I don’t hardly see him no more, not since the day of my arm break, not since the day I sorta got to see Viola again. Mayor Ledger says he’s arresting people and stuffing ’em in prisons west of town but not getting the knowledge he wants out of ’em. Mr. Morgan, Mr. O’Hare and Mr. Tate are leading parts of the army off into the hills west of town looking for the camps of the bomb-planters, who are all these women who disappeared the night of the first bombs.
But the army ain’t finding nothing and the Mayor just gets madder and madder, making more and more curfews, taking away more and more cure from his soldiers.
New Prentisstown gets louder by the day.
“The Mayor’s denying the Answer even exists,” I say.
“Well, the President can say anything he likes.” Mayor Ledger pokes at his dinner with a fork. “But people talk.” He takes another bite. “Oh, yes, they do.”
In addishun to the mattresses wedged in on the tower ledges, they’ve put in a basin with fresh water every morning and a little chemical toilet back in the darkest corner. We’re also getting better food, brought to us by Mr. Collins, who then locks us back inside.
Ker-thunk.
That’s where I am, locked up here every minute I’m not with Davy. The Mayor obviously don’t want me out looking for Viola, despite what he says about trust.
“We don’t know it’s just women,” I say, trying to keep her outta my Noise. “We don’t know for sure.”
“A group calling themselves the Answer played a role in the Spackle War, Todd. Covert bombing, night-time operations, that sort of thing.”
“And?”
“And it was all women. No Noise to be heard by the enemy, you see.” He shakes his head. “But they got out of hand at the end, became a law unto themselves. After the peace, they even attacked our own city. We were finally forced to execute some of them. A nasty business.”
“But if you executed them, how can it be them?”
“Because an idea lives on after the death of the person.” He burps quietly. “I don’t know what they think they’re going to accomplish, though. It’s only a matter of time before the President finds them.”
“Men have gone missing, too,” I say, cuz it’s true but what I’m thinking is–
(did she go with ’em?)
I lick my lips. “These healing houses where women work,” I say, “are they marked somehow? Some way to tell what they are?”
He takes a sip of his water, watching me over his cup. “Why do you want to know a thing like that?”
I rustle my Noise a little to hide anything that might give me away. “No reason,” I say. “Never mind.” I set my dinner on the little table they’ve given us, our agreed sign that he can eat the rest of mine. “I’m gonna sleep.”
I lay back on my bed and face the wall. The last of the setting sun’s coming thru the openings in the tower. There ain’t no glass in the openings and winter’s coming. I don’t know how we’re gonna get thru the cold. I put my arm under my pillow and pull my legs up to me, trying not to think too loud. I can hear Mayor Ledger eating the rest of my dinner.
But then a picture comes floating from his Noise, floating right over to me, a picture of an outstretched hand, painted in blue.
I turn to look at him. I’ve seen the hand on at least two different buildings on the way to the monastery.
“There are five of them,” he says, his voice low. “I can tell you where they are. If you want.”
I look into his Noise. He looks into mine. We’re both covering something, hiding something beneath all the other strands of our thoughts. All these days locked together and we’re still wondering if we can trust each other.
“Tell me,” I say.
“1017,” I read out to Davy as he spins the bolting tool around, latching the band to a Spackle who instantly becomes 1017.
“That’s enough for today,” Davy says, tossing the bolting tool in the bag.
“We’ve still got–”
“I said that’s enough.” He limps back over to our bottle of water and takes a swig. His leg should be healed by now. My arm is, but he still limps.
“We were sposed to be done with this in a week,” I say. “We’re going on two now.”
“I don’t see no one hurrying us along.” He spits out some water. “Do you?”
“No, but–”
“And no further instruckshuns and no new jobs . . .” He trails off, takes another swig of water and spits some more. He glares to my left. “What’re you looking at?”
1017 is still standing there, holding the band with one hand and staring at us. I think it’s a male and I think it’s young, not quite an adult. It clicks at us once and then once again and even tho it ain’t got Noise the click sure sounds like something rude.
Davy thinks so, too. “Oh, yeah?” He reaches for the rifle slung on his back, his Noise firing it again and again at fleeing Spackle.
1017 stands his ground. He looks me in the eye and clicks again.
Yeah, definitely rude.
He backs off, walking away but still staring at us, one hand rubbing his metal band. I turn to Davy, who’s got his rifle up and pointed at 1017 as he goes.
“Don’t,” I say.
“Why not?” Davy says. “Who’s gonna stop us?”
I don’t got the answer, cuz it seems there’s nobody.
The bombs have come every third or fourth day. No one knows where they’ll be or how they’re planted, but BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The evening of the sixth bomb, a small fission reactor this time, Mayor Ledger comes in with a blackened eye and a swollen nose.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Soldiers,” he spits. He takes up his dinner plate, stew again, and winces as he takes the first bite.
“What did you do?”
His Noise rises a little and he turns an angry eye on me. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You know what I mean.”
He grumbles some, eats some more stew, then says, “Some of them got the brilliant idea that I was the Answer. Me.”
“You?” I say, maybe a bit too surprised.
He stands, setting down his stew, mostly uneaten, so I know he must be really sore. “They can’t find the women responsible and the soldiers are looking for someone to blame.” He stares outta one of the openings, watching night fall across the town that was once his home. “And did our President do anything to stop my beating?” he says, almost to himself. “No, he did not.”