Chapter Forty
March 1, 67Clark walked slowly down the road in the direction of Victor’s Village, lost in thought. Today was the first day of his Victory Tour.
He’d been dreading it for months, but now that the day was here, he felt resigned. He had to go through with the tour; he had no choice in the matter.
He still had a couple of hours before the group from the Capitol would arrive — they were scheduled to arrive at noon, and if Marcius had his way, they would be right on time. Marcius was in charge of organizing everything and keeping everyone of schedule, but he wasn’t the only Capitolite who would be escorting Clark on the Victory Tour. Clark’s prep team would also be there, to make sure he looked just right, and Rosaline would have carefully selected and designed every outfit he would wear.
There would also be camera crews and reporters, converging upon District 9 and Victor’s Village. Though Clark would be their main focus, they would also interview his mentors, who would be accompanying him on the tour, his mother, Pete, and Lana, who would be seeing him off on the train.
Clark frowned at the thought. When he had seen the list of people who would be seeing him off on his Victory Tour, Rachel’s name had been conspicuously absent. When he’d asked Marcius about the oversight and requested that she be added to the list, he had been told that it wouldn’t look right, because Rachel and Clark had once been an “item.” The Capitolites were enthralled by his tragic love story with Lois, and wouldn’t be happy to hear that there had been someone before her, nor would they want to think that Clark had moved on.
Clark had pointed out that he and Rachel had been friends since they were children, and still were, but the answer had been the same — no. It wouldn’t look right.
Clark had gone to the Harris farm to tell Rachel why she wasn’t invited to see him off, fearing that she would be angry. They were friends again, though they would never again have the camaraderie they’d had before the Games, but he was afraid that this would drive a wedge between them again, shattering their slowly renewing friendship.
Luckily, Rachel had been understanding, blaming the Capitolites for their insistence upon focusing on the week and half Clark had spent in the arena, rather than on his life outside of it. She’d also pointed out that had Lana not been married to Pete and noticeably pregnant, she would probably not have been invited, either — after all, she and Clark had been an “item,” as the Capitolites called it, when they were in ninth grade, and she was an attractive young woman. Because Lana was married, though, she was considered safe and not a threat to the love story the people in the Capitol had gotten so worked up over.
Clark had been relieved at Rachel’s response, but he was still annoyed that he had no say in who would see him off on his Victory Tour. He didn’t object to any of the people on the list, but it would have been nice to have some say in the matter.
The last time they had talked on the telephone, Marcius had assured Clark that he would inform the interviewers that Clark’s father was deceased so there would be no awkward questions. Clark sincerely hoped that he would keep his word. Although it had been four and a half months since Jonathan’s death, it still wasn’t something Clark wanted to tell all of Panem about.
By late afternoon, Clark, his mentors, and his team from the Capitol would be on a train, heading in the direction of District 12. Victory Tours always started with 12, skipping the victor’s home district and saving it for last, after the Victory Ball in the Capitol. In the victor’s home district, there would be a huge celebration at the end of the tour, with a big dinner for everyone in the district. No one would go hungry that day.
It wasn’t touring Panem itself that Clark dreaded — if it had just been a tour of the country, he might have welcomed it. He’d traveled more extensively than anyone because of his ability to fly, but had been able to do so only at night, so he hadn’t seen as much as he would have liked. In a way, he was looking forward to seeing Panem in the daylight.
It was the stops in each district that he dreaded. In each district, a crowd would gather in the town square of the main town or city of the district. A stage would be set up in front of the Justice Building, just like at the Reaping, but with two elevated platforms at the back of the square for the families of the deceased tributes, complete with giant banners showing the faces of their dead children.
From the stage, Clark would have to give a speech — one which had been pre-written by Marcius — while the families of the dead tributes watched him, trying to pretend that they were happy that he was alive while their own children were dead. Then the families would have to bring him gifts — plaques, flowers, and small items representing their district — and if they balked at this, they could be flogged, made into Avoxes, or executed, depending upon the severity of the offense.
At least Clark could honestly say that he wasn’t responsible for the deaths of most of the tributes. Most of the families wouldn’t have to face their child’s murderer, and of the two that did, only one knew what he’d done.
