Watershed (23 page)

‘Yes.' I hoped so.

Her eyes glittered, shimmered, and I sighed. It seemed Alex wasn't done surprising me. But I didn't want her grief. And I definitely didn't want what happened next.

She bent her head, dropping fat warm tears on my hands as she kissed one palm and then the other, pressing her lips to my skin, holding them there for what seemed like minutes, while I watched and said nothing.

My hands were so close to her throat, I could've closed a single one around her neck. I could've done to her what I'd done to Marin. Instead I traced a finger under her jaw, just touching her.

It's a matter of trust.

‘Thank you,' she whispered again, before letting go and backing away.

‘You're welcome.'

It was the second time I'd said it that day, first to her brother, now to her. But this time I meant it.

Excerpt ~ Letter #16

 

Promises are almost always a mistake. Made in haste, believed with hope and remembered with regret.

Sarah stared at the knife for a long time before looking up at Daniel. We promised him, he said.

He's still too young, she replied. Even though he wasn't, and she'd known for a long time that this was what he wanted, what Daniel wanted for him. All his friends had them, tucking them into belts or boots. Knives, and other things. Jeremiah had asked and asked, and they'd always told him, one day, one day, always promising but never delivering.

We promised, Daniel said again and he pulled the knife from its sheath to show her the blade. It looked a big one; too big, she thought, long and sharp, and she wondered how much it had cost to arm their grandson. Five cups, including the sheath; Daniel answered the question she hadn't asked.

She thought back to that day when she'd given Jeremiah her old phone and that first letter, and she remembered her admission to Daniel; but surely he'd understood she hadn't really meant it, that it had been just a momentary lapse? Because of all the promises they'd made, this was the one Sarah had hoped they'd never keep, crossing her fingers every time to undo the crossing of her heart.

I don't like it, she said. What if he gets into a fight, or ends up hurting someone? Daniel dismissed the idea: This was Jeremiah. He knew what was right.

But knowing and doing weren't the same thing, and even the best will in the world could be undermined by a moment of anger, or fear.

He'd need it for work, Daniel pointed out, always so practical. Jeremiah had started with the building crew, working alongside his grandfather when they needed extra hands. The rest of his time was spent helping Drummond at his little school, teaching the five children who attended, just as Sarah had hoped he might.
And he was good with the kids; kind and patient, Drummond told her. The pay was pitiful, but Sarah had been pleased, knowing it might lead to better things later.

He wouldn't need a knife if he got work in the tower, she told Daniel. Wasn't that why they'd taught him to read and write, so he wouldn't have to carry a knife or a sword, or even a gun?

Was that really what she wanted? Daniel asked. For Jeremiah to disappear inside the tower and never be seen again? Because they both knew that's what would happen.

He was right, of course. Any new acolyte who was admitted into that edifice never seemed to come out again. So no, that wasn't what she wanted for Jeremiah. Not really. But she did want him to be safe, she said.

Daniel frowned. We promised him, he argued, and she was being ridiculous.

She knew he was annoyed that she was taking this from him, this gift he'd bought for his grandson, man to man, while Sarah wanted Jeremiah to stay a boy. Not even twelve, she thought; there'd be time enough for knives. But she
was
being ridiculous. She knew she was. Everyone carried a weapon of some sort, even the smallest of children. This was the new world, with its new ways, though it seemed to Sarah it did no one any good, and all she could think to say was: A book would've been better.

There are no books! Daniel snapped. We can't keep doing this, Sarah. If we don't come through, the boy will just end up stealing one. It's a miracle he hasn't already, he concluded.

Fine, she said at last, because it was done and she could see she'd lost this battle. But they must teach him how to use it properly. Make sure he understood it was for work and nothing else. Daniel had to promise her.

Like we promised Jeremiah? he said, with a smile. Sarah frowned, not liking his teasing.

Yes, exactly like that, she replied.

Then, yes, he promised. It would be for work, and nothing else.

