The Garden of Darkness (14 page)

The Cured-in-a-blue-dress seemed to be struggling. Her contorted face looked tortured as she worked her mouth.

“Watch Mirri,” she said.

Clare stared at her.

“I know Mirri gives you food,” Clare said. “I know you must care for her. We won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Promise.” A muscle in the woman’s forehead pulsed.

“I promise. Now please go away.” But the Cured-in-a-blue-dress crept closer to her. “Don’t hurt me,” said Clare. The woman with the ravaged face shook her head, but Clare, truly rattled, began to plead. “Please keep back. Please go away.”

“The bad man.” The woman’s voice was hoarse.

Somehow Clare knew immediately whom she was talking about. The Cured from the gold house.

“He’s dead,” said Clare.

The Cured-in-a-blue-dress reached over and put a hand on Clare’s shoulder. She spoke softly and clearly.

“I killed him.”

Then she slipped out of the room and was gone.

MASTER

T
HE
M
ASTER FOUND
it curious the things that children chose to travel with. They arrived at the mansion cold and starving—but among the cans of food and bits of blanket and clothing, they also had teddy bears and stuffed hippos and piglets and photographs of their parents and their brothers and sisters. They carried old newspaper clippings, and one of them had a ribbon from a horse show, and one of them had an old dog collar, and—this surprised the Master most of all—some of them carried their parents’ wedding rings.

It was just junk, designed to pull them back into a world that was dead, that was no part of the living world he was building. So there were room checks. Children who had rid themselves of their personal effects received praise. The others—not.

The children came to him, but not as many as he had hoped. There weren’t many people left, he reminded himself, child or Cured. But the Master wanted more children. He
needed
more children. So he would sometimes leave the charges he did have in the hands of Britta and Doug (the oldest boy of the arrivals), and he would go out looking for survivors. He had confidence in Britta. There wasn’t much to Doug, but he listened to everything that Britta said, and that was good enough for the Master. Britta was sound to the core.

T
HE
M
ASTER’S PACK
was heavy as he moved through the woods. It was filled with blankets, medicine and bandages, as well as enticements: bottles of juice, candy bars, stuffed animals—both pink and blue—and jewelry: gold necklaces, brooches studded with winking emeralds and rubies. It had been easier to break into jewelry stores than to find good-looking jewelry at a WalMart. He also carried plastic trucks and Star Wars figurines and a Cinderella Barbie with blue, blue eyes.

He shifted the pack. It wasn’t easy to find children who had not yet grown into Pest, but it was of paramount importance. He would give them a life, and they—well, the right ones—would keep him cured. He knew that SitkaAZ13 hadn’t given up on him yet, but the blood of the right kind of little girl would keep him alive. He was sure of it. But there were things one just didn’t tell the children. Quite a number of things. Not until they were ready.

He was making an inventory of his supplies in his head when he heard the sound. He was caught off guard. Usually he was well aware of a child in his vicinity before he heard it. He could smell their youth, he really could, or maybe he could just smell a human smell—the same way he knew when an animal was near, and what kind. The sharp smell of fox; the benign scent of hay that belonged to deer; the diseased smell of the raccoon.

He moved closer until he could hear the low chant:

“We all fall down. We all fall down.”

The child just kept chanting, in a low and monotonous tone, “We all fall down. We all fall down.” The Master slipped off his pack and got down onto the leaf litter. The child was obviously young; he needed to see it.

He crept forward. If it were too young, or if it were on the verge of death, there was no point in taking it back with him. He crept forward. A low stone wall was between him and the child.

“We all fall down.”

He slowly raised his head above the wall.

It was a girl child, foul with dirt that now offended his nose, her long hair slick with grease, her body rail thin. She must have been about eight. She was singing to the plastic head of a doll. Next to her was a stained sleeping bag covered with a pattern of carousel horses. A couple of plastic bags lay on top of it.

A little further on, he saw a body. Even at that distance, he could tell SitkaAZ13 had taken it. The smell of the body was sweet and strong.

The chanting went on. “We all fall down.” She had her back to the body, and he didn’t have to wonder why. Decay had already set in, and the corpse was rotting quickly, in the way that SitkaAZ13 corpses did. He understood that she probably couldn’t bear to look at her companion, but he felt no empathy. He never did.

The Master picked up a pebble and threw it a short distance away from her.

She looked up

Cornflower blue eyes.

She was going to be very useful.

“Hey. Don’t be afraid,” he said.

At the sound of his voice she scrambled away, first towards the body, and then, as if surprised to find it dead, towards the woods.

He ran after her and caught her by the arms; she began to scream.

“I’m not a Cured,” he said. “I’m all right. I’m here to bring you someplace safe. I’m here to bring you home.”

She landed a good kick on his shin; he swore, but he held her tightly, and she began to settle down. He let her go, and she looked at him appraisingly.

“You’re a grownup,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t anyone come before? Why didn’t anyone come when Pest killed my parents and my brother?” A hank of hair had fallen into her face. He reached forward to pushed it back; she flinched, and then she let him touch her.

“It’s been a busy time,” he said.

“Yeah. I guess it has. Are you Child Services?”

“You could say that. You could say I’m all that’s left of it.”

She gestured towards the body. “Well, now we’re going to have to do something about Luthe.”

His full name had been Luther, she told the Master. They had only just met. She had seen that his face was flushed, but she hadn’t expected him to die.

“He was nice,” she said.

“Have some apple juice,” said the Master. “You’ll feel better.”

He shuffled through his pack until he found two little boxes of apple juice. He could tell she was dehydrated.

They drank juice together solemnly. He gave her a choice of the toys in his pack, and she picked out the Princess Leia Star Wars figurine.

