The Web of the Weaver, Chapter 4

I got home just before curfew. Dad wasn’t there. Probably he’d be in by 10:30. But I had the recorder I’d retrieved from Blackwell’s office, and it was time to…

An hour later, Dad had come in, eaten dinner and gone to watch TV, and I was still working on my “homework” listening to the recording.

I had learned that Patricia Blackwell hated the coffeeshop on First, but it was on her way to school. She wanted to get rid of Gladly, in fact, half the morning conversation was about him, and the probability that he’d be on a sex offender list (ew!) soon, but she couldn’t get rid of him.

I wonder why not?I noted that down on my pad of paper. There was a meeting with someone who had been playing with chemicals in the lab. A few phone calls, and… a lot of dead air. I guess she was doing paperwork. I fast-forwarded, listening for the chipmunk squeaks that indicated someone was talking, and just stopped long enough to verify it wasn’t anything important. Then, at the end of school, there was a conversation between her and her secretary, and I resigned myself to putting the recorder back and seeing if—

“So, we got the money.”

I paused.

“Yay.” The secretary sounded even less happy than she was to see me. “The PRT delivered. What are we going to do with it?”

“The fire department’s going to run their inspections starting next week. We can make certain the system is working, and recharge the fire extinguishers, and this time, we’ll keep them locked up in the back room so none of the little shits play games with them before the inspection.”

Wait. What? The school was getting money from the PRT, that confirmed the fact that they knew who Sophia was, but for fire extinguishers?

I pushed my chair back. I knew when I was out of my depth.

Walking into the living room, I saw Dad watching the news. Something about a man attempting to take over a town with robot combat units—and that had attracted Alexandria, especially when he claimed they could build more.

The camera was jittering, but it was showing car-sized machines exploding into fragments as a blur passed through them.

A few moments later, the newscaster was breathlessly informing us that while nobody had been killed, if it was proven that the bots had self-replication abilities, the now arrested villain might be on his way to the Birdcage.

Not my problem. “Dad?”

Dad started and looked at me as if he was trying to figure out what to say.

We’d never had that problem when Mom was alive.

“I-yes, Taylor?”

“I was wondering… why would a school need outside money to fix their fire extinguishers? I saw something on the news about that. Don’t they get funding?” I shrugged. “Just curious.” I wonder what it says that I can lie to Dad so easily.

Dad frowned then shook his head. “It depends. Usually, they’d have a budget for things like that, but if they had unexpected expenses, they might need extra funding. But outside?”  He paused. “I… that’s not how it works. Most organizations would have to send any requests up to the school district to get extra funding.”

A thought struck me. “Would they get in trouble?”

“If you go over budget? Sure.” He paused and looked at me. “If you’re doing this, I guess school is going better?”

“It is.”

“That’s good. That’s good.”

I guess there wasn’t anything else to say. I headed back to my room.

Closing the door behind me I frowned. Does the PRT know this? Why would they give them money? What for? To keep watch on Sophia? They weren’t doing a good job of it. Or maybe they were, and they just didn’t care.

Outside, a luckless rat that had been investigating some old food was swarmed by ants and wasps, thrashing as it died.

Inside, I closed my eyes.

Then I opened them. I’d make them care. But first… first I had to know more. And I had an idea of who I could ask.

*****

I didn’t go to school the next day. They’d call, the message would stay on the answering machine, and that would be the end of it. Missing a day, or even a few days, wasn’t much of an issue.

And right now, I didn’t trust myself, not entirely, to deal with Sophia. I couldn’t risk losing my temper and bringing everything down and…

The bugs around the bus paused, a metaphorical deep breath, and then started moving again. Besides, there was always the danger that I might give something away. I would have to do research.

In addition to clearing another dozen or so businesses and drop my letters off. The total donations had amounted to five hundred dollars. Some people were getting very cheap work done. Which was fine. I didn’t need a lot of money. Just enough to do what needed to be done.

I booted up the library computer and started work. I wasn’t about to risk doing this at home.

A lot of the information about Wards was public—not individuals, but the programs, with cheery animated banners and video interviews telling everyone how working with the Protectorate could set a new parahuman on a course to change their life, learning their powers under controlled circumstances and using them for good. Rainmaker was shown dousing a brush fire, while Stonebinder stopped a building from collapsing. They all had interviews talking about how wonderful the Ward’s experience was.

