The Finisher

TRES: Hector and Helen

AFTER THE BELL rang for the end of work at Stacks, I changed back into my threadbare clothes and left to walk back to Wormwood. I was so full of impatience that I wanted to run the whole way. I wished it were night already so I could go to my tree, but I could do nothing to speed up time.

My route to Wormwood proper did not take long. Wormwood was not sprawling. It was compact, like a small fist waiting to hit something. There were lines of shops set across from each other on the High Street, which consisted of wavy cobblestone. These shops sold things that Wugmorts needed, like clothing, shoes, basic foodstuffs, plates and cups. A chemist’s shop sold healing herbs and salves and bandages. There was even a place that would sell you a sense of happiness, which seemed in short supply here. I was told the shop did a brisk business. We knew we had it good in Wormwood, but we apparently had a hard time actually believing it.

As I walked, my mind whirled. Krone and Council had been chasing Quentin, who had fled into the Quag. I had caught a glimpse of him before he had fully disappeared. I had seen the expression on his face. It was one of terror but tinged with relief. Relief at going into the Quag? My mind could hardly contemplate such a thing.

As I trudged along, I passed the Loons. It had been my home for the last two sessions, ever since my mother and father were sent away to the Care. The Loons was a rectangle of warped boards, dirty glass and cracked slate shingles. There were two floors with five small cot rooms on the top floor and six boarders to a room. That added up to thirty Wugmorts with lax hygiene all in close proximity.

That’s why I preferred my tree.

I passed by the front door of the Loons, and a Wugmort I well knew stepped out. His name was Roman Picus and he owned the Loons. He was wearing his usual garb: a slouch hat with a dent in the middle; blue, not overly clean dungarees; white shirt; black vest; luminous orange-red garm-skin boots and a long, greasy coat. He had long whiskers running down both sides of his face, curving like fishhooks into his sun-reddened cheeks. A heavy bronze timekeeper suspended by a knotty chain hung across the front of his vest. On the timekeeper’s face were the various sections of light and night broken into their respective compartments.

“Good light, Vega,” he said grudgingly.

I nodded at him. “Good light, Roman.”

“Coming from Stacks?”

“Yes. I’m picking John up from Learning and then we’re meeting Delph at the Care.”

He gave a loud snort. “Why you waste your time with that great gormless sack-a nothin’, I’ll never know. But I suppose you don’t think too highly of yourself, and I would have to agree with ya there, female.”

“If you think Delph is such a waste, why not challenge him in the next Duelum?”

His face reddened. “I’m too old for the Duelum. But in my prime, female —”

“And how many Duelums did you win in your prime, male?”

He grimaced. “You best learn, Vega,” he growled. “Go along to get along.”

“Speaking of going, where are you off to, Roman?”

He looked like I had slapped him. “You’re asking me such a question?”

“We’re having such a nice conversation, I wanted to keep it going.”

“D’ya want to be written up at Council, Vega?”

“Absolutely. I hear that with three or more infractions the offending Wug is eligible for some sort of prize.”

“I have no slivers for idle dithering with the poor likes-a you.” But then he paused and studied me. “Quentin Herms?” he asked.

“What of him?”

“Hear he’s done a bunk.”

“Maybe,” I said cautiously.

Roman shrugged and looked at his boots. “Maybe a garm got him. Har.”

“All lodging fees collected for the quartersession?” I asked, intentionally changing the subject. I did not want to discuss Quentin Herms.

He smiled wickedly and held out a large, grimy hand. “Speaking of, I’ll just take yours now, Vega.”

I held out a small sheet of parchment with writing and a seal on it. “I paid after I walked John to Learning. Your clerk gave me a bit of coin off for bringing it around myself and saving him a trip.”

His smile fell away to a frown. “Oh, did he? Well, we’ll see about that.”

“All mouth and no trousers, Roman.”

“And what the bloody Hel do ya mean by that?”

“Your clerk showed me the official scroll you signed authorizing the discount. I like to know things like that before I commit my wages to pay for space in that dung heap you call lodging.”

Roman could chuck my brother and me out of the Loons if he wanted to. Maybe part of me desired that. But he simply turned and stalked off, and I hurried on.

Learning was housed in a building located near the other end of the High Street. It could hold a few hundred youngs but now had less than half that. Learning was done in Wormwood, but it was not done with a lot of energy. As I stood on the lumpy cobblestones and waited, it struck me that the top edge of the building’s roof was sad-looking. It curved a bit downward like it was frowning.

The door opened and the youngs started to trickle out.

The last Wug out was always my brother.

John Jane was short and skinny and looked far younger than his age. His hair was dark and long, nearly as long as mine. He would not allow me or anyone else to cut it. He was not strong, but he would fight you if you tried to cut his hair. His gaze was downcast. He was seemingly enthralled by his feet, which were disproportionately long and promised great height later. John Jane did not look like much on the outside, but there was a great deal going on inside his head.