“I haven’t had apple juice in forever,” she said. She quietly began to cry.

“I have more apple juice,” he said. “I have more everything at the mansion. There’re animals, too. Ducks and baby ducks. We just found a nanny goat—she’s very friendly; she’ll nibble at your clothes. And there are children there who’ll be happy to see you.”

“I haven’t seen any other children.”

“There aren’t many around.”

“Luthe saw one.”

“He did? How close? Where?”

“Near a cabin in the woods, not these woods, but far away. He saw a girl and a dog, but the dog was huge and black, and Luthe didn’t like it.”

“I don’t know your name,” said the Master.

“Eliza.”

“Let’s go, Eliza. Don’t worry about any girls with black dogs. You’ll be safe with me.”

As they left the clearing, the Master heard the sound of a crow. He could smell it, too. He thought of Luthe’s eyes. Crows always went for the soft parts first.

He began telling Eliza more about life at the mansion, and about Britta and Doug and the others. He kept her too busy to think about burying Luthe.

He took her hand.

“Time to go, my blue-eyed girl.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DARIAN

T
HEY HAD JUST
finished breakfast, and the table was littered with the remains: three small boxes of cereal, two little white donuts, an empty bag of Cheetos, a bowl of oatmeal that Sarai had rejected. Jem surveyed the damage ruefully.

“I hope we don’t get scurvy,” he said.

“When we go to the next place,” said Mirri, “we can look for vitamins.”

They were almost completely packed and ready to go. There simply wasn’t enough food in Fallon left to support all four of them for the long term. The pig was coming with them on the hoof.

Jem took the last donut. “We’d better feed the pig.”

“It’s Mirri’s turn,” said Sarai.

“Go on, Mirri,” said Jem. “The stuff for the pig’s in the bucket next to the kitchen door.”

Mirri wrinkled her nose and hauled the bucket out the side door, slopping some of the leftovers on the floor.

“I’ll get that later,” she said. And then Mirri was gone for a long while.

“You think she’s all right?” asked Clare. “Maybe Bear and I should go and take a look.” But a moment later, Mirri walked back in the door.

“You took forever,” Sarai said.

“Don’t forget to wipe the floor,” Jem said automatically.

Mirri was silent, and Jem looked up at her. She looked afraid.

“What is it?” asked Jem.

“The pig got out.” Mirri started weeping big, wet little girl tears.

“What?” Jem was on his feet.

“The pig got out and it’s all my
fault
.” She hiccupped. “I opened the gate too wide.”

“Honey,” said Clare. “Stuff like this happens. We’ll catch the pig.”

“Let’s go,” said Jem. “Bear should be able to follow its scent. Bear won’t kill the pig, will he, Clare?”

“No,” said Clare. Doubtfully.

“The boy who was hanging around the pig pen said
he’d
help us, too,” said Mirri. “So maybe it won’t take so long.”

“
What
boy?” asked Jem.

“
The
boy. The boy I
found
.”

“Explain,” Jem said.

“He was watching our pig.”

It took a while to get the details out of Mirri. “He was eating cookies,” she said, tearful again. “He offered me one, but I said ‘no’ because he was a stranger. Then I opened the gate, and the pig
slipped out
, right past both of us. The boy’s already chasing it.”

“All right,” said Jem. “But I’m going after the pig alone. And if you argue, Clare, I’m just going to have to pull rank.”

“You must be kidding,” Clare said. “You must absolutely positively be joking.”

“Someone needs to stay with the kids.”

“You
are
joking.”

“I’ll take Bear.”

“Bear won’t listen to you. Without me, Bear probably
will
eat the pig. Or you.”

Clare and Jem started the search at the pig pen. Bear knew the pig’s scent, but, from his excitement, Clare was pretty sure he had picked up the boy’s as well. Following both, they set off into the meadow. The Cured-in-a-blue-dress was by the barn, close enough that Clare could see her face, and, although it seemed an impossible emotion for a Cured, Clare thought she detected fear in those dark and shadowed eyes.

The boy and the pig had cut a wide swath through the long wheat-colored grass of the hay meadow. Clare felt the early morning dew soaking into her shoes and jeans as they ran. She could tell that Bear wanted to race ahead, but she kept him at close range. At the edge of the forest, they came to a place where the grass was flattened in a wide circle.

“It looks like deer spent the night here,” said Clare.

“No,” said Jem. “I don’t think so. I think it looks like someone was wrestling with a pig.”

“Are you scared?”

“I’m very highly nervous.”

They finally found the boy sitting in front of a dilapidated woodshed deep in the forest. His clothes were torn, and there was mud on his face. He got to his feet. Bear rushed ahead of Clare, stopped only when she called him twice, and then howled.

“What’s that about?” asked Jem.

Bear backed to Clare, fur raised, and she buried her hand deep in his pelt. “I don’t know,” she said.

The boy was calm. “The pig’s inside,” he said. “And I had a hell of time getting it there, I assure you. I assume it’s Miriam’s pig you’re looking for.”

“How do you know her name?” asked Jem.

“She told me, right before the pig made a dash for freedom.”

He looked up at them as if he were seeing nothing new, as if he saw people every day. As if the world hadn’t come to an end. His dark hair tumbled about his face; his mouth was wide and generous with a quirk at the corner, as if he found everything slightly humorous. And Clare stepped backward in something like horror.

The boy could have been Michael’s brother.

The boy could have been Michael’s twin.

Clare couldn’t help herself. “Michael?”

“Darian. My name is Darian.”

“Sorry,” said Clare. “You look like someone I know.
Knew
.”

Jem looked up sharply.

“I’ll help with the pig,” said the boy.