“My father no like dark,” Kirch said by way of explanation. “I try keep light here before he sleep.”
There was a strange smell in the room, like putrid meat. A dead animal? As Letta came closer, she realized that the smell was coming from the man’s leg, the gaping wound was now covered in yellow pus and a black clot of bluebottles hovered above it. Letta’s stomach heaved.
“What name?” she whispered.
“Solam,” he said. “His name Solam.”
“Get water,” she said to Kirch and started to unpack her bag.
“Only rainwater,” Kirch said.
“Better than nothing,” Letta retorted.
Rainwater was so polluted that people would no more drink it than seawater. But for this, Letta thought it could do no harm.
“And fetch rag,” Letta ordered before kneeling down in front of the old man.
“Solam,” she said gently. “I brought herbs, make you feel better.”
She pulled the small bottle of water from her bag and held it to his lips. He drank slowly, barely wetting his tongue before pushing the bottle away.
Kirch came in and handed her a small bowl of cloudy water and a piece of gray cloth. From her bag, Letta took a tincture of calendula the healer had given Benjamin when he had cut his leg on rusty metal. She knew it had the power to kill infection, but first, she had to clean the wound. She dipped the cloth in the water and started to dab at the edges of the incision. She had to stop constantly to bat away the flies, but she persisted until the edges of the cut were clean. Then, as gently as she could, she applied the tincture to the gaping cut. Despite her attempts at gentleness, the old man stifled a groan as the tincture hit the wound, but Letta soothed him, talking to him, while she continued with her work.
“Nearly done now,” she said, patting his hand. “Nearly done.”
She tied the rag around the infected leg, which would at least keep the flies away.
“Thank you,” the old man said when she had finished.
“Girl need to ask you something,” Kirch said as Letta packed her bag again.
“No,” Letta said. “You need to rest. I come another day.”
“No,” Solam said. “Ask now.”
Letta sat back on her heels and looked up at him.
“Nicene,” she said. “It was…is a chemical. I think. Stored in a silver canister.”
“Nicene,” the old man repeated softly. “Long time ago.”
He was quiet for a moment, and Letta held her breath.
“It was to be used on criminals. It destroyed the part of the brain responsible for language.”
“List, Father,” Kirch said. “Talk List.”
Letta could hear the fear in Kirch’s voice. She turned to him. “Please,” she said. “There is no need.”
Kirch shrugged.
The old man continued. “The left temporal lobe. That is the part of the brain that understands and produces language.”
“My father scientist before Melting,” Kirch said, his voice cracking.
“May the Goddess forgive me,” the old man whispered.
Letta leaned closer.
“It was we scientists who discovered Nicene. Hans Nicene was one of the foremost scholars of his day. He discovered the chemical while he was looking for a cure for dementia. Nicene is soluble in water, tasteless, odorless, colorless. It is also very efficient.”
“Efficient for what?” Letta prompted.
“Once ingested, Nicene destroys the left temporal lobe. After that, you can’t speak, can’t read or write, can’t understand language. You are totally isolated from all other living things. And you can’t invent a new language either.”
There was silence for a moment, and Letta tried to imagine the loneliness of that.
“It was to be used on criminals,” the old man went on. “Only on the most heinous of criminals, those who could never be allowed back into society. The human rights groups kicked up a bit of a fuss at first, but they got no support. Not when people saw the type of people Nicene was to be used on. Sadistic serial killers, people who harmed children…”
Letta nodded, hardly daring to breathe.
“But, of course, it didn’t stop at that,” the old man continued.
“How do you mean?”
“The mentally ill were the first to be drawn in. The government started to use Nicene secretly on people with mental illness. It kept them quiet, easier to deal with.”
He stopped, and Letta handed him the bottle of water again. This time, he drank deeply.
“Then it was terrorists or anyone who disagreed with the government. They too were silenced. Nicene was one hundred percent successful, and there was an added unforeseen bonus.”
Letta waited.
“They died soon after the treatment.”
“It killed them?”
The old man shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not exactly. Medically, it shouldn’t have shortened their lives. No. Nicene himself saw it for what it was. They died of despair.”
His chin dropped to his chest, and he studied his hands. Letta had a fleeting image of Edgeware’s son hanging from a tree. The old man looked up at her.
“Why are you interested in Nicene?” he asked. “Like all science, it was lost after the Melting, thank the Goddess. I had never thought to speak of it again.”
“No reason really,” Letta lied. “I am the wordsmith and someone mentioned it. It’s my job to record all the words we can find.”
The old man laughed. A small bitter sound.
“So you can destroy them?”
“So we can remove them from circulation,” Letta said, packing her bag, “until man can once more be trusted with them.”
She didn’t dare confide in these people. She knew nothing about them. It was dangerous enough not to have spoken List. She touched the old man’s hand.
