The Green Ones

Episode 1, Part 6

Centavo smiles.

At least I think it’s a grim smile. “I mean, this isn’t the first time we’ve met, is it?”

He shakes his head. “I have tried to stay away, out of respect for your parents’ wishes.” He puffs his pipe. “As you realize, my presence hinders the likelihood of reaching your full potential via the path you have chosen.”

“You mean Masa.”

“Yes, Masa. The ever-rising dough of the people.” He blows smoke from his nose.

His speech is so subtle I can’t read whether he is being facetious or genuine. But it is hard for me to imagine a man like this being a true believer in Masa. “You believe there to be another path?”

“Better than Masa?” he shrugs.

A long silence passes between us. Each lost second makes it more difficult for me to reach my mother’s garden and return inside the shield wall before tomorrow morning’s ID burn. Maybe Centavo plans on holding us here. Could there be something in my mother’s notes more valuable than dye? As much as I hate the thought, I am sure I would give anything to the old man if it meant saving my brother.

Finally, he continues, “I believe the first time you will recall us meeting was at the clinic.”

“You!” I jump to my feet in disbelief.

Neca starts. Centavo doesn’t flinch.

“That was you! But you had hair.”

The old man wags his finger. “Please, sit.”

Begrudgingly, I do so. But I have already decided if I don’t like what I hear next, I will attempt to kill this man.

He runs his hand over his bald head. “A prosthetic, I assure you,” he sighs. “Since I can see our time is short, I will cut to the chase.”

I give him no acknowledgement other than a hard stare.

“Your medication, whatever folk remedy you have devised, did not save your brother before. It will not save him now. He is in a state of telekinetic shock—the current has overwhelmed his remaining senses. He is, in a manner of speaking, lost within his own mind. It is rare that someone with such little training has such natural ability. A few simple lessons, and your brother will know how to avoid this state in the future.”

“And I suppose you’re the one to give him those lessons? Is that it? You’ll save my brother’s life if he agrees to become one of your playthings?” Instantly, I regret the implication that Neca is a toy. That doesn’t reduce my protective instinct for my brother. That instinct says Centavo is a threat.

“Careful, Calli Bluehair, lest your tongue run away with your reason.”

One look into his eyes, and I know the tobacco in his pipe is not the only thing smoldering. No matter his reputation, I will not let this man manipulate my brother.

“I would have given your brother his first lesson then, if you had not interrupted us.”

My eyes widen. “You did something to him!” I spot a shiny object lying on the table between us. Snatching a discarded skewer, still retaining a chunk of shriveled carrot, I lunge for him.

“Calli, no!”

I hear Neca cry out as the air in front of me solidifies and slams me backward. Before I crumple against the wall, my tumbling is arrested. For the second time in as many hours, I feel utterly helpless. Please, gods, give me a searing pain. Anything would be better than this.

Instead, I slowly turn in the air, completely apart from my own will, and return to my chair. Even after I’m seated, my muscles remain paralyzed. I hear Centavo clear his voice. He snaps his fingers and my eyes are able to focus. I do so on him, frightened, but no less angry.

“Fine, you are right to be angry. I violated the privacy and sanctity of your brother’s mind without asking permission. It was, at the very least, disrespectful.” He leans forward, matching my posture. “For this overstep—and I want you to listen very closely because I will say this only once—I apologize. Now, if this conversation is to go any further, I request the same in kind for your impulsive attempt to join last night’s leftover carrot with my right eye.”

My jaw and tongue unstick. With considerable effort, I swallow the pasty saliva pooling in my mouth.

“Calli,” Neca dares the one word exhortation from his station at the door.

I hear Centavo’s teeth grinding. Clearly, the old man could squeeze my brain through my ears and do whatever he wanted to my brother. I hear my father in my head, Choose your fights, Cal. Obviously, this is not one I can win. “I’m sorry. I apologize for trying to kill you.”

Instantly, my muscles are my own. The sensation is so comforting, a temporary euphoria sweeps over me. I wonder for the first time if Centavo is telling the truth about my brother’s condition. But I have doubts. “Olin got better that same day, the day I chased you from his room.”

“Your brother’s condition was so easily treatable. Your parents would not have objected to such a subtle level of influence. If my involvement were to become public…” he flips the bowl of his pipe upside down and taps it on his hand.

“We would have been put at risk.” It makes sense. “But wait. You’re saying the logwood tea I started giving him that morning had no effect on his recovery?”

“Logwood tea?” Centavo scoffs. “Is that the boy’s precious medication?”

“Yes,” I stammer, “it coincided with his recovery. And since, I thought,” I huff at the idea of this old man making light of my efforts to nurse my brother back to health. “He’s been taking it every day since, and he’s been just—”

“What?” Centavo interrupts, shooting to his feet. “You’ve been dosing him with logwood tea daily for almost two years?”

Finding my anger again, I stand and confirm my suspicion that I’m at least a centimeter taller than the old man. “Yes. What of it?”

For the first time since entering Centavo’s home, he touches me physically, gripping my arms. “When was the last dose?”

His proximity stuns me. “I don’t—”

“When, dammit?” he shakes me.

I close my eyes. “Yesterday afternoon, 2:00.”

“And manganese?”

“It’s in the soil, so it’s in the tea.”

“Then it’s no good.” He releases me to place an ear to Olin’s lips. He shakes his head and paces the room.

“What? What in gods’ names? Say something.” This sudden panic for someone previously so restrained convinces me I’ve killed my little brother. Me. It’s all been my fault.

Centavo turns on me. “Didn’t you know logwood tea is addictive?”

“Of course it’s addictive. He needed it!” I shout much louder than necessary. “Or at least your meddling made me think he did.”

“Fine. Nothing to be done for it now. And you wouldn’t have been completely off, not at first.” Centavo continues to pace the center of the room, talking to no one in particular. “The tea no doubt soothed his rough edges. Logwood absorbs manganese. It would have calmed his residual telekinesis. Not a completely false diagnosis. After that,” he shakes his head, “all it did was bottle up his abilities. I’m surprised he didn’t take half the district with him. He needs control, not suppression.”

I can’t take any more of his rambling. “So can you help him or not?”

Centavo gathers himself, looks at me, then Neca, then back at me, then at Olin lying unresponsive on the couch. “No, I cannot. Not without risking the lives of everyone in Worker City.”