Page 98 of Beyond The Maples
"You lot? What do you mean? I've seen electricity before, but not like this. Not used so... casually. I've seen dead versions of all this rotting in our junkyard," I motion around. It's crowded and humming, and I feel a jolt of adrenaline.
Briggs calls us over to the bar, and I gladly follow. The barkeep sets threedrinks down on the table and turns to analyzes me.
"She good?" he asks the twins.
"Yeah, she's cool. Just been a while for her," says Briggs, sounding oddly protective.
The bartender nods after assessing me for another moment. I'm thankful my cadet tags are hidden. I suspect they don't get a lot of government employees down here.
"How is this possible?" I have about forty other questions, but that one's the first from my lips.
"How's what possible?" asks the bartender, who's steadily cleaning and organizing cups.
I wave my hands dramatically around me.
"Oh right, well, electricity isn't gone. It never vanished like magic. We just tap into what's already there." He points to a man standing in the corner tinkering with a box filled with wires, bolts, and who knows what else.
"That's Monty. He used to be Providence's top engineer. They canned him a couple years ago––said his vision of New Providence didn't quitemeshwith how the council was trying to lead us into the future." The barkeep bends down now, speaking more softly. "This place is his. He has some information about the government that they don't want getting out, so they leave him alone, as long as he keeps his mouth shut."
"Why wouldn't they just kill him?" I frown, taking a slow sip of my overfilled drink.
"They can't kill me. I created myself a fail-safe," replies a raspy voice behind me.
"Ethra's windy balls! You move like an air sprite," I sputter, pulling laughter from Mack and Briggs, who are still standing nearby chatting like a couple of local celebrities.
"Sorry, didn't mean to spook you...?" He pauses.
I stare curiously at the small man in front of me. He's got round goggle-like glasses that have clearly been broken and repaired several times over. He's bald on top, but the rest of his long white hair gives one the impressionthat he's been electrocuted more than once in his life. He hands are clasped behind his round belly like he's trying to keep himself in one spot. His short legs rock him back and forth. His brown eyes look huge behind his glasses, silver rims against umber skin.
"Maple," I answer, sticking out my hand for him.
"Maple...?" He asks, wide-eyed and expectant.
"Maple Treow. And you are?" I ask, shaking his hand enthusiastically when he takes mine. From another man his age, this prolonged handshake would seem creepy, but I can tell he doesn't have those kinds of aspirations. He's treating me more like an equation to be solved, rather than prey.
"Montgomery Orville. Pleased to meet you," he turns the words over in his mouth like he's holding marbles in there, still shaking my hand. "As I was saying before ––they can't kill me because I ensured they couldn't. And no, I can't tell you how. Although it is quite the story."
"I'm sure it is," I reply, pulling my hand away. He seems to notice, and his cheeks pink ever so slightly.
"Treow, you say? I haven't heard that name in a while," he mumbles, bouncing again and pushing up his glasses.
"Yes, it means trees," I say plainly, waiting for the joke about my first name.
"Ah yes, that. But it also means healer, humanitarian ––leader, even. One who instills loyalty... In the old language, of course, you know." There's a warm glint in his big brown eyes as he looks over my face."Names are fascinating, aren't they? They always have great meaning. Are they prophecy? Do people behave in certain way because of the meaning of their names, or is it divine intervention? I suppose mothers could have some intuition about their offspring..." He rambles.
"Right..." I say.
"Anyhow. Nice to meet you. Enjoy your refreshments. Keep a sharpeye out; we do attract some riff-raff."
He points behind him to where a man wearing an eyepatch is cursing at a woman picking her teeth with a knife. They sit at a games table. I assume the game is not going well for him.
I watch Monty bounce back to his booth in the corner, continuing to tinker with whatever new gadget he’s managed to collect. As I watch him, I realize there’s an awareness about him. He’s focused, but I catch his ears twitch, and his nose crinkle as he tracks the sounds of his patrons in the room.
Taking my drink, I follow the twins to a table off to the side of the room. A smile forms on my lips as I watch the gamblers immersed in their games.
Remembering why I’m here, I lean towards Briggs and ask, "So, where are you two from?"
"Zaphira," Briggs responds easily, but I notice Mack tense slightly at the answer.
