The Finisher

by David Baldacci

  John took my hand with his free one and we walked along. As we did so, I looked around. There were clusters of Wugmorts here and there. They were all talking in hushed whispers. I also saw Council members in their black tunics scurrying around like rats through rubbish.

  I had seen Quentin flee into the Quag. It wasn’t simply because Council was after him with the canines. His note told me that he had not intended on coming back, and that note had to have been placed in the cup before first light. Clearly, Quentin had planned on going into the Quag, Council and canines or not. But why? There was nothing in the Quag except certain death. And there was nothing on the other side of the Quag at all. Yet Quentin’s note had said that what he had left would set me free from Wormwood. My mind leapt ahead to the obvious conclusion.

  There was some place beyond the Quag. Or so he believed.

  My focus turned back to John.

  We had a ritual, John and I. Every other light after Learning, we went to see our parents at the Care, where Wugs who were unwell and for whom the Mendens at hospital could do nothing more were sent. The place was guarded by a huge Wug named Non.

  Non knew John and me because we came so often. But each time, he treated us as though it was our first visit. It irritated me terribly and seemed to greatly amuse him.

  John had already hungrily begun eating his wing, and the fatty juice from the meat spilled across his small mouth. As we walked up to the Care, I saw Delph step from the deepening shadows of a chestnut tree. He looked nervous. His hair was even whiter from working at the Mill all light, and his face and shirt were sweat stained. He nodded shyly and looked down at John.

  “Hello, Delph,” said John. He held up his feather wing. “Do you want a bite?”

  Delph, I knew, was tempted. But he shook his head. I think I knew why. It was quite obvious how skinny my brother was. I don’t think Delph wanted to deprive him this bit of food.

  We all turned and walked together to the entrance. I gritted my teeth and told Non we were here to see our mother and father. I let him see the Council parchment that allowed our visits. Non took his time examining the document, although by now he had probably memorized every word on it. He handed it back to me and then glared at Delph.

  “But his name is nae on there, female.”

  Delph took a step back, which made Non grin maliciously. He said, “Y’know, for such a great big Wug, you’re more like a female, ain’t you, Delph? Scared of your own shadow.” He made a lunge at Delph, and Delph jumped back.

  Non roared with laughter and tossed me the key to my parents’ room. “G’on in, then. Don’t think the likes of him can do much harm.”

  I said, “If I remember correctly, Delph beat you in the last Duelum, Non. How long were you unconscious again?”

  Non’s smile disappeared, and as we passed by, he gave Delph a hard shove in the back that nearly sent him sprawling. I said nothing and didn’t look at Delph, because I knew how embarrassed he was. In my mind, I slaughtered Non one thousand times with increasing fervor.

  We passed through the doorway and into a long corridor that was dark and cool. Even when it was hot outside, it was cool in here. I didn’t know how this was accomplished. At any other place in Wormwood, the only way to get cool was to open a window and hope for a breeze or pour cold water over your head.

  We passed a Nurse in the hall. She was dressed in a gray cloak with a white cap on her head. She nodded, gave a terse smile and hurried on.

  There were doors opening off the long hall. They were all locked. I knew this because during past visits I’d tried to open several of them. There were brass plates bolted to the doors of each room with names on them like Judith Frigg, Wolfgang Spriggan and Irin Grine. I didn’t know these Wugs, but I had seen some of their families here. They had looked as blank and hopeless as I probably did.

  The brass plates were removed only when the Wug whose name was on it “slipped away,” as they said in Wormwood. I wondered when our mother and father would slip away. We arrived at the door with two brass plates. I read them out loud for what seemed the millionth time.

  “Hector Jane. Helen Jane.”

  I don’t know why I did this. I looked at John. He never read the names out loud; he simply mouthed them.

  I pulled out the key Non had given me, turned it in the old lock, and the door opened. I took hesitant steps in. John followed. Delph brought up the rear. I closed the door behind us. It always made a whooshing sound as it sealed shut.

  There were two cots in the room with a small wooden table between them. There were no lanterns or torches that I could see. The only illumination seemed to come from the ceiling. I don’t know how this was managed. Another mystery. There were no windows. When you’re in the Care, apparently sunlight is not required. There were also no chairs for us to sit in. Perhaps they did not like to encourage long visits.

  While Delph hung back, I walked up to the first cot.

  My father lay small and shrunken under a single dark blanket. I remembered him as tall and strong. He was no longer. His face used to be pleasing to look at. That was also no longer the case. I don’t know much about healing or things that make you sick. But it looked to me like what was missing from my father was, well, my father. I don’t know how you steal someone from the inside and leave the outside, but it appeared to have been done to him. There could be no sorting out such a thing, I imagined.

  John crept next to me and placed his hand on top of our father’s. When I looked at John’s face, it was scrunched up like he was in pain. I once asked him about this. He merely shrugged and said the hurt wasn’t on the outside.

