Ivy felt like she could finally take a full breath, after a season of gasping for air. The season was done, as was the accounting of it, and Ivy could pack away her ledger books and pens until the next season began. The interval was never as long as she’d like, but the pause was welcome nonetheless.
Ivy’s small cupboard of a workspace was dark and cramped, with scraps of paper and mislaid books on every cramped surface. She was working at gathering, replacing, and tidying up when she heard a knock on the open door.
She turned to look and saw an unfamiliar woman watching her. “Yes? How can I help you?” Ivy asked, barely taking her attention away from her task.
The woman stood silently for a few moments, and then cleared her throat and began, “Mistress Accountant, I need to speak with you on a rather urgent and serious matter.”
Nothing could be terribly urgent or serious this time of year, Ivy though. The season was done. The workers had scattered to their home communes for the interval. The heavy equipment of the collective was disassembled and stowed away. Her final reports had already been sent to the district governor, so there was no changing them now. The only thing that happened during the interval was …
“Oh,” Ivy exhaled, as if punched in the gut. Her knees went weak, and she gripped the edge of her desk for support. “You want to talk to me?” Now she turned her full attention on the stranger, examining her.
The woman had a severe face, thin and sharp, without a hint of mirth. Her clothing was all black, a modest and formal dress with a high neck, long sleeves, and not a touch of lace. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, so tight it must have been giving her a headache. She held a darn, worn leather folder in the crook of one elbow, and carried a sturdy black bag in the other hand.
“Yes, Mistress Accountant. I am here to speak with you.” There was no malice but also no empathy in the woman’s voice. She was cold and serious, almost lifeless.
A job like hers probably beats the joy out of you pretty quickly, a part of Ivy’s mind observed. The rest of her mind was frozen, and a rising terror was spreading out from her navel, burning up to her heart and down through her toes. She could summon no words to respond to the stranger.
Another moment passed, and the stranger spoke again. “I see you know why I’m here, Mistress Accountant. You are perhaps thinking this is ill luck, but I assure you this business will be over quickly, and it’s not as terrible as you seem to fear.”
Ivy nodded, numb. She wanted to flee, to fight, but there was no point. When a district collector came to pay you a call, there was no appeal and no escape.
“As you already suspect, you have been selected for the collection. You will come with me immediately. You may not gather personal items or say goodbye to associates or loved ones. They will be informed of your status via official notice.” She stepped forward and handed the black bag to Ivy, who took it without thinking. “These are all of your possessions now. Do not lose them.” With her hand now free, she took Ivy’s elbow in an iron grip and steered her toward the door. “It’s time for us to go.”
(This post is part of the 500 Words short story project.)
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