by Jane Abbott
He didn’t miss a beat. ‘Then Garrick is smarter than I thought.’
‘Garrick’s a lot of things. He’s your worst nightmare.’
Ballard’s eyes darkened. ‘Perhaps. But he’s also yours.’
But Garrick had been that for eight years and I’d learned to live with it. Ballard, on the other hand, didn’t have a clue. I shrugged, not caring; he’d find out soon enough.
There was a long and uncomfortable silence before he sighed and nodded to Tate, and once again the rope came out.
‘Another outing?’ I asked. This chance to walk properly again so soon, and escape the confines of my room, was unexpected.
‘It’s time you started earning your keep,’ Ballard said. ‘Alex needs help in the infirmary.’
‘More people you need putting down?’ I jeered, regretting it when Tate punished me with the rope.
‘I really hope you have other skills, Jem. Otherwise, your usefulness is limited,’ Ballard said. ‘Apparently you made an impression on the boy. Tate and Alex told me all about your little promise, but right now he needs more practical assistance.’
‘You want me to nursemaid a kid?’
Ballard raised an eyebrow. ‘D’you have anything better to do?’
A dozen things came to mind, none of them possible. ‘Not yet.’
‘Then Tate will escort you. But don’t annoy him too much. He’s not in a very good mood this morning.’
No kidding. I strained against the rope and Tate jerked it again, pushing me out of the room. I felt his menace all the way to the infirmary. Gone was the gentle giant, though I wasn’t sure what I’d done to anger him. Maybe he’d found out about Alex’s visit the night before. Maybe he was annoyed I was still hanging around, taking up so much of his precious time. Maybe he was just an arsehole.
Connor had been moved to the cot where Marin had last lain, and I hoped he was okay. I wasn’t looking forward to spending any more time with him, but it didn’t mean I wished him ill. Like Marin, he’d already suffered enough.
‘Please, Connor,’ Alex was saying as we neared. ‘You need to eat. You have to keep up your strength.’
Connor scowled. ‘Tastes like crap.’
It seemed Tate wasn’t the only one in a bad mood, and I smiled. There was nothing wrong with the boy. Apart from the fact that he had no hands.
‘She’s right, you know,’ I told him, and Alex looked around, almost with relief.
Getting up, she thrust the bowl at me. ‘Here, you do it. He won’t listen to me.’
She wasn’t too forthcoming with the pleasantries, and I stared at her, looking for the woman who’d come to my room and cried and kissed my hands. It seemed filthy moods were the order of the day.
‘I’m not doing anything with this around my neck,’ I said.
‘Take it all off,’ she told Tate, and when he grumbled she snapped, ‘You can’t hold on to him all day, and he’s no help if he can’t use his hands.’
Once free, I spooned some of the slops into my mouth. It was cold and congealed and even more tasteless than I’d been given. I spat it out again.
‘He’s right, this is crap. Bring him some dried meat and a bit of bread. Please,’ I added, showing her how it was done.
‘Too salty,’ Alex said. ‘It’ll make him sick.’
I looked at Connor with his bandaged stumps. ‘I reckon that’s the least of his problems, don’t you?’
A long pause before she snatched the bowl from me and stalked off. It felt good to order her around again. Sometimes the smallest things bring the greatest joy.
‘Well, you told her,’ Connor said with a quick grin.
‘Sure did,’ I replied, wondering where the timid boy of yesterday had gone, the one who’d sat and let Alex spoon-feed him; the one who’d seemed both fascinated and terrified by my presence. I looked around. There was no chair. ‘Can I sit down?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, wriggling over to make room, careful not to press his stumps onto the mattress. ‘Alex said I didn’t need to be scared of you.’
‘Alex is right.’ I pointed at Tate. ‘What about him? He scare you?’
Connor snorted. ‘No, Tate’s nice. He reads to me sometimes.’
‘What about Alex?’
‘Nah, she’s real pretty,’ he said, then grinned. ‘And she’s got nice tits.’
I laughed, and a few heads turned. Laughter was a stranger in that place. ‘Aren’t you a bit young to notice things like that?’
‘I’m old enough,’ he said scornfully, like no boy was ever too young to appreciate tits.
