by Patrick Ness
“Are you ready?” she asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” I say, walking along with her.
“This is a huge risk we’re taking, my girl. Huge. If you’re caught–”
“I won’t be.”
“But if you are.” She stops us. “If you are, you know where the camp is, you know when we’re attacking and I’m going to tell you now that we’re attacking from the east road, the one by the Office of the Ask. We’re going to march into town and ram it down his throat.” She takes both my hands and stares hard into my eyes. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
I do understand. I do. She’s telling me wrong on purpose, she’s telling me so I can truthfully give the wrong information if I’m caught, like she did before about the ocean.
It’s what I’d do if I were her.
“I understand,” I say.
She pulls her cloak further shut against a freezing breeze that’s come up. We walk in silence for a few steps, heading towards the healing tent.
“Who did you save?” I ask.
“What?” She looks at me, genuinely confused.
We stop again. Which is fine with me. “All those years ago,” I say. “Corinne said you were kicked off the Council for saving a life. Who did you save?”
She looks at me thoughtfully and rubs her fingers across her forehead.
“I may not return,” I say. “You may never see me again. It’d be nice to know something good about you so I don’t die thinking you’re just a huge pain in my ass.”
She almost grins but it disappears quickly, her eyes looking troubled again. “Who did I save?” she says to herself. She takes a deep breath. “I saved an enemy of the state.”
“You what?”
“The Answer was never exactly authorized, you see.” She walks us off in a different direction, towards the shore of the freezing lake. “The men fighting the Spackle War didn’t really approve of our methods, effective as they might have been.” She looks back at me. “And they were very effective. Effective enough to get the heads of the Answer onto the ruling Council when Haven was being put back together.”
“That’s why you think it’ll work now. Why you think it’ll work against a bigger force.”
She nods and rubs her forehead again. I’m surprised she hasn’t built a callus up there. “Haven restarted itself,” she continues, “using the captured Spackle to rebuild and so on. But some people weren’t happy with the new government. Some people didn’t have as much power as they thought they should.” She shivers under her cloak. “Some people in the Answer.”
She lets me realize what this might mean. “Bombs,” I say.
“Quite so. Some people get so caught up in warfare, they start doing it for its own sake.”
She turns away, so that maybe I can’t see her face or that maybe she can’t see mine, see the judgement on it.
“Her name was Mistress Thrace.” She’s talking to the lake now, to the cold night sky. “Smart, strong, respected, but with a liking for being in charge. Which was exactly the reason no one wanted her on the Council, including the Answer, and why she reacted so strongly to being left off.”
She turns back to me. “She had her supporters. And she had her bombing campaign. Not unlike the one we’re giving the Mayor now, except of course, that was meant to be peacetime.” She glances up at the moons. “She specialized in what we took to calling a Thrace bomb. She’d leave it somewhere soldiers were gathered and it would look like an innocent package. Wouldn’t arm itself until it felt the heartbeat in the skin of the hand picking it up. Your own pulse would make it dangerous, and at that point, you knew it was a bomb and that it would only go off when you let it go. So if you dropped it or couldn’t disarm it.” She shrugs. “Boom.”
We watch a cloud pass between the two rising moons. “Meant to be bad luck, that is,” Mistress Coyle murmurs.
She loops her arm in mine again and we start walking back towards the healing tent. “And so there wasn’t another war exactly,” she says. “More of a skirmish. And to the delight of everyone, Mistress Thrace was mortally wounded.”
There’s a silence where you can only hear our footsteps and the Noise of the men, crisp in the air.
“But not mortally wounded after all,” I say.
She shakes her head. “I’m a very good healer.” We reach the opening of the healing tent. “I’d known her since we were girls together on Old World. As far as I saw it, I had no choice.” She rubs her hands together. “They kicked me off the Council for it. And then they executed her anyway.”
I look at her now, trying to understand her, trying to understand all that’s good in her and all that’s difficult and conflicted and all the things that went into making her the person that she is.
