Obel gives him a faint smile. I look at Connor. His ink is beautiful beneath the dirt. His marks are reminiscent of harvest festivals; I can see that his parents were farmers. His skin celebrates the hard work of labouring finally celebrated with a glut of fruit and grain and vegetables. A tattoo of a corn dolly swirls into a memory of when Connor would come home from the flayers, kiss his wife and baby son – Oscar – and his heart would feel like it was fit to burst from all the love and joy and plenty they enjoyed. Ink that shows a wide sunset above a reaped field tells me of the emptiness when his wife died – of how it seemed like all their blessings had wasted away. I’ve never seen this bit of Oscar’s life and I wonder now at how hard it must have been to always be trying to fill the space left by his mother.
“All right, genius,” Obel says softly. “Tell us why you think I’m here.”
He smiles. “Glad you asked.” He crouches on his haunches, making himself more comfortable. “The mayor could use any inker – there are plenty of the government inkers who usually do the official marks that he could choose. But he’s got you, Obel. And that’s because he can use you. You have a secret. He can keep you close. Why? Because he’s planning something.”
Obel chews his lip. “We should speak to Karl,” he murmurs.
“Karl?” I ask, and Obel hushes me.
“Karl Novak. He’s one of us, isn’t he?” Connor grins, his voice barely audible. “He’s joined the crows.”
Before I can register my surprise a guard interrupts us. Our time is up and I’m asked to leave, a strong hand on my back pressing me away from Obel. I turn my head and he’s watching me leave. Connor Drew has given us both plenty to think about.
Fingers and fire. Together they make pictures on the wall – shadows that dance and play. Stories breed in the shade.
From the shadows rises a man and the fire spits out two words: saviour and spy.
The outline of the man splits in two and these identical figures enact a different story. One shows a man who has pity on his enemies; he goes to them and shares all that he has.
The other man also visits his enemy, but this man becomes a fox that wriggles its way through the community.
The first man is broken by his enemy – his skin is shed and he drags it like spoils of the hunt.
The second man breaks away, taking his enemy’s children with him.
I want to still those fingers, put out the fire – I don’t want to see any more. But a new figure rises and the flames breathe the word: hero.
I reach out to touch this person made from shadows, but when my fingers get close the shadow fades into smoke. The fire is out and I am in darkness. The puppeteer’s fingers trace their way up my spine and I shiver.
Chapter Nineteen
I wake from my dream, my teeth chattering. I go for a walk to clear my head and see Jack Minnow. He still visits the hall of remembrance every night. As I watch him in the moonlight, he looks up at the window where I stand, and our eyes meet. He smiles. I am waiting, biding my time. I want to know more first – who is Davey Minnow and why risk so much to remember him?
The days pass, and Mel has no more new tales written in her notebook. It is irking her, keeping her story inside. After a week, she snaps.
“This is ridiculous.” Mel throws down her pen and lets her chair scrape as she stands. “I’m the storyteller; I have authority of my own. We’re going to see him. I’m going to tell Longsight my new story.”
“No, Mel—” But she is gone, walking fast. I run to keep up with her, and am almost dizzied as we turn corner after corner, finally finding ourselves outside Mayor Longsight’s study. I catch her arm.
“Please don’t do this,” I whisper. “We need more time…”
But Mel holds her hand up for silence. And that’s when I realize: the door is ajar, and we hear familiar voices. We lean closer to the door and listen.
“Tell me again,” Mayor Longsight is saying. “Tell me how it happened.”
There is a pause and then Jack Minnow speaks, his voice carrying. “You were pronounced dead. Carried into the mourning room, and we gathered about you for three days. And then it was time for your final journey. We prepared you. And then I heard it – a gasp. The faintest sound.
“I cleared the room; it was just you and me. I hardly dared believe it, but it was so. You were breathing. Your prediction was true, and my delight burned in me. When you spoke first, I knew I had to record your words.” I hear the shunt of a drawer opening and the crackle of paper. “It’s all there – you’ve read it many times. A message from the grave, sir.”
