by Patrick Ness
She pours me a glass of water from a pitcher on the bedside table. “What happened?” I say, taking a drink. “You were summoned.”
“Ah, yes, that,” Maddy says, sitting back. “That was interesting.”
She tells me about how everyone in the entire town– not Haven any more, New Prentisstown, a name that makes my stomach sink– gathered to watch the army march in and watch the new Mayor execute the old one.
“Except he didn’t,” Maddy says. “He spared him. Said he would spare all of us, too. That he was taking away the Noise cure, which the men weren’t too happy about and good Lord it’s been nice not to hear it yammering for the past six months, but that we should all know our place and remember who we were and that we would make a new home together in preparation for all the settlers that were coming.”
She widens her eyes, waits for me to say something.
“I didn’t understand half of that,” I say. “There’s a cure?”
She shakes her head but not to say no. “Boy, you really aren’t from around here, are you?”
I set down the glass of water, leaning forward and lowering my voice to a whisper. “Maddy, is there a communications hub near here?”
She looks at me like I just asked her if she’d like to move with me to one of the moons. “So I can contact the ships,” I say. “It might be a big, curved dish? Or a tower, maybe?”
She looks thoughtful. “There’s an old metal tower up in the hills,” she says, also whispering, “but I’m not even sure it is a communications tower. It’s been abandoned for ages. Besides, you won’t be able to get to it. There’s a whole army out there, Vi.”
“How big?”
“Big enough.” We’re both still whispering. “People are saying they’re separating out the last of the women tonight.”
“To do what?”
Maddy shrugs. “Corinne said a woman in the crowd told her they rounded up the Spackle, too.”
I sit up, pressing against the bandages. “Spackle?”
“They’re the native species here.”
“I know who they are.” I sit up even more, straining against the bandage. “Todd told me things, told me what happened before. Maddy, if the Mayor’s separating out women and Spackle, then we’re in danger. We’re in the worst kind of danger.”
I push back my sheets to get up but a sudden bolt of lightning rips through my stomach. I call out and fall back.
“Pulled a stitch,” Maddy tuts, standing right up.
“Please.” I grit my teeth against the pain. “We have to get out of here. We have to run.”
“You’re in no position to run anywhere,” she says, reaching for my bandage.
Which is when the Mayor walks in the door.
{VIOLA}
Mistress Coyle leads him in. Her face is sterner than ever, her forehead creased, her jaw set. Even having only met her once I can tell she’s not happy.
He stands behind her. Tall, thin but broad-shouldered, all in white with a hat he hasn’t taken off.
I’ve never properly seen him. I was bleeding, dying when he approached us in the town square.
But it’s him.
It can only be him.
“Good evening, Viola,” he says. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a very long time.”
Mistress Coyle sees me struggling with the sheet, sees Maddy reaching for me. “Is there a problem, Madeleine?”
“Nightmare,” Maddy says, catching my eye. “I think she pulled a stitch.”
“We’ll deal with that later,” Mistress Coyle says and the calm and serious way she says it gets Maddy’s full attention. “Get her 400 units of Jeffers root in the meantime.”
“400?” Maddy says, sounding surprised, but seeing the look on Mistress Coyle’s face, all she says is, “Yes, Mistress.” She gives my hand a last squeeze and leaves the room.
They both watch me for a long moment, then the Mayor says, “That’ll be all, Mistress.”
Mistress Coyle gives me a silent look as she leaves, maybe to reassure me, maybe to ask me something or tell me something, but I’m too frightened to figure it out before she backs out of the room, closing the door behind her.
And then I’m alone with him.
He lets the silence build until it’s clear I’m meant to say something. I’m gripping the sheet to my chest with a fist, still feeling the lightning pain fire up my side if I move.
“You’re Mayor Prentiss,” I say. My voice shakes when I say it but I say it.
“President Prentiss,” he says, “but you would know me as Mayor, of course.”
“Where’s Todd?” I look into his eyes. I do not blink. “What have you done with him?”
He smiles again. “Smart in your first sentence, courageous in your second. We may be friends yet.”
“Is he hurt?” I swallow away the burn rising in my chest. “Is he alive?”
For a second, it looks like he’s not going to tell me, not even going to acknowledge that I asked, but then he says, “Todd is well. Todd is alive and well and asking about you every chance he gets.”
I realize I’ve held my breath for his answer. “Is that true?”
“Of course it’s true.”
“I want to see him.”
“And he wants to see you,” says Mayor Prentiss. “But all things in their proper order.”
He keeps his smile. It’s almost friendly.
Here is the man we spent all those weeks running from, here he is, standing in my very own room, where I can barely move from the pain.
And he’s smiling.
And it’s almost friendly.
If he’s hurt Todd, if he’s laid a finger on him–
“Mayor Prentiss–”
“President Prentiss,” he says again, then his voice brightens. “But you may call me David.”
I don’t say anything, just press down harder onto my bandage against the pain.
