Watershed (19 page)

My first steps were no better than a baby's, unsteady scuffs scraping the dirt, my body lurching side to side, with only Tate's hands to steady me. The rope tethering my ankles didn't help, nor the one binding my hands, but there was no need for either because I wasn't going anywhere in a hurry; every step I managed just hammered the pain further into my head. We didn't leave the room. Instead we traced the path that Ballard had made, the turns the worst as I tried to keep my balance. Four lengths of the tiny room, nineteen short steps, and I was exhausted, happy to let Tate lower me back onto the cot, not even pretending to struggle as he secured my feet in place. Plonking himself on the edge, tilting the bed alarmingly, he began rubbing my arms, bending them up and down and side to side, stretching my shoulders, ignoring any protests. He was surprisingly gentle, but he never spoke and I was too tired to care. Then, as before, he strapped me down, and I slept.

Alex arrived later with another bowl of slops, my second for the day, this time with some shredded meat stirred into it. No tastier than before, and still watery, it kept my stomach settled. She didn't speak either, as she fed me, and I didn't goad her this time. I'd already used my only advantage and once said there was nothing
more to add. But I was betting she hadn't forgotten my words. In fact, I was counting on it.

She kept her gaze on the spoon, and I studied her as I chewed and swallowed; clear bright eyes scored by long straight brows, a high forehead beneath a cropped cap of hair, darker than her brother's, hollowed cheeks sloping from prominent bones, a straight nose, just flaring at the nostrils above a wide mouth and strong chin; an undulating landscape of skin and bone and flesh, pale and soft. Her neck was long and slender and I imagined my hands around it, thumbs pressing into the hard, ridged windpipe, crushing it slowly, choking off the air and turning that pale face red as she gasped like a fish.

All in all, it was a pretty satisfying meal.

So the pattern of days was set, Alex building my energy with increasing portions of gruel, adding more meat and fish and bread to the menu, cleaning me off afterwards, making me comfortable before Tate began his gentle torture, slowly extending the time I spent on my feet. With each meal and every walk, I regained my strength, the pain in my head receded and my muscles ceased their protest. And in between, regular as the sun and just as unbearable, Ballard would appear for one of his little chats, sharing his vision, ready to answer every question and parry every disparagement.

But I was also aware of time slipping away, any chance to carry out my duties becoming less and less likely. Failure, and its subsequent punishment, which I'd so far escaped, seemed inevitable, and my frustration grew.

‘How am I supposed to help you when I'm dead?' I asked him on one occasion.

‘Start with the whys, and leave the hows for later,' he suggested. His superior air annoyed me. Just one of a long, long list.

‘No problem. Why are you such a prick?'

He gave a small frown. ‘Not exactly what I had in mind. Let's begin with why we want to bring down the Tower.'

‘I think I've got that bit.'

‘No, I don't think you do. The Tower was built to protect. Keep everything – and everyone – safe. But no one is safe, Jem. And we don't want to be ruled by fear any more.'

Yet fear was all we knew. Fear of thirst, starvation, of each other. Fear of the dark, and fear of the sun. Fear might be a hard taskmaster, but it was what ensured our survival. Ballard's dream was the same one every Diss had, and nothing I hadn't heard before.

‘Are you really that stupid?' I asked him. ‘You get rid of the Tower and the Council and everything else, something's gotta take their place. The king is dead, and all that.'

‘That's not our intent,' he said.

‘So you're just gunna do away with it all and hope for the best? No Guard, no Watch? No authority of any kind? Great idea, Ballard. You're giving me fucking goosebumps.'

‘I didn't say that, either. But I have faith in people, Jem. You don't. Yet,' he added, with a small smile.

‘No. I don't any more. There's a difference.'

‘Then you need to find it again,' he said, making it sound as easy as if I'd lost a boot.

‘Well, in a few weeks I'll be dead, so it won't much matter. There's your faith.'

‘That's not faith, Jem, that's surrender.' He cocked his head. ‘Does it scare you? The idea of dying?'

‘Not so much,' I said, and then smiled. ‘But failing is really gunna piss me off.'

