THE BEAST ─ five hargreeves

[ 029 ] death by . . . seaweed, apparently?

XXIX.

d e a t h   b y . . .
s e a w e e d ,
a p p a r e n t l y ?

—JUST OVER THE Commission's lobby, a good distance away from the Infinite Switch Board, and directly adjacent to the corporate office, was a little flat that housed three people and a parrot.

Today, it was The Handler's perceived destination. She walked along, red heels clicking against stone tile. A uniformed attendant whisked her up in an elevator and decanted her on a spotless new mat outside a neat beige door.

Across a passage, round a corner, a door was opened. She entered into a room that, at first glance, could be mistaken for a tropical forest.

Birds—masses of birds, toucans, macaws, birds unknown to ornithology, twined themselves in and out of what seemed to be a primeval forest. In the middle of this riot of bird and vegetable life, she saw a battered old table with stacks of coloured blocks littered all over it, and Zara, hair in wild confusion, scrawling little Latin names beside each figure on her bedroom wallpaper.

She shot up when she saw her mother, her elbow touching a paper bag. The bag fell from the desk and apples rolled energetically all over the floor.

"Well?" Zara asked eagerly.

"Well what?"

"What's going on? How much does he know? What have you told him so far?"

The Handler rose from stooping position with six apples in her grasp. She deposited these on the mantelpiece.

"Darling, what are you doing?"

Zara threw her hands up impatiently. "Birdwatching! I couldn't just sit here while Five was taken through orientation downstairs."

"Birdwatching . . . indoors, I see. Fabulous."

The Handler looked disdainfully at the expensive patterned wallpaper that had the misfortune to be situated in her daughter's room. About a quarter of the birds looked to have been identified, names printed with a Sharpie in reckless schoolboy writing.

"Sit," she said pleasantly. "It seems we have quite a bit to discuss. No—not on the bed. Draw a chair up to the table, that's right. Splendid. Now, let's talk."

"First things first," said Zara, acting equally businesslike. "What does he know?"

"As far as Number Five is aware, you and I have never met before this morning. I've told him you are currently training in our facilities. Also—" she leaned over and snatched away a honeycrisp, "—no more apples. Too much vitamin C is bad for your complexion. Quit stress eating."

Zara looked wistfully at the apples. She had a fondness for them. They were a very dependable fruit.

"Pouting is bad for your complexion, too," The Handler reminded her, feeling most helpful.

"Alright, alright. Back to Mr. Midlife Crisis. He doesn't suspect anything, correct?"

The Handler folded her arms and leaned back in the chair, disturbing a coiled constrictor snake that quickly slipped away to a nearby heat lamp. A dour-faced orderly brought in a glass of liqueur.