We are the choices we make. And have to make. We aren’t anything else.
“Are you ready?” she says again, finally this time.
“I’m ready.”
We go into the tent.
My bag is there, packed by Mistress Coyle herself, the one I’ll carry on the cart with Wilf, the one I’ll carry into town. It’s full of food, completely innocent food which, if all goes according to plan, will be my entry into town, my entry past the guards, my entry into the cathedral.
If all goes well.
If it doesn’t, there’s a pistol in a secret pouch at the bottom.
Mistresses Lawson and Braithwaite are also in the tent, healing materials at the ready.
And Lee is there, as I’d asked him to be.
I sit down on the chair facing him.
He takes my hand and squeezes it and I feel a note in the palm of his hand. He looks at me, his Noise filled with what’s about to happen.
I open the note, keeping its contents out of view of all three mistresses around me, who no doubt think it’s something romantic or stupid like that.
Don’t react, it reads. I’ve decided I’m coming with you. I’ll meet your cart in the woods. You want to find your family, I want to find mine, and neither of us should do it alone.
I don’t react. I refold the note and look back up at him, giving him the smallest of nods.
“Good luck, Viola,” Mistress Coyle says, words echoed rapidly by everyone else there, ending with Lee.
I wanted him particularly to do this. I couldn’t stand for it to have been Mistress Coyle, and I know Lee will take the best care.
Because there’s only one way I’m going to be able to move around New Prentisstown without getting caught. Only one way based on the intelligence we’ve gathered.
Only one way I can find Todd.
“Are you ready?” Lee asks, and it feels different coming from him, so much so that I don’t mind being asked yet again.
“I’m ready,” I say.
I hold out my arm and roll up my sleeve.
“Just make it quick.” I look into Lee’s eyes. “Please.”
“I will,” he says.
He reaches into the bag at his feet and takes out a metal band marked 1391.
[TODD]
“Did he tell you what he wanted?” Davy asks.
“When would I have talked to him when you weren’t there?” I say.
“Duh, pigpiss, you live in the same building.”
We’re riding to the Office of the Ask, the sun setting on the end of our day. Two hundred more women labelled. It goes faster with Mr. Hammar watching over it all with a gun. With the other teams around town led by Mr. Morgan and Mr. O’Hare, word is we’ve got nearly every one of ’em, tho the bands don’t seem to be healing as fast on women as they do on sheep or Spackle.
I look up at the dusky sky as we move along the road and I realize something. “Where do you live?”
“Oh, now he asks.” Davy slaps the reins on Deadfall/Acorn, causing him to canter for about two steps and then drop back into a trot. “Five months we’re working together almost.”
“I’m asking now.”
Davy’s Noise is buzzing a little. He don’t wan
na answer, I can tell.
“You don’t have to–”
“Above the stables,” he says. “Little room. Mattress on a floor. Smells like horseshit.”
We keep on riding. “Forward,” Angharrad nickers. “Forward,” Deadfall nickers back. Todd, Angharrad thinks. “Angharrad,” I say.
Davy and I ain’t talked about my ma’s book since he brought it to me four nights back. Not a word. And any sign of it in either of our Noises gets ignored.
But we’re talking more.
I begin to wonder what sort of man I’d be if I’d had the Mayor as a father. I begin to wonder what sort of man I’d be if I’d had the Mayor as a father and wasn’t the son he wanted. I wonder if I’d be sleeping in a room over the stables.
“I try,” Davy says, quiet. “But who knows what he effing wants?”
I don’t know so I don’t say nothing.
We tie up our horses at the front gates. Ivan tries to catch my eye again as I go inside but I don’t let him.
“Todd,” he says as we pass, trying harder.
“That’s Mr. Hewitt to you, Private,” Davy spits at him.
I keep on walking. We take the short path from the gates to the front doors of the Office of the Ask building. Soldiers guard those doors, too, but we walk on past ’em into the entryway, across the cold concrete floor, still uncovered, still unheated, and go into the same viewing room as before.
