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Welcome to stories from among the stars. You're listening to the book eaters by sun yi dean. Narrated by katie ehrich.
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Chapter 26 something rotten in Denmark, Present Day they call it mind eating. They look at me as a monstrous thing, a feaster of brains, something akin to the myriad flesh eating and blood drinking monsters of human legend. My own family saw me as heinous, but I know the truth now. This is not eating. This is sharing. This is communion. What I do is the ultimate experience of divinity. The merging of two souls into a single body, the partaking and elevating of life into new transcendent forms. This is a miracle. I am a miracle. Bless me Father, for I am divine. From Killick's Private Journal say something, devon said into the silence that followed her story. The wind picked up, scattering leaves and twigs, rattling the trees. Please say what? Hester retorted, arms curled around herself. That I feel angry. Of course I do. Everything was bullshit and you were here to get us killed. That fiasco on the train, losing my gun, my purse. That was fake too, wasn't it? I can't believe you of all people would work with the knights. I'm not working with them through choice. Didn't you hear what I said? I'm exploiting them because I must. And I am not trying to get everyone killed. I only need redemption for Kai The Raven scars are free to leave before the knights descend. I would have given you warning. Free to leave? Are you serious? Hester's laugh sounded hysterical. How generous of you to let us go on the run. When was all this going to come out then? Did you think about our lives at all when you set out this plan? Above them the sky was beginning to darken as clouds gathered another bout of snow or sleet waiting to drop. Did you think about the 30 odd people from your own family who died in Killick's pointless coop? Devon shot back and the other woman recoiled as if slapped. What is there to save? Look at this household. Weston hasn't been left behind. You've only transplanted him to a new body, a new house. Same bullshit, same bastard. Now with a fucking cult growing up around him. How does that justify the reasoning behind betraying us? You didn't know the situation here before making that decision. The Ravenscars are a family like any other. I assumed you'd be just as bad as the Book Eaters I left behind, Devon said, shielding her eyes against the persistent winter wind. When in fact this is worse. Oh, piss off. Who gave you the right to pass judgment when you've known us for barely two days. I'm not wrong, though, am I? Killick has created a gathering of monsters who steal locals to feed on for their twisted communion. Tell me that isn't worse than the average family setup. She took a step forward, dried foliage cracking beneath her still bare feet. Be real, Hess. It was only a matter of time before someone would have descended. If not me and the knights. If not the other families, then human policemen. Killock was fucked the moment he ate his patriarch and lost himself to feeding. On some level, he you must know this. Does that make your choice any more ethical? Hester swung the empty gun up between them like a club. What happens if I go to tell my brother? Will you stop me? Kill me like you killed Natlie? I should just hand you in. You're too smart for that, devon said with a calmness she didn't feel and scraped windblown hair out of her eyes. He'd kill all three of us. Me for my lies, you for bringing me here. By telling you this, I've made your situation impossible. Hester gripped the gun so tightly that it seemed she might dent it. Then why the hell did you bother talking to me? Because you're trapped, as I was once trapped, and I want the truth unfolded even as she said it out loud. For you to come with me and Kai when we go, we'll take all available redemption. We'll flee. We'll get somewhere safe together. What? Hester stared. That's beyond absurd. Why aren't you unhappy? Aren't you regretting the cooperation? Wishing you could leave all those things you told me earlier? It's absurd because it isn't possible. Hester hissed, furious, and Devon heard in that denial an echo of her own objections to Jarrow so long ago. I can't even it's so. God's sakes. She turned away and strode back toward the house through the woodland face, stormy and dark like the sky above them. Rifle held tight to her chest, Devon jogged after, body angled awkwardly to face the other woman. Hess, answer me this. Why do you think so few women run away? Why do you think nothing really changes for bookeaters century after century? How should I bloody know? We lack imagination, devon said, relentless. Even if we used dictaphones and