‘Same thing,' he said. ‘Because you will fail at some point. You will die. It's just a question of how you face up to it, isn't it?'

I thought of Garrick's knives and chains and whips, and all his cruelty. There were easier ways to go, but when all was said and done, knowing how it'd happen lent its own brand of courage. Or stupidity.

‘Why don't you stick me with that knife of yours, and we'll both find out,' I suggested, laughing when he frowned again. ‘A man only fears death when he has something to lose, Ballard.'

‘Perhaps, my friend. But I thought we'd already established that you're not yet a man.'

‘I'm not your friend either, arsehole,' I retorted. ‘But either way, it makes no difference. If you don't fear death, you can't be controlled.'

This time, he was the one to laugh. ‘But you are controlled. Every minute. By the Tower, the Council, by Garrick, by your orders. By your guilt. So if it's not death you fear, then it must be something else.'

‘Yeah? What's that then?'

He sighed. ‘I can't do everything, Jem. You'll need to work it out for yourself.'

And so it went. Sometimes he became almost animated as he shared his dream, other times he remained reserved and serious, his voice low and quiet. He never gave away any of the details, few of the hows or whens or wheres. Just the whys. He was obsessed with those. But he wasn't stupid. Not by a long shot, and I found myself wondering why a man so intelligent would devote himself to such a useless fucking cause.

‘What's in it for you?' I asked him. ‘Assuming you're successful?'

He spread his hands. ‘Freedom, of course. Isn't that what everyone wants?'

‘You'd be surprised,' I said. ‘Reckon there's a shitload of freedom over those mountains. Why don't you go and see how it's working out for them.'

It took a minute for him to force a smile. ‘A person can be free and still be ruled by his conscience, Jem.'

‘Well, see, that's your first mistake,' I said. ‘Thinking everyone has a conscience.'

‘Not everyone. Not people like Garrick. Or the Council. Sadly, maybe not even you. But the rest? Yes, I do believe it. And a free man isn't a lawless one.'

‘Except who's going to make those laws, Ballard? Who's going to enforce them? There won't be any Guard, remember?'

He pressed his fingertips together, all serious again. ‘Rebellions are the hallmark of evolution, Jem. Change and growth. That's our history. And hindsight's invaluable if we take the time to learn from it.'

I jerked at the straps. ‘I reckon foresight'd be a shitload more useful.'

‘True. But none of us have that, do we? The only thing we have is time and patience, and a willingness to learn from our mistakes.' He sighed. ‘The Tower isn't untouchable, Jem. Its own arrogance has allowed us to get this far.'

‘You seem pretty arrogant yourself, Ballard. Careful you don't start thinking you're untouchable too.'

A smile this time, but tight. ‘Are you offering to become my voice of reason?'

‘I don't reckon you need any more voices,' I said. ‘You do a good job mouthing off all by yourself. I could die of boredom just listening to you.'

‘But you keep asking questions. There must be something you find interesting.'

‘It's not like I'm free to get up and leave,' I said, pulling on the restraints.

‘That's up to you, isn't it? You have the chance to earn back your freedom. Just say the word.'

I regarded him for a moment, wondering if I'd read him wrong. Perhaps he was stupid after all. ‘Supposing I did agree to join your little crusade, what's to stop me from betraying you when I get back to the compound? Saving my own skin by giving them yours? Have you thought about that?'

He laughed. ‘Of course we have. That's why we chose you in the first place.' He didn't elaborate, but I could've told him he was mistaken. Guilt alone wasn't enough to change a man. Not after so long.

‘And if I choose not to?' I asked.

‘Then we'll kill you and find someone else to take your place,' he told me. ‘It'd be a shame, but there's no shortage. As I said, time and patience. We've waited this long. Another few months, even years, will be a small price to pay.'

It was good to have it finally out there, giving me a choice of sorts: dead here or dead there. It didn't much matter though; either way I was screwed.

‘Who killed those other Guards?' I asked, changing tack. ‘You? Or did you find someone to do your dirty work for you?'

‘Me and Tate,' he admitted. ‘I don't enjoy killing either, Jem. But I'm not averse to taking a life when necessary.'

