Vega Jane and the Secrets of Sorcery

by David Baldacci

  His name was Ladon-Tosh, and I had never heard him speak. Over his shoulder he carried a long-barrelled morta. He also had a sword in a sheath and a knife in a small leather casing on his wide black belt. His sole task was to prevent access to the second floor of Stacks. With long, coal-black hair, a scarred face, a hooked nose, and eyes that seemed dead, Ladon-Tosh was scary enough even without the weapons. With them, he was terrifying in all respects.

  One time, long before I came to work at Stacks, some gonk had tried to make it past Ladon-Tosh and up the stairs. It was said that Ladon-Tosh stabbed him with the knife, shot him with the morta, cut off his head with the sword, and then threw his remains into one of the blazing furnaces. I’m not sure I believed all that, but I wasn’t sure enough to test it.

  For that reason, I was always unfailingly polite to Ladon-Tosh.

  When I first started working here, there was a Wugmort named Quentin Herms, who had helped me. As I stood next to my station for the very first time, Quentin had hurried over and greeted me. He was a family friend and had always been very kind towards me.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ I’d said with a touch of desperation.

  ‘I know you showed artistic ability at Learning,’ he had said. ‘Or else they would not have sent you here to be a Finisher. But don’t worry – I will train you.’

  And he did. Each light, I had come in with a smile, but only because Quentin was there. I had picked up things quickly until my skills rivalled his.

  I recalled all this now because Quentin Herms was the Wug I had seen rushing headlong into the Quag with the canines and Council after him.

  My only friend here was gone, and I wondered mightily why.

  4

  THE MESSAGE

  I lifted up my first task of the light. A small, unfinished porcelain bowl that required painting and then kiln-firing. As I held up the object, the top slipped, and it nearly fell off. I set it down on the table and gripped the bowl more firmly.

  That’s when I saw the small piece of parchment tucked in there. I glanced around to see if anyone was watching and then carefully dipped my hand into the bowl and took out the parchment. The handwriting was small and precise, the words clear.

  I will not be back at Stacks, Vega. Go to your tree this night. What you will find there may set you free from Wormwood, if you so desire it. QH.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw four males enter Domitar’s office. They were all members of the Council. Jurik Krone was among them, which was not a good thing. I tore up the parchment and swallowed the pieces.

  Thirty slivers passed before I heard Domitar’s door open again. I lifted my gaze to find all the black tunics staring at me. I felt my body stiffen like I’d been poked by one of the hot irons the Dactyls used in their work.

  Krone came forward first, the other Council members in his wake. He held up an object. When I saw it, I was stunned – I recognized it immediately. I wondered how it was possible for Krone to be holding it now.

  ‘We meet yet again, Vega,’ said Krone, as he and his cohorts encircled me.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

  ‘Do you recognize this?’ He held out the object. Seeing it close up, the memories came flooding back.

  I nodded. ‘It is my grandfather’s ring.’ It had a distinctive design etched in the metal that matched a mark my grandfather had on the back of his hand. Three hooks connected as one. I had never known what it meant.

  ‘Can you explain how Virgil Alfadir Jane’s ring came to be found at Quentin Herms’s cottage?’ Jurik Krone asked patiently, but there was a definite edge to his voice.

  I shook my head. ‘I assumed it had vanished along with him when he had his Event. As you know, there is nothing left of a Wug after an Event.’

  Krone tossed the ring down on my workstation. When I reached out to take it, he slammed his knife blade into the ring’s opening, pinning it to the wood. I jerked my hand back and stared up at him fearfully.

  He slowly pulled the blade free and picked up the ring. ‘You know Herms?’ Krone said quietly. ‘He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s a friend of my family’s. He’s the only other Finisher here besides me.’

  ‘Why is he not at work this light?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said quite truthfully. ‘Maybe he’s hurt or sick.’

  Krone stepped closer. ‘Let us speak frankly. You were near the Quag at first light. You saw us chasing him.’

