Wordless Page 2

  “They gave me a different uniform for you,” he said, opening the door of our truck to toss me a plastic-wrapped package from under the seat.

  I tore it open to reveal a white long-sleeved jacket, almost like a doctor’s.

  “What, am I going to a hospital?” Before Drey could answer, I added, “Do they even know what we do? White?” White clothes and trash were two more things that didn’t mix well.

  “We’re an independent company,” Drey said, getting in the truck. He waited until I’d climbed in the other side before continuing. “But you still have to report to the head of the Athenaeum’s janitorial staff. So try to look sharp. She’ll tell you where to go and what to do, though I know you’ll be collecting trash from small sites around the complex and then driving it to the main containers outside. We’ll empty those when I come to pick you up, and then we’ll finish our usual run through the city.”

  “Did you say ‘drive’?” I asked as Drey started the engine. The volume of our voices adjusted to be heard over the roar.

  “Yes, you’ll get your own vehicle. A small one, nothing like these”—he was backing the great rumbling monster out of the garage—“which you already know how to handle.”

  I was going to be trusted with my own vehicle? It was too good to be true. “I still don’t see why they would hire me,” I said, rubbing the white jacket between my fingers as if it were made out of silk. “Don’t they already have someone for the job?”

  “Nope,” Drey said tersely, looking straight ahead into early morning traffic. The city was already waking up in this section—the poor section—where buildings were tall but made out of concrete instead of stone, like a prison block. “Buckle your seat belt.”

  I grumbled under my breath and put on my jacket and my seat belt. I was intrigued, even though I had no illusions about my “future opportunities.”

  We approached the Athenaeum from the south, crossing a bridge over the Nectar River as the sun officially crested the horizon. Golden light bounced off Lake Eden in the east and raced along the river, a glowing slash that cut the city in half. The colossal fountain on the lake ignited like a pillar of fire, and the massive glass pyramid lit up like a lantern. As big as it was, the Athenaeum would have to be a lantern that belonged to the Gods. And I was about to go inside.

  We drove around to a back parking lot. I spotted the trash containers against the outer base of the steeply slanting glass walls, next to a gate just wide enough to allow a vehicle to pass: a service entrance.

  When I jumped down from the truck, Drey came around to inspect me. He reached up to flatten my mussed brown hair with fingers that were disturbingly crabbed. And either I was still getting taller—which was pretty damned tall already—or he was shrinking. I often called him “Old Man Drey,” but now it struck me like a sucker punch that he was an old man.

  “You need a haircut again,” he said. “It’s falling in your eyes. And that jacket’s a little tight across your shoulders and short in the arms.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I didn’t want to call him “old man” ever again.

  Drey suddenly looked uncomfortable. I didn’t know whether he’d liked me calling him Dad or not, even sarcastically. I’d taken his last name, Barnes, but only because it had been the only one around to give me. I sure looked nothing like him—my skin alone was several shades darker.

  We were both about to say something, probably something awkward I didn’t want to say or hear, when the small gate slid open, discharging a compact truck that was more like a cart with a trailer bed attached. It parked a short distance away, and then a woman in white stepped out and approached on foot, flanked by two people in black who’d followed her from the gate. Their rooster struts screamed power-tripping security guards louder than their official-

  looking uniforms and badges … and guns.

  And the woman was walking the same way, even in heels and a tight skirt.

  “Uh, see you later, Drey,” I said as he broke away. “In a few hours, right?” I was suddenly afraid he wouldn’t come back for me.

  “Of course. Remember what I said, Tav.” He hopped in the truck, which sounded like a metallic avalanche as it took off.

  The woman marched up to me without pausing or smiling, her heels clicking sharply on the asphalt. “You’re Gustav Barnes, I presume?”

  “Tavin. Or Tav,” I said with a wince. Drey and his stupid names.

  She held up an electronic tablet without acknowledging what I’d said. “Look here. Open your eyes wide and hold still.”

  I stared into what looked like a camera lens on the back of the tablet and didn’t blink, like a good boy, until she lowered her arm and tapped at the screen.

  “Retinal scan complete.” She detached a stylus from the tablet and held them both out to me. “Sign here.”

  I balanced the slim device on my arm and pinched the stylus awkwardly in my fingers. The screen, which for me would usually have shown a video recording of someone giving instructions, was full of little black symbols that meant shit to me.

  “Uh, where?” That was the first of my problems. The other would be writing my name.

  “Where it says ‘name,’” she responded.

  “I don’t know where that is.”

  She smiled a smile that had nothing to do with kindness. “Good, you’re wordless. We wouldn’t want you claiming to be someone you aren’t, hmm?” She snatched the tablet and stylus back from me, signing the screen herself before doing an about-face. “Right this way.”

  I followed the pinched lady as she marched toward the small truck. Her strut was somewhat inhibited by her skirt—she walked like she had a stick up her ass. That, along with many other things about her, cancelled out the positive effect of her nice legs. I tried to pretend the security guards weren’t there, positioned on either side of me like they were escorting me into prison. We stopped in front of the truck.

