by Jay Posey
“Not yet. That’s right, not yet,” Fletcher said, chuckling and turning to look at Mull. “See, Mull, he ain’t dead yet.” Then he turned back to Blindfold and Blindfold’s head was up, like he was staring right at Fletcher, even though he couldn’t see nothing, and Fletcher felt something wasn’t right. Blindfold’s hair was long like a woman’s and dirty grey, and his coat was worn-through pretty good, and his hands was flat on his legs, palms down, and Fletcher saw his fingernails was all cracked and black in places like somebody been digging. “What’s your name, old man?”
“Today,” Blindfold said. “I am Faith.”
Creed laughed at that, and Fletcher thought Creed laughed too much, and Nice and Lady both started whining and turning circles on their leashes, and Sloan had to rough-talk ’em to get ’em to shut up.
“Faith, huh?” Fletcher said, smiling big and putting on a show for the boys, even though he didn’t much like how things was feeling. He took a step back to get a little distance, but did it all casual so it didn’t look like he was scared. “Didn’t know people still had any of that these parts.”
“I do.”
Fletcher heard Cup grunt behind him, and then he heard something heavy smash something else, and whatever it was must’ve broke from the racket it made.
“Yeah? And what you got faith in, Mister Faith man?”
“I had faith I’d find you here.”
Nice and Lady were whining bad now, like they did when storms come up, and they was getting Sloan tangled in the leashes, and he kicked Nice once and Creed wasn’t laughing no more.
“Sloan, shut them dogs up, will ya?” Mull said.
“Shut yerself up, Mull!” Sloan said.
Fletcher licked his lips because his mouth was all dry and he was going to ask some more questions, but something just wasn’t right, so he decided he was done.
“Alright, Mull,” he said.
“Yep,” said Mull, and Mull stepped up, and Fletcher wondered if it was good or bad that ol’ Blindfold couldn’t see it coming. But all sudden-like Blindfold come up on one knee and he was close, way closer than Fletcher thought he could be, and there was a quick noise like water, and Nice and Lady broke running, and Mull made a little coughing sound.
“Fletcher…” Mull said, and he was looking down, and Fletcher looked down, and Mull had his hand on the jittergun – but the gun was still in the holster, and there was a piece of steel through his wrist and up deep into his belly and out his back, and Fletcher followed the steel back to Blindfold’s hand and realized it was a blade.
“Well…” said Fletcher, but he didn’t know why. And then Blindfold took his sword back and Mull fell down on his knees.
“Fletcher…” Mull said.
Creed and Yeager both went for their guns then – and Blindfold went backwards like he was on a cord that got yanked, and went past Sloan and cut Yeager, then turned a little half circle, and Creed fell down screaming. Blindfold made a little circle in front of him with his sword like he was cutting air, but it made red spray up, and then Creed quit screaming.
Sloan was used to having the dogs, so he was still trying to get out his knife when Blindfold went past him again fast; and Sloan didn’t make no noise, he just tip over.
Fletcher was backing up then, backing up past Cup and Mags, and Blindfold coming right at them. And Mags had got his two-gun out by then and he shot both barrels of it, and Blindfold went down in the street. But turned out he was rolling and Mags just hit Cup with all his shooting, and Cup fell down. And then Blindfold took Mags at the knees and did something else too fast to follow, and Mags went backwards making a sound like a whistle gurgling.
Then Cup went crazy.
He got up all bloody in the front and screamed, and picked up a broken chunk of street three times bigger than his head – and had it over his head like he was going to smash Blindfold, but Blindfold turned around real fast and Cup’s hands come off, and the piece of street fell on him, and his face hit the ground real hard, and he moved some and groaned, but his head was broke.
And then Blindfold was on one knee in front of Fletcher, and he had a sword in his hand and it had red on it, and Fletcher hurt in the middle, and his shirt and pants was all warm and wet, and he realized his gun was still in his holster – and he hadn’t even thought about getting it out until just now.