  ‘I told you, I saw nothing. And you didn’t tell me who you were after.’ I looked up into Krone’s face. ‘But why were you chasing Quentin?’

  ‘There are laws, Vega – laws that Quentin Herms has broken. And for that he will be punished.’ Krone gave me a deep, searching look. ‘If he tries to contact you, you will inform the Council immediately. The consequences for not doing so will be harsh.’ He paused. ‘I am speaking of Valhall.’

  Every worker in the room, myself included, drew a sharp breath. No Wug wanted to be locked up in that cage in plain sight and be guarded by the brutish Nida and his ferocious black shuck – a giant canine that looked to me like a nightmare on four legs.

  Krone put his hand on my shoulder and lightly squeezed. ‘I am counting on your help with this, Vega. All of Wormwood needs to stand together on this matter.’

  Then he turned on his booted right foot and strode out. His colleagues followed.

  I shot a glance at Domitar. I had never seen his green skin look so pale.

  ‘You will cooperate, or it will be Valhall for all of us,’ he said to me, then spun on his heel and disappeared back into his office.

  5

  HECTOR AND HELEN

  After the bell rang for the end of work at Stacks, I changed back into my threadbare clothes and left to walk back to Wormwood. It did not take long, for the city of Wormwood was compact, like a small fist waiting to hit something. There was the enormous Stacks, the Hospital, the Care, and Learning, where younger Wugs were educated. Then there was the huge Council building, and Steeples with its great many colourful windows. The homes where Wugs lived were either in the city proper or spread across the footprint of the sprawling land. In the centre of the city were lines of shops set across from each other on streets made of wavy cobblestones.

  As I trudged along, I passed the Loons. It had been my home for the last two sessions, ever since my mother and father had been sent away to the Care. Loons was a rectangle of warped boards, dirty glass and cracked slate shingles. There were two floors with five small cot rooms on the top floor and six boarders to a room. That added up to thirty Wugmorts with lax hygiene, all living close together.

  That’s why I preferred my tree.

  I passed by the front door of the Loons, and a Wugmort I knew well stepped out. His name was Roman Picus. He owned the Loons and many other such places. He was wearing his usual garb: a slouch hat with a dent in the middle, blue not overly clean dungarees, white shirt, black waistcoat, luminous orange-red garm-skin boots, and a long, greasy coat. He had whiskers running down both sides of his face, curving like a fish-hook into his sun-reddened cheeks. A heavy bronze timekeeper suspended by a knotty chain hung across the front of his vest.

  ‘Vega,’ he said grudgingly.

  I nodded at him. ‘Roman.’

  ‘Going to get your brother from Learning?’

  ‘Yes. Then John and I are meeting Delph at the Care.’

  He gave a loud snort. ‘Why you waste your time with that great gormless sack-a nothing, I’ll never know. But I suppose you don’t think too highly of yourself, and I can see why, female.’

  ‘If you think Delph is such a waste of space, maybe you can fight him in the next Duelum?’

  The Duelum was where male Wugs battled each other in hand-to-hand fighting in order to win a great prize. It was really the only sporting contest we had.

  Roman’s face reddened. ‘I’m too old for the Duelum. However, in my prime, female—’

  ‘
How many Duelums did you win in your prime, male?’

  He grimaced. ‘You best get along, Vega,’ he growled.

  ‘Speaking of going, where are you off to, Roman?’

  He looked like I had slapped him. ‘You’re asking me such a question?’

  ‘We’re having such a nice conversation, I wanted to keep it going.’

  ‘D’you want to be written up at the Council, Vega?’

  ‘Absolutely. I hear that with three or more infractions the offending Wug is eligible for some sort of prize.’

  He studied me. ‘Quentin Herms?’ he asked.

  ‘What of him?’

  ‘Hear he’s done a bunk.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said cautiously.

  Roman shrugged and looked at his boots. ‘Maybe a garm got him.’

  Garms were wicked beasts that sometimes entered Wormwood from the Quag.

