Chapter 14
#284
Melting
(1) Heat making liquid
(2) Time after ice melted
Letta heard the eleven bells ring as she looked on the darkening street.
“The South Gate at midnight,” Finn said, frowning thoughtfully. “On foot, with only three of us, we couldn’t hope to keep track of it. And there isn’t time to put our people in place. We have to think of some other way to track it.”
There was silence for a second as they all listened to the wind outside, moaning in its mad flight through the town.
“I had a dream last night,” Marlo said, his voice tight and stretched. “I saw a trail of blood on the forest floor.”
Letta shivered. A trail of blood. Then her eyes fell on the row of red inkbottles. Ink? Ink would stain the grass, like blood. Her heart started to beat faster. If they could attach a bottle…
“What is it?” Marlo asked.
Letta ignored him and hurried out to the corridor behind the shop, where Benjamin stored bottles. She pulled out the boxes that held the smaller glass vessels. They rattled as she pushed those boxes out of her way. Behind them, against the wall, she found what she was looking for. A large plastic bottle, a relic from one of Benjamin’s trips. It was the length of her arm. She picked it up and carried it back to Marlo and Finn.
“What’s this?” Finn said.
She placed the bottle carefully on the floor. “This is how we will know where the cart went. Help me fill it.”
“With what?” Marlo asked, his head on one side, eyebrows raised.
Finn slapped his knee and laughed. “Ink!” he said before Letta got a chance to answer. “Ink! That’s genius, Letta! Come on, hurry. We don’t have much time.”
One by one, they emptied the small bottles of ink into the large container. Letta watched the red dye climb up the side of the bottle, and in her mind, she saw again the pulped paper in that room at Noa’s house. What fools he had made of them! Everything he had told them, everything they had believed and built their lives on—all of it false. The thought scalded her.
Marlo touched her arm. “We’ll need to puncture it,” he said. “One hole should be enough. Not so small that it gets clogged right away. Not so big that the ink runs out too quickly.”
Letta nodded, keeping her eye on the ink as it poured from the bottle in her hand.
“Will the rain wash it away?”
Marlo’s question stopped her in her tracks, but before she answered him, Finn spoke.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Beetroot is a good fast dye.”
“We’ll need to attach it to the cart,” Letta said.
“Thin string would be best,” Finn said. “Do you have any?”
Letta knew she had seen some, but where? Then she remembered. “Benjamin’s office. He uses it to tie up word boxes.”
Letta felt like she was drowning in questions. “We’ll need to stop the cart and attach the bottle without them seeing us,” Letta said while Marlo was fetching the string from the office. “How can we do that?”
“Distraction,” Finn said with a smile. “We cause a distraction. We could have Marlo lie on the street in front of the cart. You could pretend to be his sister. You stop them, say your brother is ill. While all that’s happening, I will be attaching the bottle and—”
“No!” Letta felt the word burst from her. “This is my plan. My risk. You and Marlo create the distraction. I attach the bottle. Besides, I’m smaller than you. I can get under the cart without them noticing.”
Finn shook his head. “You have no experience in these matters, Letta. Leave it to me.”
Letta grabbed his arm. “No, Finn. I have to do it. If they catch you, they will kill you. I am the wordsmith, and for some reason, Noa likes me. He will at least give me a hearing.”
“Will this do?” Marlo came in holding a few strides of twine wrapped around a piece of wood.
Finn took it from him. “Yes,” he said, pulling the string, testing it between his hands. “I think it will.”
Marlo looked from Finn to Letta.
“Do we have a plan?”
“I think so,” Letta said. “What do you say, Finn?”
“All right,” Finn said. “We’ll give it a try and may the Goddess help us this night. We’ll wait at the dry-stone bridge on this side of the South Gate. When the cart comes, Marlo will lie on the road. I will stop them and say that my son has fallen ill with fever. That’ll be your chance, Letta. Get under the cart and attach the bottle. You will have about thirty seconds. If I put up too much of a fight, they might arrest me. Once the bottle is in place, we can do no more. We’ll wait till first light and follow the ink.”
