The Last Survivors Box Set

by Bobby Adair

  “As I’m sure that you would like your services to be confidential,” Beck said, “I assume you know that your clients would like to remain confidential as well.”

  Jeremiah slowly nodded as he went back to scratching at whatever parasite was crawling across his scalp. “What did this confidential client say I’d do?”

  Beck said, “Let’s skip the dancing.” He reached into a pocket and put a handful of coins on the table between them.

  Jeremiah’s eyes went wide.

  “I’ll not pretend to be coy, and you can stop pretending to be honest.”

  Jeremiah started to protest.

  Beck raised a hand to quiet him. “I don’t doubt you do honest work. You also perform necessary duties that might fall outside the letter of the law. I have no intention of bringing you trouble for your choice to earn money in that fashion. Contrarily, I applaud you. A town needs men like you about, men who are brave enough to expedite matters when the narrow constraints of ill-conceived laws would otherwise hinder them.”

  “Yes,” Jeremiah nodded, grunting as he crammed the intelligent-sounding phrase into his memory. “Narrow constraints.”

  “Those coins are yours for taking this job. I assure you, it will pay your debts, buy you a roof for the night, and leave you enough to show some generosity to a barren woman. Another handful awaits when you successfully complete your work for me.”

  Jeremiah poked at the coins with a fat finger. The coins jingled. “For this much money, what is it you want me to do?”

  “I require that you follow a boy.”

  Jeremiah poked at the coins again. “Out in the wild, I suspect.”

  Beck nodded. “Is that a problem?”

  “I ain’t afraid of nuthin’ in the wild.”

  “So it won’t be a problem then?”

  “How long?”

  “How many weeks will that buy me?” Beck asked, pointing at the coins.

  Jeremiah snorted some snot up into his nose. “Three weeks.”

  “Okay.”

  Surprised that his offer had been accepted, he asked, “When the three weeks are over?”

  “I’ll continue to pay for as long as it takes.”

  “For what will I be waiting to happen?”

  “I require the utmost discretion in this matter.”

  “Understood.”

  “Give me your word,” said Beck. “Not a breath of this to any living soul.”

  “You have my word, such as it is.”

  “I’ll accept that.” Beck looked across the dining hall’s empty tables, searching for any movement that might be lingering in the shadowy doorways. “The boy’s name is Ivory, the rabbit hunter, son of Muldoon, the rabbit hunter.”

  “I know of Muldoon. He knows of me, though we’re not friends.”

  “Nor shall you be,” said Beck. “He went to the pyre at the last Cleansing.”

  “So it goes.”

  Beck said, “The boy may have stumbled onto a cache of ancient books out in the wild. I wish to know for certain whether he has. And if he has, I wish to know exactly where this cache is.”

  “Cache?” Jeremiah asked.

  “A lot of books. That’s what it means.”

  “A lot?” Jeremiah leaned back in his chair. “A lot of books could be worth a fortune.”

  Beck pointed at the coins. “Yes. That’s why I’m paying you handsomely.”

  Jeremiah combed his fingers through his thick beard again. “Them coins ain’t nuthin’ next to the value of an ancient book.”

  “If you find the cache, you’ll be rewarded sufficiently.”

  “How much is sufficiently?”

  Exasperated, Beck asked, “How many coins do you require?”

  “Enough that I don’t feel like I’m being robbed, begging your pardon. I’m not saying you’re robbing me. I just don’t want to feel like it.”

  Beck nodded. “Would a thousand coins on top of that be enough to make the deal fair? Assuming you find the source of the boy’s books?”

  Jeremiah grinned widely. “You have that kind of money?”

  “Is it enough?”

  Jeremiah nodded.

  “But you must find the books and tell me how many there are.”

  Jeremiah’s face went slack.

  “What’s the matter?” Beck asked.

  “I can imagine the wealth of more than ten books, but I can’t count much past ten.”

  “How much past that can you count?”

  “Twelve.”

