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Garlic. That was definitely the smell of garlic. But where was it coming from? Ordal Laverock sniffed the walls of his cell, his new compound in the Home for Gifted Criminals.
All of the doors had been locked for the evening. His day of group brainstorming about why dangerous people shouldn’t be allowed tools while in the clink had been fruitful. The wardens had decided that while gifted criminals were dangerous, that was only because they were too smart for their own good. Everyone in Ordal’s group was allowed more time in the computer lab with the promise that in one month’s time, if they all behaved, they’d get a computer in their cell as long as they produced programming that helped people rather than hindered.
And this new scent had him further reeling with joy. Did someone steal garlic from the kitchen? He’d have to find out who to befriend tomorrow. A few new inmates were supposed to be moving in soon.
The Council had set up this particular jail as a test site for inmates who used their minds rather than their hands for battle. Sure, some people were locked into oubliettes from time to time, but they’d brought that on themselves simply by not playing nice.
How on earth were those kind of people allowed admittance? They obviously weren’t altogether gifted enough to be here and should have been downgraded into a regular clink rather than staining the Gifted Criminal Society. All in all, this clink wasn’t half bad. The only thing truly lacking was garlic and perhaps a new pair of sheepiejamas.
The Home had a great chem lab as well as library. Ordal was able to continue researching his plague serum. In another month or two, he could petition the Council to allow for testing. If it worked, he might get even more computer privileges. Wouldn’t that be delightful? Life was simpler and free of worry about keeping a roof over his head. How could anything be better?
A female voice broke through the quietude of Ordal’s cell. “Hey, mister? How do I get the lightwall to turn on? I keep tapping it and nothing happens.” Who’s that? She sounds nice.
As he started walking the twenty feet toward his barred wall, she spoke again. “Do you want some garlic? I saw you at dinner tonight asking for more and they didn’t give you any. I love the stuff, so I just grabbed some.”
Ordal opened his mouth to say something, but he found himself speechless. The woman across the hall from his cell looked like an angel to him. Blonde hair, green eyes and about an inch shorter than himself. She smiled as he approached. “I’m Caeren.”
And she was wearing sheepiejamas just like his.
“I’m Ordal Laverock. I invented the Blue Root.” He nearly cursed himself aloud for mentioning the Blue Root. No one ever believed him anyway. And if he ever wanted anyone to believe him, that moment would be right now when he was standing a mere stone’s throw away from a woman who was not only beautiful, but loved garlic, too.
“Really? Wow! Before I got caught because too many people choked on the edible thermometers I created, I was about to apply for a job at BlueCentric Laboratories just so I could meet the man–the legend– who invented the Blue Root.”
Ordal was stunned. Was she real or just his imagination playing tricks on him again?
She gushed further, “Oh, it was destiny that got us both incarcerated, I just know it.”
And all this time he’d thought it was just because the world hadn’t wanted him in charge.