scribes, we'd never be able to write books the way humans can. We struggle to innovate, are barely able to adapt, and end up stuck in our traditions, just eating the same books generation after generation, thinking along the same rigid lines. Creativity is our world, and yet we aren't creative. I really don't care. Listen. Devon shouted, stepping in front of her. Just let me finish, all right? Our childhood books always ended in marriage and children. Women are taught not to envision life beyond those bounds, and men taught to enforce those bounds. We grow up in a cultivated darkness and don't even realise we're blind. Hester stood on that stretch of green, hands balled into fists and gaze averted. But she'd stopped trying to walk away, at least for now. I should have run sooner, devon said, voice cracking a little, but I didn't know what really stopped me. My lack of imagination. The same one that all Eaters suffer from. I could not imagine a better or different future, hess, and because I could not imagine it, I assumed it didn't exist. Her throat was lumping up. I was wrong. Life can be different. You're wrong too. That's why I think you should consider coming with me to try something different. I tried something different with Kilnick already and look how that turned out, hester retorted. Isn't that what you were just lecturing me about? Our inability to be unlike other families? What kind of bloody minded arrogance makes you think you'd do any better than him? Because I'm not a patriarch and I don't want to set up a manor, devon said. Killuk wanted the same things most Eater men want. A household of his own to run. He didn't understand that the whole system doesn't work, that you have to leave it all behind and do things completely differently. The sleet began to beat down. The storm had arrived. Both of them ignored it, immune to the chill and indifferent to the damp. There is no different way of life, hester said sullenly. The families were right about Mind Eaters anyway. We can't live without them. Bullshit, devon said. You conquered your hunger. Kai did too. Neither of you ever went out feeding. Kilnick's sins are his own, the hunger just his scapegoat. He wants you to believe his lies so that you'll excuse his behaviour. That's. Hester paused, face and clothes streaked by the half frozen rain. Even if that's true, you're asking me to believe in a tomorrow that you tell me I can't imagine. To work toward a future that I apparently cannot see or afford the cost to earn. Please, just stop. I need space. I need you to go away. Devon sighed and stepped aside. For what it's worth, I'm truly sorry. Everyone's always sorry, the other woman said again. With renewed vehemence, she stalked toward the house. Guns still cradled in her arms, Devon waited a discreet amount of time for Hester to disappear into Traquer, allowing the thundering beat of her heart to calm down, then followed more slowly. She walked alone in the mid afternoon sleet, minding neither the cold nor the wet forrest at her back, a manner growing larger in her field of vision. The white painted exterior looked like glistening bone in this frozen rain. Foolish to talk to Hester as she'd done. Taking such a risk was highly unlike her usual self. Yet the alternative would have been to not involve Hester at all, to simply leave quietly with Kai. That in turn would mean leaving Hester to potentially get caught up in the night's crossfire. Not acceptable. The strength of that reaction surprised her. At some point Hester's survival had begun to factor in the continuous equations Devon ran inside her head for how to balance the needs of those around her. Did that mean the connection between them was strong? Or just an indictment of her own loneliness? Grasping with wild desperation at the only semblance of friendship she'd encountered since Jarrow had left. Too late to regret anything she'd said, the Ravenscar woman would either come with her or not. In the meantime, more practical considerations weighed on her mind. For a start, there was the question of redemption, that Holy Grail for which she'd quested all these months and years. Gaining access to the actual recipe was likely off the table, given that the only person who'd apparently known it was now a spectre inside of Killick's brain, and Killick himself seemed unlikely to cough it up. Devon had already learned from her months with Ramsay that the Ravens cars made their drug according to the delivery schedule of chemical shipments. Materials arrived in summer. Early production took place in fall, then finishing and storage in winter. Spring was a rest season. That meant they tended to have stores of redemption at any given time. Since they were still producing it, then it was a given they'd have supplies stored