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Codename, “Black Sheep”
In the English language, “black sheep” is an idiom used to describe an odd or disreputable member of a group, especially within a family. [...] The term has typically been given negative implications, implying waywardness.
“What is that?”
The disgust in Countess Cleo’s voice had Brunt turn her curiosity -- and body -- around.
There, in the entrance hall of V.I.L.E.’s main campus, stood Shadow-san, one hand resting comfortably on the hilt of his katana, while the other arm curled protectively around a swaddle.
A swaddle that was currently whimpered and wriggling.
“Um--”
Professor Maelstrom leaned his long body forward, his pointy nose like a counterweight that was pulling him toward Shadow-san. As he loomed over the swaddle, Shadow-san seemed to want to take a step back but held his ground.
“It is a baby.”
“Well, yes, we can see that Shadow-san,” began Bellum, her voice curious.
Brunt hated that she couldn’t read the other woman’s eyes behind the thick goggles she wore. It would be helpful to know what the woman was thinking; Cleo’s disgust and Maelstrom’s avid interest were easy -- reading Bellum? Unless it involved cat pictures and her voice rising two octaves, Brunt had no idea what the genius was often thinking.
“I think we’re more concerned about the where and why ,” continued Bellum.
Ah, thought Brunt. Amusement.
“Argentina,” gritted out Shadow-san, in his scratchy voice. “And because I wanted to.”
There was a significant pause by all members of the head faculty at V.I.L.E. as they tried to understand what was just said by the rather stoic Asian.
“Shadow-san, this is an academy for only the best and brightest thieves ,” bit Cleo. “We are not a nursery!”
Maelstrom nodded slowly. “The island is no place for a baby.”
Shadow-san looked distinctly uncomfortable, and for a wild moment, Brunt wondered if he was going to cut and run with the swaddle. If so, she was sure Maelstrom and Cleo would order the Cleaners to cut him down. And while she didn’t like the man, he was damn good at his job.
“But a baby could be very interesting!” argued Bellum.
Brunt bit back a groan. “A baby isn’t something you can experiment on, Bell.”
Shadow-san’s voice morphed into panic.
“I wouldn’t experiment on a cute little bundle of joy,” cooed Bellum as she strode forward and her hand came up to tickle the swaddled thing. It ceased whimpering.
Both Maelstrom and Cleo looked like they disagreed, but Maelstrom sighed and asked resignedly, “Shall we vote?”
Obviously, Bellum and Shadow-san voted in favour. Cleo was a resounding “no,” and after thinking about it a moment, Maelstrom agreed with her. Brunt was the deciding vote. Honestly, Brunt wasn’t sure what to make of the tiny thing Shadow-san brought to them, but when the squalling baby opened her gray eyes and screamed , Brunt was sold.
“I say we keep the little wailer.”
And so the little orphan Shadow-san brought back with him became part of the family.
She needed a name. They were all in agreement on that, but for the first five years of her life, they all called her “girl,” or “red” based on the vibrant hue of her hair against her olive skin.
Cleo warmed to the idea of the toddler when she realized she could outfit her in high fashion -- and Bellum adored having someone else to share cat videos with. Even Maelstrom came around when he found the girl digging in the jungle, proudly presenting a handful of worms to the man and later presenting him with a finger-paint splatter that the professor proudly proclaimed a psychological masterpiece.
Shadow-san arranged all the tutors for the girl: she had language instructors, dance lessons, history and geography tutors, and then spent time with each of the other faculty but Brunt felt inadequate. What was she supposed to bring to the girl’s education?
She was large and cumbersome at times -- she couldn’t arrange for dance lessons. What good was brute strength to a little girl she could crush with a single hand? The girl was too young for self-defense, and any student on the island knew to avoid hurting the girl.
And then something strange happened; the girl began following Brunt around.
All day. Every day. Non-stop. For hours .
At first, it was irritating. Following her included an endless litany of questions: why do we have palm trees and not coniferous trees? Why is the temperature always so nice year ‘round? Where do the students go when they finish their classes? Are we a boarding school like in Harry Potter ? Are they studying magic? Where do the boats go? Where do the Cleaners go on the helicopter sometimes? What does the V stand for in the lobby floor?
