leers from the patrons. He didn’t need to suffer through Besha’s unsolicited feedback, too. “That scene’s about to start.”Besha knew which scene. Everyone here did, except the other Upstart patrons. And they were about to find out.Fade in on a Councillor’s sitting room. Close-up of a kettle with steaming water pouring from the spout. Pull out to reveal a handsome young Laborer holding the kettle. Cut to Councillor Dahlstellar watching him, his face wearing an expression of pain barely held in check by pride…Kai closed his eyes; he didn’t need to watch. He had fretted over every one of these shots in the editing room until they were burnt into his brain.Not that the watching Upstarts cared about his artistic choices. Some of them surely knew Enrik Lindahl and his history, or enough of it to make the connection. Soon the gossip would fly. When the episode re-aired, more people would see it, and the news would quickly reach the Sector and Lindahl himself. A wildfire of scandal would spread as everyone realized that a Laborer stream maker had somehow managed to expose a Councillor’s secrets to public ridicule.Is this my revenge? Do I hate him that much? Lindahl was certainly an asshole, but he wasn’t the worst patron Kai had ever had. Anyway, all that was long ago, even if he did have the ugly tattoo to prove it.Stefan was the one who should really be enjoying this—or Ansha, the former steward, who had been Lindahl’s kettle boy and given Kai the full goods on the Councillor. But Stefan looked morose, and Ansha wasn’t here at all, because Tilrey had made Einara fire him. Last Kai heard, the man was tending bar in some undistinguished Ring.As for Kai, he was stuck babysitting a mass murderer while Einara was off somewhere plotting, and he didn’t like it at all.The scene went on, and the room grew quieter. Dahlstellar and his Laborer boyfriend argued over the parentage of Dahlstellar’s niece. Kai wondered if the Upstarts could guess the approaching reveal.They would interpret it wrong, of course. They would fixate on the “scandal” of an Upstart loving a misbirth like his own flesh and blood, when that was actually the best thing that Lindahl/Dahlstellar had ever done, in Kai’s opinion. No, the man’s crime was the way he had treated the true father of his niece, forcing the young Laborer to provide sexual favors in exchange for seeing his own child.Typical high-name bullshit. Kai doubted Lindahl even understood how much he’d abused his power.Besha gave Kai another nudge. “Poor bastard,” he said a little too loudly. “Can’t wait to see his face in the chamber tomorrow.”“Shh.” Kai glanced around the room. He was pretty sure the handful of patrons were all watching now, except for one old fellow who was busy feeling up a bored-looking whore.When the actor playing Dahlstellar finally said, “You were my niece’s father,” Kai heard at least two gasps from the booths.The screen faded to black. The silence lay as thick as peat.And Kai knew he hadn’t made the episode as revenge. He had done it to show his supposed superiors a mirror image of themselves that they wouldn’t soon forget.*The screen lit up again with a PSA about workplace safety, a standard interruption for Laborer dramas. Janta exhaled.Fiction streams confused him, because the actors’ internal energies often didn’t match their actions. The interference was distracting. But he knew he’d just witnessed a pivotal moment in the story, partly by the tension radiating from Tilrey, who sat beside him on the sofa.Now Tilrey removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “How on earth did they get that past the censors?” he asked, sounding a little shaken.“Get what past?”“The character, the whole scene, the—never mind.” Tilrey swung to face Janta, his eyes slightly red-rimmed but very intent. “Is that what I am? A hypocrite? Is that how I read to you?”Janta struggled to remember what hypocrite meant. The images on the screen distracted him, although Tilrey had helpfully muted the sound. “You’re not two-faced,” he said at last. “Not with me, anyway. And you don’t pretend not to be Ceill’s father.”“Oh, but I do. You don’t see me in the Sector.” Tilrey put his glasses back on. “I pretend all the time, Janta—to be humbler than I am, more submissive than I am, more virtuous than I am. I pretend I don’t want power, when my actions say the opposite.”Janta glanced nervously behind them, at the door of the study. Gersha was holed up in there troubleshooting some code. “You should ask Gersha about this,” he said. “He’ll make you feel better.”Tilrey laughed mirthlessly. He was in a bad mood again. Janta had first noticed that oily, self-pitying quality in his signal a day or so after Tilrey had reprogrammed his chip, but he knew guilt alone wasn’t causing it. Something more had happened; someone had said something cruel to Tilrey.Cruel, but accurate enough to upset him.“That’s why I’m asking you. Gersha always sees me as the best version of myself.” Tilrey stared at Janta, those blue eyes boring into his. “Look at me and read me, Janta. Am I power mad?”Janta squirmed under the gaze. “I don’t know what that means. The Councillor in the stream—he wasn’t ‘mad.’ He just assumed he had power. His problem was that he couldn’t see anything he wasn’t expecting, even if it was right in front of him. That’s not like you. You’re always looking out for the unexpected things.”