  ‘All lodging fees collected for the quarter-session?’ I asked, intentionally changing the subject. I did not want to discuss Quentin Herms.

  He smiled wickedly and held out a large, grimy hand. ‘Speaking of, I’ll just take yours now, Vega.’

  I held out a small sheet of parchment with writing and a seal on it. ‘I paid earlier. Your clerk gave me a bit of coin off for bringing it around and saving him a trip.’

  His smile fell away to a frown. ‘Oh, he did, did he? Well, we’ll see about that.’

  ‘All mouth and no trousers, Roman.’

  ‘And what exactly do you mean by that?’

  ‘Your clerk showed me the scroll you signed authorizing the discount. I like to know things like that before I commit my wages to that dung heap you call a lodging.’

  Roman could chuck my brother and me out of Loons if he wanted to. Maybe part of me wanted that. But he simply turned and stalked off. I hurried on.

  The Learning was located at the other end of the high street. Learning was done in Wormwood, but it was not done with a lot of energy, as though ignorance was somehow better than knowledge. As I stood on the cobblestones and waited, the door opened and youngs started to trickle out.

  The last Wug out was always my brother, and his gaze was always downcast.

  John Jane was short and skinny, and his hair was dark and nearly as long as mine. John Jane did not look like much on the outside, but there was a great deal going on inside his head. I had seen him make observations about things I’d never thought of. It was only in private moments when we were together that I gained glimpses of what was really going on in his brain.

  A shy smile crept across his face when he spotted me, and his shuffle picked up. I held up my tin box. On the way here, I had stopped and picked him some berries, and there was also a bird wing I’d got for him and smoked in the hearth at Stacks. He hurried across the cobblestones, opened the box, and saw the wing. He looked at me and smiled again. There was no food provided during Learning, although the time spent there was long. They said food distracted youngs. I believed a lack of food was far more distracting.

  John took my hand with his free one, and we walked along. I looked around. There were clusters of Wugmorts talking in hushed whispers. I also saw Council members in their black tunics scurrying around like rats through rubbish.

  After reading the note, it was clear to me that Quentin must have been planning on going into the Quag all along. His note said that what he had left would set me free from Wormwood. My mind leaped ahead to the obvious conclusion that was electrifying and terrifying.

  There was some place beyond the Quag. Or so he believed.

  I forced my focus back to John.

  We had a ritual, John and I. Every other light after Learning, we went to see our parents at the Care, where Wugs were sent when they were unwell and the Mendens at Hospital could do nothing more for them. The place was guarded by a huge Wug named Non. I had often wondered why they needed such security here. But my queries had never been answered.

  Non knew me and John because we came so often. But each time, he acted as though it were our first visit. It irritated me terribly but seemed to greatly amuse him.

  As we walked up to the Care, I saw Delph step from the deepening shadows of a chestnut tree. His hair was even whiter from working at the Mill all light, and his face and shirt were sweat-stained. He nodded shyly and looked down at John.

  ‘Hello, Delph,’ said John. He held up his bird wing, which he had been hungrily chewing on. ‘Do you want a bite?’

  Delph, I knew, was tempted. But he shook his head. He obviously didn’t want to deprive John of this small bit of food.

  We all walked together to the entrance. I gritted my teeth and showed Non the Council parchment that allowed our visits. This was another of my queries that had gone unanswered: Why was permission needed to visit our own parents? He took his time examining the document before he flung it back at me and glared at Delph.

  ‘But his name ain’t on there.’

  Delph took a step back, which made Non grin maliciously.

  He said, ‘Y’know, for such a great big Wug, you’re more like a female, ain’t you, Delph? Scared of your own shadow.’ He made a lunge at Delph, and Delph jumped back. Non roared with laughter and tossed me the key to my parents’ room. ‘G’on in, then. Don’t think the likes of him can do much harm.’

  I said nothing and didn’t look at Delph, because I knew how embarrassed he would be, but, in my mind, I slaughtered Non over and over.

