The List

by Patricia Forde

  “We have all night to raise an army,” Marlo went on. “We already have supporters, waiting for the call. Finn has been working for months to recruit people. More than thirty men have signed up from Tintown in the past few days. They are being led by a man called Kirch Tellon. He said he knew you.”

  “He does,” Letta said, remembering the quiet man and his father.

  “You should let us do this together, Letta,” Marlo pressed. “It’s too dangerous for you alone. We could storm the tower and—”

  “And then what? Noa could put the Nicene in the water in a second, long before you had a chance to overpower him.”

  Marlo didn’t answer, but Letta knew he had accepted what she said.

  “How is Finn?” she asked after a moment.

  Marlo shook his head. “I’ve never seen him like this. His heart is changed somehow. He loved her very much. There are no arranged partnerships among the Creators, you know. People get together because they love one another.”

  With his last words, something struck Letta. A thought that seemed to have come from nowhere. John Noa loves Amelia. She didn’t know why that might be important, but she knew it was.

  “I’d better go,” Marlo said. “I’ll see you at the beach. Five bells?”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  After Marlo left, Letta went on pacing the floor, going over the plan. The barrel would get her into the tower. When Noa came, she would plead with him. Persuade him. If that didn’t work, she would overpower him physically, knock the Nicene out of his hand so it didn’t go in the water supply. She was certain she could do it once she got close enough to him.

  She was distracted by a noise outside the window. She went to the door and looked out.

  On the street, a small group of men stood in the fog. Their arms and legs were bare and they wore their hair long. They were the Wordless. She opened the door and walked onto the street. The men were trying to communicate with the people who passed by. Letta could see them grabbing on to people, grunting, gesticulating.

  They’re trying to tell them something, Letta thought sadly. The Wordless persevered, stopping anyone who came near. Bruno, the tinsmith, pushed them away roughly and walked on. A woman crossed the street to avoid them. Letta could see the aggression growing on their faces. As she watched, a small boy tried to cross in front of the group. Without warning, one of the men lashed out, his hand catching the back of the child’s head. The boy fell face first right in front of Letta. In a heartbeat, the Wordless dispersed, even as the child’s cries cut through the air. Letta knelt down beside him. He looked up at her with enormous frightened eyes.

  “Allove!”

  The scavenger’s boy. She remembered him from the pump house.

  He gazed back at her, stunned from the fall. Then she could see recognition dawn slowly.

  “Bad people! Bad people!”

  Letta jumped. The child was terrified of her, she could see that.

  “You!”

  She looked up. Smith Fearfall was staring down at her. He looked from the child back to Letta as if in slow motion.

  “You were there that night. You are one of them.”

  Fearfall reached down and grabbed her arm. She could feel his nails dig into the soft flesh.

  “Desecrator! Desecrator! Call gavvers!”

  Letta didn’t wait to hear any more. Yanking her arm away from him, she pushed him as hard as she could, felt him stumble, and then she ran.

  Adrenalin coursed through her body. Her feet pummeled the rough ground, her arms pushing people out of her way. Behind her, she could hear shouts and jeers, but she didn’t look back. She was sure there were people in pursuit, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was getting away. Up ahead, she saw the cobbler’s shop, and behind it was the lane where she had played as a child. She had to get there before they caught her. She tried to go faster, but her breath was catching in her chest now, her side was hurting her, and she could feel a stitch developing.

  Thump! Something hit her on the back. She pitched forward but managed to stay standing. She glanced back. A small crowd was fifty strides behind her, howling like wolves. She turned the corner, sprinting past the front door of the cobbler’s, and made it into the lane.

  She knew this area like she knew her own face. This was where she had played with Eva, the cobbler’s daughter. In front of her, she could see the high stone wall that marked the end of the lane. A dead end. She fell to her knees in front of it. Her hands moved urgently along the ground until she felt it. A cold metal ring. She pulled. At first, it didn’t move. She pulled again. This time, she managed to lift it. The old manhole cover was big, but it moved easily enough. Holding on to the edge of the stones, she lowered herself down. Her feet hit the ground. She found the groove cut into the cover stone and pulled it across as she had done so many times when she had played hide-and-seek with the cobbler’s children. It didn’t fully close, and she could hear the crowd now. They were at the top of the lane. Another tug and the stone sealed the crawl hole. She waited, her breath coming in gasps.

  She could feel their feet above her. Hear their muffled curses.

  What if one of them knew about this hiding hole? She closed her eyes and hoped they did not.

  Minutes passed. They were still there. Still muttering, still searching. Then she heard a high-pitched whistle. Gavvers. More running. Then, finally, silence.

  She stayed where she was, not daring to move. She had to be sure they were gone. Every so often, a siren filled the air. They were still looking. Carver wouldn’t rest now. He had proof. An eyewitness.

  But she had to get to the beach. She had no idea what time it was.

