by Patrick Ness
The rescue wasn’t a rescue for Lee. His sister and his mother weren’t among the prisoners saved or the prisoners who died. It’s possible they were in the one prison the Answer didn’t manage to break.
But.
“Even if they’re dead,” he said, one night as we sat on the shore of the lake, throwing in stones, aching again after yet another long day’s training. “I just want to know.”
I shook my head. “If you don’t know, then there’s still a chance.”
“Knowing or not knowing doesn’t keep them alive.” He sat down, close to me again. “I think they’re dead. I feel like they’re dead.”
“Lee–”
“I’m going to kill him.” His voice was that of a man making a promise, not a threat. “If I get close enough, I swear to you.”
The moons rose over us, making two more of themselves in the surface of the lake. I threw in another stone, watching it skip across the moons’ reflections. The camp gave a low bustle in the trees behind us and up the bank. You could hear Noise here and there, including a growing buzz from Lee, not lucky enough to qualify for Mistress Coyle’s ration.
“It’s not what you think it’s going to be like,” I said quietly.
“Killing someone?”
I nodded. “Even if it’s someone who deserves it, someone who will kill you if you don’t kill them, even then it’s not what you think.”
There was more silence, until he finally said. “I know.”
I looked over at him. “You killed a soldier.”
He didn’t answer, which was its own answer.
“Lee?” I said. “Why didn’t you tell–?”
“Because it’s not what you think it’s going to be like, is it?” he said. “Even if it’s someone who deserves it.”
He threw another stone into the lake. We weren’t resting our shoulders on each other. We were a space apart.
“I’m still going to kill him,” he said.
I peel off the backing paper and press the bomb into the side of the well, sticking it there with a glue made from tree sap. I take two wires out of my pack and twist the ends on two more wires already sticking out of the bomb, hooking two together and leaving one end dangling.
The bomb is now armed.
I take a small green number pad from the front pocket of my pack and twist the end of the dangling wire around a point at the end of the pad. I press a red button on the pad and then a grey one. The green numbers light up.
The bomb is now ready for timing.
I click a silver button until the digits count up to 30:00. I press the red button again, flip over the green pad, slide one metal flap into another, then press the grey button one more time. The green numbers immediately change to 29:59, 29:58, 29:57.
The bomb is now live.
“Nicely done,” Mistress Coyle whispers. “Time to go.”
And then after almost a month of hiding in the forest, waiting for the prisoners to recuperate, waiting for the rest of us to train, waiting for a real army to have life breathed into it, there came a night when that waiting was over.
“Get up, my girl,” Mistress Coyle said, kneeling at the foot of my cot.
I blinked myself awake. It was still pitch black. Mistress Coyle’s voice was low so as not to wake the others in the long tent.
“Why?” I whispered back.
“You said you’d do anything.”
I got up and went out into the cold, hopping to get my boots on while Mistress Coyle readied a pack for me to wear.
“We’re going into town, aren’t we?” I said, tying my laces.
“She’s a genius, this one,” Mistress Coyle muttered into the pack.
“Why tonight? Why now?”
She looked up at me. “Because we need to remind them that we’re still here.”
The pack rests empty against my back. We cross the yard and sidle up to the house, stopping to listen for anyone stirring.
No one does.
I’m ready to go but Mistress Coyle is leaning back from the outer wall of the house, looking at the white expanse of it.
“This should do fine,” she says.
“For what?” I look around us, spooked now that there’s a timer running.
“Have you forgotten who we are?” She reaches into a pocket of her long healer’s skirt, still worn even though trousers are so much more practical. She pulls out something and tosses it to me. I catch it without even thinking.
“Why don’t you do the honours?” she says.
I look in my hand. It’s a crumbling piece of blue charcoal, pulled from our wood fires, the remains of the reacher trees we burn to keep warm. It smears dusty blue across my hand, across my skin.
I look at it for a moment longer.
“Tick tock,” says Mistress Coyle.
I swallow. Then I raise the charcoal and make three quick slashes against the white wall of the house.
A, looking back at me, by my hand.
I find myself breathing heavily.
When I look round, Mistress Coyle’s already off down the ditches of the drive. I hurry after her, keeping my head low.
Twenty-eight minutes later, just as we reach our cart, deep in the woods, we hear the Boom.
“Congratulations, soldier,” Mistress Coyle says, as we set off back to camp. “You have just fired the first shot of the final battle.”
[TODD]
The woman is strapped against a metal frame, her arms out behind her and up, each tied at the wrist to a bar of the frame.
It looks like she’s diving into a lake.
Except for the watery blood on her face.
“She’s gonna get it now,” Davy says.
But his voice is oddly quiet.
“One more time, my female friend,” Mr. Hammar says, walking behind her. “Who set the bomb?”
The first bomb since the prison break went off last night, taking out a well and pump on a farm.
It’s begun.
“I don’t know,” says the woman, her voice strangled and coughing. “I haven’t even left Haven since–”
“Haven’t left where?” Mr. Hammar says. He grabs a handle on the frame and tips the whole thing forward, plunging the woman face first into a tub of water, holding her there as she thrashes against her bindings.
