The Garden of Darkness (37 page)

“Then why are you all here?” asked Jem. “What’s the
point
of all this?”

“Master cares for us. He takes good care of us; he can’t help it that when we get older the Pest blooms, and then we die. But we don’t tell children about that when they first come in. They get used to it here, and then they stay. And it’s a
haven
here. You’ve
seen
the outside world. What difference does it make if there’s no cure?”

“A lot,” said Jem. “It makes a lot of difference.”

“That’s why he wants to match up children so young,” said Dante. “So that, when there’re enough of us, we can breed a new, young world. He’s going to be careful who he selects; he wants survivors.”

“Blue-eyed survivors,” gasped Clare.

“You know an awful lot,” said Ramah to Dante.

“I’m not
stupid
,” said Dante.

“You’re stupid and spineless,” said Ramah.

Clare was impressed. Not much got to Ramah.

“I listen to things,” said Dante. “And Master tells the kids who’ve been here awhile some of the facts. Not the facts about the blood; I figured a lot of that out on my own. From what Britta told me.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Jem. “What about the blood? What blood?”

Dante cringed. “He likes it. Blood. From the blue-eyed ones. I saw him with Eliza once; she’d cut her hand in the kitchen.”

“You are
kidding
me,” said Jem.

“He kills them, doesn’t he?” said Ramah.

“Yes,” whispered Dante.

“I can’t believe Britta told you this,” said Jem.

“Master trusts her absolutely completely totally—and she’d do anything for him. But she still told me a lot; see, she likes me. And she shows off.”

“Both you and Britta have brown eyes,” said Clare thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” said Dante. “Master’ll never match us up. Thankfully. Britta likes me, but I don’t like Britta.”

“Lordy,” said Clare. “It’s like high school.”

“Tell us what you know,” said Jem.

“The blue-eyed girl children are different,” said Dante. “Master told Britta that their recessive gene blood keeps him alive, but that, as a cure, it won’t work on children. Just on him.”

“He drinks their blood?” said Jem. “He kills them because they have blue eyes?”

“Not all of them,” said Dante. “Some live. He wants to match them up. Until there are as many blue-eyed children as he needs. It’s
scientific
.”

“And you believe his little excuse for murder.” Ramah’s contempt was crushing.

“Well, he’s alive,” said Dante.

“He’s alive because he’s a Cured, you idiot,” said Ramah. “He wears the patch. That blue-eyed-blood-is-a-cure stuff is nonsense. He just likes killing blue-eyed children.”

“I bet he’s obsessed with Clare,” said Dante. “I bet Clare’s eyes are in a different category from anything he’s ever, ever seen. I mean, who’s seen a blue like that? They’re—”

“Shut up,” said Jem.

“It’s a good life here. Even for the blue-eyed ones. For a while.”

“No,” Jem said. “It’s not.”

“We need Bear,” Clare said. It was bizarre to feel so normal when she knew she was dying. The relapse was in the shadows, waiting, but she still had a little time.

“Britta locked your dog in the courtyard,” said Dante.

“Is there anything else you’re forgetting to tell us?” asked Ramah. “Because it would give me great pleasure to hit you.”

“I’m sorry, Ramah. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Go and find out what the Master’s up to,” said Ramah. “Then come back. Quickly.” Dante left the room, but not without casting a curious glance at Clare.

“Your eyes are really blue,” he said. “I’m sorry you have Pest.”

“Get out of here,” said Jem.

Nobody said anything as he left. Finally Clare broke the silence.

“He’s sweet on you, Ramah.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“He’s still sweet on you. Really. Trust me. In high school I was an expert.”

“I’m ten.”

“So’s he. But maybe he can get you and Jem out of here.”

“You’re not going to die alone in this place, Clare,” said Jem.

Now that Clare was sitting up, she could see the yard outside the window. Doug and a girl with dark curly hair looked like they were trying to erect a tire swing. A girl with a braid was jumping rope. Clare could just hear the girl singing and jumping to the rhythm of the song

“Ring around a rosy

A pocket full of posies

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.”

Britta walked into the bedroom. Clare started to get up, but the movement brought on the full weight of Pest. The fever and the pain began to settle over her again, and she was suddenly blanketed in agony. Jem eased her back down on the bed.

Ashes, ashes.

“Master’s coming,” Britta said. She looked at Clare. “You don’t know how much I wish I had your eyes. Maybe I could pay him back then.”

“What on earth do you think you owe Master?” Ramah asked Britta.

“I owe Master everything.”

“I’m not going to let him murder Clare,” said Jem. “It’s not going to happen.”

“She’s dying anyway,” said Britta. “She’s not going to walk out of here. And we’re going to show her to the other children. They can see what disobedience to the Master looks like.”

Clare felt Jem’s hand on her head as he smoothed back her hair. She wished she could see him, but her eyes were almost swollen shut.

“I’m taking her home,” he said.

“It’s over, Jem,” said Clare.

Clare knew she was growing weaker. She had to get Jem and Ramah back to Thyme House, but there was only one way, and that way was very bitter.

Clare abruptly pushed herself off the bed. She almost fell, but she knocked away Jem’s hand. Then she was on her feet and moving, unsteadily, towards the door. She found it hard to see her way.

