Watershed (42 page)

No, Garrick wasn't fucking around. So neither would I. The time for that was done.

Excerpt ~ Letter #22

 

My eyes have been opened and now I know things I shouldn't. I see what you saw, what your grandfather understood, and what Rachel feared. But I'm not alone. Weak and strong, old and young, alive or dead, all of us brave and all of us afraid, we're united by something much greater than ourselves.

At first it seemed almost a game, and one she was reluctant to join. Not because she was afraid, but because she could see little point. Hadn't it been played before, too many times and the stakes too high, and didn't the guards always win? Wasn't she too old and tired for games? Age didn't matter, Tee insisted, and wasn't everyone tired?

He introduced her to others, just a few, ordinary people like herself, who worked and struggled and hungered and thirsted, who loved and longed as she once had; ordinary people with an extraordinary purpose. She imagined their faces were like hers, grey and drawn, some mistrusting and hidden, but when they congregated, in secret shadowy places, they would cast off that façade to reveal another beneath, animated and passionate, angry and vengeful. And she wondered whether she too wore a different face when she was with them, whether the light in her eyes blazed as strongly as in theirs. And when she wasn't with them, when she worked, feeding thread onto the wheel through knotted fingers, or passed people on the streets; when she greeted neighbours or handed over her water to vendors at market, she wondered if others could see it too. Did they see just another old woman, or could they glimpse her rejuvenated heart?

The group grew slowly, new members brought in by others or, more usually, by Tee, all of them nameless; not a congregation to praise a god, but a movement that swelled gently with remembered humanity. Sometimes Tee would join them, always sitting to one side, listening, nodding to encourage but rarely commenting. It was enough that he'd rallied them, arming them with his tale and
reminding them again of their own. Besides, weren't there plenty of others only too happy to take the lead and talk the talk? Sarah didn't mind that it was mostly talk – she knew her limitations – but she knew others wanted more, their frustration leading to calls for action, louder and more urgent.

And perhaps she couldn't blame them because, despite all the talk and all the meetings and all the hope and all the hatred, what had changed? The sun still rose, the dust still scoured, the Citadel thrived and the tower loomed, its cold stone minding a cold heart; water trickled in and was doled out, people scrapped over food and wares, over rights and wrongs; the criers still called the laws, the guards punished anyone who broke them and the rain continued to fall over the sea. The same pattern repeated, over and over, and all of it dreary. And within the great walls, twisting and turning like the filthy dusted streets, there circled unquiet whispers about the Watch.

All roads lead to the Tower. That's what my grandmother told me; she'd copied it from another, much older saying, but said the meaning was the same. And if I hadn't exactly understood that meaning before, I was beginning to get a real good feel for it now.
What goes around comes around, Jeremiah. You remember that
. A wise woman, my grandmother. If only I'd listened.

Garrick steered me to the stairs, not as gently as Tate had done back at the mine. As we neared I could see the gate was already open; beside it, standing to attention, were a couple of sentries and a single Watchman: Piggott. Knowing better than to acknowledge me or question my battered state, he kept his eyes on Garrick.

‘Taggart speak to you? Garrick asked him, and Piggott nodded. ‘Remember, half and half. Be ready, and no messing around. We won't have much time.'

Growling at the two sentries, who didn't have the sense Piggott did and were staring at me, Garrick pushed me through the gate and up, up, up to fuck knows what, every step getting me closer to where I didn't want to be. And as we climbed, I thought about everything that'd brought me to this moment, thought about what he and Taggart had said, remembered their warnings, their hints,
all their stupid games. Eyes open, Tate had said, but once again I hadn't understood. And what little I knew now wasn't making things any clearer. I didn't wonder about Garrick's instructions to Piggott – I'd lost any right to know – but there were other questions he'd answer.

‘If you already knew about the gun, why'd you search my room? Or was that just because you're a complete prick?'

He grunted behind me and I knew he was laughing. ‘That too. As well as making sure you still had it. Reed was snooping everywhere, and I couldn't risk you coming at me with a knife. Or those bows of yours.'

‘Except you didn't find it,' I pointed out.

‘Didn't need to. When you told me you'd tossed that box, I knew it was safe.' There was a pause. ‘We both know you'd never get rid of that.'

‘Yeah,' I said, ‘I guess we do.' And we both knew why, too.

‘Like I said, feelings are what fuck us up.'

‘Not always,' I replied.

‘Every fuckin' time, Jem.'

We reached the top where the heavy door also stood ajar, the long passage curving away. There were no Guards to be seen, but I was fairly sure I knew where they'd be. Though I was expecting it this time, the cold was still a shock. Through the gate, thirty strides on, and Garrick pulled me to a stop, turning me to face him.