Clark honestly wasn’t sure which family he dreaded meeting more — Lois’s family, who didn’t know what he’d done, or Lysander’s, who did. He knew that he could never tell the Lanes that he had been responsible for Lois’s death, but it felt wrong to let them think that he was innocent in the matter. Lysander’s family knew exactly what Clark had done, but they had no comforting illusions about the manner of the young man’s death. Though it would have been apparent to all of the people watching the Games that Lysander’s death had been an accident, it didn’t change the fact that Clark was responsible.
And then, after facing the families of the dead tributes and touring all of the districts except 9, Clark would have to face the Capitol and President Snow, with his unknown demands and his stockpile of Kryptonite. Clark dreaded that more than anything else, because he didn’t know what Snow wanted or what the consequences would be if he defied him or failed to meet his expectations.
Ostensibly, the Victory Tour was about celebrating the victor’s accomplishment, but in reality it was more about making sure no one in the districts could forget the power the Capitol had over them. It wasn’t enough to take two children from each district each year and force people to watch them die; the Victory Tour, halfway through the year, kept the grief fresh and reinforced the knowledge that the Capitol held all the power over the people, their lives … and their deaths.
The Victory Tour also showed the power the Capitol had over victors. Rather than allowing them to adjust to the changes in their lives and find a way to live with what they’d done to survive, the tour put them back into the public eye, forcing them to play the Capitol’s game and act happy about their victory, regardless of how they actually felt. It was also the first time the new victor would meet the other victors outside their own district — people who had been mentoring the kids who had died in the Games.
Clark finally reached Victor’s Village and went inside his house. Martha was busy mopping the floor, though she and Clark had cleaned the entire house the day before, making it presentable for the cameras.
It was hard to keep the floor clean when there was so much mud and slush outside, but Martha wanted the house to look good on television. Clark didn’t care much either way — he had little use for the Capitolites’ opinions — but had acceded to Martha’s wishes and used his superspeed both to clean everything and to hide anything that might reveal his secret.
“Wipe your feet!” Martha reminded him as he walked in.
Clark looked a little guiltily at his muddy footprints, then floated back to the door to clean off his shoes. Taking the mop from Martha, he quickly cleaned the mess he’d made.
“Did you sleep well last night?” Martha asked him, looking concerned as she followed him down to the basement when he went to put away the cleaning supplies.
Clark shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep at all — but at least I didn’t have any nightmares.” His nightmares, which had faded away to a large degree, had come back over the past couple of weeks as the Victory Tour approached. “I left around midnight and went flying.” At Martha’s worried look, he added, “I didn’t go anywhere I shouldn’t. I stayed in Panem, but I stayed away from the Capitol. I just flew around until it started getting light over the Atlantic Ocean, then came back. I picked up the coins for the Rasens and the bread for Pete and Lana and then went out again. They said thank you for the bread, by the way. They used up the last of their tesserae grain yesterday, they’re letting the cows go dry until their calves are born, and they won’t be able to pick up this month’s parcel until after they see me off on the Victory Tour. They still insisted I eat breakfast with them, though.”
In the months since Pete and Lana had moved to the Kent farm, Clark had taken to riding out early each morning to collect the milk, exercising the horses as he did so. He usually arrived early enough to help with the chores, something his friends were grateful for, especially as Lana’s pregnancy advanced and it became more difficult for her to do heavy work.
It hadn’t been long before they had begun to insist that Clark eat breakfast with them, saying that it was the least they could do with all the help he was giving them. He’d tried to refuse, since they needed to save what little extra food they had for themselves. The Rosses hadn’t taken no for an answer, though, so Clark had given in and started eating breakfast with his friends, though he often brought food to replace what he ate.
Martha occasionally joined them, but she had discovered that she enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in until five or even six in the morning, then enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee before starting the day. Clark always built a fire and banked it before he left, so the house was warm, and he left coffee brewing for her so she didn’t have to make it herself.
“Are you ready for the tour?” Martha asked when they got back to the kitchen. She poured fresh coffee for both of them.
“I’ve made neat copies of all the stuff I’ve written and put it in nice folders. I can’t type it, no matter what Marcius thinks. Even if I had a typewriter or a computer, I wouldn’t know how to use it and I might break it figuring it out.”
“It might be a good idea for you to get a typewriter anyway. You can afford one, and you might be able to get someone at the Justice Building to teach you how to use it.”
