18 – Presentation

Curt fell behind Ryan as they walked over the perfect, picture-perfect grass lawn of the Gardens.

And, like so many seemingly simple things in his life, there was no right choice.

If he walked ahead of Ryan, there was the chance that Ryan would see this as arrogant. A human putting themselves ahead of someone – something – that was so clearly better than a homo sapien. It was also a Solstice putting himself in front of an Agent, which was just bad optics.

If he walked beside Ryan, it would seem like he was trying to make himself equal.

If he walked behind, there was always the chance Ryan would suspect him of attacking and act on that fear.

Dying somewhere pretty wouldn’t be the worst way to go.

At least walking behind made him appear contrite and obedient, and meant, if Ryan didn’t fear a sneak attack, it would let him fade into the background somewhat.

He hoped Carmichel would join them soon, otherwise, the anxiety from the small talk might stress him into a heart attack.

There were a pile of small plates. Curt took one and pretended to be overly interested in the food options. Ryan, meanwhile, just stood awkwardly near the tall pitchers of water. So weirdly inhuman.

Curt didn’t interact with Taylor much, but from what he had seen, Taylor didn’t make any attempt to seem human. He was a military command program come to life. Every word out of his mouth was mission-orientated or a direct order to recruits.

Jones seemed so human it was disarming – especially in cute-gamer-girl mode. There was a reason that Jones appeared to have the happiest recruits in the building; she was a nerd, just like them. Understood their flaws, accounted for their needs, adapted in an instant, and was genuinely friends with most of them.

Ryan was this weird no-man’s-land between them. He didn’t seem to be friends with any of his recruits – unless he had somehow managed to miss that in the last year, but that didn’t seem likely – but he still acted friendly enough. However, it so often seemed stiff, formal, and forced.

Faced with a table of chef-designed foods and paired drinks, he stood like a six-foot-tall phone, looking for somewhere to dock until he was needed again.

‘Curt?’

He looked up, Recruit Curt mask fully engaged. ‘Sir?’

‘I’ve already spoken to Magnolia. The two of you will be rewarded for taking on the assignment to retrieve Callington. It was optional, and you took on risk to complete it.’

‘There’ll be a letter of commendation placed in your file, but generally, we try to give recruits something more than a symbolic gesture.’

He was so glad that he was so practised in maintaining his mask, despite what anyone around him said. He held it while recruits talked about him, not even behind his back, but right in front of his face. He held it while facing strange agents, who always seemed okay with casually mentioning that he was an oddity.

He could easily hold it when Ryan was offering him a reward, even if what he wanted to do was scream to be released. To be taken off the infinite probation that was the condition of his new life, to be allowed to breathe without thinking that each breath could be his last.

Ryan’s respect was crucial to his future. He’d applied once for the aide position, but it had been way too much, way too soon, even if objectively, it would have been a good idea for Ryan. Any aide, even an ex-Solstice, would be better than having no help at all.

But he also had to be careful in how he presented himself. It was always better to be underestimated for the Agency to think he was dumber, less informed, and less motivated than he was.

Being too much, being on too many radars, in the forefront of too many minds couldn’t be good, could only be dangerous.

He couldn’t ask for freedom. He couldn’t ask to be promoted to aide.

He could seem shallow, and right now, that was probably the best move.

‘I don’t need much, sir,’ he said. ‘But if you insist, maybe a weekend pass with tier three per-diem?’

Tier three was probably pushing it, but it was possible if it was being presented as a reward. He didn’t need the money, not really. Carmichel’s kindness already probably had him in the upper per cent of recruits with fae currency, without even considering that he was a property owner.

Primarily, all his bank account did was accrue interest. It was topped up every so often by cash gifts that Carmichel – or really, one of his assistants – deposited on holidays where cash gifts were seen as acceptable.

Most recruits gathered small amounts of cash by doing tasks that gave per diem allowances. Interactions with the local courts, delivery jobs to Faerie, interactions with Courts, all things where showing up without at least twenty bucks in your pocket was a bad look.

Tier one, the only one he’d actually ever been granted, was twenty-five fairy dollars. For most locations, this amounted to either a nice cafe lunch or, if you wanted to bring home some of the allowance, fast food.

Tier two was two hundred and fifty, and tier three was one thousand per day.

‘A three-day pass,’ Ryan said, with a small, perfunctory smile, ‘and tier three. Magnolia extorted me for a lot more, though her requests will benefit her division as a whole, so I had no trouble granting it.’