somewhere. Besides, Hester and a couple of her brothers still needed the stuff, and Killock presumably took it between his ceremonial victims. The difficulty was finding where it was stored and being able to take any before Ramsay arrived. Her brother had not given her much time. She skirted the maze and climbed the steps up to Jaqueair's north side, entering through the kitchen. Manny, to her surprise, was waiting for her inside, seated alone at a cloth draped dining table. He rose as she entered, bracing himself on a chair and stick. Afternoon, Ms. Fairweather. Good shooting session? Turns out I'm a terrible shot, devon said. Where's my son settled in his room. I gave him the tour and he picked a place to his liking. Manny offered a wary smile. Thought I'd come and find you, to spare you the effort of searching up and down for us. That's very kind, devon said, head still whirling. Please do lead on. Mannie nodded. He got up and hobbled out of the kitchen and into the corridor, then up a set of stairs she'd not yet seen toward the newer wing of the house. New in this case meant it had been built in the 1700s instead of the 1200s like the rest of Traquair, a fact that Devon found amusing when Manny explained it to her. Fairweather Manor had seemed impossibly old when she was young, but this place had a good 500 years of history on her childhood home. I'm glad I could catch you, by the way, devon said, keeping a sharp eye out for other Eaters. I wanted to apologise again for how I screwed you over 22 years ago. I truly did think you were just an exciting guest. His face fell, perhaps lost in unhappy memory. And as I said before, don't be sorry. I can't hold a grudge against a child who knew no better and who intended no malice. In any case, you've had your share of suffering, from what I've heard of your story. What about your story? She prompted as they reached the second level. How did you get here? What happened in between? A couple of Mind Eaters came around the corner, chatting in low voices. Manny gave them a respectful nod, and Devon did the same. Neither sibling took any notice of them, carrying on with their animated conversation. When the brothers were gone, Manny said quietly, I was sent north to Ravenscar Manor, along with a small clutch of other humans, all shepherded by Nights. He paused on the landing to rest for a moment, leaning hard on his stick before reorientating himself down a long, lushy appointed hallway. In those days, Weston still needed human subjects to help synthesise redemption. Devon stopped in her tracks. Come again? Ah, has no one here told you yet? Manny cocked his head, gaze shrewd behind the bottle cap glasses. The patriarch who first developed Redemption worked out that Mind Eaters must be feeding on some component present in human brains. Because he was a rather clever fellow, he figured out how to isolate that component in chemical form, giving us the drug we have today. That's incredible, she said. Utterly flawed. Also absurdly simple. Why has no one else discovered it? Probably because the other families think like Book Eaters while Mind Eaters have The benefit of a more personal angle on the problem, manny said. And it simply never occurred to any book eater to just ask. Mind eaters. Your folk can be curiously blinkered in that way. No offence. None taken. All that to say, Weston kept me locked away for many years. Brought me out only for blood draws and various extraction procedures on my brain. He gestured at his right leg. Weston also had me hobbled to make sure I couldn't run off. That's awful, she said, appalled. Are humans still a part of the process? It sounds hellish. It was unpleasant, he said with the flat neutrality of someone who has become accustomed to trauma. But it ended after four years, finally, when Weston cracked a fully artificial process for redemption. Thank the gods every aspect of the drug is synthesised now with no need for human input. Manny began walking again. Mind you, that meant I no longer had a purpose. Devon trotted after him, feet soundless on the emerald hued carpets. Why did he keep you alive? If that's not rude to ask? It's not. I was well educated with a background in law and media. Weston preserved my life to use me as a proxy for anything that required writing, the one thing he couldn't do himself. I wouldn't say we became friends. That would be impossible given the power dynamic and what he'd done to me already. But we understood each other. He was a cold man, yet truly brilliant in his way. That's not saying much. Intelligence is easy for bookeaters. Rubbish, manny said reproachfully. Information is not intellect. Computers can contain entire books too, but they're not considered intelligent yet. It is one thing to have a repository of data and quite