Skylark Page 5

  As if on that cue, the assistant returned, this time bearing a tray. She set it down in front of me, and all thoughts of the Administrator vanished as I stared.

  It was a tray for one, but it was more food in one place than I’d ever seen before. All of the food that fed the city was grown beyond the Wall, planted and harvested by machines designed to survive the harsh conditions there. Most of what was grown, though, people like me never saw—at least not in recognizable forms. Except on Harvest Day.

  Mountains of food crowded the tray. There was a large bowl of soup, a plate piled high with vegetables, a small dish with bread and—my stomach lurched—margarine. The vegetable oil for margarine was so energy-intensive to make that even those at the Institute didn’t eat it often. The smell wafted up to me, and I dragged my gaze away to look up at Gloriette.

  She laughed, the folds on her face jiggling. “It’s okay, duckling, I’m done. Go ahead and tuck in.”

  I wasted no time. I nearly dove face-first into some smashed potatoes on the side of my plate, drizzled with a vegetable gravy that smelled better than anything I’d ever had in my life. There was a dish of mixed vegetables that I didn’t have names for, green and yellow slices cooked in oil. Soy curd in a brown sauce. Shredded carrots soaked in vinegar. Tamren’s potatoes, fried golden and crispy.

  I tried to taste a little of everything, but each new thing I tried was so good that I found myself stuffing my mouth with as much of it as I could fit. I had never been full before. I found the heaviness in my stomach to be hugely uncomfortable but also strangely satisfying. And I kept eating.

  Gloriette left the room, replaced by a number of assistants in blue coats. I lifted my head to watch them, uneasy at being the only one eating in the big banquet hall. But they came bearing new plates to replace my old ones, and I forgot my discomfort. The new dishes were full of pastry and fried sugar beet stalk, cakes with caramelized syrup drizzled over them, balls of fried dough that had been soaking in sugar water. I saw a neat stack of dark pink wedges and lunged for those. I recognized it as watermelon from pictures in history books, but I was totally unprepared for its taste. Cold, crisp, bursting into delicately sweet juice when I bit into it. From that taste on I touched nothing else. They replaced the nearly untouched plates of cakes with more watermelon. I devoured it all, right up through the bitter fruit at the edge of the rind.

  By the time I forced myself to stop eating, I was feeling none too brilliant. All the rich food was catching up to me. There was also an odd uneasiness at the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with feeling overfull. I couldn’t place it, only that something in the back of my mind kept telling me something was wrong. I had some reason to be afraid, if only I could remember what it was.

  I kept picking at my last watermelon slice, not wanting to leave the table full of food even though I couldn’t eat another bite.

  Eventually, a young man with dark, wavy hair and a slight stoop to his shoulders came to collect me. He wasn’t much older than I was. He was wearing a red coat, which meant he’d been born here at the Institute. His face was like sculpted marble, all strong angles and smooth planes. I stared openly, forgetting my manners.

  “I’m Kris,” he said, flashing me a quick, but genuine, smile. “Ready to head to your room?”

  I nodded, and before I could stand, Kris moved behind my chair in order to pull it out for me. Confused and pleased by the courtesy, my face warmed as I trailed along behind him. He was not as tall as my brothers, but still significantly taller than I. He lacked the characteristic fuller face of the other Institute residents, nor was he built strong like the laborers in the rest of the city. He stood slim, trim, with an easiness about him that just made my blush worse.

  He held the door open and stood to one side so that I had to move close to pass him. I tore my eyes away with difficulty, staring instead at the mechanimal dog—still dormant by the fire.

  “He’s just for show,” Kris whispered as I came near and let the door close again behind me before he led me down the hall.

  I was glad for his guidance. The corridor we were walking down looked identical to the others I had seen.

  “So watermelon, huh?” Kris said, slowing to a halt in front of a door.

  “What?” Lost in trying to keep track of where we were going, I had almost trod on his heels.