“You’re right as usual, but forget about Dahlstellar.” Tilrey’s voice was sharp. “Look at me, Janta.”“I don’t need to look at you.” Defiant, Janta closed his eyes. “I don’t ‘read’ you with my eyes—I feel you.”“What do you feel, then?”I don’t want to feel anything. Janta had spent nearly two ten-days indoors now, pretending to Gersha that he had a persistent cold. While it shouldn’t have mattered—he’d been raised in a basement, after all—he was in bad spirits himself. He still hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Ceill, who seemed to be staying away on purpose.He was sorry that he’d said no to Bors this summer. Right now, he could think of nothing he wanted more than to join Aleks’s crew in the wide open Wastes, ready for hard work and fresh air and maybe, just maybe, a little power of his own.Where was Einara? She could free him; she had Besha’s power behind her. Maybe she was waiting until Tilrey flew off to Harbour.“You’re worried,” he said after a moment, “about the man in your head. The ghost you carry with you. It’s Ceill’s great-grandfather, isn’t it?”Tilrey didn’t answer, but Janta felt his breath coming shallow in affirmation, as if the ghost were standing there in front of him.“You’re worried Malsha’s in control,” Janta continued. “But he’s not, because he isn’t real. There’s no one in your head but you.”“You’re talking in circles.”And you just want me to say you’re a good person. Janta refused to do that. Instead, he said, “You’re not like Malsha or the Councillor in the stream. The way they use power, you can tell they’ve never had to worry about it. They’re cruel only because they’re bored with being good. You worry about power all the time, and you’re never bored, and you’re not even sure what it means to be good. You’ve never been sure. You feel like you’re drowning all the time, barely keeping your head above the water.”Tilrey’s breath caught, as if he recognized the truth of Janta’s words. As if he were drowning right now.After a pause, he said, “I know too many ways to be ‘good.’ My mother taught me one, and Malsha and other Upstarts taught me another, and then Gersha came along, and then there were other people. I learned to submit. I learned to pretend to submit. I learned to love and think for myself. I learned to rebel. You’d think it would be easy to choose one set of values and discard the others, but… it’s not.”“You could just forget about being good,” Janta suggested. Oslov had a single word, guerd, that encompassed moral virtue and all kinds of duty and order. Almost everyone in Redda, Tilrey included, said that word with a reverence that made no sense to Janta at all.The outlaws in the Basement used a different word for their highest value: solnorn, honor. Janta didn’t understand that, either, or why their honor so often obliged them to kill each other.He understood tension and relaxation. He understood touch. He understood order and disorder, and there were forms of order he liked and didn’t like. But to base your whole social order on an abstraction? It didn’t make sense to him at all.“It’s easy for you to ‘forget about being good,’” Tilrey said. He was so tense; it pressed on Janta. “Your very existence is a crime in our society; you have to reject its values. Me, I’m just confused, but I do know certain things aren’t good. Like how I’m treating you right now.”“But you feel you have to,” Janta pointed out. “It’s you versus Einara, and after what I’ve done, I wouldn’t trust me either.”He held his breath. None of that was a lie; he just hadn’t mentioned that he hoped for an imminent escape. With any luck, Tilrey would think he was too naïve to resent his fate and too helpless to do anything about it.Stefan’s image filled the screen in front of them, his eyes glowing soulfully. Tilrey unmuted the cylinder, stood up, and stretched.“I’m off to Davita’s,” he said. “Gersha knows to expect me back in the morning. And I promise you won’t be locked up here forever, Janta. When I come back from Harbour, I’m going into the Wastes to find those terminals, and I’ll take you with me. We’ll see Aleks together—would you like that?”Janta nodded. He didn’t have to feign his expression of childlike joy as he thought of seeing his friends again. “I’d like that a lot.” After the episode ended, Janta switched off the cylinder and retired to his room. He’d just put on his pajamas when a soft knock came at the door.Thinking it was Gersha, he opened up—and found Ceill.For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Ceill’s eyes glistened, not with any positive emotion; distress and anger rolled off him in waves.The anger didn’t feel directed at Janta, but he still couldn’t meet Ceill’s gaze as he stepped aside and beckoned his friend into the room. “I wondered when you’d come.”“I didn’t feel like seeing either of them. My dads.” Ceill stood awkwardly in the center of the room with his hands in his pockets. “I was waiting for you to come to my dorm room, but you didn’t, so today I went to the Brothel and asked if they’d seen you there.” He glared at the floor. “And Einara told me Tilrey had you locked up here.”“It’s because he met me coming from the Brothel that night.” Janta sat down on his bed, doing his best to sound soothing. Everything would be easier if Ceill thought he didn’t mind. “He doesn’t want me scheming with Einara behind his back. It’s completely understandable.”