No Brockton Bay Wards, I noticed.

I went through the FAQ…and paused.

Q: But my child wants to keep going to her school. Can you help?

A: The Protectorate understands the importance of a nurturing environment for a ward. Your school will be provided with material and financial assistance, within reason, to allow the ward to remain.

I leaned back. That wasn’t much information, but it’d make sense. Except would fire extinguishers be considered something the Protectorate would pay for? Was that what they were using the money for? I tried to remember what Blackwell’s car looked like. It was a good model, but… old. In fact, I think Gladly had a newer car than she did.

While I was working, I was also practicing, slipping bugs onto the people walking around in and near the library. Making certain I could do it without anyone noticing. I still couldn’t see, even with the insects that had good sight, like some of the spiders, but I had a feeling it was more due to the lack of… understanding. I resolved to keep practicing. Being able to see through my bugs, to hear through them, would be an immense advantage.

When I finished my research, which had little to say that I hadn’t already found out, I headed back home after using the last bit of my money to buy several burner phones. I had a feeling, depending on the situation, I wouldn’t want to use them more than once, so it’d be wise to have several of the cheap models. I had some ideas in mind for Sophia and it would involve using these phones.

There was no sense in just wandering around, and I had work to do. In the garage, I dismantled the cheap walkie talkies I’d bought a few days ago, and started seeing what I could do. They were too heavy for my insects to carry, at least without being really obvious, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t help. Spiders, after all, could weave both sticky and non-sticky silk. At my order, the black widows and other spiders swarmed over the units, weaving sticky spidersilk and then covering it with a layer of nonsticky silk that I could pull off with a quick motion. I’d have to secure them in pouches, but now I had a powerful adhesive that would let me stick them to just about anything if I needed to hear—or talk. For now, I’d use that, but I had some other ideas. After all, if I put bugs on people, I could see them—even if they couldn’t see me, and there were a number of recipes to make smoke bombs available on the Interent. But right now, I didn’t need smoke. I needed information.

I glanced up at the clock. Four. It was time. I put my gear away, hiding it in case Dad saw it. I only brought a few things. One of the walkie talkies, and a recorder. After all, I wanted to have a record of this.

On the way to school, I kept my eyes out. I didn’t want to run into any of the Trio or their hangers on. But fortunately, not many people stuck around school. Even the parking lot was mostly empty. Most of the teachers preferred to take their work home, I knew.

Winslow was not a safe place to be the last person heading out to get into your car, after all. Well, except for one person. The janitor. Stan. I slipped in through the door that Stan always left open so he could take the garbage out, and sent my bugs to find who was in the building. A few teachers in the staff meeting room, and…

That had to be Stan. I ran through the corridors, only a few lights on, making the place look like a mausoleum. I’d hated graveyards, even before Mom had died. A phrase from an old book ran through my mind.

But the fear of death grew ever darker upon them, and they delayed it by all means that they could; and they began to build great houses for their dead, while their wise men laboured unceasingly to discover if they might the secret of recalling life, or at least of the prolonging of Men’s days.

When you were dead, you lost any chance of ever changing things. Even with powers, there was no way to bring someone back to life.

I got to the classroom—Gladly’s classroom, and slapped a walkie talky to the back of the room, where it wouldn’t be easy to see. Then I headed out, slipping into another room just as Stan came walking down the hallway, whistling.

He’d gotten me out of the Locker. As far as anyone had been nice, he had. But I needed information… and I didn’t want to tip my hand. I started to summon gnats, too small to really see individually. I didn’t want him to realize I was using bugs—so hopefully he’d just see a grayish figure, especially given his poor eyesight.

Other bugs filled the ventilation shafts. I’d be listening through the walkie-talkie. I’d be talking with my voice.

He turned and closed the door, picking up the trashcan and dumping it. Then I spoke.

“Hello, Stan…” the insects sounded like a hundred people talking at once, just a little bit out of synch.

Stan jumped, spun around, and stared at the form at the end of the room, gnats moving in tight formation, from his viewpoint looking more like a mist than any actual bugs.