  “I’ll provide you with a piece of paper and a pencil. When you find the place where these books are hidden, draw one mark on the paper for each book you find there. Bring that paper back to me, then be my guide to return to collect them. When we return to Brighton, you’ll be rewarded as we’ve agreed.”

  Jeremiah extended a hand across the table.

  Beck put his hand in Jeremiah’s giant grasp and shook.

  Chapter 39: Fitzgerald

  Fitzgerald stared at Franklin, her shame deepening. For some reason, the sight of the novice’s worried face was even worse than the thought of what Father Winthrop might do to her. It signified the end of everything.

  Mary held up the relic triumphantly.

  Franklin looked from Mary to Fitzgerald and back again. His concern turned to confusion. “Perhaps a gift given by Father Winthrop?” he tried.

  “That’s what I came to ask,” Mary said. “You know I take stealing as seriously as the Elders do.”

  “Naturally. It’s good that you came so we can clear this up,” Franklin said.

  “I wouldn’t want any ill will toward The House,” Mary said.

  “Of course.” Franklin glanced behind him, as if looking for an escape. Then he motioned them in. “Come on.”

  Fitzgerald hung behind Franklin and Mary. The flickering of Franklin’s torch might as well have been the first fingers of hell, waiting to consume her. Mary walked at a brisk pace, moving the group along, as if she was anxious to get the accusation over and done with. When they reached the bedchamber door, Fitzgerald watched Franklin, hoping for an inkling of an idea, some way to stall her fate.

  Her heart sank when he knocked.

  The rap was light, barely audible.

  They paused in silence, listening for a stir in the chamber. From underneath the door, Fitzgerald saw the flicker of firelight. The fireplace was burning low at this hour. Winthrop’s chamber remained silent. Franklin waited a full minute before turning away.

  “I don’t think he’s in there,” he said.

  “Did he hear you?” Mary whispered. “We should try again.”

  Franklin swallowed and rapped louder. The knock reverberated off the walls and died. They hung in silence, waiting. Fitzgerald clasped her hands in front of her, saying a silent prayer that the man was either deep in slumber, or had woken up and wandered off. Each second Winthrop didn’t answer compounded her hope.

  The room was quiet.

  And then it wasn’t.

  A faint groan escaped from the other side of the door; the bed sheets rustled. Fitzgerald heard the sound of feet finding the floor, then the creak of the bed as someone got up. Her heart beat faster. She heard the person on the other side getting dressed, and then, after another pause, a voice arose from the other side of the door.

  “Franklin, is that you? Why are you disturbing me at this hour?”

  “Someone’s here to see you, Father.”

  “Tell them to come back in the morning.”

  “I don’t think it can wait.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Mary, from The House, Father. She has an urgent question.”

  Winthrop groaned as he took the remaining steps to the d
oor. He cleared phlegm from his throat, rattled the doorknob, and swung open the door. All at once Fitzgerald was face-to-face with the man with whom she’d spent the night.

  The man she’d robbed.

  Fitzgerald glanced quickly at him, taking in his bloodshot eyes and his withered, yellow skin. She cast her eyes to the floor. They stood in silence for several seconds, no one wanting to speak first. And then Mary piped up.

  “Sorry to bother you, Father. But the matter is urgent.”

  “Out with it,” Winthrop grunted. “I’m trying to sleep.”

  Mary dangled the relic in the air, allowing everyone to see. “Fitzgerald came home with this tucked in her boot. Did you give it to her?”

  Fitzgerald’s eyes roamed to the piece she’d stolen. The relic was as enticing now as when she’d taken it. She kept her gaze locked on the object, deathly afraid to meet Winthrop’s eyes. Winthrop harrumphed in confusion. After a few seconds, anger overtook him.

  “Where’d you get this?” he demanded, turning toward her.

  Fitzgerald felt his burning stare, but she refused to look over. To meet his eyes was to acknowledge what she’d done. He asked again with no response. Frustrated, he turned his fury on Franklin.