‘I'm guessing you sawed their throats to make it look like a hack job?' I asked him. ‘That was a bad way to kill a man, Ballard. Not even I'd do that.' Not even to a Guard.

‘Really? Tell me, how often do you think about killing Alex? Every time you see her, when she comes in to feed you and take care of you, how many ways do you imagine hurting her? Or me? Or Tate? I'm betting none of them are quick, or very merciful.'

‘Actually, Tate's kind of growing on me. Must be his silence.'

But the truth was, when Alex came in she was as silent as Tate, and while I might not relish Ballard's company or share his vision, I found myself beginning to crave our talks. I'd never been able to spar with Garrick in such a way. You didn't talk back to Garrick, not if you knew what was good for you. But Ballard was different. A real pain in the arse, for sure, but having him there was better than nothing at all.

I knew it was part of their strategy. Silence followed by chumminess; pain followed by gentleness. The sort of strategy designed to confuse a man, to make him trust his captors and give up what he knew. Except Ballard wasn't seeking information: he already had that in spades.

‘How'd you find this place?' I asked him, a few days into our routine.

‘By accident. Call it a lucky strike.' He chortled at his own little joke; I didn't join in. ‘We spent a few years clearing it out, shoring up the worst of the shafts. Now it's home to a few dozen people. Disses, as you call them.'

A few dozen? Hardly the sort of number to strike fear into the heart of the Tower. Yet it would have taken more than a few dozen to clear out a mine and make it safe. It would have taken a hundred or more, the same hundred the informants had tried to warn the Council about; the same hundred the report had lied about. My alarm must have showed, because Ballard smiled.

‘That's right, Jem. And there are plenty more in the settlement. In all the settlements.'

Scowling, remembering my own foolish assessment of the report and my dismissal of the rumours, I asked, ‘How many?'

‘More than enough,' he replied, watching me.

‘There's no way so many people could keep this a secret,' I argued.

‘Why not? Doesn't the Watch do the same? And if keeping a secret guarantees your safety, as well as the lives of those you love, wouldn't you do anything to guard it?' He paused, and added, ‘But I'm not surprised you don't understand.'

‘Fuck off, Ballard!' I sneered. ‘You know nothing about me.'

‘That's where you're wrong. There's nothing I don't know about you,' he said and, as much as I might've liked to argue the point, I suspected he was right.

‘How could you be sure the Tower would send me? It could've easily been another Watchman. Reed or Mack. Garrick, even,' I said. ‘Alex wouldn't have got very far then.'

‘Now who's the hypocrite, Jem? Weren't you intending to do to Alex exactly what Garrick would've done?'

‘Shit, you really don't have a clue about him, do you?'

He returned my stare, as though undecided what to say next. In the end he stuck to what he knew. ‘To get back to your original question, I told you it was you we wanted. And we had plenty of safeguards to make sure it happened. Your friend Reed is dead. And right now Garrick is hard at work in the northwest, culling another uprising. More sacrifices for the cause, Jem.' His lips tightened to a grim line before he added, ‘We're waiting for word of his death too.'

I'd barely known Reed and gave his death little thought, though it explained why he'd never showed. But I laughed about Garrick. ‘Then you'll be waiting a fucking long time.'

He looked at me gravely. ‘You'd better hope not. Otherwise it'll be your job to kill him.'

But I had no such intention. Not any more. Not even in my dreams.

‘How'd you get hold of my record? You got other Watchmen on-side?' I asked. As far as I knew, only Garrick had access to our files. Yet Ballard had made it clear Garrick was the enemy.

‘No. That came direct from the Tower. You'd be surprised what information we have at our disposal.'

I stared as the puzzle finally became clear. I'd been wondering how they'd known to wait by the east road, just as I'd wondered about that strange whispered message in the compound. I'd wondered, hadn't seen it, and now I wished I were free just so I could kick myself.
Jem, you useless pile of –

‘Cade. He's one of yours, isn't he?'

‘Very good, Jem. Yes, Cade is one of ours. Among others.'

‘Except his own father sits on the Council.' Ballard had his information and I had mine. It didn't hurt to let him know. But he didn't seem impressed by my knowledge.