another to use it, let alone creatively. Weston could do both. I hadn't thought of it in that way. It struck Devin that she did not see herself as particularly intelligent. Not when he phrased it like that anyway. I was Weston's scribe for 16 years in total and learned an enormous amount about your species in that time. A self deprecating smile ghosted his lips. I'd been writing a book about the history of eaters, though God knows whether it will ever see the light of day. If Killuk were inclined to let me publish, who would believe anything in it? Its an incredible story, devon said with sincerity. Did you have some kind of agreement with Killack after he took over? After Killick removed Weston and the other bookeaters, I was spared providing I was willing to accept Killick's leadership. If Manny found such a tenuous existence stressful. It didn't show. Perhaps he had become adept to masking himself in a house of predators. Killuk does seem to rely on you heavily. I remain useful for now, manny conceded with an undertone that suggested that this might change at any moment. Like all mind eaters, Killak can write, but he still does not exist in a legal sense, nor does he have experience of the wider world. I, on the other hand, am an actual citizen of this country, able to make bank accounts and so forth, since I have personal documentation which he lacks. I also help manage the Ravenscar finances, such as they are, and I oversee communications with their drug suppliers. Then you'll know the components that go into the drugs and also where the finished drugs are kept, she said, glancing around. No one was about. This house could easily hold four times the Ravenscars numbers, and it was practically empty with only 15 people in it. Since Killock makes you do the grunt work and keep the records, am I right? Is that information of interest to you, Ms. Fairweather? He slowed down again, coming closer. Is there any particular reason you ask? My son needs it to live. I'm interested in keeping him alive. She met his inquisitive gaze with her own hard edged stare. If I knew the ingredients going into it, perhaps I'd be able to make my own. That information is only needed if you don't plan to stay, manny said, adjusting his glasses. Are you perchance thinking of moving on from Traquer? Aren't you? She returned levelly. I saw your face at chapel earlier. I can't begin to imagine what 22 years trapped among mind eaters is like for a human. But I doubt it's gotten easier or better since Killock's coop. Crikey. I don't want to stay here and I'm practically one of them. It hasn't gotten easier. You're right on that account. A note of sourness crept into his voice. But I'm also 65, arthritic, diabetic, and have been given a cruel injury that makes fast movement difficult. One must be realistic about these things. Devon hooked her thumbs through her belt loops. Well, I'm younger, healthy, fast as hell, and have certain resources at my disposal. Maybe we can help each other. Marnie took another step closer, almost shoulder to shoulder. How so, Ms. Fairweather? That depends. How much redemption do you keep in store? He smiled. How much do you need? Enough for Kai to live the rest of his life, ideally. But I'll take whatever you can give me. The ex journalist folded his hands atop the cane, resting thoughtfully. Fill a large suitcase and that's 10 years worth for a single person, I should think. The pills are only small. I can get even more if you're able to wait a few weeks. She couldn't. Ten years worth will be fine. I need it by tomorrow. Tomorrow? His eyes bugged slightly, composure slipping. Are you leaving so soon? As soon as I've got redemption and had another chance to talk to Hester, she thought silently. I need to be gone by tomorrow night. Can you help? I believe so, yes. Manny shifted his weight, giving the tired leg a slight rest. I will need to arrange to conduct an inventory of redemption stores tomorrow. That will allow me to procure what you need without arousing suspicion. And any note you can give me on the ingredients. She pressed. Ten years of medication would buy her plenty of time to figure out the cure if she had the ingredients and processes in note form. Manny was no fool, though. Remind me what I'm getting out of it again, he said. So far I've yet to hear any counter assurances from you, Ms. Fairweather. A car ride out of here and an escorted ferry trip to Ireland. Safety and protection the entire way, provided by me. Aha. Ireland. Yes. A good choice. And will we be accompanied by anyone else? Friends of mine who I trust and who will be picking us up, devon said. Maybe Hester. I'm not sure. Hester, eh? I did wonder if she'd. Well. Manny considered a moment, still leaning on his cane. Meet me at the brewery tomorrow evening, he