“Thank you,” she said. “I hope your leg is better soon.”
“Wait,” he said. “How is John Noa? You see him?”
“Yes,” Letta said. “I see him.”
“And the Deer sisters? They still there?”
“Amelia Deer is there.”
“There used to be three of them—three sisters—good-looking girls. I can’t remember their names. Noa was besotted with them. Only humans he ever truly loved. There was a falling out. Amelia stayed with Noa.” The old man’s words were more for himself than anyone else, Letta thought.
She stood up.
Kirch moved back and let her pass in front of him. “I’ll walk with you,” he said.
Letta didn’t argue with him, though her head was teeming with all she had heard, and she desperately needed to be alone and figure it out.
“I hope you know what you are doing,” Kirch said when they reached the gate.
Letta looked at him. What did he know? Or suspect? He put his hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes.
“If you ever need help, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you,” Letta said. “I have to go now. Go back to your father. Take care of him. Here.” She rooted in her bag until she found the tincture. “Use this. It will help.”
He took the little bottle from her.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “But I think he is beyond our help now.”
Letta watched him go back toward Tintown, and her heart ached for him. How could she have lived all this time on the edge of that hellhole and not have known what went on there?
She turned and faced the gate looming out of the darkness.
• • •
Letta spent much of the night awake going over all she had learned.
Don’t drink the water!
That was what Benjamin had said to her, and she had thought he was delirious. She knew now what those words meant. Had
Noa already put the chemical in the water? If he had, then he wouldn’t drink the water and neither would any of the chosen ones. But maybe he hadn’t put the chemical into the water yet? She would have to work on that principle, she decided. Anything else was hopeless.
When morning came, she felt weary but couldn’t rest. Her head was still teeming with ideas, half-formed plans, and desperation. I have to get out of here, she thought. Water! I’ll go get water. She grabbed her coat and headed out. The day was still young and cold. The snow had disappeared, but the air was icy and the wind blew from the north. Her feet found their own way down the little incline into the square, where Werber was busy handing out water. What would he say if he knew what John Noa intended for them? An old man was taking his full bottle and walking away as she approached.
“No harm, wordsmith,” he greeted her.
“No harm,” Letta responded. She was surprised he knew her, though already, it seemed people were accepting that she was the wordsmith. Still, each time they greeted her, she had an urge to look around to see where Benjamin was.
Benjamin. She felt the familiar ache as she thought his name, but she pushed it aside and walked over to Werber. He smiled when he saw her.
“No harm, Letta!”
“No harm,” she answered.
“Come for water?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “Thirsty.”
He pulled a cup from under his table and filled it from a bottle on the ground.
“Drink!” he said to her.
She sipped from the cup gratefully.
“Good water,” she said. “Cool.”
He nodded.
“All water comes from the tower?” she asked, nodding toward the water tower that stood on the hill behind him.
“Yes,” Werber said, and she could hear the pride in his voice. “Water pumped into tower to be cleaned.”
Pumped. A specialist word for those involved in water.
“How cleaned?” she said frowning.
“Chemicals,” Werber said without hesitation.
Chemical. Another specialist word.
Letta gave him what she hoped was an admiring look. “You work there, Werber?” she asked.
A flush colored his skin. He looked around to check that no one was listening. “Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes.”
He started to fill her bottle with water from the tap.
“You work there this week?” Letta pushed him.
“This morning,” he said proudly.
“You clean the water?”
He nodded. “Not allowed talk about it.”
“I understand,” Letta said and took the bottle from him, her mind racing.
He wasn’t allowed to talk about it because water in Ark equaled survival. The water tower was heavily guarded, and because Noa feared that the Desecrators could take the water plant and gain control of Ark, everything to do with water was heavily secured. She remembered the basics from school. The dirty water was brought in barrels to the tower, where it was cleaned. The clean water then went into big tanks, where it was stored until it could be piped out to the water stations. That was all she knew, and she was certain it wasn’t enough. She needed to know everything about the water plant. Everything.
Chapter 20
#493
Work
Try hard
Back at home, Letta went to search for a word list that dealt with water treatment. When she found it, she was surprised at how long it was.
Filtration, evaporation, tank.
She was still lost in her own reverie when she heard a gentle tap on the back door. She hurried to open it. As she did, two bodies pushed past her, followed by a sharp burst of frigid wind. She closed the door quickly.
“You have to come with us,” Marlo said as soon as he entered the shop.
“The gavvers have had a complaint,” Finn said, checking that the front door was securely bolted.
“About me?” Letta said, trying to think what she might have done that they could know about.
Finn nodded. “The healer claims you are in league with the Desecrators.”
“Oh,” Letta said, remembering the hatred in Rose’s eyes.
“It’s serious,” Marlo said, his brow furrowed.
“Yes,” said Letta. “It is serious.”
“He says you told his wife that you had friends who could help her get her son back.”
