by Jane Abbott
As I recalled, she was pretty fucking handy with rocks too. ‘Her name’s kind of unusual, isn’t it?’
Ballard’s eyes narrowed. I sensed he didn’t like the direction the conversation was heading. ‘I suppose, though it used to be common enough. But her real name is Alexandria. After the great library.’
My grandparents had told me about libraries, not like the Tower but the old ones, the real ones, some so big a person could grow old and die before getting around to reading all that was there. They’d always sounded a little sad when they talked about them, as though, of all the things that’d sunk beneath the Sea, libraries and everything they’d contained were the greatest loss. And it seemed Ballard agreed. It didn’t surprise me that Alex had been named for a bunch of books no one had read; not if he’d had anything to do with it. Then again, who was I to judge? I’d been named for a song no one remembered.
‘How often do the attacks happen?’ I asked, getting back to Marin and the others I’d seen. Even I’d been shocked by the number of casualties in that room, and I was guessing those were just the ones who made it there. Last time I’d been to the Hills, the brutality of the Guard had seemed no worse than at any other settlement. There’d been skirmishes and beatings, some punishments and even a few killings, but that was nothing out of the ordinary.
‘Too often,’ replied Ballard, clearly relieved we’d moved on from his sister. ‘And the further away from the Citadel, the worse they are. As far as the Tower’s concerned what’s a life, more or less? Or two, or ten? They don’t care. It leaves them fewer to worry about.’
‘When I was last here –’
‘Three years ago,’ he cut in. ‘I remember, Jem. I was here too, watching you. You impressed me, even then. Even after you took out some of my best men.’
I looked at him in surprise. ‘Then why –?’
‘You already know why. And I can’t afford to hold grudges. You were following your orders, and we weren’t ready for you then. Now we are. And it’s time to redeem yourself.’
I scowled, and gestured to his uniform. ‘Why d’you still wear that? Seems to me it’s the last thing any of those people in the infirmary would want to see.’
He looked down at himself and almost sighed. ‘Because this is my penance, Jem. And nothing to do with you.’
Real noble of you, I thought. But what about Marin? What had been her penance?
‘When was Marin attacked?’ I asked, meaning how long had he let her suffer.
‘Two nights ago,’ he said. ‘We never thought she’d even make it here alive, let alone last as long as she did. She always was strong.’
Two nights. Three days. In and out of consciousness, with those mangled breasts and that gaping hole between her legs, her insides speared by whatever had been thrust into her. I tensed with rage, at the Guards who’d done it and at Ballard for not putting her out of her misery sooner. What the fuck was wrong with these people?
‘Have they been dealt with?’ I asked, and he stopped his pacing, alerted by my tone.
‘The men who did it? No, Jem, they haven’t. Not yet. But they will be, when the time’s right.’
‘You know who they are then? And the Guard who chopped that boy’s hands – that Connor kid? D’you know his name too?’
‘Why the interest? Fancy some extra work?’ When I didn’t reply, he returned to his chair, leaned back and studied me, taking his time. ‘So, after what you’ve seen today – everything we’ve discussed – are you any closer to making your decision?’
‘Is that why I was there? I thought you’d just brought me along to do what you couldn’t.’
I got a kick out of seeing his anger, watching him struggle to get it under control. But it was a mistake.
‘You read, don’t you?’ he asked. ‘Course you do. That’s one of the reasons you’re in the Watch, isn’t it? Who taught you, I wonder?’
This time it was my turn to fight down my anger, but I said nothing and waited.
‘C’mon, Jem. A boy doesn’t teach himself. Who was it? Your grandfather? Your grandmother? Both?’
‘You know all about me, Ballard. You figure it out.’
‘Do you know what irony is?’ he asked.
I shrugged. ‘Why do I have a sinking feeling you’re gunna tell me?’
Leaning forwards, he said, ‘Irony is your grandparents teaching you a skill that –’
‘Shut up!’ I pushed out of my chair, but he had the knife ready, poised to sink it in, and I froze.