  We passed through the doorway and into a long corridor that was dark and cool.

  We passed a Nurse in the hall. She was dressed in a grey cloak with a white cap on her head. She nodded, gave a terse smile, and hurried on.

  There were locked doors opening off the long hall. There were brass plates bolted to the doors of each room with names of Wugs I didn’t know, but I had seen some of their families here. They had looked as blank and hopeless as I probably did.

  The brass plates were removed only when the Wug whose name was on it ‘slipped away’, as they say in Wormwood. I wondered when our mother and father would slip away. We arrived at the door and I read out their names for what seemed the millionth time. ‘Hector Jane. Helen Jane.’

  I unlocked the door and hesitantly stepped in. John followed, and Delph brought up the rear.

  There were two cots in the room with a small wooden table set between them. The only illumination seemed to somehow come from the ceiling. There were no windows. When you’re in the Care, apparently sunlight is not required. There were also no chairs for us to sit in. They obviously did not like to encourage long visits.

  While Delph hung back, I walked up to the first cot.

  My father lay shrunken under a single dark blanket. I remembered him as tall and strong, his face pleasing to look at. I don’t know how you steal someone from the inside and leave a withered outside, but it appeared to have been done to him.

  John crept up next to me and placed his hand on top of our father’s. When I looked at John’s face, it was scrunched up, like he was in pain.

  I opened my tuck, which I had brought with me from work, and pulled out a cloth soaked in water from the pipes at Stacks. I put it on my father’s forehead. He always seemed hot even though the room was cool. I was careful not to let my fingers touch him. I adored my father and I used to love being hugged by him. But there was something in this room that made me not want to touch him. I had fought against it, but it was like a wall separating us that I couldn’t seem to break through.

  I glanced over at Delph, who stood like a statue in the corner. ‘Delph, do you want to come and see him?’

  Delph stepped forward. ‘Is he s-s-sleeping?’

  ‘Something like that, Delph.’

  I left John and Delph and went to the next cot.

  My mother too was small and shrunken, though she used to be nearly as tall as I am. Her hair, once long and light, was now chopped close to her head, almost like a second skull. The dark blanket covered her withered body, right up to her neck.

  My mother had to
ld me many things I needed to know to survive here. But I also sensed there was a part of her that was kept from me.

  I opened my tuck again and took out the small bottle of water. I sprinkled some on my mother’s face and watched as it was absorbed into her skin. I don’t know why I did this, maybe to convince myself that there really was someone still in there.

  I looked over at John. He glanced up and his gaze drifted to our mother. It seemed to me that John’s heart ached even more seeing her as she now was.

  Delph drifted over and gazed down at my mother.

  ‘She was v-v-very nice t-to me,’ he said.

  ‘It was her way.’

  He reached out a hand but didn’t touch her. Instead, it seemed like he was tracing just above where the drops of water had been taken into her skin.

  Twenty slivers later, we walked back down the dark, cool hall and approached the door where Non stood guard. I braced myself for more inane comments. Why do you bother coming? Do your parents look better this light? How could that possibly be?

  Yet, Non wasn’t there. But someone else was.

  The figure was tall, looming, substantial. He seemed to fill the broad hall with his bulk. His robe was a dull burgundy, denoting his position on the Council. He held the top job. There was no one above him.

  His name was Thansius. In many respects he was the Council. By comparison, Jurik Krone was but a gnat on a slep’s hindquarters.

  John had glimpsed Thansius too, and I heard him gasp. And one glance at poor Delph showed he was about to faint.

  When we reached Thansius, he did not move. He just stood there. He was taller even than Delph. His shoulders seemed to touch each side of the hall. It was said that in his youth, no Wug ever bested Thansius in a Duelum. Up close, the burgundy robe seemed like a sheet of blood frozen solid.

  When he spoke, the low voice, though deep and dignified, still seemed insubstantial next to his large body. But I was riveted to every syllable.