David Baldacci - The Finisher

Instead I sat on the marble steps leading up to the second floor. I sat on the exact spot where Ladon-Tosh would stand when he was the guard here. Perhaps I felt that whatever answers I needed about the sinister Wug would be conveyed to my poor brain merely by my close proximity to his former presence.

When I finished my work that light, I met Harry Two outside and walked back to my digs. I had a bit of food, changed into my blue frock and heels and headed back out. My destination this night was not one of pleasure. All of Wormwood was heading to the Hallowed Ground. This night we would be putting Newton Tilt into the dirt.

I had not been to the Hallowed Ground since they had buried my grandmother Calliope. It was a peaceful place, granted, but not a happy one. And there was enough unhappiness in Wormwood without adding to the burden by plunking yourself down in the middle of more. I moved through the rusty iron gates with the image of a mother and a very young on them. Crowds had already started to gather around the hole.

As I drew closer, I saw the long, plain wooden box with Tilt’s remains inside. His mum and dad were sobbing next to it. Tilt had three brothers and one sister. They were all there, all crying just as hard. Tears were constantly wicked off the faces of all Wugs here because the Tilts were a kind and good family that did not deserve such a tragedy as this.

I stopped drawing closer when I saw Morrigone sitting in a chair next to Thansius as he stood by the hole that would quite soon become a grave. She was dressed not in white this night, but in black. The far darker color seemed to suit her better, I thought. Yet I had to admit I had never seen a Wug more stricken than Morrigone. Her face was a hard knot of rigid pain. She looked sessions older. Lines on her face I had never seen before now were bared to us all. Tears stained her cheeks and, while she was doing her best to hide it from us, every so often her body shuddered.

From time to time, Thansius placed a large, supportive hand on her shoulder and spoke quietly to her with words I could not hear. What was going on between those two special Wugs would take a great deal more thinking than I could give it right now.

As I continued to look around, I noted that there was one Wug conspicuously absent. Ladon-Tosh was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if charges were to be referred against him. What he had done was murder in my eyes, plain and simple. He could have beaten poor Tilt easily and with no need to kill him. It was an evil act, but then again, I wondered if the rules of the Duelum exempted combatants from any such punishments. If they did, the rules should be changed.

Wrong, after all, was wrong, no matter in what venue it might have occurred.

Everything had a moral hitched to it if one bothered to look for it.

I was surprised to see Delph slowly coming up the path. He was still limping and still holding his arm funny, yet he seemed to be getting stronger with each light and night. However, I was stunned to see Duf walking next to him, wearing his new timbertoes and using his new stick, which he gripped in his right hand. He seemed to have adapted to it well and it was hard to tell who was supporting whom more, injured son or legless father, because each had an arm around the other.

I hurried over to them and hugged first Duf and kissed him on the cheek, and then I embraced Delph, who was as cleaned up as I had ever seen him. I think he had actually used some of his winning wager to buy new clothes at the male shop next to Herman Helvet’s confectionery.

“Heard ’bout your last round, Vega Jane,” said Delph. “But we need to talk,” he added solemnly.

I shushed him as Ezekiel came forward, the only sparkle of white in a sea of dark.

He prayed out loud and then led us through another. We sang. He committed the body of Newton Tilt, a fine Wug struck down long before his proper time, to the dirt.

Then Thansius rose and said some comforting words, his huge frame quivering with emotion. All of Wormwood was distraught, but I had heard no protests that the Duelum should be canceled before the last bout was held. Our collective empathy apparently had certain limits.

After Thansius finished speaking, all heads turned to Morrigone, figuring that she would close the sad ceremony with some appropriate female commentary, but that was not to be. She never rose from her chair and never looked up at any of us. She just sat there as though cast in unyielding marble. Her grief seemed even greater than the stricken Tilt family’s.

Later, as the box was lowered by some sturdy Wugs into the grave, the crowd started to disperse. I was surprised to see Morrigone leave her perch and walk over to the Tilts. She put her arm around Tilt’s parents and started speaking to them in a low voice. They nodded and cast tearful smiles and seemed consoled by her words. She was evidently evoking kindness and sympathy and support. A more inscrutable Wug I had never encountered, because I was certain she had used her powers to try and kill me in that looking glass. Anyone who could control a maniack in order to murder was not someone I wanted as a friend.

Then I turned to Duf.

“You seem to have taken to the timbertoes and stick very quickly, Duf,” I said encouragingly. “You’re getting around like your old self.”

He seemed pleased by my words but in his gritted teeth I saw the pain behind his smile. And I noted how his hands kept clenching and unclenching. “Takes a bit of gettin’ used to, I’ll grant you that. But I’m gettin’ there, I am.” He added with a lifeless chortle, “And I’ll never have to worry ’bout me bad knees no more, will I?”

“No,” I said with a smile, admiring greatly his attitude but feeling awful at seeing his obvious discomfort.

“Still, I probably shoulda kept to me bed this night,” said Duf, his face suddenly contorted in pain. He gasped and held on to Delph for support. Then he righted himself and added weakly, “But known the Tilts for ages. So sad. Couldn’t not come, could I? Wouldn’t be right. Can’t believe little Newtie’s gone. Held him in me arms when he was just a wee Wug. Never gave no one a lick of trouble. A good lad. A fine lad.” A tear trickled down his face even as he gave a sharp cry and grabbed at his right stump.

I was becoming more and more bewildered by this. I thought with the legs gone and the timbertoes on, there would be no more pain for him. When I looked over at Delph questioningly, he explained, “They had to burn the ends of his legs, Vega Jane, to get the stumps ready for the timbers.”

His father said admonishingly, “This pretty female don’t need to hear no rubbish talk like that, Daniel Delphia.” He smiled back another bout of suffering that crossed his face and said, “Now, that is the loveliest frock I believe I’ve ever seen, Vega,” he commented. He nudged his huge son. “Ain’t it, Delph? Eh?”

Delph nodded shyly and said, “’Tis, Dad. ’Tis.”

I reached in the pocket of my frock where the Adder Stone lay. After nearly losing it I’d decided to always keep it with me. I palmed the Stone so it could not be seen by either of them. Maybe it could not regrow limbs, but I knew it could make pain vanish. When they turned and spoke to some other Wugs who inquired how Duf was doing, I surreptitiously waved the Stone over what remained of Duf’s legs and thought as good thoughts as I could. The change in Duf was almost instantaneous. I had just put the Stone back in my pocket when Duf turned to look at me, the most serene expression on his face.

“Are you okay, Duf?” I asked innocently.

He nodded. “Okay? I’m like a new Wug, ain’t I?” He slapped his thigh.

Delph saw this and exclaimed, “Cor blimey, don’t do that, Dad.”