“It is not understandable!” Ceill stamped his foot like a child. “He can’t keep you prisoner, and I’m going to tell him so.”Janta sprang to his feet again. His body reacted before his mind, and he seized both of Ceill’s hands and coaxed him toward the bed. “You can’t tell Tilrey anything,” he said, “and you know why, Ceillsha. He can’t know what happened at the Brothel that night or how you were involved.”“Why can’t he?” Ceill allowed Janta to sit him down on the bed, but his body was tense with rage. “He already knows Besha’s secret, after all—he’s always known, and he doesn’t care!”“I know.” Sitting beside Ceill, Janta kept hold of his friend’s hands, determinedly stroking the palms with his thumbs, up and down. The touch didn’t feel entirely natural to him, but it didn’t feel bad either, and it might quiet Ceill some.“But Tilrey mustn’t know that Besha is loyal to Einara now,” he continued, feeling grateful that Tilrey had left before Ceill burst in. “He mustn’t find out, Ceill.”“Why not? Who cares?” Ceill didn’t resist Janta’s hold, but he was quivering. “Why are you siding with Einara, anyway? I thought the whole point was to expose Besha as a criminal, to get him arrested and punished, not to…”He dropped his eyes, a long shudder running over his body, and Janta understood. “You were surprised when Einara almost killed Besha.”“Surprised? I was fucking terrified! She whipped out a knife and tried to slit his throat!” Ceill’s eyes were slick and wild. “Did you know she was going to do that? Because you didn’t seem shocked at all. Why didn’t you tell me?”“You wouldn’t have gone along with my plan if I had.” The moment the words were out, Janta knew he should have found a different thing to say. But he didn’t like lying to Ceill, and it was too late anyway.“It wouldn’t have worked without you,” he added, patting Ceill’s hands apologetically. “Anyway, after what Besha did, I thought you wanted him punished.”“Punished, not executed!” Ceill yanked his hands free, his whole body trembling in a way that sent waves of agitation through the air. “He was on the floor begging for his life, and you were almost as bad as Einara. You talked about killing him and hiding his body as if he weren’t even there.”“But we didn’t end up doing it. Besha’s alive.” Janta could tell from Ceill’s silent seething that this was the wrong thing to say. His friend was so sensitive! “I’m sorry,” he said meekly.“You’re sorry? For what?” Ceill hung his head, fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t know how much of what Einara told Besha about herself is true, but I know she’s on a crazed revenge quest. And Besha—he’s a sociopath. I don’t want anything to do with either of them. But are you like them, Janta? The kind of person who kills people without even thinking about it?”Was Janta that kind of person? He remembered his conversation with Tilrey about being “good”—something that obviously mattered a lot to Ceill, too.“I’ve never killed anybody,” he said, “except animals that we hunted in the Wastes, and I didn’t like that. I’ve seen people kill other people in the Basement, a few different ways—fights, gang hits. You learn to pretend you don’t notice and everything’s normal. If you make a fuss, they come after you next.”Ceill rocked as if he had to expend the force of this revelation. “I hate that you saw that,” he said. “A kid should never have to see anything like that.”“It wasn’t that bad,” Janta said, trying to console Ceill. Or would minimizing murder make Ceill think he was a bad person again? “I mean, no, actually, it was. But you get used to it. You get used to all kinds of things. Anyway,” he added, desperate to make Ceill like him again, “I knew we wouldn’t have to kill Besha, because he would do anything to save himself. I just had to let Einara think I was willing to let her kill him. Then I could make her see that he was more valuable alive.”“Oh, you had all kinds of plans, didn’t you?” Ceill stopped rocking and turned to look coldly at Janta. “When you first came to me with the idea, I didn’t understand why you cared about punishing Besha, but I went along with it anyway. Because you’re my friend. I didn’t know it would turn into… an assassination. You know I don’t trust Einara, and I don’t want to be part of her plans—or yours! You used me,” he said, his blue eyes fixed fiercely on Janta’s. “I don’t know who you are or what you want anymore. You look so innocent, and then…”“I’m still me,” Janta said, but his voice had dried to a husk, and he wasn’t sure Ceill heard him.Ceill’s fists were clenched. “I’ve been waiting for you to come and apologize to me with those big brown eyes. Two ten-days I’ve waited. If you’d done it, if you’d been free to do it, I would have cracked, Janta.” He opened his hands and rested them palm-up on his knees. “I would have convinced myself everything was my fault somehow. You could have gone right on using me.”A lump rose in Janta’s throat. He had no idea what to say to change Ceill’s mind, because Ceill was right. Janta had been using him.But Ceill was also wrong, because he didn’t understand why. And he needed to know—right now, before Janta left Redda.Very carefully, Janta placed his hands on top of Ceill’s so that their palms touched. “I want to control the city,” he said. “The whole infrastructure of Redda. Einara might have a way to do it.”Ceill didn’t pull away this time, but he lifted his head. Stared. “Why…?”Janta had no words to explain this part, but he tried. “Because I like order, and Redda’s very ordered, but it’s put together wrong. Like a bad puzzle. Someone needs to take it apart and start over.”