I had seen him make observations about things I’d never thought of. And he never forgot anything. It was only in private moments when we were together that I gained glimpses of what was really in his upstairs room. It was quite full, that room, far fuller than mine.

A shy smile crept across his face, and his shuffle picked up. I held up my tin box. On the way here, I had stopped and picked him some berries, and there was also a feather wing I got for him and smoked up earlier in the hearth at Stacks. John liked his meat, though we didn’t have much of that at the Loons. He hurried across the cobblestones, opened the box and saw the wing. He looked at me and smiled again. I did not understand John most of the time, but I loved to see that smile. There was no food provided during Learning, although the time spent there was long. They said food distracted youngs. I believed a lack of food distracted everybody. I said so when I was a young. It was a wonder, I realized now, that they let me stay until I was twelve sessions, which was the age when Learning ended. That was far too early, I thought, but I didn’t make the rules, did I?

John took my hand with his free one and we walked along. As we did so, I looked around. There were clusters of Wugmorts here and there. They were all talking in hushed whispers. I also saw Council members in their black tunics scurrying around like rats through rubbish.

I had seen Quentin flee into the Quag. It wasn’t simply because Council was after him with the canines. His note told me that he had not intended on coming back, and that note had to have been placed in the cup before first light. Clearly, Quentin had planned on going into the Quag, Council and canines or not. But why? There was nothing in the Quag except certain death. And there was nothing on the other side of the Quag at all. Yet Quentin’s note had said that what he had left would set me free from Wormwood. My mind leapt ahead to the obvious conclusion.

There was some place beyond the Quag. Or so he believed.

My focus turned back to John.

We had a ritual, John and I. Every other light after Learning, we went to see our parents at the Care, where Wugs who were unwell and for whom the Mendens at hospital could do nothing more were sent. The place was guarded by a huge Wug named Non.

Non knew John and me because we came so often. But each time, he treated us as though it was our first visit. It irritated me terribly and seemed to greatly amuse him.

John had already hungrily begun eating his wing, and the fatty juice from the meat spilled across his small mouth. As we walked up to the Care, I saw Delph step from the deepening shadows of a chestnut tree. He looked nervous. His hair was even whiter from working at the Mill all light, and his face and shirt were sweat stained. He nodded shyly and looked down at John.

“Hello, Delph,” said John. He held up his feather wing. “Do you want a bite?”

Delph, I knew, was tempted. But he shook his head. I think I knew why. It was quite obvious how skinny my brother was. I don’t think Delph wanted to deprive him this bit of food.

We all turned and walked together to the entrance. I gritted my teeth and told Non we were here to see our mother and father. I let him see the Council parchment that allowed our visits. Non took his time examining the document, although by now he had probably memorized every word on it. He handed it back to me and then glared at Delph.

“But his name is nae on there, female.”

Delph took a step back, which made Non grin maliciously. He said, “Y’know, for such a great big Wug, you’re more like a female, ain’t you, Delph? Scared of your own shadow.” He made a lunge at Delph, and Delph jumped back.

Non roared with laughter and tossed me the key to my parents’ room. “G’on in, then. Don’t think the likes of him can do much harm.”

I said, “If I remember correctly, Delph beat you in the last Duelum, Non. How long were you unconscious again?”

Non’s smile disappeared, and as we passed by, he gave Delph a hard shove in the back that nearly sent him sprawling. I said nothing and didn’t look at Delph, because I knew how embarrassed he was. In my mind, I slaughtered Non one thousand times with increasing fervor.

We passed through the doorway and into a long corridor that was dark and cool. Even when it was hot outside, it was cool in here. I didn’t know how this was accomplished. At any other place in Wormwood, the only way to get cool was to open a window and hope for a breeze or pour cold water over your head.

We passed a Nurse in the hall. She was dressed in a gray cloak with a white cap on her head. She nodded, gave a terse smile and hurried on.

There were doors opening off the long hall. They were all locked. I knew this because during past visits I’d tried to open several of them. There were brass plates bolted to the doors of each room with names on them like Judith Frigg, Wolfgang Spriggan and Irin Grine. I didn’t know these Wugs, but I had seen some of their families here. They had looked as blank and hopeless as I probably did.

The brass plates were removed only when the Wug whose name was on it “slipped away,” as they said in Wormwood. I wondered when our mother and father would slip away. We arrived at the door with two brass plates. I read them out loud for what seemed the millionth time.

“Hector Jane. Helen Jane.”

I don’t know why I did this. I looked at John. He never read the names out loud; he simply mouthed them.

