by Bobby Adair
"At this very moment?" Fitz looked back at the blazing fire in the hearth. "Brighton's future. The questions are all too complex, and I don't know any of the answers. What bothers me most is what happens when the next Tenbrook comes."
"There'll be no next Tenbrook," Ginger said firmly. "You're our leader. Where would a Tenbrook come from?"
"One day, I'll die," said Fitz. "And someone will come after me. Maybe that person will be good. I hope so. But everybody in Brighton knows the story of our founders, Lady and Bruce. Lady was strong. She knew everything, never made a mistake—"
"According to legend," Ginger interrupted. "But legends are just lies with all the crusty parts polished off."
"Yes." Fitz laughed darkly. "But I don't know who followed Lady as the leader of Brighton, or who came after. The legends don't tell us those things. But eventually those leaders led to Blackthorn, and Winthrop, and Tenbrook."
"And Beck," added Ginger.
"Do you think Beck's a bad man?" asked Fitz. "I never knew him well. I got to know Scholar Evan, and he held Minister Beck in high regard."
"I don't trust him." Ginger looked like she wanted to spit. "He was part of the Council."
Shaking her head, Fitz mused, "The Council was just Blackthorn, though, wasn't it? Everybody in Brighton knew who was in charge. And it wasn't Beck."
"But Beck was there at every Cleansing," argued Ginger. "How many burned while he sat on the dais and watched? His hands are as bloody as Blackthorn's."
"All of us watched," said Fitz. "Thousands, all afraid to raise a sickle or a pitchfork to a few hundred blue shirts and cavalry. Are our hands bloody, too?"
Ginger turned to the fire with a scowl on her face.
"What about Winthrop?" Fitz asked.
"A pig," spat Ginger. "Don't compare him to any woman in Brighton."
"No comparison," said Fitz, shaking her head. "That's another issue we face. With all his injuries, I don't understand why he won't die. What will we do with him?"
"Burn him, of course." Ginger sat up straight in her chair and turned to Fitz with an intense look on her face. "No one deserves it more than him."
"I agree," responded Fitz, "but when we put him on the pyre, does that not make us just like him? We'll stand on the dais and proclaim his death, and someone will put a torch to the wood, just as the Elders did to many others."
"Everyone will jump at the chance."
"And everyone will be guilty."
"Guilty isn't the right word," Ginger argued.
"Again, I agree with you," said Fitz. "But I'm afraid of what happens after that. Even if putting Winthrop on the pyre is right, will that make it easier to burn the next one? And the next? And if we do that, does there come a day when the pyre waits for anyone we dislike? And what about The Cleansing? Do we still burn the unclean?"
Ginger crossed her arms and slumped in her chair. "Maybe Winthrop will do us all a favor and die tonight."
"Knowing him, he won't. It's ingrained in his bones to hurt others," said Fitz. "While his heart beats, others will suffer."
"Let's burn Winthrop," said Ginger resolutely, "and then ban the pyre. Let's do away with it."
"What about the unclean?" asked Fitz. "What about the Cleansings?"
"You have a three hundred-year-old genius monster in the Academy. Maybe he knows."
"Should we put him on the New Council?" asked Fitz.
Ginger laughed. "I'm not sure what some of these women will do…"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know," admitted Ginger. "I honestly don't. Half of the women in Brighton are pig-headed and ignorant. But…"
"But?"
Ginger smiled, and her eyes were a little glassy with held tears. "We beat the demon horde together. All of us. No General Blackthorn. No militia. No cavalry. We did that, we weak and stupid women." Ginger laughed out loud.
"No man will call women weak and stupid again," said Fitz, with resolve on her face. "Not in Brighton."
Chapter 105: Beck
"You've been quiet ever since we got to the Academy," Jingo said.
Beck broke from his trance, looking from the chair he was sitting in and around the library, which was lined with mostly empty shelves, homes for books the Academy hoped to add to their meager collection. Ancient artifacts gave the shelves the appearance of purpose. Old pictures covered the walls.
