by Patrick Ness
“To what?” I say, but I don’t say any more as the cart feels like it drops off a cliff.
Mistress Coyle’s forehead smacks into my nose and I smell blood almost at once. I hear her gasp and choke as my stray hand is shoved into her neck and still the cart tumbles and bumps and I wait for the moment where we topple end over end.
And then Mistress Coyle is working both arms around me, pulling me close to her and bracing us in the compartment with one hand and one foot pressed against the opposite side. I resist her, resist the implied comfort, but there’s wisdom in it as almost immediately we stop knocking each other about, even though the cart lurches and stutters.
And so it’s in Mistress Coyle’s arms that the last bit of my journey is taken. And it’s in Mistress Coyle’s arms that I enter the camp of the Answer.
Finally the cart stops and the panel is removed almost immediately.
“We’re here,” says the younger soldier, the blond one. “Everyone okay?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” Mistress Coyle says sourly. She lets go of me and scoots her way out of the compartment, extending a hand to help me out, too. I ignore it, getting myself out and looking at my surroundings.
We’ve come down a steep rocky path that’s barely fit for a cart and into what looks like a gash of rocks in the middle of a forest. Trees press in on every side, a row of them on the level ground in front of us.
The ocean must be beyond them. Either I dozed off for longer than I thought or she lied and it’s closer than she said.
Which wouldn’t surprise me.
The blond soldier whistles when he sees our faces, and I can feel caked blood under my nose. “I can get you something for that,” he says.
“She’s a healer,” Mistress Coyle says. “She can do it herself.”
“I’m Lee,” he says to me, a grin on his face.
For a brief second, I’m completely aware of how terrible I must look with my bloody nose and this ridiculous outfit.
“I’m Viola,” I say to the ground.
“’Ere’s yer bag,” Wilf says, suddenly next to me, holding out the canvas sack of medicines and bandages. I look at him for a second and then I pretty much throw myself at him in a hug, pulling him tight to me, feeling the big, safe bulk of him. “Ah’m glad to see yoo, Hildy,” he says.
“You, too, Wilf,” I say, my voice thick. I let him go and take the bag.
“Corinne pack that?” Mistress Coyle asks.
I fish out a bandage and start cleaning the blood from my nose. “What do you care?”
“You can accuse me of many things,” she says, “but not caring isn’t one of them, my girl.”
“I told you,” I say, catching her eye, “never call me that again.”
Mistress Coyle licks her teeth. She makes a quick glance to Lee and to the other soldier, Magnus, and they leave, quickly, disappearing into the trees ahead of us. “You, too, Wilf.”
Wilf looks at me. “Yoo gone be all right?”
“I think so, Wilf,” I say, swallowing, “but don’t you go far.”
He nods, touching the brim of his hat again and walking after the soldiers. We watch him go.
“All right.” Mistress Coyle turns to me, crossing her arms. “Let’s hear it.”
I look at her, at her face full of defiance, and I feel my breath quicken, the anger rising up again so fast, so easily, it feels like I might crack in two. “How dare you–”
But she’s interrupting, already. “Whoever contacts your ships first has the advantage. If he’s first, he tells them all about the nasty little terrorist organization he’s got on his hands and can they please use their guidance equipment to track us down and blow us off the face of New World.”
“Yes but if we–”
“If we got to them first, yes, of course, we could have told them all about our local tyrant, but that was never going to happen.”
“We could have tried–”
“Did you know what you were doing when you ran towards that tower?”
I clench my fists. “No, but at least I could have–”
“Could have what?” Her eyes challenge me. “Sent out a message to the very coordinates the President’s been searching for? Don’t you think he was counting on you trying? Just why exactly do you think you haven’t been arrested yet?”
I dig my nails into my palms, forcing myself not to hear what she’s saying.
“We were running out of time,” she says. “And if we can’t use it to contact help, then at the very least we prevent him from doing the same.”
“And when they land? What’s your brilliant plan then?”
“Well,” she says, uncrossing her arms and taking a step towards me, “if we haven’t overthrown him, then there’s a race to get to them first, isn’t there? At least this way, it’s a fair fight.”
I shake my head. “You had no right.”
“It’s a war.”
“That you started.”
“He started it, my girl.”
“And you escalated it.”
“Hard decisions have to be made.”
“And who put you in charge of making them?”
“Who put him in charge of locking away half the population of this planet?”
“You’re blowing people up!”
“Accidents,” she says. “Deeply regrettable.”
Now it’s my turn to take a step towards her. “That sounds exactly like something he would say.”
Her shoulders rise and if she had Noise, it would be taking the top of my head off. “Have you seen the women’s prisons, my girl? What you don’t know could fill a crater–”
“Mistress Coyle!” A voice calls from the trees. Lee steps back into the rocky gash. “There’s a report just come in.”
“What is it?” Mistress Coyle says.
He looks from her to me. I look at the ground again.
“Three divisions of soldiers marching down the river road,” he says, “full out for the ocean.”
I look up sharply. “They’re coming here?”
Both Mistress Coyle and Lee look at me.