Letta nodded. She could see it all in her head.
“I think it will work,” she said.
“It’s time we left,” Finn said. “Do you have a spike and a hammer, Letta, to puncture the bottle?”
Letta went to Benjamin’s tool kit and took out the sharp stone spike and the hammer with the smooth wooden handle. She could almost feel his hand on hers as she stroked the cool wood. Please let him still be alive. Please.
The plastic punctured easily enough. Finn had made a very small hole. He held the bottle up and nothing happened.
“Too small,” he muttered, and Letta held her breath. He inserted the spike and hit it one more time gently with the hammer. A drop of red fell on his great paw. He smiled and put his finger against the hole.
“Now all we need is a stopper.”
“A piece of cork?” Letta suggested.
“Try it,” Finn said.
Letta took one of the little stoppers they used for the ink bottles and with a small sharp knife started to whittle it away until there was nothing left but a sliver.
“That should do,” she said.
“Give it here,” Marlo said.
Finn removed his finger and Marlo jammed the cork in place. Finn held the bottle up. The cork held.
“Next, the string,” Finn said.
Marlo took it and wound it around the neck of the bottle.
“Now,” said Finn. “All we need to do is tie the end of the string to the shaft of the cart. What do you think?”
“Let’s go,” Letta said.
Finn put the bottle under his great coat, and Letta pulled on her own coat before carefully opening the back door.
The wind hit her in the face as soon as they were outside. The sky was black, full of waiting rain. There was no moon. Letta could feel the darkness pushing in on her, thick and suffocating. She struggled against the wind, the cold piercing her bones. The buildings on either side of her were only shapes, great hulking beasts sheltering from the weather. In her head, she tried to keep track. The potter, the weaver. Then the rancid smell of sheep hide alerted her to Mel the shearer’s, where the wool from the sheep was turned to yarn to make clothes. Maggoty Mel they had called him when they were schoolchildren running around on these streets in the early summer, when the hides were piled high outside Mel’s door. Maggoty Mel. It seemed like all that had happened in a different place, a different world.
Finally, they saw the bridge looming out of the darkness, and beyond it was the South Gate. They stood against the cool stone wall and waited. Beside her, Marlo put his head down against the wind, but Letta felt braver with it lashing her in the face, the rain cascading down her cheeks. She almost missed what Finn said, so loud was the wind.
“It’s coming,” he said, and Letta strained to hear what he had heard. A few seconds later she heard the rolling sound of wheels on the rough cobbles. The cart. Finn thrust the bottle into her arms.
“Go!” he hissed at Marlo, and Marlo instantly sprang from the shadows and threw himself on the ground. The cart came closer. Finn stepped away from the wall. Letta clutched the bottle to her chest, her hands wet and sli
ppery on its smooth surface.
“Hey!” Finn shouted. “Stop! Help!”
At first, Letta thought they hadn’t heard him, but then the horse shied, and she heard one of the gavvers swear.
“Whoa!” he shouted, and the horse’s hooves skidded on the wet ground. Finn grabbed the harness and held fast. Now! Letta thought and dashed from the wall.
“Get away!” She heard the gavver call out as she slipped between the wheels of the cart.
“Boy sick. Fall down. Need help!” Finn shouted against the wind.
“Move him!” the gavver called.
Letta pressed the bottle against the rough shaft of the cart, lashing the twine around it and tying a hard knot. Her fingers slipped as she tried to fasten it, and she had to start again.
“Get him up or we run over him!”
“Please, sir.” Finn’s voice was pleading. Then she heard a thump as one of the gavvers jumped from the cart. She couldn’t hear the conversation they were having, but she could imagine it. She checked the bottle one last time and pulled out the cork.
