The Last Survivors Box Set

by Bobby Adair

  Ivory nodded.

  “It’s clear to me,” said Beck, “that you’ve been venturing into the Ancient City to smuggle metals.”

  Ivory started to speak. Beck raised a hand to silence him.

  “It’s clear to me you’ve stumbled upon some cache of ancient books. You’re a smart boy, educated even. You know the value of these books, yet you don’t sell them.” Beck put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “It is possible that you see in these books the same value that I see in them.”

  “That is?” Ivory asked.

  “Knowledge.” Beck leaned back and smiled. “Perhaps I have underestimated you.”

  Ivory said nothing.

  Beck gestured at the metals. “You know you could go to the pyre for this.”

  Ivory cast a glance at the door.

  “Sure, you might escape if it came to that, but I don’t see why it should.” Beck flipped open one of the new books. “You flout rules that I accept only with the greatest disdain because my position requires that I don’t openly speak out against them.”

  “What do you want?” Ivory asked, finding some new source of inner strength.

  Beck made another stack of the three books that had been in the backpack. He pushed the two stacks of confiscated books together. “I have no desire to take these from you. You may see it as theft. I assure you it is not. Reasons exist of which you have no understanding. I can only say that at this time next winter, barring circumstances that neither of us can control, I’ll return them to you. I would also offer you a proposition.”

  “That is?” Ivory asked, anger putting an edge on his voice as he stared at the books he was about to lose.

  “First, I don’t wish to know why you have a satchel of contraband metals. That shall remain your business. I have a great interest in the knowledge in these books, and others you might find. I don’t know what you do with the books you bring back from the Ancient City, and I don’t care whether you sell them to the merchants. My proposition is that I’ll accept you among my scholars. You’ll have to hunt rabbits no more. Instead, you’ll be free to learn among us. You can travel to wherever you travel to obtain books, and I’ll let you sell most of them if that is your desire. However, I would like to choose some of them that you bring back to include in the academic library, so that we may further our knowledge of ancient secrets.”

  Ivory said, “You want me to bribe you with books so you’ll look the other way.”

  Shaking his head, Beck said, “If it were only about the monetary value of the books, you’d be exactly right. The bribes, as you call them, will keep you out of the pyre, not just today, but for the rest of your days. But my offer is sincere. I do wish for you to join the academy. I do wish for you to bring books to help us gain knowledge.” Beck stood up and made a show of straightening his jacket. He picked up all six books and stuffed them into the bag. He walked over toward the door, stopped and looked back. “Think about it. As for your business here, I’ll speak of it to no one. If you get yourself caught by other means, however, expect no help from me. If you decide to join me, come to the academy. You know where it is. If you don’t show up, I’ll have your empty bag returned to you.”

  Chapter 30: Ella

  Ella plowed through the forest. Her stomach felt empty and starved. But she couldn’t eat. Not after what the demons had done to that boy. She pictured his mangled, half-eaten body and shuddered. She called out to William, preemptively keeping him close, determined to keep her own child safe.

  The survivors’ tracks were thick and obvious enough that she could see them. Brush was broken to the ground, drops of blood sprinkled on the fresh-fallen leaves. She prayed they wouldn’t find another body. The prospect of locating the survivors alive had been slim before.

  The chances were even worse now.

  “How long ago was that boy killed?” she asked Bray.

  “Hours ago, judging by the condition of the body,” he replied.

  They continued through the forest until daylight waned. The tracks grew harder to follow. She pictured the survivors barreling through the forest, shuddering with fear. Were they armed? If not, they were as doomed as the slain boy. If the survivors had barely escaped Davenport, they might have nothing other than the clothes on their backs.

  She envisioned herself in the forest a few days ago, before she’d been suitably armed. Before she’d understood the danger. She’d known what had lurked in these woods, of course, but to see it was a different thing.

  She couldn’t fathom fighting the demons with bare hands.

  She stared at her sword. The edges were stained with blood. She’d barely thought before she killed the demons earlier. She was learning. The only way to survive was to react quickly. William traipsed next to her. Despite his earlier strangeness, he seemed focused and attentive, keeping up with her and Bray.

  They kept moving, long after the sun had sunk on the horizon. Chirps of birds gave way to the chatter of night insects and the hoots of owls. Ella refused to stop moving, afraid they’d lose the survivors for certain if she did. She forged ahead, passing Bray and taking the lead. After a while, she could barely see her companions’ features.

  Finally Bray stopped her. “Ella. We’re going to need to rest.”

  “But if we lose them—” she started.

  “If we go the wrong way, we’ll be farther off course. Then we’ll never find them.”

  “Can’t we use a torch?”

  “If we do, we’ll draw the demons. During the daytime, we have a chance at defending ourselves, but out here in the dark…” Bray trailed off. “The survivors would’ve stopped somewhere, too, if they know what’s good for them.”

  Ella’s breath was ragged and determined. She stared past Bray and into the gloom, still considering the journey. It wasn’t until she thought of William that she came to her senses. She desperately wanted to find the survivors, but if she continued, she’d put her son at greater risk. And so she stuck her sword in the dirt, fighting the nagging feeling that the survivors might already be dead.