“I don’t know, Mom …”
“I’ve read your writing, Clark. It’s good — just like your teachers said. People are going to want more.”
“I don’t want to write more.”
“Yes, you do. You’re never happier than when you have some idea to pursue and write about.”
“I don’t want to write more
for the Capitolites. I wouldn’t mind writing for the people in District 9.” He sighed. “I don’t have a choice in the matter, though.”
“At least you’ve found a talent that you enjoy.”
“I guess.”
“Why don’t you go get the papers you’re bringing on the Victory Tour? I’ll go over them with you and make sure you have everything you need.”
Clark went upstairs, bringing down the essays and stories he’d written. The two essays he’d initially given to Marcius had been hits with the Capitolites, just as predicted, and the District 9 escort was sure that people would enjoy the other things he had written as well.
Marcius had clipped out and sent him copies of the rattlesnake story, which had been printed in both the
Panem Daily and the
Capitol Star. The pieces of newspaper had parts of other articles on their backs, something people in the districts were usually forbidden to see, but as a victor, Clark had special privileges. The other articles were incomplete, anyway, and not on subjects of any great importance — the
Capitol Star had an article about the latest makeup trends, while the
Panem Daily had a column on the antics of a popular victor who had been invited to the Capitol for the holidays.
Marcius had also sent Clark a copy of
Birder magazine, which was seldom sold in the outer districts because few people could afford to buy it. Someone had gone though and edited the essay he’d written, changing it so much that it hardly seemed like he’d written it at all, but Martha had still taken the magazine — and the two newspaper clippings — and put them in a scrapbook. She was proud of her son’s accomplishments, even if he was somewhat conflicted by them.
Clark had talked to Marcius on the telephone several times since he’d visited in December, discussing what to write about. Marcius had strongly encouraged him to write about the Games, but Clark had refused. His thoughts on the Games were private, and he had no intention of sharing what he’d written about them with anyone. He’d even gone so far as to build an extra wall in his bedroom closet, adding shelves behind it and a door that blended into the wall, making it unlikely that anyone but him would find the contents.
There had been a number of other subjects that Clark was willing to write about and allow others to see. He’d written about the use of tesserae grain in bread and soup — without mentioning that it never stretched quite far enough or that it was often stale; District 9’s traditional music; square dancing; and the techniques for growing different grains. Marcius had groaned at some of Clark’s ideas, but hadn’t said anything beyond pointing out that some ideas might not interest his target audience.
Marcius had been most pleased to hear that Clark had written two more humor pieces, even if they were about chickens and farm life. ‘
Write what you know’ was the advice one of Clark’s favorite teachers had given, and he knew plenty about those subjects.
Martha encouraged Clark to write about anything he wanted to, even if some of his work could never be shown to anyone outside his family and friends. He’d always been smart and curious — sometimes too curious for his own good — and that hadn’t changed. Learning about something and writing about it suited him well.
*****
Clark froze when he heard the sound of several cars pulling up in front of the house, the sound bringing back memories of the day he had been flogged. Lowering his glasses, he used his X-ray vision to look outside, relaxing when he realized it was just the Capitolites who would accompany him on his Victory Tour.
Moments later, Marcius rang the doorbell. Clark’s prep team, a camera crew, and a reporter were standing behind him. Another camera crew was setting up their equipment in the front yard, trying to angle the cameras so they didn’t show Haver’s rundown house next door.
Clark opened the door. Marcius led the others in, gesturing around him and talking loudly to the people following in his wake, completely ignoring the fact that they were tracking mud all over the freshly scrubbed floor. Martha and Clark stared at the mess in dismay, but none of the Capitolites noticed.
“As you can see, it’s quite rustic, but nice enough for this district. You can set up over there,” Marcius continued to the camera crew, pointing to the living room. “It’s a good, homey place to interview Mrs. Kent. You three take Clark upstairs and get him ready for the cameras,” he added, gesturing to the prep team, “and …
what is that smell?!”
Clark sniffed the air, trying to figure out what Marcius was complaining about. “Coffee?”
“Not
that. That
other smell.”
Clark suddenly realized what Marcius was talking about. “Chickens. We have a chicken coop in the backyard.”
“That is … absolutely disgusting. How can you live with that smell?!”