  “What do you know about this, Franklin?” he asked.

  “I—I know nothing, Father. I let her in, and then I left to work on my studies.”

  “She must’ve taken it after I fell asleep,” Winthrop said, piecing the story together. “And then she must’ve slipped off in the night.” Without looking at him, she felt his gaze, boring into her like a demon seed. “Like a common pig chaser. A godless peasant.”

  Winthrop slapped Fitzgerald.

  Fitzgerald was so shocked she barely cried out. Her cheek stung in pain. She crouched to the ground, shielding her face.

  “You have the gall to steal from a Minister?” he roared, his voice trembling. “After everything I’ve provided for you? After everything I’ve provided to Brighton?”

  Fitzgerald was unable to stop the tears. She peered through splayed fingers, staring at the boots of Mary, Franklin, and Winthrop. Mary’s rage had been frightening enough. But Winthrop had the power to have her killed.

  Mary grunted in satisfaction.

  “I just wanted to make sure you knew about this, because—” Mary began.

  “Shut up, wench!” Winthrop hollered. “You’re as much to blame as she is. Your teachings of these women have failed. Give me back my relic!”

  “But… What is to be done, Father?” Mary asked, handing it over. Her demeanor—righteous just moments before—had cracked.

  “We’ll have words later. Trust me on that. Franklin, please lead Mary out.”

  “What of Fitzgerald?”

  “I’ll handle her.”

  Two pairs of boots disappeared, leaving Fitzgerald alone with the Bishop. She kept her head bowed, praying for a miracle. Heavy breathing filled the air above her. She remained on the ground for several seconds, studying the floor, as if hell might open up and swallow her whole.

  Suddenly, hands grabbed her dress, tugging her to her feet and pulling her into the man’s bedchambers. Fitzgerald stood silent, her hair draped over her face. She sucked in her tears, certain that sound was her enemy. Her voice would worsen Winthrop’s rage. She sensed it.

  She waited for another blow to land, but instead Winthrop padded across the room. He bent down and removed the box from underneath the bed. He opened it. She heard him lining the relics up on his bed, sorting through them. Then she heard the clink of the relics as they found their way home.

  “I could’ve killed you,” he said. “And I would’ve been within my rights. But then I wouldn’t have been able to set an example for the others.”

  Fitzgerald shifted her eyes toward the doorway. The door was open; noises rang from the far end of the hallway. Franklin was seeing Mary out. For a split second, Fitz contemplated running and taking her chances, but she knew she wouldn’t get far. The Bishop, old as he was, would light after her, and his screams would rouse anyone nearby.

  Besides, fleeing would only make the Bishop angrier. That would make her punishment more severe. Death came in many forms. She’d seen enough suffering to know that. Maybe her compliance would lessen the brutality of her sentence.

  “What do you think should happen now?” Winthrop asked from across the room.

  “I—I’m not sure, Father.”

  “A hanging? The pyre? Perhaps I should turn you over to Blackthorn and let him decide. I’m sure he has lots of creative ways to punish House women who have stolen.”

  “Please, Father.”

  “Begging is against the will of The Word. You should know this.”

  “I do, Father.”

  “You said your father is a woodcutter, isn’t he? Surely he is a faithful man. What’s his name?”

  At the mention of her father, Fitzgerald broke down. Winthrop didn’t have to speak the threat. It was understood.

  “I asked for your father’s name,” Winthrop said again.

  “Emil,” she managed, between sobs.

  “Maybe we should bring Emil here, so we can question him about your upbringing.”

  Footsteps distracted them. Fitzgerald looked behind her, relieved to see Franklin walking into the room.

  “Father, may I have a moment?” he asked.

  “Not now. I need you to fetch someone for me.”

  “Who?”

  “The girl’s father, Emil. And two soldiers. We’re going to see this girl punished.”

  “But, Father—”

  “Fetch them for me, Franklin. Do as I say!”

