After leaving the pink and gold room, I shared a pipe and a Piglet with Alexander, and he seemed more than ever committed to help. Given how many layers there were of the onion we were now living in, I might have been skeptical, except:
“She looks so much like her,” he said. “Like Evelyn.”
“Huh? Who’s Evelyn?”
“Rhian’s mother. I knew her, and Rhydian—Rhian’s father.”
“No joke?” For all intents and purposes, I’d never met the man.
“Over two decades ago now, Rhydian Sinclair and his friends, much like your friends, were deployed to Amalia. It was to be an extended job, and so knowing that, Rhydian smuggled Evelyn so they could be together while he worked. Again, much like your friends, not yet understanding the true danger.”
Alex unbuttoned his jacket, took a puff from his pipe, and rested against the wingback chair. He continued, “In some ways it feels like it’s happening all over again. It wasn’t just Rhydian and Evelyn, but Emerich Bach, and Andreas Strauss and Kaisa Laine.”
Faust had told me the rebel organization Rhydian had founded once included Strauss’s parents, and mine, too. I guess, like us, this was how it had all started for them.
“While Rhydian and the others worked their cases, Evelyn was often left alone, and I protected her. We became close.”
“You fell in love with Rhian’s mother.”
“Yes.”
I made my way to the bar and mixed myself another Piglet.
“We never crossed any lines—not like that,” Alex continued. “She and Rhydian were madly in love, but she was lonely. In any case, Evelyn Green was the first woman I’d felt anything for since Isabella.”
“Wait—Green?”
“Yes.”
“Green’s Great Big Buns?”
“The family business,” Alexander answered with a nod. “Yes.”
“I love their cookies,” I mused.
Alexander shrugged.
After taking a sup, I returned to the couch with my Piglet. “You’re not over her, are you?”
“My cycle may not be one of violence, but it demands that when I love, I love fiercely. I cannot get over her, and not because I don’t want to, but because my design relishes in the pain of loss and grief. I endure through suffering. Among other things.”
And there I thought I had problems. “That’s rough, mate.”
Again, Alexander shrugged, and we enjoyed our vices in silence for a while. When we were finished, he saw me to the door.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I said, hoisting my bag over my shoulder. “Please make sure she’s awake.”
Obligatory (R)AM Check-In:
Overheard a conversation between Michael and Strauss and learned the following:
? Rhian left Strauss a goodbye note before leaving Oskari.
? They had no reason to think she’d been under duress or had been in any immediate danger, but she had met Lidia, and had included a portrait of her.
? Michael did search for Rhian, including checking in at the Drop where he learned she’d passed through recently.
? Having seen me with Faust the day before, they decided Rhian must be with me, and that we were doing something together for the Councilwoman.
? Strauss’s dusk sermons seemed to be attracting more people.
? That evening, he spoke about resilience.
Obligatory Ivana Check-In:
? “Cookies.”
? Lunch.
? Learned about the house (R)AM were now staying in.
? Learned about the villager uprising and Strauss’s clean solution.
? Learned there was a middle-aged Partisan staying upstairs who’d paid Ivana for privacy.
Not well enough, though, because I learned the mysterious guest’s name was Emerich Bach, and where had I just heard that name? I swear, you can’t write this stuff, mates. It was also possible Alexander dropped the hint on purpose, and when I interviewed him for this very book, he said:
“Yes.”
Now, what’s important is: I knew Emerich Bach was a member of Rhydian’s crew, would know my parents, and probably wouldn’t mind seeing me. I knew where V kept the spare keys for the rooms, but I didn’t want to take advantage of her trust, so— “Can I borrow the spare key for his room?” I asked.
“Why? What are you going to do?”
“Make an honest mistake,” I replied.
V rolled her eyes, and after twelve seconds searching through a locked drawer, she palmed me the key. “You’re so lucky I like you. Now, why do I like you? No actual idea.”
I grinned. “Story of my life. Thanks, V.”
I unlocked the door to Emerich Bach’s room and walked straight in like I owned it. The pieces of his armour were laid out on the floor and leaning against the wall, and he himself was sitting on the edge of his bed in his travel clothes.
“Ah, mate—I’m so sorry.” I stared at the key in my hand like it had betrayed me.
It seemed like he was about to stand, but then he caught my eye, and he stopped. There were usually a few different looks of recognition Partisans gave one another when first meeting. Now, when you’re a defector and the Partisan walking in is a Strachan, the look is usually loaded with, “Well, this is bad.”