“We’re used to it,” Clark told him, suppressing a smile. “That’s where eggs come from, you know.”
Marcius glared at him. “I
know where eggs come from. Why can’t you buy them like a normal person?”
Clark chuckled at his discomfiture and replied, “Because I like chickens. I even write about them. If you think that’s bad, wait until you smell a barn on a hot day.”
“I think I’ll pass.” Marcius went to the front door and called to the camera crew. “Whatever you do, don’t film the backyard! Our young victor wasn’t satisfied with what the Capitol did with it.” To Clark, he said, “Well, don’t just stand there. Get upstairs. We’re a on a tight schedule here.”
Clark gave Marcius an annoyed look, then turned to his prep team. “Follow me.”
The three members of Clark’s prep team followed him eagerly, though Hermia was somewhat more subdued than she had been in the Capitol, remembering the way Clark had yelled at her for wanting to be in Lois’s place. The two men, Proteus and Menelaus, had no such reservations and immediately started talking enthusiastically about Clark’s writing and how much they liked it, even if it wasn’t very glamorous.
Clark was familiar with the prep team’s routine, so he didn’t object when they stripped off his clothes and pushed him into the shower. He stood patiently while they scrubbed him down, chattering the whole time.
“I still think blue would be a good color for your skin,” Hermia said, “but Rosaline wouldn’t hear of it.”
“No tattoos, either,” grumbled Menelaus, “even though I took a class in tattooing and passed with flying colors.”
Thank you, Rosaline, Clark thought silently. “I’m sure she knows what she’s doing,” he told them.
“I don’t see why it even matters,” Proteus complained. “After all, she’s been replaced.”
“Replaced?” Clark jerked away from Hermia, who was washing his hair. Wiping the shampoo from his eyes, he asked, “Why has she been replaced?”
Proteus shrugged. “I heard that she was pregnant again and wanted to take time off. Given how inconvenient the timing is, she probably won’t be back. Taking off just before a Victory Tour is just unacceptable. Belarius is going to be your stylist for your Victory Tour. At least
we weren’t replaced … and one of us just might get a promotion for the next Games.”
“She had all your outfits ready, too,” Menelaus said. “All she had to do was make sure everything fit and that we’d prepped you right, but she just had to take time off right now.”
Hermia pushed Clark’s head under the spray from the shower. “If she had any sense, she’d have waited before having another baby. Nobody’s pregnant during the Victory Tour.”
“Well, maybe it’s just one of those things that happens,” Clark said when he managed to get his head out from under the water again.
His prep team looked at each other and laughed, as though the idea of an unplanned pregnancy was ludicrous. Clark stood silently while they finished bathing him, hoping that Rosaline’s instructions about keeping his natural look would continue to be followed.
Having lost interest in the subject of the sudden change in stylists, Hermia, Menelaus, and Proteus eagerly discussed the Victory Tour and all the parties that would be taking place while they dried Clark off and set to work on making him camera-ready. They were especially enthusiastic about the Victory Ball in the Capitol, speculating endlessly on the food, the fashions, and who would be there. It was considered
the party of the year, and they had never before been invited.
It seemed to take forever. Clark had trimmed his hair and nails that morning so his prep team wouldn’t attempt to cut them. He still had to put up with them rubbing him down with a scented lotion that would have attracted every bee in District 9 if it had been spring, and with their painting his fingernails and toenails with a shiny, clear polish that added a faint hint of blue to them. Supposedly, this was the very latest style for men in the Capitol, though Clark thought it made him look like he was suffering from oxygen deprivation.
Finally, they were finished, and Hermia opened the door. Belarius was waiting outside, several garment bags and a shoebox in his hands. The three members of Clark’s prep team took a look at the clothes, then hurried toward the stairs, chattering excitedly.
“Quiet!” Belarius hissed at them. “They’re about to interview Mrs. Kent downstairs!”
They hushed, but only for a moment, then started talking loudly again as they went down the stairs. Someone yelled at them, followed by the sound of stomping feet and the front door slamming. Clark overheard someone sigh, then say, “Sorry, Mrs. Kent. Let’s try this again.”
