The Wordsmith

by Forde, Patricia; Simpson, Steve;

  ‘Next the string,’ Finn said.

  Marlo took it and wound it around the neck of the bottle.

  ‘Now,’ said Finn. ‘All we need do is tie the end of the string to the shaft of the cart. What do you think?’

  ‘Let’s go,’ Letta said.

  Finn put the bottle under his great coat and Letta pulled on her own coat before carefully opening the back door.

  The wind hit her in the face as soon as they were outside. The sky was black, full of waiting rain. There was no moon. Letta could feel the darkness pushing in on her, thick and suffocating. She struggled against the wind, the cold piercing her bones. The buildings on either side of her were only shapes, great hulking beasts sheltering from the weather. In her head she tried to keep track. The potter, the weaver. Then the rancid smell of sheep hide alerted her to Mel the shearer’s where the wool from the sheep was turned to yarn to make clothes. Maggoty Mel they had called him when they were schoolchildren running around on these streets in the early summer, when the hides were piled high outside Mel’s door. Maggoty Mel. It seemed like all of that had happened in a different place, a different world.

  Finally they saw the bridge looming out of the darkness and beyond it the South Gate. They stood against the cool stone wall and waited. Beside her, Marlo put his head down against the wind, but Letta felt braver with it lashing her in the face, the rain cascading down her cheeks. She almost missed what Finn said, so loud was the wind.

  ‘It’s coming,’ he said, and Letta strained to hear what he had heard. A few seconds later she heard the rolling sound of wheels on the rough cobbles. The cart. Finn thrust the bottle into her arms.

  ‘Go!’ he hissed at Marlo, and Marlo instantly sprang from the shadows and threw himself on the ground. The cart came closer. Finn stepped away from the wall. Letta clutched the bottle to her chest, her hands wet and slippery on its smooth surface.

  ‘Hey!’ Finn shouted. ‘Stop! Help!’

  At first, Letta thought that they hadn’t heard him, but then the horse shied and she heard one of the gavvers swear.

  ‘Whoa!’ he shouted, and the horse’s hooves skidded on the wet ground. Finn grabbed the harness and held fast. Now! Letta thought and dashed from the wall.

  ‘Get away!’ She heard the gavver call out as she slipped between the wheels of the cart.

  ‘Boy sick. Fall down. Need help!’ Finn shouted against the wind.

  ‘Move him!’ the gavver called.

  Letta pressed the bottle against the rough shaft of the cart, lashing the twine around it and tying a hard knot. Her fingers slipped as she tried to fasten it and she had to start again.

  ‘Get him up or we run over him!’

  ‘Please, sir.’ Finn’s voice was pleading. Then she heard a thump as one of the gavvers jumped from the cart. She couldn’t hear the conversation they were having but she could imagine it. She checked the bottle one last time and pulled out the cork.

  And then she heard it. A moan. Benjamin. She had been so intent on attaching the bottle that she had almost forgotten that he would be there, on the cart. She heard the gavver jump back on. Heard the driver crack the whip. She grabbed the back of the cart and pulled herself up just as the horse lurched forward and the cart moved. Benjamin! She didn’t know if she had said it out loud or only in her head. All she could hear was the wind. He was alive! She reached out to touch him, feeling rough sackcloth and the shape of his feet. She pulled hard with her arms just as the cart lurched again swaying violently on the rough cobbles and throwing her back onto the road. Her shoulders hit the cobbles first, knocking the air out of her. For a second, she lay there with her arm outstretched towards the cart in a hopeless gesture as the rain lashed her and the roar of the wind drowned out the noise of the cart. When she stood up, there was no sign the cart had ever been there. She sat back on her heels and felt as though something inside her had just collapsed, like falling through a trapdoor. She hardly noticed Finn until he was lifting her up off the ground and pulling her back to the bridge. His big hand wiped the rain off her face and he tucked her under his arm as though she were a child of five.