And then she heard it. A moan. Benjamin. She had been so intent on attaching the bottle that she had almost forgotten he would be there on the cart. She heard the gavver jump back on. Heard the driver crack the whip. She grabbed the back of the cart and pulled herself up just as the horse lurched forward and the cart moved. Benjamin! She didn’t know if she had said it out loud or only in her head. All she could hear was the wind. He was alive! She reached out to touch him, feeling rough sackcloth and the shape of his feet. She pulled hard with her arms just as the cart lurched again swaying violently on the rough cobbles and throwing her back onto the road. Her shoulders hit the cobbles first, knocking the air out of her. For a second, she lay there with her arm outstretched toward the cart in a hopeless gesture as the rain lashed her and the roar of the wind drowned out the noise of the cart. When she stood up, there was no sign the cart had ever been there. She sat back on her heels and felt as though something inside her had just collapsed, like falling through a trapdoor. She hardly noticed Finn until he was lifting her up off the ground and pulling her back to the bridge. His big hand wiped the rain off her face, and he tucked her under his arm as though she were a child of five.
• • •
The bell rang eight times before the first fingers of dawn appeared. The wind had settled. It was still there but only a tame version of itself. Letta knew how it felt. The storm inside her had also quietened. She was worn out from the emotion of the night, the lack of sleep, the incessant reviewing of what had happened. She couldn’t explain why she had jumped on the cart. It hadn’t been part of the plan, nor had she realized that Benjamin would be there, right beside her, breathing, feeling. It was as if she had blocked it out in the planning stage. As if to think of Benjamin would have been such a distraction that she wouldn’t have been able to cope. And he was alive! She just wanted to hold his hand and comfort him, to stay with him in the dark forest until morning. Finn had been shocked. He’d spoken to her about it when they got back to the shop.
“What were you thinking? Did you not realize they would have felt your weight on the cart? What were you going to do when they reached the dumping site?”
She had no answers for him. Besides, she also had the practical things to worry her. Had she attached the bottle properly? Had she removed the cork? She couldn’t remember. All she could recall was the sound of Benjamin moaning. The feel of his feet under the sacking. What was he doing now? He had spent all these hours lying in the open, his wounds bleeding, wild animals on every side. A trail of blood on the forest floor.
Marlo and Finn had taken her back to her house and stayed with her, and she was glad for their company. They were worried. She could see it in their eyes. Finn had a large bruise under his right eye where the gavver had struck him. Marlo was quiet, no doubt reliving all that had happened. She had to remind herself that Marlo and Finn went on missions like this all the time. This was not new to them the way it was to her. She was filled with admiration for them. Was it only a few weeks ago she had despised the Desecrators and all they stood for?
“Can we leave soon?” Letta asked as she saw the sun send out gentle rays in the morning sky.
Finn shook his head. “I don’t think you should come with us, Letta,” he said. “If the shop is closed, it will arouse suspicion.”
Letta jumped to her feet. “You can’t be serious,” she said. “You can’t expect me to sit here while Benjamin is thrown somewhere in the forest.”
“But won’t they come looking for you if the shop is closed?” Marlo asked.
Letta knew they were right. They would come looking for her. She needed a reason to be gone. Could she say she was going on a word-hunting mission, as Benjamin often did? She didn’t know if he informed Noa or the gavvers before he left. She could put a note on the window.
She ran to her desk and started to write.
Closed. Two days. Use drop box. Wordsmith
She showed it to Finn. He frowned.
“Very well then,” the older man said. “Get ready. Bring whatever water you have. We’ll go first. You don’t want to be seen with us. Follow in a few minutes. Meet us at the bridge.”
Within moments they were gone. Letta hurried around the house, collecting her water ration, wishing she had time to go get more. She took Benjamin’s bag, his tool kit, his maps, a woolen sweater for him, and all the herbs she could find.
When she was ready, she put up the sign in the window and opened the front door. Light flooded in. The storm had blown over, and the sky was clear and baby blue. Mrs. Truckle stood looking at her.
“No harm,” Letta greeted her, though inwardly she was cursing the day Benjamin had asked the old woman to keep an eye on things. Mrs. Truckle nodded toward the sign. “Where you go?”
Letta felt the color mount in her cheeks. She didn’t like lying. “Word finding,” she said.