It was maddening. Brunt didn’t even stop to tone her answers down, always answering bluntly and thoroughly in her rather brusque manner. And most of the time, it was: “Go read about it in a book,” or “There’s nothin’ worse considerin’ out there. The island’s all you need, girl.”
But the girl loved it -- even the answers that weren’t answers but brush offs. And came back for more.
It confounded Brunt. It amused Maelstrom and Cleo; Bellum thought it adorable. But there was something pained in Shadow-san’s eyes as he watched the girl grow, and he began to pull away, growing quiet as she aged. Brunt didn’t like that -- so she stepped in and stepped up.
It fostered a sense of mischievousness in the girl, one that Brunt encouraged. If she was off pulling pranks or talking to the other adults, she wasn’t bothering her . And Brunt took pleasure in watching the other faculty moan about finding dirt in their vintage Givenchy, or a loose connection to their latest experiment, or the complete miscataloging of their files. Brunt could get on top of that kind of humour even while the others despaired at the girl’s growing willfulness.
“She’s a child,” argued Brunt, thinking of her own Texan upbringing, “Shouldn’t she be out there, gettin’ her hands dirty and makin’ a mess?”
The withering glare Cleo sent her way made Brunt promise to show the girl where the dye was.
“Who’s that?” the girl asked when she was six, on the first of December, pointing at the svelte figure in high heels as she walked through the lobby, her frowning shadow following her.
“That? That’s Cookie Booker, sweetums,” answered Brunt, her green eyes following not just the figure, but then the expression on the girls’ face as she began mental calculations. “She brings important files for us every year.”
“Where does she come from?”
“Off the island, somewhere else.” Brunt didn’t want to tell her much about the outside world -- the girl knew and saw too much of V.I.L.E. to be trusted beyond its beaches, even if she didn’t understand all she saw.
“Every year?” there was curiosity in the girl’s voice.
Brunt confirmed, “Every year.”
Hours later as the sun was setting, painting the sky a vibrant orange and red, Cookie was leaving, heading toward the docks with her silent companion.
“Another successful drop, I would say,” the woman was saying to the man, who, although never answered her verbally, seemed to agree. “And now I don’t have to return here for another year and watch my hair frizz--”
A balloon sailed through the air and landed with a wet smack on Cookie’s shoulder, bursting and covering her with water and soaking into her pantsuit jacket.
The woman cried out just as another crashed onto the dock.
“Who--! What is--!” Cookie bit out, her shadow looking around and hand ready to draw his gun -- until childish giggles cut through the evening air.
With a glower on her face that was negated by the running of her mascara and foundation, Cookie scowled. “Find that girl!”
The young child wasn’t able to dodge the much larger man, and his hands caught onto the back of her romper and easily lifted her from the bushes where she was hiding; and then the three were walking back into the campus, one soaking wet, one annoyed, and the other, the youngest, slightly afraid as they lined up in front of the faculty in their head room.
“What is the meaning of this?” asked Maelstrom, steepling his fingers as he peered down from behind them. “Ms. Booker, I thought you had left--”
“This girl attacked me!” there was an accusing finger pointed in the girls’ direction, and a growing puddle of water under the woman’s heels.
All eyes turned to the girl, who shied slightly back.
“Her? Little lambikins?” Brunt laughed. “Sweetpea wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Then how did I get so wet , Coach Brunt?” demanded Cookie, sweeping her hand up and down her figure. “Did I step under a single cloud? Trip into a shower?”
Cleo’s lips flattened, and her eyes cut to the girl. “She is willful. And goodness knows that you’ve encouraged that in her, Brunt.”
“She’s a little girl! What else is she goin’ to do around here?” argued Brunt, looking away and crossing her arms.
“Oh, I don’t know,” sighed Cleo, “Perhaps act as a child should? She’s nearly seven -- at an age where decorum and manners are to be expected, especially to one’s guests .” The last word was stressed and the girl shrank back, cringing.