Earlier, the room had been filled with the Scholars, welcoming him back. After the kind words had been said, almost everyone had retired to their quarters except Beck and Jingo. Beck could still hear some of Fitz's cavalry women in the hallway. They were shifting and talking, and it didn't sound like they were leaving.
"We should probably stay here a while," Beck said.
"A smart idea," Jingo said, nodding. "The townspeople are already deciding what to do with Winthrop. They don't trust us."
"I spoke with Adam-John about being my representative, until things settle," Beck said.
"Probably good, as well," Jingo agreed.
"He'll be requesting a seat for myself and a few others from the Academy on the New Council. And for you, of course."
"Hopefully they grant it," Jingo said with a nod. After a pause, he asked, "Are you upset about what happened to Scholar Evan?"
"I feel like his death has been added to the toll of many others on my hands." Beck stared from the walls, back to his hands. "Evan knew what he was participating in. But I feel responsible, just the same. Lack of planning and logic has led to many of the outcomes that have plagued Brighton. I was sad to hear of his death, and the deaths of the other insurgents."
Shame filled Beck's face as he realized he'd barely given a thought to the Academy—or Brighton—in his absence. He'd been too busy worrying about keeping himself alive.
"As you know, there is nothing that can be done to change the past," Jingo said.
"Of course not, but I hope to avoid such things from happening in the future." Beck sighed. "Perhaps being in the wild has given me a new perspective on what it means to survive. We separated ourselves from the demons by the circle wall, but maybe we weren't so different, after all."
"A keen observation."
Beck fell quiet for a moment, reflecting. "In any case, I'm glad to be back to Brighton. We'll see where things go from here."
Chapter 106: Fitz
Unexpected pounding on the door startled both Fitz and Ginger.
Ginger stood with her hand on her sword, looking to Fitz.
"Who can that be?"
"I have no idea," said Fitz.
Ginger opened the door to a flurry of snow and Adam-John rushing in out of the cold.
Though Ginger had drawn her sword half out of its scabbard, no other person followed Adam-John in. She glanced quickly at the dark outside, and closed the heavy door.
"It seems no one is sleeping tonight," said Fitz, motioning to one of the chairs at the table.
"Why are you here?" demanded Ginger, suspicious.
"I saw the fire burning through the window as I crossed the square," said Adam-John.
"Why were you crossing the square so late at night in this weather?" Ginger pushed.
Adam-John was taken aback as he realized he was being interrogated. "I meant no harm." He pointed through the window in the direction of the main gate. "I was doing my work."
"Work?" Ginger asked. "What work do you have at night? You should be sleeping, like the rest of them."
"Ginger," Fitz said in a calming voice. "Let him tell us why he's here."
Adam-John turned to Fitz but glanced at Ginger once more, uneasy. "You may think it odd, but I gathered many of the Scholars and some volunteers who had their numbers." Adam-John paused, pursed his lips, and then continued. "We were counting the dead."
"Our dead soldiers?" asked Ginger.
"Why don't you sit?" asked Fitz, waving a hand again at the chair. "Ginger, would you run to the kitchen and see if you can get something warm for Adam-John to drink?"
"I'm n
o serving girl," Ginger shot back.
"Good people show their guests hospitality," Fitz told her.
Ginger scowled at Adam-John and then headed to the open door that led into the kitchen.
"We counted our dead soldiers, as well as the wounded," said Adam-John. "We also counted the dead demons."
Fitz nodded. "Why tonight, with the snow coming down?"
"Some kinds of knowledge can only be learned when they are available."
"I don't know what that means." Now Fitz was suspicious.
"Me, neither," said Ginger, coming out if the kitchen with three cups nestled in her hands. She crossed over to the table and sat them down, scooting one each in front of Fitz and Adam-John. She seated herself in front of the third cup.
"We made new weapons for the battle," said Adam-John. "We tried tactics that have never been attempted before. I believe it is important to know which weapons and which tactics were most effective. As we counted the dead demons, we tried to guess what had killed them: a spear, a stone, horse trampling, falling off the wall, or the large stones from the catapults…or bullets."
