The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,88
from Possuelo. Jerico was told to bring Anastasia here and the job would be done. Jeri, however, was not ready to part ways with the turquoise scythe—and besides, the crew of the Spence was overdue for some downtime. The western shores of SubSahara would be a welcome leave. And that freed Jeri to keep an eye on Anastasia, and the High Blade, who seemed a little too ingratiating.
“Do you trust him?” Jeri asked Anastasia before they got into the sedans that would spirit them to Tenkamenin’s palace.
“Possuelo does,” Anastasia said. “That’s good enough for me.”
“Possuelo also trusted that junior scythe who sold you out to Goddard,” Jeri pointed out. Anastasia had no response to that. “I will be your second pair of eyes,” Jeri told Anastasia.
“Probably not necessary, but I appreciate it,” she said.
Jeri was usually about the bottom line but found that Anastasia’s appreciation was payment enough for services rendered.
* * *
Tenkamenin, who went by Tenka to those close to him, had a disarming and effusive nature to go with his deep voice—a voice that resounded even when he whispered. Citra found it endearing as well as intimidating. She resolved to put aside Citra Terranova and be Scythe Anastasia at all times around him.
She noted that Tenkamenin’s genetic index leaned a bit toward Afric. Understandable, as this was the continent that had contributed those genes to humanity’s biological mélange. Anastasia, herself, had a tinge more Afric in her than PanAsian, Caucasoid, Mesolatino, or any of the subindexes that were corralled under “other.” As they rode together, Tenkamenin read it in her and commented on it.
“We’re not supposed to notice these things,” he said, “but I do. All it means is that we are a teeny bit more closely related.”
His residence was more than just a residence. Tenkamenin had built himself a stately pleasure dome.
“I do not call it Xanadu, as Kublai Khan did,” he told Anastasia. “Besides, Scythe Khan had absolutely no taste. The Mongolian scythedom was right to bulldoze it the moment he self-gleaned.”
The palace was, like Tenka himself, stylish and the epitome of good taste. “I am no parasite, taking over estates and mansions that belong to others, then kicking them out,” he told her proudly. “This place was built from the ground up! I invited entire communities to work, and filled their idle time with rewarding labor. And still they work, adding more each year. Not because I ask them to, but because it is their pleasure.”
Although Anastasia initially doubted it was their choice, her conversations with the workers proved her wrong. They truly did love Tenka, and the time they devoted to working on his palace was entirely of their own accord. It didn’t hurt that he paid far above and beyond the Basic Income Guarantee.
The palace was full of old-world eccentricities that were whimsical and added to the flavor of the place. The anachronistic uniforms of the staff were all from different historical eras. A collection of classic toys going back hundreds of years. And then there were the phones. Boxy plastic things of various colors that sat on tables or hung on walls. They had handsets that were connected to the bases by long, curly cords that stretched like springs and tangled easily.
“I like the idea of communication tethering you to a single spot,” Tenkamenin told Anastasia. “It forces you to give every conversation the attention it deserves.”
But since those phones were reserved for Tenkamenin’s private calls, they never rang. Anastasia supposed it was because there was very little private about Tenkamenin. He lived his life like he were in a window display.
The morning after her arrival, Anastasia was called in for a meeting with Tenkamenin and Scythes Baba and Makeda—permanent fixtures in the High Blade’s entourage, whose apparent purpose in life was to be an audience for him. Baba had a biting wit and enjoyed making jokes that no one but Tenka understood. Makeda seemed to find her greatest joy in belittling Baba.
“Ah! Our lady of the deep arrives!” said Tenka. “Sit, won’t you—we have much to discuss.”
Anastasia sat, and they offered her little sandwiches with the crusts cut off, arranged on the tray like a pinwheel. The High Blade was all about presentation.
“It is my understanding that word is spreading about your revival. While Goddard’s allies are trying to keep it quiet, our old-guard friends are making it known. We’ll build the anticipation, so that when you officially present yourself, the whole world will be listening.”