I grinned when I eyed the neat pile of clothes, and I didn't care that Ballard saw. Clothed, I was less vulnerable, less at his mercy, and such knowledge can give a man strength, as well as hope. This was his gift to me, maybe returning the trust, maybe something more sinister, but I didn't ask, or much care, as I held out my hands so Tate could untie them.

The shirt was mine. I recognised the stains, though it was cleaner than I remembered. The vest too, and the boots. But the trousers were new, almost identical to the ones they'd torn apart, only thicker and of better quality than I was used to. I pulled them on, relishing the heavy feel of them, their coarseness and their warmth.

‘Those scars on your back,' Ballard said. ‘Was that Garrick's work too?'

I turned, surprised. ‘You should know.'

He shook his head. ‘I never had that pleasure. I only knew him by reputation, and it wasn't the same one he has now. By the time he took over, I'd already left.'

‘Well, aren't you the lucky one,' I said, sitting to pull on my boots.

‘D'you know how the Watch started?' he asked, and I shrugged. For all his banging on about hindsight, I didn't much care to dwell on the past. Ballard had his penance, and I had mine. But my lack of interest must've annoyed him, because he pushed himself away from the wall where he'd been leaning and stood in front of me. I stared at the toes of his boots while I laced my own.

‘The Citadel wasn't built overnight, Jem. It took a long time, and many lives. Too many. So a few of us started watching over the wall, guarding its construction, as well as all the people. It grew from there.'

I stood and faced him. ‘You're telling me you started the Watch?'

‘It wasn't called that. Not then. And no, I didn't start it. I came in towards the end. But when the raids finally stopped and we thought things would settle, the Council decided we were too useful to disband, so they split us up. The Guard became the public face, the Watch disappeared underground, and it didn't take long for the Tower to find new ways to keep everyone busy.'

‘You must be real proud of yourself, Ballard,' I sneered. ‘Congratulations.'

If he felt any shame he hid it well. ‘Even then I could see where things were heading, so I chose to stay with the Guard.'

‘If it was too much for you, why not just leave? You must've already made your fifty by then. You could've walked away.'

‘You're not listening. We didn't mark ourselves. We weren't forced into service. There was no minimum number of kills. That was Garrick's doing. Back then we were just idealists, Jem, protecting what we'd helped build. When I realised it wasn't working as we'd hoped, I figured I had two choices. I could take my ideals and put them to work, or I could abandon them altogether. I made the hard choice.'

‘What a fucking hero,' I said, and heard Tate's warning growl.

Ballard cocked his head, and his smile was cold. ‘You know, back then, it was Taggart who was in charge, Garrick his second.
But they thought Taggart was past it, so they moved Garrick up and gave him command. And because he got the results they wanted, they left him alone.'

‘Thanks for the history lesson,' I said, and shrugged on my vest, armouring myself against him. But he'd surprised me about Taggart. I hadn't known that about him. Then again, it was becoming real obvious I knew very little about pretty much everything.

‘I'm not telling you this because I want your approval, Jem,' he said. ‘It's important you understand our motives and our determination. I've been here over twenty years, planning and waiting for the right moment. This isn't idealism any more. It's reality.'

I thumped my chest, suddenly furious. ‘No, Ballard.
This
is reality. This is what happens when cowards like you take to the hills and leave the rest of us to deal with your shit. And it's a crying shame you never met Garrick, coz then you might've realised what you're up against. Let me tell you something about Garrick and you can add it to your little fact file. He's only afraid of one thing, and surprise, surprise, it ain't you. He's shit scared of the Council, and that means you should be too.'

He didn't miss a beat. ‘Then Garrick is smarter than I thought.'

‘Garrick's a lot of things. He's your worst nightmare.'

Ballard's eyes darkened. ‘Perhaps. But he's also yours.'

But Garrick had been that for eight years and I'd learned to live with it. Ballard, on the other hand, didn't have a clue. I shrugged, not caring; he'd find out soon enough.

There was a long and uncomfortable silence before he sighed and nodded to Tate, and once again the rope came out.

‘Another outing?' I asked. This chance to walk properly again so soon, and escape the confines of my room, was unexpected.

‘It's time you started earning your keep,' Ballard said. ‘Alex needs help in the infirmary.'