‘Yeah? How old? Eight? Nine?’
‘Dunno. You?’
‘Dunno,’ I replied and we sized each other up for a bit.
‘Then I guess we’re the same, you and me,’ Connor said at last.
‘Yeah,’ I lied. ‘I guess we are.’
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
‘Jem.’
He thought about it. ‘Funny kinda name. What happened to your head?’
I lifted a hand and fingered the scar. It was still a little tender, but healing. ‘Alex did that. Hit me with a rock.’
‘Why?’ His eyes grew round and I grinned.
‘Coz I touched her tits.’
‘Really?’ He sat up straighter and gazed at me with awe. Tate watched the two of us, disapproving. But before Connor could ask any more, Alex chose that moment to return with the food and he had to forego his little fantasy. I watched him eyeing her as she bent to pile up his pillows before hurrying off again, and I smiled. Every boy deserves to dream.
This time he ate without protest, me shredding the meat and bread and putting them into his mouth. It was slow going and kind of weird, but I’d be lying if I said I hated it.
‘You got any family waiting for you?’ I asked him, when we’d finished.
‘Nope. Got friends though. There’s a bunch of us and we grab what we can. It’s easy.’ He scowled then. ‘Well, it was.’
I cast around for something to take his mind off it. ‘What’s Tate been reading to you?’
Connor looked at Tate and the big man reached behind him and freed a small book from a pocket, handing it over reluctantly.
‘Treasure Island?’ I flipped the pages, marvelling at all the words. So many, and so small, all printed and neat, rows and rows of letters on fine smooth paper, nothing like the pulpy sheets I was used to. I lifted it to my face and smelled it, breathing in its sweet mustiness. My grandmother had been right; there was nothing like it. ‘You want me to read some?’
‘You read?’ Connor said, surprised.
‘Yeah, I read. Kinda have to in my line of work.’
‘Why? You read people to death?’ He was a cheeky little shit, and I was beginning to wish for the boy I’d first met.
‘No, I shoot arrows into them,’ I said, coldly. ‘Now, d’you want me to read or not?’
‘Maybe,’ he said, and his eyes grew sly. ‘If you show me those marks first.’
I sighed, glanced at Tate for help, but he shrugged. Alex wasn’t around, so maybe it was as good a time as ever to get it done.
‘Fine. But then you shut up about it, okay?’
‘Okay,’ he said, his eyes growing wide as I untied my shirt and pulled it open. ‘Wow. That’s a lot.’ He looked nervous again and I closed the shirt, regretting my earlier wish.
‘How many?’ he asked.
‘You don’t wanna know.’
‘Sure I do.’
I tried to remember if I’d ever been such a pain in the arse. ‘No, you don’t. Now, where do I start with this book?’
I read for a while, enjoying the sensation, the words passing from eye to mouth, spilling out between teeth and tongue, sentence by sentence. I hadn’t read aloud since I was a child myself and it took a while to get the hang of it again. I stumbled over some of the unknowns; I had no idea what a parrot was, or a pirate, but the rest of it seemed fairly familiar. I liked Jim, and not just because his name was like
mine. The kid had balls, a bit like Connor, taking no shit from anyone.
Tate surprised me with a tap on the shoulder. ‘He’s asleep,’ he rumbled, and I closed the book with some regret before handing it back. Connor was curled on his side, both arms outstretched, and I pulled the blanket over him.
‘What’ll happen to him?’ I asked Tate, standing and holding out my hands so he could tie them up again. It had become so routine, I didn’t even question it.
‘Ballard will find someone to take him in. He’ll be okay.’ He looked at the book, turning it over in his hand. ‘This the first time you’ve read a book?’
My hackles rose. I thought I’d done okay.
But he smiled. ‘You did a good job, Jem,’ he said. ‘Here, you hang onto it. You can read him some more later.’
I took it, surprised and also a little relieved. It was the first time he’d spoken my name, and I guessed whatever had been bothering him earlier had little to do with me. I hadn’t been lying when I’d told Ballard that Tate was growing on me.
He took me back to my room and I spent the next few hours reading, losing myself in Jim Hawkins’s world, where everyone was trying to screw over everybody else for very little gain. It was my world too, the same, but different.