  She raised her arms and gently slid the cover across. Grabbing the stones on either side, she lifted herself up. She climbed out carefully. The street was empty. She crouched there for a moment, ready to run. The wall to her right loomed out of the darkness. There was a door there that led to the cobbler’s small backyard. She turned the wooden knob carefully. The door opened. On a line, strung across the yard, hung the hides the cobbler used to make his leather. She touched one, gingerly. The smell was overpowering, just as she remembered it from when she had played there as a child.

  She crossed the small yard and exited through a gap in the fence. It had started to rain, dark clouds gathering overhead. Within seconds, she was back on the street, heading for the potato fields. She trudged up the hill, feeling the bustle of the town falling away behind her. As she crested the hill, she stopped to catch her breath. She never heard the man behind her till his hand clamped on her arm. She screamed. The hand covered her mouth.

  “Quiet!” a voice said.

  She looked around.

  “Finn!”

  In his hand, Finn held a wooden club.

  “I have to meet Marlo. At the beach.”

  She could hardly get the words out.

  “Come quickly,” Finn said. “We don’t have much time.”

  • • •

  The latest intelligence said the Desecrators were about to strike. An outright rebellion this time, drawing on the disaffected—not only in Ark but also in Tintown. They had spent months raising an army. Time had run out. He knew he had to make his move now, but he couldn’t concentrate.

  Why did it have to be Leyla? He paced the floor, feeling like a caged lion. Of all the Desecrators, they have to drag her in. He could feel Amelia’s pain but could do nothing to help her. Everyone in Ark knew Leyla had been arrested. If he had not dealt with her, they would have sensed his weakness and attacked. He had seen it with the wolves many times and knew man would be no different.

  No. Leyla had had to die. Amelia would understand eventually. She was clever. He could have concocted a story to ease her grief. Maybe he should have said she had died of natural causes.

  A heart attack.

  Amel
ia would have believed him; she had always believed him. He buried his head in his hands.

  No! He couldn’t have done that, couldn’t have used words to deceive her. He was not a hypocrite. Amelia would understand. She had been fond of Benjamin, but she hadn’t opposed his decision when it came time to get rid of him. She would support him now too. When she recovered from the first wave of grief, she would know that what he had done was right.

  She had been quiet when he told her, her face white, her eyes wide. He remembered her grief when she lost her younger sister. The long nights by the window, waiting. He had tried to hold her, but she had been like a block of ice in his arms. It was understandable, he told himself. They were sisters no matter what Leyla had become. He would save Letta for her. That would mean something. Letta was her own flesh and blood. Amelia would forgive him.

  Why, then, did he feel such crushing anxiety? It was like the walls were closing in on him. There was tightness in his throat, like a noose. He pulled at the shirt buttons at his neck. He needed air. He turned quickly, stumbled, almost fell. He reached for the wall to support himself.

  He had to calm down. It would be time soon. He would take Werber with him. The boy was loyal and stupid. Werber could guard the door while he…

  He couldn’t trust any of them now. Not the gavvers, not even Carver. No! He would go into the tower with only Werber—Werber and the gray wolf.

  The gavvers had told him Leyla had gone to her death still singing.

  Chapter 23

  #449

  Tower

  Tall, narrow building

  The air was thick and suffocating as they headed for the beach. Finn strode on ahead, with Letta struggling to keep up. The walk seemed endless. Up the hill, past the potato fields, then down the winding path. On the beach, Finn pulled Letta down behind a rock. She looked up at him in alarm, but he put his finger to his lips.

  “Better the water gatherers don’t see you. Stay here. I’ll find Marlo.”

  She sat on the sand, leaning against the rock, and waited. Anxiety coursed through her. The next few hours would be the most crucial of her life.

  “No harm!”

  Marlo appeared beside her.

  “Well?” she said.

  He nodded. “All good. I managed to find a barrel they had filled, and I emptied out half the water.”

  “Good,” Letta said.

  “You know the platform over there where they load the barrels?”

  Letta nodded. “I know it,” she said. “I’ve seen them pull the horse and carts alongside.”

  “Yes,” Marlo said. “They roll the barrel onto the cart and take it through the town and up Noa’s hill to the water tower.”

  “What happens after that?”

  “At the tower,” Marlo said, “they attach a pulley to it. The horse pulls the rope, and the barrel goes up to the top of the tower. There are two more men up there. They roll it in, open it, and tip the salt water into the tank to be cleaned.”

  “But—” Letta objected.

  “I know,” Marlo said. “Just listen. They take the last load at six bells and leave the barrels outside the tower till morning, when they lift the last load in and start again.”

  “But I need to be in the tower tonight. I can’t wait till morning.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” Marlo said. “When they drop the load, one of the workers will make sure your barrel goes up to the top of the tower. It will be left there overnight.”

  Finn slipped in beside them. “Then you climb out—” he said.

  “And wait for Noa,” Letta finished for him.

  Finn nodded grimly. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  “Did you speak to Colm?” Marlo asked Finn. “He’s the water gatherer I told you about, Letta. He’s a good friend.”

  Finn nodded. “He knows what to do. The last load leaves shortly though. Colm will distract his colleagues while we put Letta in the barrel. I’m to give him the signal when we are ready.”

  “I am ready,” Letta said, though she felt light-headed and was breathing too fast.