‘This is it. Once we're in, you're on your own. Let's see how long you can last.' He shook me again. ‘And if you give up even a single word we've said, I'll do that bitch. And then I'll kill her.'

‘You always were a great motivator, Garrick.'

‘So they tell me. Now, you ready?'

‘No,' I said, meaning it.

His fist burrowed high into my stomach, up under the ribs, pushing out the air and bending me double. No knee-jab this time, just a two-fisted hammer blow to my back, cracking something
for sure, before he grabbed my hair again, his fingers gripping tight to pull me upright.
Fuck!

‘Now you are,' he said. And shoving so hard I stumbled, he herded me along the passage like a goat to slaughter, up the short flight of stairs and into that high round room I remembered, further and further in, until we were standing right where we'd stood before, all those weeks ago. But that was where the similarity ended. As I stared at the scene before me, every breath a struggle, I realised that whatever I'd imagined I'd be facing, this wasn't it. Not even close.

The walls of the room were shrouded in darkness. I sensed people, knew they were there on the sidelines, an audience to watch this final act, but I couldn't hear or see them. In front was the large half-round table with its high-backed chairs, and taking centre place, like before, was the Councillor who'd given me my orders, two others either side of him. The rest of the chairs were empty, and the table was clear of paper. No Keepers this time. Clearly it wasn't the kind of meeting they wanted recorded.

Taggart stood off to the left while centre stage, and therefore impossible to miss, were Reed, looking way too happy for my liking, and a Guard I'd never seen before. It wasn't as though I knew them all, but I would've remembered this one; a real mountain of a man, bigger than Tate, wide at the base, rearing to craggy shoulders bulked with muscle, and a neck as thick as his head. The most surprising thing was that he'd found a uniform to fit; the most alarming was the long iron bar he held in one huge fist, which he kept thudding against his other palm,
thwack
,
thwack
,
thwack
, like he was timing the thump of my heart. Between us, on the floor, a brazier glowed, casting an eerie light and spewing a thin stream of smoke, doing nothing to take off the chill but oddly cheerful in that terrible place.

There was a stirring at the table, the soft sigh of cloth and a single cough to catch everyone's attention; the head Councillor leaned forwards. His face was as I remembered, thin and white and wrinkled. The two either side of him stayed still. If not for the
occasional blink of their eyes, it'd be easy to think they were dead. Preferable too.

Garrick seemed as edgy as he had that first night, and I wondered if others were making the same mistake I had, thinking he was afraid. Not as fascinated with the Councillors as I was, he was staring at Reed.

‘This Watchman should be downstairs with the others,' he said.

‘This Watchman is not yours to command, Garrick,' replied the Councillor, his voice cold and even.

Garrick twitched, then gave a curt nod. ‘Sir.' I saw Reed smile.

‘What happened to Jeremiah's face?' the Councillor asked.

‘He needed a bit of persuading.' This time, the added ‘sir' wasn't quite as convincing.

‘I see.'

‘If you tell me what this is about, I can deal with him myself. Assuming, of course, that he's still one of mine.
Sir
.' Garrick was pushing his own boundaries.

The Councillor pushed back. ‘We can manage. And you'll be given your orders in due course. Is that understood?'

It only took a few seconds for Garrick to back down. Muttering a yessir, he left me and went to stand by Taggart, taking his place in the audience. The Councillor then gave me his full attention and, just like before, I felt myself begin to shake. Only this time it wasn't because I was cold.

‘Are you ready to answer some questions, Jeremiah?' he asked.

Remembering the last time I'd been made to play that game, I shook my head. ‘Not really.'

The Councillor frowned suddenly. ‘You will address me as sir. At all times. Is that clear?'

‘If you say so.'

He hissed his displeasure. ‘At all times, Jeremiah. Otherwise this process will become needlessly painful.'

Shifting my gaze to Reed, who was either feeling the cold as much as me or simply quivering with excitement, and to the
giant still pounding his hand, I said, ‘I figure that's gunna happen anyway. Unless these two are just planning to tickle me with that piece of iron.'

A sudden hush, as though the Councillor wasn't quite sure he'd heard right; the other two finally shifted in their chairs. That's the problem with tyrannical types; they have no sense of humour.

‘Very well. Let's begin.'

Reed walked around the brazier with that wide-legged swagger some men use when they wear their balls between their legs instead of out front; the Guard lumbered in from the other side. I held my ground, and gave a nod to the Watchman.

‘Last I heard, you were a deadshit.'

Reed grinned. ‘Not so. As you can see, very much alive.'

‘Just a shit, then,' I replied. ‘Who's your friend?'