“It’s all so hard to remember.” The mayor sounds weary. There is a period of silence which seems to stretch for ever. “But it happened, just like you said. It must have done.”
“I trust you, Mayor Longsight,” Minnow says. “You must learn to trust yourself. This new teaching was given to you by our ancestors. There can be no doubt of this course.”
“But the blanks…” Mayor Longsight says. “The people want their destruction: they want victory.”
“And victory they will get: victory of a different sort. Be strong.”
There is a pause and when Longsight speaks again he sounds cold. “I am strong, Minnow. I know my mind – I am simply concerned for the people.”
“Understood.” Jack Minnow clears his throat.
Mel catches my arm. She leads me down the corridor, back to her rooms, and even when the door is shut behind us and we are safe we do not speak of what we’ve heard.
Instead, we fold up the memory of that conversation. We tuck it away for another time. One day it will make sense.
I am just afraid that by the time that happens, it will be too late.
Chapter Twenty
Exactly one week after Mayor Longsight was marked in the place of a guilty citizen, the people are once again called to gather in the square, and again, I am made to attend. We walk together, me, Mel and Obel – guards to our left and right, Karl Novak leading us. He doesn’t look my way this time.
Just before we reach the door that takes us to the back of the stage, Jack Minnow seizes my elbow, sending pain flashing up and down my arm.
“Just in case you were planning on doing something foolish, I thought I’d remind you not to. You haven’t forgotten your little blank friend, have you?” he growls. “Do as you’re told, Flint. That is all.” And with one last dig of his fingernails, he lets me go.
I stand at the side of the stage, waiting for the next show. Minnow’s warning has made me more nervous.
The crowd are more eager than ever – the mayor’s act of kindness towards the prisoner Phillip Knowles has thrilled them. Maybe they are hoping that they will be next.
He leaves them waiting, poised in the wings. The day is hot and close, the kind of sky that makes flies dozy and people aggressive. A chant goes up, the people calling his name like a magic rite. And when I think they might melt or explode or die with the heat, the energy, the thrall of it all, there is a squeal of feedback and the crowd is silent.
It takes only one step on to the stage for the whoops to restart, and Longsight wallows in their adulation. He is wearing a robe and the silken fabric sways against his arms as he holds his hands out either side of him. He basks in the glow of their screamed approval. He has never been so loved as this; and with love comes power.
“You are good to me,” Longsight begins. “I know that you have made sacrifices to be here today – you have closed your shops and market stalls, switched off your machines, cancelled meetings. Even the schools have let out their students.” There is an enthusiastic cheer at this – the pupils are in a large group near the front. The adults around them smile indulgently – give them their exuberance, let them feel the excitement of a disrupted school day. This doesn’t happen every day.
“I assure you that I don’t call these gatherings lightly. No, I brought you here to be my witnesses – to share in something truly wonderful. For today, this very morning, a mir
acle has happened. Yes, another! We will be used to miracles before long.” His mouth twists into a knowing smile. But miracles aren’t meant to happen every day, I think. That’s the whole point.
He points to the crowd, picking out a person near the front whose brown hair and bright eyes shine as she looks up at her leader. “You,” he says, “come up to the stage.”
She raises her eyebrows and points to her chest, questioning, Me? Really? Longsight nods. “And you…” He points to another person and another and another. There is an excited bustle as guards help the blushing, smiling people on to the stage. They stand a few metres away from the mayor, looking at each other in surprised wonder, not ready to believe their luck at being chosen. But chosen for what? Jack Minnow steps up to the stage too – acting as a bodyguard or an assistant. He stands close to the mayor, face impassive.
“You watched, just a week ago, as I was inked,” the mayor continues. “You saw it happen – you knew I went willingly under the needle so that our friend Philip did not have to.” He knows how to whip the crowd into an excited rabble and they respond exactly as he will have planned: applause, stamps and whoops of praise.