“It’s not a puzzle! It’s a city full of people, and you can’t just ‘take it apart.’” Ceill was shivering again. “Does Tilrey know you want that, Janta? Is that the real reason he locked you up?”Janta nodded. “But not because he wants to stop me. He wants me to help him do the exact same thing.”“Control the city? Tilrey wants that?” Ceill sounded incredulous. “The General Magistrate would never—”“Tilrey and Gersha are using the General Magistrate, just like Einara is using Besha now.” Janta was sorry to be telling Tilrey’s secrets, but he had no choice. If Tilrey hadn’t kept so many things secret in the first place, Ceill wouldn’t be so upset now. “Your dads want what you want, Ceillsha—for things to be better. Fairer. But they’re making change happen very slowly, and Einara wants it to happen fast. That’s why I’m on her side—for now.”A sharp intake of breath, and then Ceill’s fingers curled tight around Janta’s. “I don’t like anything you’re saying,” he said in a low voice. “You sound out of touch with reality, Janta. If anyone else heard, they’d send you to moral rehab.”Tilrey wouldn’t. He knows I’m sane. To his surprise, Janta felt the lump in his throat turn to stifled laughter. This was so ridiculous—all of them wanting some version of the same thing and afraid to reach out and grasp it.He knew he should be reassuring Ceill and making him promise that he wouldn’t tell Tilrey about Besha. Manipulating him again. But he had no idea which words could possibly have that effect.Without pulling his hands free of Ceill’s, he knelt up high enough to kiss Ceill on the cheek.Ceill didn’t pull away, but another shiver passed over him, his stubble brushing against Janta’s smoother skin. The sensation was surprisingly pleasant, and without thinking, Janta kissed Ceill on the lips.The reaction was seismic. Ceill ripped his hands from Janta’s—but only to throw his arms around Janta and pull him closer. Their mouths met again. This time Ceill’s moved hungrily against Janta’s, his tongue slipping between Janta’s lips.Ceill was so big. His embrace felt like no embrace Janta had ever endured before—a little smothering, yes, but sheltering, too. His tongue explored Janta’s mouth, warm and greedy, and when he withdrew, Janta gasped for breath. But he still wanted more—to sit on Ceill’s lap, to rub against the hardness he knew was there. He was disappointed when, instead, Ceill released him all at once and moved away.“You shouldn’t have done that.” Ceill’s knuckles were white on the edge of the mattress. “I shouldn’t have done that.”All this was about being “good” again, wasn’t it? Janta scowled. “It felt good, though. Ceill, I…”He stopped, because like wasn’t enough and he wasn’t sure love was a word he could use. He wasn’t sure what it could mean for him. “I like you a lot and I want you to like me,” he said at last, struggling for words. “I’m sorry I used you. I’m not innocent, and I don’t think I’m that other thing you said, either—a sociopath—and I don’t think I’m insane. But I need you not to tell Tilrey about what we did in the Brothel, at least not until he comes back from Harbour. That will give us both time to think.”And time to do more stuff like this. I’d like to do more stuff like this with you. He knew enough not to say that part.Ceill’s whole face was bright red. He didn’t make eye contact with Janta. “I like you a lot, too,” he said at last. “But you scare me. This talk about controlling the city—that’s mad!”Janta bit back the urge to explain. It was probably safer for Ceill not to know the details—for now, anyway.Gersha and Tilrey had shielded their son from the truth his whole life, trying to convince him he lived in a world where being good was as simple as following rules. Neither of them believed it, but they needed him to. Ceill had rebelled as a teenager, making friends with Aleks, then reined himself in for his fathers’ sake. Now that he knew about Besha, perhaps he could finally break free and learn to forgive them for the lies they’d told him out of love.Janta didn’t have the right words to say any of that, though. Anyway, Ceill would need to discover it for himself.“I don’t mind if you think I’m mad,” he said, sneaking a hand back onto Ceill’s knee. “I just want you to do two things, Ceillsha. Don’t tell Tilrey or Gersha about Besha yet, and don’t tell Gersha I’m locked up. And come and visit me while Tilrey’s gone, at least every other day.”“That’s three things.” After a long moment, Ceill took Janta’s hand and stroked the palm, sending pleasant sensations up Janta’s spine. “And what’s going to happen when Tilrey comes back?”“Then you can do whatever you decide is the right thing.”“You’re making fun of me,” Ceill said glumly. “And possibly using me again.”Janta said, “I’m really not. I want you to do what feels good to you.”Anyway, he was pretty sure he’d be gone by the time Tilrey returned from Harbour. He just hoped he could find his way back.