“I knew you wasn’t right,” he said, and his voice sounded funny, like he was talking out the bottom of a well. Maybe he could get his gun out now. “I knew it.”
Blindfold didn’t say nothing, he just stood up and slung his blade out to the side, and all the red went sliding right off it like it’d never even touched it, then he put it somewhere in his big coat. Fletcher realized he was setting down, but he couldn’t remember setting down; and he kept thinking if Fletcher could ask enough questions, he’d figure out what ol’ Blindfold was up to and maybe then he could get his gun out and kill him.
“You come all the way out here, just for us?” Fletcher asked.
“No,” Blindfold said. “You were on the way.”
It was going dark, and Fletcher wondered if it was just his eyes, but then one of them howlies made a cry somewhere not real far off, and that meant the sun was going down. Blindfold didn’t seem to be in no hurry though, just buttoning his rag-man coat like he was on his way to a funeral.
“Way to where?” he asked.
“East. There’s a city.”
Fletcher felt real tired and he figured if he laid down on his side, it’d be easier to get the pistol out the holster, and he was going to need that for killing Blindfold, and then again when the howlies come, so he leaned over sideways on an elbow. Blindfold started walking away, and Fletcher never had no worries about shooting a man in the back so long as he didn’t get too far off, so he called after him. It didn’t hurt none no more.
“Hey! What’s it got there worth seein’?”
Ol’ Blindfold stopped for a second and turned over his shoulder, but not really looking at Fletcher, like he was thinking about it.
“Demons,” he said.
Then he just walked off.
Fletcher never did get that gun out.
FOUR
Night had fallen over Morningside, and with it came an uneasy sort of quiet without any peace. The kind of quiet that made Wren think of waiting in the clinic – when everyone was just sitting there not talking, and he knew he had to get a shot – and the whole time it felt like nobody was talking because they were all too busy thinking about how much it was going to hurt. The whole city felt like that to him now, like all those people were just out there, waiting. Waiting and thinking about how much it was going to hurt.
When he’d first come, Morningside had seemed so clean and perfect. All clean lines and smooth curves, and room enough for everything, and everything right where it belonged. After just a few days inside the wall, it was hard to remember how broken everything was beyond it. Broken, and dirty, and never enough of anything – except the stuff you didn’t want and too much of that; too much cold, too much hunger, too much fear.
But not here. Not inside. There were wide roads, all smooth without any cracks or holes, and lights all along the sides so you could walk from the governor’s compound to the main gate and back without ever stepping on a shadow if you wanted. And shops all along both sides, where you could find just about anything you wanted. Places to get all kinds of foods, foods Wren had never even been able to imagine before he came here. Stores that only sold beds, with so many inside the first time he’d seen one he asked the owner if the whole city slept there. And the owner had just laughed and laughed and patted him on the head like it was the funniest thing anyone had ever said. And there were shops with clothes that were brand new that no one else had ever worn, and they’d make to fit you, no matter how small you were for your age.
Even the people, the people seemed like they’d been made with the city, at the same time, by the same hands. All clean and gracious and never touched by a
nything sad. At least that’s how they’d seemed when he’d first come to Morningside. Now Wren knew how it was, though. He’d gotten a really good look for himself. People were still people, no matter how good they had it. They always brought the broken in with them.
Wren hadn’t been out at night in a few days, and hadn’t been outside the wall in, what was it… almost three months now? Not since the night he’d snuck out through the secret tunnel that ran from the compound to a hidden place outside. The night he’d felt like if he stayed in the compound another minute, his insides would’ve gotten all crushed down, and Wren would never have been able to breathe ever again. The night he’d woken Painter.
Mama had been mad about that; mad about him sneaking out, mad about the gashes he came home with, all along his ribs. Madder than Wren could ever remember seeing her. And North had just shaken his head and said he was disappointed, and that had hurt the worst. But they’d rescued Painter – Wren and Mouse and Able – and then, they’d gone back out and found him and brought him in, and that had made it all worthwhile. Painter was a good friend; kind and generous. Almost like an older brother. A good older brother. Not like the other kind.