“No,” Lee says. “They’re going to the ocean.”
I blink back and forth between them. “But aren’t we–?”
“Of course not,” Mistress Coyle says, her voice flat, mocking. “Whatever made you think we were? And whatever, I wonder, makes the President think we are?”
I feel an angry chill, despite the sun, and I notice I’m shaking inside these big stupid puffy sleeves.
She was testing me.
As if I would tell the Mayor where–
“How dare you–” I start to say again.
But the anger suddenly fades as it comes flooding back.
“Todd,” I whisper.
Ocean all over his Noise.
How he promised to hide it.
And how I know he’d keep that promise–
If he could.
(oh, Todd, did he–?)
(are you–?)
Oh, no.
“I have to go back,” I say. “I have to save him–”
She’s already shaking her head. “There’s nothing we can do for him right now–”
“He’ll kill him.”
She looks at me, not without pity. “He’s probably dead already, my girl.”
I feel my throat closing up but I fight it. “You don’t know that.”
“If he’s not dead, then he must have told the President voluntarily.” She cocks her head. “Which would you rather be true?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No–”
“I’m sorry, my girl.” Her voice is a little calmer than before, a little softer, but still strong. “I truly am, but there are thousands of lives at stake. And like it or not, you’ve picked a side.” She looks over to where Lee stands. “So why don’t you let me show you your army?”
[TODD]
“Bitches,” Mr. Hammar says from atop his horse.
“Your analysis was not as
ked for, Sergeant,” says the Mayor, riding Morpeth thru the smoke and the twisted metal.
“They’ve left the mark, tho,” Mr. Hammar says, pointing at the trunk of a large tree at the edge of the clearing.
The blue A of the Answer is smeared across it.
“Your concern for my eyesight does you credit,” says the Mayor, sharply enough that even Mr. Hammar shuts up.
We rode up here straight from the monastery, meeting Mr. Hammar’s squadron coming up the hill, looking ready for battle. When we got to the top, we found Ivan and the soldiers who were meant to be guarding the tower. Ivan got promoted here, I guess, after all the Spackle were rounded up, but now he’s looking like he wishes he never heard of a tower.
Cuz it ain’t here no more. It’s just a heap of smoking metal, mostly in a long line where it fell, like a drunk man tipping forward onto the ground and deciding to just stay there and sleep.
(and I do my damnedest not to think about her asking me how to get here)
(saying we should go here first)
(oh, Viola, you didn’t–)
“If they got enough to blow up something this big . . .” Davy says to my right, looking across the field. He don’t finish his sentence cuz it’s the same thing we’re all thinking, the thing that’s in everyone’s Noise.
Everyone that’s got Noise, that is, cuz Mr. Hammar seems to be one of the lucky ones. “Hey, boy,” he sneers at me. “You a man yet?”
“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be heading, Sergeant?” the Mayor asks, not looking at him.
“With haste, sir,” Mr. Hammar says again, giving me an evil wink, then spurring his horse and shouting for his men to follow. They speed down the hill in the fastest march I’ve seen, leaving us with Ivan and his soldiers, all of their Noise regretting to a man how they ran towards the monastery after hearing the tracer bomb hit.
It’s obvious, tho, when you look back. A smaller bomb in one place to get people running away from where you want to plant yer bigger bomb.
But what the hell were they doing bombing the monastery?
Why attack the Spackle?
Why attack me?
“Private Farrow,” the Mayor says to Ivan.
“It’s Corporal Farrow, actually–” Ivan says.
The Mayor turns his head slowly and Ivan stops talking as he comes to understand. “Private Farrow,” the Mayor says again. “You will salvage what metal and scrap you can and then report to your commanding officer to relinquish your supply of cure–”
He stops. We can all hear Ivan’s Noise clear as day. The Mayor looks round. Every soldier in the squadron has Noise. Every one of ’em’s already been punished for one thing or another.
“You will submit yourselves to your commanding officer for appropriate punishment.”
Ivan don’t reply but his Noise rumbles.
“Is something unclear, Private?” the Mayor says, his voice dangerously bright. He looks into Ivan’s eyes, holding his gaze. “You will submit yourselves to your commanding officer for appropriate punishment,” he says again, but there’s something in his voice, some weird vibrayshun.
I look at Ivan. His eyes are going foggy, unfocused, his mouth a little slack. “I will submit to my commanding officer for appropriate punishment,” he says.
“Good,” the Mayor says, looking back at the wreckage.
Ivan slumps a little when the eye contact is broken, blinking as if he’s just woken up, forehead furrowing.
“But, sir,” he says to the Mayor’s back.
The Mayor turns round again, looking very surprised at still being spoken to.
Ivan presses on. “We were coming to your aid when–”
The Mayor’s eyes flash. “When the Answer watched you do exactly what it wanted you to do and then blew up my tower.”
“But, sir–”
Without changing his expresshun, the Mayor pulls out a pistol from his holster and shoots Ivan in the leg.
Ivan tumbles over, wailing. The Mayor looks at the other soldiers.
“Anyone else care to contribute before you get to work?”
