The Wordsmith

by Forde, Patricia; Simpson, Steve;

There was silence in the room. Letta watched Smith Fearfall clench and unclench his hand. No-one dared breathe. Finn didn’t move.

  Finally Fearfall spoke. ‘John Noa,’ he said.

  ‘Noa told you to lie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me!’

  Finn walked away from him.

  Fearfall dropped his head to his chest. ‘He told me to say that I found him in the forest. He said to say he was dead. That’s all.’

  Letta felt as though a fist had hit her. She remembered how she had felt when she heard that news, savaged by wild animals. He’d said that about Benjamin.

  ‘Did you see the wordsmith at all?’

  ‘No,’ Fearfall answered.

  ‘How did Noa know you?’

  ‘I am a scavenger. I bring him things.’

  ‘Things?’ Finn stopped pacing and looked at the man.

  ‘Things that are of interest to him.’

  ‘What was the last thing you brought to him?’

  Fearfall looked away.

  Finn waited a second. ‘Smith?’ he said, and this time his tone was laced with menace. Fearfall jumped as though he had been struck.

  ‘I don’t know. A canister. I thought the Green Warriors would want it.’

  ‘And did they?’

  The question was asked casually but Letta could feel the tension in the room.

  ‘Yes,’ the scavenger said.

  Finn paused. He looked at Letta. In the distance, she thought she heard a child cry.

  The interrogation continued.

  ‘Now, Smith,’ Finn said, ‘you are doing very well. A few more questions and you will be on your way home.’

  ‘May the Goddess curse you,’ Fearfall said glaring around the room.

  ‘The canister. What did it look like?’

  ‘I’m not telling any more,’ Fearfall said sulkily. ‘I’ve said enough.’

  Letta wanted to scream in frustration. Why wouldn’t the man just tell the truth? As though reading her mind, Marlo put a restraining hand on her arm.

  ‘What a pity!’ Finn said. ‘I had hoped to avoid unpleasantness. Dean!’ Finn turned to the man beside him. ‘The boy is outside. Get him. You know what to do.’

  Letta felt as though her heart had stopped beating.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the other man said, and turned to leave.

  ‘No!’

  The word came out more like a groan from Fearfall. Letta saw tears in his eyes.

  ‘Leave him,’ he said. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Tell me about the canister,’ Finn said.

  Fearfall shrugged. ‘It was silver. About a stride long.’

  ‘Did it have markings?’

  Fearfall shrugged again. ‘Letters,’ he said. ‘It had a string of letters written on the side of it. Now give me back my child!’

  ‘What were the letters?’ Finn pressed him.

  The scavenger shrugged. ‘I don’t remember,’ he said.

  ‘Try!’ Finn’s voice was cold.

  Fearfall’s eyes darted around the room like those of a trapped animal.

  ‘I don’t remember,’ he said again. ‘N, I think.’

  ‘N?’ Finn said. ‘What else?’

  Fearfall shook his head.

  ‘We will find out one way or another, you know that,’ Finn said. ‘You might as well tell us.’

  Again Fearfall shook his head.

  ‘Do you want to see your boy again? Do you?’

  ‘N-I-C-E-N-E.’ Fearfall coughed the letters out as though they were barbed hooks.

  Finn hesitated. ‘Nicene?’ he said.

  Fearfall nodded.

  ‘Very well. You shall have the boy back and you will leave here unharmed. However, next time you lie for Noa, it will not go easy for you. Or the boy. Remember that, Fearfall. One word to Noa and it’s all over. Now, let’s go over your story one more time.’

  In the distance Letta heard a child scream. The scavenger froze.

  ‘No harm will come to him,’ Finn said evenly.

  The child screamed again.

  No! Letta thought, her heart pounding. I can’t do this. She turned and left the room, not looking back.

  Once she was outside the door she could hear the child clearly, sobbing now. She followed the sound and it led her to a narrow room further along the corridor. She flung the door open, not knowing exactly what she expected to find. In the room, Fearfall’s son, the small boy she had seen in Tintown, was crouched on the floor, looking up at a young woman wearing a hood.

  ‘We won’t hurt you,’ the girl was saying. ‘Please stop crying.’

  But Letta could see the terror in the child’s eyes.

  ‘Bad people! Bad people!’ he screamed, the words like pellets flying around the room, his voice taut and full of fear.

  Letta pulled off her hood. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, kneeling down beside him. ‘It’s all right now.’

  ‘Keep your hood on,’ the girl said urgently, but Letta ignored her.

  Instead, she put her arms around the child and held him close.

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ she said to him. ‘Don’t be afraid. Your father come soon.’

  The child looked up at her, big brown eyes stained red from crying.

  ‘Bad people,’ he said again, but Letta could see that he was calming down.

  ‘Hush!’ she said. ‘All well now. All good.’

  Just then, the door opened and a hooded man stood there.

  ‘Put on your hood!’ he said to Letta. ‘Give me the boy.’

