Page 41 of Bannerless (The Bannerless Saga 1)

Who would the town resent more: the household that did something wrong, the investigators called in to judge them—or the person who brought all the worry down in the first place? Should be the first, Enid thought. Shouldn’t it?

Fisher said, “It’s hard, having to take to task people you see every day. People you have to live with. No one wants to be disruptive. As much as we don’t want to say it, it’s probably a good thing we have investigators. Let someone else be the villain, hmm?”

Hild, the youngest of them, frowned. “But where do they even come from? Who would even want to be an investigator? Everybody hates them.”

Enid spoke up. “A couple of my household cousins are investigators. They do it to help.”

Everyone turned their attention to her; she told herself to straighten under the scrutiny, rather than slouch. She was proud of Tomas. She’d tell anyone she was.

“Is that how they get to be investigators? It’s all people in the same households?”

“No—it’s not that easy. They have to be recommended for it by committees from a couple of different towns. There’s a long apprenticeship. They travel a lot—I think some of them sign up for it for the travel.”

“Easier to learn to play guitar,” Dak said wryly, and everyone chuckled, just like they were supposed to.

“Nala was asking about quotas. If we think they’re fair, if anyone’s been regularly exceeding them. That’s what they’re going to get pinned on, I bet. Not the bruises, but the quotas.”

“Well. Be interesting to see how it comes out,” Raul said.

“What’ll happen?” Hild asked, her voice small.

No one answered. Instead, they all looked to Fisher to make the pronouncement, to decide how much the young girl should know. To Enid, the conversation was familiar, commonplace. No one back at Plenty danced around these topics, and she found this talk fascinating. She wished she could ask Tomas or Peri about it. She tucked it away with the other stories she planned on telling when she got home. Dak sat back in his chair, hand on his chin, concentrating on the talk as much as she was but likely for different reasons.

“Maybe just restrictions,” Fisher said. “What and when they can trade, quota reduction. No banner. Worst case, the whole house’ll be broken up and everyone’ll have to leave, find other households to join.”

“Place like Bonito, would that be a bad thing?” Raul said with a huff, looking into his food.

Fisher frowned. “I’m guessing it won’t come to that. I’m hoping the investigators will make it easier for Reni and anyone else who wants to leave to do so. It’s what I’d do.”

“They couldn’t just leave if they want?” Hild asked.

“It’s not so easy when you’ve put a bunch of work into a household, and the work and the credits stay there,” Fisher said. “Sometimes if you want to leave, you have to start all over again. Find folk to help if you can. It’s not so easy.”

She spoke like someone who knew.

By now the table was clear, and Fisher stood and clapped her hands. “Dak promised to play tonight. Let’s say we all go listen and see if we can cheer twice as loud as anyone else?”

“And maybe pick up more gossip while we’re there,” Xander said.

Yeah, Enid thought. There’d likely be plenty of gossip. The thought of it, the implications of it, made her stomach clench. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what sort of tragedy could disrupt such a nice place as Fintown.

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Investigators Nala and Holt weren’t at the party. Probably for the best, as the mood was already subdued. A couple of brown uniforms in the mix, the party would never even start. Even if they didn’t wear their uniforms, they’d still be strangers and everyone would know. As it was, as Xander guessed, lots of gossip passed around. Other heads of households coming to Fisher to compare notes on what the investigators had asked her about, what they seemed to be looking for.

The community house had a covered patio where people gathered. Candles and lamps lit up the space as the sun set over the ocean, and a fire burned in an iron brazier for warmth. Someone had brought a cask of cider, another household brought honey cookies.

Dak sat on a chair at the front of the space, a handful of kids surrounding him as he explained how the guitar worked. He let them pluck the instrument’s strings, showed them how they made different notes. Someone on the Coast Road must know how to make guitars and other instruments; Dak’s shining black piece wasn’t a survivor from before the Fall. Whoever it was had to have learned the skill out of pure love. Or just enough people wanted guitars to make it worthwhile.

Enid sidled up next to Xander. “Anyone from Bonito here?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding to a clump of the older people who had their heads together, gossiping. “That’s Jada at the end. She’s the only one, though. She’s not the head of the house, but I’m wondering if she’s here to try to suss out what folk are saying. See if there’s anyone who might speak in favor of Bonito.”

“I get the feeling the answer is no.”

He huffed a humorless c

huckle. “It shouldn’t have taken investigators to fix this. Our committee should have been able to handle it on its own.” He spoke softly, so only she could hear. She wondered if he’d have said such a thing to anyone from Fintown.

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