  “We will be outside the tower at dawn,” Marlo said. “You’ll get your chance to talk to Noa.”

  “You’ll have ten or fifteen minutes,” Finn said. “Then we’re coming in.”

  “I’ll just check the beach. See if they are ready,” Finn said and disappeared again. Letta sensed he wasn’t altogether happy with the plan, but at least he was giving her a chance.

  Marlo moved in closer to her. She could smell his warm sagey smell and feel his breath soft on her cheek.

  “I wish I could take your place,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “Take this,” he said, placing a knife in her hand. It had leather bindings around the handle and the sharp steel looked cold as ice. She pushed it away.

  “No!” she said. “I can’t. What would I do with it?”

  Marlo placed the handle in her hand again.

  “Put it in your boot. Please, Letta. For me.”

  She looked into his eyes and closed her fingers around the handle.

  “I won’t use it,” she said to him, shoving it into her boot.

  “I will never meet anyone like you again, Letta. Go safely. Please.”

  Seconds later, she was running down the beach, Finn to her right, Marlo to her left. At one point, she stumbled, and Marlo grabbed her arm. She sneaked a glance at him. His jaw was set. Worry lines creased the soft skin around his eyes. He caught her looking at him and he smiled, and she wished the world could stop for a minute and let her savor that smile.

  The water gatherers were nowhere to be seen. The two men lifted her onto the platform where six barrels stood.

  Marlo took the lid off one of the barrels.

  “Quickly,” Finn said and swung her up in his arms. And then her feet were in water, her legs, right up to her hips. The cold was like an electric shock. She couldn’t stand upright. She bent her knees, feeling the water soak into her skirt, making it feel heavy, pulling her down. She put her hands on the side of the barrel for balance.

  “All right?” Marlo’s voice was tight with anxiety.

  “All right,” she said. And then she heard the lid bang into place, and darkness descended.

  She couldn’t stop shivering. It was so cold. She bit her bottom lip to try to stop the spasms, but it didn’t help. She could hear the sea and the odd seabird outside. She touched rough wood and the cold metal head of nails and then something slimy that made her pull her hand back quickly until she realized it was just a clump of seaweed. I mustn’t panic, she thought. Just relax. Think about something else.

  And then the barrel moved. Gently. A mere tap. Her shoulder hit the side. She pushed her hands against the wood and braced herself. The barrel tilted violently. She almost screamed. Her head hit the side of the barrel. She sat down, not caring that the water was now above her waist. The barrel tilted again. Salt water splashed her face. Her body was jerked and slammed from side to side. She stifled another scream. Tears flowed down her face. Her body hurt at every point, bruises on top of bruises, and then all was quiet again.

  “Hup!” a man shouted outside.

  She realized she was on the cart. The cold was now seeping into her bones. She hugged her knees to her chest and waited. More loud bangs as the other barrels were loaded. Shouts from the men.

  “Hup! Forward!”

  And then the cart moved.

  She braced her feet against the side of the barrel. Better, she thought. Definitely better. Soon, she could almost predict the rhythm of the horse. Over and back. Over and back. The sounds of the beach faded, and she knew they were heading in the direction of the town. In her mind’s eye, she could see the fields on either side, almost see the high hedges. It seemed to take forever, but suddenly, there was the sound of people a
ll about her. Disembodied voices shouting greetings, giving instructions, and then they were moving away. She knew they were headed for the winding path that led up the cliff to the tower. Had they reached it yet? Suddenly, the barrel slipped, smashing into the one behind it. Letta’s head bounced off the surface. Blinding pain caused her to see flashing lights. They had reached the path. She was sure of it now. She could hear the men encouraging the horse.

  “On, boy! On!”

  The path was as twisted as she had imagined. She could almost see the horse, picking his way carefully through the stones, loose gravel scattering behind his clumsy feet.

  With every twist her stomach lurched, until finally, she felt acid in her mouth, followed by a flood of saliva, and then her stomach heaved, and she vomited all over her skirt. She sat back exhausted, wiping the vomit from her mouth with the back of her hand.

  It can’t be much farther, she told herself. It can’t be. She was afraid the cold would kill her before she ever got to the tower.

  Or that she would hit her head so hard that it would knock her out, and she’d slip beneath the water and drown. No! She wouldn’t let that happen. She was going to get to that tower and stop Noa. The cart lurched again as the horse stumbled. She wrapped her arms around her head to protect it, felt the skin tear as her hand made contact with the rough wood. She winced as the blood dripped down her arm and onto her face.

  On and on they went, falling from side to side, the smell of vomit overpowering, the taste of blood on her lips. Ache piled upon ache with the relentless movement of the barrel. At one point, her head hit the lid so strenuously that she almost bit right through her lower lip. She cried out, despite herself, and was terrified they would hear her. Nothing happened. Letta curled her body into a ball, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes closed. And still they climbed, the horse doggedly pulling the cart, the men shouting instructions. Then, when Letta honestly felt she could endure no more, they stopped.

  “Hold, boy! Back now!” she heard the man call.

  She could hear the men clearly.

  “That’s it,” one said.