  “Here is the vehicle you will be using,” she said, handing me the key. “It will be parked inside the gate every morning. I assume I don’t have to explain your duties, as they’re rather simple. If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Wait,” I said as she strode back toward the gate with the security guards. “I don’t know where to go.”

  “You have brawn,” she said, giving me a backward glance like I was something she’d accidentally speared on one of her stiletto heels. “But try to use your brains. Follow the signs. They’re mostly in pictures, but scan them with your video phone to get an audio prompt if you still can’t understand. You do have a phone, right?”

  Even the homeless had phones, never mind the wordless who needed them to function. “Uh, yes. Ma’am.”

  She nodded and turned back around. “Don’t wander, or you’ll be fired immediately.”

  All I had to say to her involved a string of expletives, so I let her vanish inside the giant structure without another word. I slipped into the truck to follow and was amazed when I barely heard the engine turn over. It was electric, like probably all the vehicles in the enclosed space of the Athenaeum—no exhaust. The garbage truck was the only vehicle I’d ever driven. Drey was right: next to that, this little pickup handled like a silent breeze.

  I drove up to the gate, where the security guards were waiting with no-nonsense, brick-stupid faces. They let me pass with another retinal scan, even though I kept expecting them to stop me.

  What I saw inside made me forget them instantly.

  The Athenaeum was a city of its own—the pyramid was just an outer shell. Roads and sidewalks cut through landscaped gardens that lined the inner wall of the pyramid before diving between buildings that rose as high as the slanting glass allowed. The buildings climbed like shining staircases until those under the highest point, at the center, were literally skyscrapers. Somehow, there was a breeze, and sunlight shone through the glass like I was outside.

  After
driving around for ten seconds, I discovered that most of the signs were in pictures I could identify: a silhouette of a running man who needed to piss—okay, maybe that was an exit; a fork and spoon for restaurant locations; the outline of desks for offices, color-coded for different sections of the complex; and, lo and behold, a two-dimensional trash can with a crumpled wad of paper being tossed into it.

  It struck me that you had to have a lot of paper to be able to throw it away like that.

  There was even a sign I recognized from outside the Athenaeum: a serpent twisting up a staff. Why the hell would they need a hospital when there were three outside? Maybe they didn’t like sharing.

  At this early hour, there were only a few other electric cars and early risers—joggers, mostly, with only a couple of

  people in suits. It made the Athenaeum feel sparsely populated. But there were obviously many people living here with the Words, more than I’d ever imagined. The trash can signs, and the trash cans themselves, were mostly along the widest roads, clustered among swanky hotels and embassies that displayed flags from around the world. But sometimes the signs led me down narrow, canyonlike streets so deep I could hardly see the sky, into tucked-away parks shared by sprawling private apartments.

  This made me wonder whether I should collect the trash in these more private areas … plus, the people who’d been strolling the streets had all vanished. But there hadn’t been many “strollers” to begin with, since everyone had acted like ants on the march, and I hadn’t seen any signs telling me these streets were off-limits.

  Besides, I was still finding trash to collect in these residential areas. The cans led me, like crumbs leading a street rat, to a group of ritzy apartment buildings with fancy windows encased in ornate wrought-iron bars. Probably to keep people like me out.

  Soon I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was an intruder, no matter what, and I figured I should probably head back—until I spotted trash bags in an alley between two of the apartment buildings.

  The alley was gated.

  Curiosity killed the street rat. But I couldn’t help it. I left the truck to investigate on foot, looking as purposeful as possible in case anyone saw me. They probably already had, I realized when I saw the security camera and the eye scanner next to the twelve-foot spiked gate.

  I don’t know why I did it. Maybe for the same reason I grinned at security guards—my impetuousness, Drey always called it. Or maybe because there was trash behind the gate, and I was the Athenaeum’s new trash collector.

  I waved at the camera, leaned in, and put my eye up to the scanner.

  A small yellow light on the scanner began to flash, as if it was thinking. It thought for a long time, as if scrutinizing not only my retina but my entire life story: Abandoned orphan. Charity case. Lowly garbage boy. Any moment, I expected the light to turn red and alarms to sound.

  But instead, the light turned green and the gate popped open with a soft click.

  It had to be a mistake. I stuck my head tentatively inside and slunk into the alley. I was pretty sure I didn’t belong here—especially considering what I did next.

  Rather than take all the bags to the truck at once, I left one in the alley. When I returned for it, I picked it up but didn’t stop there. Moving quickly, I followed the alley toward the lawn I’d spotted at the other end. I just had to see who lived in places like these, these boxes within a box, and who somehow felt they could control the lives of the rest of us.

  I burst into a grassy courtyard, which was surrounded by an elegant building that rose to the sky like an inverted tower. There was nowhere to hide the fact that I was trespassing here, and the pinched lady’s warning not to wander echoed helpfully in my mind.

  I turned to hurry back through the alley to the truck—and stopped dead.

  On a balcony several stories above me, a girl leaned against the railing, gazing up at the distant sky with longing—or maybe with only what I imagined was longing, because that was how I looked up at the sky from trash-filled alleyways. Like I wanted to sprout wings and escape it all. Her viewpoint might have been better than mine, but at least I didn’t have to look through massive panes of glass to see the clouds.