And now Wren had to take him heavy news. It’d taken all of Wren’s powers of persuasion, but he’d finally managed to convince his mother to let him leave the compound on his most solemn vow that he’d go only to Mister Sun’s Tea House and come straight back when he was done. Only Able accompanied Wren, to avoid attracting the attention that his usual contingent of guards would’ve drawn; Able had done all the convincing on that one. Well, only Able was right there with him. There were others, others walking ahead and others walking behind – Mouse and Wick and Gamble, always watchful. And Wren was pretty sure that Mama was out there somewhere, keeping her distance and keeping an eye on them. She’d gotten better at hiding herself from him since… since she woke up.
Able had taken him in a meandering path, spiraling out from the governor’s compound and throughout the city. There were fewer people out on the streets, as Able had said. Since the night of the attack. For the most part, those they passed nodded silent greetings or ignored them, and Able was cautious about letting anyone trail them for long.
After about twenty minutes into what was normally a ten-minute walk, they finally reached the Tea House. Wren felt Able’s hand on his shoulder, turning him gently.
Five minutes, Able signed. If he won’t come, we leave without him.
Wren nodded.
And don’t take off the hat.
Wren nodded. He hated the hat. It was round and flat, with a low brim and a stupid orange fluffy ball on top of it, but apparently a lot of kids his age wore them. Well, not his age. Kids his size. Younger ones.
Able held out his hand, and Wren took it, and together they went up the steps into the Tea House, hopefully looking to any casual observer like a father and son out for a quick cup of Mister Sun’s famous Dreamtime Blend. Wren was nervous, knowing the coming conversation wouldn’t be easy, and knowing no one else could have it but him.
But the instant they crossed through the door, Wren felt himself relax, like he was crawling back into a warm bed on a cold morning. Mister Sun’s Tea House was just like that.
The main room was a little dimmer than Wren’s eyes were used to, even coming in out of the night. It was lit mainly by little flickering lights placed all around that looked like something Mister Sun called candles, except real candles used real fire, he said. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so. And Wren’s favorite thing: there was a wide pool with a little bridge over it, and real fish swimming in it. There was a fountain that fed the pool, made to look like a little stream, and another one going out the other side, so that the stream went around the entire central room – and the sound of it always gave Wren the impression of rain on a roof. It was a drowsy atmosphere, with a low drone of quiet conversation and the soothing scents of tea and herbs and honeyed cakes drifting through.
Mister Sun came over to greet his newest customers, like he did for every single one, hunched over with his crooked back and always his smile. “Hello, my friend,” he said, beaming. Mister Sun called everyone “my friend”. “Hello, so good to see you, my friend!”
When he got close, he gave a little start as he recognized Wren, and his eyes went to Able, who shook his head ever so slightly. Mister Sun nodded, hardly missing a beat, and held out his good hand to direct them towards an empty table towards the back.
No one actually knew what Mister Sun’s real name was, but Aron had told Wren that back a long time ago, when he first opened the Tea House, some woman had said he was the city’s night-time sun, and eventually everyone just started calling him that.
He escorted them through the main room, his warm patter comforting everyone he passed, reassuring them that absolutely nothing out of the ordinary was going on. “We have seven teas tonight for special, only seven, I’m so sorry, my friend, but maybe tomorrow night you’ll come earlier?” He chuckled. “Out past bedtime, yes? Does Mother know? Boys’ night out, is it? Or, ha ha – boys snuck out while Mother has girls’ night out, I bet! I bet so, my friend, I bet so!” Though Mister Sun was friendly with everyone, he was truly a friend to the Governor, and doing a masterful job of covering Able’s silence with a rhythm of his own words that implied more than was actually there. A casual listener would’ve assumed there were two sides to the one-sided conversation, the soft-spoken father’s responses lost to the gentle hum of the room.