“Who—who the hell are you?”

“That’s not important Stan. I’m not going to hurt you, but I do have some questions for you.”

“Questions?”

“We’ll start with an easy one. Why can’t Blackwell fire Gladly?”

After all, Stan knew all the gossip, according to some people. Maybe Gladly had something on her, maybe—

“He’s the best she can get.”

My brain just stopped for a moment, as the bugs rumbled. What? Gladly? The best??

“Really.”

“Hey, you asked. He’s got a good education, looked good on paper, but you know, he likes to be one of the kids. That’s why he’s here. Got caught in CA helping some seniors get some booze for a kicking party, you know, if you talk to Gladly, he’ll tell you it’s about getting down with the jive kids.”

In the room, I winced. There were some words adults shouldn’t say.

“That’s it?”

“Hey, you may not have noticed, but Winslow isn’t exactly gold on a resume. Half the teachers are here because they can’t work anywhere else.”

I’d keep that under advisement.

I shook my head. It wouldn’t be long before the last of the teachers started to leave. I needed to hurry up.

“Sophia Hess. She’s special.”

Stan shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t know who you are, but I’m not gonna say anything about Hess.”

“You already have.” He knows.But the penalties for an educational employee outing a Ward were pretty draconian. “The school gets money to watch her. That money went to the fire system. Why?”

“We’re lowest on the totem pole. Everyone knows the kids here are majoring in Juvie, so why bother? When the money comes up short, the district just blames us.”

“And so losing those funds would be bad.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s all I needed to know.” The meeting was breaking up, and I had to leave. “Tell nobody about this.”

“Got that right.”

I let the gnats disperse, for all the world looking like a ghost had just returned to the underworld, waiting until he left, before I darted into the room and grabbed my walkie-talkie. I walked out of the open door, right before the teachers in the meeting came around the corner. In some places, I’d have to worry about cameras… But this was Winslow.

*****

As I walked to the bus stop, I couldn’t stop replaying what Stan had said. Gladly was terrible but…

If he’s the best you can get.

And without Sophia, the school wouldn’t have fire extinguishers.

No. Without Sophia, Blackwell would have to stand up, and do her job. Make noise.  And that might get her in trouble, and it wasn’t worth it.

Just like dealing with Sophia hadn’t been worth it. And I bet that I wasn’t the only one. There were plenty of bullies not affiliated with Sophia Hess, after all.

It wouldn’t be enough to just get rid of bad guys, not until the supposed good guys did their jobs.

But I didn’t know how high the corruption went. Did it stop at Winslow? Did the PRT know, or guess?

I—

A small group was behind me. I could sense them as the bugs swirled around. They’d come out of an alleyway and were now walking after me, a little faster than I was.

It looked like I was about to get mugged. I looked around. Most of the places were closed, but there was one convenience store still open. I turned and headed for it. The group behind me slowed for a moment, then gathered under a light.

I risked a glance back. Shaved heads, one sporting a shirt with 14-88 emblazoned on it.

E88. Why were they here?  They certainly weren’t friendly, not with the way they’d been following me.

I couldn’t be obvious. E88 had a lot of capes, and rumors were at least one or two Thinkers. I would have to be sneaky.

I went and picked up some energy drinks, taking my time. Outside, in the sewers, where the warmer air was keeping my bugs more active, I sent moths fluttering through the passages, spiders and centipedes gripping their transport.

I wouldn’t use them, though. Insects would be far too obvious for anyone with a brain.

Or rather, I wouldn’t use them directly.

But there were rats in the sewers, and I used my bugs to drive them ahead of them in a panicked, squeaking, tide. At least fifty.

I went to the cash register, and then, dimly, we both heard the shouts of shock as the rats emerged from the gutter, frantically running for the group.

“Holy shit, man! Fuck!”

“Get away from ‘em!”

“They’re just rats!”

“They ain’t acting normal, what if they’re rabid?!”

The men started backing off, and a few moments later, they left my range.

I wasn’t a target. Just someone they noticed and wanted to have fun with.I nodded. That was good.

Also, there was a two-for-one sale on the energy drinks.

That was also good. I could give them to Dad for work.

With that, I headed for the bus stop.