said. At last. 7pm sharp. I will aim to be punctual and expect you to do the same. I'll be there. She held out a hand. Manny shook it briefly. What a lovely reunion it has been, he said pleasantly, as if they'd been discussing the weather. Come along, Ms. Fairweather. Your son is waiting. Chapter 27 the princess seeks her prince 18 months ago Then the princess bound up her hair, put on her boots and her coat of a thousand furs, and stepped out into the silent snowy darkness. She walked all night. Charlotte Hook, Princess Furbill Eight long months in Camelot and Devon was finally free to leave. Pitted asphalt rolled past her window, hemmed by pavements flush with pedestrians. A year ago she'd have been thrilled by the sight. The idea now of living among them indefinitely made her want to crawl into the nearest sewer grate and never come out. We'll drop you at the station. You can make your way from there. Ramsay steered their Volkswagen People carrier through lazy Oxford traffic, the first time she'd seen him drive anything other than a motorbike. The amount of cash you're Carrying will easily last years. Years in their months of training, he'd implied that it would only take a few weeks. Are you really going to leave me out here for years? It shouldn't take you that long. One year at most. That didn't reassure her at all. Social, kai whispered from the seat next to her. G' ja y seshme. I don't know what you're saying, she told him for the third time since they'd got in the car. His lower lip quivered and she sighed. Kai had lived off the night's dwindling redemption supplies for eight months, his mind still that of an infant. There would be no more drugs now, not till Devon found the raven scars to make him travel ready. Her son had been fed a human stranger procured at Ramsay's request. Remember the rules, ramsey said over one shoulder, as if he hadn't already given her a sheet of those rules to eat. Call in every 14 days, even if you have nothing to report. If you're more than 24 hours late to report, we detonate that device. He stayed one handed through an orange light, gesturing at the messenger bag heaped in Devon's lap. Call sooner if you find the Ravens cars or the plans change. Your night issued phone and charger are in there. Keep them safe. No contact with other families or human law enforcement. If you do attempt to speak to either, know that we'll withdraw our support and again I'll trigger Kai's explosive. Aren't you a model, Uncle? She supposed he'd learnt well from Ike. Thanks. I try. Remember, if you see Nights in the City, that's your cue to move to a new location. Any questions? Aye, I've got a sodden question. My son doesn't speak English anymore. What am I supposed to do with that? Ramsey rolled his eyes. Eat a Polish book, idiot. It's not exactly a difficult barrier for us. It's not about the language. He thinks he's another person. That's very common. The Volkswagen turned sharply into the station, wheels bumping over potholes. Welcome to the life of a mind eater who doesn't have redemption. Consider yourself lucky that he doesn't think he's matley. Lucky? She echoed darkly. Sure. If it bothers you, then stop being so bloody squeamish and find him a fresh feed. Wants to drop you off, he said, irritable. I recommend you give him small children when you can. He's less likely to get overwhelmed, and it'll keep the accumulation of memories at bay. A little longer and they're easier to catch, too. Jesus, she thought, and felt ill. She wondered if Ramsey had purposely given Kai an awkward feed so that she'd be forced to hunt someone new. It wouldn't be out of character. Her brother parked in a temporary space, switching the engine off. Don't fuck up. You'll hear from me soon enough. Devon unclipped her seatbelt, popped the door, and stood. Slowly. The world overwhelmed. Cars clustered like barnacles. The air reeked of car fumes and sweat. People streamed disparately to their various destinations in a choppy tangle, lives and bodies remote from her own existence, yet so close and tangible. In all of her life, she'd never seen more than a handful of humans, mostly from a distance. Now they were everywhere, meaty and clunky and loud, stinking of the animals and plants they ate so many people. Kai clambered out, his hands slipping into hers. Clinging to her side. She gave him a cautious squeeze. Perhaps he found this new environment as confusing and dirty as she did. Get going, ramsey said, irritable and barely audible from within the Volkswagen. I can't stay in this bear very long. She gulped a lung full of pollution, tainted air. I don't know how to live out here. Don't be bloody stupid. You've had months of training. You'll be fine. Ramsey leaned over, yanked the door shut, and started reversing the last bastion