C Fletcher - A Boy and His Dog at the End of the World

I’m going to try and escape, I said.

Don’t, he said. It’ll just make them angry.

If I escape, that won’t be my problem, I said.

You won’t, he said. Why don’t you just sit down and tell me about your journey? I like a good story.

Me too, I said. But this one hasn’t finished yet.

So we had some more silence, which I didn’t mind and he didn’t like.

I passed the time looking out of the three different cell windows on the sea side of the bunker. I could see the top of his boat’s sails. And there was a smudge of smoke, about the size of a cooking fire, beyond that which marked the Conservators’ settlement. I could see some movement beyond the trees that screened it, but just flashes. The bigger movement was the sails, which kept dropping and then rising.

What are they doing to your boat? I said.

He came across the hall and into my cell, and looked out of the window next to me. I was uncomfortable having him this close to me. I don’t know why. He smelled of sea and woodsmoke. And he had something about him that was always dangerous, like the dark pull of a cliff edge.

I stepped aside.

He sucked his teeth and made a snapping noise with his tongue. It sounded like he was swallowing some irritation.

I’d say they’re monkeying around with it, he said. I’d say one of them is trying to learn how it works.

Maybe they’re not all scared of the sea, I said. Maybe when they learn to do what you do, they won’t like you

so much.

He watched for a while. I could see he wasn’t too happy with people touching what belonged to him. Ironic, that.

They’re all scared of something, he said. It’s how they work.

How many of them are there? I said.

Now you want to talk, he said.

I watched his back.

I’ll trade you, I said. I’ll tell you how I got here if you tell me about them.

He turned and looked at me.

I want to know about them, I said.

You don’t, he said. Really you don’t. It won’t make you happy.

I’m already not happy, I said. I haven’t met many people. I’m interested. I was told there was no one left living on the mainland.

And if you found there were other things you were told that aren’t quite true, you’d be even more unhappy, he said.

No, I said. I’d be less ignorant.

You want to know about them because you’re planning something, he said. And it’s pointless. Just wait. What’s going to happen will happen.

How many are there? I said.

You don’t give up, do you? he said, and sat back down on the concrete ledge.

No, I said. Not really.

I think there are nine, he said. But they keep some of them away in another locked place.

A bunker like this? I said.

No, he said. Not like a prison cell. Like a private area. Behind a fence.

If there aren’t any people left in the world, who are they trying to keep out? I said. They can’t have built a fence just for you.

It’s not to stop people getting in, he said. It’s to stop them getting out. I think.

Why? I said.

It didn’t make any sense to me. It’s not like there were so many loose people on the planet that you could waste any useful bodies by locking them away.

Because that’s where they protect the breeders, he said. That’s where they keep the girls and the women.

Breeders? I said.

Their word, he said. Not mine.

I felt a coldness in my gut. It made me feel a little sick. I sat down and looked at my feet until it passed.

I guess I was wrong. They weren’t wasting any useful

bodies.

I felt his eyes on the back of my neck.

Feeling happier yet? he said.

You said they were great traders, I said. What do they like to trade?

People, Griz, he said, and there was a kind of sadness in his voice, as if he were telling me this for the second time, as if it is something I should have gathered from what he had already told me. They like to trade for people. Especially girls.

And then he made me tell him about the first part of my journey, chasing him from the chapel to the pier where he’d burned the Sweethope . I told him the bare bones, and though it was the last thing I wanted to do I did it for two reasons. Firstly because he refused to tell me more until we’d “traded”. And secondly as I remembered and spoke about it, I was able to take my mind off what he had told me.

I stopped my story at the point he’d burned my boat, and told him it was his turn. And in this way he gave me the story of the Cons, and I told him about my journey south across the mainland. I didn’t tell him about the wolves or about John Dark. I don’t expect he told me everything about the Cons either, but in the give and take of it all, this is what he told me.

As far as he knew, the Cons were the only people left living on the mainland. They were the largest group he’d come across on his travels. They believed their mission was to repopulate the world, as he had told me. And they believed the mission was so important that it justified them in doing things that were not good. Brand thought that if there had been more of them they might have gone raiding and rounded up entire families, bringing them back to what they called the Conservatory, forcing them to live and work there like slaves. But thankfully there weren’t enough of them to do that, so instead they did something else. The ones who could sail went on journeys, and when they found families they would offer to trade. No one normal would trade a child, but they always offered because they saw themselves as good people doing a good thing, even if others didn’t understand it. Then they would come back, preferably in the dark, and steal the child if they could and disappear over the horizon before dawn. It was a theft, but it was for the greater good. That’s how they justified it.

And then their sailors had set off and never come back. Maybe the storm Brand talked about is what got them. I thought it was just as likely they’d tried to steal a child from the wrong family, and had been caught and dealt with. That was a happier ending, to my way of thinking.

After that, the Cons had stayed home, fearful of venturing further to sea than was necessary to fish the shallow waters around them for food. Instead they relied on what Brand called Sea Tinkers. He was one, he said, and he knew of two others, though had only met one of them. People like him, moving back and forth across the waters, looking, trading, restless, yet always happy to barter stuff they’d found for food or other things they couldn’t find on their own. Like companionship.

Companionship sounded like a word loaded with more than one meaning. I didn’t push it, and he glided past.

The Cons had a supply of pre-Gelding medicines that still miraculously seemed to work for the most part. That was valuable and worth trading almost anything for. They also grew a plant that could be smoked or cooked with, which made the world lighter and eased pain and worry for a while. They told the Sea Tinkers they wanted girls for their mission, and would pay well for them. They didn’t mind if it was trade or theft that brought them to the Conservatory, and they tried to smooth everybody’s conscience by pointing out how well looked after the girls were. Treated like family.

Brand saw my face.

I know, he said. And for what it’s worth, Griz, I never took them up on the offer. But I know at least one of the other Tinkers did. And you know what the worst thing about all this is?

Right now, it sounds like a long list of things, I said.

He nodded.

The worst thing is that the Cons still think they’re good people.

And then we heard a noise outside the window and got up to look at what was coming.

It’s food, he said. They’ll feed us well. You’ll see.