Deviant

Reuben sat at a table and sipped at his drink, eyes taking in the bar. It had been six months since he’d last been in such a crowded space, and, within minutes, he found himself craving the relative quiet of his room. When he’d first come down, the volume had dropped as the assembled company evaluated him, and there’d been a collective gasp when he’d sat at a table and the candlelight had made his scars obvious. In fact, Reuben suspected the innkeeper had prepared the company because, had he not, many people would have left, fearing disease more than the lights in the sky.

But, after the initial shock, conversation resumed and he now found himself largely ignored, which was how he liked it. His ears adjusted more quickly than his nose, which found itself assaulted by the complex miasma of many people in a small space drinking and eating.

He swallowed another mouthful, leaned back and sighed. An acceptable brew, though, as always, more malty than hoppy. It had been a long decade between the end of the world and the first barley crops with enough surplus to allow for malting but, boy, what would he give for a cold IPA? 

His thoughts were interrupted as the food arrived and he nodded at the girl even as she placed the plate on the table at arm’s length alongside a fresh pint before scampering quickly away.

The meat was a lump of salted pig masquerading as gammon, but it probably represented the best the tavern could offer, and was tasty enough. Having spent months surviving on charity, dried jerky and the occasional scrawny rabbit, it was a relief to fill his stomach, even if there was more fat than meat and some of it tougher than his leather coat. He pushed the plate away and finally felt himself relax. Truth was, nowhere was entirely safe for anyone, let alone a hunted former exciser, but a full belly and decent beer somehow made the danger recede a little.

Then he noticed Oxendine hovering at the bar and looking in his direction. Suppressing the temptation to roll his eyes or ignore the man, he waved him over.

“I’m sorry to disturb your meal, Mr. Bane., but it’s just that, well, I just wanted to make sure we’d given satisfaction.”

Rueben sighed. “You’ve obviously heard then. Yes, I’m an exciser,” he said. “Do you wish to see my mark?”

“Oh, no. No, indeed, your lordship.”

“I’m no lord, believe me. And yes, the meal was excellent, as is the beer.”

Oxendine seemed to inflate as if he’d been holding his breath. “I sure am pleased to hear that. But I wonder if I could ask a favor.”

“Go ahead.”

The innkeeper leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Well, you see, sir, it’s like this. We haven’t had a visit in such a while, and there’s a matter that can only be settled by a man such as yourself.”

Rueben nodded, his heart sinking as he sensed a trap opening up in front of him.

“We got one, you see,” Oxendine continued. “A deviant. In the basement. We’re holding him for the next official visit, but who knows when that will be?”

“When was the last?”

“Six months ago, at least.”

Rueben felt the tension in his body ease. It seemed the Foundation wasn’t especially interested in Jackson. Hopefully that applied to their hunters as much as their regular excisers. He needed to get out of town without raising suspicion, and the best way to do that was to play along with Oxendine.

He just hoped the man was wrong.

***

Rueben's heart sank as he reached the bottom of the basement stairs and caught sight of the deviant.

"He's just a boy," he said, looking back at the inn-keeper's nervous face in the lantern-light.

Oxendine shrugged. "It sure is a shame. And he looks normal. I guess that's how he's gotten away with it."

"What's the story?"

"His parents tried to sneak him in. They sure must have been desperate to think they'd get past the examiner. Tried to bribe him, or so it's said."

Rueben shook his head. "Where are they now?" He knew the answer, but he needed the man to say the words.

The innkeeper looked back up the stairs as if he couldn't wait to escape. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Hanging from the gate gallows.”

Bane saw the two bodies in his memory, creaking on the end of their ropes.

“Law's clear enough on that,” Oxendine continued, “but the boy's committed no crime. If it was up to me ..."

"What?"

Oxendine's face drained of all color, and he froze as he tried to form a sequence of words that wouldn't see him join the boy's parents hanging on the end of a rope.

Reuben put the man out of his misery. "Fortunately, it is not up to you, Oxendine. It is the role of excisers to make these decisions in accordance with scripture and Foundation teachings. Now, you will leave me to examine the boy."

The innkeeper didn't wait for Rueben to repeat the order, but scampered up the basement steps at a remarkable pace considering his size, and disappeared. Bane waited until he heard the door close, and approached the boy who, it turned out, was chained to a slave ring on the floor.

"What is your name?" he said, getting onto his haunches and examining the child with his eyes. Twelve or thirteen years of age, Rueben guessed, and bone-thin, he shrank away with his knees under his chin as if they could shield him from the exciser. "We don't have time for this. You will tell me your name, willing or no."

For the first time, the boy looked directly at him. "Asha. My name's Asha."

His voice was barely above a whisper, and he trembled as he spoke.

"And your family name?"

"They call me Ash."

"No, I mean your surname. The name your family shares."

The boy shook his head, clearly not understanding what Reuben was saying.

"Where did you live before you came here?"

"Home."

Reuben sighed, rocking back on his haunches then settling on the dusty concrete floor. He knew the story. Mother had the child, discovered he was a mutant and then she and the father kept him away from what passed for civilization, so he had a chance to grow up without coming under examination. But something changed and they were forced to try and slip in. His blemish must have been a minor one or they wouldn't have tried, however desperate.

And the boy clearly hadn't heard of the excisers, or he'd be much more terrified than he actually was. Or perhaps he simply hadn't recognized one when he was sitting in front of him.

"I need to examine you," Reuben said. "It would help if you could explain to me what makes you different to your parents."

At their mention, he screwed up his face and the tears came, the basement echoing with anguished sobs.

This was not in Reuben's wheelhouse. He half leaned forward, feeling as though there was something he should do to comfort the boy, but, in the end, slumped back and waited, eyes searching for any signs of deformity.

All he could see, however, was that the child was as thin as a wraith, the line of his shoulder-blades obvious as he sat, curled up and heaved.

"I'm sorry, Asha, but if I am to protect you, then you must tell me how you're different."

The tears subsided and the boy's voice emerged from somewhere within his curled-up form. "I know what people are thinking."

"What? You can read minds? No, of course not." Reuben knew this was simply a child's fantasy. After all, why would his parents feel the need to hide him in that case? "There is something on your body that is different. I must know, Asha. You can trust me." He wondered, as he said those final four words, how often they'd been abused, and he felt sick to his stomach.

"I know. That man who came with you, he was frightened. He felt sorry for me. But you won't hurt me. You're very sad."

Reuben ground his teeth. The last thing he needed was to be psychoanalyzed by a kid. For an instant he wondered what had happened to the psychiatrists after the end of the world. He saw, in his mind's eye, a comfortable couch in a sunny room. A woman was taking notes.

It was another world, lost in time, never to be recovered.

"Asha, we have no time. You must tell me, now. Do you have extra toes?" It cut him to the core to ask, but he was all out of time. In his memory, he saw a baby's hand and the tiny extra finger that condemned it.

The boy looked up at him, as if he finally understood. "No," he said, but then he slipped off his leather sandals.

At first, Reuben could see nothing unusual. Thank God, there were five toes on each foot.

Then Asha took his big toe in one hand and the smallest digit in another and separated them.

"You have webs." Reuben said, hopelessly.