of family, familiarity, and retreat, however unpleasant that bastion had been. In seconds he was gone and they were alone, boy and woman on a patch of black asphalt, each inhuman and lost. Traffic roared to one side, trains lugged on the other. Every breath tasted of pollution. Nothing Devon had read, eaten, or experienced had prepared her for any of this. Not even Ramsay's training, which had been little more than lectures and printed sheets of paper to while away the hours as his men had sought traces of the raven scars. Facts and details didn't comprise reality, and his instructions had left her no more prepared for this environment than her fairy tales had left her prepared for marriage. Boya Devon, kai said, whimpering. He knew her name at least. Don't you remember any English? She asked, wishing for the millionth time she'd not let the knights take him out of her sight. How about German? I've eaten some German fairy tales. Sprigt du Deutsch dun ne est moya chawo, he said, large dark eyes welling up. Porvy, it's me la chego mam to chow O. So much for German, then. If only her fairy tale selection had been bigger and included a bit of Eastern European literature. It'll be reaped, devon lied and brushed his tears away with her thumb. An aunt had said that on the day of her first wedding, and that had been a lie, too. We're going to take a trip. A fun journey. His tears didn't stop. He'd never been anywhere except Easterbrook Manor or the Knights Compound, and his first feed had been hauntingly traumatic. Kai was terrified and hurting. How did one soothe a Mind Eater child in distress? Not like she could buy him a lollipop when he was a baby. She would let him nurse to settle, but he was too old for that now, and her milk had dried up long ago. It struck Devon with painful clarity that she did not know how to be a mother. Not to Kai or to anyone else. She was supposed to have left her children already. The sacrosanct role of parenting transitioned over to an entire manor full of ants. She sailed now in uncharted waters. At the moment, she couldn't even get him to stop crying. Could she buy him a toy? Or another distraction? Something to do? Read? Take his mind off whatever imbalance he was experiencing? Was that good parenting or bad? Devon decided that good and bad didn't matter in the face of necessity. She sat them both down on a bench outside Oxford Station and rifled through a messenger bag for cash. Sifting through the crumpled bills, she was startled to find not only the money Ramsay had forced her to take, but also her three fairy tale books and Jarrow's Little Game Boy. Either the knights hadn't bothered to deprive her of those things, or else they felt it made her faux escape look more authentic. Hey, she said, taking out the Game Boy. Want to give this a play? A friend of mine gave it to me. Kai didn't even look at her. Mawe hopi Snignall. He wrapped both arms tight around his knees as he rocked back and forth on the bench. Nye nye jestam teres marum Hobson. Devon switched the console on screen, brightening. Mario coered into existence as a series of pixels, accompanied by a fanfare of bleeping music. The landscape depicted a sketchy mimicry of nature. Kai gave a shuddering hiccup, but his attention perked a little at the sight of the console. He seemed puzzled and curious. Like this. Devon pressed buttons to make Mario move. The princess has been kidnapped and you're trying to rescue her? This is how you jump and these things kill you. Look, I've died already on that mushroom. She couldn't keep the chagrin out of her voice. But you come back when you die, and you can keep trying forever until you win. The ultimate fantasy that games offered a dimension where one's mistakes had few, if any permanent consequences. If only someone could reset the levels of her life, she thought, the changes she'd make the princess she'd save. Kai clutched the Game Boy awkwardly, fingers too short to hold it well. In biological terms, he was a little young for such a game, but whichever poor soul he'd been fed was almost certainly older than three. Chicavi, he mused, and began to play. Good lad. Devon scooped him up. Her son nestled in tight, playing Mario with utmost concentration, and she almost smiled. For all that he spoke a language unknown to her, his memories blended with another soul she'd never met. He still smelled the same warm, nutty skin and that faint sawdust scent of his dark curls. And for all that she had failed to comfort him with words, Devin reminded herself that he still clung to her, still hid himself against her shoulder. Some link between them lingered despite the psychological confusion of his feeding. It was enough for now. Devon Fairweather walked into a train station for the first time in her 27 years of