“Really? All three of them?”

Maureen paused. Avery was staring up at her anxiously, scratching his arms, pinching his nose, and generally looking like he needed to pee. She said finally, “Maybe not okay right now, at least not completely, I heard Dr. Evans say they were taken to the infirmary in Back Half. They have a fine one there.”

“What else do they have—”

“Quiet.” She raised a hand to Luke and looked around. The picture fritzed, but the sound stayed clear. “Don’t you ask me about Back Half. I can’t talk about that, except to say it’s nice, nicer than Front Half, and after the boys and girls spend some time there, they go back home.”

She had her arms around them when the video cleared. Holding them close. “Look at that,” Stackhouse said admiringly. “Mother Courage. She’s good.”

“Hush,” Mrs. Sigsby said.

Luke asked Maureen if she was absolutely sure Harry and Greta were alive. “Because they looked . . . well . . . dead.”

“Yeah, all the kids are saying that,” Avery agreed, and gave his nose a particularly vicious honk. “Harry spazzed out and stopped breathing. Greta’s head looked all crooked and weird on her neck.”

Maureen didn’t rush ahead; Stackhouse could see her choosing her words. He thought she might have made a decent intelligence agent in a place where intelligence-gathering actually mattered. Meanwhile, both boys were looking up at her, waiting.

At last she said, “Of course I wasn’t there, and I know it must have been scary, but I have to think it looked much worse than it was.” She stopped again, but after Avery gave his nose another comforting squeeze, she pushed on. “If the Cross boy had a seizure—I said if—they’ll be giving him the correct medication. As for Greta, I was passing the break room and heard Dr. Evans tell Dr. Hendricks she’s suffering from a sprained neck. They probably put her in a brace. Her sister must be with her. For comfort, you know.”

“Okay,” Luke said, sounding relieved. “As long as you’re sure.”

“As sure as I can be, that’s all I can tell you, Luke. A fair amount of lying goes on in this place, but I was raised not to lie to folks, especially not to children. So all I can say is I’m as sure as I can be. Now why is it so important? Just because you’re worried about your friends, or is there something more?”

Luke looked at Avery, who gave his nose an actual yank, then nodded.

Stackhouse rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ, kid, if you have to pick it, go on and pick it. The foreplay is driving me crazy.”

Mrs. Sigsby paused the video. “It’s a self-comforting gesture, and better than grabbing his basket. I’ve had a fair number of crotch-grabbers in my time, girls as well as boys. Now be quiet. This is the interesting part.”

“If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it to yourself?” Luke asked.

She thought this over while Avery continued to torture his poor schnozz. Then she nodded.

Luke lowered his voice. Mrs. Sigsby turned up the volume.

“Some of the kids are talking about going on a hunger strike. No more food until we can be sure the little Gs and Harry are all right.”

Maureen lowered her own voice. “Which kids?”

“I don’t exactly know,” Luke said. “Some of the new ones.”

“You tell them that would be a very bad idea. You’re a smart boy, Luke, very smart, and I’m sure you know what the word reprisals means. You can explain it to Avery later.” She looked fixedly at the younger boy, who withdrew from her arm and put a protective hand to his nose, as if he were afraid she meant to grab it herself, maybe even pull it off. “Now I have to go. I don’t want you guys to get in trouble, and I don’t want to get in trouble myself. If someone asks what we were talking about—”

“Coaxing you for chores to get more tokes,” Avery said. “Got it.”

“Good.” She glanced up at the camera, started away, then turned back. “You’ll be out of here soon, and back home. Until then, be smart. Don’t rock the boat.”

She grabbed a dust rag, gave the delivery tray of the booze-dispensing machine a quick wipe, then picked up her basket and left. Luke and Avery lingered a moment or two, then also went on their way. Mrs. Sigsby killed the video.

“Hunger strike,” Stackhouse said, smiling. “That’s a new one.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Sigsby agreed.

