The Line

Triangles for heads

He found her inside the factory, gathering unfinished raincoats with her eye on white trading slips. Of course she was here. She needed to be. She'd been listening to Flynn. She knew that without a trading slip or certain predilections, she'd be going hungry.

Others sat around her, on stools, and she glanced at them uncertainly before glancing at the pieces of fabric she held even more uncertainly. A full minute went by--she spent it frowning at the raincoat pieces, frowning hard, trying to make sense of the puzzle. Naturally, Juan would have offered to help. If he wasn't so terrible at sewing himself.

Instead he called her name, collecting every stare except her own. She seemed to be too engrossed in the raincoat dilemma to notice him.

"Angelle!" Juan called again.

This time she looked up. Something flashed in her eyes, something he couldn't place, and she stood up, grabbing his arm, yanking him outside with surprising strength. She led him to a nearly-empty stretch of dock and seemed to be satisfied there. Then she faced him, back to the water, ignoring the pluggers that zoomed by like arrows the buildings shot at each other.

The only thing that came out when Juan spoke was: "You shouldn't be afraid of Flynn."

"I think he's more afraid of me, actually," she muttered.

"Flynn wants to know everything there is to know," Juan said, unconsciously imitating her soft voice. "Not knowing something scares him, and you're different from the other flashies."

Angelle shook her head.

"You still haven't told me what you saw, exactly," Juan said. "How many people were there in the audience? What did they look like?"

"I shouldn't," she said, pursing her lips. That wild look of fear was back in her eyes.

As terrible as it was, Juan wasn't backing down. Not yet. "What did you see?"

Angelle sighed and looked away. Wind was picking up her hair and swinging it into disorderly patterns, but she didn't fuss with it once--not that there was any indication she even noticed.

She told him, "Their faces. They had triangles for heads. And their skin. It was all patches of different colours. And I think they spoke with their hands. There were a lot of them. Too many to count."

She looked down as soon as she finished speaking, rubbing her hands together and shifting her feet.

"Angelle?"

He saw her take a deep breath.

"Angelle," Juan repeated, "did you just say they had triangles for heads?"

"That's what I saw," she whispered.

Staying sane was a constant battle in the Line, and this revelation--if he could even call it that--was threatening to put him on the losing side. No, he didn't have all the answers. But at least he knew he didn't have any wrong answers.

"You must have seen wrong," he said, more for himself than her. "Everyone's memories of the court are fuzzy. Yours must just be distorted."

She shrugged. "That's what I saw, but maybe you're right." It seemed she wasn't even going to argue with him, and this was disconcerting in its own way.

Juan felt a small panic inside him when she moved. 

Was it all just a coincidence that Angelle appeared on the day he was set to escape? Was Flynn right?

Had someone sent her?

"I need more answers," Juan said. She stiffened, and he vaguely realized he'd shouted. "Why did you have lights? What did your judge say? Why are you here?"