A Large Anthology of Science Fiction 3 by Anthology

Author:Anthology [Anthology]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-04-14T04:00:00+00:00

Wilde finally returned to the Chief Inspector’s office at the end of the day, still in a daze. He and Kendrick had searched every inch of the house—first on their own, and later with a squad of Legion soldiers from the local precinct house—but it had been of no use. They had confiscated the remaining typewriters, along with boxes of replacement keys and ribbon. There had been a limited attempt to catalogue the piles of broadsheets and books, but that had quickly been abandoned as an act of futility.

Wilde found Cerys behind her desk, glaring at a mass of paperwork that seemed to have grown rather than diminished since Wilde’s departure. Wilde entered and softly closed the door. Cerys was busy selecting a cigarette from a battered tin case, and she did not look up as she motioned for Wilde to join her. The air was already thick with smoke and fragrances of half a dozen different blends; it went without saying that the ashtray was overflowing.

“Lavender?” Wilde asked, noting the smell of the smoking herbs. He set a bundle of fresh evening broadsheets down on the chair next to him. He had bought them before dinner, but in his agitation he had been unable to read them.

“I’m celebrating my funeral early,” Cerys replied. “What’s the word on Salad Monday? Is he a terrorist?”

“Chief, you won’t believe what happened.”

Cerys—who had her nose buried in a bundle of forms—looked up at him and took on one of her very particular expressions. “Max, stop. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Chief?”

Cerys took out her pocket fire and lit a fresh cigarette, releasing a cloud of lavender-scented smoke. “I know that look on your face, and it tells me I sure as taxes don’t want to know what just happened to you. All I want . . . no, all I need to know is whether Salad Monday is going to be a problem. Is he a terrorist?”

“Um . . . no.”

Cerys flicked her pocket fire on and off as she continued her questioning. “Is he working for Slater?”

“No.”

“Is he a threat to the city?”

“Well, I don’t think so. But, Chief, he’s not even—”

Cerys pointed a handful of papers at Wilde in a most menacing fashion. “Max, I’ve done this job long enough to know that when someone comes to me and says ‘Chief, you’ll never believe what I saw,’ they’re either lying or telling the truth. Either way, I don’t want to know unnecessary details that will one day drive me to drink.”

“You already drink.”

“I’m just getting into the swing of it,” Cerys replied. Then she gave him a sympathetic look. “Max, I’ve seen my share of unbelievable things in this blasted city. Take my advice: don’t think about it too hard. It’ll hurt less that way.”

Wilde slowly unrolled one of the broadsheets and tried to relax. “It’s that easy, is it?”

“Drinking helps.”

“Mmm.”

Wilde was doubtful about his ability to put such an experience out of his mind, so he turned to the best source of distraction he could think of.

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