Fitz sat up straight and looked at Ginger, who was just as curious. "Bullets? How many did Oliver and his new friends kill with their rifles?"
"Nearly two thousand," answered Adam-John.
"You're lying," Ginger told him, with no hint of doubt.
"I'm not," answered Adam-John. "Go outside the wall when the sun comes up. Dig through the snow and look at the bodies yourself. If the wounds do not convince you, then look at where the bodies lay in the fields near the east gate. No one was there to kill them except the five with rifles. If you believe I'm lying, it's easy enough to find out the truth yourself."
Ginger huffed, but didn't say more about it.
"What else?" asked Fitz.
"It may seem obvious, but we won a great victory today. The numbers prove it. But nearly seven hundred women, men, and children were killed." Adam-John looked down at his hands in sudden shame.
"What?" asked Fitz.
"Most of our dead we found lying face down with bite marks to their backs and necks. It appeared to us they were slain while fleeing. If they had not fled… If I had not run away, fewer would have died."
"Cowardice kills," said Fitz.
Adam-John coughed, and seemed stuck.
"Speak," Ginger told him.
Looking at Fitz, Adam-John said, "I was a coward. I ran. When you rode that horse up to me in the battle, it shamed me. You made me stand my ground. You had courage, when I didn't."
"Are you trying to apologize?" Ginger mocked.
Fitz put a hand on Ginger's arm to silence her.
"Yes," admitted Adam-John. "I am trying to apologize. Fitzgerald, you saved me, and you saved Brighton." He drew a deep breath and went on. "I will not let false humility keep me from saying that I am more intelligent than most women. I'll admit, though, that it was bigotry that made me look down only on women. With the exception of Minister Beck and Scholar Evan, I'm more intelligent than every man I've ever met."
"So we're all stupid?" Ginger scoffed. "Doesn't sound like an apology to me."
"I am good at what I do," said Adam-John. "I study. I learn. I try to figure things out. But you, Ginger, have shown a talent with the sword, and led the cavalry with great success. And you, Fitzgerald, led Brighton. More importantly, you charged into the horde with only a sword in your hand and six riders at your back. You should have been killed. I thought you would be, but through your bravery, all of Brighton lives."
Adam-John took another deep breath and collected his thoughts. "I understand now that perhaps different people have different talents, and all those talents have value. No one is better than another. They are simply different. What I'm trying to say, in the most convoluted way, is that you have my respect. I can't speak for Brighton, but I can speak for the Academy. You have our respect and support as the leader of our city."
As unexpected as that was, Fitz said, "Thank you. Sincerely."
"What about Beck?" asked Ginger, not quite as taken by Adam-John's newfound humility as Fitz. "Oliver said he was planning to overthrow Tenbrook. Any child would guess he could only do that with the full support of his underlings in the Academy. Does he still have designs on making himself the king of Brighton?"
"That was never his desire," Adam-John argued. "We at the Academy saw the sickness in Brighton, just as you did. It was that sickness we wanted to cure. We wanted to cure it with knowledge."
"It sounded like swords to me," Fitz told him.
"It was," admitted Adam-John, "initially. But armed rebellion was only a means to make a change that needed to be made. Was that not the method you chose when you did away with Tenbrook?"
"It was." This time it was Fitz's turn to admit something.
"Our hope was to change Brighton's direction," said Adam-John, "to make it a less brutal, less superstitious, less ignorant place. The famine that General Blackthorn wanted to avoid by killing the army in the Ancient City could have been avoided through proper planning, based on facts and good choices, not Father Winthrop's superstition, or Blackthorn's fetish for sustaining his cavalry and his blue shirts at the expense of Brighton's welfare."
"We're in agreement on our goals," Fitz told him. "Do you believe together we can make Brighton this better place that you hope for?"
"We've taken a first step," said Adam-John. "I will work with you to succeed, if you'll accept my assistance."