13 October, year 374

The Brothel workers who weren’t on duty pulled up chairs to watch as Councillor Dahlstellar revealed his dark secrets. The Upstarts gazed curiously at the gathering. Some of them watched the screen, too, their mouths gaping open as they forgot that Laborer entertainment was supposed to be beneath them.

Kai loved seeing Strutters get sucked into his story. They knew they shouldn’t care about Drudge characters, yet they couldn’t help themselves. Maybe it was Stefan’s beauty that enthralled them more than Kai’s narrative, but either way, the heady sense of power almost made up for the humiliations of his life.

Tonight his nerves kept distracting him, though. Trying to calm himself, he’d started drinking too early in the evening—which was why, he supposed, he hadn’t objected when Besha sat down beside him.

Besha was also drinking too much, and he was getting too close. He prodded Kai in the ribs whenever he had a commentary, which seemed to be every five seconds or so.

“Freli looks so much fatter on camera, don’t you think?”

“I know you have to include scenes like this, but I’m bored.”

“Ooh, that was a nice line.”

“Is it really so hard to make Stefan’s hair lie flat?”

“Shush!” Kai elbowed the Councillor back. He glanced over at Stefan, who sat in a booth all by himself, eyes fixed on the screen. The poor boy already had to deal with nosy leers from the patrons. He didn’t need to suffer through Besha’s unsolicited feedback, too. “That scene’s about to start.”

Besha knew which scene. Everyone here did, except the other Upstart patrons. And they were about to find out.

Fade in on a Councillor’s sitting room. Close-up of a kettle with steaming water pouring from the spout. Pull out to reveal a handsome young Laborer holding the kettle. Cut to Councillor Dahlstellar watching him, his face wearing an expression of pain barely held in check by pride…

Kai closed his eyes; he didn’t need to watch. He had fretted over every one of these shots in the editing room until they were burnt into his brain.

Not that the watching Upstarts cared about his artistic choices. Some of them surely knew Enrik Lindahl and his history, or enough of it to make the connection. Soon the gossip would fly. When the episode re-aired, more people would see it, and the news would quickly reach the Sector and Lindahl himself. A wildfire of scandal would spread as everyone realized that a Laborer stream maker had somehow managed to expose a Councillor’s secrets to public ridicule.

Is this my revenge? Do I hate him that much? Lindahl was certainly an asshole, but he wasn’t the worst patron Kai had ever had. Anyway, all that was long ago, even if he did have the ugly tattoo to prove it.

Stefan was the one who should really be enjoying this—or Ansha, the former steward, who had been Lindahl’s kettle boy and given Kai the full goods on the Councillor. But Stefan looked morose, and Ansha wasn’t here at all, because Tilrey had made Einara fire him. Last Kai heard, the man was tending bar in some undistinguished Ring.

As for Kai, he was stuck babysitting a mass murderer while Einara was off somewhere plotting, and he didn’t like it at all.

The scene went on, and the room grew quieter. Dahlstellar and his Laborer boyfriend argued over the parentage of Dahlstellar’s niece. Kai wondered if the Upstarts could guess the approaching reveal.

They would interpret it wrong, of course. They would fixate on the “scandal” of an Upstart loving a misbirth like his own flesh and blood, when that was actually the best thing that Lindahl/Dahlstellar had ever done, in Kai’s opinion. No, the man’s crime was the way he had treated the true father of his niece, forcing the young Laborer to provide sexual favors in exchange for seeing his own child.

Typical high-name bullshit. Kai doubted Lindahl even understood how much he’d abused his power.

Besha gave Kai another nudge. “Poor bastard,” he said a little too loudly. “Can’t wait to see his face in the chamber tomorrow.”

“Shh.” Kai glanced around the room. He was pretty sure the handful of patrons were all watching now, except for one old fellow who was busy feeling up a bored-looking whore.

When the actor playing Dahlstellar finally said, “You were my niece’s father,” Kai heard at least two gasps from the booths.

The screen faded to black. The silence lay as thick as peat.

And Kai knew he hadn’t made the episode as revenge. He had done it to show his supposed superiors a mirror image of themselves that they wouldn’t soon forget.

The screen lit up again with a PSA about workplace safety, a standard interruption for Laborer dramas. Janta exhaled.

Fiction streams confused him, because the actors’ internal energies often didn’t match their actions. The interference was distracting. But he knew he’d just witnessed a pivotal moment in the story, partly by the tension radiating from Tilrey, who sat beside him on the sofa.

Now Tilrey removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “How on earth did they get that past the censors?” he asked, sounding a little shaken.

“Get what past?”

“The character, the whole scene, the—never mind.” Tilrey swung to face Janta, his eyes slightly red-rimmed but very intent. “Is that what I am? A hypocrite? Is that how I read to you?”

Janta struggled to remember what hypocrite meant. The images on the screen distracted him, although Tilrey had helpfully muted the sound. “You’re not two-faced,” he said at last. “Not with me, anyway. And you don’t pretend not to be Ceill’s father.”

“Oh, but I do. You don’t see me in the Sector.” Tilrey put his glasses back on. “I pretend all the time, Janta—to be humbler than I am, more submissive than I am, more virtuous than I am. I pretend I don’t want power, when my actions say the opposite.”

Janta glanced nervously behind them, at the door of the study. Gersha was holed up in there troubleshooting some code. “You should ask Gersha about this,” he said. “He’ll make you feel better.”

Tilrey laughed mirthlessly. He was in a bad mood again. Janta had first noticed that oily, self-pitying quality in his signal a day or so after Tilrey had reprogrammed his chip, but he knew guilt alone wasn’t causing it. Something more had happened; someone had said something cruel to Tilrey.