Later, back at the infirmary, Connor wasn’t just awake; he was kicking up a storm. Alex had hold of one arm, pulling it straight and trying to be gentle but keeping a firm hold. An older woman was bent over him, hands pressing his shoulders, pinning him to the cot. Connor thrashed and wriggled, yelling and sobbing.
‘No, I don’t want to! It’s gunna hurt. It’s gunna hurt!’ His face was red with exertion, the small veins on his neck standing out, pulsing with rage. ‘I hate you. Get away from me. Fucking leave me alone!’
‘What’s going on?’ I asked Tate.
‘They’re changing his bandages. He doesn’t like it.’
‘No shit. Let me go a minute,’ I said, shrugging at the rope until he released me and I crouched by the bed. ‘Connor? Connor. Be still and shut up a minute.’
Alex glared at me. ‘That’s not helping,’ she said, struggling to hold onto Connor’s arm. The other woman pressed down even harder, her mouth grim, and Connor screamed in anger, kicking his legs. For a small kid, he packed quite a wallop.
‘Let him go, both of you,’ I said, then glared at the woman. ‘Go on, get out of here.’
She didn’t glance at the others to check, just scurried past me; Tate pulled the curtain behind her, enclosing the four of us in the narrow space. I nodded at Alex, and when she let go of Connor’s arm he finally relaxed, his small chest heaving, trying to draw air. I let him lie there for a bit, watched his face calm to a wet pink. He stared straight up, limp and exhausted.
‘No one wants to hurt you, Connor,’ I said. ‘But if you don’t let them change those bandages, your arms are gunna get infected. You understand that, don’t you?’
‘Don’t care,’ he replied, his voice low with fury. ‘It hurts.’
‘Yeah, I know. Hurts like hell, right? Burns and stings and you feel like the pain’s never gunna go away. I know.’
He rolled his head and stared at me. ‘Is that how it feels when you get your marks?’
‘Nah. But there’ve been other times, other wounds I’ve had, much worse than marking. Felt like my whole body was on fire. I know why you’re scared, but you’ve gotta let them do this.’
‘What other wounds?’ he asked, curious and trying to postpone what was coming.
‘Doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago, and I don’t think about it any more. Coz once it’s healed, the pain goes away and you forget about it. Pain’s kinda funny like that.’
He scowled. ‘I don’t want to.’
‘Sure. I know. But sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to. That’s just the way it goes. And we can scream about it, or we can be real brave about it. Either way, it’s still gunna happen.’
He tensed then, realising I meant business. Those bandages were coming off whether he liked it or not.
‘I hate you,’ he whispered.
‘Yeah, I guess you do,’ I said, feeling his pain, surprised by my own faint hurt at his words. But glancing at Alex, seeing her sympathy, I felt a sudden irritation. ‘Tell you what,’ I said to Connor. ‘How about we take your mind off it? Get you thinking about something else?’
‘I don’t want to,’ he whimpered again, and I smiled.
‘Trust me, you will. Tate, can you find me a chair?’
A pause, then the swish of the curtain. Alex looked at me. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Wait and see,’ I told her. ‘This’ll work.’
Tate returned, and I held out my hands so he could free me. ‘Sit,’ I told Alex, and lifting Connor, ignoring his sudden struggles, I placed him on her lap, facing in and straddling her, his skinny legs kicking either side.
‘You hold your arms out behind Alex so Tate and I can take off the bandages,’ I told him. ‘And while we’re doing that, you lean in to her, okay? Just relax and rest against her. Understand?’
The kicking stopped and his big eyes gleamed; I could almost see his smile. Oh yeah, he understood all right.
‘You ready?’ I asked Tate and he nodded. ‘Okay, Connor, relax now. Breathe real deep and let Alex hold you.’
I watched him burrow his face into her, nestling against her chest, while she cradled his head and curled an arm around his back. Lucky kid.
We got to work, unwrapping the bandages until we reached the sticky ends; the cloth had stuck to each stump, congealed and stiff with dried fluid. There was no blood, not any more, but the wounds seeped and not all the discharge was clear. We soaked the stumps for a bit, Connor howling at the sting of the salt water while Alex murmured encouragement. Then with patient slowness, Tate and I peeled the wet bandages from the cauterised skin. Connor cried out a couple more times but both Alex and I kept talking to him, and he dug further into her softness, surrendering to the pain.