“Clearly children were seen and not heard where you’re from, Countess,” said Maelstrom, but his voice was slightly teasing.
“I don’t care!” broke in Cookie, “But I would see the girl punished! This is a school of--”
“Ah!” broke in Bellum. “Let’s not speak further about that, my dear.”
Cookie grumbled under her breath and crossed her arms, hugging them tight to ward off the chill of being soaked.
“As this is an in-house matter,” began Maelstrom, eyes sweeping from Cookie, to her Driver, and finally lingering on the girl, “We will handle the girl’s punishment. You are overdue for your departure, Madam. We will see to things from here.”
There were a few more glowers, and complaints, but Cookie Booker left. Soon, the girl remained alone in front of the five faculty, all staring down at her with various expressions.
“We can’t possibly punish the little lamb for being a child, can we?” asked Brunt in an undertone, leaning towards Maelstrom, whom she sat beside.
The man sighed. “She has been acting out recently--”
“She just needs to be kept busy--” argued Bellum in an upbeat voice.
Shadow-san shook his head. “She needs discipline.”
“I agree,” echoed Cleo.
Maelstrom, their unofficial leader, listened to them all and then said, “I think we are in a consensus of some kind; the girl cannot be punished for acting as a child, because she is a child; but she cannot be left to roam as freely as she has. She needs more regimented lessons.”
“But she can’t join ,” argued Bellum, her eyebrows raised above her goggles and voice alarmed. “She’s too young!”
Shadow-san quickly jumped in with a grunt and tight, “Agreed.”
“No,” agreed Brunt slowly, ideas spinning, “But perhaps out little Black Sheep can be different to the other students here. She can still learn some of the same tricks of the trade, so to speak -- and practice on the students. That will keep her busy and practicin’, and hopefully, away from Cookie in the future.”
There was a thoughtful look on Maelstrom’s pale, gray face. “Black Sheep?”
Brunt shrugged. “She’s not like us, is she?” the woman replied, a small smile on her face. “Part of the family, but not. Alike, but different.”
The five turned back to the girl, who was fidgeting slightly with the end of her romper. She looked up with guileless gray eyes, from underneath her red mop of hair, and Cleo gave a frustrated sigh.
“Very well,” the polished woman said. “I will allow her to join some of my lessons.”
“And I,” nodded Bellum.
Maelstrom hid a smile behind his hands. “Then we are agreed; the girl is to receive some training. Coach Brunt, I will ask you to be the girl’s caretaker in this, to organize her time and sessions.”
Brunt nodded. “I’ll go tell her now, and take her to her room.”
The tall woman rose, stepping around the table and down from the dais until she approached the redhead.
“Am I in trouble?” the girl whispered, looking up at her with wide eyes.
“No,” replied Brunt. “You’ll be joining the classes, sugar.”
The girl’s mouth dropped open. “ Really Coach Brunt?”
“Mm-hmm. In fact, I think we’ve got you your own codename, darlin’.”
The girl’s gray eyes widened more in breathless anticipation.
Brunt looked down at the little lamb at her side, trotting along obediently, and winked. “Why, you’re our little Black Sheep.”
Brunt could tell she didn’t quite understand what that meant -- only that to her, and her child’s mind, black sounded dangerous and unique and different, not quite the insult that it could be.
“Black Sheep,” the girl said, testing the way it sounded on her tongue. “I love it!”
“Good,” replied Brunt with a smile, despite her stern voice. “Now, I expect you to be in my morning training class at oh-six-hundred on the dot, Black Sheep. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Coach Brunt!” the girl excitedly replied, beaming at her widely and then bouncing away to her room, to get some sleep.
Brunt chuckled as the red terror dashed down the halls, bumping into a few students who quickly leaped out of the way. She hadn’t been sold on the idea of the little thing when Shadow-san first brought her, but what could she say? Black Sheep brought out something maternal in her and she adored the spunky girl. She was family, theirs -- and with the training she was about to receive -- one of them despite her name.
Fifteen years later, Brunt was regretting those warm thoughts.
FIN