The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,58
difficult to spell, was the man who might have been High Blade, had Goddard not made his infamous reappearance at conclave. Now he seemed to be little more than an elevator operator, because escorting Morrison to the rooftop residence was his only contribution to the meeting. He never even got out of the elevator.
“Mind yourself,” he warned before the doors closed, as one might say to a child dropped off at a birthday party.
The crystal residence was stunning, filled with unusual angles and slim furniture with minimal profiles as to not obstruct the 360-degree view. Only the frosted glass walls of the High Blade’s bedroom marred the vista. Morrison could see a vague shadow of the High Blade moving around in there, like a funnel spider deep in its web.
Then a figure in green swept in from the kitchen area. Scythe Rand. If she wanted to make a grand entrance, it was foiled by the glass walls, because Morrison had seen her long before she arrived in the room. No one could accuse this administration of not having transparency.
“Well, if it isn’t the heartthrob of the MidMerican scythedom,” Rand said, sitting down, rather than shaking his hand. “I hear your trading card has a high value among schoolgirls.”
He sat down across from her. “Hey, yours is valuable, too,” he said. “For different reasons.” Then he realized that it might be perceived as an insult. He said nothing more, because he figured he could only make things worse.
Rand was now legendary. Everyone in the Mericas—maybe even the world—knew that she was the one who had brought Goddard back from the dead in a manner not even the Thunderhead would dare. Morrison was always put off by that grin of hers. It made you feel like she knew something you didn’t and couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when you found out.
“I hear you made a man’s heart stop last month with one blow,” Rand said.
It was true, but the guy’s nanites had started his heart again. Twice. In the end Morrison had to turn off the man’s nanites to make the gleaning stick. That was one of the problems with gleaning without weapon or poison. Sometimes it just didn’t take.
“Yeah,” said Morrison, not bothering to explain. “It’s what I do.”
“It’s what we all do,” Rand pointed out. “What’s interesting is the way you do it.”
Morrison was not expecting a compliment. He tried to offer her his own unreadable smile. “You think I’m interesting?”
“I think the way you glean is interesting. You, on the other hand, are a total bore.”
Finally, Goddard came out of his bedroom suite, his arms wide in welcome. “Scythe Morrison!” he said with far more warmth than Jim had expected. His robe was slightly different from the one he used to wear. It was still dark blue, and speckled with diamonds, but if you looked closely, you could see cross filaments of gold that shimmered like the aurora borealis when the light hit it.
“As I recall, you were the one who seconded Scythe Curie’s nomination for High Blade, were you not?”
Apparently Goddard wasn’t wasting time with small talk. He was going straight for the jugular.
“Yes,” said Morrison, “but I can explain…”
“No need,” said Goddard. “I enjoy a vigorous competition.”
“Especially,” added Rand, “one that you win.”
It made Morrison think of the games he liked to watch, where the outcome was already determined, so he knew which team to root for.
“Yes. Well, at any rate,” said Goddard, “neither you nor our friend Constantine had any idea that I was waiting in the wings, planning a grand entrance when the nomination was made.”
“No, Your Honor, I did not.” Then he caught himself. “I mean, Your Excellency.”
Goddard made a point of looking him over. “The gems on your robe add a nice touch,” he said. “Are they a fashion statement, or something more?”
Jim swallowed. “More,” he said, hoping it was the right answer. He glanced at Rand, who was clearly happy to watch him squirm. “I was never actually aligned with the old guard,” Morrison told them. “I nominated Curie, because I thought it would impress Scythe Anastasia.”
“And why would you want to impress her?” Goddard asked.
Trick question, thought Morrison. And he decided it was better to be nailed by the truth than to be caught in a lie. “I had the feeling that she was going places—and so I figured if I impressed her—”