  “I saw you singlehandedly devour an entire platter of it.” He grinned at me, revealing even, white teeth.

  “Oh!” Humiliated, I could only stare at the floor. I was absurdly conscious of how short the smock they’d given me was.

  “I like the cakes myself,” he said cheerfully, as if he hadn’t noticed my discomfort. “To each his own, eh? Here’s your room.”

  He touched his badge to the handle of the door and opened it for me. Lights overhead came on automatically.

  I had expected a dormitory of some kind, or at least rooms that would have held four or five kids, if I weren’t the only one. Instead, Kris had shown me to a small but private room with one bed and a small chest of drawers at its foot. In the corner was a door that, as he demonstrated, led to a small bathroom.

  “No water rations, so you can use the shower as much as you like. Temporary clothes in the chest there,” he went on. “You’ll probably want to find something that, uh, fits you a bit better.”

  By now I was so thoroughly embarrassed that I wished I could just slip down the drain of the little shower. Was it my fault I was older—and taller—than most of the kids who came through here? “This is just what they gave me when I—” I began to protest.

  “Oh, I know, don’t worry. I remember it well. At least I was scrawny and little when it was my turn.”

  I had to stifle the urge to blurt out my doubt that he was ever little and scrawny. Luckily, he saved me from that humiliation by continuing.

  “Okay, rules. When you’re supposed to be in your room, stay in your room. They’re very strict about that here. There are experiments and equipment that could hurt you if you go wandering around on your own. Once you’ve settled a little, you’ll discover you’re really exhausted. The harvesting process does that to you. You’ve got the rest of the evening to rest, and the tests start tomorrow. Any questions?”

  I wished I could think of something clever to say, something that would make him want to stay and talk to me. All that came to mind, though, was the memory of how greedily I’d stuffed myself at the feast, and that he’d seen it all. I was so used to avoiding contact, fending off stares and jeers with prickly animosity, that I had no idea how to seek out attention.

  “Uh, no,” I mumbled. “I guess not.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll feel better after you get some rest.” He grinned. My chest tightened.

  “Thanks,” I said, smiling awkwardly, my face more accustomed to a scowl. His smile was so contagious that I couldn’t help myself.

  “The lights will turn out automatically. If you need anything, ask for Kris, okay?” He waved and backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

  I checked the chest for something to sleep in, but found only stacks of the same tunic I was wearing, and drawstring pants to match. None of it fit me. It was like I was living in a doll’s house—the bed was too short, the clothes too small, the shower head jutting out from the wall a good three inches below my forehead.

  I didn’t want to sleep in the tunic I was wearing—it was clingy and scratchy, and had a strange smell, like sweat and fear. There was nothing in the chest to fit me any better, though, and sleeping naked was an abominable thought. So I gave up and collapsed on the bed. Only then did I discover how exhausted I was. I couldn’t believe it was already evening. It felt like only moments had gone by since I was stuck in the pipe under the school. My mind was too tired to recall the time in between my arrival at the Institute and the feast. It was much easier to lie on top of the sheets and savor the sensation of being completely, utterly full. I thought of Kris, and that infectious smile, and the delicate perfectio
n of his hands.

  The lights cut out, leaving me in soft, warm darkness.

  Again I felt that strange, nagging sensation that something was missing, even as I began to drift off to sleep. There was a piece somewhere that I’d forgotten in between my nervousness about coming to the Institute and my ravenous assault on the feast. It was as if I’d been dreaming and the dream had vanished upon waking, but I knew clear as day that there was something I ought to remember.

  Chapter 6

  The lights woke me in what I could only assume was the morning, and a voice projected into the room. “Good morning, duckling!” Though the voice was distorted by whatever process made it possible for me to hear, I recognized the cadence and tone as Gloriette’s. Her voice continued, asking that I dress and report to the testing station. I groaned, remembering the chest full of children’s clothing, and sat up.