  Still, this wasn’t what I’d been expecting. The trash bag slipped from my fingers and landed in the grass with a clunk.

  She glanced down. The new angle revealed her features better: she was about my age, with dark-chocolate hair parted in a long, wavy curtain around a smooth, medium-toned, mind-blowingly beautiful face … a face that briefly registered surprise as she saw me, then nothing.

  I recognized her then.

  She straightened abruptly, as if she’d heard my thoughts. She turned, vanishing inside, but not before the odd, backless cut of her black shirt confirmed what I already knew.

  She was lined with markings so black they stood out against her honey skin, covering her from the nape of her neck to her slender waist, and probably even farther but her pants blocked my view. That would have been unfortunate in other circumstances, but here, now, I’d seen enough. More than enough.

  She was one of the Words. The Word of Life; the one I never saw smile on TV.

  I didn’t stick around for an introduction. I snatched up the trash bag and ran like hell.

  three

  When Drey picked me up at noon, I didn’t tell him I’d seen one of the Words. He didn’t need to know how close I’d come to getting into deep shit—or fired—on my first day. I wasn’t positive, but I imagined people like me weren’t supposed to stare slack-jawed at the Words on their private balconies, let alone come within a thousand-foot radius of them. I’d been told not to wander, and that was probably why.

  The security guards didn’t bar the gate when Drey dropped me off for work the second day, and I breathed a sigh of relief. As weird as the Athenaeum was, this job was definitely something different, and I didn’t want to lose it quite yet.

  The early morning sun soon grew bright outside, but the greenhouse effect that I expected to develop underneath the pyramid never happened. The place was apparently the biggest damned sun umbrella in the world. The glass panes took on a tint as the morning wore on, which should have made everything dim, but even that was counteracted by enormous lights ringing the peak of the pyramid. They were as bright—but not as hot—as small suns. Probably the work of the Words of Darkness and Light.

  These people hadn’t just created a city-within-a-city; they’d created their own little universe, as if they were the Gods themselves. The Athenaeum was like a fantasyland for the Words and their entourage. It was hard enough to get a passport into Eden City; living in the Athenaeum must have required a passport plated in gold.

  I still couldn’t believe that this job had just landed in my lap, like a gift from the sky. This strange, shining place sure had some nice wrapping, but I didn’t know what it really held inside. The best presents I’d ever gotten—which were all from Drey, since he was the only one who ever gave me presents—came wrapped in black plastic bags and utility tape.

  I went about my day as I had the first, retrieving my truck from a parking lot inside the gate and driving nearly the same route, making a few adjustments for efficiency’s sake. In fact, I finished earlier than I had the day before, and in the same place: the heart of the pyramid. Continuing down the road would take me back to the exit, while a quick right onto a side street would take me to the alley and her courtyard—if the monitored gate let me pass a second time. I tapped the steering wheel in indecision.

  Maybe today was too much like yesterday, because I found myself turning right and driving toward the alley, like some other force was in control of the little truck.

  It was like poking at a candle flame when I knew I’d get burned, just because it looked warm and pretty. I was secure enough in my masculinity to admit that the girl—the Word—had scared the piss out of me, but I also wanted to see her face one m
ore time, maybe to convince myself she wasn’t as lonely-looking as I’d thought. Nor as hot—hot enough to melt my brain to gooey stupidity with a glance.

  At least she wasn’t the Word of Fire. Because then she really could melt or burn me—to skeletal ash, according to the rumors.

  When I reached the gate, I slammed on the brakes harder than I meant to. I must have lost my mind. No girl’s face was worth getting fired.

  Then I saw it, through the bars of the gate and the narrow gap between buildings: a black trash bag on the grass underneath her balcony. There was no way into or out of the courtyard other than the alley, so it had either been carried there deliberately … or dropped from above, as if someone wanted to get my attention.

  Something about the best gifts being wrapped in black plastic came to mind.

  I leapt out of the truck with a silent command for my common sense to shut up, received a green light after my eye-scan, and arrived in the shade under her balcony like I had the previous day: in a nervous rush, all the while trying to appear calm and purposeful.

  I didn’t know what I’d been expecting. The Word to be waiting? She wasn’t, but maybe she would still come. I looked up, eagerness and impatience bouncing me on my toes.

  Here I was, trying to talk to one of them—and probably about to get caught.

  No one appeared on the balcony, and I was getting more anxious by the second. Eventually I snatched up the trash bag—it was surprisingly light—and took off, not quite as fast as the day before. After all, I was just doing my job, carrying garbage.

  Only after I’d returned to the truck, the bag tossed hurriedly next to me instead of into the back, did it occur to me to look inside it. The bag rustled like it was full of dead leaves as I opened it.

  Not dead leaves. Crinkled wads of paper, pristine white as though fresh from the factory. Someone had deliberately crumpled up about a hundred brand-new sheets, just to make a trash bag look like it was full of trash. What a waste. Unless …