There’s something about him. Something I can’t quite place–
“That is,” he says, “if I may call you Viola.”
There’s a knock on the door. Maddy opens it, a phial in her hand. “Jeffers,” she says, keeping her eyes firmly on the floor. “For her pain.”
“Yes, of course,” the Mayor says, moving away from my bed, hands behind his back. “Proceed.”
Maddy pours me a glass of water and watches me swallow four yellow gel caps, two more than I’ve taken before. She takes the glass from me and, with her back to the Mayor, gives me a firm look, a solid one, no smile but all kinds of bravery, and it makes me feel a little bit good, a little bit stronger.
“She’ll grow tired very quickly,” Maddy says to the Mayor, still not looking at him.
“I understand,” the Mayor says. Maddy leaves, closing the door behind her. My stomach immediately starts to grow warm but it’ll take a minute just yet to make the pain start to go or take away the quivering running all through me.
“So,” the Mayor says. “May I?”
“May you what?”
“Call you Viola?”
“I can’t stop you,” I say. “If you want.”
“Good,” he says, not sitting, not moving, the smile still fixed. “When you are feeling better, Viola, I would very much like to have a talk with you.”
“About what?”
“Why, your ships, of course,” he says. “Coming closer by the moment.”
I swallow. “What ships?”
“Oh, no, no, no.” He shakes his head but still smiles. “You started out with intelligence and with courage. You are frightened but that has not stopped you from addressing me with calmness and clarity. All most admirable.” He bends his head down. “But to that we must add honesty. We must start out honestly with each other, Viola, or how may we proceed at all?”
Proceed to where? I think.
“I have told you that Todd is alive and well,” he says, “and what I tell you is true.” He places a hand on the rail at the end of the bed. “And he will stay safe.”
He pauses. “And you will give me your honesty.”
And I understand without having to be told that one depends on the other.
The warmth is starting to spread up from my stomach, making everything seem slower, softer. The lightning in my side is fading, but it’s taking wakefulness along with it. Why two doses when that would put me to sleep so fast? So fast I won’t even be able to talk to–
Oh.
Oh.
“I need to see him to believe you,” I say.
“Soon,” he says. “There is much to be done in New Prentisstown first. Much to be undone.”
“Whether anyone wants it or not.” My eyelids are getting heavy. I force them up. Only then do I realize I said it out loud.
He smiles again. “I find myself saying this with great frequency, Viola. The war is over. I am not your enemy.”
I lift my groggy eyes to him in surprise.
I’m afraid of him. I am.
But–
“You were the enemy of the women of Prentisstown,” I say. “You were the enemy of everyone in Farbranch.”
He stiffens a little, though he tries not to let me see it. “A body was found in the river this morning,” he says. “A body with a knife in its throat.”
I try to keep my eyes from widening, even under the Jeffers. He’s looking at me close now. “Perhaps the man’s death was justified,” he says. “Perhaps the man had enemies.”
I see myself doing it–
I see myself plunging the knife–
I close my eyes.
“As for me,” the Mayor says, “the war is over. My days of soldiering are at an end. Now come the days of leadership, of bringing people together.”
By separating them, I think, but my breathing is slowing. The whiteness of the room is growing brighter but only in a soft way that makes me want to fall down into it and sleep and sleep and sleep. I press further into the pillow.
“I’ll leave you now,” he says. “We will meet again.”
I begin to breathe through my mouth. Sleep is becoming impossible to avoid.
He sees me starting to drift off.
And he does the most surprising thing.
He steps forward and pulls the sheet straight across me, almost like he’s tucking me in.
“Before I go,” he says. “I have one request.”
“What?” I say, fighting to keep awake.
“I’d like you to call me David.”
“What?” I say, my voice heavy.
“I’d like you to say, Good night, David.”
The Jeffers has so disconnected me that the words come out before I know I’m even saying them. “Good night, David.”
Through the haze of the drug, I see him look a little surprised, even a little disappointed.
But he recovers quickly. “And to you, Viola.” He nods at me and steps towards the door to leave.
And I realize what it is, what’s so different about him.
“I can’t hear you,” I whisper from my bed.
He stops and turns. “I said, And to–”
“No,” I say, my tongue barely able to move. “I mean I can’t hear you. I can’t hear you think.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I should hope not.”
And I think I’m asleep before he can even leave.
I don’t wake for a long, long time, finally blinking again into the sunshine, wondering what was real and what was a dream.
( . . . my father, holding out his hand to help me up the ladder into the hatch, smiling, saying, “Welcome aboard, skipper . . .”)
“You snore,” says a voice.
Corinne is seated in the chair, her fingers flying a threaded needle through a piece of fabric so fast it’s like it’s not her doing it, like someone else’s angry hands are using her lap.
“I do not,” I say.
“Like a cow in oestrus.”
I push back the covers. My bandages have been changed and the lightning pain is gone so the stitch must be repaired. “How long have I been asleep?”
“More than a day.” She sounds disapproving. “The President’s already sent men by twice to check on your condition.”
