The Watch (The Red Series Book 1)

by Amanda Witt

  At first I thought he had stumbled, lost his balance; then I saw the red bloom of blood on his thigh and, an instant later, heard the shot.

  Before I could react he had gotten to his feet and was shoving me across the shifting sand and into the cave, back against the wall in a shallow indentation. “Stay here,” he said.

  Though his leg was bleeding profusely he moved fast. He crossed the room and, from behind his pallet, brought out a small gun. Then he crossed the cave again and handed it to me.

  “Shoot anyone who tries to come in,” he said, showing me the trigger. “This isn’t a bad wound, but I must stop the bleeding.”

  He went to the back of the cave, took down a clay pot, and opened it.

  “Watch the door,” he said sharply.

  I tore my gaze away from him and fixed it on the cave opening. Beyond I saw wind-blown beach, waves, a trail of blood drops clumping in the sand, and nothing more. Shadows moved here and there, but I thought they were echoes of the trees behind us, above the great boulder; if someone was moving in those shadows, I wasn’t at all sure how to separate his shadow from those of the trees.

  Behind me I heard humming, snatches of song. Then the old man began to mutter to himself. I hoped he wasn’t drifting into one of his fits of confusion. I hoped he wasn’t more badly wounded than he thought.

  I was just considering risking a glance at him when I glimpsed movement out of the corner of my eye.

  “Someone’s out there,” I said, and raised the gun.

  For a long moment nothing happened. I felt my heart beating hard, heard the old man take a harsh breath behind me, saw the wind ripple the sand like waves.

  Then a man strolled up to the cave opening, for all the world as if he were in the city visiting friends, and my heart leapt into my throat.

  “Don’t come any further,” I said.

  It was Angel. In broad daylight he was every bit as handsome as I’d thought, and I wondered later whether that was what kept me from shooting him. At least, if it had been Jensen, I’d probably have shot him on sight.

  Behind me the old man barked out a command. “Hold your fire, Red Girl,” he said.

  “A bit late,” Angel said, looking amused. “If she intended to shoot me, she’d have done it already.” In the sun his eyes were a silvery grayish blue. His hair was wet, molded to his head, and his clothes were dripping, darkening the sand. He had stopped just outside the entrance, about ten feet away from me, and made no move to come closer. Now that he was near I saw that he was quite tall, six and a half feet or more, taller than anyone I’d ever known.

  “He’s unarmed,” I said.

  “He’s more dangerous unarmed than your wardens are armed,” Sir Tom said, moving up to stand beside me. He was holding a gun as well, a larger one than mine.

  Angel inclined his head; I thought he was acknowledging the compliment, but he might have been greeting Sir Tom, now that he was in sight.

  “So you swam from the cliff,” Sir Tom said. “You’re a better swimmer than you used to be.”

  One corner of Angel’s mouth curved up. “And you’re more careless than you used to be,” he replied. “It won’t be any fun to hunt you, Tommy, if you’re as easy to track as this. You left a swath as big as a city road on your way here last night.”

  “Getting old, I reckon,” Sir Tom said, without a hint of undertone, but my face flushed; I knew I must be the one to blame. “And anyway, I must not be as easy to track as all that, if you ended up having to swim for it. As a matter of curiosity, Angel, to what do we owe the honor of this visit?”

  Angel spread his hands as if the answer were obvious. “I want the girl back,” he said, and looked at me, his gaze lingering on my hair. Then his eyes met mine and the look in them made me take a step back.

  “She’s mine, Tommy,” he said. “She was brought to me, bought by me, and she belongs to me.”

  I raised the gun again. Maybe I would shoot Angel after all.

  The old man waved a hand at me without looking around. “Don’t mind him,” he said. “If wishes were horses, he’d have a cavalry. Now, Angel, where is Jensen? Up in the big spruce to the north?”

  Angel shrugged. “Probably. If that was as close as he could get. He doesn’t like your traps. He’s seen what they can do.”

