David Baldacci - The Finisher

“Well, nobody did ask you, Thaddeus Kitchen!” I exclaimed.

I shot a glance at Delph. He was looking directly at me, his features a jumble of emotions including confusion, but the only one that really stood out for me was disappointment. Disappointment in my straps. I was so focused on Delph that I never heard one of the Mendens say that Duf needed to be taken to hospital.

A cart and burly slep was brought around and Duf, now no longer conscious, was hoisted into it. I helped lift him along with some other Wugs, while Delph just stood there helplessly. I finally gripped his arm and pushed him into the cart with his father.

“I’ll be there shortly,” I said.

As the cart headed off, I turned to the Wall and walked over to the section that had given way. Several Wugs were inspecting the pile of splintered wood, but I focused my attention on the metal strap. I had etched my initials into each of the straps and I could see the letters of my name clear as first light. The strap was in two pieces, one large, one smaller because it had torn. I couldn’t conceive of how that could have happened. Everything had been planned out so carefully in the specifications. And I had carried out those details as meticulously as I had ever done on a job at Stacks, for the simple reason that I well knew how much weight the straps would be supporting.

As I squatted down for a closer look, my jaw eased lower. Two holes had been added at the bottom of the strap, and then these additional holes had been widened considerably. By about four inches was my rough judgment. The tear had come right in the middle of one of the extra holes. It was crystal clear to me that by adding holes and making them bigger, someone had considerably weakened the strap.

“You can see right there where it done give way,” said Kitchen, who had followed me over and was pointing at the tear in the strap.

“Who added the holes and made them bigger?” I asked, gazing up at him.

He drew closer and gathered his focus. “Blimey, them pair are bigger, ain’t they?”

“They were not done like that at Stacks. How did they get that way?” I demanded.

Another Wug joined us. He was a bit taller than me, with a bristly beard, gangly limbs and a self-important look. I had seen him before in Wormwood proper but didn’t know his name.

“Design change,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Holes lower like that, they can load more timber with each one that way. Simple, see. We made the fresh cuts right here on-site.”

I said, “But by doing that, you also made it weak. It was never meant to hold that many timbers,” I said, pointing at the splintery mess on the ground. I rose and eyed him severely. “The specifics of the straps were not to be changed.”

He puffed out his chest and hooked his thumbs behind the length of braided cord riding over his shoulders and keeping his britches up. “What do you know about it, eh, female?”

“I punched the holes in the straps at Stacks,” I shot out. “I’m the Finisher .” I looked up at the Wall. “How many more of the straps did they do this to?” He didn’t answer. I grabbed him by the collar and shook him violently. “How many more?!”

“Blimey, you the female in the Duelum, ain’t ya?”

“She beat Non this light,” added Kitchen, looking nervously at me.

“How many more?!” I screamed.

“A great many more,” said the voice.

I turned and she stood there before me, in her resplendent cloak, a sheet of white in a sea of dung. Morrigone said, “Please let poor Henry go, Vega. I don’t think he deserves to be throttled for simply doing his job.”

I let “poor” Henry go and advanced on her. “Do you know what happened to Duf?” I asked. My head felt like it was fracturing right down the middle.

“I was fully apprised of the unfortunate incident. I will go to see him in hospital.”

“If he’s still alive,” I shot back.

Another Wug came up to her with a scroll and an ink stick. She looked at the scroll and then took the ink stick from him, wrote some notes on the scroll, and I watched as she signed her name in an elongated motion that took up nearly half the page. She motioned for me to join her as she moved away from the two Wugs.

“So what exactly is your grievance?” she asked.

“Whoever changed the strap design is responsible for what happened to Duf.” My pointed finger hovered near her perfect chin. “The pillocks should be in Valhall.”

She glanced to her left and said, “I am surprised that you of all Wugs would advocate for him to be sent there.”

I followed her gaze, and my eyes alighted on my brother standing on a raised platform and working away on a tilt-top desk, massive plans on scrolls laid in front of him. For the second time in a very few slivers, my jaw dropped.

“John changed the design on the straps?” I managed to say, my confidence and, with it, my voice having nearly vanished.

“He worked out the numbers on it and pronounced it sound,” she said smoothly, as though she were merely recounting a recipe for cookies.

Her smug attitude brought my anger roaring back. I pointed to the mess of timbers. “Well, there’s your proof of how sound it is. John may be brilliant, but he has never built anything before in all his sessions.” My voice rose. “You can’t expect to just thrust him into something like this and have no mistakes made. It’s unfair to ask it.”

“On the contrary, I do not ask it. In an undertaking like this, mistakes are certain to be made. We must learn from them and move on.”

“And what of Duf?”

“All that can be done will be done to ease Mr. Delphia’s situation.”

My anger swelled. “He’s a beast trainer. How can he do that with no legs!”

“He will be supported by Council. Injury wages shall be paid.”

“And what of his self-respect? What of his love for his job? You give him a few coins and tell him to be happy with what he no longer has?”

Tears were welling up in my eyes because all I could think of was Delph staring at me. The disappointment in his face. As though I had let him and his father down. As though I had taken his father’s limbs and maybe his life along with them.

“You’re emotional, Vega. It is not sound to try and think clearly under those circumstances.”

As I watched her queenly, condescending chin slowly descend, followed by a pair of eyes that seemed to define haughtiness as something far more than a word or a look, I did calm. Remarkably, my reason did return amid all the chaos festering in my mind.

“I saw you emotional, Morrigone,” I said in speech as smooth as her own. “With your lovely hair all awry, and your pretty cloak stained, and your eyes full of not simply tears but fear. Real fear. I saw all that and more, much more.”

Just the barest of tremors clutched at her right cheek.

I continued primarily because I couldn’t stop. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, I repaired the window at my digs. After you left on your trail of blue mist of course. I just waved my hand, thought it, and it happened. Was that how it was for you, Morrigone? Because Thansius really didn’t elaborate on your powers when we spoke.”

I thought she was going to raise her hand to strike. But instead, she spun on her heels and walked away. If I had had my Elemental, I very much felt that this light would have been Morrigone’s last. And I very much regretted not having my Elemental.

I looked over at John as he used his ink stick to jot notes and redesign plans and come up with the most wonderful Wall of all. His enthusiasm was as beautiful as it was terrible to behold. I walked back over to Kitchen and Henry.

“If he tells you to make more holes, you will not obey. Do you understand?”