  The bell rang eight times before the first fingers of dawn appeared. The wind had settled. It was still there but only a tame version of itself. Letta knew how it felt. The storm inside her had also quietened. She was worn out from the emotion of the night, the lack of sleep, the incessant reviewing of what had happened. She couldn’t explain why she had jumped on the cart. It hadn’t been part of the plan, nor had she realised that Benjamin would be there, right beside her, breathing, feeling. It was as if she had blocked it out in the planning stage. As if to think of Benjamin would have been such a distraction that she wouldn’t have been able to cope. And he was alive! She just wanted to hold his hand and comfort him, to stay with him in the dark forest until morning. Finn had been shocked. He’d spoken to her about it when they got back to the shop.

  ‘What were you thinking? Did you not realise that they would have felt your weight on the cart? What were you going to do when they reached the dumping site?’

  She had no answers for him. Besides, she also had the practical things to worry her. Had she attached the bottle properly? Had she removed the cork? She couldn’t remember. All she could recall was the sound of Benjamin moaning. The feel of his feet under the sacking. What was he doing now? He had spent all these hours lying in the open, his wounds bleeding, wild animals on every side. A trail of blood on the forest floor.

  Marlo and Finn had taken her back to her house and stayed with her, and she was glad of their company. They were worried. She could see it in their eyes. Finn had a large bruise under his right eye, where the gavver had struck him. Marlo was quiet, no doubt reliving all that had happened. She had to remind herself that they went on missions like this all the time. This was not new to them the way it was to her. She was filled with admiration for them. Was it only a few weeks ago that she had despised the Desecrators and all that they stood for?

  ‘Can we leave soon?’ Letta asked as she saw the sun send out gentle rays in the morning sky.

  Finn shook his head. ‘I don’t think you should come with us, Letta,’ he said. ‘If the shop is closed it will arouse suspicion.’

  Letta jumped to her feet. ‘You can’t be serious,’ she said. ‘You can’t expect me to sit here while Benjamin is thrown somewhere in the forest.’

  ‘But won’t they come looking for you if the shop is closed?’ Marlo asked.

  Letta knew they were right. They would come looking for her. She needed a reason to be gone. Could she say she was going on a word-hunting mission as Benjamin often did? She didn’t know if he informed Noa or the gavvers before he left. She could put a note on the window.

  She ran to her desk and started to write.

  Closed. Two days. Use drop box. Wordsmith

  She showed it to Finn. He frowned.

  ‘Very well then,’ the older man said. ‘Get ready. Bring whatever water you have. We’ll go first. You don’t want to be seen with us. Follow in a few minutes. Meet us at the bridge.’

  Within minutes they were gone. Letta hurried around the house, collecting her water ration, wishing she had time to go and get more. She took Benjamin’s bag, his tool kit, his maps, a woollen sweater for him and all the herbs she could find.

  When she was ready she put up the sign in the window and opened the front door. Light flooded in. The storm had blown over and the sky was clear and baby blue. Mrs Truckle stood looking at her.

  ‘No harm,’ Letta greeted her, though inwardly she was cursing the day Benjamin had asked the old woman to keep an eye on things. Mrs Truckle nodded towards the sign. ‘Where you go?’

  Letta felt the colour mount in her cheeks. She didn’t like lying. ‘Word finding,’ she said.

  ‘Word finding? Where?’ The little woman had her head on one side, her small button eyes squinting back at Letta.

  ‘The forest,’ she said. ‘Have Benjamin’s maps.’

  Mrs Truck
le frowned. ‘You tell gavvers?’ she said. ‘Benjamin always tell gavvers.’

  Letta hesitated. If she told the truth, Mrs Truckle would probably drag her to the Round House to get permission and she might be too late to go with Finn.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, fastening the leather satchel. ‘Have to go now. Weather good.’

  Mrs Truckle caught her arm. ‘Food? Come now. I talk to Mrs Pepper.’

  ‘Have food,’ Letta lied. ‘Need to go.’

  ‘On your own? You too young. Bring Werber.’

  Letta pulled her arm away. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Go now. Alone.’

  She hurried away before her old teacher could say any more, but she could almost feel the old woman’s unease and she knew that Mrs Truckle was the kind of person who liked to get to the bottom of things.

  She couldn’t worry about it now. She had to get to the bridge and meet the Desecrators. If they were still there.