“The very idea fills me with terror.” His smile widened into a grin. Siggers might disapprove, but he couldn’t help it.

To his surprise, she actually laughed. When had he last heard her do that? The correct answer might be never. “It does have its funny side. Growing children would make the world’s worst hunger strikers. They’re eating machines. But you’re right, it’s something new under the sun. Which of the new intakes do you think floated it?”

“Oh, come on. None of them. We’ve only got one kid smart enough to even know what a hunger strike is, and he’s been here for almost a month.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “And I’ll be glad when he’s out of Front Half. Wilholm was an annoyance, but at least he was out front with his anger. Ellis, though . . . he’s sneaky. I don’t like sneaky children.”

“How long until he’s gone?”

“Sunday or Monday, if Hallas and James in Back Half agree. Which they will. Hendricks is pretty much through with him.”

“Good. Will you address this hunger strike idea, or let it go? I’d suggest letting it go. It’ll die a natural death, if it happens at all.”

“I believe I’ll address it. As you say, we’ve currently got a lot of residents, and it might be well to speak to them at least once en masse.”

“If you do, Ellis is probably going to figure out Alvorson’s a rat.” Given the kid’s IQ, there was no probably about it.

“Doesn’t matter. He’ll be gone in a few days, and his nose-tweaking little friend will follow soon after. Now about those surveillance cameras . . .”

“I’ll write a memo to Andy Fellowes before I leave tonight, and we’ll make them a priority as soon as I’m back.” He leaned forward, hands clasped, his brown eyes fixed on her steel-gray ones. “In the meantime, lighten up. You’ll give yourself an ulcer. Remind yourself at least once a day that we’re dealing with kids, not hardened criminals.”

Mrs. Sigsby made no reply, because she knew he was right. Even Luke Ellis, smart as he might be, was only a kid, and after he spent some time in Back Half, he’d still be a kid, but he wouldn’t be smart at all.

16

When Mrs. Sigsby walked into the cafeteria that night, slim and erect in a crimson suit, gray blouse, and single strand of pearls, there was no need for her to tap a spoon against a glass and call for attention. All chatter ceased at once. Techs and caretakers drifted into the doorway giving on the West Lounge. Even the kitchen staff came out, gathering behind the salad bar.

“As most of you know,” Mrs. Sigsby said in a pleasant, carrying voice, “there was an unfortunate incident here in the cafeteria two nights ago. There have been rumors and gossip that two children died in that incident. This is absolutely untrue. We do not kill children here in the Institute.”

She surveyed them. They looked back, eyes wide, food forgotten.

“In case some of you were concentrating on your fruit cocktail and not paying attention, let me repeat my last statement: we do not kill children.” She paused to let that sink in. “You did not ask to be here. We all understand that, but we do not apologize for it. You are here to serve not only your country, but the entire world. When your service is done, you will not be given medals. There will be no parades in your honor. You will not be aware of our heartfelt thanks, because before you leave, your memories of the Institute will be expunged. Wiped away, for those of you who don’t know that word.” Her eyes found Luke’s for a moment and they said But of course you know it. “Please understand that you have those thanks, nonetheless. You will be tested in your time here, and some of the tests may be hard, but you will survive and rejoin your families. We have never lost a child.”

She paused again, waiting for anyone to respond or object. Wilholm might have, but Wilholm was gone. Ellis didn’t, because direct response wasn’t his way. As a chess player, he preferred sneaky gambits to direct assault. Much good would it do him.

“Harold Cross had a brief seizure following the visual field and acuity test some of you, those who’ve had it, call ‘the dots’ or ‘the lights.’ He inadvertently struck Greta Wilcox, who was trying—admirably, I’m sure we all feel—to comfort him. She suffered a severely sprained neck, but is recovering. Her sister is with her. The Wilcox twins and Harold are to be sent home next week, and I’m sure we will send our good wishes with them.”