The Gray House

And he took off toward the exit in his Mustang. I folded the gift and followed. At the landing, the one they called “Antesepulchral,” I put on the brakes and tried to decipher the scribbles on the paper. All the rest had wheeled or walked ahead. The writing, which I failed to understand, looked like a sloppily made out prescription. I was ready to give up and go back to the Sepulcher to ask Spiders what it said. Could it be some sort of confirmation of my former Pheasant privileges, put down on paper for some reason? Then Black mounted nearby. He didn’t even ask if I was happy or not. I must have looked like I still wasn’t able to make heads or tails of my present.

He just took the paper and said, “It’s a quarantine referral.”

He’s joking was my first thought. My second was that Tabaqui had played a dirty trick on me.

“Just as I thought. You’re clueless,” Black sighed. “Listen, I understand it’s none of my business and all, but are you always grabbing whatever people shove at you?”

“No, I’m not usually,” I said. “But Tabaqui said it was a present.”

“Tabaqui’s presents especially must be X-rayed before you even think of touching them,” Black explained. “Right, just be more careful next time.”

He returned the scrap and turned toward the stairs.

“Hey!” I called out, panicked. “Black, wait!”

“What?”

He stopped, slightly annoyed, as if this idle chat was keeping him from something important.

“Why would Tabaqui do this to me? Is it something I’ve done?”

Black stared ahead sullenly, chewing his gum, and cogitated.

“Why would he? Well, he happens to think that it’s great to end up in the Cage. Pleasant.”

“What’s so pleasant about it?” I said angrily.

If Pheasants were to be believed, the quarantine was a kind of solitary cell for the most dangerous miscreants. And, on certain subjects, I did tend to believe them.

“What’s pleasant?” Black’s habit of slowly repeating the question he’d just been asked could drive anyone with less patience completely crazy. “Well, it’s so quiet, you see. There isn’t anyone else in there and it’s very quiet. Soundproofed. It really is kind of nice. I, for one, like it there.”

“Look,” I said quickly. “Since you like it . . . how about I give this to you and you can go to that quarantine place instead of me?”

Black shook his head.

“Won’t work. It specifies a wheeler. You can swap with Noble, though. Or with Tabaqui himself.”

He left, and I stayed back, very puzzled. On the way to the dorm I deliberated my course of action: injure Jackal terribly or go sit in quarantine? All signs pointed to the second choice. Suffer for a bit and then just forget the whole thing. I somehow was certain that Tabaqui never forgot and never forgave. I had no idea where this certainty came from, but by the time I reached the doors of the Fourth I was convinced that I had no business refusing this present. If Tabaqui was sure he was doing me a favor, who was I to disagree?

And sure of it he was. Beaming and businesslike, he was darning the sleeve of a denim jacket—the special Cage jacket, as he explained, for those being sent “over there.” I was to put it on without delay, because otherwise I might miss the opportunity to do that, and also just in case.

It turned out to be so heavy as to make me think it was lined with lead. Tabaqui let me hold it but snatched it right back, spread it out on the bed, and began the performance entitled “Secrets of the Enlightened.” Alexander, Lary, and Humpback all crowded around, observing with interest. I felt like a child who was being packed off to a costume party by his entire family.

The jacket was in fact two jackets. The lining was so thick that it could be a separate garment on its own. It fastened to the shell with concealed zippers and buttons and could be taken out completely. Jackal explained the sequence twice. The shell contained the principal hidden pockets. Two tins with cigarettes, one in each shoulder pad. Boxes of pills in the elbows. “This is headache, this is insomnia, this is diarrhea,” Jackal rattled off rapidly, “and here are the instructions. All color-coded.” Two lighters and two ashtrays in the bottom, one of each on the left and on the right. “Because there are some people, you know, who like to stub out the cigarettes directly on the floor, which is a bit of a fire hazard in that place.”

“In fact, you should cut down on smoking there,” Humpback jumped in. “Or you’ll suffocate. No ventilation at all.”

“There is that hole in the ceiling,” Noble countered. “Besides, it’s not like he’s going to smoke a pipe.”

“Pipe smoke is much less toxic,” Humpback said, taking the bait. “Yes, there’s more of it, but at least it doesn’t stink.”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“Quiet!” Tabaqui snapped. “This is vitally important information, and I would thank you to not interrupt with your petty squabbles.”

The lining went back in, concealing the stashes.