The Garden Behind His Last Warning

How it begins

The garden's front gate opened easily. The second gate had three locks.

A visitor's bell hung beside the gate, polished brightly despite the evident effort involved in discouraging visitors.

Iris Dorr stood between them with a suitcase and the unpleasant feeling that she'd accepted employment inside a metaphor.

"You're early," said the man on the other side.

"The train was. I chose not to punish it."

Ivo Neri unlocked the gate in a particular order. Behind him, glasshouses shone through the late rain. The air smelled of damp earth, warm leaves, and something sweet enough to feel intrusive.

"There are areas you won't be able to enter," he said.

"Good morning to you too."

He looked at the suitcase. "I explained the accommodation was temporary."

"And I explained that I was looking for work, not instructions about my personal freedom."

For a moment, she thought he might close the gate. Instead he stepped back.

Iris had spent twenty years leaving locked spaces while people applauded. After the televised failure, everyone had assumed she would want never to see a lock again. What she wanted was to stop having strangers explain her fear to her.

Ivo led her toward the nearest glasshouse. A pane beside the entrance was cracked from corner to corner. Someone had swept the broken pieces into a bucket but left a small green leaf on the path.

Iris stopped.

"That wasn't weather."

"You haven't seen our weather."

She pointed to the bent catch. "I've seen that before."

He followed her finger. The guarded expression changed, just enough to suggest the warning he had prepared might not be the one she needed.

"If you stay," he said, "there are things you should know."

Iris set down her suitcase without releasing its handle.

"Then start with those," she said. "And leave the gate open while you tell me."