Mayor Longsight holds up his right hand, to hush them. “I deserve none of your acclaim,” he says solemnly. “I was simply obeying a command. Following my calling. My ancestors told me what to do while I ate at Death’s table.”
I can feel my cynicism pressing on my shoulders. I look across at Mel, who stands next to me. For the briefest moment, scepticism is written on her face too.
We must be careful.
“When I woke this morning, it was from the most beautiful dream,” the mayor tells us. “A dream where I found a hidden waterfall – I can still hear it if I close my eyes – the roar and rush of it. In my dream, I removed my robes.” As he speaks, he unties the belt on his robe. “And I stepped forward, the water freezing on my bare feet. I did not stop – I did not fear the cold.” He tugs at the tie and his robe falls open, shrugs it off his shoulders so it rests in the crook of his elbows – we can see his chest, his breath strong and steady. He takes a step forward. “In my dream I walked into the beating flood.” His robe drops to the ground. “And the water washed away my sin.” He moves to the front of the stage – no microphone needed now, for his body says it all.
The mark that Obel made on Mayor Longsight’s arm is gone.
The mayor walks the width of the stage, letting the crowd see – his left arm is bare and clean. Longsight moves to show the four witnesses who stand on the stage, each looking stunned and as though they want to cower, but Longsight makes them each examine his arm. They look, they are even allowed to touch. At this, the memory of being in Mayor Longsight’s study and running my fingers over his scar shudders through me. I could not deny that miracle and I cannot deny this one either.
He is at the side of the stage near to where I am standing – close enough for me to see. There is no mark, no evidence of a tattoo that has been tampered with – no evidence of a wound at all. Just clear, brown skin. It is as though his body absorbed the ink and took it away.
I look for Obel. He must know the answer to this riddle, I think. But I can’t see him anywhere. And then, just as the tension feels like it will snap our necks, a rumble of thunder drowns out the shouts. Mayor Longsight stands on the stage, face raised to the sky and arms outstretched. As if answering his call, the rain begins – fat drops that hammer so heavily it is as though a tap was switched on. As though a waterfall opened above us. And Mayor Longsight stands perfect beneath the stream. His sin washed away, like mud from weary feet.
Jack Minnow looks down from the stage and gestures to Karl, who is standing guard next to me. Karl pushes me towards the stage. I turn to Mel and her face shows fear. Minnow looks at me with twisted pleasure, as though he is watching a hunted creature walk right into his trap. Now I understand why he warned me. I am to play a part in today’s performance.
I am left standing on the steps up to the stage, Karl gripping tightly on to my shoulder. Jack Minnow steps to the front of the watery stage where Mayor Longsight still glories in the praises of his people. Moving close to the microphone, Minnow begins to speak.
“We know that in our hearts, each of us now long for this – we can only dream that we would be one of the lucky ones that our great Mayor Longsight would take on ink for. But today, we will mark our mayor with the most heinous sins. You will see the full extent of his power and his grace as he takes on the crimes of one of our most depraved citizens.”
That is me, I think dully. I am shoved forward by the guards. And then Karl murmurs something in my ear. It sounds like, “Don’t be afraid.” I freeze, but when I look at him his expression is impassive.
“Come, Leora,” says Minnow. He turns to me and his face is cruel. “Come.”
I take a step forward, and then another.
There is movement in the crowd. At first I think it is because they see me, but then I realize it is coming from the back. Like a trickle that becomes a flood, the murmurs from the back of the crowd become screams as someone – one small messenger, an ordinary citizen of Saintstone – pushes their way through the throng. I think I recognize her as the woman who runs a small farm on the outskirts of town – she has wild, curling grey hair and a weather-beaten face. With Minnow focused on the mayor and the guards taken by surprise, in mere seconds the woman pushes past me and is on the stage standing at the microphone.
“They’ve taken them!” she screams, tears streaming down her face faster than the rain. “They’ve taken them. My books!”
