WANTED
Leora Flint
On suspicion of the murder of the storyteller, Mel.
Cries of distress explode around the square like firecrackers. I blink and read the words again. My mind is screaming at me to run but I am paralysed by that cold, terrible word: murder.
Finally, my feet respond to my mind’s pleas and I walk out of the square, down the cobbled street until I am far enough away to run. And I run home, all the time expecting the chase to begin.
“She can’t be dead, Mum. Tell me – tell me she’s not.” I sob into Mum’s firm embrace. No one is immune to the curse that I bring – if I love you, you may as well give up. But Mel? She was different. Mel was the strong one, the leader, the one who had been groomed to be part of the government since she was a child. She was courageous enough to take risks and not worry, because she was too important – she was safe.
“You’re not going to leave me too, are you?” I whimper, and Mum tells me the comforting lies I need to hear.
“I’ll never leave you. I’m here, and I’m staying right here.” She murmurs softly into my hair.
Her words are soft and sweet, and they draw me in – I want the warmth of their promise; but like Seb’s biscuits they could crumble at any moment.
They come and knock on the door and ask Mum whether I am here. They even commit a cursory search. I wait in my childhood hiding place: the big, dusty chest in the attic.
After they leave, Mum begs me to rest for a while, to stay till the next morning, to work out what we can do. I agree, to soothe her, and eventually she falls asleep, her hair tumbled on the pillow.
It feels like a long time since I picked up a pencil and drew. By the light of my bedside table lamp, I sit cross-legged on my bed and open Mel’s notebook, sniffing back tears and smoothing the paper before I make a mark. I need to think, and to think, I need to draw. Around the new story of the sisters which Mel received, I let the nib play. The sisters sit together, and their stories begin to dance.
At first the images jar and clang in discord like the two versions of their history the sisters share. At one side a father smiles and his fingers curl softly around the song the little girl sings. On the other side is a monstrous man who thunders until the tiny girl at the edge of the page quakes. As the sister’s stories grow and settle, harmony begins to be seen. I draw the branches of a tree behind their cottage – the boughs splay from the trunk as though making space from each other, and then the branches slowly draw close and eventually intertwine, until the pencil strokes become oceans of silken hair – black and pale blond, braided into wave after wave of perfectly united strands.
If the banner in the town square told one lie – that I am a killer – could it have told another? Is it possible that Mel is alive? There are a thousand reasons why it would be better for Mayor Longsight and Jack Minnow if Mel was dead. She knows so much about them both, too much. She has been their confidante and their equal – she is full of their secrets. Little wonder they wanted to silence her. But, until I see a body – unless I see the flayed skin of the storyteller – I won’t let it be true. It doesn’t change how things stand, because dead or alive, Mel would expect me to fight.
Wiping my tears, I tiptoe downstairs and collect Dad’s book from my bag. I put it on Mum’s bed, next to her pillow. He will be the first thing she sees when she wakes.
Chapter Thirty-three
I dream of untangling a ball of wool.
I dream of trying to find the right key on a ring of hundreds.
I dream of separating sugar from salt.
I dream of ice melting and refreezing.
I dream of a man who becomes a god and then becomes a man again and again and again.
I wake up before dawn, determined. My problem has been that the rules changed, and I’ve not caught up yet; I’ve been playing the wrong game entirely. I’ve been trying to understand the old Mayor Longsight – the one for whom power meant domination. He made sense to me – he wanted to lead by being the strongest, the wisest, the best and most fierce. So, of course, the destruction of the blanks was his aim. What better way to show his might and to declare his new intentions?
But now he is a new man – this “resurrection” has changed him. For him, power now looks like purity of soul, and he is the one with the keys to that particular door. He has made himself the only way. His is a promise of certainty. Of eternity.
Whatever doubts I have about Longsight’s miracles – his resurrection and his taking away of another’s ink – I realize that the most important thing isn’t what I believe: it’s what Mayor Longsight himself believes. And there is no disciple more faithful than him; he believes in himself even more than the flatterer Jack Minnow.
But I have a secret, a secret I’ve been holding in my hand – the truth about Jack Minnow. I’m ready to raise the stakes.
When Seb next visits he frowns at me.
“Did you hurt Mel?”
“Seb, I promise you. I haven’t hurt or killed Mel – she is … was … my friend.”
“Verity says you don’t care about friends,” Seb says matter-of-factly as he unpacks his latest offering of food. “She says you only care about yourself.”
I try to swallow back tears, but Seb looks into my eyes and envelopes me in a hug.
“Verity cries too,” Seb says, holding me tight. “You’re my friend, Leora. That’s why I help you and your mum.”
“You’re an incredible friend, Seb. And I’m trying to fix things.”
Seb brushes a tear from my cheek. I wish it was safe for him to give Verity a message from me, but it would be reckless – dangerous. But, an idea sparks in my mind. Seb must see it because he says, “What? What are you thinking about?”
“You’re good at passing on messages, aren’t you?” I ask.
“I’m very good. Especially secret messages.” He grins proudly. “No one expects me to have secrets.” I laugh.
“If I gave you a message, would you make sure it got to the right person? You don’t have to. You can say no and I won’t mind.”