  “Lucky for me,” the old man said, “And lucky we moved into his range before you were quite here. Three minutes, four. A thinner line than that lies between life and death. Now put your hands above your head and back up. Slowly.”

  Angel raised his hands and did as he was told. The old man followed him, but did not step out of the cave. At the entrance he called loudly, “Lieutenant Jensen!”

  Distantly, a voice cried, “Sir!”

  “Cease and desist. Await further orders.”

  “Yessir!”

  Sir Tom nodded at Angel. “It’s a hindrance to you, having a soldier who prefers another man’s orders to your own.”

  There was no trace of a smile on Angel’s face. “He’ll obey me well enough when you’re dead,” he said.

  “You’d best be sure of that,” Sir Tom replied. “Jensen unleashed is not a pretty sight.” He shifted and caught his breath, and I remembered his wounded leg.

  Angel nodded toward it. “You’d be dead right now, if I wanted you dead. Many a time I’ve held your life in my hands.”

  “Back at you. Now, Angel, let me tell you exactly what is going to happen now. You are going to turn around and swim back the way you came. I will tell Jensen to wait for you at the stockade. If you do not arrive to meet him in one hour, he will initiate detonation.”

  Angel’s face darkened. He lowered his hands, and the old man didn’t complain. “That’s the height of recklessness, even for you,” he said. “Think of the people in the city.”

  “You think of them. It’s in your hands to prevent it.”

  “It would kill Caliban.”

  “Collateral damage. You’re intimately familiar with that term.”

  Angel looked directly at me. “You heard him,” he said. “This man is dangerous, and he is not your friend. But he won’t force you to stay with him if you wish to go.” A flash of irony crossed his face. “He professes, at least, to be a proponent of free will.”

  Sir Tom shifted uneasily. Angel kept his eyes on me. “Will you come with me?” he said.

  The glance that had unsettled me earlier was gone; his expression was calm and direct. Standing there near the half-crazy old man, Angel looked young, strong, sure, and above all, sane.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Caliban was shooting at Tommy, not at you.”

  I wavered.

  “I’m the one you came looking for,” he said softly. “I’m the Guardian who can help you. That’s why Caliban brought you to me. We’ll go to the stockade, and you will be safe there. The stockade is a real building, not a cold damp cave. Once there we can discuss your situation and find a way to help your friends. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To save your friends from the Watchers.”

  I began to feel, strangely, as if I’d known this man a very long time. He seemed familiar and new, all at once.

  “Come,” he said, holding out his hand. “Come with me to the water.”

  The words came before I had decided what to say. “I can’t swim,” I whispered, and felt my face flush.

  Angel smiled faintly and let his hand fall to his side. “You don’t have to swim. Tommy will let you walk away. Right, Tommy?”

  Beside me the old man sighed. “If you want to go, I’ll not stop you, Red Girl. Though I strongly advise against it.”

  “I’m sure the young woman duly notes your objection,” Angel said gravely, still looking at me.

  I didn’t know what to do. He seemed competent and strong, and much more like I’d imagined the Guardians to be, albeit only human. The old man, though—his ramblings frightened me sometimes, but he looked at me so fondly, as if he knew me and liked me. Not many people in my life looked at me l
ike that.

  “Are you ready?” Angel said.

  Without really deciding, I shook my head. I only meant I wasn’t ready yet, that I needed another moment to think, but Angel took it differently.

  “Then I’ll come back for you soon. Be ready for me.” Without another word he turned and strode away.

  I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

  Chapter 23

  The old man stepped farther out of the shadows and turned toward the south. “Jensen,” he called. “Attention!”

  Sir Tom gave his instructions, then turned back toward me. He was limping, but only slightly, and a white bandage was wrapped around his left thigh, over his pants.

  “The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft a’gley,” he said. “And those were not the best laid plans. Then again, they were no doubt the best Angel could manage, given that Jensen is all he has to work with. An unreliable weapon, at best.”

  “He obeys you,” I said. “But he would have killed you.”