In the shocked silence that follows, it is Mel who goes to her.
She holds her by her shoulders – firmly but kindly. The woman turns, her face a blank page of grief, and she tumbles into Mel’s open arms. The crowd are silent now. There is just the sound of the rain and the woman’s shuddering sobs. I see her mouth move as she speaks. At last, Mel’s arms drop and like a mechanical doll she walks to the microphone. She swallows before she speaks.
“There has been a break-in.” Mel is so used to addressing a crowd, often she has no need of amplification for her training has given her voice reach and resonance. But today she is flat, and her voice sounds as though it’s being squeezed through a small space. “A break-in at Shona Collier’s farm. They left everything untouched except for…” Mel holds out her hand to the weeping woman, who takes it gratefully. “Except for … the skin books.”
“They’ve taken my family!” The woman howls, and her words stab every chest.
When I was a child there was a fire at the Coopers’ house on our street. The shouts went up and the fire brigade was called, but it felt like an age before they arrived. I stood next to Mum, with bare feet and my nightie, feeling the heat that came off the blazing house.
My dad held Mr Cooper back, kept having to fight to keep hold of him because he was frantic and repeating the same thing over and over:
“They’re still in there – I have to save them,” he said, while his wife stood screaming, “My children!”
Dad had shaken him then, stared into his eyes and shouted over the roar.
“They’re not there, Jonathan,” he yelled. “They are not there – they’re already gone.”
His words were heresy. But now I see that he was saving a life, not squandering two. Because Mr Cooper’s children had both died when they were babies. It was their skin books he wanted to save.
Without a skin book there is no soul. When I allowed Dad’s book to be burned – believing at the time that it really was his – I was destroying his very soul. This is why we keep the books close to us. They are how we live on after death. They are our guarantee of eternity. I never came across the crime of stealing a skin book from another person’s home. Even the most depraved heart would draw back. It is beyond taboo.
We all look to Longsight, to our great leader, but he is staring, open-mouthed, shocked. He seems diminished somehow. His performance today has not gone to plan. Instead, it is Ja
ck Minnow who steps to the mic, and he and Mel stand tall together.
“Go back to your homes,” he calls. “Do not panic. We will find the answers and we will not rest until the evildoer has been brought to justice. This I swear to you.”
There are no cheers now; the people stumble away, casting fearful glances backwards. You can tell people not to panic, but it only makes the fear greater. Because in our town someone has committed the unforgivable.
And Mayor Longsight? He watches his worshippers wash away in the rain. Their adoration has run through his fingers, their awe has turned to dread. His face is all fury – his spotlight was stolen, and to him, that is another unforgiveable act.
Chapter Twenty-one
Back in Mel’s study, I pace. It is the blanks, it must be. Only they would commit this sacrilege, this terrible thing. And only one person will be blamed for bringing them here – me. I’m surprised a lynch mob isn’t outside already, baying for my blood.
Mel bursts in, breathless and flushed.
“Start packing,” she tells me, flinging a bag at me.
“I don’t have anything to pack.” I say, bewildered. “I have nothing, remember? Anyway, where do you think we’re going?”
“Featherstone, of course,” she says, matter-of-factly. She glances at me, shoving her notebook into her bag. “They took the books, didn’t they? Or do you have other ideas?”
“No,” I admit. I take the armful of clothes Mel hands me and stuff them into a bag. “No one else would steal a skin book. The crime has Sana written all over it.”
“Agreed.” Mel hands me a bar of soap.
“What do you think going to Featherstone will achieve?” I ask curiously.
“Well,” she says, wrapping a shawl around herself. “I think we need to go there in the capacity of peacemakers.” She smiles at my surprised face. “Longsight’s new teachings, as extraordinary as they are, have done one thing. Distracted the people from the blanks. This could actually be a chance for peace, if Sana doesn’t blow it.” She chews her lip. “We have to take it, Leora. The prophecy wants us to.”
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