  CHAPTER 15

  #168

  End

  Last part

  LETTA could see Finn and Marlo waiting for her as she approached the bridge. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Come,’ Finn said, making for the gate.

  ‘What should I say to the gavvers?’ Letta asked with one eye on the two hulks guarding the gate.

  ‘They won’t give you any trouble,’ he said and marched on ahead of her.

  Letta had no choice but to follow him. Finn and Marlo hurried through, eyes down. Letta followed them. The gavvers looked away.

  ‘Some of them are easier to pay off than others,’ Marlo said, with a smile, and Letta found herself nodding as if such things happened every day.

  She looked around. In front of her the forest opened its gaping mouth. Silence reigned. There was no bird song. No sound at all, except for the slight ruffle of the wind as it passed through the trees. To Letta, it sounded as though the forest was breathing, quietly, steadily.

  ‘We go through here,’ Finn said. ‘Keep your eyes open for the ink.’

  Finn disappeared into the gloomy passageway that lay open ahead of him.

  Within seconds, the trees closed in about her and made it feel like it was dusk again. Her eyes raked the ground looking for the tell-tale red splashes.

  ‘There!’ Finn’s voice sounded unnaturally loud. He was hunkered down and Letta could feel his excitement. She went closer and saw it for herself. The deep red of the beetroot ink lay on a flat leaf of butterbur. She tore the leaf off and pressed it to her face. There was no mistake. Beetroot. Marlo clutched her hand.

  ‘We’re going to find him,’ he said.

  ‘We have to hurry,’ Finn said, but he patted Letta gently on the shoulder before turning and heading off through the trees. An hour later, they were still walking, chasing every drop of beetroot ink. Letta could feel the musty dampness of the forest soaking into her bones. Her legs ached; the ground was heavy with fallen leaves and treacherous with tree stumps and sudden holes. Thorn bushes arched out of the undergrowth, their long necks clawing at her skin. Every fifty strides or so, the forest threw up other paths branching right and left. Each time they had to stop and wait while Finn searched for the red ink that would show them the way. Letta ploughed on, slightly comforted by the sound of Marlo trudging behind her. Every few minutes she looked up to catch glimpses of the sky through the dense canopy, an intricate cloth of blue and grey furrowed with twisted bands of cloud. Then, she had to go back to looking at her feet trying not to fall over, trying not to twist or break an ankle.

  There was a strange atmosphere in the woods. A hushed kind of waiting clung to everything. Nobody willingly ventured in here. When the last earthquake had taken place, wild animals hitherto held in captivity broke free and established new territories for themselves under cover of the dense forests. Tigers, lions and snakes had all been spotted here. During one particularly cold winter, some of the animals had ventured out and encroached on the town looking for food. Letta had listened to the terrifying stories people had told over the years. Never, in her most vivid nightmares, could she have imagined herself in here. She concentrated on her feet again. More than once, she looked up only to find herself walking through a spider’s web, the sticky silk clinging to her face and hair. Images plagued her as she walked. Benjamin lying on the open ground all night in the driving rain. His hands bleeding. Animals stalking him.

  She tried to push them away and imagine seeing him again, taking him home. With a sickening lurch she realised she could never take him home. Where would they live? Maybe the Desecrators would give them shelter? She felt something shift inside her, a dropping feeling as though she had jumped from a cliff and down below her was nothing but darkness, uncertainty and fear. What future did they have? She had no idea.

  They had stopped again. Finn went off to investigate the new pathways while somewhere in the distance an animal roared. A wolf? A bear? She looked about her, wondering again what was out there, what lurked in the dense mess of trees and rocks.

  ‘This way.’ Finn nodded to his right and they were walking again. Hours passed. The sky was streaked with mauve, the sun had disappeared. Would they find him before nightfall? A few minutes later, Finn called a halt and they sat on a fallen tree to eat their meagre rations. From his bag, Marlo took bread and a hard, grey-looking cheese along with an apple for each of them. Letta handed round water and they sat in silence, glad of the respite. As soon as the food was eaten, Finn was on his feet again.

  ‘What time is it, do you think?’ Letta asked.