I look down at my feet.
“Raise your head, please, Todd,” the Mayor says, standing behind us. “How else will you learn?”
I raise my head.
We’re on the other side of a two-way mirror, in a small room looking in on the Arena of the Ask, which is just a room with high concrete walls and similar mirrored rooms off of each side. Davy and I sit next to each other on a short bench.
Watching.
Mr. Hammar pulls up the frame. The woman rises outta the water, gasping for air, straining against where her arms are tied.
“Where do you live?” Mr. Hammar’s got his smile on, that nasty thing that hardly ever leaves his face.
“New Prentisstown,” the woman gasps. “New Prentisstown.”
“Correct,” says Mr. Hammar, then watches as the woman coughs so hard she throws up down her front. He takes a towel from a side table and gently wipes the woman’s face, cleaning as much of the vomit off her as he can.
The woman’s still gasping but her eyes don’t leave Mr. Hammar as he cleans her.
She looks even more frightened than before.
“Why’s he doing that?” Davy says.
“Doing what?” the Mayor says.
Davy shrugs. “Being, I don’t know, kind.”
I don’t say nothing. I keep my Noise clear of the Mayor putting bandages on me.
All those months ago.
I hear the Mayor shift his stance, rustling himself to cover up my Noise so Davy don’t hear it. “We’re not inhuman, David. We don’t do this for our own joy.”
I look out at Mr. Hammar, look at his smile.
“Yes, Todd,” the Mayor says, “Captain Hammar does show a cer
tain glee that is perhaps unseemly, but you have to admit, he does get results.”
“Are you recovered?” Mr. Hammar asks the woman. We can hear his voice over a microphone system, pumped into the room. It separates it oddly from his mouth, making it seem like we’re watching a vid rather than a real thing.
“I’m sorry to have to keep Asking you,” Mr. Hammar says. “This can end as quick as you want.”
“Please,” says the woman in a whisper. “Please, I don’t know anything.”
And she starts to weep.
“Christ,” Davy says, under his breath.
“The enemy will try many tricks to win our sympathy,” says the Mayor.
Davy turns to him. “So this is a trick?”
“Almost certainly.”
I keep watching the woman. It don’t look like a trick.
I am the Circle and the Circle is me, I think.
“Just so,” says the Mayor.
“Yer in control here,” says Mr. Hammar, starting round the woman again. Her head turns to try and follow him but there ain’t much movement from where she’s strapped to the frame. He hovers just outside of her vision. To keep her off balance, I’m guessing.
Cuz of course Mr. Hammar ain’t got no Noise.
Me and Davy do, tho.
“Only muffled sounds, Todd,” the Mayor says, reading my asking. “Do you see the metal rods coming out of the frame by the sides of her head?”
He points. Davy and I see them.
“They play a whining buzz into her ears at all times,” the Mayor says. “Muffles any Noise she might hear from the observation rooms. Keeps her focused on the Officer of the Ask.”
“Wouldn’t want ’em hearing what we already know,” Davy says.
“Yes,” the Mayor says, sounding a little surprised. “Yes, that’s it exactly, David.”
Davy smiles and his Noise glows a bit.
“We saw the A written in blue on the side of the farmhouse,” Mr. Hammar says, still hovering behind the woman. “The bomb was the same as all the others planted by your organizayshun–”
“It’s not my organization!” says the woman but Mr. Hammar continues like she didn’t even speak.
“And we know you’ve worked in that field for the past month.”
“So have other women!” she yells, sounding more and more desperate. “Milla Price, Cassia MacRae, Martha Sutpen–”
“So they were in on it, too?”
“No! No, just that–”
“Cuz Mrs Price and Mrs Sutpen have already been Asked.”
The woman stops, her face suddenly even more frightened.
Davy chuckles next to me. “Got you,” he whispers.
But I can hear a weird sense of relief in him.
I wonder if the Mayor hears it, too.
“What did–” the woman says, stopping and then having to go on. “What did they say?”
“They said you tried to get ’em to help,” Mr. Hammar says calmly. “Said you tried to enlist ’em as terrorists and when they refused, you said you’d carry on alone.”
The woman goes pale, her mouth falling open, her eyes wide in disbelief.
“That’s not true, is it?” I say, my voice level. I am the Circle and the Circle is me. “He’s trying to make her confess by pretending he don’t need her to.”
“Excellent, Todd,” says the Mayor. “You may end up having a flair for this.”
Davy looks first at me, then at his pa, then at me again, askings left unsaid.
“We already know yer responsible,” Mr. Hammar says. “We already have enough to stick you in prison for the rest of yer life.” He stops in front of her. “I stand before you as yer friend,” he says. “I stand before you as the one who can save you from a fate worse than prison.”
The woman swallows and looks like she’s going to vomit again.
“But I don’t know anything,” she says weakly. “I just don’t know.”
Mr. Hammar sighs. “Well, that’s a real disappointment, I must say.”
He walks behind her again, grabs the frame and plunges her into the water.
