Ben Bedard - The World Without Flags

At night, Pest and I go down into the basement to play cards and keep Eric company. We try to get Queen to come down with us, but the smell is too much for her, and she won’t come. Pest looks great in new clothes and combed hair, and his arm is freshly bandaged with bleach white gauze. He looks better every day, and I imagine that I do too. Even though we can’t leave the church and we’re basically in prison, I feel fine. I feel safe and stronger every day. For the first time in a long time, I feel safe, but I’m not stupid.

I know it can’t last.

We are dealing out another hand of cards when we hear the slow, careful steps of the Good Prince as she comes down to the basement. I want to get up and help her, but I get the feeling she wouldn’t like that. She has that kind of untouchable dignity about her that I don’t dare challenge. Pest must feel the same because he doesn’t move to help her either, but he does stand up when she approaches us. Not knowing exactly why, I do too.

“Sit down, sit down,” the Good Prince says, waving her cane at us. “I’m not the damn queen.” She gives out a coughing laugh as we sit down. She stands at the table and then pokes Pest gently in the leg with her cane. “Go fetch a chair upstairs,” she says gently.

“Yes, ma’am,” Pest says and the chair screeches out from under him as he jumps to his feet. I’ve never seen Pest act like that. As soon as I see him disappear up the stairs, I laugh a little. Then the Good Prince settles into his chair with a groan. She takes a deep breath, and then leans forward, both hands resting palm down on her cane. She seems to be looking at Eric, but I don’t think she can see through those cloudy eyes.

“You’ve done a good job with him,” she says to me without turning away from Eric. “It’s funny how these things work. Last time Eric was here, he came to help you.”

“Help me?” Eric and I never talked much about how we got to the Homestead, and I don’t remember too much anymore.

The Good Prince turns toward me. Her face is serious, reflective. “Last time, he was looking for you.” She takes a deep breath. “I told him he could stay, he and his friends. I tried to talk him into staying, but he left. He couldn’t give up on you.”

I don’t know what to say. I haven’t heard this story.

The Good Prince sighs and then looks toward me. “When Lucia died, he wrote to me. I was sorry to hear it.”

I look down at the table. I don’t like to think about Lucia. “Ma’am,” I say. “Do you think Eric will make it?” I need to change the subject.

“I don’t know,” she answers me. “We never knew who would make it. It took us a long time to learn how best to treat someone. A lot of people died down here. The Worm is a terrible thing. It don’t affect everyone the same. Even if they did survive, they weren’t the same. They all reacted to the Worm differently. There were some people who said the Worm was sent by God as a test of character.”

“A test of character?” I ask. The thought disturbs me.

“I don’t believe it myself,” the Good Prince says. “That’s what some said because it seemed so random, who made it, who didn’t. I guess they wanted it to have some reason, so some people said the good ones were able to fight it out, and the real bad ones, they were the ones who cracked completely. People need to have reasons for things.” She looks straight at me then, and I don’t doubt she sees me. Sees right into me. “They’ll do anything to find a reason.”

Pest comes clattering down the steps then, carrying a chair awkwardly as it bumps against the walls and the stairs. He seems apologetic of the noise as he comes over to the table, puts the chair down and then sits. I have the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, but I don’t. It seems absurd. But then I do it anyway. I reach out my arm even while I’m thinking it might be weird and I give his arm a little touch with my finger. He shoots me a smile and I feel my heart thump heavily in me. It’s funny. Ever since I learned his true age, I don’t really see him as young anymore. I mean he looks real young, but I don’t see him that way. Now when I look at Pest, he doesn’t give me that spooky feeling that he used to. I understand him. He makes sense now.

We’re quiet, waiting for the Good Prince to talk. She is looking in Eric’s direction when she takes a deep breath and turns toward me, looking sad and sympathetic and immediately, my heart falls. Bad news is coming. “I suppose you know about the war?”

I nod.

The Good Prince seems to be about to say something, but then she grows thoughtful. After another moment, she speaks. “The last time Eric was here, we were having trouble with the Minutemen. They thought they were going to bring it all together.” She makes a huffing sound. “They were the first, but they weren’t the last, not by a long shot. Now there’s The Gearheads and the Stars, each one flying their own flag, each one proclaiming themselves the rightful rulers.” She laughs, but not with bitterness, with actual humor. “Rulers of what? We’re just a bunch of bad farmers trying not to freeze or starve to death. It’s hardly what you’d call a mighty empire. Still they’re killing a bunch of folk for the right to fly their damn flags over it.”

Pest and I sit quietly.

The Good Prince turns her cloudy eyes back to Eric. “When the old world died, it took with it a lot of things, but it kept the flags.” She sighs and then continues in a whisper, as if to herself. “What’d I’d give for a world without flags.” She says this last almost like we aren’t here. There’s a pause and in it, I can see her imagining what a world like that might be, how much more simple, how much safer, how much less complicated. Then she clears her throat, dispelling the moment, and says, “That ain’t the way of things.” She seems to study us. I can feel Pest squirm under her strange gaze. “I don’t think you can stay here for long,” she continues. “I wish it weren’t that way, but it is. Folk aren’t happy to have the Worm back here, and there’s rumors that the Worm is being spread by the Gearheads. I imagine there’s people here who think you are a spy, here to infect us. I don’t think many, but it don’t take many to scare people. I still have some clout in this community. They’ll listen to me but not forever. It’ll change when the war gets here. War brings out devils and demons, all the worst that humans got. You don’t want to be here when it comes.”

I hang my head in disappointment. All I had to do was wait here. Eric was either going to get better, or… either way, it’d be over. Now I feel the fear of the outside again. It leaves me cold and empty.

“But where are we going to go?” Pest asks. It’s the question I was about to ask.

The Good Prince shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

I look over to Pest helplessly. “I don’t know what to do. Being here was the best idea I had. I don’t know what else to do.”

“You got time to think it over,” the Good Prince tells me. “I can give you a week, but if I were you, I wouldn’t push much farther than that. I just wanted to tell you how things were.” She leans over and takes my chin in one of her warm, wrinkled hands. She holds it gently. “I’m sorry, honey. I done what I can.”

“I know,” I say. “Thank you.”

But as she raises herself from the chair with a groan and begins to walk out of the basement, I feel abandoned rather than grateful. Coming to the Good Prince was the only idea I had for Eric. I look over to him. Through the bars of the jail cell, I see him crouched down, face first in the corner. He’s wearing the robe, and for once, he doesn’t look half-bad. I feel like staying here is his best chance. I feel like if he’s going to survive this, he’s going to do it here and no where else. “I don’t know what to do,” I say. My voice sounds pitiful and small.