Джеффри Дивер - The Goodbye Man

Or keeping potential troublemakers separated.

Or was it merely another muscle flex on Master Eli’s part?

The majority of Companions were men in their thirties, forties and fifties, many with wives of about the same age. The next most common were young women, twenties and thirties. Shaw had expected more hippies — or hippies 2.0. At last, he noted a few Latinxs, Asian Americans and African Americans. A total of five.

Shaw spotted his place, Table 4, near the door, the opposite end of the room from the buffet line, which was on the far wall, near the kitchen. Shaw ignored his assignment and held back, watching where the brunette was going to sit.

She made her way to Table 7, several away from his. She sat, never looking up from her notebook. The pages were thick from the moisture of hands, humid air, ink. It seemed that she’d filled almost every page.

The tables were segregated by rank. Most of the diners wore the red amulets of the second level. There were three tables of Journeymen, and two of Novices. The Inner Circle Companions, sporting silver amulets, were not seated but stood against one wall, chatting among themselves.

When most people were seated, Shaw strolled up to Table 7 and sat, leaving one empty chair between him and the brunette. He nodded to the others: an older man, another who was tall and slim, and two women in their late twenties or early thirties. They regarded him with cautious politeness, as if he’d accidentally stepped into the wrong private dining room at a nice restaurant.

He turned to the brunette. “I’m Novice Carter.”

She looked up, blinking in surprise. Her pale gray eyes dipped to his blue amulet and grew wide with concern. She seemed speechless.

“How’s it going?” Shaw asked, giving the shoulder salute. He looked around. “What’s on the menu. Doesn’t smell too bad. Haven’t had a hot meal for a couple days, unless you consider a Big Mac hot.” He whispered, “Wouldn’t mind a beer, but I guess the bartender’s off duty. Permanently.” He laughed at his own feeble joke.

“I’m... I’m sorry but this is an Apprentice table.” She pointed to her red infinity sign. Her eyes held his momentarily, then fled to the oilcloth.

“Huh?”

She stammered a repetition. “An Apprentice table.”

“Oh.” He lowered his arm, feigning confusion.

“What do we have here, Apprentice Victoria?”

A familiar voice: Adelle’s. She’d changed her blouse. No blood. “Novice Carter.”

“Journeyman Adelle.” He frowned. “Something wrong?”

Victoria said, “I’m sorry, he just—”

Adelle: “There are assigned seats, Novice Carter.”

“There are?”

“The chart.” She pointed.

“Oh. Hey. Wasn’t paying much attention.”

She chided, “It’s one of the rules.”

Read them carefully. They do take them seriously...

“And Apprentice Victoria, you must remember that if someone breaks a rule, you call an AU or an IC immediately.”

Shaw recalled his cheat sheet: IC was Inner Circle. AU, Assistance Unit.

Adelle was continuing to speak to Victoria, her voice dull-edged but firm. “If you don’t call one of us right away...”

“That’s a violation of the rules too. I know that!” Victoria’s eyes were cast down. “I was caught off guard. I was journaling...”

“It’s a minor infraction. I don’t think I need to call Journeyman Hugh in for a decision.”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am.”

Hell. Shaw realized how his little tactic here had nearly gotten her disciplined by the very person he was trying to protect her from. He resolved to be more careful.

Victoria winced. “And I won’t say ‘ma’am.’ Or ‘sir.’”

Shaw recalled the rule.

“That has been a mistake of yours in the past. Not grievous but something to watch.” Adelle’s head cocked a small degree. “And he doesn’t need to know about this either.”

The reverential emphasis told Shaw that Adelle was probably referring to Eli.

“Oh, thank you, Journeyman Adelle.”

Her breathless submissiveness galled Shaw, especially as Victoria seemed several years older than Adelle.

Victoria returned to her notebook. Her hands were tremoring.

Adelle accompanied Shaw to the seating chart. “There you are, Novice Carter. Table Four.”

“I’ll take a look at those rules again.”

With a nod, she peeled off and headed to a Journeymen’s table.

He found a place and sat. Pitchers of water and iced tea were on the table, which was set with cheap metal utensils and paper napkins. Like all the others, this table was covered with a dark purple cloth. Shaw suddenly realized that the colors of the lower-level amulets, blue and red, combined to make purple, the shade of the Journeymen’s infinity signs. Maybe purple represented something significant in ancient Egypt — he still didn’t know how Osiris figured in the scheme. Or maybe the shade was part of Eli’s personal mythology.

Shaw greeted the other Novices at his table. There was a couple in their sixties, Walter and Sally. The balding man from the Intake office earlier that day was Henry. He was fit, his grip firm — they shook hands before mutually recalling that it wasn’t allowed.

Shaw whispered, “You ever done anything like this before?”

“Never. Little bizarre. You from here, Washington?”

“No. California. Travel around a lot. I’m a surveyor. Forestry.”

“I live on the East Coast.” Henry looked around the room and his morose expression from earlier that day returned. “Hope this works.” He fell silent.

The others at Table 4 were Todd, a sullen man in his early thirties, crew cut, trim. He was inked, probably a sleeve, but Shaw couldn’t see more than an inch’s work at his wrist, disappearing under the uniform. Abby was a pretty brunette with a somber face and fidgety manner. She couldn’t’ve been older than nineteen or twenty. A tanned, curly-haired man in his late twenties sat hunched forward over the place setting. His name was John.

At 7:10 the Inner Circle Companions, equal numbers men and women, stepped away from the wall and fanned out, each sitting at a different table. Apparently they were chaperones.

Or guards.

Spies was another option, Shaw supposed.

The Inner Circle Companion assigned to Table 4 approached, striding stiffly. The mid-thirties man sported hair that was perfectly trimmed and gelled into a businessman coif. He stood erect and looked them over. He said in an oily, practiced voice, “Greetings, Novices. I am Journeyman Quinn. And I’m proud to be your table host for this evening.” His glasses were of the sort you don’t see much: wire frames with half lenses.

He touched his left shoulder with his right palm. Ignoring the absurdity he felt, Shaw did the same. He summoned a shy smile — as if proud to be part of the family, even if a newcomer.

Quinn made a show of lifting the iced tea pitcher and the water, one in each hand, and leaning close to the diners. “Preference for a beverage?”

Shaw opted for tea. Quinn poured for everyone — the other ICs were doing the same — and then he sat.

A voice from the overhead speakers announced: “Let us give thanks.” Most knew what was coming and spoke along: “For what we are about to receive, our thanks to you, Master Eli, and all that you have taught us, you are teaching us, and you will teach us. From the Yesterday, a better Today. From the Today, a perfect Tomorrow.”

Shaw and Henry mouthed along as best they could. He noted that Quinn was watching them make the effort. Then the voice from above called out, “The best is yet to come!”

Applause filled the room, though not what you’d hear at the end of a concert. Several of the Inner Circle had started a coordinated slow clapping of their cupped palms, carefully timed, one strike per second. This lasted for a very long half minute.