“No,” said Jem. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m going to Master,” said Clare. “Thyme House is for you and Ramah and the others.”

Clare reached the door. Then she was teetering at the top of the stairs. Jem reached her and took her arm, but she shook free of him. The Master, now visible at the bottom of the stairs, began to bound up. A moment later Clare was in the Master’s arms, her face cradled against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” said the Master quietly.

“It’s not supposed to be this way,” Jem said.

“This is exactly how it’s supposed to be,” said the Master.

Then, with what effort she could, Clare reached up and clawed at the Master’s shirt, just enough to open it so that they could all see his Pest rash and the Cured patch.

“He’s made it all up about the blood of blue-eyed children being a cure for him,” she said. “He just likes killing.”

“You can’t do this,” said Jem, and Clare didn’t know if he were speaking to her or to the Master.

“Britta,” said the Master slowly, “I’m not done with these house guests. You and Doug get Jem and Ramah nicely tied up, will you? They should co-operate; if they don’t, I can make the end unpleasant for their friend.”

“Let Jem and Ramah go,” said Clare. “That’s why I came to you now. So you’d let them go.”

“Didn’t work out, did it?” said the Master.

Then the Master looked down into Clare’s eyes, and she could see her newly misshapen face reflected in the washed out blue of his eyes.

How do you like your blue eyed boy Death
, she thought.
ee cummings
, she thought.
no caps
.

INTERLUDE

T
HERE WAS A
flash of light that seared through Clare’s brain. The flash lit up her whole mind and burned it and left her weak and panting. A familiar voice was yelling something about convulsions.

Clare roused herself. Before the final sleep, she must tell Jem how she loved him. With a cure, there might have been a full lifetime in which to do it. Now she wished only for a week, a day, an hour. But you can’t always get what you want. You can’t always get what you want. And sometimes, even if you try, you can’t get what you need.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

JOURNEYS END

C
LARE SLEPT FOR
a while in the Master’s arms. She couldn’t help it. When she awoke, she was in the collection room in the basement, lying on a cot. The light in the room was bright; hurricane lanterns were everywhere, and the tapestries, paintings and statues stood out sharply. She saw that Ramah’s bow and quiver were on the large table, and she wondered if Ramah had tried to threaten the Master.

Then she saw Ramah and Jem. Their backs were against the wall, and their arms and legs were bound. Their mouths were sealed with silver tape. Jem had a black eye and a large scratch across his cheek. There was no sign of Bear.

Jem struggled in his bonds when he saw she was awake. The Master looked at him dispassionately.

“I’m killing Clare first, and then I’m killing you,” he said. “For purely practical reasons. But as Shakespeare says, ‘journeys finish when lovers meet.’”

“‘Journeys end in lovers meeting,’” said Clare. “
Twelfth Night.
You got it wrong. Asshole.”

Clare watched as the Master turned away from Jem and Ramah. And then all of his attention was on her.

“I want to look into your eyes while I do it,” he said. And then he was kneeling in front of her. “They are so very blue. I’ve never seen eyes like yours—not in thirty years of looking. Maybe yours won’t fade at the end.” And she saw that he had a knife in his hand.

She tried to swallow, but her throat was too swollen. She tried to think of something she could say to stop him, but a high-pitched whine in her ears kept her from being able to think. She hoped that Jem and Ramah would somehow get away—they were strong and filled with ingenuity. Surely they would.

“I need to drink the blood before you die,” the Master said. “That’s Part One; I have to do that. Then I’m going to kill you. That’s Part Two, that’s recreation, but I have to do it, too.” He sounded apologetic. Then his knife was under her ear. She felt a trickle of blood run down her neck as the cold metal touched her. The Master leaned down and licked it up.

Despite the tape on his mouth, Clare thought she could hear Jem scream. Or maybe she just knew he was screaming, swearing, struggling.

Pain. Life. Love. It was all about to end.

And then there was a huge clatter, and the door to the collection room burst open. Clare had trouble distinguishing the shapes that rushed in, and when she could, she thought at first she must be hallucinating. But not after one of them spoke.

“What are you
doing
?” asked Mirri. “Let her
go
.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

WHAT HAPPENED NEXT

T
HE
M
ASTER LEAPT
to his feet in surprise, lowered his knife and simply stared. They were all there.

“I think we’d better knock him over,” said Bird Boy.

“Let’s all jump on him,” said Tilda.

“Watch out for that knife,” said Abel.

The Master looked down at his hand, as if he were surprised to find a knife still there.

Meanwhile, Sarai walked over to Ramah and Jem and pulled the tape off their mouths.

“Get Clare away from Master,” gasped Jem.

Clare listened to the disorganized clamor of voices with joy. And then she realized that she had a chance, weak as she was, to make things a little more difficult for the Master. The cot she was lying on wasn’t quite flush with the wall. As the Master faced the children from Thyme House, Clare tried to move towards the gap. Movement was agony—as she pushed herself back from the lip of the cot, she felt as if her skin were being scraped from her body.

The Master turned for a moment and saw what she was doing, and when he did, as she pushed herself into the gap, he opened his mouth in a wide smile. She saw all his madness revealed in that smile, and then the smile grew.

Clare fell.

The fall to the floor was painful, but she didn’t care. Now the Master stood in front of the cot, and she was behind it.