Finally, worn out, she lay in the big chair and fell asleep. In her dreams, she was in the middle of the ocean in a boat with silver sails. A warm summer breeze ruffled her hair and she could feel the sun on her face. The waves beside her were small and flecked with white foam. Deep in the body of the wave, words tumbled, one over the other.
Mother. Fish. Step. Summer.
Tiny red words, bobbing and weaving. A cold breeze rushed by, and the sun dodged behind a cloud. She shivered. Something was wrong. The waves were getting bigger. She struggled with the sail, which had changed from silver to black. The rope cut her hands. She couldn’t lose the boat. Her father’s boat. The wind was roaring and the waves towered above her. She turned just in time to see a giant word rise from the foam. It was as big as a building and for a second it hovered above her.
Dead.
She managed to read it just before it crashed down on her, sending her to the very bottom of the ocean. She woke screaming.
The new day brought only more misery. She went to Central Kitchen, opened the shop, transcribed words – all in a kind of numbness. Nobody mentioned Benjamin. Letta knew that people had been told but it wasn’t done to discuss the death of a loved one. Too many people had died in the disasters, nobody acknowledged death any more. But there were little kindnesses, smiles of sympathy, warm glances. She knew they felt for her, she didn’t need their words. Werber called with her water allowance and for once she was almost glad to see him. Mrs Truckle came and brought her an apple. She said nothing about Benjamin but Letta knew the older woman understood, none the less.
‘You wordsmith now,’ she said to her before she left. ‘Not child. Wordsmith.’
When she wasn’t grappling with her grief over Benjamin, Letta wondered about Marlo. She still hoped they might find Daniel. The healer’s wife had called in the afternoon to order words for their new apprentice, her face a mask of grief. Letta longed to tell her that Marlo’s friends were going to look for Daniel but she knew she couldn’t. So instead, she sat and transcribed the words that were needed.
Feverfew, lilac, rosemary, thyme.
It was one of the longest lists that had to be prepared and one of the most difficult. Letta worked on it all afternoon, glad of the distraction. The day dragged on. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t bear to think any more. She went into Benjamin’s study and looked through the things on his desk. The words he was working on, his maps, drawn in his own hand. The forest was a strange place and very few people knew anything of its geography.
She pulled one of the maps closer to her and examined it. She could see the official path along which the water pipe ran from the lake buried in the centre of the forest. That was the road Benjamin took. It was patrolled regularly because of the water and was therefore considered reasonably safe. Beyond the path was the dense, dark forest, haunted by wild animals and, some believed, bandits. Benjamin had often told her that the greatest danger was the lack of food and water and the possibility of getting lost in there. She was about to put the map away when something caught her eye. A river. Benjamin had written the word clearly and underlined it.
THE RIVER.
She realised it meant something to her. Hadn’t Amelia said that they had found his body south of the river? But the river was miles from the official track. What had Benjamin been doing there? She looked at the map again. The river was nowhere near the main path. She knew Benjamin wandered off path a little on his trips. If he found something interesting he might expand the dig in any direction, but he would never lose sight of the main road. So what had he been doing at the river? She felt that there was more she knew about the river, some other context, but it wouldn’t come to her. They said a scavenger had found him. Fearfall. She was sure that was what they had said. She picked up a card and wrote it down. Fearfall.
If he was a scavenger he probably lived in Tintown. She had never gone down there – Benjamin wouldn’t hear of it. It was a lawless place, a place people avoided. And yet, she wanted to talk to this man. He had found him – surely he could tell her why Benjamin had been there. Then another thought struck her. What had Fearfall been doing there? She frowned. None of it made any sense. Not for the first time, she wished she had someone to talk to, someone like Marlo.
It hit her like a thunderbolt. That was it! Marlo. It was Marlo who had mentioned the river. In the throws of his fever, he had talked about the Desecrators and the pump house and the river. She wondered what Marlo was doing. Had they found Daniel? Did he think of her at all? She sighed.
All she had was questions. Benjamin had gone to a part of the forest that was both dangerous and off his normal route. A scavenger had happened on his body. A scavenger who had no business in the forest. Was the scavenger lying? Had he murdered Benjamin and taken his bag? Why then would he go to Noa and tell him everything?
She stood up and walked to the window. Where was his body now? She couldn’t bear to think of Benjamin thrown to the animals. Was he cold? With all her heart she wanted to hold him in her arms, to wrap a warm blanket about him, to let him know that he was not forgotten. Her dream came back to haunt her and she shivered. She remembered what Marlo had said.
There’s always truth in dreams. Don’t you know that? We have to learn what they mean, that’s all.
CHAPTER 8
#326
Outcast
Person who is not part of Ark
THE rest of the day passed in a blur. Letta busied herself with her normal jobs, but her thoughts were in turmoil. She had to talk to the scavenger. She would go to Tintown. She pulled her coat from the nail and put it on, her hands shaking. Then, she picked up Benjamin’s old satchel and thrust a bottle of water into it. As she left the shop, she locked the door behind her and looked around. The streets were quiet. The children were still at school, their parents in the fields. She could see Mrs Pepper sweeping the path in front of Central Kitchen. A woman and her baby were coming out of the healer’s, the mother clutching a remedy in her hand.