‘More people you need putting down?' I jeered, regretting it when Tate punished me with the rope.

‘I really hope you have other skills, Jem. Otherwise, your usefulness is limited,' Ballard said. ‘Apparently you made an impression on the boy. Tate and Alex told me all about your little promise, but right now he needs more practical assistance.'

‘You want me to nursemaid a kid?'

Ballard raised an eyebrow. ‘D'you have anything better to do?'

A dozen things came to mind, none of them possible. ‘Not yet.'

‘Then Tate will escort you. But don't annoy him too much. He's not in a very good mood this morning.'

No kidding. I strained against the rope and Tate jerked it again, pushing me out of the room. I felt his menace all the way to the infirmary. Gone was the gentle giant, though I wasn't sure what I'd done to anger him. Maybe he'd found out about Alex's visit the night before. Maybe he was annoyed I was still hanging around, taking up so much of his precious time. Maybe he was just an arsehole.

Connor had been moved to the cot where Marin had last lain, and I hoped he was okay. I wasn't looking forward to spending any more time with him, but it didn't mean I wished him ill. Like Marin, he'd already suffered enough.

‘Please, Connor,' Alex was saying as we neared. ‘You need to eat. You have to keep up your strength.'

Connor scowled. ‘Tastes like crap.'

It seemed Tate wasn't the only one in a bad mood, and I smiled. There was nothing wrong with the boy. Apart from the fact that he had no hands.

‘She's right, you know,' I told him, and Alex looked around, almost with relief.

Getting up, she thrust the bowl at me. ‘Here, you do it. He won't listen to me.'

She wasn't too forthcoming with the pleasantries, and I stared at her, looking for the woman who'd come to my room and cried and kissed my hands. It seemed filthy moods were the order of the day.

‘I'm not doing anything with this around my neck,' I said.

‘Take it all off,' she told Tate, and when he grumbled she snapped, ‘You can't hold on to him all day, and he's no help if he can't use his hands.'

Once free, I spooned some of the slops into my mouth. It was cold and congealed and even more tasteless than I'd been given. I spat it out again.

‘He's right, this
is
crap. Bring him some dried meat and a bit of bread. Please,' I added, showing her how it was done.

‘Too salty,' Alex said. ‘It'll make him sick.'

I looked at Connor with his bandaged stumps. ‘I reckon that's the least of his problems, don't you?'

A long pause before she snatched the bowl from me and stalked off. It felt good to order her around again. Sometimes the smallest things bring the greatest joy.

‘Well, you told her,' Connor said with a quick grin.

‘Sure did,' I replied, wondering where the timid boy of yesterday had gone, the one who'd sat and let Alex spoon-feed him; the one who'd seemed both fascinated and terrified by my presence. I looked around. There was no chair. ‘Can I sit down?'

‘Yeah,' he said, wriggling over to make room, careful not to press his stumps onto the mattress. ‘Alex said I didn't need to be scared of you.'

‘Alex is right.' I pointed at Tate. ‘What about him? He scare you?'

Connor snorted. ‘No, Tate's nice. He reads to me sometimes.'

‘What about Alex?'

‘Nah, she's real pretty,' he said, then grinned. ‘And she's got nice tits.'

I laughed, and a few heads turned. Laughter was a stranger in that place. ‘Aren't you a bit young to notice things like that?'

‘I'm old enough,' he said scornfully, like no boy was ever too young to appreciate tits.

‘Yeah? How old? Eight? Nine?'

‘Dunno. You?'

‘Dunno,' I replied and we sized each other up for a bit.

‘Then I guess we're the same, you and me,' Connor said at last.

‘Yeah,' I lied. ‘I guess we are.'

‘What's your name?' he asked.

‘Jem.'

He thought about it. ‘Funny kinda name. What happened to your head?'

I lifted a hand and fingered the scar. It was still a little tender, but healing. ‘Alex did that. Hit me with a rock.'

‘Why?' His eyes grew round and I grinned.

‘Coz I touched her tits.'

