by Jen Minkman
During the trip back to Hope Harbor, I’ve had plenty of time to think about what I would like to discuss with Nathan, but now that my feet find their way to his residence, I’m not so sure what to say anymore. Some acting assistant I am.
“I think you should organize a meeting,” I unceremoniously dump my idea on his unsuspecting head when I step into his library and walk over to the table he’s sitting at.
Nathan looks up, surprise in his eyes. “For whom?”
“Everybody. Let them know where you stand.”
He sighs. “It’s not that simple.”
“Well, it should be. How can you choose not to speak out against Phileas and his demented cult?” I snap at him.
A frown knits his eyebrows together. The Bookkeeper isn’t used to me speaking to him like this. “Alisa, the people are confused. They are looking for new meaning in their lives, and some people are having a hard time finding it. So they desperately cling to old wisdom.”
“But they’re vandals,” I mumble.
“I know.” He gets up and puts his hand on my shoulder. “But it’ll blow over.”
I shut up, because I’m afraid I’ll get really, really angry if I do speak. I don’t believe for a single second that it will blow over. With clenched fists, I take a step back. “If you really think so,” I finally mumble.
“We’ll give it some time,” he nods.
After that, we talk about the secret wharf near Newexter. I tell Nathan that Carl hired me as his courier to travel between the two towns. He immediately writes a letter to the Eldest that I can take with me on my first run tomorrow afternoon. After delivering that, I have to pick up a newsletter from Terry, who heads the team in the east. Secretly, I am glad I can flee the scene again soon – Hope Harbor isn’t getting any better, climate-wise. Tension between citizens is building, our squad of Peacekeepers is overworked and understaffed, and we still need more people patrolling the Wall.
That night, I drop by Ben’s place. He’s sitting on the quay in front of his cottage, smoking a cigarette with a face that spells disgust instead of enjoyment.
“Why are you smoking if you don’t like the taste?” I tease him, sitting down next to him.
Ben looks up. “It makes me relax,” he replies. “I just have to get used to the smokes over here. We always smoked different cigarettes in the manor house. Saul picks the best leaves.”
“I could bring you some if you want. I’m going back there tomorrow. Delivering a letter to the Eldest and getting news from Terry. Where do they sell your favorite tobacco?”
Ben shakes his head. “The best stuff isn’t for sale,” he says. “But…”
“But what?” I prompt him when he falls silent.
“You could drop by Saul and ask him. And then maybe I can write a letter to him that you can delivers. You know, so he hears from me every now and then.” Ben doesn’t look at me when he makes the suggestion. He nonchalantly takes a drag of the cigarette he doesn’t like.
“Sure,” I shrug. “Could you write something now? I don’t want to drop by here tomorrow just to pick it up. Too much hassle.”
“Fine.” Ben jumps up a tad too quickly to successfully maintain his mask of indifference.
A few minutes later he reappears with a hastily-scribbled note on old wrapping paper. “Here you go,” he says. “Only if you’ve got time.”
I smile. “Are you leaving for St Martin now?” I say, lowering my voice as though his assignment really needs to remain a secret.
Ben looks furtively around him. “Yes, two colleagues are giving me a ride in their carriage.”
“Good luck.” It must be kind of painful to work on a ship that isn’t ever meant to be finished, but nobody objected to my plan. I hope it will work.
The next morning, I set out to the temple to do Daryl a favor. He asked me to stand guard there with two colleagues. Samuel Senior’s progressives are using the side entrance to haul out expensive temple attire and other valuable objects in order to redistribute them among our less well-off citizens. Near the main entrance, a few peaceful Phileans are busy repairing the pillars that were damaged during the revolution. It doesn’t look like a fight between the two groups will erupt any time soon, but it’s best to err on the side of caution.
“What are you doing?” Wesley, one of my colleagues, addresses an elderly woman who passes us carrying a bucket of paint.
“We’re painting over the damaged bits,” she replies with a smile. “The holes were patched up with plaster yesterday, so now all they need is a new coat of paint.”