  She recognised his voice. It was the one Finn had called Dean.

  Letta stood up. ‘Let me take him,’ she said.

  ‘Hood!’ Dean said sharply.

  Reluctantly, she pulled on the hood. The little boy didn’t seem to mind. He clung to her hand and followed her.

  On the corridor, Fearfall was being held by two more hooded figures. The boy pulled away and rushed towards him. Fearfall picked him up, holding him tight, kissing his head, murmuring words of comfort.

  ‘Go!’ Finn said, appearing behind them, Marlo at his side.

  The small group moved on. As they passed Letta, the scavenger stopped, and Letta felt he was looking right at her despite the hood.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But –’

  ‘Desecrators!’ He spat the word at her. ‘Vermin!’

  With that, Dean pushed him on, and they all disappeared through the door. Letta pulled off her hood. She took a deep breath of fresh air. She barely noticed Finn and Marlo coming to her side.

  ‘Nicene,’ Finn said. ‘Any idea what that is?’

  Letta shook her head, finding it hard to look at him.

  ‘Something from the old days?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Finn said. ‘Gas or a chemical most likely. And it may be nothing, but –’

  Letta said, ‘I might know someone who would know,’ thinking about the old man she had met in Tintown. He’d been a scientist in the old days, she remembered.

  ‘Will you stay here tonight?’ Marlo asked her.

  ‘It might be safer,’ Finn added.

  Letta didn’t want to stay. She felt very uncomfortable about all that had happened. She wanted space to work it out. Her own space.

  ‘That is kind of you,’ she said. ‘But I think I should go home. I might be missed.’

  ‘Very well,’ Finn said. ‘Marlo will take you.’

  He seemed exhausted, now that the questioning was over. He walked past her slowly, touching her arm as he did so.

  ‘Go safely,’ he said.

  CHAPTER 19

  #192

  Scavenger

  Person collects old things, rubbish

  THERE was no light in Tintown. Letta walked hesitantly, terrified she would miss her step and fall. She tried to remember her route that last day she had been here. This time, there were no children running about, but she could sense people in the shadows, watching her. She hurried on. Was there someone following her? She straine
d to hear but her own heart was beating so loudly she couldn’t be certain. She stopped. A stone skidded somewhere behind her, tapping her ankle as it passed. Someone blocked her path. A man. She couldn’t make out his features but she could hear him breathing.

  ‘Who you? What you want?’ she said, trying to make herself sound confident.

  ‘You here again?’

  The voice was low, menacing. She tried to remember where she had heard it before. ‘Who you?’ she said again.

  ‘Go home,’ the man said. ‘Don’t come back. You hear?’

  He took a step towards her. Now she could feel his breath on her face. She had to get away. From behind her, a hand grabbed her shoulder.

  ‘Trouble?’

  She turned. A man stood behind her, tall and broad.

  ‘Well, Smith?’ His voice was low but firm.

  Smith! That is how she had known the voice. Smith Fearfall. The scavenger.

  ‘Girl no business here,’ Fearfall said. ‘No business.’

  ‘That true?’ The man squeezed her shoulder.

  Letta looked up. She could see him now.

  ‘Kirch,’ she said.

  It was the son of the old man she’d met the last time, the scientist. She could scarcely believe her good fortune.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Kirch. Have you business here?’

  ‘I come see your father,’ Letta said.

  ‘Does that answer question, Smith?’

  Kirch Tellon’s question to Smith Fearfall was a challenge. Letta was sure of that.

  ‘Girl is trouble,’ Fearfall said but he turned and walked away.

  ‘Come.’ Kirch Tellon took her hand. ‘Follow me.’

  Letta followed him, in and out, past huts piled one on top of the other, through the rank smells, the misery and the sense of hopelessness. Kirch stopped at a hut on the end of a row.

  ‘Smith Fearfall not bad man,’ he said, turning to her. ‘Desecrators took him and his son. Boy frightened bad.’

  She could hear his screams still. Bad people! Bad people! The terror in his eyes.

  ‘Why you talk to father?’

  Tellon’s voice woke her from her stupor.

  ‘I want ask him …,’ she stammered, ‘about something before Melting.’

  Kirch frowned.

  Letta pressed on. ‘And I bring healing herbs.’

  Kirch ducked under the low door into the hut. Letta followed. The house was not in complete darkness. A small candle glowed in one corner, enough to let Letta see the old man, slumped in a chair by the far wall.

  ‘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 realised that the smell was coming from the man’s leg, the gaping wound was now covered in yellow puss 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 sea-water. 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 grey cloth. From her bag, Letta took a tincture of calendula that 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 leant 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, odourless, colourless. 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 per cent 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 that you can destroy them?’

  ‘So that 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 towards Tintown and her heart ached for him. How could she have lived all this time on the edge of that hell-hole and not 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 learnt.

  Don’t drink the water!

  That was what Benjamin had said to her and she had thought that 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 nor 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.