  I opened my tuck, which I had brought with me from work, and pulled out a cloth soaked in water from the pipes at Stacks. I put it on my father’s forehead. He always seemed hot, even though the room was always cool. I was careful not to let my fingers touch him. I adored my father and I used to love to be hugged by him. But there was something in this room that made me not want to touch him. I have fought against it, but I couldn’t seem to break through. It was like a wall of walls separating us.

  John lifted out a book from his tuck and began to quietly read to our father.

  I glanced over at Delph, who stood like a statue in the corner. “Delph, do you want to come over here and see him?”

  Delph stepped forward. “Is he s-s-sleeping?”

  “Something like that, Delph.”

  I left John and Delph and went to the next cot.

  My mother too was small and shrunken, though she used to be nearly as tall as I am. Her hair used to be long and light and would catch a breeze and dance across the riled air. Now it was chopped close to her head, almost like a second skull. The dark blanket covered her withered body right up to her neck.

  She too had been stolen from the inside. She too could not be sorted out ever again. The Mendens were all in agreement over that. That’s why I had never wanted to be a Menden. If you couldn’t heal the really sick, what was the point?

  I drew closer to her. Perhaps because I was female, I always felt more comfortable around my mother. We talked, kept secrets. She was my friend, telling me things I needed to know to survive here. But I also sensed there was a part of her that was kept from me.

  I opened my tuck again and took out a small bottle of water. I sprinkled some on my mother’s face and watched it rest there for less than a sliver until it was absorbed into her skin. I don’t know why I did this, maybe to convince myself that she really was still alive, that there really was someone still in there.

  I looked over at John. He loved our mother too, although there seemed to be a special bond between father and son. But as I looked at him, he glanced up and his gaze drifted to her, lying in the cot. And it seemed to me that John’s heart ached even more seeing her lie there than it did watching our father. This surprised me. This had been a light for surprises in Wormwood, where nothing ever happened and the only thing that was certain was that the next light would look just like the previous o
ne.

  Delph drifted over and gazed down at my mother.

  “She was v-v-very nice t-to me,” said Delph.

  “I know, Delph. It was her way.”

  He reached out a hand but didn’t touch her. Instead, it seemed like he was tracing just above where the drops of water had been absorbed through her skin.

  Twenty slivers later, we walked back down the dark, cool hall and approached the door where Non stood guard. I braced myself for his inane comments. Why do you bother coming? Do your parents look better this light? How could that possibly be?

  But when I focused on the end of the hall, I did not see Non. My mind seemed to misfire for an instant because Non was always there. Always. Yet, now someone else was.

  The figure was tall, looming, substantial. He seemed to fill the broad hall with bulk, with gravitas. His robe was a dull burgundy, denoting his position on Council. He held the top job. There was no one above him.

  His name was Thansius. In many respects he was Council. By comparison, Jurik Krone was but a gnat on a slep’s hindquarters. I had only seen Thansius at a distance. He did not walk the cobblestones. He did not labor at Stacks or at the Mill or as a Tiller. If Wormwood had a leader, it was he.

  John and I slowed our walk. John had glimpsed Thansius too and I heard him gasp. And I thought poor Delph was going to faint.

  It took us twice as long to walk the hall as it did when we came in. It still seemed far too short a time for me. When we reached Thansius, he did not move. He was just there. He was taller even than Delph. His shoulders seemed to touch each side of the hall. It was said that in his youth, no Wug ever bested Thansius in a Duelum. He conquered all on that pitch. Now that he was older and head of Council, he did not compete. But he looked as though he still could. And win. Up close the burgundy robe seemed like a sheet of blood frozen solid.

  When he spoke, the low voice, though deep and dignified, still seemed insubstantial next to the large body. But I was riveted to every syllable.

  He said, “A word, Vega Jane. I require a word.”

  JOHN, DELPH AND I dumbly followed Thansius outside the Care. It was there that we saw the beautiful blue carriage pulled by four magnificent sleps. Their gray coats ran all the way down to their six spindly-looking legs. It was said that sleps used to be able to fly. I have never believed this, although along a slep’s withers it’s possible to see a slight indentation where something, perhaps a wing, used to be attached.

  At the helm of the carriage was a Wug named Thomas Bogle. He sat straight as my tree in the driver’s box.

  Thansius stood next to the carriage and opened the door.

  He looked at Delph. “Get along with you, Daniel. This conversation concerns private matters.”

  Delph raced away, his long legs carrying him out of sight in half a sliver.

  Thansius motioned us inside. We complied. Not because we wanted to but because he was Thansius. He climbed in after us, and the heavy carriage lurched to one side as he did so. The Wug must weigh a great deal to have that sort of effect on a carriage this large. Not that I know a lot about carriages. I had actually never been in one.

  Thansius settled in the seat across from us and smoothed down his robe. He glanced questioningly at John.

  I looked at my brother and then back at Thansius.

  “This is my brother, John.”

  “I know who he is,” replied Thansius. “I am contemplating whether he needs to be here or not.”

  I gripped John’s hand because I could sense the overwhelming fear in him. “We were just visiting our parents,” I said.

  “Again, a fact of which I am aware.”