  The old man shrugged. “Not if I told him not to. Hence the distant tree, you see. Angel was trying to keep him out of my range of command.”

  He went into the cave and came back almost immediately with a pack on his back and a long gun slung across his shoulder. He reached down and picked up something from the ground—my damp clothes and black cap, folded in a tight bundle.

  “Let’s go,” he said, tossing the bundle to me. “We must get you back to Optica before Angel returns.”

  I wasn’t at all sure Optica was a better risk than Angel.

  Sir Tom caught my expression and sighed. “He’s pretty, Red Girl, but he’s bad.”

  “What’s so bad about him?”

  Sir Tom looked reluctant, but he answered. “He toys with people, for one. He’s lost his paradise and can’t stand to think that anyone else might manage to find some scrap of happiness themselves, so he pulls off their wings and watches them writhe. Have you heard of Rosella?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s why I want you out of the woods until I can give him something else to think about.”

  It took us about two hours to reach the city. We had seen no sign of anyone, not of Jensen or Angel or the wild men, only birds and rabbits and squirrels.

  Near the edge of the western woods, almost in sight of the wasteland, Sir Tom eased himself down on a rock at the foot of a tree, his face drawn. The bandage on his leg was tinged pink with blood. He pulled a canteen of water out of his pack and offered it to me, then handed me a piece of venison jerky, which I devoured ravenously. A handful of dried fruit followed.

  We had not talked at all during our journey, but it seemed he had been planning.

  “Change back into your own clothes,” he said. “Mine are better for the woods, but they’ll draw attention in the city. At nightfall bring anyone you trust. Male or female, either one, but they must have strong nerves and be quick on their feet. Young Meritt worries me, but if he feels about you as you feel about him, I reckon we can make do. I’ll meet you here. Wait for me if you arrive first.”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t expect miracles, Red Girl,” he said. “This is a mighty endeavor, and a difficult one. We first must retake the stockade from Angel. That is what these friends of yours will help us do. Once we have weapons and supplies, and the shelter of the big stockade, we can consider how best to approach the city. Do we remove the endangered ones first? Or do we begin more ambitiously, overthrowing the Watchers and their wardens? And here’s a question for you: How many in the city will stand with us? How can we separate the wheat from the chaff?”

  I thought about that, but didn’t have an answer. “Lots of people are upset with the Watchers,” I said. “If Rafe were alive, he’d know exactly who. And he could persuade them.” Suddenly I missed him so much it hurt. He had thought through all this, no doubt; he would know the answers to Sir Tom’s questions; he was the one who should be leading us.

  “Rafe is gone,” Sir Tom said, but his tone was not ungentle.

  I nodded, made myself think. “Meritt and Farrell Dean might know who would be on our side,” I said. “If I can get to them. And I know one warden who might help us. His son got put in a city meeting.”

  Sir Tom nodded. Taking my clothes, I turned to go.

  “Whoa, soldier. You haven’t been dismissed,” Sir Tom said, checking me with a hand on my arm. “Don’t get caught,” he said. “And Red Girl—”

  He lifted my chin so that I looked him in the eye. His expression was severe. “Don’t go into the prison,” he said. “Do not, and I repeat, do not go after the other boy. You got lucky last night, but you won’t get lucky again.”

  I tried to hold his gaze, but mine slid away.

  “You have been missing all night and half the day,” Sir Tom said. “You will have been reported. If you get caught now, Red Girl, they will kill you. No question about it.”

  He held my eyes until I nodded.

  “I am not exaggerating,” he said. “No one who has met the Guardians can be allowed to live. The Watchers can’t let their bogeymen be exposed. So whatever you do, don’t get caught.”

  Chapter 24

  I didn’t get caught. It was worse than that.