  “Where will we stay?”

  “I saw a hill a half mile back. It’s not ideal, but it’ll give us a position from which to defend ourselves in case anyone or anything stumbles on us. I’ll take first watch.”

  Ella exhaled but didn’t argue. She was stiff and sore; sweat glued her skirt to her body. Her hair was stiff and knotted. She reclaimed her sword and followed Bray through the forest, exhaustion overtaking her. William seemed equally tired. He dragged his feet when he walked.

  “It’ll be good to get some rest before we continue,” she told William, as much to convince her son as to convince herself.

  “Okay, Mom.”

  “We’ll pick up the trail in the morning.”

  He nodded but didn’t answer. They followed Bray until they’d reached the hill, then set up camp. Her last thought was how much she wanted to clean off. She didn’t even remember falling asleep.

  Chapter 31: Fitzgerald

  Fitzgerald stared at the drawings hanging on the wall of her bedroom. In the pictures, men bowed and prayed, offering their hearts and minds to The Word. Robed figures presided over enlightened crowds. Peasants toiled in the fields. Women cradled babies. The depictions were supposed to strengthen Fitz’s resolve, to alleviate any doubts she might have about her role in The House of Barren Women.

  She hated those pictures.

  Fitzgerald would rather be outdoors, breathing in the fresh air, exploring the world around her—anything other than being stuck in these hellish chambers.

  She sighed and looked at her bedroll. The cloth was clean and unwrinkled. It was a gift from the Housemother, Mary. Fitz refused to use it. She saw enough beds during her course of work that she preferred to sleep on the floor. Mary had scolded her several times, telling Fitzgeral
d she needed proper rest, but Fitzgerald never listened. She always pleased her men when she was in the bedchambers. She always did her share of chores around the house.

  What crime could she be charged with?

  Besides, she didn’t want the nosy Housemother in her small room any more than necessary. Mary tidied up when the girls were out of The House. Fitzgerald’s fear was that the woman would find her hiding place in the wall. Deep in a crevice, tucked behind some broken stones, Fitzgerald had hidden a small collection of silver, tokens of appreciation from young, unmarried men or men whose wives had aged undesirably. She needed to keep it safe.

  Her plans were close to fruition.

  Their plans were close to fruition.

  Fitzgerald sighed and buttoned her dress. A few minutes ago, she’d heard a knock at the door. She was supposed to be getting prepared; one of the men had requested her presence. Instead she’d been biding her time in her room, wishing she had a window she could climb out of. She listened for the sounds of the other girls, most of who were in their rooms with the doors closed, working. A few had left for men’s quarters in town.

  When they weren’t accompanying men, most of the girls spent their days ingratiating themselves to Mary, hoping they might be next in line for her position. Although Mary’s life wasn’t glamorous, she was spared nights in dim, defiling bedchambers. The girls sought every opportunity to please the Housemother, in the hopes they would receive preferential treatment.

  Not Fitzgerald.

  Fitzgerald felt no loyalty or gratitude to Mary. Mary simply did her work, subjecting her girls to the whims of anyone with silver. And yet, Mary was exempt from the same practice.

  It wasn’t fair.

  Voices rose from the other room. Footsteps padded across the floor. Fitzgerald took a moment to get composed. She fiddled with the buttons on her dress, ensuring that she looked sultry enough.

  It could be worse, she told herself. She could be out in the wild with the demons. She could be back at her home, thrust into the arms of a man she didn’t love, a man who beat her each time he became angry with her for not conceiving a child. That wasn’t a good life, either.

  “Fitzgerald?” a familiar voice called.

  “Yes, Mary?”

  “Are you ready?”

  “I am.”

  “Time to get going.”

  Fitzgerald sighed and stepped toward the door. Before exiting, she glanced back at her room, checking one last time that her belongings were neat, arranged, and inconspicuous. They were. She opened the door and walked through the threshold.

  She was surprised to find Franklin waiting. She’d seen Father Winthrop the past few nights; she didn’t think the Bishop would call her again so soon.

  “Hello, Franklin,” she said.

  She averted her eyes and faced Mary.

  “You’re going to see Father Winthrop tonight,” Mary said, as if it were a surprise. The Housemother’s smile was wide and empty. Mary’s long, raven-dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail; she was prepared for her nightly ritual of cleaning.

  Fitz nodded. She looked behind her at the other doorways, expecting to hear the other girls giggling, but they were otherwise engaged.

  “Is something the matter, Fitzgerald?” Mary asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “Then get a move on.”

  “We should get going,” Franklin agreed. “The Bishop’s waiting.”

  Fitzgerald conjured a smile and strode past Mary, bidding her goodnight. Then she fell in line behind Franklin. He opened the door and led her outside. Her heart leapt as soon as the door closed.

  She was free, if only for a few minutes.

