Unspeakable, Part 4

Just then Ivan’s hulking silhouette appeared in one doorway. Thought we’d have a change of scene, Miles said to it. Care to join us? There was a pause as Ivan stood in silence.

Ivan briefly disappeared, and Miles’ heart sank, but then he was back, and coming into the light. He was carrying with him two skeletal crates.

It was the first time Miles had had the opportunity to really see him clearly. He was surprised to realize that Ivan moved not only softly, silently, but with grace. His frame was oversized and etched with strength, but something in his mouth and the set of his face was thoughtful.

In truth, though, Miles was more thrown by the fact that Ivan had the shadow of a beard on his young face. Ivan set the crates down opposite Miles’ chair, and sat carefully upon one.

Miles smiled. Smart, he commented, and then looked at Shylock. What are you doing? he asked. You don’t have to sit on the floor. Shylock stared with fixed fear into a corner.

Shylock, Miles said. Shylock dragged his gaze away from the corner and met his eyes. Go on, Miles said, nodding at the crate. Shylock trembled, glancing at the corner.

What do you see? Miles asked. Shylock glanced at the corner again. Shadows, he whispered. Ghosts of used to be. Some of them look angry. Miles looked at him, thinking carefully.

I’ve been angry, he said at last. Most of my life. I understand how they feel. And I bet they, he said, glancing at the corner, understand us. Things never change, he said grimly. Shylock met his eyes. Let them be angry, Miles said to him. Let them be.

Shylock tilted his head, looked at Miles, then at the corner, then back. Then he crept over and onto the crate, pulling his knees up tight and watching Miles.

Good, Miles said. They sat and listened to the torches burn for a while. Too bad we don’t have a deck of cards, Miles remarked. There was a silence, then Ivan rose and went into his room.

He came back with a third, higher crate, and a small sack. He set the larger crate between the three of them, and set the sack upon it. He opened it to reveal a pile of faded cardstock.

Miles laughed. Excellent. Thank you, Ivan. He dug into the pile and began separating and sorting the cards. He found there was a whole set, though many were faded.

He squinted at one, trying to make out its number for certain. Ivan extended a thin black stick, charcoal maybe. Good idea, Miles said, thanks, Ivan. He went through and marked them clearly.

All right then, he said, slapping a hand down on the table. Time to kick your butts in some gin rummy. Ante up, gentlemen. Shylock, he said, you’re playing, right?

Shylock was hunched. I don’t know how, he whispered to the floor. I’ll teach you, it’s not hard, just watch, Miles said, and started explaining the rules.

Shylock and Ivan listened, and then they started their first game. The other boys played hesitantly at first, but were gaining steam by the end of the second game, though Miles still trounced them thoroughly.

You’re good, Ivan said, becoming more vocal as he got comfortable. Miles smiled. Long hours in the holding room, boys, long, long hours, he said with a sigh.

I never made it to the holding room, Ivan said thoughtfully. Miles looked at him. No? Ivan shrugged. They didn’t even train me or teach me, he said, they already knew I was too big to be any use on missions, in the field.

You’re kidding, right? Miles said, and Ivan glanced at him. The organization is founded on concealment, he said mechanically. Operatives must blend in and be anonymous.

Can the council drink a glass of water while you say that? Miles said sarcastically, his anger rising. So they stuck you down here because why, because you’re tall? That’s it?

There is no way to conceal my- my parentage, Ivan said, looking at his hands. And my strength might be used by others to prove their own prowess.

I did think of the stories of the Russian operatives when I saw you, Miles said, and sighed resignedly. And I know what you mean. In the arena, the minute you proved you were good, people started throwing themselves at you to fight you. He started shuffling the cards. But it’s still bullshit.

If they know you’re Russian, Shylock whispered, why don’t they just send you there? Miles and Ivan both looked at him, surprised.

After a moment, Ivan said, Because the organization is also founded on the communal and anonymous raising of offspring. It prevents favoritism, bias, or unfair advantage.

Yeah, it sounds good on paper, Miles said, snappishly dealing the cards around the table, but in practice, what you get is the Academy full of idiots and animals crying for the mothers they’ll never get to meet. You get things like the arena and this, he said angrily, gesturing around at the walls of their prison. Bullshit, he grumbled.

Bullshit, came an echo. Shylock jumped and looked jerkily around. Miles paused in distributing the cards and took a wary look himself. Then he saw it.

A figure crouching in one of the other doorways, watching them, listening. Hey, Miles said.