Day Boy (19 page)

The body's burnt. The ashes cast into the river by a priest of the Sun, and that's
all that's said on that strange fella dead.

‘Did he do it?' I ask Grove. ‘Do you think he really did it?'

‘Of course he did,' Grove says, all definitive. ‘Otherwise they wouldn't of killed
him.'

Sally's buried in the cemetery on the hill, under a tree that flowers white. You
can look down on Midfield from there; watch everything that's going on. Prettiest
places are always kept for the dead, not that they care anymore. People who visit
them, up on that gorgeous hill might, but who sits there mourning and admiring the
view? Doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

When I'm gone, I'm telling you, just chuck my quiet bones by the road; it's what
they've known all these years, and I'm not the one for ceremony. Ceremony's too close
to what them Masters have.

There's crying and sadness, and that night the six Masters visit her grave, and lay
night flowers upon it, and a symbol of the Sun. None of which brings her back, of
course. She's lost. Dougie found her but she's lost forever. Tears, flowers and suns
don't do nothing for that. We're all lost eventually, I guess. We're all cried over
a little bit, but I don't remember tears like for poor Sally Dalton.

PART THREE

A GUNSHOT, AIMED AT BIRTH

The world thought otherwise

Like it always does.

CHAPTER
27

NINE YEARS OLD, that's pretty much all I know.

The train pulls in, and Thom steps lightly to the platform, his papers checked by
the Master of the Train, who pats his head and grins at me. ‘He's all yours, boy.'

I flick the Master a coin. ‘For your trouble,' I say, and the smile slips. But he
takes the coin, and the train gets going again. I look around me. Half-expected some
of the other boys to be here, but no. And that's a good thing.

Mr Stevens gives me a nod, as he heads back to the line. It's just me and the new
boy.

‘Well, let me look at you,' I say.

He's a small one, all right. I could carry him above my head like a bag of leaves.

‘I am what I am,' Thom says. He grips a small suitcase in one hand so tight I can
see the whites of his knuckles. It's heavy, I can see him struggling, but I don't
make no offer of help. A Day Boy's got his pride.

‘Yep, you are at that. Strong westerly could blow you over the ridge. We've miles
to go before you sleep and all.'

Thom makes a little sigh.

And I give him a grin almost as wide as the Master's, and twice as true. ‘Oh, woe
is us and misery.'

Thom drops the suitcase and bunches his fists, and it's a struggle not to laugh.

‘Don't mind me,' I say. ‘I'm at mock, we all are here, but you'll get used to it.
Don't waste a fist on a foolish smile. You and me, we're allies—as close as—and I'll
be teaching you the traps. So don't start with the fighting.'

Thom scowls, lifts up his heavy bag, and we walk home.

Dain is waiting for us. He nods at me. ‘Thank you, Mark.'

I give him a little bow.

‘Though you would do well to not annoy the Master of Trains so.'

My face grows hot and red, and I catch a little grin on that young Thom's face.

‘There is a lot you will learn from Mark, Thom, and some things you should not. You
are a Day Boy, but that doesn't mean the rules and proprieties do not apply to you.'

Thom nods his head, and Dain reaches out a hand. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you at
last.'

Thom takes it, and it's a good shake. He almost doesn't look scared.

‘Mark will show you to your room.'

‘Our room,' I say, magnanimous—I put the new bed in a couple of days back, carried
it piece by piece up from the cellar.

‘Do as Mark says,' Dain says. ‘He will teach you the ways of this town. He knows
it like few others.'

He nods his head, then is gone. And it's just me and Thom.

He drags his case after me, and pushes it onto the end of the bed. ‘You gotta lot
of stuff in there?' I say.

Thom shrugs.

There's not much in his case to be sure, even for such a young one. A pair of heavy
boots, jeans, shirts; one which has a yellowing oval picture of a bat on it. He's
a few heavy books too—they were the weight of that case—and I look at them with interest
until Thom closes the case and slides it back under the bed. Maybe I pried too close.

‘We've plenty of books here,' I say. ‘You like books?'

Thom shrugs again.