Before Clark could use his superhearing to listen in on his mother’s interview, Belarius grumbled, “Those three have the collective IQ of a radish, and Hermia’s the worst of them. If she weren’t a Gamemaker’s daughter …”
Clark didn’t particularly like Hermia, but he felt obligated to defend her anyway. “She’s not as noisy as she was six months ago.”
“Yes, Rosaline told me about how you took her to task for wishing she was in Lois’s place. Frankly, I think Menelaus felt the same way, but he has slightly more common sense than Hermia and knew better than to say so.”
Since all three members of his prep team paid entirely too much attention to him and made him very uncomfortable, Clark wasn’t surprised at this revelation. Only Proteus had maintained something of a professional distance, and even he made Clark feel awkward, if for no other reason than he was accustomed to taking care of himself and didn’t like being bathed, groomed, and dressed as though he were a small child.
Since the members of his prep team were Capitolites and Clark wasn’t, he decided not to say anything about how uncomfortable they made him feel. Belarius seemed like he might be sympathetic, but Clark didn’t know him very well and couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t use Clark’s words against him.
Belarius handed Clark some soft, warm undergarments. “You can put those on yourself,” he told him.
“Thank you.” Rosaline, too, had respected Clark enough to allow him to do that portion of his dressing himself. As Belarius started helping him into his outer clothing, Clark said, “Proteus told me that Rosaline has been replaced.”
“She’s taking some time off,” Belarius said, “but given the poor timing, she probably won’t be invited to come back. She didn’t say a word until yesterday, when she told me she was pregnant and her doctor told her not to travel outside of the Capitol. I was surprised … she worked the Games through two of her pregnancies, including the last time she went on a Victory Tour.”
“Hermia said no one is pregnant during the Victory Tour.”
“Hermia doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It was Rosaline’s maternity designs, which she wore during that Victory Tour, that got her promoted to stylist. I know she was looking forward to this tour, too — it would have been her first one as a stylist. She had all of your clothes designed and made already, though, so that’s not a problem. She didn’t tell me exactly what was wrong, but she seemed scared and upset, so I think whatever it is has to be serious. Rosaline loves her children, so it would be a tragedy for her to lose this one.”
Clark thought about how much his parents had grieved for each of their lost children, and of how close his mother had come to dying when her last baby was stillborn. Rosaline was part of the Games, one of the people who helped send children to their deaths, but she had also been kind to him and had treated him far more professionally than his prep team had. “I hope she’s okay,” he told Belarius.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he told Clark. “Even if she isn’t allowed to be a Hunger Games stylist anymore, the fact that she was stylist to a victor means that she can take her pick of designers to work for, or even become one herself.”
“That’s good. I know she loves her children more than her career, though.”
“That’s true, but even if she loses this one, she has access to the best doctors and should be able to have more.”
“It would still be a terrible thing.”
“Yes, it would, and I’ll tell her you’re concerned about her next time I see her. She thinks well of you, you know, especially the amount of compassion you show for others.” Belarius made a couple of adjustments to Clark’s outfit and checked for lint. “Now, we need to get going before Marcius comes up here complaining about getting off-schedule,” he said in a sarcastic tone.
Clark turned and looked at himself in the mirror. The clothes were simple but warm, fitting both the location and the early March weather. In spite of the fact that he often thought Rosaline’s designs looked strange, this was suitable for District 9 and he would probably wear it again once the tour was over.
When Clark and Belarius started down the stairs, Marcius put a finger to his lips to tell them to be quiet. The cameras were still rolling in the living room and a Capitol television reporter was interviewing Martha.
“You must be very proud of your son,” the TV reporter was saying to Martha, who was sitting in front of the fireplace.
“He’s a smart, brave young man,” Martha responded, “and I was never so happy in my life as when he was declared victor. Since then, he’s provided well for his family and helped the family of his district partner, Becky Rasen. Everyone is glad he came home.”
“District 9’s Hunger Games escort, Marcius Elphinstone, tells us that Clark’s father passed away not long after he returned from the Games.”
“It was about a month and a half after Clark came home. His father, Jonathan Kent, had suffered from heart trouble for years. It … finally caught up to him.”
“At least he got to see his son win the Hunger Games,” the interviewer said sympathetically. “That must have made him proud.”
“He was overjoyed when Clark became the victor,” Martha said. “We both were. Our son was coming home.”