Cruel, but accurate enough to upset him.

“That’s why I’m asking you. Gersha always sees me as the best version of myself.” Tilrey stared at Janta, those blue eyes boring into his. “Look at me and read me, Janta. Am I power mad?”

Janta squirmed under the gaze. “I don’t know what that means. The Councillor in the stream—he wasn’t ‘mad.’ He just assumed he had power. His problem was that he couldn’t see anything he wasn’t expecting, even if it was right in front of him. That’s not like you. You’re always looking out for the unexpected things.”

“You’re right as usual, but forget about Dahlstellar.” Tilrey’s voice was sharp. “Look at me, Janta.”

“I don’t need to look at you.” Defiant, Janta closed his eyes. “I don’t ‘read’ you with my eyes—I feel you.”

“What do you feel, then?”

I don’t want to feel anything. Janta had spent nearly two ten-days indoors now, pretending to Gersha that he had a persistent cold. While it shouldn’t have mattered—he’d been raised in a basement, after all—he was in bad spirits himself. He still hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Ceill, who seemed to be staying away on purpose.

He was sorry that he’d said no to Bors this summer. Right now, he could think of nothing he wanted more than to join Aleks’s crew in the wide open Wastes, ready for hard work and fresh air and maybe, just maybe, a little power of his own.

Where was Einara? She could free him; she had Besha’s power behind her. Maybe she was waiting until Tilrey flew off to Harbour.

“You’re worried,” he said after a moment, “about the man in your head. The ghost you carry with you. It’s Ceill’s great-grandfather, isn’t it?”

Tilrey didn’t answer, but Janta felt his breath coming shallow in affirmation, as if the ghost were standing there in front of him.

“You’re worried Malsha’s in control,” Janta continued. “But he’s not, because he isn’t real. There’s no one in your head but you.”

“You’re talking in circles.”

And you just want me to say you’re a good person. Janta refused to do that. Instead, he said, “You’re not like Malsha or the Councillor in the stream. The way they use power, you can tell they’ve never had to worry about it. They’re cruel only because they’re bored with being good. You worry about power all the time, and you’re never bored, and you’re not even sure what it means to be good. You’ve never been sure. You feel like you’re drowning all the time, barely keeping your head above the water.”

Tilrey’s breath caught, as if he recognized the truth of Janta’s words. As if he were drowning right now.

After a pause, he said, “I know too many ways to be ‘good.’ My mother taught me one, and Malsha and other Upstarts taught me another, and then Gersha came along, and then there were other people. I learned to submit. I learned to pretend to submit. I learned to love and think for myself. I learned to rebel. You’d think it would be easy to choose one set of values and discard the others, but… it’s not.”

“You could just forget about being good,” Janta suggested. Oslov had a single word, guerd, that encompassed moral virtue and all kinds of duty and order. Almost everyone in Redda, Tilrey included, said that word with a reverence that made no sense to Janta at all.

The outlaws in the Basement used a different word for their highest value: solnorn, honor. Janta didn’t understand that, either, or why their honor so often obliged them to kill each other.

He understood tension and relaxation. He understood touch. He understood order and disorder, and there were forms of order he liked and didn’t like. But to base your whole social order on an abstraction? It didn’t make sense to him at all.

“It’s easy for you to ‘forget about being good,’” Tilrey said. He was so tense; it pressed on Janta. “Your very existence is a crime in our society; you have to reject its values. Me, I’m just confused, but I do know certain things aren’t good. Like how I’m treating you right now.”

“But you feel you have to,” Janta pointed out. “It’s you versus Einara, and after what I’ve done, I wouldn’t trust me either.”

He held his breath. None of that was a lie; he just hadn’t mentioned that he hoped for an imminent escape. With any luck, Tilrey would think he was too naïve to resent his fate and too helpless to do anything about it.

Stefan’s image filled the screen in front of them, his eyes glowing soulfully. Tilrey unmuted the cylinder, stood up, and stretched.

“I’m off to Davita’s,” he said. “Gersha knows to expect me back in the morning. And I promise you won’t be locked up here forever, Janta. When I come back from Harbour, I’m going into the Wastes to find those terminals, and I’ll take you with me. We’ll see Aleks together—would you like that?”

Janta nodded. He didn’t have to feign his expression of childlike joy as he thought of seeing his friends again. “I’d like that a lot.”

After the episode ended, Janta switched off the cylinder and retired to his room. He’d just put on his pajamas when a soft knock came at the door.

Thinking it was Gersha, he opened up—and found Ceill.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Ceill’s eyes glistened, not with any positive emotion; distress and anger rolled off him in waves.

The anger didn’t feel directed at Janta, but he still couldn’t meet Ceill’s gaze as he stepped aside and beckoned his friend into the room. “I wondered when you’d come.”

“I didn’t feel like seeing either of them. My dads.” Ceill stood awkwardly in the center of the room with his hands in his pockets. “I was waiting for you to come to my dorm room, but you didn’t, so today I went to the Brothel and asked if they’d seen you there.” He glared at the floor. “And Einara told me Tilrey had you locked up here.”