‘Good.' I look at my hands, rough and sore with the day's work. ‘You tired?'

He nods.

‘I'm tired too,' I say. ‘Bone tired. There's work in the morning.'

But I don't sleep much and sometime late in the night, late enough that morning can't
be too far off, I hear something I've not heard for a long time. I hear a young boy
crying.

It's all right, I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut. You don't take away a Day
Boy's pride. You don't tell them it's all right to cry into the dark.

You just let them do it.

We're up early, and there's a list of chores. Such a list like I've never seen, but
it's all simple stuff—a door to be marked with the circle and seven, goods to be
bought, yard work—that'll take us around the town. I get Dain's logic. The boy needs
to know his home and quick. Besides, we have an extra mouth to feed.

You don't know a place by staying indoors, you know it by walking and riding. I've
got a bike for Thom. But today we walk. He pulls on a vest, near enough new, and
a flat brown cap more stylish than what I'm used to. Dressed up. I give him the look
up and down.

‘Working clothes,' he says.

I'm feeling a bit threadbare against them. Nicest working clothes I've seen. I can't
quit staring.

‘What do you wear here?'

Shake my head. ‘What we're given.'

Thom looks down at himself. ‘This is what I was given.'

‘Then it'll do,' I say.

Out in the Sun and the clear blue sky, Thom's skin is pale as dry silt. He blinks
in the light and takes a deep breath, like it's his first.

‘You'll get used to it,' I say.

Thom nods.

Dougie is sitting in the shade under the awning at the tanners, picking his teeth
with a twiggy bit of stick, pretending like he does that all day. He gets to his
feet, slow, and sets his gaze on Thom. Doesn't seem too impressed. ‘So this dandy-hat
the new one?'

‘This is Thom,' I say.

Dougie reaches out a hand. ‘Douglas,' he says, and yanks his hand away as Thom reaches
for it. ‘Gonna need to be faster than that.'

Thom sweeps out a foot so casual it's like it didn't happen, and Dougie lands hard
on his arse, breath whoomphing from him.

‘That fast?' Thom says.

‘That fast,' I say, and we walk on, leaving Dougie with his legs out straight and
dust on his pants, wondering just how he got there. Could offer the bastard a hand
up, but I know he wouldn't take it.

Thom's all pleased with himself, for sure, even chuckles a bit. So, as soon as we're
out of sight, I give him a clip under the ear, make certain he's not expecting it—because
I saw how quick he was too—but I nearly miss anyway. Get the feeling he expects most
things, even before I know to give them to him.

He skips ahead, light on his feet, flashing a big grin back at me. ‘What?'

‘You so desperate quick to make enemies?'

Thom gives me a look of genuine surprise. ‘I did what I had to. In the Crèche…'

‘This isn't the city,' I say.

‘I know,' Thom says. ‘I know.'

I laugh. ‘You surprised him, yep…I'll give you that. What you've done is confuse
him, but he'll want some sort of payback, bloody or otherwise. I want to hear about
this Crèche of yours.'

‘I'll tell you one day, I guess,' Thom says.

‘You two,' Grove shouts. ‘Slow it down.'

Grove catches us as we walk into Main, takes a while because we don't really slow
down that much. Puts a hand out to Thom.

‘You must be Thom.'

Thom gives that hand a good old shake.

‘And you're Grove.'

‘Yes indeed,' he says, pleased as punch that someone's spoken of him. ‘Like your
cap, by the way.'

Thom smiles. ‘I've another exactly like it at home. This one's yours.'

He takes off the cap, fiddles with it, makes it somehow bigger, and passes it to
Grove. Three movements fast enough that Grove is still blinking, not sure what to
say.

‘Nah, I couldn't—'

‘Got another just like it,' Thom says. ‘I won't take that back. It's yours.'

Grove looks at me and I nod.

‘How do I look?'

‘OK, I guess.' They'll all be wearing caps in a week or two from now. Not me, of
course. On principle. Though Grove does look fine in it, the bugger.

‘Hear you might be working Certain's farm. After your time,' he says.

‘Might at that,' I say.