‘Still sensitive about that, are we?’ he asked, and then his voice hardened. ‘Don’t fuck with me, Jem. You’ll lose every time. I might not have been able to bring myself to kill someone I loved, but I’ll have no problem getting rid of you. Sit down.’
I sank back, watching until he lowered the knife, and we glared at each other. But he was the first to break the silence.
‘You have a way to go, my friend. But don’t take too long or else I’ll be forced to make your decision for you.’
And suddenly I was sick of his games. ‘Ballard, you seem to have a real problem grasping the obvious, so let me spell it out for you. By my reckoning, I’ve been gone close to a month and word would’ve already gone out that I haven’t arrived at the settlement and I’m not doing my job. The Tower and the Watch have spies everywhere, and they’re paid very well to spread bad news. Meanwhile, we spend what’s left of my days talking all kinds of crap, I’m tied to my bed every night, I have no clothes, no weapons, and no hope of getting back to the Citadel, let alone surviving Garrick if I do. What part of this are you just not fucking getting?’
‘So that’s what you’re worried about?’ he said, and smiled. ‘You’re the one who doesn’t get it, Jem. But you will. Meanwhile, you’ll just have to trust me.’
Trust no one. That’s what Taggart had told me, and I’d known him far longer than Ballard.
I shook my head. ‘Why the fuck should I trust you? I barely even know you. And from everything I’ve learned so far, I’m in no hurry to change that any time soon.’
He drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘What if I told you that for the past two weeks, the Tower’s been getting regular reports of your progress? As far as they know, Jeremiah the Watchman is hard at work hunting Dissidents and uprooting evil. In fact, so far, you’ve already killed five of the rebels and you’re right on track to return to the Citadel in the time allowed.’
I stared. ‘I’d say you’re full of shit.’
He rose, placed his hands wide on the desk and leaned over it. Maybe it made him feel bigger, more in control, or maybe he was just fed up with my apparent stupidity. ‘The same spies who inform for the Tower also inform for us. It’s a game, Jem. We give them a little; they give us a little. The trick is to stay ahead, and so far that’s what we’re managing to do. Your captivity, your disappearance, is a well-guarded secret. And we’re very, very good at keeping secrets.’
‘How’re you –?’
‘No. When you make your decision it has to be because you genuinely want to help us, not because I’ve given you an out. That’s all I can tell you. Think very hard about everything, but understand you won’t be told any more unless you side with us. Are we clear?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, sourly. ‘It’s a matter of trust.’ On my part though, not his.
‘Exactly.’ His smile made me yearn to flatten him. ‘Now, I’ll walk you back to your quarters.’
But just outside the door, I stopped dead as a thought occurred to me, so obvious I wished I’d thought of it sooner. ‘Ballard, all those books and you being such a prick and all, how is it you managed to stay out of the Watch?’
He nudged me forwards. ‘Who said I did, Jem? You’re not the only one who needs to redeem himself.’
I was just finishing my evening meal when Alex came to see me. I looked up, surprised, not that she was there, but that she was there without Tate and with me not strapped down to the bed. But perhaps Tate didn’t know and, for just a moment, I imagi
ned the look on his face when he walked in to find Alex dead and me gone. But, even then, I knew it wasn’t going to play out that way.
Wiping my greasy hands on the cloak, I rose slowly and watched her close the door. Another first. And then she was in front of me, calm and sad and vulnerable. It would have been so easy to hurt her but I just stared and pulled the cloak around me.
It’s a matter of trust.
‘What d’you want?’ I asked her. I wasn’t happy she was there, and even less happy not to be taking advantage of it.
‘I want to thank you,’ she said.
I shrugged. ‘Someone had to do it.’ There wasn’t much else to say; as far as I was concerned Marin was gone and forgotten.
‘Yes. But – show me your hands.’ It wasn’t an order exactly, but it sounded like one and I frowned. ‘Please?’ she added, and I held out my shackled wrists, bunching my hands into fists.