He thinks for a moment. “Who should I take it to?” he says with a smile.
“Do you know Karl Novak?” I ask and Seb nods. “Could you get a note to him?”
“That’s easy,” Seb says. “He comes into the bakery on his way to work every day.”
“So, you’ll do it?”
“I’ll do it tomorrow. Don’t worry – you can count on me.”
The note I give to Seb doesn’t require a reply. I just have to hope that I am right to trust Karl. But then, I don’t have any other choice.
Chapter Thirty-four
The breeze is chilly despite the early morning sun; I need my shawl for warmth as well as disguise. I asked Karl to meet me outside the studio, and shivering in the shady alleyway, I can only hope that he will come.
I don’t have to wait long. When he turns the corner and stands silhouetted at the top of the passage, I remember our first day here at the studio. The sight of him had made my stomach lurch. But this morning, I could hug him.
He doesn’t say anything, just gives me a tight nod, and then we start walking.
“You’re sure about this?” Karl asks as he ushers me towards a side entrance to the government building. “You’re wanted for murder – it seems foolish, to say the least, to be heading right for one of the people you’re meant to be hiding from.”
“I know. And it is foolish. But it might be the only way I can find out what’s going on – and change things.” I look up at Karl, his swept-back blond hair as neat as ever. He makes such a good government official; he looks the part, it’s hard to believe he is on the side of the crows now. But I have to trust him – and even if he can’t be trusted, all I need is to see Minnow face-to-face. “I didn’t kill Mel, you know that, right?”
Karl sighs out a laugh. “Yes. I know that.”
“Do you have any idea what happened to her?” I push.
He looks carefully a
t me. “Of course I have an idea. This is not the first time the leaders have called for someone to go ‘missing’. But this is the first time I’ve not seen a body.”
“You seem so different, Karl.” I can’t help it, I want to know. “What changed – what made you join the crows?”
Karl pauses as though taking stock of me, deciding how much to say.
“I’ve learned a few things about loyalty. From you, mostly.” I look at him, surprised. “You’ve always done the right thing, even when it meant you suffered. It got me thinking. I used to just want to have an easy life – make money, be successful – but then I realized it wasn’t really worth anything if I didn’t have a conscience.” He carries on walking and I follow.
Karl has brought me through a tucked-away, abandoned corridor to a room that was perhaps once an office, but now acts as a graveyard for broken chairs and tables. I pick my way through piled-up furniture and broken chair legs.
“I’m going to have to lock you up – I need to make it look like I hauled you in. He has to believe that I’m on his side. I will bring Minnow, saying I’ve found his murderer. But don’t worry, I won’t leave you with him.”
“No, wait outside,” I say. “I want this to just be me and him.”
Karl nods his understanding. The door is shut, the lock clicks and I wait, secret in hand, ready to open fire.
Jack Minnow keeps me waiting. I have been standing long enough to wish that just one of these chairs was intact. So, when the door creaks open, it makes me jump. Minnow wanders in, wide contented smile, shoulders back and a swagger in his walk. He didn’t think it would be quite this easy.
“Got yourself caught?” He smirks. “Not as clever as you think, are you, Flint?” Minnow flexes his fingers. There is a predatory snarl about him that makes my skin crawl. “The mayor will be thrilled – everything’s falling into place.” He steps closer and I force myself to stand my ground. I clear my throat.
“Perhaps it’s not me who is caught.” My voice shakes. “Did you think I had forgotten about you, Minnow?”
His mouth twitches. “Bravado doesn’t look good on you. Fearful, cowardly – that’s the real you.”
I hate that he sees through me, that he seems to know my weaknesses and hopes – he always finds the perfect way to work his way in and shatter them. Not this time.
“You’re not going to arrest me,” I tell him. “And you’re not going to tell Longsight that I was here. I want you to tell me what you’ve done with Mel. And I want to know where Gull is.”
At this, Jack Minnow laughs. Shaking his head, he speaks.
“I assume there is an ‘or else…’ at the end of that impressive list of demands?” His voice is bored.
“Have you forgotten?” It’s my turn to smile. “I know about you, Minnow. I know all about your life. You have a secret, and unless you do the things I ask, your secret will be revealed to the world. How do you think the people will react when they hear that your father was a traitor – that he stole from the marked to give to the blanks? What do you think they will do when they discover that you violated our holy place by saying his name over and over, every night? The son of a forgotten daring to defile our community with your wicked words. How will they react, Minnow? What will they do when they discover your sins?”
Minnow looks away, down at the ground. His jaw clenches and I wonder if he will attempt to strike me. One scream though, and Karl will be at my side.
He runs a hand over his shaven head and fixes his eyes on me. He turns his face, just slightly, towards the door and I think he will try to run. But instead he calls out, “OK.”
The handle moves, and I ready myself to see Karl, but my eyes play tricks.
I blink and shake my head; but they’re still there. At the door is Verity and she is not alone.
Gull follows her – tall, graceful, for once owning her height.
I rush towards them. I reach out my hands.
“Verity! Gull!” I cry out.