  Sitting neatly on the chest was a set of clothing that I knew hadn’t been there the night before. The new clothes fit—at least well enough that I wasn’t embarrassed to show my face in them. There was no sign of my old clothes—or my brother’s paper bird.

  I didn’t see Kris at breakfast. A pang of surprising disappointment shot through me when another assistant led me off to testing.

  All morning I completed booklet after booklet of questions testing mathematical and linguistic abilities, spatial awareness, and memory. They brought lunch on a tray in my testing room, and in the afternoon the same assistant led me through the maze of corridors to a large gymnasium full of unidentifiable equipment. The assistant walked me through each of the machines, making notes on her clipboard as I completed the tasks.

  At dinner I could barely keep my eyes open, exhaustion for once overtaking hunger. They had been paying attention to what I ate, and brought only those dishes I liked. When Kris arrived, he found me nearly facedown in my last piece of watermelon. “Come on,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get you to sleep.”

  “I’m not sleepy,” I protested, aware of how idiotic I sounded with eyes half closed and voice slurring.

  With a hand under my elbow, he guided me toward the door. My skin tingled and prickled under his touch. “It’s a rough couple of days. You’ll feel better once you’re tucked up in bed.”

  I scarcely remembered the walk to my room. My head pounded with exhaustion.

  “Here you are,” he said, pushing open my door and gently propelling me inside. “Sleep tight,” he added. He stepped back and bowed, folding one arm across his chest. A day ago I would have scowled, knowing him to be teasing me—but now I just smiled in spite of myself. His charm was infectious. A pang shot through me as he straightened and closed the door behind him. Only one more day left—and I certainly wouldn’t be seeing Kris anymore once the Institute doors closed behind me.

  I gazed up at the lights. Their brightness made my head throb. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered this headache, but I couldn’t place it. There was something about a corridor, and a gentle, dark patch that eased my pain. I needed a moment to think. I had to force my mind to function despite my sudden, unnatural weariness.

  I closed my eyes, hoping to somehow re-create that patch of darkness in my mind to stop the throbbing. It continued regardless until, unable to fight it off anymore, I slept.

  •  •  •

  The next day they spent interviewing me—endless questions about my family, my hobbies, my abilities, my knowledge both of the city and of prewar history, and of the current theories about the world beyond the Wall. I wondered if they asked everyone these questions, or if my testing yesterday had shown my interest in prewar history. It was impossible for me to imagine myself as a historian working inside the Institute, but maybe there was some sort of assistant’s position they were considering me for.

  For lunch, I was brought to a little room that held only two chairs, one already occupied. A young architect sat making notes on her clipboard as I ate. She didn’t seem to be observing me, but her presence made me uneasy and I didn’t eat much of my meal.

  When I pushed aside the tray, she lifted her head and smiled at me. She also wore the compass symbol, but it hung innocently on its wire, the point nowhere near as sharp as the Administrator’s. Unlike Gloriette, her smile didn’t make my skin crawl. “Just a few more questions and one last test, Miss Ainsley,” she said. Her smile widened a little, and I realized that she was only a little older than I was.

  She asked if I preferred a specific job. She showed very little reaction when I blurted out “historian.” My heart sank as she made notations on her clipboard. How many other kids had spouted similarly outrageous preferences? I was going back over my test answers the previous day when she asked a question that drew me up short.

  “Have you ever used the Resource illegally, Lark?”

  I looked up, startled. The assistant’s round eyes gazed back at me.

  “What? No. No, of course not.” I felt as though she must be able to hear my hammering heart.

  “Okay,” she replied, ducking her head again to make a notation on her clipboard. She continued writing for some time, during which I was certain she knew I was lying. Why couldn’t I have said a simple “no?” Habit prompted me to check my pocket for my paper bird, but the linen trousers had no pockets—and the bird was missing, perhaps forever, perhaps sealing my fate if they had found traces of the Resource.