She turned them over and prised my fingers open, uncurling them. I pulled back a little, but her grip was strong and insistent, so I let her have her way. This was something she had to do, and I could only wait to see what would happen.
‘Tate said you broke her neck,’ she said. ‘That you were gentle, and it was quick. He said she wouldn’t have felt it. Is that true?’
‘Yes.’ I hoped so.
Her eyes glittered, shimmered, and I sighed. It seemed Alex wasn’t done surprising me. But I didn’t want her grief. And I definitely didn’t want what happened next.
She bent her head, dropping fat warm tears on my hands as she kissed one palm and then the other, pressing her lips to my skin, holding them there for what seemed like minutes, while I watched and said nothing.
My hands were so close to her throat, I could’ve closed a single one around her neck. I could’ve done to her what I’d done to Marin. Instead I traced a finger under her jaw, just touching her.
It’s a matter of trust.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered again, before letting go and backing away.
‘You’re welcome.’
It was the second time I’d said it that day, first to her brother, now to her. But this time I meant it.
Excerpt ~ Letter #16
Promises are almost always a mistake. Made in haste, believed with hope and remembered with regret.
Sarah stared at the knife for a long time before looking up at Daniel. We promised him, he said.
He’s still too young, she replied. Even though he wasn’t, and she’d known for a long time that this was what he wanted, what Daniel wanted for him. All his friends had them, tucking them into belts or boots. Knives, and other things. Jeremiah had asked and asked, and they’d always told him, one day, one day, always promising but never delivering.
We promised, Daniel said again and he pulled the knife from its sheath to show her the blade. It looked a big one; too big, she thought, long and sharp, and she wondered how much it had cost to arm their grandson. Five cups, including the sheath; Daniel answered the question she hadn’t asked.
She thought back to that day when she’d given Jeremiah her old phone and that first letter, and she remembered her admission to Daniel; but surely he’d understood she hadn’t really meant it, that it had been just a momentary lapse? Because of all the promises they’d made, this was the one Sarah had hoped they’d never keep, crossing her fingers every time to undo the crossing of her heart.
I don’t like it, she said. What if he gets into a fight, or ends up hurting someone? Daniel dismissed the idea: This was Jeremiah. He knew what was right.
But knowing and doing weren’t the same thing, and even the best will in the world could be undermined by a moment of anger, or fear.
He’d need it for work, Daniel pointed out, always so practical. Jeremiah had started with the building crew, working alongside his grandfather when they needed extra hands. The rest of his time was spent helping Drummond at his little school, teaching the five children who attended, just as Sarah had hoped he might. And he was good with the kids; kind and patient, Drummond told her. The pay was pitiful, but Sarah had been pleased, knowing it might lead to better things later.
He wouldn’t need a knife if he got work in the tower, she told Daniel. Wasn’t that why they’d taught him to read and write, so he wouldn’t have to carry a knife or a sword, or even a gun?
Was that really what she wanted? Daniel asked. For Jeremiah to disappear inside the tower and never be seen again? Because they both knew that’s what would happen.
He was right, of course. Any new acolyte who was admitted into that edifice never seemed to come out again. So no, that wasn’t what she wanted for Jeremiah. Not really. But she did want him to be safe, she said.
Daniel frowned. We promised him, he argued, and she was being ridiculous.
She knew he was annoyed that she was taking this from him, this gift he’d bought for his grandson, man to man, while Sarah wanted Jeremiah to stay a boy. Not even twelve, she thought; there’d be time enough for knives. But she was being ridiculous. She knew she was. Everyone carried a weapon of some sort, even the smallest of children. This was the new world, with its new ways, though it seemed to Sarah it did no one any good, and all she could think to say was: A book would’ve been better.
There are no books! Daniel snapped. We can’t keep doing this, Sarah. If we don’t come through, the boy will just end up stealing one. It’s a miracle he hasn’t already, he concluded.
