Last night I decided to make Sam the first victim of my unquenchable curiosity. We sat in the front parlor of the boarding house, a cup of Mrs. Grow's finest coffee at our sides. He looked nervous when I pulled out my notebook, but agreed to answer my questions. I started with a simple one: "What are the Children of Truthspeaker?"
Sam snorted and gulped down a healthy swallow of his drink. "People. Not demons like some claim. We're just people trying to survive like anyone else." Silver flashed as he poured a dollop of some rich brown liquid in his cup, then tucked his flask back into his vest.
"Not very many people know about the Children. How did they start?"
"Well," Sam leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach, stretching his legs out before him. "Here's what I was told growing up. The world was full of vice and no one knew what shame was any more. 'Machines took the place of morality,' the storytellers said. I don't know about that. Supposedly parents were able to pick their children from a book, like stitching together a quilt. Scraps of blonde hair stitched to blue eyes hemmed with a genius intellect and the beauty of angels. A giant bullet that could strike someone on a different continent.
"Then the sickness came and wiped the sinners from the earth. 'A punishment from God,' the storytellers said. If God's so hell-bent on punishment, why didn't he take away the machines instead of killing so many people?" Sam flashed me a cocky grin. "Storytellers couldn't answer that one."
"So the Children thought the Great Plague was punishment from God?" Sam was surprisingly lyrical for all his reluctance to speak. I think I am not the only one who is curious to find out the real truth of the world today.
"As the funeral pyres burned, Kenneth Truthspeaker had a vision from God. 'Machines were the source of the sickness,' he said. His word spread and people gathered from miles around to join the Children of Truthspeaker-"
"But how did his message reach the survivors if not through the leftover technology he hated so much?" I pointed out.
Sam shrugged. "Don't rightly now about that one. But the Children came to him anyway. We stay separate from the rest of the world. Certain folks do certain jobs. The Storyteller tells stories, the Elders kind of oversee everything, Traders are the go-between for the Children and the outside world. They scavenge abandoned towns for goods they can trade for whatever the Children need."
"So how are these roles decided? Why did you become a Trader and not a Storyteller? You certainly have the knack for it."
Sam's ears turned a little bit red at my compliment. How cute. "Children don't let you take on a trade until you've had a kid. There are still kids lost to the sickness, no matter how much the Children separate themselves from the evil machinery. The only exception are Traders. Traders can't have kids, ever. They're contaminated by the machines and their flesh is weak."
"You're saying that the Great Plague still strikes Children, despite their self-imposed isolation?" Sam nodded. "How do they keep the family lines separate to prevent inbreeding?"
"The Children will welcome outsiders that want to be one of the clan. That's what my parents did. Got fed up with life outside and Dad worked with Traders before."
"What do you mean a Trader's flesh is weak?"
At this a pained look crossed Sam's face. He rose to his feet and shoved his hat on his head. "I'm going to go make sure everything's ready to go tomorrow." He ignored my apologies and strode out the door, letting it bang shut behind him. Not the most successful interview. Hopefully I will learn to do better in the future.
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