“All right,” he acquiesces. “If any of Sam’s men bother you, let us know.”
All the hubbub caused by Phileas almost made me forget that his opponent’s devotees aren’t exactly famous for their social skills either. Everybody who as much as hints at wanting to keep the temple intact is sure to get snubbed by them. Walt would never have put up with all of it, especially not after the whole speech he held at his grandpa’s funeral ceremony. But Walt isn’t here.
What is the best way to deal with the situation? Gloss over the dents in our faith by giving it a new coating, or do away with our old rituals all at once? There should be a midway solution, but I’m having a hard time finding it.
Once my morning shift is over, I happily take off to meet the Bookkeeper for the second part of my day. The tension between the progressives and the Phileans sucks up all of my energy, even though nothing of significance happened. I mount the horse that was given to me to run my errands and fall into a slow trot on my way to the Bookkeeper’s residence. One of his domestic servants hands me the letter I am supposed to give to the Eldest – which is partly a valid excuse to send me to Newexter, of course – and very soon, I am once again on my way to the unknown lands in the east, this time by myself.
Using Walt’s secret pathway is out of the question on horseback, so I follow the main road and let my mare make her way uphill at a leisurely pace. It takes about an hour to get to the small checkpoint keeping an eye on the passageway connecting the western and eastern Scilly Way.
“Good afternoon, Miss Alisa,” the guard greets me. He is a good friend of my dad’s, so he’s known me since forever. “Where’s the current taking you?”
I show him Nathan’s letter. “To the Eldest. The Bookkeeper is trying to keep in touch regularly, so you’ll see much more of me in the days to come.”
“Then I wish you fair winds and following seas. You know the way?”
“Yes, I’ve been here before.” Although I won’t take the route past the old manor house, but it’s safe to assume that the Scilly Way will lead me straight to the village square.
The afternoon has turned scorching hot by the time I get to the village hall. I spot a trough filled with fresh water and lead my horse there to let her drink first before heading into the hall. The same lady who announced my visit to the Eldest yesterday is sitting at reception.
“We were expecting you,” she says pleasantly. “He has asked me to give you this letter from Terry.” She pushes an envelope made of strange, brown paper across her desk. I wonder what they use to make paper here – probably other plants than we do. Suddenly I have to think of Ben’s tobacco.
“Thank you.” Absently, I put my own letter on the table. “And here’s the Bookkeeper’s letter to the Eldest. I’ll be here again tomorrow to deliver and collect new letters.”
The assistant gets up and disappears through a door, re-emerging seconds later with a mug of water. “You must be thirsty,” she says. “It’s a hot day to be on the road.”
I’m so parched that I could down the entire cup in three large gulps, but I’m deliberately prolonging the moment. Once I have finished my drink I will have to go back outside again, which means I will have to go and see Saul to deliver Ben’s letter. The idea makes me more nervous than I expected. Which is stupid – what is there to worry about? Saul will probably be elated when he finds out I’m bringing him news from Ben. Or less sullen than he was las
t time, at the very least.
With an anxiously-beating heart, I swing into the saddle and spur on my mare to follow the uphill path snaking away from the village hall. She hesitates, as if she can sense I’m not quite sure I want to go here. Or maybe she feels the dead are buried here. The idea still gives me the creeps.
When I dismount in front of the cabins, I don’t see anyone on the grassy clearing. Maybe Saul isn’t home. I stalk toward his house and knock on the door, but no one answers.
“He’s running errands,” I hear a familiar voice say. A voice with a clear Hope Harbor accent.
When I whip around, my eyes meet Finn, the dark-blond, youngest priest of our town. The banned thief and murderer.
“Oh,” I manage to choke out. “Will he be long?”
“I don’t know.” Finn’s slate-gray eyes bore into mine. His beard is no longer neatly trimmed – the hairs look frizzy and unkempt. Did he always have this many wrinkles? He looks like he aged a decade within the span of mere weeks.