  After a few more questions, she opened a case and removed a copper sphere. When she handed it to me, every hair on my arms stood up. The headache I’d been trying to ignore burst into brilliance and then, just as suddenly, faded into almost nothing. Skin tingling and heart racing, I looked up at the architect in confusion.

  “It’s a logic puzzle,” she explained, her eyes flicking back to her clipboard. “You twist it and try to get all the patterns to line up.”

  I looked back down at the sphere. It was clearly magical, though I couldn’t see why—it seemed to be a mechanical puzzle. It was made up of tiny copper panels inlaid with glass, each etched with different designs meant to line up with their neighbors. Each panel was slightly concave, fitting my fingertips exactly.

  I gave it an experimental twist and was rewarded with the low, quiet hum of some mechanism within the object. Strategy was not my strong point, but my future possibly hinged on completing the puzzle. I saw a few panels that would line up easily, and twisted the ball until they did. The glass lit up with a discordant hum that set my teeth on edge.

  The architect didn’t seem to notice. I kept at it, working the puzzle until I had a few more adjacent panels lit and humming. I found myself becoming engrossed in how each new panel required longer patterns of twists to line up without disrupting those I’d already put in place.

  It wasn’t until I had half the sphere glowing that I looked up again—to find the architect staring at me. Her clipboard was in her lap, and her face suddenly looked even younger than mine: round eyes, parted lips.

  My windpipe closed. What if this device detected whether I’d used magic before?

  She cleared her throat when she saw me looking and summoned a labored smile.“I’m just going to run to the restroom,” she said, getting to her feet with a metallic scrape of the chair legs beneath her. “You just—just carry on.” Her eyes flicked down to the puzzle and back to mine, and then she backed out of the room.

  I sat rooted to my chair, still holding the magic sphere. My whole body tingled with that magical buzz, which grew stronger every moment. I put the puzzle on the floor, hoping that would help, but not only did the panels on it stay lit, but my skin prickled more.

  My jaw clenched so tightly that I felt it pop. I tried to look unconcerned—who knew what methods they had of spying on me? I nudged the puzzle with my toe, sending it rolling across the floor. Even distance brought no relief.

  After an eternity the door opened. A plump red form bustled inside, wearing a wide, toothy smile. “Hello, hello, gosling!” said Administrator Gloriette. Her tendency to refer to
me as various types of birds—all extinct now—gave me visions of how people used to eat them and use their bones to make soup. Gloriette’s smile made me think she might be imagining what kind of soup my bones would make.

  She continued, “I’m hearing some exciting things about you!”

  Exciting things? My vocal cords felt frozen, but I was saved from trying to force something out by the Administrator herself.

  “Are you enjoying yourself so far, here at the Institute?” I nodded, still not able to speak.

  Gloriette beamed her wide-lipped smile at me. “How perfectly fabulous,” she cooed. “We so rarely see someone of your potential come through here, you know. You could be anything you wanted to be. Maybe even an architect’s assistant! Would you like that?”

  My head spun. Maybe this was a mind game—to throw me off-guard and convince me to blurt out the truth. With a huge effort I found my voice again. “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m more interested in history.”

  Gloriette’s smile faded to something a little less brilliant. Apparently, this wasn’t the response she expected. “Well, aren’t you sweet? I think you would make a perfect historian. Of course, we’ll have to keep you here for a few days so that we can run a few more tests. A historian is such a rare thing that we need to make absolutely certain, of course.”

  I found myself nodding, although my mind still roiled. I was certain that being kept behind meant something terrible, and yet Gloriette was smiling and telling me I was gifted, that I could be anything.

  Still chattering, Gloriette reached for my elbow and pulled me to my feet. “I’ll just take you back to your room, duck.”

  “I could find my way,” I offered, shrinking from her heavy touch. “Especially if I’m to stay here as a historian.”

  “No, no,” replied Gloriette, ushering me down the hallway. “I won’t hear of it. It’s rude to make you run around unescorted.” She stepped back toward the door as she said this, and in the process, she crushed the puzzle with her left foot. She didn’t even look down.