BLUEMANTLE by Karen Langston (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📕

Chase hung back while the man entered. After a few moments, a light appeared through an aperture on the fourth floor. Barely visible, yet somehow distinct in Chase’s mind, the man appeared, closing the shutters on his home.

Chase made a mental note of the address. Then he turned around and retraced his steps, back to the narrow side street.

The light was fading fast; it was difficult to make out the forms that were reduced to black on grey. Feeling his way, Chase stopped at what he thought was the place where the man had crouched down. Attached to the wall was a water trough, one of thousands installed around the city when the goat population was reaching its peak. The trough was empty, bar a crust of fine sand. He felt along the walls to either side but found nothing untoward. He was about to stand up to investigate elsewhere, when he brushed his fingers along the underside of the trough.

They touched something smooth. Not concrete. Not stone. Something that crackled and crumpled under pressure as he gently teased it out.

A brown paper bag.

–

“Sorry. I got held up,” said Chase, out of breath. Having taken a copy of Bluemantle from the bundle, he had carefully hidden the package where he’d found it and hurried back to Temple Main and the tramway for Bayley Road. He was over half an hour late.

“Whatever,” said Weldon, not getting up from his stool. He was sat in a corner of Riat’s, hands wrapped around a half-drunk pint of Kitson.

Come evening, Riat’s Noodle Bar was transformed. The food counter was closed down, bowl stacks cleared away. Kegs of Kitson were lined up on the counter beside corked bottles of Pyncher and an assortment of fruit seltzers. Candles were placed on the makeshift tables, flickering over finger bowls filled with spiced corn nuts. The atmosphere morphed from a bustling canteen to a low-lit bar, inviting privacy and quiet conversation.

Chase noted Weldon’s fixed stare and pinched mouth. “I’ve apologised, alright?” Shrugging, he weaved between tables towards the counter.

Weldon watched his back, straining to control his breathing and calm his mind. He had debated for long enough whether or not to ask Chase to meet up; he had deliberated even longer on what it was he wanted to say. Now the moment had arrived, the words became jumbled, his emotions dismantling order. He downed the remainder of his drink.

Chase returned, placing two glasses of Kitson on the table. “I take it I can join you?”

“Sorry,” muttered Weldon, standing up and holding out a hand. “Thanks for meeting me.” They shook hands with half smiles, then sat down facing each other.

“What’s on your mind?” said Chase.

Weldon dropped his shoulders and shuffled on his stool. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Naylor told Tinashe and I that you’re planning to go back to… you know…” He lowered his voice. “He told us that there’s another event planned.” He looked up.

Chase nodded but said nothing.

Weldon continued. “When I left the other evening, before you arrived, they said they were going to try and talk you out of going. But they’re so damned wary of pissing you off, I knew they wouldn’t say it straight. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I reckon you can cope fine with a dose of straight talking.”

“They did spend some time teasing the subject. And, yes, straight talk would be a refreshing change.”

“Did they manage to persuade you?”

“No.”

“I thought as much.”

“Is that what this is about? Are you going to try the hard sell approach?”

“No. You can do what you like. I don’t give a toss whether you go or not.” Chase raised his eyebrows. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. You, of all people.”

“I have to find Wella. It’s the only way.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Well, that’s straight alright—”

“You guys have never been close. So what if she’s chosen to go with the Scene? Naylor said someone has seen her there, so you know that’s where she is, right? It wasn’t the hole. Search over. Why not leave her to it?”

“She doesn’t know what she’s got herself involved with.”

“Come on, Chase. Everyone knows what it means to mess with the Scene. That’s why Users are scum. They know exactly what they’re doing, regardless of the shitstorm it creates for the rest of us.”

Chase leant forwards, spitting half-whispered words. “You might be pissed off with me, but we’re on the same side. I’m as fucked off with the Scene as you are. The sooner the A puts a stop to it, the better.”

Weldon’s eyes widened, lit by a glint of comradery.

“That’s right,” said Chase. “Tinashe told me about your little rant, and I couldn’t agree more.”

Animated, hands twitching, Weldon spoke in a quiet, tense voice. “It does my head in, you know? We’re living at their mercy. If your contact is right and there is another event, the raids will be worse than before. The A won’t stand for another failure. The way they responded last time; it was a message. They’re so fired up; you just have to listen to the radio to know. I don’t blame them, either. Users know the consequences. Not just to themselves. Mates of mine are still banged up without charge. No one’s allowed to visit or speak to them. I’ve no idea how they’re doing, if they’re coping. And they did fuck all wrong, apart from be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I know. More innocent people suffer than those who actually deserve it. Take Brann. How the A reacts is wrong; but, if Users didn’t keep the Scene going, the A would leave everyone alone.”

“My point exactly. Man, it’s so good to know you feel the same. It’s become this incendiary taboo, yet it’s dividing the city.”

“Well, rest assured, I’m with you on this one.”

“So, what about that woman? What’s her name, who took you last time?”

“Ursel.”

“Why don’t you report her? She’s one of them. The Exchange would jump at the tip-off. You could negotiate