The List

by Patricia Forde

  “It concerns your master, Benjamin Lazlo.”

  Letta felt as though the world had stopped spinning. Her body went cold all over. Time had slowed down.

  “Has…something happened to him?”

  She could hear her own words but didn’t recognize her voice. He looked up, and she knew she didn’t want him to speak. She didn’t want to hear the next thing he said. She pulled back in the chair, trying to put more distance between them, but there was no stopping him now. In slow motion, she watched his lips part.

  “I’m afraid he is dead, Letta.”

  Dead. Deprived of life. No longer living.

  The word fell from his lips like a grenade and then exploded in the air between them. Dead. Had he really said it? John Noa was on his feet. His lips were still moving.

  “A terrible shock…a great man…we go back a long way.”

  Not Benjamin. Please, not Benjamin.

  Noa took her hand, helping her out of the chair.

  “Listen now, Letta,” he said. “Listen, child.”

  She forced herself to look at him, to concentrate on the words that were still pouring from his mouth.

  “You are the wordsmith now. The only wordsmith we have. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and looked away, but he took her chin between his thumb and finger and turned her face back to him.

  “You have a great responsibility. Are you ready for this challenge?”

  She nodded again. He seemed satisfied.

  “I am sorry for your loss,” he said and left the room.

  She stood there for a few minutes, feeling the heaviness that had descended on her. Never had she felt so alone. Benjamin was gone. The pain in her heart forced her to sit again. Benjamin.

  She barely noticed Amelia walking into the room.

  “I’m sorry about your master.” Her soft voice broke the terrible silence, speaking the old tongue, like Noa. “He was a great man and a great friend, and he played an important part in building Ark. You can be proud.”

  “Where? How?” Letta tried to say the words, but it felt like they were lodged too tightly in her throat.

  “Smith Fearfall, the scavenger, found him. Found his body. He had been savaged by wild animals, but Fearfall recognized him.”

  Savaged by wild animals.

  “Where?” Letta said, not looking at Amelia.

  “South of the river, in the forest. He was working there. We have some of his things if you’d like to have them?”

  Letta nodded and heard the woman slip quietly out of the room.

  Savaged by wild animals.

  Her head was beginning to throb. Could it be true? Was Benjamin really gone forever? She didn’t think she could bear it. She tried to picture his face, his eyes, but there was nothing there. She almost panicked then. Why could she not picture him? She walked toward the window. Outside, it had started to rain again, the repetitive tapping of the rain on the glass, the whistle of the wind outside. She couldn’t bear any of it.

  She turned and found Amelia watching her. In her hand was Benjamin’s familiar old satchel. She almost ran across the room, banging her shin on the low table as she passed it. She grabbed the satchel, holding it close to her face. His smell filled her head, the smell of paper and wool and warmth.

  “I’ll see you out.” The woman’s voice cut through her thoughts.

  Letta nodded and followed her to the door.

  “John Noa will want to see you soon, to talk about your new work,” Amelia said, and then the door was closed and Letta found herself once more in the rain and wind. She turned slowly and walked back down the stone stairs.

  By the time she reached the shop, it had grown dark. The night-light had just come on, its quiet glow bathing the room in shadow. She sat down on the soft chair in the living area, Benjamin’s bag on her lap. The leather felt warm despite the glaze of rain. She opened it, the clasp cold beneath her fingers. Inside were a half-empty water bottle, his tools, and a collection of odds and ends. She pulled out a label. It was made of some sort of plastic, and Sunshine Replacement Therapy was written on it. She knew it was old, but she had no idea how old. She thought they had all those words already but maybe not. She would ask him later. Or, no, she couldn’t. Even as the thought flitted by, she was overcome by loneliness.

  Finally, worn out, she lay in the big chair and fell asleep. In her dreams, she was in the middle of the ocean in a boat with silver sails. A warm summer breeze ruffled her hair, and she could feel the sun on her face. The waves beside her were small and flecked with white foam. Deep in the body of the wave, words tumbled, one over the other.

  Mother. Fish. Step. Summer.

  Tiny red words, bobbing and weaving. A cold breeze rushed by, and the sun dodged behind a cloud. She shivered. Something was wrong. The waves were getting bigger. She struggled with the sail, which had changed from silver to black. The rope cut her hands. She couldn’t lose the boat. Her father’s boat. The wind was roaring, and the waves towered above her. She turned just in time to see a giant word rise from the foam. It was as big as a building, and for a second, it hovered above her.

  Dead.

  She managed to read it just before it crashed down on her, sending her to the very bottom of the ocean. She woke screaming.

  • • •

  The new day brought only more misery. She went to Central Kitchen, opened the shop, and transcribed words—all in a kind of numbness. Nobody mentioned Benjamin. Letta knew that people had been told. But too many people had died in the disasters; nobody acknowledged death anymore. But there were little kindnesses, smiles of sympathy, warm glances. She knew they felt for her; she didn’t need their words. Werber stopped by with her water allowance, and for once, she was almost glad to see him. Mrs. Truckle came and brought her an apple. She said nothing about Benjamin, but Letta knew the older woman understood nonetheless.

