Anna Jarzab: Tandem

If Thomas knew what she was planning to do—what she had already done—he would try to stop her. Six months ago, before her father’s attempted murder, the king had broken the news that he was marrying her off to the enemy in order to secure some measure of peace and safety for the Commonwealth. He’d tried in vain to convince her that this was the only way, but she’d refused to accept his reasons, had raged against him, scowled and snapped and played the spoiled brat, anything to make him change his mind, but he wouldn’t. Thomas had told her that sometimes sacrifices must be made for the good of all. She’d been so awful to him after that, had hardly spoken to him since that conversation, even after what happened to her father. All she’d wanted was to ask Thomas what she should do, but she couldn’t bring herself to say a word to him. Now here she was, five minutes from betraying him, betraying everyone, all the people that depended on the royal family for strength and leadership and salvation, and she knew that whatever happened next, however and whenever her life did eventually end, like all lives do, she would regret not thanking him for his friendship, and not saying goodbye.

It was three minutes to twelve. She had to leave now if she was to meet her co-conspirator at midnight. When he’d come to her a few days ago and offered her this choice, she’d been repulsed. She’d never liked him in all the years she’d known him. He’d always seemed too slick to her, slippery as an eel; he reeked of insecurity and desperation, which she especially hated because she feared she might sometimes come off that way, in her weaker moments. Her father had always told her that the things people hate most in others are likely the things that they hate in themselves. When it came to this particular person, the thought made her cringe; if she was anything like him, perhaps that was the reason she was doing what she was doing. Running away, hiding, avoiding her duty—it was what he would have done. After all, he was the one helping her to do it.

At first she hadn’t understood what he was offering her. How could he, of all people, give her what she wanted—the chance to live a normal life, away from the Castle, away from her responsibilities, the chance to be who she wanted to be, whoever that was. But then he told her about Libertas, that they were willing to help her disappear for the right price. But he was only the messenger, the thief inside the Castle. It was the Monad who really wanted her. It was the Monad who would set her free.

There was one last thing to take care of before she went. She wrote her note to Thomas quickly and, knowing that it needed to look inconspicuous or it would never reach him, folded it into the shape of a star, pressing her thumbnail against its edges so that it would puff out. Then she placed it in the drawer of her nightstand. Her message was short, for there wasn’t much room to write, and she didn’t have much to say:

T—I’m sorry, but I can’t. I wish I was better, but I’m not. –J

She closed the drawer, then crossed the room and stood beneath a painting that had been done long ago. It showed her mother’s country estate of St. Lawrence, which belonged to her now. She’d spent every summer there as a child, on the banks of Star Lake; it was there that some of her happiest memories were set. It broke her heart to imagine that she might never see it again, might never see her mother again. Her mother was an exile, forced to live out the rest of her days in a northern country for the mere crime of having loved the king and not having been loved enough in return. That old wound throbbed as she took her last look at regal, historic St. Lawrence and recalled the childhood she’d lost, but then she put it aside, knowing full well that nostalgia was a phantom limb, painful but useless.

She stepped out onto the terrace to take one last, long look at the Castle gardens, her favorite place in the whole Citadel. High above her the Tower stood, blacker than the night itself. She imagined Thomas asleep in his quarters, blissfully unaware of the fact that when he woke the next morning, she would be gone. She imagined the General in his office, painstakingly plotting out a future that she would not be around to take part in. The first she would feel guilty for turning her back on; the other could rot in hell for all she cared. Above the Tower, higher still, the aurora spun and turned the way it always had, the way it always would, with or without her. It had an indifferent beauty that reminded her how minuscule she was in the face of infinity. This thought was a comfort. In the grand scheme of things, she didn’t matter at all. Knowing that made it easier to do what she was about to do.

It was hard to get used to the sky without the aurora in it. He hadn’t given it much thought before he came through, how much he’d miss it. He wasn’t overly sentimental about those sorts of things, but it was strange to look up and see only an empty blanket of black pockmarked with stars. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of toggles, popping them into his mouth one by one and savoring the taste of the smooth chocolate before biting down softly upon the fruit center. It was his one vice; there was nothing on Earth to compare with toggles, so, even though it was against the rules to bring something from his universe that did not exist in this one, he couldn’t resist carrying a bag through the tandem. He ate them compulsively when he was anxious, and they reminded him of home. It seemed to be worth the risk.

He had entered this universe through a door that wasn’t there. No one saw him do it; night had fallen several hours before, and the small, quiet stretch of South Kenwood that ran along Bixler Park was empty. His entry was undisturbed; only a small tremor that rattled the swings on the playground signaled his arrival. He’d taken up his position behind the thick trunk of an oak tree and waited for his analog to appear, twisting the gold KES ring he wore, running his thumb over the inscription on the band, the KES motto: Surpass to outlast. At 9:40 p.m., Grant Davis left a restaurant on Fifty-Seventh Street with a small group of friends. Thomas watched as Grant said goodbye and separated from the group, jogging across the street with his hands in his pockets. He was on his way.

Thomas considered the bizarreness of what was about to happen, what he was about to do. He did have a choice. He could let Grant pass him by, let him walk up the street and disappear into the warm yellow light of the house he shared with his mother, a law professor and amateur ornithologist who rode a bicycle to work and bought all her groceries at the neighborhood co-op. But if he wasn’t going to do it, then why was he there? Yes, he had a choice, but barely. This was his mission. The General was counting on him, and, even though they didn’t know it, so were all the citizens of the country he’d pledged a solemn oath to protect and serve. Tonight the fate of an entire universe rested upon his shoulders. He couldn’t go back on his promises now, no matter the doubts that tugged at his mind and asked him, did he really think he was doing the right thing?

Grant’s footsteps grew louder as he closed the gap between them. Thomas readied himself. This would have to be done with absolute precision. There was no room for error. At least the park was deserted. At least there was no chance of anyone bearing witness to what was about to happen.

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