by Martin Kee
You should have known, he scolded himself. You’ve never seen a bomb before, but you should have been skeptical, should have inspected it. You just wanted so badly to make everyone happy, just wanted to be accepted. You’d think you would learn. Maybe the Crow Girl was right. Maybe you are just a pinwheel going in circles.
But what if he had detonated the bomb? What if tampering would have caused it to explode as well?
At least you wouldn’t have died a murderer. His stomach flipped even as he thought the words. A murderer.
The signs of a struggle were evident as he reached the outer lookouts. The usual prostitutes and addicts lined the walls. But there were no children.
“They lookin’ for you,” said Girdy, a brunette prostitute who shared the neighborhood with the gangs. She wore leather netting that showed enough of her body to make Scribble blush. She smiled politely, perhaps amused at his reaction. “You missed all your friends. They gone away to a new home.”
He stared at the dirt. To make eye contact meant seeing more of Girdy than he wanted to.
“Oh, I know you!” she continued. “You’re that little mute boy from the gang.” She laughed. “Ain’t you just the lucky one. Those men are enlisting all your little friends. I guess they need the ones who got all their faculties.”
She tapped at her temple. Scribble understood the subtlety, but played it dumb. As he nodded, a familiar noise startled him and he jerked his face up. Car tired on gravel, moving fast. Girdy turned away.
“You best get going, little one. Unless you wanna wait around to see what they doin’. But I think you already know.”
Scribble knew. He ran, vanishing behind bags of garbage as the carriage pulled up. Two men in black emerged.
“You already got ‘em all!” Girdy laughed. “What, now you want all the whores and hobos too?”
The man looked down at her with a scowl. “We’re just being thorough,” he said.
“Bored is more like it,” she said. “Why don’t you think I’d be selling them to you by the truckload myself. I seen all the rewards.”
“How about any stragglers?” he asked. A gloved hand went into his pocket and the man pulled out a wad of bank notes. Scribble sucked in air.
Even Girdy seemed to break character for a moment. “No…” she spoke slowly, her eyes following the money as it waved in front of her. “But I’m guessin’ you gentleman want Girdy for a whole weekend with that kinda dough. I suppose demand’s gone up.”
The man pulled a slip of paper from the stack and tucked it into her bra. “You’ll tell us when you see anything.”
Girdy pulled the bank note out and looked at it. “I imagine I’d have to get a bank to let me in the doors first,” she said with a grin.
“New city policy,” the man said over his shoulder. He got into the car and spoke to her out the window. “All part of creating a clean economy.”
The car sped off and Scribble decided he should leave too, should Girdy have a change of heart. He reached the checkpoints leading to the hideout. No bodies. Smears of congealing blood dried on sheet metal. A rifle lay scattered near a pair of heel marks. Strange footprints led to the crack in the city wall.
It was the first time Scribble could hear his own footsteps inside the hideout. His breathing echoed along the metal walls as he gawked at the damage. The throne lay in pieces, Hetch’s Holy Guard armor strewn along the dirt floor. Hetch was there, his eyes and mouth open, a gaping red hole in his chest. He stared at the ceiling as rats moved under his clothes. Scribble turned away, his hand going to his pocket, grabbing the coin Gary had given him for luck. He rubbed it with his thumb.
The silence was broken only by a distant weeping. It bounced off the walls, impossible to pinpoint now in the empty chamber. It was half an hour later before Scribble traced it to a chest in the floor. He grabbed the handle and pulled. There came a whimper, then resistance, someone pulling it closed from the inside. He knocked.
Silence and faint breathing were all he heard.
Scribble knocked again, this time rhythmically. It’s just me, you idiot, he thought, cursing his numb throat. Whoever had survived, they were scared out of their mind. They probably thought he was the mop-up crew, here to gather the stragglers.
“Go away!” came a voice from under the lid. “I have a knife…” The voice trailed off into more sobs. It was Gary.