“Ah, boys, welcome,” the Mayor says, turning away from the mirror to greet us.
Behind him, in the Arena of the Ask, is Mr. Hammar, wearing a rubber apron. Seated in front of him, a naked man is screaming.
The Mayor presses a button, cutting off the sound mid-cry.
“I understand the identification scheme is complete?” he asks, bright and clear.
“As far as we know,” I say.
“Who’s that?” Davy asks, pointing at the man.
“Son of the exploded terrorist,” the Mayor says. “Didn’t run when his mother did, foolish man. Now we’re seeing what he knows.”
Davy curls his lip. “But if he didn’t run off when she did–”
“You both have done a tremendous job for me,” the Mayor says, clasping his hands behind his back. “I’m very pleased.”
Davy smiles and the pink rush fills his Noise.
“But the threat is finally upon us,” the Mayor continues. “One of the original terrorists caught in the prison attack finally told us something useful.” He looks back thru the mirror. Mr. Hammar is blocking most of the view but the man’s bare feet are curling tightly against whatever Mr. Hammar’s doing to him. “Before she unfortunately passed away, she was able to tell us that, based on the patterns of the recent bombings, we can almost certainly expect a major move by the Answer within days, perhaps as soon as tomorrow.”
Davy glances over to me. I keep looking at a middle point beyond the Mayor on the blank wall behind.
“They’ll be defeated, of course,” says the Mayor. “Easily. Their force is so much smaller than ours that I can’t see it lasting more than a day at most.”
“Let us fight, Pa,” Davy says eagerly. “You know we’re ready.”
The Mayor smiles, smiles at his own son. Davy’s Noise goes so pink you can’t hardly look at it.
“You’re being promoted, David,” the Mayor says. “Into an army position. You will be Sergeant Prentiss.”
Davy’s smile almost explodes off his face in a little boom of pleased Noise. “Hot damn,” he says, as if we weren’t there.
“You will be at Captain Hammar’s side as he rides into battle at the front of the first wave,” the Mayor says. “You will get your fight exactly as you want.”
Davy’s practically glowing. “Aw, man, thanks, Pa!”
The Mayor turns to me. “I’m making you Lieutenant Hewitt.”
Davy’s Noise gives a sharp change. “Lieutenant?”
“You will be my personal bodyguard from the moment the fighting starts,” the Mayor goes on. “You will remain by my side, protecting me from any threats that may approach while I superintend the battle.”
I don’t say nothing, just keep my eyes on the blank wall.
I am the Circle and the Circle is me.
“And this is how the Circle turns, Todd,” says the Mayor.
“Why does he get to be a lieutenant?” Davy asks, Noise crackling.
“Lieutenant isn’t a battle rank,” the Mayor says smoothly. “Sergeant is. If you weren’t a sergeant, you wouldn’t be able to fight.”
“Oh,” Davy says, looking back and forth to each of us to see if he’s being made a fool of. I don’t think nothing about that.
“There’s no need to thank me, Lieutenant,” the Mayor teases.
“Thank you,” I say, my eyes still on the wall.
“It keeps you from doing what you don’t want,” he says. “It keeps you from having to kill.”
“Unless someone comes after you,” I say.
“Unless someone comes after me, yes. Will that be a problem for you, Todd?”
“No,” I say. “No, sir.”
“Good,” says the Mayor.
I look back thru the mirror. The naked man’s head has lolled lifelessly onto his chest, drool dripping from his slack jaw. Mr. Hammar is angrily taking off his gloves and slapping them on a table.
“I am very blessed,” the Mayor says warmly. “I have achieved my ambition to put this planet back on track. Within days, maybe even hours, I will crush the terrorists. And when the new settlers come, it will be me who puts out a proud and peaceful hand to welcome them.”