As Letta turned to head south, she could hear the baby crying. Yesterday’s rain had disappeared and a weak sun shone in the sky. She walked quickly, nerves bubbling in her stomach. Would the gavvers stop her at the gate? She reminded herself that she was the wordsmith now. She had to appear confident.
It took her very little time to get to the southern wall. Through the open gates she could just glimpse the flashes of light glinting on the roofs of the ramshackle town. She pressed on. Two gavvers guarded the gate. As she approached, one of them stood up.
‘Where go?’
His accent was rough, and Letta was sure that this was not his mother tongue. She pulled herself up to her full height and looked him in the eye.
‘Tintown,’ she answered.
‘Why?’ The man glared at her.
‘Collect words,’ she said firmly. ‘Wordsmith.’
The man looked her up and down, then went to confer with his colleague. Letta tried to look mature and professional, but inside she was deeply uneasy. After what seemed like an age, the man returned.
‘Pass,’ he said, and instantly Letta found herself on the far side of the gate. She stood and looked down. Stretching on all sides were layer upon layer of flimsy dwellings, built from scrap of all sorts. Every roof seemed to be made of tin and the metal glinted even in this weak winter sun. But it wasn’t the image of the town that most shocked Letta but the smell. Rising like a black cloud from the hovels below her came the stink of rotting vegetation and possibly rotting flesh too, she thought. It was a heavy, pungent aroma and already Letta could feel it soaking into her hair, into her skin, into her very bones.
The first hovels she passed were quiet enough. No sign of life, apart from clothes strewn on bushes, drying in the sun. There was only one water source here and no tokens for it. A communal pipe opened once a week and people fought for their supply of water. Benjamin had told her that a human could survive for one hundred hours without water, and sometimes, in Tintown, they had to.
‘Who you?’ he shouted.
Letta ignored him.
‘Who you?’ he said again. A sharp sting on her cheek brought her to a sudden stop. Her hand flew to the spot and she felt the warm wetness of her own blood. She looked around sharply just in time to see the boy shove a catapult into his pocket, his lips twisted in a sneer. Letta didn’t stop to think. In two strides she was beside him. She caught him by the shoulders and shook him as hard as she was able.
‘Bad boy,’ she yelled.
She didn’t expect the first kick and it caught her just below her left knee. She stumbled. Instantly, the other children were upon her. Small fists rained down on her back. Hands searched her pockets. She knew she hadn’t brought any tokens with her or anything else of value. Another kick in the small of her back sent her sprawling into the mud. She struggled to get up, hitting out at bare legs, but the children threw themselves on her, punching and kicking as they went. Someone tugged at Benjamin’s bag. She felt the strap dig into her flesh. She hit out as hard as she could but she was outnumbered. Just as Letta felt exhaustion claim her she heard an adult voice somewhere over her head.
‘Stop!’
Instantly, the children scattered. Letta raised her head. The woman who stood there was tiny. Letta reckoned she was only four strides high. Pitch black hair was piled on top of her head, tendrils falling into her hooded eyes. Her hands were on her hips and her eyebrows were drawn together in a solid black line.
‘Thank you,’ Letta managed to say, pulling herself up from the ground, every muscle aching.
‘What you want?’ the woman growled.
Letta was about to answer when she saw a tall child approach her from the left. Without a second glance, the woman picked up a small sharp stone and threw it in the boy’s direction. The stone caught him on the side of the head. Letta saw his face wince in pain, blood running down his cheek. This time he fled with the others.
‘Rat.’ The woman spat the word after him. Then her gaze returned to Letta.
‘What you want?’ she said.
‘Look for man,’ Letta said.
‘What man?’
‘Scavenger.’
The woman laughed, a short bitter sound.
‘Many scavengers here,’ she said.
‘Fearfall,’ Letta said and she thought she saw recognition flash in the woman’s eyes. ‘You know him?’ Letta pressed on.
‘No,’ the woman said and turned and walked away.
‘Wait,’ Letta cried. ‘Please.’
The woman turned. ‘No know him,’ she said.
‘Know where find him?’
The woman shrugged. ‘Try water hole.’
Letta followed the woman’s gaze and could see in the distance a pool of some sort at the bottom of the hill. She started to walk in that direction. Her body ached from the attack by the children, and she could feel a sharp pain in her lower back getting more intense with every step she took. The shantytown was busier now with people standing outside their homes watching her as she passed. There were children everywhere, playing on the road, crying in their mothers’ arms. The further into the town she went, the worse the smell became. The bodies around her were half-dressed and all seemed to be without shoes. The smell of sweat and dirt assailed her nostrils and made her feel queasy. She passed an old man sitting on the ground, one leg stretched in front of him, the shin cut right through. Letta glimpsed white bone under the torn flesh. She thought he might be the oldest person she had ever seen. He was small and painfully thin – it seemed like his cheekbones could slice through his face at any moment. He had pale, watery eyes and the surface of his face was lined with deep ridges of yellow skin. Flies buzzed about the open wound and the man did nothing to stop them. Letta took her water bottle from her satchel and knelt beside him. He didn’t look up.