He pulled the coin from his pocket and slipped it into the space of the lid. He heard it land inside with a clunk. The sobbing ceased almost immediately.
“Scrib?” Gary’s voice was trembling. “Scrib this better not be a trap.”
It’s not. Just open the damn trunk, Gary.
The lid opened, and terrified red eyes peered up at him, the face smeared with dirt and tears.
“That really you?” Gary asked.
Scribble nodded as the boy stood to his full height, stepped out of the chest, and grabbed him. Gary squeezed him so tight, Scribble thought he would suffocate. Gary released him and wiped his nose.
“They took all of ‘em.” He looked shamefully at the floor, his voice soft. “I hid like some kinda coward. I had some food, you know… just a snack. I heard the men arrive and so I climbed in there and pulled the lid closed. They took ‘em all… they had big armored ones too…” He glanced at the broken throne. “They killed Hetch… said something about him being too old.” He made a face. “I always knew he was lyin’ about that.”
Scribble watched as the boy wiped his hands on his stomach.
“So then I hear the voices, adult voices. Here’s your coin back.”
Scribble tucked the coin back into his pocket. He pointed at Gary and pantomimed a question best he could.
“I don’t know where they’re taking them.” His face broke into a grin. “I thought you died in the ‘splosion. I heard it from here… Hetch said you were doing something big, but I never thought…” He shot another glance at Hetch’s corpse, as if the once-king would rise from the dead and come after them.
Scribble patted Gary on the shoulder and then motioned him to follow. Gary grabbed a small bag from the trunk before walking after him.
“What’re we going to do, Scribble?” he asked. “Where’d they take everyone?”
Scribble shrugged.
“Do you think they’ll come back and look for us?”
It was a good question and he wished he knew. He could deal with the guilt later, performing his ritual of penance on graphite and paper. Right now they needed to get away.
He pantomimed his fingers walking.
“We walk… right.” He glanced around the chamber. “God, it’s so empty now. At least we’ll have some food.”
Scribble patted the boy on his shoulder, giving him a solemn nod.
“Anyway, I thought you were dead, ya know? So we waited and then… well then the cops and a bunch of grown ups and those weird soldiers all rush in… that’s when I hid.”
The boy began to cry. “I’m just a big coward, Scrib. I’m nothing. I just watched through the cracks as they took ‘em all.”
Scribble waited while Gary grieved, then looked up at the sky visible through the crack in the wall. They couldn’t stay here. There was too much of a chance the adults would be back to see if they missed anyone. But they couldn’t go to another boy gang either. Even if they trekked all day across the city unseen, there was no guarantee that they hadn’t captured the boys from West Town either. He had even seen girls captured. That meant the Sisters had probably been hit as well.
He knew of only one adult he might be able to trust. If there was anyone who might give them refuge it would be the man from the curio store.
“What are we gonna do?” Gary asked him, his eyes wet.
Scribble gestured him to follow. He knew exactly where to go.
Chapter 41
Bollingbrook
“READY TO GO again?” asked Victoria. She smiled at Dona. Today she wore a uniform in the traditional black and red, archdiocese colors. A sti
ff collar stretched high up to her chin, the skirt ending at the ankles. It gave her an almost military appearance as she stood with her hands behind her back.
The water basin had been removed, replaced by a second rack, this one empty and facing her. Dona moved her jaw. They had given her a shot earlier, and now her tongue felt heavy.
“I’m sure you’re eager to get started,” said Victoria. “But first, we have a couple of guests.”
The thick iron door opened, and a man entered. His upper body was shirtless, his chest bruised and scarred, his head covered in a burlap hood, his arms stretched behind his back. Gareth in his black leather mask entered behind the prisoner, holding the bindings around the hooded man’s wrists.
A small officious looking man entered last. He wore a scribe’s smock, and carried a ledger and quill as he sat on a small wooden stool in the corner. He opened the book and then waited patiently, his eyes following Victoria.
With a twist, the shackles fell to the ground and Gareth hoisted the hooded man up onto the rack, grabbing the hood, and pulling. An involuntary cry escaped Dona’s throat.
