The Green Ones

Episode 1, Part 4

Without a word, Neca drapes Olin over his back like a jacket, shouldering his entire weight. I can’t decide if the act is intended as a kindness or a final jab, pointing out the fact I need him. It doesn’t matter. I’m exhausted both physically and emotionally. So for now, Neca leads and I follow.

For several minutes we trudge through chadzitzin alleys I’ve made a point to avoid. We pass yoalzoah—girls exhausted from leasing themselves out in hopes of becoming pregnant, and thus more valuable in the eyes of society. On the surface, they don’t look any different from me.

We pass male occetahtli, both high class and low. Neca nods greeting to several of them, confirming my speculation he makes a living as more than just a psych-fighter. But who am I to judge? If my parents hadn’t left us the garden? If I hadn’t found my mother’s notes and figured out how to make dyes? And besides, isn’t there more to me than a flat-chested, chadzitzin dye-trader?

Reputation is important. Priorities are critical. My father taught me that. Set your priorities, and do what it takes to keep them. That’s exactly what I plan on doing. I just hope Neca is right about there being more to Centavo than his reputation. Because every kindness in the underground comes with strings attached, and connections to a man like Centavo won’t make registering for the academy any easier.

We reach a haphazard complex of adobe apartments piled in the downhill corner of district four as if a mudslide deposited them there. This is how building additions are made in Worker City—with little consideration for past or future.

“This is the place.”

I nod my head, ready to get my brother somewhere safe, whatever the cost.

“What, no quip about the architecture?”

“My bedroom is a public market during the day.”

He nods while appraising me anew.

The gesture starts my blood boiling, as if his approval means grease marks from banana peels. To avoid another confrontation, I scan the exterior of the building. “Where’s the front door?”

“This way.” Grinning, Neca leads the way toward a set of stairs leading down.

The existence of the basement reveals the building to be genuinely old. Underground construction in Worker City has been reserved for official Masa projects and city defense for over a hundred years.

Again, Neca responds as if reading my mind. “Don’t worry, he’s not that old. But he is the oldest person I’ve ever met. And grumpy too, so for the love of your brother, don’t say anything stupid.”

Inside, a long hallway is dimly lit by a strand of electric lights running along the ceiling. Neca turns a sharp corner and descends more stairs before ascending others. I want to ask him if he’s intentionally leading us into a maze from which there is no escape. Instead, I carefully craft an alternative. “Are you sure you don’t need help with Olin? He must be getting heavy with all these stairs.”

“Light as a feather. Don’t worry, we’re almost there.” Neca faces me, “Oh, and don’t act like you remember the way out, even if you do. He hates that.”

Slowly, I nod. “Is there some secret greeting I should know of?” I’m half joking.

Neca thinks it over. “Just don’t make any quick movements or try to touch him.”

I can tell he is smiling, but the light is too dim to determine if the smile is ironic or genuine. “Okay.”

Moments later, he stops at the twelfth unmarked door we’ve passed.

Before he can open it, I place a hand on his arm. “So we’re on the same page, all I’m looking for is a safe place to hide Olin while I make more of his medicine.”

Neca nods.

I chew the inside of my cheek, reopening the wound from earlier. “And maybe a place for both of us. Just until he’s well enough to leave.” I force myself to relax. “Four days at the very most.” Somewhere deep inside, I’m terrified Olin won’t come back to me; that four days won’t be enough; that I’m about to make a deal with the devil to dictate the rest of my desperate life.