David Baldacci - The Finisher

Under this verbal assault, Delph turned and walked fast away from me.

“Delph,” I cried out. “Please, wait.”

And then it happened. I didn’t intend it to, but it just did. I leapt twenty yards in the air, clear over Delph, and landed five yards in front of him, my hands on my hips and my gaze squarely on him. It was only when I saw the terrified look in his eyes that I realized what I had done. Before I could say anything, Delph turned and ran.

“Oi! Delph, wait!”

But I didn’t go after him. He was scared and he had good reason. Wugmorts, as a generally absolute rule, do not fly. I stood there among the shadow of the trees, my breath coming fast and my heart pumping right with my jangled breaths. Would Delph tell anyone what he had just witnessed? If he did, would anyone believe him? Of course not, this was Delph. No one took him seriously. I mentally chastised myself. I took Delph seriously and I didn’t want anyone to make fun of him for simply telling the truth.

Delph had come here to tell me about the Event. I couldn’t imagine the courage it had taken for him to do that. And I had chased him away with my incessant questions and my ill-timed leap.

“You git, Vega,” I said ruefully. “You’ve ruined everything.”

TWO NIGHTS LATER, John and I were eating our meal at the Loons. I glanced up and down the table, sizing up the mood. It wasn’t that hard to do. I would classify it as somewhere between terrified and quietly resigned to being doomed.

Selene Jones was one of the happier ones of us, actually. I had heard that this was due to the recent brisk sales at the Noc Shop. Apparently, Wugs of all ages were now interested in learning their future from Noc-gazing. I believed what they wanted was to be told that the Outliers would not come and eat them.

Ted Racksport also seemed pleased and for a very basic reason. Morta sales had gone quite through the ceiling. His workers were laboring all light and night to fill the avalanche of orders. I supposed that quite a few of the weapons would be going to arm the patrols.

And that brought me to Cletus Loon, who sat gazing at me with ill-concealed contempt. He had cleaned up somewhat and was wearing what looked like a rude uniform complete with a cap of blue. I knew he was trying to think of something to say to me that he thought might qualify as clever. And I was also fairly certain he would be unable to manage it.

“Scared you, didn’t we, that light? In the woods? Thought you might start crying like a very young.” Cletus snickered and gave his father a sideways glance to see his reaction. However, Cacus Loon was busily stuffing a whole quail into his mouth and apparently had not heard his son.

Racksport put down his mug, which I strongly suspected held flame water, wiped his mouth and said, “Used your morta yet, Clete?”

“Only on these quail for sup,” said Cletus.

I was surprised by this and also a little worried. Cletus was apparently a better shot than I had thought he would be.

Racksport snorted. “Don’t be wasting your morta on that. You can spit on them things and knock ’em out of the sky. Morta is overkill.” He held up his portion of quail. “See, your morta metal ripped out the heart. Here’s a wee bit of it here on me fork.”

I looked down at the tiny bit of quail meat on my plate, thought about the even smaller heart that had recently been soaring along free and happy in the sky, and I suddenly lost my appetite. I looked next to me to find John having the same reaction.

Racksport looked at us, realized our dilemma and started to laugh so hard he choked. I did not rush to help him start breathing again. He ended up going outside and gagging for a while. In the meantime, I led John up to our room.

I glanced at him as he sat on his cot and opened one of Morrigone’s books.

“Good reading, John?” I asked.

He nodded absently and bent lower to the page.

Rain had started coming down so hard I felt wet even though I was inside. I lay back on my cot, turned to the side and stared at John, who was wholly devouring the book he held. His eyes were flying across the page and then he would turn it and greedily search for more knowledge in the printed letters. That was the last image I had before I fell asleep on this wild and stormy night in Wormwood. I did not wake until John touched my shoulder at first light.

And the next lights would bring change I never could have anticipated.

JOHN SOON FINISHEDreading all the books that Morrigone had lent him. He piled them under his cot, and then the most astonishing thing happened. More books appeared. John had to stack them against the wall next to his cot, the column rising higher than I was tall.

“Morrigone,” he said simply when I asked him where the additional books had come from. We were up in our room after last meal.

“Morrigone?” I parroted back.

“She sent them to me by Bogle and the carriage.”

“How did she know which ones to send?”

“I told her it didn’t matter. I just wanted to read.”

“You told her?”

He nodded. “She came to Learning two lights ago, to talk to the youngs about the Outliers and the Wall.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I demanded.

“Morrigone didn’t want us to gossip. She just told us about the dangers and what was expected of us in helping to protect Wormwood from the Outliers.”

“How did the youngs react?” I asked.

“They were scared, but they understood the part they had to play.”

“Which is?” I was feeling more and more left out by the sliver.

“To do what Council expects us to do.”

“Okay, what does Morrigone want you to do? Come up with more brilliant ideas for the Wall?”

“She just wants me to read, for now. And go to her home,” John added quietly.

I gaped at him. “Go to her home? When?”

“Next light.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“I’ll soon be twelve sessions and leaving Learning anyway. Morrigone said she was going to talk to you about it.”

“Well, she hasn’t.”

Right then I heard the creak of the wheels. I raced to the window that looked out on the cobblestones. Morrigone was already getting out of the blue carriage as the beautiful sleps came to a full stop and tossed their noble heads. I heard chairs scraping the floor, hurried footsteps, the front door opening. I knew what was going to happen next and I decided it should occur on my own terms.

Cletus Loon was rushing up the narrow, rickety stairs as I was coming down them.

Breathless, he said, “Morrigone is —”

“I know,” I said as I pushed past him.

Morrigone stood in the front room, with Ted Racksport and Selene Jones hovering over near one wall. Selene had her head bowed as though she were in the presence of greatness. Racksport looked suitably awed, but I also saw a glint in his eye as he ran his gaze up and down Morrigone’s queenly figure.

Morrigone turned her attention to him. “Mr. Racksport, I understand that your workers are laboring very hard to fill the morta orders Council has given.”

He smiled, sidled closer to her and tipped his grungy bowler hat that he never bothered to take off at meals. “Doing my best, ’tis true, Madame Morrigone. Now, if Council wants to pay a wee bit more, I could ask me blokes to work even harder, I could indeed. Just a matter of a few more coins is all. Council would never miss it. Seeing as how they were going to pay two thousand of them just to catch Herms. Eh?”

Morrigone’s pleasant expression turned to flint. She stretched upward to her full height. “I think, Mr. Racksport, that instead Council will decrease the amount of coins it is paying you, and at the same time, we will expect your production to increase nonetheless. If there are bonuses to be paid afterward, I will recommend to Council that they be paid directly to your workers.”