“Well, I think I speak for all of Panem when I offer my sympathy on your husband’s death. Our victors are well-loved, and when they mourn, we mourn.”
“Thank you,” Martha told her, though she didn’t believe the words of sympathy for a moment. These people hadn’t known Jonathan, and they really didn’t know Clark, despite his celebrity status.
The interview ended soon after that, and the reporter signaled for Clark to take Martha’s place. He stepped in front of the camera, leaning casually against the fireplace mantel.
Marcius handed him a pile of folders. Clark looked at them in confusion for a moment before realizing that the folders were fancier replacements for the ones that he had purchased for his stories and essays. Each folder had a clear cover, and an appropriate photo or drawing had been placed at the beginning of each piece.
“I took the liberty of placing them in better covers,” Marcius told him, “and since we talked on the phone about what you were writing, I had a good idea of what would be needed to illustrate your work.”
“I already had folders!”
“These are better, and the pictures serve to enhance your work.”
Clark wanted to argue with Marcius further, but when he noticed the interviewer looking at her watch, he stopped and didn’t comment when an assistant pushed a table over and arranged the folders atop it so that each one was easy to see.
When the cameraman nodded to the television reporter, she stepped behind the table, microphone in hand, and spoke into the camera.
“Welcome back, everyone. In case you’re just now tuning in, I’m here in District 9’s Victor’s Village with Clark Kent, the victor of the 66th Annual Hunger Games. As many of you know, Clark has proven himself a talented writer, and is going to tell us a little about his latest work before he starts on his Victory Tour.” She held the microphone out to him. “Right, Clark?”
Clark glanced at the Capitol ID she was wearing. “Right, Vesuvia. I have six more essays and stories ready to go, which I’m sure will get to the Capitol before I do, if Marcius has anything to say about it.”
Vesuvia laughed. “He is quite efficient, isn’t he?”
“Very. Now, I’ve written about a number of subjects — cooking, music, square dancing, and farming techniques, to be specific. My favorite teacher in high school said, ‘Write what you know,’ and I took his advice.”
“Did you write any more funny stories? I loved the last one when I read it in the
Capitol Star.”
“I wrote two, actually. I won’t spoil them for everyone by telling you what they’re about. Suffice it to say that life can be very funny sometimes.”
“It can indeed. Now, Clark, what about the Games? Have you written about them? And what about Lois Lane? Surely you have something to say about her.”
Clark fought to keep the pleasant expression on his face. He’d been expecting the questions, but that didn’t make them any easier to answer.
“I really haven’t, Vesuvia, because everyone already knows about the Games. They saw them on television and they read about them in the newspapers and magazines. I don’t think anyone would be interested in reading about them from my point of view. What could I possibly add?”
“Oh, no, people would love to read your thoughts on the Games!” Vesuvia exclaimed. “Why, you’re a victor. You have a unique perspective.”
Not one you’d want to read, Clark thought. Aloud, he said, “I don’t know. Many writers far more talented than me have written about last year’s Games.”
“You’re very talented, Clark, and I think I can speak for all of Panem when I say that we very much want to read about the Games from your perspective.” Before Clark could say anything, she went on, “Now, what about Lois Lane? Have you written about her?”
Clark shook his head. “No, not yet. She was a wonderful, special person, someone I’m glad I knew, no matter how short a time it was. She saved my life, and under that tough, prickly exterior, she was warm and caring. I … can’t write about her yet. It’s too hard. Maybe one day I’ll be ready to write about our time in the arena, but not yet.”
“Well, don’t take too long. The memories may fade.”
“If there’s one thing I’ll never forget, Vesuvia, it’s Lois Lane and what she meant to me.”
“Oh …” Vesuvia wiped a tear away. She patted her pockets, looking for a tissue, then smiled as Clark stepped away from the camera for a moment to bring her one.
Looking back at the camera, she said, “This is Vesuvia Silverstone, reporting from the beginning of the Victory Tour in District 9. Stay tuned for updates as Panem’s latest victor embarks on the trip of a lifetime. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.”
Not long after that, Belarius handed Clark a warm coat, scarf, and gloves. Marcius pushed him out the door, hissing, “Smile!”