"I will," Fitz told him, "but what of Minister Beck? Will he work with us, or will he undermine us and foment revolution?"
"He tells me he will support us," answered Adam-John, quickly. "However, he believes his experience in governance is too valuable to dismiss, and he wishes to do his part."
"He wants to be on the New Council?" asked Ginger, still not convinced of the Scholar's sincerity.
"He does," answered Adam-John.
"How do we know we can trust him?" asked Fitz.
"If my word has any value, I vouch for Beck. He is egotistical and self-righteous, but he is a good man. He will always put Brighton's needs above his own."
"You're just saying that because you're one of his girly Scholar boys," Ginger spat.
Looking at Fitz, Adam-John said, "Franklin and Oliver were Winthrop's novices. You worked for him, as well. Would you defend Winthrop's reputation?"
Fitz looked at Ginger.
Ginger glowered and changed the subject. "We're going to burn Winthrop."
Fitz nodded to confirm. "He doesn't want to do us the favor of dying on his own."
Adam-John looked disappointed.
"You're not happy about that?" asked Fitz.
"Burning Winthrop would be a fitting end. He's a wicked beast of a man."
"But?" asked Fitz.
"Before his death," said Adam-John, "Franklin spoke out against the pyre. After Tenbrook's fall, you spoke out against it as well. When will the last pyre burn? Or will we fall into the ways of our predecessors and repeat their mistakes?"
"Winthrop can't be allowed to live," Ginger argued. "You know that, don't you? Please tell me, with all the intelligence you claim to have, you at least know that."
"For his crimes," agreed Adam-John. "Yes, I know that."
"What do you suggest, then?" asked Fitz. "Do you have another idea?"
"Perhaps," said Adam-John, "you do not burn Father Winthrop. Instead, leave it up to the people of Brighton."
"Ask them?"
"Not exactly," said Adam-John. "If it were up to me, I'd pass the word that the pyre will be no more. Brighton will face its future without it. How we will handle the infected men and women? I don't yet know, but murdering them without knowing whether they might turn—or become more intelligent, like Jingo—is a sin that we can commit no more. Just the same, we cannot use the pyre to kill those who fall into political disfavor. We all know too well it has been used for that in the past."
Fitz and Ginger both nodded agreement.
"We
should spread the word that if the people of Brighton want our last pyre to be for Father Winthrop, they'll need to build it with their own hands," said Adam-John. "Every woman, man, and child in town who wants to see him on the flames should bring one piece of wood and stack it in the square. At sundown tomorrow, if a pile of wood exists that is tall enough to do the work, we put Father Winthrop on the pole and send him to his gods."
"And if there is no pile of wood?" asked Fitz.
"Then the New Council will have another difficult question to answer next time they meet."
Chapter 107: Ivory
After a long cold night outside, trepidation filled Ivory as he stepped through the front door of his house, the morning sun at his back. The last time he'd set foot inside, he'd found Minister Beck waiting at the table, telling him his father had died. Now the place was empty. He could still smell the faint remnants of the last rabbits he'd cooked, mixed with the odor of several rotting vegetables he'd left behind in his rush to get away and back to the Ancient City.
It was hard to believe how much things had changed during his last trip—for him, for Melora.
For Brighton.
"Come in," Ivory said, turning and motioning to Melora.
She walked in behind him. "This is your home."
"It is." Ivory shrugged as he looked around. "Although it doesn't feel like it at the moment. The house always has a certain strangeness to it, after so many days in the wild."
"It's bigger than my home in Davenport," Melora said.
They walked over to the table and set down their rifles and bags. Ivory began unpacking some of his things. "I'm surprised you wanted to stay out so long last night, helping Adam-John and his Scholars instead of coming back to sleep or celebrating with the others."
"The Scholars and volunteers were doing important work," Melora said, taking a seat at the table. "I liked watching you count. I thought I might learn something." She drummed her fingers nervously.
After days in the wild, Ivory had learned to read her mood. She wanted to say something.
"What is it?" he asked.