‘What did she ask for?’

‘She wants to bring in some expert trainers for sessions with her recruits. That part is relatively simple, but she also asked us to negotiate turning their training into a sim. That will require licence fees and a lot more time. Doable, but pushing a little further than what we expected.’ Another smile. ‘So thank you for being reasonable in comparison.’ Ryan poured himself a glass of water. ‘Do you have any plans for how you’ll spend the time?’

Small talk but easy. An extension of what he said anytime people asked what he did in Faerie. ‘I still haven’t visited a lot of the tourist attractions, so I’ll likely cross a few things off my bingo card. Astral Park, maybe,’ he said, picking one of the theme parks from his mental list. ‘I haven’t been to a theme park since I was a kid.’

‘They’re saying they’ll probably be some time,’ Carmichel said as he approached. ‘If you’ve got things to do, Director, they can call you back when they’re ready to proceed. I’ll keep your recruit here in case they need him for their calculations and comparisons.’

Ryan almost looked relieved to be getting dismissed. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘please have Jones contact me when she’s ready. I’m quite interested to see if we do have what you suspect we have.’

After Ryan said his goodbyes and shifted away, Curt felt his entire body sag. Another performance survived. Another relatively positive interaction with the man who held his life in his hands.

Carmichel started putting together a plate. ‘What did you ask for?’

Curt furrowed his brow. ‘I’m guessing rewards are common, then?’

‘Not formally, they don’t want to really encourage the…’ Carmichel waved his hand, his usual sign that he was usually trying to deliberately choose an English phrase rather than relying on the fae gift of language to carry the conversation. His hand dropped onto a plate, and he picked up a delicate cheese-and-tomato cracker. ‘They don’t want recruits to turn into bounty hunters. They have people for that if and when it’s needed. Regular recruits, well, you’re supposed to be doing it for more altruistic reasons, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Most of the time, it’s things barely worth mentioning. Schedule preferences, money, maybe a transfer or promotion. That big ginger bloke of yours, though…’

“Bloke” and the other Aussie-isms that Carmichel occasionally sprinkled into conversation always sounded so strange, so out of place, with his Fairyland accent.

‘Taylor,’ he supplied.

‘Him. I’ve asked, he’s answered, I’ve moved on. Unfortunate. He is impressive.’

He tried not to think of the persistent rumours that speculated that Taylor was…proportional and that he regularly fucked Mags through walls. Not that anyone he knew had ever claimed to have seen firsthand one of these cartoonish holes knocked out of a wall.

‘What about him?’

Carmichel poured himself a drink. ‘I only know bits of this, of course. Some years ago, in one of those city-states like Petal’s Peril, there was a king who was-’ Pause. ‘A homicidal, genocidal sadist. Someone who needed to be put down. Your ginger was part of the seemingly doomed mission to deal with it, and he cut the king’s fucking head right off. He’s got the axe. It should have gone to a museum. It was a historical artifact, even Ursur got his hands on it, but…the Agency negotiated. Now it’s in some cupboard in Queen Street.’

‘Jesus, I only asked for a bit of cash and a few days off,’ he said.

‘Smart, kallabrae, reasonable, but not self-deprecating. Plans?’

‘Maybe you can finally drag me to the inland sea.’

Carmichel smiled. ‘I’ll text you some dates then. One of my favourite ports has a festival in a few months. Water dancers, wave crafting, and water spouts you can ride. You’ll love it. Get your kite serviced beforehand, though. You’ll want to bring that along.’

He nodded. ‘Of course.’ He looked back to where Jones and her friends were circling the statue. ‘How are they going?’

‘Well, I have a date with Cygnus,’ Carmichel said. ‘That is if he can stop himself from jumping the rope. ‘With how little information I gave beforehand, all I could do was hope we would get someone even somewhat versed in the Lighthouse Theory.’ He smiled. ‘He’s more than I imagined. Especially for Central, I’m sure he’s skirting close to a faux pas with how much he knows unless he’s got dispensation. I’ll be sure to ask him sometime before I go down on him.’

Curt rolled his eyes, then grinned. ‘I found the statue, so technically, I’m responsible for you meeting him. Finder’s fee?’

Carmichel picked up a tart so small it barely held the strawberry on top of it. ‘I already added six normal hours to your account.’