  Out in the open, Fitzgerald sucked in the cold, crisp air. Much of the day’s snow had melted, leaving damp, spongy ground in its wake. It was dusk, and the smell of oil from the men’s torches carried with the wind, reminding her of her childhood in the streets. Her mother had died in childbirth, leaving her in her father’s care. Because Emil was so busy with woodcutting, she saw little of him, and spent more time in the streets than at home. Fitz longed to see more outside the walls of Brighton. She’d get there, someday.

  The faint glow of the merchants’ lights beckoned from the town center. The House of Barren Women was built on the edge of town—close enough to keep guarded, but far enough away to avoid a disruption, according to the Elders.

  She walked several steps behind Franklin, keeping an acceptable distance from the man who had come to fetch her. While in public, the Women were expected to act holy and demure. It wasn’t until they reached the bedchambers that they were expected to act libidinous.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, sneaking a glance over his shoulder.

  She blushed. “Thanks.”

  “If we were alone, I’d kiss you underneath your dress.”

  “Be quiet,” she scolded, flashing a smile. “Don’t let anyone hear you. What have you been up to today, novice?”

  “Working on my recitations.”

  “Is that all you’ve been working on?” Fitzgerald grinned. She looked left and right down the empty, boot-printed street. Then she reached over and pinched Franklin’s arm. He looked away. This time it was his turn to blush.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I’m sorry; don’t answer that.” Franklin muttered an apology, but Fitzgerald wasn’t offended.

  “No need to apologize. In between visitors, I’ve been thinking up ways we can leave,” she said. “I have almost fifty silver saved. That should be enough to get supplies. All we need is to find some generous people in one of the outside settlements, and we can finally be rid of this place. We’ll have to work to earn our keep, but—”

  Franklin turned in all directions, suddenly nervous. “You mustn’t speak like that.”

  Fitz frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I shouldn’t have said those things the other night, Fitz. We can’t leave. I’m a devoted disciple of The Word.”

  Fitzgerald stopped and stared at him. Her face flushed with anger. “But I thought you lov—”

  “I do, Fitz, but I was upset. I was worried about the famine. I thought we were in immediate danger. I’ve had time to think on it, though, and I don’t believe the situation is as dire as Beck and Evan say it is. It doesn’t make sense. There hasn’t been a famine since before I was born. I think we’ll be safe for a while longer.”

  Fitzgerald avoided his eyes, trying to conceal the sting of rejection on her face.

  “Don’t worry, I have another plan,” he assured her. “It’ll just take a while. We’ll have to keep waiting. But we’ve already waited a year, right?”

  After a stubborn pause, she allowed him to lead her. They’d already covered half the distance to the square. Most of the merchants had packed up and gone home. The few that remained were covering pushcarts and tucking away their wares.

  Even so, the town was full of gossip and watchful eyes. The exhilaration of freedom was waning. Ever since Franklin had started seeing Fitzgerald a year ago, Franklin had been careful to hide his attachment to her. Neither of them wanted to raise Winthrop’s suspicion or his ire. A few nights ago, the Bishop had requested a new girl to keep him company. To Franklin’s and Fitz’s dismay, Mary had offered up Fitzgerald.

  “It’ll all work out. You’ll see,” Franklin added.

  “Can’t we stop somewhere and talk?” she asked, trying to hold back her frustration.

  “I wish we could, but the Bishop said to bring you right away. Keep your head down and keep moving. We mustn’t appear to be conspiring.” Franklin kept his voice low as they walked. “Listen, Fitz, I’ve been thinking. If I keep learning and studying, I’m sure to become the Bishop. It only makes sense. There a
re few others that are as qualified as me. And once Father Winthrop dies, I can take over his position.”

  “What will that change?”

  “We can finally be together.”

  Fitzgerald stared at the dirt. “Even if you were Bishop, you wouldn’t be able to save me from The House, and you certainly wouldn’t be able to save me from Blackthorn. Look at what happened to Jenny.”

  Saying the girl’s name made them both tense up. Fitzgerald had only known the girl a short time, but Jenny had been nicer than the others in The House. And Jenny had been spiked just the same, for the simple crime of being one of Ella Barrow’s friends. Fitzgerald stared into the distance, trying to make out the dark building past the square—the one where Father Winthrop was waiting. Jenny spent many nights there.

  The irony wasn’t lost on Fitzgerald. If it weren’t for Mary’s suggesting that Fitzgerald replace the dead girl, she’d be back at The House, doing much safer work.

  “You won’t be able to protect me. If someone wants me dead…If Blackthorn goes on another of his rages…”

  “I’ll protect you,” Franklin responded, but his words lacked confidence.

  “What can you do, Franklin?” Fitzgerald sniffled. “Nobody will step in to save a barren woman. No one ever does.”

  Franklin sighed but didn’t answer. What could he say?

  He knew she was right.

  What security was there in a world of sickness, spiking, and demons? In the year she and Franklin had been together, he hadn’t been able to save her from The House. They fell silent as they walked into the town center. Fitzgerald waved hello to the few, remaining merchants as she walked through the streets. They sneered at Franklin when he wasn’t looking.

  Soon Fitzgerald and Franklin were crossing the square, following the walkway to the church. When they reached the back entrance, Franklin grabbed a torch from beside the door and led her inside.