“Word finding? Where?” The little woman had her head on one side, her small button eyes squinting back at Letta.
“The forest,” she said. “Have Benjamin’s maps.”
Mrs. Truckle frowned. “You tell gavvers?” she said. “Benjamin always tell gavvers.”
Letta hesitated. If she told the truth, Mrs. Truckle would probably drag her to the Round House to get permission and she might be too late to go with Finn and Marlo.
“Yes,” she said, fastening the leather satchel. “Have to go now. Weather good.”
Mrs. Truckle caught her arm. “Food? Come now. I talk to Mrs. Pepper.”
“Have food,” Letta lied. “Need to go.”
“On your own? You too young. Bring Werber.”
Letta pulled her arm away. “No,” she said. “Go now. Alone.”
She hurried away before her old teacher could say any more, but she could almost feel the old woman’s unease, and she knew that Mrs. Truckle was the kind of person who liked to get to the bottom of things.
She couldn’t worry about it now. She had to get to the bridge and meet the Desecrators. If they were still there.
Chapter 15
#168
End
Last part
Letta could see Finn and Marlo waiting for her as she approached the bridge. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Come,” Finn said, making for the gate.
“What should I say to the gavvers?” Letta asked with one eye on the two hulks guarding the gate.
“They won’t give you any trouble,” he said and marched on ahead of her.
Letta had no choice but to follow him. Finn and Marlo hurried through, eyes down. Letta followed them. The gavvers looked away.
“Some of them are easier to pay off than others,” Marlo said with a smile, and Letta found herself nodding as if such things happened every day.
She looked around. In front of her, the forest opened its gaping mo
uth. Silence reigned. There was no bird song. No sound at all, except for the slight ruffle of the wind as it passed through the trees. To Letta, it sounded as though the forest was breathing, quietly, steadily.
“We go through here,” Finn said. “Keep your eyes open for the ink.”
Finn disappeared into the gloomy passageway that lay open ahead of him.
Within seconds, the trees closed in around her and made it feel like it was dusk again. Her eyes raked the ground, looking for the telltale red splashes.
“There!” Finn’s voice sounded unnaturally loud. He was hunkered down, and Letta could feel his excitement. She went closer and saw it for herself. The deep red of the beetroot ink lay on a flat leaf of butterbur. She tore the leaf off and pressed it to her face. There was no mistake. Beetroot. Marlo clutched her hand.
“We’re going to find him,” he said.
“We have to hurry,” Finn said, but he patted Letta gently on the shoulder before turning and heading off through the trees. An hour later, they were still walking, chasing every drop of beetroot ink. Letta could feel the musty dampness of the forest soaking into her bones. Her legs ached. The ground was heavy with fallen leaves and treacherous with tree stumps and sudden holes. Thornbushes arched out of the undergrowth, their long necks clawing at her skin. Every fifty strides or so, the forest threw up other paths branching right and left. Each time, they had to stop and wait while Finn searched for the red ink that would show them the way. Letta ploughed on, slightly comforted by the sound of Marlo trudging behind her. Every few minutes, she looked up to catch glimpses of the sky through the dense canopy, an intricate cloth of blue and gray furrowed with twisted bands of cloud. Then she had to go back to looking at her feet, trying not to fall over, trying not to twist or break an ankle.
There was a strange atmosphere in the woods. A hushed kind of waiting clung to everything. Nobody willingly ventured in here. When the last earthquake had taken place, wild animals hitherto held in captivity broke free and established new territories for themselves under cover of the dense forests. Tigers, lions, and snakes had all been spotted here. During one particularly cold winter, some of the animals had ventured out and encroached on the town, looking for food. Letta had listened to the terrifying stories people had told over the years. Never in her most vivid nightmares could she have imagined herself in here. She concentrated on her feet again. More than once, she looked up, only to find herself walking through a spiderweb, the sticky silk clinging to her face and hair. Images plagued her as she walked. Benjamin lying on the open ground all night in the driving rain. His hands bleeding. Animals stalking him.
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