David Baldacci: The Finisher

I lifted up my first task of the light. A small, unfinished porcelain bowl that required painting and then kiln firing. As I held up the bowl, the top slipped and it nearly fell off. I set the top down on the table and gripped the bowl more firmly.

That’s when I saw the small piece of parchment tucked in there. I glanced around to see if anyone was watching and then I carefully dipped my hand in the bowl and took out the parchment. I hid it in a work cloth and put the cloth on the workstation and opened it, unfolding the piece of parchment as well. The handwriting was small and precise, the words clear.

I will not be back at Stacks, Vega. Go to your tree this night. What you will find there may set you free from Wormwood, if you so desire. QH.

I balled up the parchment and swallowed it. As it went down my throat, I looked up in time to see four males enter Domitar’s office. They were all members of Council, as denoted by their black dress tunics. Jurik Krone was among them, which was not a good thing. He had seen me near the Quag this light. That coupled with the fact that I worked next to Quentin might not bode well for me.

Thirty slivers passed and I lifted my gaze when I heard Domitar’s door open. To a Wug, all the black tunics were staring at me. I felt my body stiffen like I’d been poked by one of the hot irons the Dactyls used in their work.

Krone came forward, the other Council members in his wake. He held up an object. When I saw it, my breath caught in my throat. I recognized it immediately, though I had not seen it for many sessions. I wondered how Krone could be holding it now.

“We meet yet again, Vega,” said Krone as he and his cohorts encircled me at my workstation.

“Yes, we do,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but it wobbled badly, like a very young testing out his new legs.

He held out the object in his hand. It was a ring. “Do you recognize this?”

I nodded. “It was my grandfather’s.” It had a distinctive design etched in the metal that matched a mark my grandfather had on the back of his hand. Three hooks connected as one. I had never known what it meant and he had never talked about it, at least with me, but I had been only a very young when he had suffered his Event.

“Can you explain how Virgil Alfadir Jane’s ring came to be found at Quentin Herms’s cottage?” Jurik Krone asked patiently, but there was a definite edge to his voice.

I shook my head, my stomach doing tiny flips and my lungs expanding faster than I would have liked them to. “I assumed it had vanished along with my grandfather when he had his Event. As you know, there is nothing left of a Wug after an Event.”

Krone tossed the ring down on my workstation. When I reached out to take it, he slammed his knife blade into the ring’s opening, pinning it to the wood. I jerked my hand back and stared up at him fearfully.

He slowly pulled his knife blade free and picked up the ring. “You know Herms?” Krone said quietly. “He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

“He’s a friend of my family’s. He’s the only other Finisher here besides me.”

“Why is he not at work this light?”

“I don’t know,” I said quite truthfully. Still, I was rapturously relieved to have swallowed Quentin’s note. “Maybe he’s hurt or sick.”

“He’s neither.” He stepped closer. “Let us speak frankly. You were near the Quag at first light. You saw us chasing him.”

“I told you, I saw nothing. And you didn’t tell me who you were after.” I looked up into Krone’s face. “But why were you chasing Quentin?”

“There are laws, Vega, laws that Quentin Herms has broken. And for that he will be punished.” Krone gave me a searching look that seemed to leave no crevice of my being untouched. “If he tries to contact you, you will inform Council immediately. The consequences for not doing so will be harsh. This is a serious matter, Vega. Very serious indeed.” He paused. “I am speaking of Valhall for those who disobey.”

Every Wug there, myself included, drew a sharp breath. No Wug wanted to be locked up in that cage in plain sight and guarded by the brutish Nida and the ferocious black shuck.

He put his hand on my shoulder and lightly squeezed. “I am counting on your help with this, Vega. All of Wormwood needs to stand together on this matter.”

Then his hand glided to my face and pulled something free. He held it up. It was a bit of the parchment from Quentin’s note that had caught on my skin. With a thrill of horror, I saw that it had a smudge of ink on it.

“A remnant of your work, perhaps?” he said. Krone’s gaze once more bored into me. Then he turned on his booted right foot and strode out. His colleagues followed.

I shot a glance at Domitar. I had never seen him so pale and his skin so clammy.

“You will cooperate, or it will be Valhall,” he said to me, and then spun on his heel, almost toppling over in the process, and disappeared into his office.

I turned back to my work and waited for the night to come.

AFTER THE BELLrang 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.”