  For hours I prowled around trying to spot someone I trusted. It proved difficult, finding the handful of people who fit the requirement—people I trusted, with strong nerves, who were quick on their feet—without being noticed by anyone else. I had my black cap on and knew all the tricks to avoiding the cameras or the eye of anyone in the watchtower surveying things from the windows. What I was afraid of was other people on the streets, not just the wardens, but the regular people. Sir Tom had said I’d have been reported; I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it was possible that everyone had been told to keep an eye out for me, and I knew there were some people who would be all too happy to turn me in, and more who would be afraid not to.

  Taking my cues from the old game with Petey and Judd, I did my best to blend in, to act normal, walking with purpose but without hurry along the streets. It was best, I decided, to walk behind a group of people—far enough back that they wouldn’t particularly notice me, but not so far back that I stood out as a girl alone. I slipped in and out of doorways, marched purposefully around buildings, and several times hid my face by bending over as if searching for a splinter in my foot. The sky was a spiritless gray, and after a couple of hours I began to lose heart.

  Twice I caught sight of girls from my dorm, but first it was weepy Lea—not exactly a person with strong nerves—and the second time it was Cynda, but she was with Wanda the Watcher Defender. Once I saw Ezzie from a distance, but I didn’t know him well enough to be certain we could trust him. And anyway he was driving the tractor to the big farm shed and there was no way for me to reach him, crossing the wide empty field, without drawing attention to myself.

  All afternoon went like this. Though the sky was cloudy and I couldn’t see the sun, I knew when it set because the gray became darker. Twilight lasted a long time, this time of year, but it would be dark soon enough, unless the clouds cleared. This wouldn’t be a problem in the city with its blue electric lights, but I didn’t like to think how the orchard and wilderland would feel in pitch blackness.

  Finally, shortly before supper, when the streets would become too crowded to be safe, I turned a corner and spotted Cline scraping his boots outside the slaughterhouse.

  I glanced around; he was alone.

  Casually I walked up to him as if it were any other day, as if I were any other person, as if I had every right and reason to be there.

  “Hey,” I said, leaning against the building wall. Cline looked up at me, just for a heartbeat, then went back to scraping his boots.

  “They’ve got Farrell Dean,” he said.

  “I know. He’s pretty beat up, but he’s alive. I went and saw him last night.”

  Cline shot me another look. His nose was back to normal size, but traces of his black eyes remai
ned as yellow bruises against his pale freckled skin. “Is that why we’re supposed to turn you in if we see you?” he asked. “Because you sneaked into the prison?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think so. It’s probably because I went to the wilderland last night and met with the Chief Guardian. We have a plan. I need your help collecting a group to steal guns and then overthrow the Watchers and save the city.”

  Cline stood up straight, his face incredulous. I couldn’t help but grin.

  Cline’s face went suddenly blank. “Warden behind you, heading north,” he said. “Walk past me—act natural—and go into the slaughter yard.”

  I did as he said, moving as casually as I could. The yard smelled metallic but wasn’t too gory. I picked my way around a few puddles and crept into the shadow of the back doorway to wait for Cline where I’d so often waited for Meritt.

  A few minutes later he joined me. Cline was a big guy, stockier than most boys his age, strong from working cattle. His pale blond hair had been cut recently, and the top of his forehead looked white where it had been protected from the sun. I noted this while he stood studying me, no doubt weighing his dislike of me against the urgency of the situation.

  “You’re telling the truth?” he asked me finally. “This isn’t a sick joke?”

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t joke about this. And surely you know Farrell Dean has been up to something.”

  Cline nodded. “But how is this plan of yours going to get him out?”

  That, I didn’t know. “Every minute the Watchers are in charge, he’s vulnerable,” I said, feeling my way as I spoke. “But if we can take control away from the Watchers, we should be able to get him out.”

  Unless they had already killed him for refusing to speak, I thought. Or unless the wardens killed their prisoners in the chaos when we tried to take the city, or he died of his injuries without any further assistance from his interrogators. And unless the insurrection failed miserably and the whole of us got slaughtered. Standing by the slaughterhouse, the thought took on a visceral quality in my imagination that I could have done without.