And holds her there–
And holds her there–
He looks up to the mirror where he knows we’re watching–
He smiles at us–
And still holds her there–
The water churns with the limited thrashing she can do–
I am the Circle and the Circle is me, I think, closing my eyes–
“Open them, Todd,” the Mayor says–
I do–
And still Mr. Hammar holds her there–
The thrashing gets worse–
So hard the binds on her wrists start to bleed–
“Jesus,” Davy says, under his breath–
“He’s gonna kill her,” I say, voice still low–
It’s only a vid–
It’s only a vid–
(except it ain’t–)
(feeling nothing–)
(cuz I’m dead–)
(I’m dead–)
The Mayor leans past me and presses a button on the wall. “I should think that’s enough, Captain,” he says, his voice carrying into the Arena of the Ask.
Mr. Hammar raises the frame outta the water. But he does it slowly.
The woman hangs from it, chin down on her chest, water pouring from her mouth and nose.
“He killed her,” Davy says.
“No,” says the Mayor.
“Tell me,” Mr. Hammar says to the woman, “and this will all stop.”
There’s a long silence, longer still.
And then a croaking sound from the woman.
“What was that?” Mr. Hammar says.
“I did it,” croaks the woman.
“No way!” says Davy.
“What did you do?” Mr. Hammar asks.
“I set the bomb,” the woman says, her head still down.
“And you tried to get yer worksisters to join you in a terrorist organizayshun.”
“Yes,” the woman whispers. “Anything.”
“Ha!” Davy says, and again there’s relief, relief that he tries to cover. “She confessed! She did it!”
“No, she didn’t,” I say, still looking at her, still not moving on the bench.
“What?” Davy says to me.
“She’s making it up,” I say, still looking thru the mirror. “So he’ll stop drowning her.” I move my head just slightly to show I’m talking to the Mayor. “Ain’t she?”
The Mayor waits before answering. Even without Noise, I can tell he’s impressed. Ever since I started with the Circle, things have taken on the worst kinda clarity.
Maybe that’s the point.
“Almost certainly she’s making it up,” he finally says. “But now we’ve got her confession, we can use it against her.”
Davy’s eyes are still rocketing back and forth twixt me and his pa. “You mean, yer gonna . . . Ask her some more?”
“All women are part of the Answer,” the Mayor says, “if only in sympathy. We need to know what she thinks. We need to know what she knows.”
Davy looks back at the woman, still panting against the frame.
“I don’t get it,” he says.
“When they send her back to prison,” I say, “all the other women will know what happened to her.”
“Quite,” says the Mayor, putting a hand briefly on my shoulder. Almost like affecshun. When I don’t move, he takes it away. “They’ll know what’s in store for them if they don’t answer. And that way, we’ll find out what we need to know from whoever knows it. The bomb last night was a resumption of aggressions, the start of something larger. We need to know what their next move is going to be.”
Davy’s still looking at the woman. “What about her?”
“She’ll be punished for the crime she confessed to, of course,” the Mayor says, carrying on talking when Davy tries to interrupt with the obvious. “And who knows? Maybe she really does know something.” He looks back
up thru the mirror. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“I want to thank you for yer help today,” Mr. Hammar says, putting his hand under the woman’s chin to lift it. “You’ve been very brave and can be proud of the fight you put up.” He smiles at her but she won’t meet his eye. “You’ve shown more spirit than many a man I’ve seen under Asking.”
He steps away from her, going to a little side table and removing a cloth that’s lying on top. Underneath are several shiny bits of metal. Mr. Hammar picks one up.
“And now for the second part of our interview,” he says, approaching the woman.
Who starts to scream.
“That was,” Davy says, pacing around as we wait outside but it’s all he can get out. “That was.” He turns to me. “Holy crap, Todd.”
I don’t say nothing, just take the apple I been saving outta my pocket. “Apple,” I whisper to Angharrad, my head close to hers. Apple, she says back, clipping at it with her teeth, lips back. Todd, she says, munching it and then she makes an asking of it, Todd?
“Nothing to do with you, girl,” I whisper, rubbing her nose.
We’re down from the gate where Ivan’s still guarding, still trying to catch my eye. I can hear him calling quietly to me in his Noise.
I still ignore him.
“That was effing intense,” Davy says, trying to read my Noise, trying to see what I might think about it all, but I’m keeping it as flat as I can.
Feeling nothing.
Taking nothing in.
“Yer a cool customer these days,” Davy says, voice scornful, ignoring Deadfall, who’s wanting an apple, too. “You didn’t even flinch when he–”
“Gentlemen,” the Mayor says, coming outta the gate, a long, heavy sack in one hand.
Ivan stands up straight as a board, back at attenshun.
“Pa,” Davy says in greeting.
“Is she dead?” I say, looking into Angharrad’s eyes.
“She’s no use to us dead, Todd,” the Mayor says.
“She sure looked dead,” Davy says.
“Only when she lost consciousness,” the Mayor says. “Now, I’ve got a new job for the two of you.”
There’s a beat as we take in the words, a new job.
I close my eyes. I am the Circle and the Circle is me.
“Would you quit effing saying that?” Davy shouts at me.
