“Call you Viola?”
“I can’t stop you,” I say. “If you want.”
“Good,” he says, not sitting, not moving, the smile still fixed. “When you are feeling better, Viola, I would very much like to have a talk with you.”
“About what?”
“Why, your ships, of course,” he says. “Coming closer by the moment.”
I swallow. “What ships?”
“Oh, no, no, no.” He shakes his head but still smiles. “You started out with intelligence and with courage. You are frightened but that has not stopped you from addressing me with calmness and clarity. All most admirable.” He bends his head down. “But to that we must add honesty. We must start out honestly with each other, Viola, or how may we proceed at all?”
Proceed to where? I think.
“I have told you that Todd is alive and well,” he says, “and what I tell you is true.” He places a hand on the rail at the end of the bed. “And he will stay safe.” He pauses. “And you will give me your honesty.”
And I understand without having to be told that one depends on the other.
The warmth is starting to spread up from my stomach, making everything seem slower, softer. The lightning in my side is fading, but it’s taking wakefulness along with it. Why two doses when that would put me to sleep so fast? So fast I won’t even be able to talk to–
Oh.
Oh.
“I need to see him to believe you,” I say.
“Soon,” he says. “There is much to be done in New Prentisstown first. Much to be undone.”
“Whether anyone wants it or not.” My eyelids are getting heavy. I force them up. Only then do I realize I said it out loud.
He smiles again. “I find myself saying this with great frequency, Viola. The war is over. I am not your enemy.”
I lift my groggy eyes to him in surprise.
I’m afraid of him. I am.
But–
“You were the enemy of the women of Prentisstown,” I say. “You were the enemy of everyone in Farbranch.”
He stiffens a little, though he tries not to let me see it. “A body was found in the river this morning,” he says. “A body with a knife in its throat.”
I try to keep my eyes from widening, even under the Jeffers. He’s looking at me close now. “Perhaps the man’s death was justified,” he says. “Perhaps the man had enemies.”
I see myself doing it–
I see myself plunging the knife–
I close my eyes.
“As for me,” the Mayor says, “the war is over. My days of soldiering are at an end. Now come the days of leadership, of bringing people together.”
By separating them, I think, but my breathing is slowing. The whiteness of the room is growing brighter but only in a soft way that makes me want to fall down into it and sleep and sleep and sleep. I press further into the pillow.
“I’ll leave you now,” he says. “We will meet again.”
I begin to breathe through my mouth. Sleep is becoming impossible to avoid.
He sees me starting to drift off.
And he does the most surprising thing.
He steps forward and pulls the sheet straight across me, almost like he’s tucking me in.
“Before I go,” he says. “I have one request.”
“What?” I say, fighting to keep awake.
“I’d like you to call me David.”
“What?” I say, my voice heavy.
“I’d like you to say, Good night, David.”
The Jeffers has so disconnected me that the words come out before I know I’m even saying them. “Good night, David.”
Through the haze of the drug, I see him look a little surprised, even a little disappointed.
But he recovers quickly. “And to you, Viola.” He nods at me and steps towards the door to leave.
And I realize what it is, what’s so different about him.
“I can’t hear you,” I whisper from my bed.
He stops and turns. “I said, And to–”
“No,” I say, my tongue barely able to move. “I mean I can’t hear you. I can’t hear you think.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I should hope not.”
And I think I’m asleep before he can even leave.
I don’t wake for a long, long time, finally blinking again into the sunshine, wondering what was real and what was a dream.
( . . . my father, holding out his hand to help me up the ladder into the hatch, smiling, saying, “Welcome aboard, skipper . . .”)
“You snore,” says a voice.
Corinne is seated in the chair, her fingers flying a threaded needle through a piece of fabric so fast it’s like it’s not her doing it, like someone else’s angry hands are using her lap.
“I do not,” I say.
“Like a cow in oestrus.”
I push back the covers. My bandages have been changed and the lightning pain is gone so the stitch must be repaired. “How long have I been asleep?”
“More than a day.” She sounds disapproving. “The President’s already sent men by twice to check on your condition.”
I put a hand on my side, tentatively pushing on the wound. The pain is almost non-existent.
“Nothing to say to that then, my girl?” Corinne says, needle thrashing ferociously.
I furrow my forehead. “What’s there to say? I’d never met him before.”
“He was sure keen to know you though, wasn’t he? Ow!” She breathes in a sharp hiss and sticks a fingertip in her mouth. “All the while he’s got us trapped,” she says around her finger. “All the while we can’t even leave this building.”
“I don’t see how that’s my fault.”
“It isn’t your fault, my girl,” Mistress Coyle says, coming into the room. She looks sternly at Corinne. “And no one here thinks it is.”
Corinne stands, bows slightly to Mistress Coyle and leaves without another word.
“How are you feeling?” Mistress Coyle asks.
“Groggy.” I sit up more, finding it much easier to do so this time. I also notice my bladder is uncomfortably full. I tell Mistress Coyle.
“Well, then,” she says, “let’s see if you can stand on your own to help with that.”