As the rest of the soldiers ignore Ivan’s screams and start clearing up the wreckage, the Mayor moves Morpeth right in front of that A, loud and clear like the announcement it is. “The Answer,” he says, in a low voice like he’s talking to himself. “The Answer.”
“Let us go after ’em, Pa,” Davy says.
“Hmm?” The Mayor turns his head slowly, like he forgot we were there.
“We can fight,” Davy says. “We proved that. And instead you got us babysitting animals that are already beat.”
The Mayor considers us for a minute, tho I don’t know how or when Davy turned him and me into an us. “If you think they’re already beaten, David,” he finally says, “then you know very little about the Spackle.”
Davy’s Noise ruffles a little. “I think I’ve learnt a thing or two by now.”
And as much as I hate to, I have to agree with him.
“Yes,” says the Mayor. “I suppose you have. Both of you.” He looks me in the eye and I can’t help thinking of me saving 1017 from the bomb, risking my own life to get him outta the way.
And him biting and scratching me by way of thanks.
“Then how about a new project?” the Mayor says, steering Morpeth over to us. “One where you can put all your expertise to work.”
Davy’s Noise ain’t sure of this. There’s pride but doubt, too.
All I got in mine is dread.
“Are you ready to lead, Todd?” the Mayor asks lightly.
“I’m ready, Pa,” Davy says.
The Mayor still looks only at me. He knows I’m thinking about her but he’s ignoring all my askings.
“The Answer,” he says, turning back to the A. “If that’s who they want to be, then let them.” He looks back at us. “But if there’s an Answer, then someone must first . . .”
He lets his voice fade and he gets a faraway smile on his face, like he’s laughing at his own private joke.
Davy unfolds the big white scroll onto the grass, not caring that it’s getting wet in the cold morning dew. There’s words written across the top and diagrams and squares and things drawn in below it.
“Measurements mostly,” Davy reads. “Too effing many. I mean, look at that.”
He holds the scroll up to me, trying to get me to agree.
And, well–
Yeah, okay, I–
Whatever.
“Too effing many,” I say, feeling sweat come up under my arms.
It’s the day after the tower fell and we’re back at the monastery, back to putting teams of Spackle to work. My escape seems to be forgotten, like it was part of another life and now we’ve all got new things to think about. The Mayor won’t talk to me about Viola and I’m back working for Davy, who ain’t too happy.
So it’s like old times.
“There’s fighting to be done and he’s got us building an effing palace,” Davy frowns, looking over the plans.
It ain’t a palace but he’s got a point. Before it was just gonna be rough shacks to shelter the Spackle for the winter but this looks like a whole new building for men, taking up most of the inside of the monastery.
It’s even got a name written across the top.
A name my eye stumbles over, trying to–
Davy turns to me, his eyes widening. I make my Noise as Noisy as possible.
“We should get started,” I say, standing up.
But Davy’s still looking at me. “What do you think about what it says right here?” he asks, putting his finger on a block of words. “Ain’t that something amazing what it says?”
“Yeah,” I shrug. “I guess.”
His eyes get even wider with delight. “It’s a list of materials, pigpiss!” His voice is practically celebrating. “You can’t read, can you?”
“Shut up,” I say, looking away.
“You can’t even read!” Davy’s smiling up into the cold sun
and around at all the Spackle watching us. “What kinda idiot gets thru life–”
“I said, shut up!”
Davy’s mouth drops open as he realizes.
And I know what he’s gonna say before he says it.
“Yer ma’s book,” he says. “She wrote it for you and you can’t even–”
And what can I do but hit him across his stupid lughole of a mouth?
I’m getting taller and bigger and he comes off worst in the fight but he don’t seem to mind all that much. Even when we get back to work, he’s still giggling and making a big show outta reading the plans.
“Mighty complicated, these instruckshuns,” he says, a big smile across his bloody lips.
“Just effing get on with it!”
“Fine, fine,” he says. “First step is what we were already doing. Tearing down all the internal walls.” He looks up. “I could write it down for you.”
My Noise rages red at him but Noise is useless as a weapon.
Unless yer the Mayor.
I didn’t think life could turn more to crap but it always does, don’t it? Bombs and towers falling and having to work with Davy and the Mayor paying me special attenshun and–
(and I don’t know where she is)
(and I don’t know what the Mayor’s gonna do to her)
(and did she plant the bombs?)
(did she?)
I turn back round to the work site.
1150 pairs of Spackle eyes are watching us, watching me, like they’re just effing farm animals looking up from their grazing cuz they heard a loud noise.
Stupid effing sheep.
“GET TO WORK!” I shout.
“You look like hell,” Mayor Ledger says, as I fall onto my bed.
“Stuff it,” I say.
“Working you hard, is he?” He brings me over the dinner that’s already waiting for us. It don’t even look like he ate too much of mine before I got here.
“Ain’t he working you hard?” I say, digging in to the food.
“I think he’s forgotten about me, truth to tell.” He sits back on his own bed. “I haven’t spoken to him in I don’t know how long.”
I look up at him. His Noise is grey, like he’s hiding something, tho that ain’t unusual.