  ‘Evening,’ Finn said and started to walk again.

  Half an hour later, he stopped.

  ‘What is it?’ Letta said.

  ‘Don’t you smell it?’ Finn sniffed the air loudly.

  ‘Smoke,’ Letta said. ‘Could it be smoke?’

  Marlo shook his head. ‘Out here?’

  ‘This way,’ Finn said hurrying in the direction of the sharp, acrid smell.

  A few minutes later he held up his hand and gestured to them to be quiet. Letta sniffed the air, turning her head to where the wind carried the smell at its strongest. Wood smoke.

  Finn hurried them on, moving stealthily. Letta followed him, trying not to make any extra noise. She could hear it now. The crackling of a fire. Finn waved them in behind an enormous oak. Letta leant against the great tree and looked to where Finn was pointing. Letta stretched her eyes, unable to believe what she was seeing. A ring of fire. Someone had built a circle of fire in the middle of the forest.

  ‘There’s someone in there,’ Marlo said, raising his voice to be heard over the crackling of the flames.

  Finn moved forward as far as the next tree. Letta and Marlo followed him. There was someone there, moving about. A small figure dressed in black.

  Finn beckoned and they moved again. This time they could see her clearly. A small woman in dark clothes. Long hair streamed down her back, giving her the appearance of a girl, until the light from the fire caught her face and then Letta could see the deep lines on her tanned skin and the splashes of grey in her hair. The woman was pouring water from a rusty can along the line of the fire. In the middle of the circle was a bundle of rags.

  Finn signalled to Letta and Marlo to stay while he stepped forward. Letta watched him as he approached the circle of flame.

  ‘No harm!’ she heard him shout.

  The woman didn’t answer.

  ‘No harm!’ Finn said again. ‘Can you help us?’

  ‘Who you?’

  The woman’s voice was rusty, the words struggling out of her throat as though they were causing her pain.

  ‘Outcasts,’ Finn said. ‘Looking for a friend who was banished.’

  ‘And how is it I am knowing that what you say is the truth?’

  The woman bent down and picked up a stout wooden branch, the top of which was swathed in cloth. She thrust the branch into the flames and it lit at once. She said nothing but Letta could see that this was now a weapon.

  ‘It is the truth,’ Finn said. �
�We are not gavvers. We are here to find our friend.’

  ‘How many you be?’ The woman lifted the torch lighting Finn’s face but her eyes scanned the environment.

  ‘There are three of us,’ Finn said.

  Marlo took Letta’s hand and they stepped out into the light. Letta could feel the heat coming from the flames and stroking her face.

  The woman looked at her. ‘Who you looking for?’ she said.

  ‘My master,’ Letta answered. ‘Benjamin Lazlo. We know they dumped him near here.’

  There was a long silence. The woman never took her eyes from them. No-one moved.

  Then the woman picked up her watering can and doused the flames in front of them.

  ‘Enter!’ she said.

  Letta followed Finn into the circle.

  ‘Over there,’ the woman said, pointing at the bundle of rags.

  For a second, Letta didn’t understand. She turned her head slowly to the bundle at the heart of the circle. The bundle moved.

  ‘Benjamin?’ Letta crossed the distance between them in three strides and threw herself to the ground beside him.

  His face was drawn and grey, half covered in a scraggy beard. His hair clung to his head, damp and matted. His eyes were closed. She gripped his hand. He moaned, a deep guttural sound that pierced her heart. Instantly, the old woman was beside him. Letta watched as she lifted his head and pressed a small flask to his lips.

  ‘Hush now, hush my friend,’ she crooned. ‘All is well.’

  Benjamin’s face relaxed. The old woman put his head down on the hard ground.

  ‘What do they call him?’ she said, without looking at Letta.

  ‘Benjamin,’ Letta said, stroking the skin of his hand, trying not to look at the bloody mess that was his fingers.

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Letta,’ she answered.

  ‘I be Edgeware,’ the old woman said. ‘Now, we need move him. The fire keeps away wolf and his friends but not for long. They came last night for look. The fire jittered them so they not stay around too long, but they be back. Their hunger will be stronger than their jittering.’