Grove nods, and slaps my back. And I know he's genuine. ‘Was worried after your time
in the city. Thought they might cast you out. But this is good news.'

‘Yes,' I say.

‘Was going to miss you. Now I won't have to!'

Only until you go to the city. Only until they groom you for those cages. But I don't
say it. Just smile back at his smiling face.

‘Nice cap, Grove,' Mary says.

‘Better put in an order for a dozen of them,' I say. Mary laughs but she puts a note
in her big book. Something like
order caps
, I reckon—she closes the book with a loud
clap before I can get a view.

‘And this is Thom,' I say. ‘My replacement.'

Mary frowns.

‘Don't pretend you didn't know,' I say.

‘Mark, why would I pretend that? Why would I even need to pretend that? Heard you'll
be working out at Certain's farm, can't get rid of the likes of you. Now where's
your list? I'm guessing it'll be a big one this time.'

I pass it to her, and it's generous all right.

‘Lucky there's two of you,' Mary says.

I don't think it's lucky at all.

‘She seemed nice,' Thom says as we lug all that stuff back home. Soap and flour and
milk and meat and a good bag full of food headed for the coolroom. ‘And I'll give
you this, that Grove is a fine fella. Doesn't have an drop of betrayal in him.'

‘He doesn't at that,' I say.

‘It's sad,' Thom says. ‘World's going to eat him entire. Or you will.'

What nine-year-old thinks these thoughts, let alone says them? A kid of the Crèches,
so it seems.

‘Shut your fool mouth,' I say.

Thom repositions the bag on his shoulders, settles there dripping at the edges. ‘Truths
said or not are still true.'

I give him another clip under the ear, and this time he's not ready at all for it.
Never felt more satisfied.

But it's a brief thing, that joy, because I know he's right.

CHAPTER
28

‘STORM'S COMING,' SHOUTS Twitch, his bike crashing past our place, wheels twin blurs,
joy and panic in his eyes. He brakes and slides, gets off, face beady, wiping at
his brow, straightens his new cap on his skull. I give him a look and he doesn't
even notice. ‘Was up on Cravin Peak, clouds coming in all ways,' he says, words all
bunched together. ‘Gonna be a wild thing.'

Other bikes are converging like those thunderous clouds, and I'm wondering why we
weren't called up to the lookout. Dougie rides right next to me. I look around for
Grove, but he's not there.

‘Now that looks better,' Dougie says, gesturing at the newly mown front lawn. ‘Was
a disgrace.'

Storm's been coming all day, as much under our skin as in the sky, feels like. The
sky blue as a sky can be, and unseasonably hot. And me taking Thom all over the
town, letting him draw the circle and seven. Showing him the place where I was
cut
by the Hunter: seemed to think it was all my fault. Would've hit him, but there's
truth enough in that. This day was an itch you can't scratch: electric and flat all
at once. Been building to this. That smudge of dark on the horizon. And that smudge
is a spreading stain, and a tension that pulls down low and to the top of your skull.

‘Gonna hit before Sunset,' I say.

‘Long before,' Dougie says, scratching his scalp.

‘And it's going to be wild,' Twitcher repeats.

The others nod. We're going to need to see to the safety of our Masters.

There's a couple of roofs that need tending to, so we go in groups and start working.
Hammers and nails. A riot of industry, as Dain might say.

And then in she rolls. Sudden massive thunder. Lightning forking, rain coming in
sheets.

The storm's raging when I see a girl on the road that fronts our place. I run out
and see it's Anne. I drag her in, Thom waiting at the door for us.

‘What ya doing? Out in this damn storm,' I say, once I get her a towel.

‘Came faster than I thought it would.' She gestures at her bag, bulging with this
and that. ‘Was out doing deliveries.'

The house is creaking. Lightning cracking and beating the earth outside, like the
world's raking its dazzling fingers across the town.

‘Well, you're just going to have to wait it out,' I say.

‘We'll look after you, miss,' says Thom, and he's standing so straight it makes my
heart ache.

‘Don't need no looking after,' Anne says. ‘Just need cover.'

‘I've the stove burning,' I say. ‘Tea's on.'