  “You wordsmith now,” she said to her before she left. “Not child. Wordsmith.”

  When she wasn’t grappling with her grief over Benjamin, Letta wondered about Marlo. She still hoped they might find Daniel. The healer’s wife had stopped by in the afternoon to order words for their new apprentice, her face a mask of grief. Letta longed to tell her that Marlo’s friends were going to look for Daniel, but she knew she couldn’t. So instead, she sat and transcribed the words that were needed.

  Feverfew, lilac, rosemary, thyme

  It was one of the longest lists that had to be prepared and one of the most difficult. Letta worked on it all afternoon, glad of the distraction. The day dragged on. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t bear to think anymore. She went into Benjamin’s study and looked at the things on his desk—the things she had so carefully replaced after Carver’s visit. The words he had been working on, his maps, drawn in his own hand. The forest was a strange place, and very few people knew anything of its geography.

  She pulled one of the maps closer to her and examined it. She could see the official path along which the water pipe ran from the lake buried in the center of the forest. That was the road Benjamin took. It was patrolled regularly because of the water and was therefore considered reasonably safe. Beyond the path was the dense, dark forest, haunted by wild animals and—some believed—bandits. Benjamin had often told her that the greatest danger was the lack of food and water and the possibility of getting lost in there. She was about to put the map away when something caught her eye. A river. Benjamin had written the word clearly and underlined it.

  THE RIVER.

  She realized it meant something to her. Hadn’t Amelia said they had found his body south of the river? But the river was miles from the official track. What had Benjamin been doing there? She looked at the map again. The river was nowhere near the main path. She knew Benjamin wandered off the path a little on his trips. If he found something interesting, he might go off in any direction, bu
t he would never lose sight of the main road. So what had he been doing at the river? She felt there was more she knew about the river, some other context, but it wouldn’t come to her. They said a scavenger had found him. Fearfall. She was sure that was what they had said. She picked up a card and wrote it down. Fearfall.

  If he was a scavenger, he probably lived in Tintown. She had never gone down there—Benjamin wouldn’t hear of it. It was a lawless place, a place people avoided. And yet she wanted to talk to this man. He had found him—surely he could tell her why Benjamin had been there. Then another thought struck her. What had Fearfall been doing there? She frowned. None of it made any sense. Not for the first time, she wished she had someone to talk to, someone like Marlo.

  It hit her like a thunderbolt. That was it! Marlo. It was Marlo who had mentioned the river. In the throes of his fever, he had talked about the Desecrators and the pump house and the river. She wondered what Marlo was doing. Had they found Daniel? Did he think of her at all? She sighed.

  All she had were questions. Benjamin had gone to a part of the forest that was both dangerous and off his normal route. A scavenger had come across his body. A scavenger who had no business in the forest. Was the scavenger lying? Had he murdered Benjamin and taken his bag? Why, then, would he go to Noa and tell him everything?

  She stood up and walked to the window. Where was his body now? She couldn’t bear to think of Benjamin thrown to the animals. Was he cold? With all her heart, she wanted to hold him in her arms, to wrap a warm blanket about him, to let him know he was not forgotten. Her dream came back to haunt her, and she shivered. She remembered what Marlo had said.

  There’s always truth in dreams. Don’t you know that? We have to learn what they mean, that’s all.

  Chapter 8

  #326

  Outcast

  Person who is not part of Ark

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. Letta busied herself with her normal jobs, but her thoughts were in turmoil. She had to talk to the scavenger. She would go to Tintown. She pulled her coat from the nail and put it on, her hands shaking. Then she picked up Benjamin’s old satchel and thrust a bottle of water into it. As she left the shop, she locked the door behind her and looked around. The streets were quiet. The children were still at school, their parents in the fields. She could see Mary Pepper sweeping the path in front of Central Kitchen. A woman and her baby were coming out of the healer’s, the mother clutching a remedy in her hand.

  As Letta turned to head south, she could hear the baby crying. Yesterday’s rain had disappeared and a weak sun shone in the sky. She walked quickly, nerves bubbling in her stomach. Would the gavvers stop her at the gate? She reminded herself that she was the wordsmith now. She had to appear confident.

  It took her very little time to get to the southern wall. Through the open gates, she could just glimpse the flashes of light glinting on the roofs of the ramshackle town. She pressed on. Two gavvers guarded the gate. As she approached, one of them stood up.

  “Where go?”

  His accent was rough, and Letta was sure this was not his mother tongue. She pulled herself up to her full height and looked him in the eye.

  “Tintown,” she answered.

  “Why?” The man glared at her.

  “Collect words,” she said firmly. “Wordsmith.”

  The man looked her up and down, then went to confer with his colleague. Letta tried to look mature and professional, but inside, she was deeply uneasy. After what seemed like an age, the man returned.

  “Pass,” he said, and instantly, Letta found herself on the far side of the gate. She stood and looked down. Stretching on all sides was layer upon layer of flimsy dwellings, built from scrap of all sorts. Every roof seemed to be made of tin, and the metal glinted even in this weak winter sun. It wasn’t the image of the town that most shocked Letta but the smell. Rising like a black cloud from the hovels below her came the stink of rotting vegetation and possibly rotting flesh too, she thought. It was a heavy, pungent aroma, and already, Letta could feel it soaking into her hair, into her skin, into her very bones.