Letta could see the Goddess in her mind, hear herself promising to help Rose.
“Rose is traumatized. Why do they believe her?”
Finn shrugged. “Carver doesn’t trust you. Ever since Marlo was here, he’s had his suspicions. He’s building a case.”
“How do you know all this?” Letta couldn’t stop herself from pacing the floor.
“We have people everywhere,” Finn answered. “Even among the gavvers.”
“Take what you need and come with us,” Marlo said, his voice full of urgency. “You’ll be safe in the forest.”
Letta shook her head. “No, Marlo,” she said. “I would never be safe again. If I run now, they’ll know it’s true. As it is, they only have Carver’s suspicions and the accusation of a mad woman.”
“Do you think Noa might not believe them?”
“Maybe not,” Letta said. “I don’t know. I think he trusts me.”
Marlo frowned. “And if he doesn’t?”
“He and Benjamin were best friends when they set up Ark. He would find it hard to believe that I, of all people, would betray him.”
“Maybe,” Finn said. “Let’s leave it another day and see what happens. Our informer will let us know if Carver plans to make a move.”
“Can you do some research on the water tower?” Letta asked them.
“What kind of research?” Marlo asked.
“I need to know about the gavvers. What are the shifts? How many of them? All of that.”
Finn nodded. “We have a friend who works as a water gatherer. We can ask him.”
“Why do you need to know?” Marlo asked.
Letta told them about her visit to Tintown and her conversation with Solam. When she finished, the two men were quiet for a moment.
Then Finn stood up. “We will do anything we can to help you, Letta. You only have to ask.”
Marlo gripped her hand. “We’d better go,” he said. “You don’t need the gavvers to find us here.”
Letta closed the door behind them, re-running everything she knew about the water tower until her head ached.
An hour later, she went to lie on her bed, exhausted. She was just about to fall asleep when she heard a noise downstairs. She sat up.
I didn’t go to Central Kitchen, she thought. Didn’t show up for dinner. It could be Mrs. Truckle looking for me.
She jumped up and ran down the stairs. She didn’t want the old woman to have to come looking for her. Mrs. Truckle was getting old and the stairs would tire her out. She opened the door before she realized her mistake. It wasn’t Mrs. Truckle. It was Carver. Between his teeth, he had a piece of grass, and he chewed on it as he watched her.
Letta eyed him coldly. “Yes?” she said.
“You think me fool?”
Letta said nothing.
He spat the grass onto the floor. “I know what you are.”
The words hit her like darts. She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out.
“Rex!” Carver clicked his fingers and another gavver appeared beside him. “Take her!”
In a heartbeat, the second gavver had snapped a chain lock on her wrists and was bundling her out the door.
She tried to yank her arms away from him, but he held her firmly, laughing at her paltry efforts.
“Come!” he said and shoved her into the street.
• • •
/> She was in a cell. Seven strides by three. There was no light. The sky was just visible through two bars high up on the outside wall. The door was big and solid and black. There was nowhere to sit, so she leaned against the wall, feeling the cold air through the bars. All around her was the smell of damp and decay.
She didn’t know how long she’d been there, but it had still been light when they’d thrown her into this cell. She hadn’t seen them since. It was eerily quiet.
She remembered the day she had spoken to Hugo. Was it through the same grate? Her jaw tightened with the thought of how they had treated him.
Just then, a scream ripped the air. A man’s scream, she thought, somewhere to her right. Instinctively, she rushed to the door. There it was again. Another scream from the same direction. A cold shiver ran down her spine.
She dropped to the floor and sat there, feeling the cold seep in through her thin dress. She wouldn’t betray Marlo and Finn, no matter what they did to her. She wouldn’t talk. Not one word. If this is how it is to end, let it be, she thought. I will not betray them. She almost wished the interrogation would begin so she could get it over with. She hated this waiting, twitching at every noise.
Another scream cut through the air. She jumped despite herself. Torture. She tried to push the word away. Then she remembered Benjamin’s hands, and panic threatened to overcome her. She couldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t think about it.
Did Noa know she was here? Had he ordered her arrest? How much did they know? That was the thought that worried her. What did they know?
She was stopped in her thoughts by the sound of boots. A key turned, and three bolts slammed back. With a loud creak, the door opened. Her heart was beating rapidly. Carver. And another gavver she hadn’t seen before.
“Get up!”
She didn’t see the kick coming. Carver’s boot crashed into her hip. Pain shot through her. Her stomach lurched. She could taste acid in her mouth but stifled a cry. She wouldn’t let him see how vulnerable she was. She struggled to her feet, her eyes locked on the black boots. He took another step toward her.
The second gavver looked away. She braced herself for a blow, but none came.
Carver smiled. “Not so smart now, are we?” he said.
In her head, all Letta could register was that he was speaking in the old tongue.
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