The Messengers: The Painted Word

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Malachi checked in by the Royal Library to leave her message and to find that the Secretary of the Senate Sub-committee had left a request, if she were back in the Capital, to deliver a message to his province's office across town--thankfully not until the next morning. She'd traveled all day and wanted only to get to her cell in the dormitory at the Messenger Center and sleep. It was a little annoying: the Secretary only asked for her out of habit, as government officials often did with Messengers; perhaps they thought they were being supportive of the novices. But it was just running across town; it wasn't as if someone were complimenting her research skills or something truly personal. And that crazy Sub-committee: they just wanted to over-throw the government and probably shake up the whole Messenger Order anyway.

"Are you all right, dear?" the woman behind the counter in the Messenger checkpoint repeated.

"I'm sorry," Malachi said, "I guess I'm tired. No, I haven't been back in the Capital long enough to see what the reaction has been." The woman had been talking about the death of the Ruler and how everyone was upset and worried about what would happen next. "In my village, people were still pretty shocked. I guess by now they've had some time to absorb it."

"Well, you would think so, but if anything, it's only getting worse." Malachi excused herself as quickly as she could while still being polite; if she was going to listen to anyone rattle on about the death of the Ruler, she would rather it be over a late dinner in the common cafeteria with other Messengers back at the MC. And then a good night's sleep.

* * *

Malachi did sleep well and was glad she woke up feeling refreshed, because walking through this part of the Capital City on the way to the provincial offices was the hardest. The same gang of young adults in one of the rougher neighborhoods in the Capital was there again, right on the same corner, and the loudest of them all definitely recognized her. She kept her eyes ahead.

"Hey, Messenger, can't stop? Whoa, you're pretty, aren't you?" As usual, the group moved along the side of the street, following in her direction as he spoke. "But you know what, guys? Doesn't matter how pretty she is. You get underneath the cape and all, and Messengers are sexless. Hah, get it? They don't have sex, do you, sweetie? No time for anything but, I don't know, pens and paper and running around." Malachi was jolted by a sudden repressed memory, cruel boys in secondary school trying to impress the girls who had formerly been her friends by telling her almost the same thing. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be telling me I should show Messengers more respect?"

Malachi had learned over the past month to stay calm and not show she was upset, but this time she genuinely fought back tears. She kept walking. "Clearly you have already been told you should show Messengers more respect."

One of the young women in the group, mildly embarrassed for Malachi, spoke up. "Come on, she didn't do anything to you." No one paid her any attention.

A second guy was already asking, "What about all the people saying those guys get locked up behind the walls over at Messenger Center and have these orgies and shit?" Salacious laughter entertained the thought. Malachi had grown up in a house with only women and bad language could still make her cringe. She felt cold inside from humiliations both past and present.

The first guy returned his attention to Malachi. "What about it, long-hair? Aren't you going to deny the stories about all the orgies and stuff?"

Worn-out, Malachi simply parroted, "There are no orgies and stuff."

The loudest turned to his buddies as their pursuit slowed while Malachi approached the next street crossing. "Look at that: just what I said, cold as fish. Messengers don't get excited; they don't even know what passion is."