  The first hovels she passed were quiet enough. No sign of life apart from clothes strewn on bushes, drying in the sun. There was only one water source here and no tokens for it. A communal pipe opened once a week, and people fought for their supply of water. Benjamin had told her that a human could survive for one hundred hours without water, and sometimes in Tintown they had to.

  Under Letta’s feet, animals scurried out of her way. Rats, mice, shrews, cats, and dogs. Layer upon layer of humanity. Then a small gang of children appeared, like rabbits, jumping up in front of her. They were sparsely clad and barefoot. Three boys and two girls all under the age of ten, she reckoned. The tallest of them was a thin boy with long, greasy blond hair and a sharp chin. He took a step away from the others and sidled up to her. Letta kept walking, forcing him to jog alongside her.

  “Who you?” he shouted.

  Letta ignored him.

  “Who you?” he said again.

  A sharp sting on her cheek brought Letta to a sudden stop. Her hand flew to the spot, and she felt the warm wetness of her own blood. She looked around sharply just in time to see the boy shove a catapult into his pocket, his lips twisted in a sneer. Letta didn’t stop to think. In two strides, she was beside him. She caught him by the shoulders and shook him as hard as she was able.

  “Bad boy,” she yelled.

  She didn’t expect the first kick, and it caught her just below her left knee. She stumbled. Instantly, the other children were upon her. Small fists rained down on her back. Hands searched her pockets. She knew she hadn’t brought any tokens with her or anything else of value. Another kick in the small of her back sent her sprawling into the mud. She struggled to get up, but the children threw themselves on her, punching and kicking as they went. Someone tugged at Benjamin’s bag. She felt the strap dig into her flesh. She hit out as hard as she could, but she was outnumbered. Just as Letta felt exhaustion claim her, she heard an adult voice somewhere over her head.

  “Stop!”

  Instantly, the children scattered. Letta raised her head. The woman who stood there was tiny. Letta reckoned she was only four strides high. Pitch-black hair was piled on top of her head, tendrils falling into her hooded eyes. Her hands were on her hips, and her eyebrows were drawn together in a solid black line.

  “Thank you,” Letta managed to say, pulling herself up from the ground, every muscle aching.

  “What you want?” the woman growled.

  Letta was about to answer when she saw a tall child approach her from the left. Without a second glance, the woman picked up a small sharp stone and threw it in the boy’s direction. The stone caught him on the side of the head. Letta saw his face wince in pain, blood running down his cheek. This time, he fled with the others.

  “Rat.” The woman spat the word after him. Then her gaze returned to Letta.

  “What you want?” she said.

  “Look for man,” Letta said.

  “What man?”

  “Scavenger.”

  The woman laughed, a short bitter sound.

  “Many scavengers here,” she said.

  “Fearfall,” Letta said, and she thought she saw recognition flash in the woman’s eyes. “You know him?” Letta pressed on.

  “No,” the woman said and turned and walked away.

  “Wait,” Letta cried. “Please.”

  The woman turned. “No know him,” she said.

  “Know where find him?”

  The woman shrugged. “Try water hole.”

  Letta followed the woman’s gaze and could see in the distance a pool of some sort at the bottom of the hill. She started to walk in that direction. Her body ached from the attack by the children, and she could feel a sharp pain in her lower back getting more intense with every step she took. The shan
tytown was busier now, with people standing outside their homes, watching her as she passed. There were children everywhere, playing on the road, crying in their mothers’ arms. The farther into the town she went, the worse the smell became. The bodies around her were half-dressed and all seemed to be without shoes. The smell of sweat and dirt assailed her nostrils and made her feel queasy. She passed an old man sitting on the ground, one leg stretched in front of him, the shin cut right through. Letta glimpsed white bone under the torn flesh. She thought he might be the oldest person she had ever seen. He was small and painfully thin—it seemed like his cheekbones could slice through his face at any moment. He had pale, watery eyes, and the surface of his face was lined with deep ridges of yellow skin. Flies buzzed about the open wound, and the man did nothing to stop them. Letta took her water bottle from her satchel and knelt beside him. He didn’t look up.

  “Drink,” she said gently, holding the bottle to his lips. He looked surprised, but his lips parted and he drank deeply.

  “Good,” he said, handing it back to her.

  “Leg bad?” she said.

  He nodded.

  “Been worse,” he said.

  I’m sure you have, Letta thought.

  “Fought flood and worse to get here.”

  Letta noticed the strange cadence of his speech. He obviously had a lot of language. It was harder for people to speak List when their heads were teeming with words.

  “You come here after Melting?” she said gently.

  He nodded. “Bad times. Scientists not welcome.”

  Benjamin had told her about these scientists who had arrived at Ark. They were seen as the enemy, the people who had opposed the Green Warriors before the Melting. There was no place for them in Ark. The miracle was that he survived all those years here in Tintown. She smiled at him.

  “You very strong,” she said. “Survivor.”

  He nodded.

  Letta pushed the bottle into his hand.

  “Keep,” she said and got up.