“It’s because he met me coming from the Brothel that night.” Janta sat down on his bed, doing his best to sound soothing. Everything would be easier if Ceill thought he didn’t mind. “He doesn’t want me scheming with Einara behind his back. It’s completely understandable.”

“It is not understandable!” Ceill stamped his foot like a child. “He can’t keep you prisoner, and I’m going to tell him so.”

Janta sprang to his feet again. His body reacted before his mind, and he seized both of Ceill’s hands and coaxed him toward the bed. “You can’t tell Tilrey anything,” he said, “and you know why, Ceillsha. He can’t know what happened at the Brothel that night or how you were involved.”

“Why can’t he?” Ceill allowed Janta to sit him down on the bed, but his body was tense with rage. “He already knows Besha’s secret, after all—he’s always known, and he doesn’t care!”

“I know.” Sitting beside Ceill, Janta kept hold of his friend’s hands, determinedly stroking the palms with his thumbs, up and down. The touch didn’t feel entirely natural to him, but it didn’t feel bad either, and it might quiet Ceill some.

“But Tilrey mustn’t know that Besha is loyal to Einara now,” he continued, feeling grateful that Tilrey had left before Ceill burst in. “He mustn’t find out, Ceill.”

“Why not? Who cares?” Ceill didn’t resist Janta’s hold, but he was quivering. “Why are you siding with Einara, anyway? I thought the whole point was to expose Besha as a criminal, to get him arrested and punished, not to…”

He dropped his eyes, a long shudder running over his body, and Janta understood. “You were surprised when Einara almost killed Besha.”

“Surprised? I was fucking terrified! She whipped out a knife and tried to slit his throat!” Ceill’s eyes were slick and wild. “Did you know she was going to do that? Because you didn’t seem shocked at all. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have gone along with my plan if I had.” The moment the words were out, Janta knew he should have found a different thing to say. But he didn’t like lying to Ceill, and it was too late anyway.

“It wouldn’t have worked without you,” he added, patting Ceill’s hands apologetically. “Anyway, after what Besha did, I thought you wanted him punished.”

“Punished, not executed!” Ceill yanked his hands free, his whole body trembling in a way that sent waves of agitation through the air. “He was on the floor begging for his life, and you were almost as bad as Einara. You talked about killing him and hiding his body as if he weren’t even there.”

“But we didn’t end up doing it. Besha’s alive.” Janta could tell from Ceill’s silent seething that this was the wrong thing to say. His friend was so sensitive! “I’m sorry,” he said meekly.

“You’re sorry? For what?” Ceill hung his head, fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t know how much of what Einara told Besha about herself is true, but I know she’s on a crazed revenge quest. And Besha—he’s a sociopath. I don’t want anything to do with either of them. But are you like them, Janta? The kind of person who kills people without even thinking about it?”

Was Janta that kind of person? He remembered his conversation with Tilrey about being “good”—something that obviously mattered a lot to Ceill, too.

“I’ve never killed anybody,” he said, “except animals that we hunted in the Wastes, and I didn’t like that. I’ve seen people kill other people in the Basement, a few different ways—fights, gang hits. You learn to pretend you don’t notice and everything’s normal. If you make a fuss, they come after you next.”

Ceill rocked as if he had to expend the force of this revelation. “I hate that you saw that,” he said. “A kid should never have to see anything like that.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Janta said, trying to console Ceill. Or would minimizing murder make Ceill think he was a bad person again? “I mean, no, actually, it was. But you get used to it. You get used to all kinds of things. Anyway,” he added, desperate to make Ceill like him again, “I knew we wouldn’t have to kill Besha, because he would do anything to save himself. I just had to let Einara think I was willing to let her kill him. Then I could make her see that he was more valuable alive.”

“Oh, you had all kinds of plans, didn’t you?” Ceill stopped rocking and turned to look coldly at Janta. “When you first came to me with the idea, I didn’t understand why you cared about punishing Besha, but I went along with it anyway. Because you’re my friend. I didn’t know it would turn into… an assassination. You know I don’t trust Einara, and I don’t want to be part of her plans—or yours! You used me,” he said, his blue eyes fixed fiercely on Janta’s. “I don’t know who you are or what you want anymore. You look so innocent, and then…”

“I’m still me,” Janta said, but his voice had dried to a husk, and he wasn’t sure Ceill heard him.

Ceill’s fists were clenched. “I’ve been waiting for you to come and apologize to me with those big brown eyes. Two ten-days I’ve waited. If you’d done it, if you’d been free to do it, I would have cracked, Janta.” He opened his hands and rested them palm-up on his knees. “I would have convinced myself everything was my fault somehow. You could have gone right on using me.”

A lump rose in Janta’s throat. He had no idea what to say to change Ceill’s mind, because Ceill was right. Janta had been using him.

But Ceill was also wrong, because he didn’t understand why. And he needed to know—right now, before Janta left Redda.