“I have a message for him.” Hesitantly, I hold out Ben’s note, then change my mind. Ben wouldn’t want me to give Finn his letter. There’s nothing for it – I will have to wait for Saul’s return.
“How – how are things over in Hope Harbor?” Finn asks quietly.
I don’t want to talk to this man. Whether he was really involved in Yorrick’s murder or not, he must have known about it.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper, recoiling from the ex-priest. “Leave me alone.”
Finn pales. “Okay,” he just says, turning on his heels and rushing off so fast it’s as if Jesse is chasing him. For one immeasurable second I feel guilty about driving him away, and powerful because I can at the same time. For being able to scare away this man who lied to us for years and years. Then, I wrap my arms around myself and stare into the distance, at the trees swaying in the wind. Unmoved by the human drama unfolding on the island.
I jump out of my skin when Saul seems to emerge out of nowhere. I must have been deep in thought not to hear him approach. “What are you doing here?” he asks, not unkindly. A leather bag filled with groceries is dangling from his shoulder.
“Ben wants some tobacco,” I explain a bit clumsily, turning red when Saul slowly cocks an eyebrow.
“Does he now?” He smiles faintly. “What, he thinks I won’t be able to refuse you?”
“I had to come here anyway,” I reply. “I’m the courier between east and west. Here, Ben has written you a letter.” I quickly hand him the crumpled paper.
His mouth quivers almost imperceptibly. “Thank you.” This time, there is no mockery in his voice. He puts down his bag of groceries and sits down on a stool next to his hut to read Ben’s note.
I don’t really know what to do. Gaping at Saul as he reads his letter seems inappropriate, but taking a stroll and accidentally bumping into Finn or Bram is even less appealing. I bend down to pick up the bag and take it inside to unpack his purchases. Saul has fixed some shelves along the wall opposite the door. He keeps other food there, so that’s where I put the contents of the bag. In the corner, I see a table holding a set of ceramic cups and a jug that turns out to contain elderberry water. Since my mother always tells me that Annabelle favors the bold, I pour myself a cup and then go on to fill another one for Saul.
When I step back outside, he is still sitting where I left him. He has put the letter in his lap and stares at the other cabin, a dull pain in his eyes. As soon as he sees me, he sits up straight and puts on his mask of nonchalance. “Make yourself at home,” he says deadpan, shooting a glance at the two cups I’m holding.
“I also unpacked your groceries,” I comment, as if I need to defend myself, before handing him his drink. “Here, have some.”
I plunk down in the grass next to his stool and avoid his dark eyes. I only look back up when Saul pulls out a packet of dried leaves from his pants and starts rolling a strange-looking cigarette.
“You want one too?” he inquires with a lopsided little grin. “This is what you came for, right?”
I eye the dried plants suspiciously. “What is it, exactly?”
“This is what the Unbelieving savages of the east smoke for pleasure,” Saul replies tauntingly. “The substance Ben sent you out to get by braving enemy territory.”
The only person I ever smoked with was Yorrick. After his death, I quit. It reminded me too much of being with him. “Yeah, give me one,” I say, to my own surprise. “Relaxing might be good for me.”
He nods briefly and starts rolling another cigarette. “Will you get the candle from inside?”
“I could take them inside and light them there,” I suggest.
Saul shoots me a gauging look. “So this is not your first time,” he establishes, and somehow he makes it sound as if he’s talking about something else.
I blush, snatch the cigarettes from his outstretched hand, and stalk inside to light them in the candle flame. Closing my eyes for a moment, I exhale deeply. Why am I letting Saul get to me like this? I know his kind. His tough attitude shouldn’t get under my skin. Because that’s what it is – an attitude. He’s acting tough to hide his insecurity. Just like Yorrick.
I cringe when I realize I’m comparing Saul to my dead fiancé. What a stupid thing to do. Yorrick had a big mouth but also a heart of gold. Saul has an even bigger mouth and a bad character to match, the hole in his soul leeching out any gold that might be left. Maybe I should just get the heck away from this place.