  To Fitzgerald’s surprise, Franklin refused the order. He stepped inside and closed the door. Then he advanced several paces into the room and stood next to Fitzgerald. Winthrop stared at him, confused.

  “Father, I must insist. Surely there are better uses for this girl than a mere example. Brighton has lost too many between The Cleansing and the spikings. The People’s spirits are beginning to wilt. The People must be happy if they are to work.” He paused for breath. “Besides, The House has already lost Jenny.”

  At the sound of Jenny’s name, Winthrop’s face fell. He stared at both of them, grief diluting his anger. “What am I to do with a common thief?” he asked. “Cut off her hands? What use can there be for someone who has gone against the will of The Word?”

  “Surely the church can use another servant.”

  “But not a thieving one.” Winthrop furrowed his brow in anger. Despite his condemnation, he fell silent.

  Sensing an opportunity, Fitzgerald piped in. “I’m sorry, Father. I found the relic on the floor. I knew it was yours; I knew I shouldn’t have taken it. But it was so beautiful that all I wanted to do was to see it in the daylight. I was going to return it.”

  Winthrop pursed his lips. “It is a beautiful piece. It is inspiring to everyone who sees it.” He paused to stare at her. “I must’ve dropped it on the floor before you arrived.”

  She nodded.

  “Not that it excuses what you’ve done,” Winthrop muttered.

  “Of course not,” she agreed.

  “I’ll watch over her, Father. I’ll ensure nothing like this happens again. She can be a servant to the novices,” Franklin offered.

  Father Winthrop looked Fitzgerald up and down, studying the front of her dress. “That’s quite all right, Franklin. I could use another pair of hands in my chambers directly.”

  “But, Father—”

  “The decision is made. Go let Mary know. And never speak of this again.”

  “Yes, Father.” Franklin gave one last, lingering look at Fitzgerald. His shoulders slouched as he headed for the door.

  Chapter 40: Jeremiah

  Jer
emiah pushed past the men standing in the aisle, laughing at their own wit and paying no attention to others waiting to get by. He bumped a man sitting at a table with his chair scooted out a little too far for Jeremiah’s taste. Jeremiah was a big man. He needed big spaces.

  Ignoring the protests of the man whose beer he’d just spilled, Jeremiah pulled a chair out from under another table and dropped his weight into it.

  A solitary man on the other side of the table looked up from his plate, just long enough to acknowledge Jeremiah’s presence. “You bathed. Is that why you’ve come here at this late hour? It took all day?”

  Jeremiah grinned through the thick whiskers on his face. “The Barren Women are nicer to me when I bathe.”

  “Is that all it takes?” asked the other man. “I’d have guessed a pocket full of coins was necessary to convince one to join you in a bed.”

  Jeremiah leaned over the small table, exhaling slowly through his nose. He clenched his jaw. Men as big as him didn’t need to do much more to silence twerpy, loud-mouthed little men.

  The other man scooted his plate to the side. “If you get your snot on my food, you’ll wear what’s left of it.”

  Jeremiah glared at the man for another moment before leaning back and grinning. He turned toward a serving girl halfway across the tavern. “Girl.” He pointed to the plate on the table. “Bring me some of that. And I have a thirst. You know what I like.”

  “Only if you have coin,” she said. “No more credit for you. Henry says so.”

  “I paid Henry this afternoon,” Jeremiah yelled back. “I’m a man with no debts. Now do what you’re told.”

  “No debts?” The man across from Jeremiah laughed. “You’re a liar.”

  Jeremiah took some coins out of his coat and laid them on the table in front of the other man’s plate. “There you are, Mendoza. All that I owe.”

  Mendoza laughed bitterly. “All? Are you sure? It’s been so long since I made you that sword I’ve forgotten what you agreed to pay for it. Perhaps I could ask my son what the amount was. No, wait. My son was not born then. I should ask my wife. No wait, I wasn’t married yet. I should—”