life, messenger bag full of stolen cash on one shoulder and Kai monkeyed on her other hip. Her senses laboured under fresh assault, the smell of mouldy plastic and stale luggage, the chatter of people invading the spaces between her ears. A man yakking into his mobile phone walked straight into her, only to rebound in astonishment when she didn't budge. She ignored his swearing. Couldn't he watch where he was going? And kept moving. Buying tickets felt like conducting a complex military operation. If the ticket counter gave her a raised eyebrow for paying with 50 quid notes, so what? She didn't count the change because she didn't yet know how, and bumbled awkwardly around the station until she found the correct platform. The train itself at last collapsing into a pair of seats brought some relief. Fewer people were visible. The cushions were soft, Kai quiescent for the moment. He played on the Gameboy, muttering and exclaiming softly in Polish. Outside her window, the world slid by, the future drawing them down and southward toward her first contact on Ramsey's list. South was also where Jarrow was, she thought in a daze. Had to contact Jarrow without the family, knowing they would help each other. This was her best chance. Possibilities eluded her when she tried to focus on them, and the train's repetitive motion was lulling her to drowsiness. Head against the cool glass of the window, Devon drifted into a tired sleep. They arrived in Reading A City. Devon kept mistakenly pronouncing as reading. She paid for a room in the first hotel they found, almost right across the street. Afterward, she curled up on a tiny, uncomfortable bed with Kai in her arms, still tired despite all the sleep she'd had. There was a lot Ramsey hadn't been able to teach her about the human world, probably because his own exposure was limited. Devon found she was physically superior, as she learnt after her first disastrous handshake with a stranger. And she had a mental repository of books far higher than any human's. Her book memory wasn't as useful as she'd hoped, though. She was culturally inadequate and spottily educated. Simple things like the process of buying items from shops or how to take transport, she understood. But other things eluded her. Major historical events and current affairs or politics were a bland list of bullet points in her head, divorced from emotional context or investment. The Prime Minister had done what the Queen Snubbed, Who? Vague and convoluted all of it. After a whole entire week of being a stranger in a strange land, she finally worked out how to contact Jarrow. Cash in hand, Kai sequestered safely in her room. Devon nipped down to a video game shop and picked up a copy of Tomb, the Last Revelation. She paid the baffled cashier to write out her phone number as a string of Morse code on a bit of paper, watching carefully to make sure he got it right, then slipped the fragile scrap of contact inside the game's case and dipped into a post office. I'm so sorry, but could you write this address out for me? I've injured my hands. I need to send this package to Jarrow Easterbrook at Gladstone Manor in London. What? No, Erm. I don't know the postcode, I'm afraid. The man behind the counter sucked his teeth sullenly. Not to be dissuaded, Devon simply repeated her requests until he gave in, looked up the postcode and wrote it all out. She put on her best smile and walked slowly through the surging crowds back to her hotel room. A video game was now carrying her phone number all the way to Jarrow. The Morse code would identify her as the sender, hopefully without tipping anyone else off. Not that she expected anyone to go through Jarrow's mail. Better safe than sorry. Of course, then, if he were able, he'd call her, get in touch, reconnect, help her as he'd promised. And maybe, just maybe, she'd be helping him too. Only, whispered a tiny voice in her head as she eased through the revolving doors. It had been more than three years since she'd seen him shuffled away from her by angry Winterfields amidst the chaos that followed Kai's birth and Matley's furious attack. Since then, anything could have happened. Perhaps Jarrow had been sent elsewhere, or simply moved on. He had Vic now, after all. That might be enough for him. She believed he'd seek her out if she sent word, and hoped he would, but could not count on it, or be certain of it. Devon decided to give it three months, then reassess. In the meantime, she had some Ravens cars to find.
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That's all for now. Thank you for listening. Make sure to follow Stories from Among the Stars on your preferred podcast app to get the next episode. Or if you just can't wait, you can buy the Book Eaters. Wherever books or audiobooks are sold.