‘Really?' He sat up straighter and gazed at me with awe. Tate watched the two of us, disapproving. But before Connor could ask any more, Alex chose that moment to return with the food and he had to forego his little fantasy. I watched him eyeing her as she bent to pile up his pillows before hurrying off again, and I smiled. Every boy deserves to dream.

This time he ate without protest, me shredding the meat and bread and putting them into his mouth. It was slow going and kind of weird, but I'd be lying if I said I hated it.

‘You got any family waiting for you?' I asked him, when we'd finished.

‘Nope. Got friends though. There's a bunch of us and we grab what we can. It's easy.' He scowled then. ‘Well, it was.'

I cast around for something to take his mind off it. ‘What's Tate been reading to you?'

Connor looked at Tate and the big man reached behind him and freed a small book from a pocket, handing it over reluctantly.

‘
Treasure Island
?' I flipped the pages, marvelling at all the words. So many, and so small, all printed and neat, rows and rows of
letters on fine smooth paper, nothing like the pulpy sheets I was used to. I lifted it to my face and smelled it, breathing in its sweet mustiness. My grandmother had been right; there was nothing like it. ‘You want me to read some?'

‘You read?' Connor said, surprised.

‘Yeah, I read. Kinda have to in my line of work.'

‘Why? You read people to death?' He was a cheeky little shit, and I was beginning to wish for the boy I'd first met.

‘No, I shoot arrows into them,' I said, coldly. ‘Now, d'you want me to read or not?'

‘Maybe,' he said, and his eyes grew sly. ‘If you show me those marks first.'

I sighed, glanced at Tate for help, but he shrugged. Alex wasn't around, so maybe it was as good a time as ever to get it done.

‘Fine. But then you shut up about it, okay?'

‘Okay,' he said, his eyes growing wide as I untied my shirt and pulled it open. ‘Wow. That's a lot.' He looked nervous again and I closed the shirt, regretting my earlier wish.

‘How many?' he asked.

‘You don't wanna know.'

‘Sure I do.'

I tried to remember if I'd ever been such a pain in the arse. ‘No, you don't. Now, where do I start with this book?'

I read for a while, enjoying the sensation, the words passing from eye to mouth, spilling out between teeth and tongue, sentence by sentence. I hadn't read aloud since I was a child myself and it took a while to get the hang of it again. I stumbled over some of the unknowns; I had no idea what a parrot was, or a pirate, but the rest of it seemed fairly familiar. I liked Jim, and not just because his name was like mine. The kid had balls, a bit like Connor, taking no shit from anyone.

Tate surprised me with a tap on the shoulder. ‘He's asleep,' he rumbled, and I closed the book with some regret before handing
it back. Connor was curled on his side, both arms outstretched, and I pulled the blanket over him.

‘What'll happen to him?' I asked Tate, standing and holding out my hands so he could tie them up again. It had become so routine, I didn't even question it.

‘Ballard will find someone to take him in. He'll be okay.' He looked at the book, turning it over in his hand. ‘This the first time you've read a book?'

My hackles rose. I thought I'd done okay.

But he smiled. ‘You did a good job, Jem,' he said. ‘Here, you hang onto it. You can read him some more later.'

I took it, surprised and also a little relieved. It was the first time he'd spoken my name, and I guessed whatever had been bothering him earlier had little to do with me. I hadn't been lying when I'd told Ballard that Tate was growing on me.

He took me back to my room and I spent the next few hours reading, losing myself in Jim Hawkins's world, where everyone was trying to screw over everybody else for very little gain. It was my world too, the same, but different.

Later, back at the infirmary, Connor wasn't just awake; he was kicking up a storm. Alex had hold of one arm, pulling it straight and trying to be gentle but keeping a firm hold. An older woman was bent over him, hands pressing his shoulders, pinning him to the cot. Connor thrashed and wriggled, yelling and sobbing.

‘No, I don't want to! It's gunna hurt. It's gunna hurt!' His face was red with exertion, the small veins on his neck standing out, pulsing with rage. ‘I hate you. Get away from me. Fucking leave me alone!'

‘What's going on?' I asked Tate.