But they do not open their arms to receive me. They step back. Gull moves her hand and clasps Verity’s. And Verity smiles. It is not the smile of a friend or the smile of a sister but the smile of an archer who knows that they can shoot true.
For, now that I am close, I can see.
Here is Gull, but she is not the Gull I know. She wears our traditional dress, which is designed to look like a scanty imitation of a warrior’s uniform. A leather breastplate, a soft leather skirt. But more than that – she wears our ink. Gull is marked.
When I left her, the only marks Gull had were the ones she made herself, the clumsy lye marks that burned her skin. But now she is a new person. A person made of ink.
Verity has let the arrow fly; watches as the tip pierces my heart. And still she smiles.
Of all the fears I had for Gull – beatings, torture, even death – none come close to this.
“Gull … what have you done?” Words pour out before I can stop them, each one dipped in horror.
“See?” She turns to Verity. “So quick to shift the blame, always ready to lay the guilt at someone else’s feet.”
“Wh… I don’t know what you mean?” I implore. I will her to see that it’s me; it’s her friend – the one who saved her from the water, the one who took her away from the danger in Featherstone. “It’s me, Gull. Look at me.”
Her ice-blue eyes turn on me then and there is nothing but frost in her gaze.
“I’m looking,” she says slowly. “Did you look, Leora?” She cocks her head. “Did you look for me – did you even care? Was it your plan all along to leave me to the dogs?”
“What are you saying?” I whisper. “Gull, they caught me – they took me away. I begged them to tell me where you were.”
Gull just stares.
“Why would I trust you, Leora?” she says. “Why would I ever trust you?” I want to cry at hearing her say my name. “You lied,” Gull states. I’ve heard this voice in my dreams – but never this loud, never this sure. “You told me lie after lie and I believed you.” My hands are still outstretched, still reaching and hoping to find hers. “I came here expecting to meet devils. Instead I met an angel.” I see her clasping Verity’s hand more tightly.
“I… I didn’t lie,” I mumble – I feel like I am on a boat, the ground swaying beneath me. “Gull, I… You’re my friend.” It sounds so pathetic, like a child in the playground.
“Don’t let her talk to you about friendship.” Verity’s voice is cold. I watch as her fingers squeeze Gull’s. “She betrays everyone she claims to love.”
“Verity, Vetty, come on.” My voice wobbles and I blink tears away. “Can’t we talk?” Verity raises an eyebrow.
My tired eyes take in Gull’s marks. Reading her comes easily. She has no punishment marks.
Up her right arm are commendations, marks that honour her defection. I see them glow almost gold, although the ink beneath her skin is black. The marks sway and glimmer into bright and glorious vignettes. A picture of her leaving home and stepping free from the forest. A scene that shows her accepting her ink like a child accepts a warm coat. I dread to imagine her back. They will not have allowed her to mark her true family on her back – she will have had to renounce them along with everything she has ever known.
“You lied to me,” she says again, and this time I cry out:
“What did I lie to you about?”
“You told me horror stories about Saintstone,” she says quietly. There is a complacent tone in her voice, a certainty. This doesn’t sound like Gull, I think. “You told me you were a victim. You said you had been forced to live under a cruel and restrictive regime. You challenged my beliefs, and for that, perhaps I should thank you.” I recognize her tone now; she sounds like Longsight. “For I know now that the life I ran from was as false and oppressive as you always said.”
As I always said? I’m dizzy, my thoughts make my mind murky and blurred and I feel a tightening of my stomach – a nausea so bitter.
“You never loved Featherstone, but you told me that Saintstone was as bad, if not worse. You told me all your sorry little tales. You made me believe in the ghosts that only you could see.” Gull drops Verity’s hand gently and runs her fingers down her skirt as though brushing out creases.
My gaze follows, and I see that she has been inked there too – in white. Her legs are like snowflakes – laced with white lines. Her story swims to the surface: a story of a girl who was lost and who has been found. “You brought me here, from everything I knew and believed, and then you left me – abandoned me. You’re good at that, aren’t you? It was Verity who found me.” She holds her hand again.
“I never wanted to leave you,” I said.
“And yet…” She scowls. “You are only happy when you’re tearing something down. You made me believe that my home was a lie, and that Saintstone was worse. Verity came and reached out her hand and took me with her. I have learned so much. At last, Leora, I have seen the light.”
Her scars still cover her arm. I meant them to be like a constellation of stars, a universe beyond. But it looks like the remnants of a sickness – one she was lucky to survive.
There is nothing to say or do.
There is nothing they won’t take from me.
Jack Minnow lets the silence bloom into a cloud of poisonous gas, all the time relishing my every breath – gloating over the death of a soul.
“That’s what you wanted, yes, Flint?” His voice makes my skin shiver. “I’ve given you your wish and shown you your … friend.” He drops that word like a burning coal into my hands. “Did you really think you could wield even an ounce of power over me? Threatening to tell my secrets.” His mocking voice is on the edge of laughter. “Leora, I have so many secrets. I keep them close and I nurture them. I’m master of my secrets – don’t you think by now that I have learned to make my past work for me? As if, by one fell swoop, you could ruin me: you couldn’t even make me stumble.”
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