Very carefully, Janta placed his hands on top of Ceill’s so that their palms touched. “I want to control the city,” he said. “The whole infrastructure of Redda. Einara might have a way to do it.”

Ceill didn’t pull away this time, but he lifted his head. Stared. “Why…?”

Janta had no words to explain this part, but he tried. “Because I like order, and Redda’s very ordered, but it’s put together wrong. Like a bad puzzle. Someone needs to take it apart and start over.”

“It’s not a puzzle! It’s a city full of people, and you can’t just ‘take it apart.’” Ceill was shivering again. “Does Tilrey know you want that, Janta? Is that the real reason he locked you up?”

Janta nodded. “But not because he wants to stop me. He wants me to help him do the exact same thing.”

“Control the city? Tilrey wants that?” Ceill sounded incredulous. “The General Magistrate would never—”

“Tilrey and Gersha are using the General Magistrate, just like Einara is using Besha now.” Janta was sorry to be telling Tilrey’s secrets, but he had no choice. If Tilrey hadn’t kept so many things secret in the first place, Ceill wouldn’t be so upset now. “Your dads want what you want, Ceillsha—for things to be better. Fairer. But they’re making change happen very slowly, and Einara wants it to happen fast. That’s why I’m on her side—for now.”

A sharp intake of breath, and then Ceill’s fingers curled tight around Janta’s. “I don’t like anything you’re saying,” he said in a low voice. “You sound out of touch with reality, Janta. If anyone else heard, they’d send you to moral rehab.”

Tilrey wouldn’t. He knows I’m sane. To his surprise, Janta felt the lump in his throat turn to stifled laughter. This was so ridiculous—all of them wanting some version of the same thing and afraid to reach out and grasp it.

He knew he should be reassuring Ceill and making him promise that he wouldn’t tell Tilrey about Besha. Manipulating him again. But he had no idea which words could possibly have that effect.

Without pulling his hands free of Ceill’s, he knelt up high enough to kiss Ceill on the cheek.

Ceill didn’t pull away, but another shiver passed over him, his stubble brushing against Janta’s smoother skin. The sensation was surprisingly pleasant, and without thinking, Janta kissed Ceill on the lips.

The reaction was seismic. Ceill ripped his hands from Janta’s—but only to throw his arms around Janta and pull him closer. Their mouths met again. This time Ceill’s moved hungrily against Janta’s, his tongue slipping between Janta’s lips.

Ceill was so big. His embrace felt like no embrace Janta had ever endured before—a little smothering, yes, but sheltering, too. His tongue explored Janta’s mouth, warm and greedy, and when he withdrew, Janta gasped for breath. But he still wanted more—to sit on Ceill’s lap, to rub against the hardness he knew was there. He was disappointed when, instead, Ceill released him all at once and moved away.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Ceill’s knuckles were white on the edge of the mattress. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

All this was about being “good” again, wasn’t it? Janta scowled. “It felt good, though. Ceill, I…”

He stopped, because like wasn’t enough and he wasn’t sure love was a word he could use. He wasn’t sure what it could mean for him. “I like you a lot and I want you to like me,” he said at last, struggling for words. “I’m sorry I used you. I’m not innocent, and I don’t think I’m that other thing you said, either—a sociopath—and I don’t think I’m insane. But I need you not to tell Tilrey about what we did in the Brothel, at least not until he comes back from Harbour. That will give us both time to think.”

And time to do more stuff like this. I’d like to do more stuff like this with you. He knew enough not to say that part.

Ceill’s whole face was bright red. He didn’t make eye contact with Janta. “I like you a lot, too,” he said at last. “But you scare me. This talk about controlling the city—that’s mad!”

Janta bit back the urge to explain. It was probably safer for Ceill not to know the details—for now, anyway.

Gersha and Tilrey had shielded their son from the truth his whole life, trying to convince him he lived in a world where being good was as simple as following rules. Neither of them believed it, but they needed him to. Ceill had rebelled as a teenager, making friends with Aleks, then reined himself in for his fathers’ sake. Now that he knew about Besha, perhaps he could finally break free and learn to forgive them for the lies they’d told him out of love.

Janta didn’t have the right words to say any of that, though. Anyway, Ceill would need to discover it for himself.

“I don’t mind if you think I’m mad,” he said, sneaking a hand back onto Ceill’s knee. “I just want you to do two things, Ceillsha. Don’t tell Tilrey or Gersha about Besha yet, and don’t tell Gersha I’m locked up. And come and visit me while Tilrey’s gone, at least every other day.”

“That’s three things.” After a long moment, Ceill took Janta’s hand and stroked the palm, sending pleasant sensations up Janta’s spine. “And what’s going to happen when Tilrey comes back?”

“Then you can do whatever you decide is the right thing.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Ceill said glumly. “And possibly using me again.”

Janta said, “I’m really not. I want you to do what feels good to you.”

Anyway, he was pretty sure he’d be gone by the time Tilrey returned from Harbour. He just hoped he could find his way back.