But not that day, and I knew that already.
As for me? I kept it casual.
“What are the odds,” he said.
“No conflict,” I answered from the door, holding up the key and turning to leave. “Must've got the wrong key—sorry again.”
Emerich Bach held up a hand. “Wait—does the name Daisy mean anything to you?”
I tilted my head. “That’s my mum’s name.”
“Close the door,” Bach said.
I’d come this far in the performance—commit, commit, commit. With a flash of curiosity, I hesitated—because again, Strachan plus defector equals somebody dies, usually. I closed the door. Emerich Bach gestured to the chair by the window, and tentatively, I sat.
“Rhydian told me he met you at the Goose and the Gander.”
I relaxed in the chair, and that bit wasn’t put on. It was nice to have someone to share that secret with. I nodded.
“Emerich Bach,” the man straightened his posture some, and untied a leather strip from around his wrist. He used it to then pull back his grey hair. “Rhydian and I have been field partners for over two decades.”
I nodded along thoughtfully. “Have you seen mum and dad lately? How are they?”
“Alive, in love, and living dangerously,” Bach answered.
“Well, what more can you ask for?”
Bach considered this for just under four seconds before he nodded, too.
“So, what brings you here?” I asked.
And that’s when Bach explained that he was a former priest of Amalia, and that he’d been quietly keeping an eye on Oskari for a while, that he had his own motivations for being in Jaska as well. For a big, bearded lumbering fellow he sure was good at laying low. Not surprising, though, with over two decades of defector experience under his belt.
So, I learned more about the lair, and that it hosted over fifty Partisans, some of them taken as children before they were conscripted to Palisade, some who were born there, and more interestingly, there were a number of mixed breeds among them.
He told me that, among other things, they study the Anima there, and then I got his version of the creation story: that the Anima were made by the gods who promptly lost control of their own creations. The gods caused the divide to resolve the issue, and then created Partisans to clean up the rest.
Cute story. Close, but not quite. The Anima were created primarily by Zacharias Vonsinfonie who reanimated the initial batch as members of their troupe. But he lost control of his creations when he returned home to focus his efforts on helping Jakob, and on finding a cure for the violent and cyclical behaviours often displayed by the Anima. Sebastian created Partisans to better survive the sorry state of the world, and The Six, powerful mixed-breed Partisan/Anima hybrids caused the divide.
Anyhow, Bach explained that he was only staying in Amalia for a little while longer, and that he and Rhydian hoped to introduce them to the operation, but not yet.
“How flexible are you feeling with that plan?” I asked.
“Why?”
“Because my friend could probably use your help,” I said. “He’s suffering, and he’s been working so hard trying to make sense of everything. The pieces aren’t coming together, but it’s not his fault because there are pieces missing.”
“Who?”
“Andrei.”
Emerich Bach shifted his weight on the bed. “What exactly are you asking?”
“Look, I know things—“
“Of course you do. You’re a Finlay.”
“Right—but the thing is, I can’t interfere directly, and look, I know you have politics with Faust to consider—"
Emerich Bach pursed the corners of his lips.
I didn’t even skip a beat, but the next thing I said was a direct response to his reaction “—but something tells me we’re both on the same page.”
“What would you like me to do? Talk to him?”
“Talk to him, aye. Give him something. Even better if you can take him to the lair. I think it would do a lot for his confidence if he met others like himself.”
“Rhydian won’t be happy.”
“Well, that’s just called being a Sinclair.”
Emerich Bach found that hilarious, which I thought he might, and he ultimately agreed to help Strauss, and to keep my involvement in the matter a secret.
That went without saying, he said, because I was a Finlay.
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A Conversation With Everleigh Gloom
“Anything I need to know?”
“No. Is there anything I need to know.”
“No. But Thanks for the drink.”
“Okay."
"See you."
"Bye."
A Day in the Life With Zack - Entry Log #12
“Just do it, Strawberry Rhubarb Pie.”
“Absolutely not.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
“That everything—that all the reminders—that I fall back into the cycle. I’m not ready.”
“One night. And whatever happens, nobody’s judging. I just want to show you something.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not falling for that, mate. Come on, one night.”
“…Fine.”
“Really?”
“One night, Feargus Finlay. But only if you tell me where we’re going.”
“We’re going to my cabin.”