I pulled out the key Non had given me, turned it in the old lock, and the door opened. I took hesitant steps in. John followed. Delph brought up the rear. I closed the door behind us. It always made a whooshing sound as it sealed shut.

There were two cots in the room with a small wooden table between them. There were no lanterns or torches that I could see. The only illumination seemed to come from the ceiling. I don’t know how this was managed. Another mystery. There were no windows. When you’re in the Care, apparently sunlight is not required. There were also no chairs for us to sit in. Perhaps they did not like to encourage long visits.

While Delph hung back, I walked up to the first cot.

My father lay small and shrunken under a single dark blanket. I remembered him as tall and strong. He was no longer. His face used to be pleasing to look at. That was also no longer the case. I don’t know much about healing or things that make you sick. But it looked to me like what was missing from my father was, well, my father. I don’t know how you steal someone from the inside and leave the outside, but it appeared to have been done to him. There could be no sorting out such a thing, I imagined.

John crept next to me and placed his hand on top of our father’s. When I looked at John’s face, it was scrunched up like he was in pain. I once asked him about this. He merely shrugged and said the hurt wasn’t on the outside.

I opened my tuck, which I had brought with me from work, and pulled out a cloth soaked in water from the pipes at Stacks. I put it on my father’s forehead. He always seemed hot, even though the room was always cool. I was careful not to let my fingers touch him. I adored my father and I used to love to be hugged by him. But there was something in this room that made me not want to touch him. I have fought against it, but I couldn’t seem to break through. It was like a wall of walls separating us.

John lifted out a book from his tuck and began to quietly read to our father.

I glanced over at Delph, who stood like a statue in the corner. “Delph, do you want to come over here and see him?”

Delph stepped forward. “Is he s-s-sleeping?”

“Something like that, Delph.”

I left John and Delph and went to the next cot.

My mother too was small and shrunken, though she used to be nearly as tall as I am. Her hair used to be long and light and would catch a breeze and dance across the riled air. Now it was chopped close to her head, almost like a second skull. The dark blanket covered her withered body right up to her neck.

She too had been stolen from the inside. She too could not be sorted out ever again. The Mendens were all in agreement over that. That’s why I had never wanted to be a Menden. If you couldn’t heal the really sick, what was the point?

I drew closer to her. Perhaps because I was female, I always felt more comfortable around my mother. We talked, kept secrets. She was my friend, telling me things I needed to know to survive here. But I also sensed there was a part of her that was kept from me.

I opened my tuck again and took out a small bottle of water. I sprinkled some on my mother’s face and watched it rest there for less than a sliver until it was absorbed into her skin. I don’t know why I did this, maybe to convince myself that she really was still alive, that there really was someone still in there.

I looked over at John. He loved our mother too, although there seemed to be a special bond between father and son. But as I looked at him, he glanced up and his gaze drifted to her, lying in the cot. And it seemed to me that John’s heart ached even more seeing her lie there than it did watching our father. This surprised me. This had been a light for surprises in Wormwood, where nothing ever happened and the only thing that was certain was that the next light would look just like the previous one.

Delph drifted over and gazed down at my mother.

“She was v-v-very nice t-to me,” said Delph.

“I know, Delph. It was her way.”

He reached out a hand but didn’t touch her. Instead, it seemed like he was tracing just above where the drops of water had been absorbed through her skin.

Twenty slivers later, we walked back down the dark, cool hall and approached the door where Non stood guard. I braced myself for his inane comments. Why do you bother coming? Do your parents look better this light? How could that possibly be?

But when I focused on the end of the hall, I did not see Non. My mind seemed to misfire for an instant because Non was always there. Always. Yet, now someone else was.

The figure was tall, looming, substantial. He seemed to fill the broad hall with bulk, with gravitas. His robe was a dull burgundy, denoting his position on Council. He held the top job. There was no one above him.

His name was Thansius. In many respects he was Council. By comparison, Jurik Krone was but a gnat on a slep’s hindquarters. I had only seen Thansius at a distance. He did not walk the cobblestones. He did not labor at Stacks or at the Mill or as a Tiller. If Wormwood had a leader, it was he.

John and I slowed our walk. John had glimpsed Thansius too and I heard him gasp. And I thought poor Delph was going to faint.

It took us twice as long to walk the hall as it did when we came in. It still seemed far too short a time for me. When we reached Thansius, he did not move. He was just there. He was taller even than Delph. His shoulders seemed to touch each side of the hall. It was said that in his youth, no Wug ever bested Thansius in a Duelum. He conquered all on that pitch. Now that he was older and head of Council, he did not compete. But he looked as though he still could. And win. Up close the burgundy robe seemed like a sheet of blood frozen solid.

When he spoke, the low voice, though deep and dignified, still seemed insubstantial next to the large body. But I was riveted to every syllable.

He said, “A word, Vega Jane. I require a word.”