I put a hand on my side, tentatively pushing on the wound. The pain is almost non-existent.
“Nothing to say to that then, my girl?” Corinne says, needle thrashing ferociously.
I furrow my forehead. “What’s there to say? I’d never met him before.”
“He was sure keen to know you though, wasn’t he? Ow!” She breathes in a sharp hiss and sticks a fingertip in her mouth. “All the while he’s got us trapped,” she says around her finger. “All the while we can’t even leave this building.”
“I don’t see how that’s my fault.”
“It isn’t your fault, my girl,” Mistress Coyle says, coming into the room. She looks sternly at Corinne. “And no one here thinks it is.”
Corinne stands, bows slightly to Mistress Coyle and leaves without another word.
“How are you feeling?” Mistress Coyle asks.
“Groggy.” I sit up more, finding it much easier to do so this time. I also notice my bladder is uncomfortably full. I tell Mistress Coyle.
“Well, then,” she says, “let’s see if you can stand on your own to help with that.”
I take in a breath and turn to put my feet on the floor. My legs don’t want to bend very fast but eventually they get there and eventually I can stand up and even walk to the door.
“Maddy said you were the best healer in town,” I marvel.
“Maddy tells no lies.”
She accompanies me down a long white hallway to a toilet. When I’ve finished and washed and opened the door again, Mistress Coyle is holding a heavier white gown for me to wear, longer and much nicer than the backwards robe I have on. I slip it over my head and we walk back up the hallway, a little wobbly, but walking all the same.
“The President has been asking after your health,” she says, steadying me with her hand.
“Corinne told me.” I look up at her out of the corner of my eye. “It’s only because of the settler ships. I don’t know him. I’m not on his side.”
“Ah,” Mistress Coyle says, getting me back through the door to my room and onto my bed. “You do recognize there are sides then?”
I lie back, my tongue pressed against the back of my teeth. “Did you give me two doses of Jeffers so I wouldn’t have to speak to him for very long?” I say. “Or so I wouldn’t be able to tell him very much?”
She gives a nod as if to say how clever I am. “Would it be the worst thing in the world if it was a little of both?”
“You could have asked.”
“Wasn’t time,” she says, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. “We only know him by his history, my girl, and his history is bad, bad, bad. Whatever he might say about a new society, there is good reason to want to be better prepared if he starts a conversation.”
“I don’t know him,” I say again. “I don’t know anything.”
“But, done rightly,” she says, with a little smile, “you might learn things from a man who takes an interest.”
I try to read her, read what she’s trying to tell me, but of course women here don’t have Noise either, do they?
“What are you saying?” I ask.
“I’m saying it’s time for you to get something solid into your stomach.” She stands, brushing invisible threads off her white coat. “I’ll have Madeleine bring in some breakfast for you.”
She walks to the door, taking hold of the handle but not turning it yet. “But know this,” she says, without turning around. “If there are sides and our President is on one . . .” She glances back at me over her shoulder. “Then I am most definitely on the other.”
{VIOLA}
“There are six ships,” I say from my bed, for the third time in as many days, days where Todd is still out there somewhere, days where I don’t know what’s happening to him or to anyone else outside.
From the
windows of my room, I see soldiers marching by all the time, but all they do is march. Everyone here at the house of healing half-expected them to come bursting through the doors at any moment, ready to do terrible things, ready to assert their victory.
But they haven’t. They just march by. Other men bring us deliveries of food to the back doors, and the healers are left to their work.
We still can’t leave, but the world outside doesn’t seem to be ending. Which isn’t what anyone expected, not least, it seems, Mistress Coyle, who’s convinced it only means something worse is waiting to happen.
I can’t help but think that she’s probably right.
She frowns into her notes. “Just six?”
“Eight hundred sleeping settlers and three caretaker families in each,” I say. I’m getting hungry, but I know by now there’s no eating until she says the consultation is finished. “Mistress Coyle–”
“And you’re sure there are eighty-one members of the caretaker families?”
“I should know,” I say. “I was in school with their children.”
She looks up. “I know this is tedious, Viola, but information is power. The information we give him. The information we learn from him.”
I sigh impatiently. “I don’t know anything about spying.”
“It’s not spying,” she says, returning to her notes. “It’s just finding things out.” She writes something more in her pad. “Four thousand, eight hundred and eighty-one people,” she says, almost to herself.
I know what she means. More people than the entire population of this planet. Enough to change everything.
But change it how?
“When he speaks with you again,” she says, “you can’t tell him about the ships. Keep him guessing. Keep him off the right number.”
“While I’m also supposed to be finding out what I can,” I say.
She closes her pad, consultation over. “Information is power,” she repeats.
I sit up in the bed, pretty much sick to death of being a patient. “Can I ask you something?”
She stands and reaches for her cloak. “Certainly.”
“Why do you trust me?”
“Your face when he walked into your room,” she says without hesitating. “You looked as if you’d just met your worst enemy.”