Tom didn’t look up. Those sunken eyes only stared at the blood that drained into the stone floor. Gareth lifted Tom’s arms and shackled each one to the straps until he and Dona were two bookends in cruciform. Victoria stood between them, the ringmaster to this grim circus.
“Now we can start. Welcome, Tom!” Victoria announced. “You’ll have to excuse your fiancé, Dona. He’s still a little groggy after his surgery.”
If Tom heard her words, he didn’t show it, instead continuing to stare, the crotch of his pants dark with blood. Dona felt her bowels loosen. Her bladder felt heavy.
“Dona,” Victoria began. “Were you not with Skyla a week ago in the Montegut home?”
“Where’s the archbishop?” Dona asked, her eyes refusing to look away from Tom. “Let me talk to him. He can’t possibly approve of this. I’ll… I’ll tell him anything he wants to hear.”
Gareth stepped between her and Tom. With his back to Dona, she could see only the flexing of taut sweating back muscles pressing. A low groan emanated from Tom’s throat. It rose into a high crescendo, punctuated by what sounded like a pop.
He screamed. “Oh God, Dona! Just tell them the truth!”
“Does that answer your question?” Victoria asked. “Of course he approves. It wouldn’t be important if the scribe wasn’t here. He’ll get everything down on record, all formal and legal. Every ‘I’ dotted and ‘T’ crossed, as we like to say in administration.”
Gareth stepped away and Dona could see the hand print on Tom’s abdomen. A dark purple bruise began to spread where the rib had broken—ink on parchment. She felt herself floating. None of this was real. She blinked several times, hoping she might wake up.
Victoria spoke again, her stage voice as ever cheerful as before. “Were you with Skyla a week ago in the Montegut house?”
“Y-yes,” Dona said, hearing her own voice as if through a long tube. The room swayed.
“Good!” Victoria clapped. She gave Dona a grin, her teeth poking small and flat from in her gums. “I think you see how this game is played now.”
Tom groaned and coughed. Dona saw a small drip of blood appear at the corner of his mouth.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
Victoria winked at her. “That’s against the rules, Dona. I’m the one who asks the questions, but because you didn’t know, I’ll let that one slide. Let’s call it a freebee. I’m doing this because we need to find that girl who appears to be your friend.”
“She’s not my friend!”
“Oh?” Victoria blinked. “You sure seemed to be defending her like one. How many times have you visited her in that house?”
“I haven’t…”
Gareth appeared again, blocking her view of Tom and Dona cried out. “Okay! Once! Once. I saw her once.”
“Not including the time I was there.”
“Yes.”
“So that’s twice.”
“I…” Dona blinked. “Okay, yes. Twice. Once and then twice with you.”
“I only saw her once.” Vicky cocked her head.
“I saw her twice!”
The scribe wrote this down, the quill scratching on the page. He paused, then looked up patiently at Victoria. She nodded as Gareth stepped back to his corner.
“Once without me. Fair enough. I’m willing to believe you, Dona. And that’s when you wrote her the note?” Victoria asked.
“Yes.”
More writing. In the back of Dona’s mind it sounded like rats crawling in a cellar wall, nails and yellow incisors tearing at parchment.
“And she wrote you back?” Victoria asked.
There was a pause and Tom began to wince. Dona stammered. “I suppose.”
“You suppose, or she did?”
“She did! She did…” Dona shot Gareth a look as the bulky man held his position.
More thumb tack claws scratching paper, grating against her ears. The scribe paused and looked up again, waiting.
“And what did that note say?” asked Victoria.
Dona scowled. “It wasn’t her note. It was yours.”
There was no sound of scribing this time. Faster than Dona could react, Gareth was between them, reaching up and grasping Tom’s hand, twisting. There was a pop, followed by a yelp and a whimper.
“It was yours!” Dona screamed. “You intercepted it! You wrote your own note! That’s the truth!”
