David Baldacci: The Finisher

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.”

JOHN, DELPH ANDI dumbly followed Thansius outside the Care. It was there that we saw the beautiful blue carriage pulled by four magnificent sleps. Their gray coats ran all the way down to their six spindly-looking legs. It was said that sleps used to be able to fly. I have never believed this, although along a slep’s withers it’s possible to see a slight indentation where something, perhaps a wing, used to be attached.

At the helm of the carriage was a Wug named Thomas Bogle. He sat straight as my tree in the driver’s box.

Thansius stood next to the carriage and opened the door.

He looked at Delph. “Get along with you, Daniel. This conversation concerns private matters.”

Delph raced away, his long legs carrying him out of sight in half a sliver.

Thansius motioned us inside. We complied. Not because we wanted to but because he was Thansius. He climbed in after us, and the heavy carriage lurched to one side as he did so. The Wug must weigh a great deal to have that sort of effect on a carriage this large. Not that I know a lot about carriages. I had actually never been in one.

Thansius settled in the seat across from us and smoothed down his robe. He glanced questioningly at John.

I looked at my brother and then back at Thansius.

“This is my brother, John.”