“Here you are, my friend,” he said, pulling a chair out for Wren. “Dreamtime as usual? Excellent, and for Father?”
We need to see Painter, Able signed.
“Two Dreamtime, very fine, very fine.” Mister Sun nodded. He bowed slightly, smiling all the way, and drifted easily towards the back room. “My friend, drink up and go home before Wife comes to find you!” he said to some regular at another table, earning a good-natured chuckle. He disappeared through a swinging door.
Wren kept his eyes on the table in front of him, drawing little figure eights with his index finger on the smooth, polished surface. Trying to think of what to say, how to say it.
A few moments later Mister Sun glided up to table with a tray balanced expertly on the back of his withered left hand, a small pot and two matching handleless mugs upon it. As he arranged the items on the table with his other hand, he leaned closer to Wren, as if listening intently.
“To see how we blend?” he said. “Of course, my friend, of course, if it is OK with Father?” Able nodded, and held up five fingers. “Five minutes. Yes, yes, come with me.” And Mister Sun stepped back, took Wren’s hand, and led him casually back to the back room, conveniently shielding Wren from the other customers by bending in front of him, talking the whole way. “I think you will find it very interesting, my friend, very interesting, and you can surprise Mother with what you learn. Unless Mother isn’t supposed to know!”
Mister Sun shepherded Wren through the swinging door and into a little side room, where Painter was already waiting for him.
“Thanks, Mister Sun,” Wren said.
“Of course, Master Wren, anything and everything for you, always.” He bowed a little, and then stepped out and closed the door to the room, leaving Wren and Painter together.
“Hi, Painter,” Wren said.
“Hey, Wruh- Wruh- Wruh…” Painter said, struggling to get his mouth around the words. He shook his head once, hard, like he was trying to crack his neck. “Hey, Wren. How’re things?”
Wren shrugged and looked at the floor. No reason to lie about it. “Not so great.”
Painter nodded. “Because of that Council mmmm-meeting?”
“Sort of. And other stuff.”
Painter nodded again, and the two stood in silence for a moment.
“Painter, I have to tell you something.”
“OK.”
“But before I tell you, I have to ask you to promise you won’t tell anybody else.”
“Alrrr- alrrrr…” t
he word caught in his mouth. Painter stopped himself, took a deep breath, and tried again. “Alright.”
“It’s really important that nobody else finds out, OK? Like, really important.”
“I won’t tuh…” Painter fought another word out. Wren waited patiently. “…tell anyone.”
“OK. Well. OK. The night before you and Luck… you know, before you came to visit. Something happened. At the compound.” Wren felt a rush of adrenaline, the memory of the attack freshly renewed, now with new dreadful significance. Painter remained silent, attentive. “Someone got in. A girl. And she tried to… hurt… me.” He couldn’t bring himself to say what she was really there to do.
Painter’s unnatural eyes widened in perfectly natural surprise. “She ah… attacked you?” he asked.
“She tried, but I heard her coming and I got away. But, she didn’t. She hurt herself.” Wren felt tears welling up again at the thought, and put a finger in the corner of his eye to try to stop it. “I guess she didn’t want to get caught, and she hurt herself, Painter. And I wanted to help her, and Mouse – he would have if there was something he could’ve done, but she was too hurt. She died.”
Painter reached over and put a hand on Wren’s shoulder, and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry. That must have b- must have been terrible.”
Now the hard part. “I think she was someone you know,” Wren said.
“Me?”
Wren nodded. “We didn’t know who she was, not until today. We were trying to find out, but everyone was trying so hard to be careful and not give anything away. We didn’t find out until Miss Rae talked to some of people from the West Wall.” The West Wall was where a lot of the folks who used to live outside had made their camp. “They think her name…” Wren struggled to force the words out. “They think it was Snow.”
Wren saw the confusion on Painter’s face, watched as he slowly made the connection and then started shaking his head in disbelief. His hand slipped slowly off of Wren’s shoulder.