  Thansius looked older up close than he did from a distance. Even though he sat in the shadows of his seat, I could clearly see his face. It was heavy, lined with worry, the eyes small and the flesh around them puckered. Still, even with his full beard, the face seemed too slight for the body’s great bulk. His hair was long and an odd mix of cream and silver, as was his beard. It looked clean and smelled like meadow flowers. Ordinarily, I would welcome that scent. Right now it made me feel queasy.

  “I think I prefer him to wait outside,” said Thansius at last.

  “I would like my brother to stay,” I replied, and then I held my breath. I had no idea where that had come from. Talking to Thansius was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Talking back to Thansius was unthinkable.

  Thansius cocked his head at me. He didn’t look angry, simply bemused. I would take bemusement over anger from him.

  “And why is that?”

  “In case whatever you have to ask me concerns him. Then I will not have to repeat it because I am certain I cannot match your eloquence, Thansius.”

  I said this in all sincerity. Thansius was a very learned Wug with prodigious speaking skills. We all loved to listen to him, even if we did not always understand what he was saying.

  The bemusement turned to a half smile and then his face became a stone.

  “Quentin Herms,” he said. “He cannot be located. My deputy, Jurik Krone, has been to see you about this.”

  I nodded, my heart whacking firmly against my rib cage.

  From his pocket Thansius withdrew an object. I knew what it was before he even showed it to me. My grandfather’s ring. Seeing it close up, the memories came flooding back to me. I had never seen the image on the ring any other place except on the back of my grandfather’s hand.

  Thansius held it up so John and I could see it fully. “It is quite an interesting design,” he said.

  “Do you know what it means?” I asked.

  “No, I do not. I doubt any Wug does, other than your grandfather. Virgil kept himself to himself on matters such as these.” He pocketed the ring and edged forward, his wide knee nearly scraping my bony one. “But it was found at Herms’s cottage.”

  “He was friends with my grandfather, so he probably gave it to him,” I replied.

  “Before his own family?” said Thansius skeptically.

  “As you said, my grandfather kept such matters to himself. Who knows what he might have thought or done?”

  Thansius seemed to mull over this for a few moments. Then he said, “Quentin Herms was your mentor as a Finisher.”

  “Yes, it’s true. He helped me learn my job.”

  “Did you like him?”

  This was a strange question, I thought, but I answered truthfully. “I did.”

  Still, my insides wriggled like worms exposed to light.

  He stroked his beard with one large hand. I studied that hand. It was strong-looking, but soft. At one time he might have worked hard with those hands, but not for many sessions now.

  He asked, “No mention of anything from him? No indication that he might go off … ?”

  I chose my words carefully. “Where is there to go off to?”

  “No message left behind for you?” he asked, ignoring my query.

  I could see danger in Thansius’s features, the curl of his hand, so close to a fist, the bunched muscles under the blood robe. I furrowed my brow and willed my brain to do the best job of answering without really saying anything of importance. Transparency is fine, if you happen to be a window.

  “I don’t know what he would have to leave for me.” This also was perfectly true. I didn’t know what he had left for me.

  He studied each of my words, it seemed to me, like they were a puzzle that needed solving. He stared at my face so intently it felt like my skin was melting away, allowing him to see into my soul.

  He sat back and stared at the floor of the carriage for nearly a sliver. “You and your brother may be on your way.”

  We should have left right then, but I needed to say something, and although half of me was terrified to do so, the other half of me won out.

  “Can I have the ring, Thansius?”

  He stared at me. “The ring?”

  “Yes. It belonged to my grandfather. And since he’s gone and our parents are, well … we’re the only family left. So can
I have it?”

  I could sense John holding his breath. I held my own, awaiting Thansius’s answer.

  “Maybe one light, Vega, but not now.”

  He opened the carriage door and waved a hand, beckoning us to exit.

  We climbed out as hastily as possible, although John could barely move his legs.

  Before the carriage door closed, I found Thansius staring at me. It was an enigmatic look, a cross between pity and remorse. I could understand neither end of it. Then the door closed, Bogle flicked the reins and the carriage rumbled off.

  I pulled John along in the direction of the Loons.

  I had a lot to do, and not much time to do it. My mind whirled with all that lay ahead of me. I was more excited than afraid when a little less excitement and a little more fear would have been far smarter.

  By the time we got to the Loons, John had stopped trembling from our encounter with Thansius. I’m not sure I had. At least the inside of me hadn’t. But I very much focused on what I would be doing later.

  Cacus Loon opened the door for us. He had beetle brows, a low forehead and hair that had not been washed for at least a session or maybe two. His pants and shirt were as greasy as his hair, and he had a habit of forever twirling the ends of his enormous mustache, which seemed to originate inside his flaring nostrils. Though Roman Picus owned the building, Cacus Loon was the lodge keeper.

  I nodded at him as he moved from the doorway to let us pass. I could tell he was itching for gossip about Herms. Loon followed us into the main room of the lower floor. It was large and contained a long table where we took our meals. The walls were logs chinked with whatever Loon had found to keep them stuffed with, and the floors were uneven, warped, worm-eaten wooden planks.