‘Drink,’ she said gently, holding the bottle to his lips. He looked surprised, but his lips parted and he drank deeply.
‘Good,’ he said, handing it back to her.
‘Leg bad?’ she said.
He nodded.
‘Been worse,’ he said.
I’m sure you have, Letta thought.
‘Fought flood and worse to get here.’
Letta noticed the strange cadence of his speech. He obviously had a lot of language. It was harder for people to speak List when their heads were teeming with words.
‘You come here after Melting?’ she said gently.
He nodded.
‘Bad times. Scientists not welcome.’
Benjamin had told her about these scientists who had arrived at Ark. They were seen as the enemy, the people who had opposed the Green Warriors before the Melting. There was no place for them in Ark. The miracle was that he survived all those years here in Tintown. She smiled at him.
‘You very strong,’ she said. ‘Survivor.’
He nodded.
Letta pushed the bottle into his hand.
‘Keep,’ she said, and got up. A young man suddenly appeared.
‘Father not well,’ he said.
Letta nodded.
‘Where you go?’ the young man asked.
‘Look for scavenger,’ Letta said. ‘Fearfall.’
The young man bit his lip. ‘Smith Fearfall?’
Letta’s heart leapt. ‘You know him?’
The man nodded. ‘Come,’ he said.
Letta followed him. He was walking towards the pool she had seen earlier.
‘Your name?’ Letta asked.
‘Kirch,’ he said. ‘Kirch Tellon.’
They walked on in silence then, Letta almost running to keep up with him.
She found it hard to believe that people lived in these conditions. No water, no power except what they could get for working in Ark. These were the people who had been too late, the unbelievers. Benjamin had told her about the hordes who had descended on Ark after the Melting, only to find the gates closed against them. Thousands had died. The ones who now lived in Tintown were the survivors.
Kirch stopped when they reached the pool. Up close, Letta could see it was just a hole full of stagnant, stinking water. A group of men and one small boy stood at the edge of the water, talking. They stopped when they saw Letta. It was then she realised that the pool was obviously the preserve of the men. She shifted awkwardly. Kirch stepped forward.
‘Smith?’ he said addressing a dark-skinned man in the centre of the group.
The man looked up.
‘Girl want talk,’ he said.
The men laughed and the one next to him nudged the dark man in the ribs. Letta lifted her chin and glared across at them. The dark-skinned man looked straight at her.
‘Talk with me?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Kirch said. ‘Talk with you.’
At first Letta thought that he was just going to ignore their request. He stood staring at Letta, making no move to join her. She felt herself blush under his gaze.
‘Why?’
Letta took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to let him see how intimidated she felt. ‘Benjamin Lazlo,’ she said. ‘Wordsmith. You found him.’
Again the man waited, not moving. Letta could almost see the wheels in his brain turning. He bent down to the boy at his knee, who was playing with a mound of small stones.
‘Allove!’ he said.
The boy looked up.
‘Stay!’
The boy went back to his game. The scavenger walked towards her. Up close, he had black eyes and the whitest teeth she had ever seen.
�
��Walk,’ he said, and headed off away from the pool.
Letta took time only to turn to Kirch and mutter a hurried thank you before following him.
The man walked as far as the big oak tree that dominated the outskirts of Tintown before stopping and looking at Letta.
‘Who you, who?’ he asked, and Letta noticed that he had a strange dialect, one she hadn’t heard before.
‘Letta,’ she said. ‘Wordsmith.’
He nodded.
‘Smith Fearfall,’ he said. ‘Scavenger.’
‘You found my master?’
He nodded again.
‘Lazlo. Yes. Find.’
‘Where?’
‘Forest. Near river.’
‘His things?’
He looked surprised at the question.
‘Bag,’ Fearfall said. ‘Gave to Noa.’
Letta moved the satchel on her shoulder. She saw the man glance at it but he showed no reaction. Strange, Letta thought. The bag is right here in front of you but you don’t recognise it?
‘What you do at river?’ She knew as soon as she asked that it was a mistake.
A veil descended over his eyes. He turned away from her abruptly.
‘No question now,’ he said. ‘No more.’
Before Letta could think what to do, he was walking away from her. She ran after him and caught his arm.
‘Please!’ she said, but he pushed her away and lengthened his stride.
She had to run to keep pace.
‘Please,’ she said again. ‘Need to talk.’
He turned and glared at her, his eyes shining with menace. ‘No talk,’ he said. ‘Go home.’
Then he broke into a run, his long legs eating up the road.
The Wordsmith Page 8
