David Baldacci - The Finisher

I touched its head. The fur was soft. It slipped between my fingers like the sort of exceptional cloth I had used in Morrigone’s loo. It was warm and its eyes were mismatched, right blue, left green. Harry had had the same, but their order had been reversed. I had always loved the confluence of those two colors on his face, and I loved their looking-glass twins on this canine’s.

I knelt next to it and took one of its front paws. It allowed me to do so with a hint of mild curiosity on its face. The paws were large and promised that the little canine would one light be large. Harry had grown to over seventy pounds, still far smaller than the hideous garm that had claimed his life.

Then I noted that its coat was dirty and I could see its ribs through the fur. It also had a cut on its left front leg that needed some sorting out. I scratched its ears and thought about what to do. I knew that Loon was not keen on beasts at the digs. At the very least, he would demand more coin, which I did not have. Harry had been killed a short time before my parents had been taken to the Care, thus I had never needed to face such a choice. It seemed that I was out of options. I would have to let him carry on without me. And it was a male, as certain parts of it I could see confirmed.

I rose and started to walk away. But he followed me. I picked up my pace, and so did he. On sudden impulse I took off running and soared into the air. I thought that would be the end of it. But when I looked down, he was right there, running hard and keeping up with me somehow. I swooped lower and landed, and he skidded to a stop at my feet, panting and his tongue hanging out. His blue and green eyes were fully on my face. He seemed to be wondering why I had just done what I had.

I opened the tin in my tuck and held out a knob of bread for him. As hungry as he no doubt was, I expected him to snatch it from between my fingers. But he slowly lifted his snout, sniffed at it and then gently eased it from my hand before devouring it.

I sat next to him and pulled out the bit of meat, a slice of hard cheese and the one egg that, along with the bread, was supposed to constitute my first meal. I laid them on the ground. Again, he sniffed at them before gobbling them up. His breaths lengthened and then he rolled over so I could scratch his belly, which I did.

When he turned back over, he nudged my hand onto the top of his head. Harry used to do that too. But maybe all canines do. Harry was the only one I ever had. I stumbled onto him in much the same way as this, walking in the woods and seeing him darting between the trees, chasing a rabbit. He didn’t catch the rabbit, but he did capture my heart when there weren’t many things in Wormwood that possibly could.

I pondered what to do.

“I can call you Harry Two,” I said. His ears peaked and he cocked his snout at me. Adars can understand Wugmorts, but I knew that canines really could not. Still, Harry Two seemed to know that I had just bequeathed him a name.

I looked to the sky. First light was here. Soon, second light would be toddling along and it would be time for me to go to Stacks. I rubbed Harry Two’s ears, letting my fingers slide up and down each one. Harry had liked that and I figured this one would too. He did, licking my hand in appreciation.

I came up with a plan. On the way to Stacks, I threw sticks for Harry Two to chase. And he brought them back each time. I scratched his ears and when we reached Stacks, I paused, bent down, pointed to Stacks and told him to wait.

He immediately sat down. I put down a small tin cup pulled from my tuck and poured some water into it from the cork-stoppered pewter bottle I carried. There was a tree above to provide shade. I figured if he were still out here when I finished work, I would worry what to do about him.

Domitar watched me walk into Stacks. He was now perpetually drunk on flame water every light. It was a wonder to me that the Wug could even stand. I think he wanted to say something to me, but apparently the dexterity of his tongue failed him, because he remained silent and simply tottered off.

After I put on my work clothes, I walked out to the main floor and approached my workstation. I eyed the stairs up. Ladon-Tosh was no longer guarding them. He was probably felling trees along with all the other hardy Wugs. I was one of the few Wugs left at Stacks. All but three of the Dactyls were gone, using their muscle to bring down the great trees and strip them of their bark. The ones who were left had to do the work of many Dactyls, to whack and gong metal into the requisite shapes and thickness for straps. There were a few Mixers left who were using all of their energy to ready the metal for the Dactyls. From the Dactyls the still-hot metal moved to the Cutters, who made the strips into the necessary lengths and widths. And then it was left to me to finish them. There seemed to be an infinite number of straps required for the Wall. That was testament enough to the enormity of the project.

During my meal break, I looked down at my right hand. Along with the scars was the ink stamp of Dis Fidus. That protocol had not been dispensed with even with the urgency of the Wall. I wondered why, but I had many things to wonder about and in my rough pecking order, the ink stamp maintained a lowly place.

I had two slivers left of my mealtime, so I went outside and was heartened to see Harry Two still lying in the grass where I had left him. I went to him and petted him.

“No beasts in Stacks,” barked a voice.

I turned to see Domitar behind me. His face was flushed and his speech a little jargoled. I thought it a trifle ironic that he would not allow a canine in Stacks when jabbits were permitted to run freely.

“He’s not in Stacks, is he?” I countered.

Domitar drew closer. “Is he your canine?”

“Perhaps. We’ll see.”

Domitar came to stand next to me. I moved away a few paces because the stink of flame water was so strong.

“I had a pet once,” said Domitar. I was stunned when he squatted down next to Harry Two and rubbed his ears.

“ You had a pet, Domitar?” I wondered if it was a jabbit.

He looked embarrassed. “When I was a very young of course. It was also a canine.”

“What did you call him?”

He hesitated, perhaps afraid that I might consider him soft by naming a beast.

“Julius,” he finally answered.

“Your given name?” I said.

“Yes. You think that’s peculiar, do you?”

“No. You can name a canine whatever you want.”

“What is yours called?”

“Harry Two.”

“Why Two?”

“I had a canine named Harry when I lived with my parents, but a garm killed him.”

Domitar looked down. “I am sorry for that.” And he indeed did look truly sad.

“And Julius?”

“He died when I was still a very young.”

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? Not much matters anymore, not really.”

When I looked down into his face, I was surprised to see his eyes gazing out listlessly over the terrain in front of Stacks. He didn’t seem a bit squiffy from flame water right now. He was a Wugmort who seemed totally lost, when I would expect Domitar to be as secure in his future as any Wug could be.

“Times are changing and Wugmorts must change with them, Vega,” he said in what sounded more like a general pronouncement than specific advice. “But we must carry on here. No budge jobs ever at Stacks. Quality work through and through. ‘Buck up right and proper’ is our motto so long as I’m in charge here.” He hiccupped, covered his mouth and looked embarrassed.

I looked over my shoulder at the entrance to Stacks, my curiosity, always close to the surface, compelling me to ask a question. “Domitar, what did this place used to be?”