Fine, she said at last, because it was done and she could see she’d lost this battle. But they must teach him how to use it properly. Make sure he understood it was for work and nothing else. Daniel had to promise her.
Like we promised Jeremiah? he said, with a smile. Sarah frowned, not liking his teasing.
Yes, exactly like that, she replied.
Then, yes, he promised. It would be for work, and nothing else.
9
I grinned when I eyed the neat pile of clothes, and I didn’t care that Ballard saw. Clothed, I was less vulnerable, less at his mercy, and such knowledge can give a man strength, as well as hope. This was his gift to me, maybe returning the trust, maybe something more sinister, but I didn’t ask, or much care, as I held out my hands so Tate could untie them.
The shirt was mine. I recognised the stains, though it was cleaner than I remembered. The vest too, and the boots. But the trousers were new, almost identical to the ones they’d torn apart, only thicker and of better quality than I was used to. I pulled them on, relishing the heavy feel of them, their coarseness and their warmth.
‘Those scars on your back,’ Ballard said. ‘Was that Garrick’s work too?’
I turned, surprised. ‘You should know.’
He shook his head. ‘I never had that pleasure. I only knew him by reputation, and it wasn’t the same one he has now. By the time he took over, I’d already left.’
‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one,’ I said, sitting to pull on my boots.
‘D’you know how the Watch started?’ he asked, and I shrugged. For all his banging on about hindsight, I didn’t much care to dwell on the past. Ballard had his penance, and I had mine. But my lack of interest must’ve annoyed him, because he pushed himself away from the wall where he’d been leaning and stood in front of me. I stared at the toes of his boots while I laced my own.
‘The Citadel wasn’t built overnight, Jem. It took a long time, and many lives. Too many. So a few of us started watching over the wall, guarding its construction, as well as all the people. It grew from there.’
I stood and faced him. ‘You’re telling me you started the Watch?’
‘It wasn’t called that. Not then. And no, I didn’t start it. I came in towards the end. But when the raids finally stopped and we thought things would settle, the Council decided we were too useful to disband, so they split us up. The Guard became the public face, the Watch disappeared underground, and it didn’t take long for the Tower to find new ways to keep everyone busy.’
‘You must be real proud of yourself, Ballard,
’ I sneered. ‘Congratulations.’
If he felt any shame he hid it well. ‘Even then I could see where things were heading, so I chose to stay with the Guard.’
‘If it was too much for you, why not just leave? You must’ve already made your fifty by then. You could’ve walked away.’
‘You’re not listening. We didn’t mark ourselves. We weren’t forced into service. There was no minimum number of kills. That was Garrick’s doing. Back then we were just idealists, Jem, protecting what we’d helped build. When I realised it wasn’t working as we’d hoped, I figured I had two choices. I could take my ideals and put them to work, or I could abandon them altogether. I made the hard choice.’
‘What a fucking hero,’ I said, and heard Tate’s warning growl.
Ballard cocked his head, and his smile was cold. ‘You know, back then, it was Taggart who was in charge, Garrick his second. But they thought Taggart was past it, so they moved Garrick up and gave him command. And because he got the results they wanted, they left him alone.’
‘Thanks for the history lesson,’ I said, and shrugged on my vest, armouring myself against him. But he’d surprised me about Taggart. I hadn’t known that about him. Then again, it was becoming real obvious I knew very little about pretty much everything.
‘I’m not telling you this because I want your approval, Jem,’ he said. ‘It’s important you understand our motives and our determination. I’ve been here over twenty years, planning and waiting for the right moment. This isn’t idealism any more. It’s reality.’
I thumped my chest, suddenly furious. ‘No, Ballard. This is reality. This is what happens when cowards like you take to the hills and leave the rest of us to deal with your shit. And it’s a crying shame you never met Garrick, coz then you might’ve realised what you’re up against. Let me tell you something about Garrick and you can add it to your little fact file. He’s only afraid of one thing, and surprise, surprise, it ain’t you. He’s shit scared of the Council, and that means you should be too.’