Another pop and a garbled screaming sob.
“No. I… I mean no!” she corrected herself. “No, I’m wrong! It was her note. She wrote me back and it was mean. It was terrible, Vicky. Skyla said the meanest things.”
“What sorts of things?” Victoria asked.
“She talked about what my father did to me… she told me she thinks I’m stupid and ugly and fat. She’s a terrible, vindictive, and mean person. Please, Vicky! Tell him to stop!”
Another nod and Gareth was in his corner. Two of Tom’s fingers were crooked. More rats crawled across the ledger, scraping and chewing, their tiny claws writing lies on the parchment in black ink.
“I think you’re catching on.” Victoria winked. “Tom? Still hanging in there?” She snorted, covering her mouth. “Next question. Now listen carefully, because this is an important one: Are you and Tom really engaged?”
“Yes,” she said without even thinking.
“And when is the wedding planned?”
“We haven’t set a date. My father would like us to… my father.”
“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Victoria said with a wave. “He knows all about your cavorting with deviants. He expressed his concern to me on numerous occasions—you were absent of course, off with your little witch friend. He was actually hoping we could straighten you two out. That’s what this is, for the most part, my trying to get you to come around to a sensible point of view.”
“Tell me what you want,” Dona said. “What do you want from me?”
“What do I want?” Victoria pouted. “That’s a personal question, now isn’t it? I feel betrayed. I mean, for the longest time I thought we were friends. I expected you to help me like you used to. I’m a shy person, Dona. I don’t have the physical strengths you do. We are ladies after all. When you shoved me—shoved me! It was like my whole world shattered. Everything I thought was true and solid sort of just crumbled. That’s why it was such a shock to realize that you were no longer in my corner.”
Victoria took a dramatic breath before continuing. She gestured to outside the cell.
“Those soldiers that showed up were for her. They had been paid to arrive at my signal and arrest her. My employer was expecting her. Without Skyla, I had to bring my employer something. Every little bit counts after all. I had to prove that I could justify all these resources.” She held out her hands. “And here we are.”
Dona felt she was staring at a stranger now. “What do you do for the archbishop?”
“I don’t know.”
Gareth’s back was to her instantly, Tom’s shrieks ringing in her ears. Rats chewed on the ledger from the corner, smearing their tails along the pages in what looked like writing. The officious little man studied her with pink eyes. His long nose sprouted long oily whiskers over yellow incisors. The nose twitched. He could smell lies.
“I don’t know! It’s the truth!” Dona cried.
Gareth stepped aside leaving two more broken fingers, twisted like frayed wires.
Victoria continued. “Did you know that Tom—your fiancé here—was involved homosexually with a page named Julian, the same page that used to work for Father John Thomas?”
Dona froze. She stared doe-eyed at the girl. “Who?”
“Father John Thomas, the priest who went missing along with Skyla,” said Victoria. “Oh, do you mean who is Julian? Or who is Tom? Or are you simply stalling?”
Dona felt her world spin, felt her head start to droop until a slap brought her around. Victoria gave her that same polite smile.
“Did you know?” Victoria asked again, her blue eyes fixed on Dona. “Did you know that Tom was engaging in homosexual acts with Julian, a minor? I am talking about sodomy, Dona. Julian, an employee of The Church. Were you aware that Tom was corrupting a boy and an employee of The Church? It’s a simple question.”
Again, Dona could only stare. It sounded so alien to hear the words, the ideas spoken aloud. Some cage in her mind broke, setting a million moths loose in the room. There was no recovering them now. The words had flown. Dona’s mouth felt dry.
“Where’s Julian?” She yanked on the braces. “Vicky, where is Jules?”
“Julian is being reeducated,” Victoria said, her voice neutral.
“Then why Tom?”
“Tom?” she replied, turning slightly to face the man as if he had just walked into the room. “Oh, Tom is beyond the age of consent. He is what The Church refers to as irreparable. He is also facing several accounts of treason.”
“Treason?” Don’s mouth fell open.