Stepping outside, I catch Saul carefully putting away Ben’s letter, wiping his eyes.
“Here you go.” I hand him his cigarette and pretend I didn’t see.
I take a few drags of mine before finally answering the question he asked me before. “No, this is not my first time. I’ve smoked before.”
“Who with?”
“What do you mean, who with?”
Saul smiles lazily. “You don’t really strike me as the type of girl to light up all by herself.”
“I used to smoke with Yorrick.” Before he can ask me why I don’t anymore, I add: “He’s dead.”
He falls silent, inhaling the pungent smoke that Ben misses so much. “What happened?” he then breaks the silence.
“Yorrick was my boyfriend. My fiancé. He was going to succeed his dad, the Bookkeeper, but the three priests didn’t like the revolutionary plans he had for our town, so they threw him off the cliffs.” I exhale loudly. “The oldest of the three was executed by the townspeople, and the other two killers were let off the hook and moved to a nice private cabin in the woods to become your neighbors. That terrible guy Phileas who’s always going on about Annabelle’s guidance and wisdom has no idea what the priests did. If his followers only knew – if the people knew – but no, the Bookkeeper won’t speak out. He wants to give it time.” I spit out the words.
Saul eyes me incredulously after my sneering diatribe against Nathan. “Are you serious? Your leader didn’t even avenge his son’s murder?”
My shoulders slump. “We don’t know who actually did it. That’s not the point. My point is that I don’t understand we’re allowing Phileas to wreak havoc in our town. The man has to be stopped.”
“Phileas is the guy who wants to destroy your fleet?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you tell the Bookkeeper what you think?” Saul shakes his head. “He has to suppress this uprising immediately. By showing his teeth.”
I bite my lip. I must be boiling inside if I pick Saul, of all people, to vent to. On the other hand – he seems to understand how I feel.
“No.” I sigh. “We don’t work like that. I don’t need it to be violent or bloody. I just want…” Yeah, what do I want?
“Life to be easy,” Saul supplies sarcastically. “Well, I’ve got news for you – it isn’t. That’s why you have to harden yourself.”
“You truly think so?” I challenge him with my eyes. “And where has that taken you so far?”
Too late, I realize I’m be
ing far too confrontational. And unnecessarily so, at that. I’m not even angry with Saul – I’m angry with the world, and I hate how unfair everything is.
Saul stares at his feet. For just a second, I think he’s going to shout at me. His hands are clenched into fists and his knuckles are white. Then, he looks up and simply says: “Nowhere.” He remains silent for a long time, and finally finishes: “But that doesn’t mean it won’t work for you. If you think your people should know about certain things, then tell them. Don’t wait for some librarian to do it for you.”
“You’re right,” I admit. For the first time in days, I feel lighter. “Thanks for your advice.”
“Thanks for your letter,” Saul replies. He tucks the rest of his leaves into my hand. “Here, take all of it and give it to Ben. And if you want more, you know where to find me.”
“Yeah, sure,” I stammer.
Saul gets up without saying another word, disappearing into his self-constructed hut. When he doesn’t return anymore, I slowly put out my cigarette and walk back to my horse.
It’s time to have a difficult conversation with my former father-in-law.
14 – Alisa
It turns out I picked the right moment to take action.
When I stride into the meeting room of the town hall, I don’t just find Nathan there. The entire city council is with him – of which Phileas is still a member, ridiculously enough.
“How fortunate to come across all of you at once,” I say, raising my voice. I stand besides Nathan seated at the head of the table and let my eyes roam over the men and women gathered here. Samuel Senior is present as well. That’s even better. He’s not a member of the council, but he’s always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.
“Alisa?” The Bookkeeper gets up and puts his hand on my shoulder. “What’s up?”
“You know very well what’s up,” I bark back. “Intolerable things are happening in Hope Harbor, but somehow we choose to turn a blind eye to them.”
“What do you mean?” Eileen, a quiet, elderly woman from one of the farming suburbs, looks up at me.