Clark stepped out onto the porch and into the bright sunlight. Following Marcius’s instructions, he smiled and waved for the cameras, relieved to see Haver and Matilda coming in his direction. Both were dressed well, as befitted their status as victors, and Haver didn’t smell nearly as strongly of magic grass as he had at the Reaping. Matilda was sober and walking steadily, though she kept swatting irritably at Menelaus, who was trying to do some last-minute hairstyling on her.
Despite being thousands of miles away in the Capitol, Caesar Flickerman was conducting Clark’s outdoor interview. “What a wonderful start to the Victory Tour!” he said enthusiastically, his dyed green hair and face showing in the monitor beside the central camera. “Mother Nature certainly cooperated today — would you look at that bright sunshine and blue sky?! It’s a big day for all of us, but especially for you, Clark. Haver and Matilda have already toured Panem, but this is the first time for you. What are you looking forward to most?”
Coming home, Clark thought, but he said, “Seeing all the places I’ve never seen before, Caesar —“
– at least not during the day — “— and meeting all the other victors. It’ll be nice to see the Capitol again, too.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat. Parties, dinners, the Victory Ball — and all of it in honor of you.”
Clark gritted his teeth, but kept the smile pasted on his face. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Haver and Matilda joined Clark on the porch. “I’m sure it brings back memories for you two,” Caesar said to them.
“That it does,” Haver replied, a trace of irony in his voice.
Matilda looked at Clark. “It’ll be interesting, that’s for sure.”
“Well, Clark, we’ll be checking in with you as the Victory Tour progresses — and we will see you all in the Capitol!”
After Caesar signed off, the cameras followed them to the cars. Clark looked nervously at the Peacekeeper who was driving the car that would take him, his fellow victors, and Marcius to the train station — it was the same Peacekeeper who had tried to save his father’s life after his heart attack. The man just nodded slightly as Clark got into the front seat, a hint of sympathy in his eyes.
“All right. We’re on a tight schedule, so get going!” Marcius told the Peacekeeper, who glanced at him in the rearview mirror, looking annoyed. He didn’t argue, though, as he started the car and drove slowly down the street, his eyes speaking volumes as he listened to Marcius prattle on.
*****
A crowd was gathered at the train station to see Clark off. Only a few people were allowed on the platform, but more had gathered nearby.
Martha stood on the platform, as did Pete, Lana, the mayor, and the Head Peacekeeper. Clark looked around, seeing several members of the Rasen family at the front of the crowd. Rachel was there, too, standing at the back.
Clark caught her eye. She smiled slightly, then rolled her eyes at all the fuss. Clark grinned back, then waved to the Rasens and turned his attention to the people on the platform before the cameras could pick up on their interaction.
The mayor stepped forward and shook Clark’s hand. “Mr. Kent, on behalf of the people of District 9, I wish you well on your Victory Tour of our great nation.”
“Mr. Gard, you’ve known me since I was little. You can call me Clark. There’s no need to be formal.”
There was laughter from the crowd. Marcius mumbled under his breath, but stopped when Clark looked at him.
The cameras focused on Martha and the Rosses. Pete stepped up to Clark and clapped him on the shoulder, while Lana gave him a quick hug.
“Good luck, Clark,” Pete said.
“I’ll be back in time for planting, you know … before it, actually.” Clark looked at Lana and said, “Keep him out of trouble, Lana.”
Pete looked indignant, but Clark had already told them how he intended to play things when they saw him off, so he went along with it.
“Not a problem, Clark,” Lana said. She patted her stomach. “
We’ll keep him out of trouble.”
Clark turned to Martha. “I’ll be back in less than two weeks, Mom. There’s plenty of wood for the fire and feed for the chickens.”
“I’ll be fine, Clark. Go ahead and enjoy yourself. You’ve earned this.” Martha, too, knew the importance of showing the Capitol audience what they wanted to see.
“If you need anything, Sid is nearby, and Pete and Lana are out at the farm.”
“Clark, I’m fine. Go on, now. You don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”
“Okay, Mom. Take care of yourself.”
Martha gave him a little push in the direction of the train. “
Go, Clark. This is your moment. Have a good trip, and I’ll see you when you get back.”
Clark waved as he stepped onto the train, Marcius fussing at him about staying on schedule. Even as the train pulled away, heading in the direction of District 12, he stood at the window, watching until everyone was out of sight.
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