Tate wouldn’t trust me with the knife, so I waited for him to scrape away any pus before we soaked the stumps some more, smeared the red angry flesh with rendered fat and rewrapped them.
‘All over,’ I said. Connor didn’t lift his head.
‘I think he’s fainted,’ Alex whispered. But I doubted it.
‘You right to lift him?’ I asked her.
Nodding, she stood and lowered him onto the bed with care; when she bent over to straighten his head on the pillow, I saw his eyes open to slits to take in the view. He was something else.
She pulled up the blanket and straightened, shooting me a quick smile. It was warm. ‘Thank you. How did you know that’d work?’
‘He’s a boy,’ I said. When she still looked puzzled, I returned her smile, and her earlier rudeness. ‘This morning he said you had nice tits. Wasn’t hard to figure out the rest.’
Clearly my remark wasn’t worthy of any reply, because she left without a word. I pulled the chair closer to the cot and sat down.
‘She’s gone. You can open your eyes now,’ I said. Connor’s grin was wide. ‘Enjoy yourself?’
‘They’re real soft,’ he said, dreamily.
‘Yeah. They are,’ I replied, remembering. ‘How’re your arms?’
‘Sore. But it was worth it.’ Then he stared at me, all serious again. ‘I don’t hate you any more, Jem.’
‘I know.’ I pulled out the book I’d brought. ‘You want me to read for a bit?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m tired. I wanna sleep now. Will you stay?’
‘Sure,’ I said, and his eyes closed. ‘Happy dreams, kid.’
And when his breathing evened and deepened, and his mouth curved just a little, I knew they were.
‘How you gunna do it?’ Connor asked me. ‘Will you stab him? Cut his throat? Ooh, can you chop off his hands, like he did to me?’
I stared at him. ‘Kinda gruesome, aren’t you?’
It was the third day we’d spent together, just a few hours
at a time and I was grateful for the brief respite his company gave.
He grinned, unabashed. ‘Can I watch?’
‘No, you can’t watch. I don’t even know when I’m going to be able to do it, if I even will be able to. I have to get out of here first.’
He frowned. ‘You promised.’
‘Yeah, I know. And I’ll do my best, but sometimes things happen, kid.’ Like, I’d be dead long before that Guard was.
The frown deepened to a scowl. ‘You promised! You shouldn’t make promises if you can’t keep ’em.’
‘Shit,’ I muttered. ‘Look, Connor. I’m a prisoner here, okay? I can’t just get up and walk out and track down that Guard. I said I’d do it, and I will. Just not yet.’
‘You promised,’ he repeated, only hearing what he wanted. ‘You’re a liar. I hate you!’
I cocked an eyebrow and smiled. ‘Again? I think I’ll survive.’
‘I mean it. Get away from me! Liar!’ he shouted, surprising me and kicking out suddenly, catching me hard in the balls so I gasped at the hot pain, creasing in agony. Jem the Watchman, taken down by a kid with no hands. I was glad Garrick wasn’t there to see it.
‘Son of a bitch!’ But it was just a wheeze, my throat tight, thick with shock. Tate chuckled from his place by the wall.
‘Good shot, Connor,’ Alex said behind me, and I didn’t need to turn to know she was laughing too.
I stayed where I was, waiting for the pain to ebb and the throbbing to ease. Connor said nothing from his corner of the cot, but he didn’t kick me again at least.
‘I think it’s time you left,’ Alex said, and I swivelled my head to glare at her with wet eyes.
‘Give me a fucking minute.’
‘No, now,’ she said, and Tate hauled me up, ignoring my groans.
The walk back to my quarters was slow and painful, Tate half holding me as I limped along.
‘It was a stupid thing to do, making that promise,’ he told me.
‘Well, I know that now,’ I said, sinking onto my bed, letting him reattach the chains. I nodded to the book on the ledge. ‘You can take that back. I’ve finished, and I don’t reckon I’ll be reading to the kid again any time soon.’