He raises his hands, like he can’t wait to start putting ’em out. “And who will be right beside me?” He holds his hands out to the two of us. “Both of you.”
Davy, buzzing pink all over, reaches out and takes his pa’s hand.
“I came into this town with one son,” the Mayor says still holding out his hand to me, “but it has blessed me with another.”
And his hand is out, waiting for me to take it.
Waiting for his second son to shake his hand.
“Congrats, Lieutenant Pigpiss,” Davy says, hopping back into Deadfall’s saddle.
“Todd?” Ivan says, stepping away from his post as I climb onto Angharrad. “Can I have a word?”
“He outranks you now,” Davy says to him. “You’ll address him as Lieutenant if you don’t want to be digging bogs on the front lines.”
Ivan takes in a deep breath, as if to calm himself. “Very well, Lieutenant, may I have a word with you?”
I look down on him from Angharrad’s back. Ivan’s Noise is busting with violence and the gunshot to his leg and conspiracies and resentments and ways to get back at the Mayor, openly thought, as if to impress me.
“You should keep that quiet,” I say. “You never know who might hear.”
I slap Angharrad’s reins and off we go back down the road. Ivan’s Noise follows me as I go. I ignore it.
Feeling nothing, taking nothing in.
“He called you son,” Davy says, looking ahead as the sun disappears behind the falls. “Guess that makes us brothers.”
I don’t say nothing.
“We should do something to celebrate,” Davy says.
“Where?” I say. “How?”
“Well, we’re officers now, ain’t we, brother? It’s my understanding officers get privileges.” He looks over at me sideways, his Noise bright as a flare, filled with things I used to see all the time in old Prentisstown.
Pictures of women with no clothes.
I frown and send him back a picture of a woman with no clothes and a band on her arm.
“So?” Davy says.
“Yer sick.”
“No, brother, yer talking to Sergeant Prentiss. I may finally be well.”
He laughs and laughs. He feels so good some of it actually touches my own Noise, brightening it whether I want it brightened or not.
“Oh, come on, Lieutenant Pigpiss, you ain’t still pining for
yer girl, are ya? She left you months ago. We need to get you someone new.”
“Shut up, Davy.”
“Shut up, Sergeant Davy.” And he laughs again. “Fine, fine, you just stay at home, read yer book–”
He stops himself suddenly. “Oh, damn, sorry, no, I didn’t mean that. I forgot.”
And the weird thing is, he seems sincere.
There’s a moment of quiet where his Noise pulses again with that strong feeling he’s hiding–
That something he’s trying to bury that makes him feel–
And then he says, “You know . . .” and I can see the offer coming and I don’t think I can bear it, I don’t think I could live another minute if he says it out loud. “If you ever wanted me to read it for–”
“No, Davy,” I say quickly. “No, thanks, no.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the offer’s there.” His Noise goes bright again, blooming as he thinks about his new title, about women, about me and him as brothers.
And he whistles happily all the way back to town.
I lay on my bed with my back turned to Mayor Ledger, who’s chomping down his dinner as usual. I’m eating, too, but I’ve also got my ma’s book out, just looking at it, lying on the blankets.
“People are wondering when the big attack’s gonna happen,” Mayor Ledger says.
I don’t answer him. I run my hand over the cover of the book like I do every night, feeling the leather, touching the tear where the knife went in with the tips of my fingers.
“People are saying it’ll be soon.”
“Whatever you say.” I open the cover. Ben’s folded map is still inside, still where I stashed it. It don’t even look like Davy bothered to open the book, not once in the whole time he had it. It smells a bit like stables, now that I know where it’s been, but it’s still the book, still her book.
My ma. My ma’s words.
Look what’s become of yer son.
Mayor Ledger sighs loudly. “They’re going to attack here, you know,” he says. “You’ll have to let me out if that happens.”
“Can’t you keep quiet for five seconds?” I turn to the first page, the first entry my ma wrote on the day I was born. A page full of words I once heard read out.