He glanced up at his sidekick. ‘We call him the Enforcer.'

I swallowed. ‘I can see why. Probably doesn't make him any less of a fuckwit, though, does it?' Pushing out a smile when the giant growled, I added, ‘Kinda sensitive, isn't he?'

Reed's smile widened. ‘You should see him cry.'

‘I'll look forward to it,' I said, hoping I sounded braver than I felt, and at least half as stupid.

‘Heard you were a bit of a joker, Jem.'

‘I try. Helps lighten the mood.'

‘Good luck,' he said, before jerking his head at the table behind him. ‘Because they're very serious.'

And very pissed. All of them were watching me, their stares still dismissive if not quite as impassive as before.

‘Where's the rest of the Council?' I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

‘Absent,' Reed replied. He had a real handle on stating the obvious.

‘Why're you here, Reed?' I asked. ‘You working two jobs now?'

‘Only ever one, Jem.'

A quick sideways glance at Garrick before I said, ‘Hope you had fun. Reckon your cover's blown now.'

Reed gave a shrug, and it seemed that was the signal. All pleasantries over, the giant thrust the iron bar into the brazier, stirring the embers and raising sparks that danced and died. Then, moving round behind me, he clamped a massive paw to my head, squeezing with thick fingers and holding me in place while the audience shuffled in from the shadows, a dozen or so Guards marking the boundary and hemming us in. I didn't need to turn my head to know there were plenty more still waiting. The whole thing was synchronised and rehearsed, everyone knowing his part. Even me.

‘This is what'll happen, Jem. Councillor Fenton will ask you a question, and you'll answer. We're here to make sure you do it quickly and respectfully,' Reed said, then smirked. ‘You never know. We might even impress Garrick.'

Garrick crossed his arms and said nothing. But his fists were bunched.

‘Reckon that might take some doing,' I replied.

‘I hope so,' Reed said, unnecessarily. He pulled out some kind of dagger and waved it too near my face, but I couldn't move back under the weight of that hand. The weapon's grip was furrowed to fit a hand, a round metal knob at the base of the hilt, the blade long and curved. Alex hadn't exaggerated; it was a real big knife. I watched as Reed flexed his fingers and curled them around the shaft.

‘I think that's what they call over-compensating,' I told him.

He didn't bother replying. Grabbing my shirt, he sliced down, quick and close, nicking my skin. Tearing at the material, ripping seams and slicing cuffs, cutting the straps of my holster, he stripped it all away.

‘I kinda liked that shirt,' I told him, shivering more as my skin tightened against the cold.

‘Too bad.' Then twisting his hand, he jabbed me hard, not as solid as Garrick's boot, but sharp, vicious enough to make me gasp,
and if it weren't for that paw pressing me down I'd have stumbled back. But at least I now knew what the knob was for.

‘Weak as piss,' I muttered, trying to breathe, so he did it again, harder. This time the giant let go and I slumped to my knees, jarring them on cold stone while the rest of me shivered. If I was lucky, the cold would finish me off long before Reed did.

He stepped back. ‘Better?'

I nodded, stifling my groans. ‘A little. Thanks.'

Now I'd learned my place, the Councillor resumed his lead. Fenton, I remembered. Like it mattered. ‘Are you ready, Jeremiah?'

‘As ready as I'll ever be,' I said, grunting when Reed's fist swung in to punish my left arm. This time I was given no time to gather myself.

‘You are proving a disappointment, young man,' Fenton said. ‘It seems you're unable to follow even the simplest of orders.'

‘I've been told I don't listen real well,' I said, earning myself another punch. My arm was already numb, my hand tingling; I wriggled it to make sure it still worked.

‘Then I suggest you start now. You did not take the east road as you were instructed to do. Why not?'

I didn't need to ask how he knew. ‘There wasn't time. Remember?'

Reed thumped my shoulder, the knob grinding bone. ‘Remember,
sir
.'

‘Fuck you,' I said, then groaned when he repeated the blow.

‘When you were where you shouldn't have been, did you see anything unusual?' Fenton asked. I eyed him carefully. Maybe I was wrong, and Ballard hadn't confessed quite everything.

‘Just a shitload of trees.'

‘Shitload of trees,
sir
.' Reed pounded me again.

I glared at him. ‘You keep doing that, we're never gunna get to the good stuff.'

He raised his hand again, but Fenton stopped him with a word; scowling, Reed stepped back.

‘Tell us what you know about a man called Quinn,' Fenton said.

‘I thought this was about my report?' I lied, and ignored Reed's warning growl.

‘I'll ask the questions, Jeremiah. Tell us about Quinn.'

‘Ask all you like. I've never heard of any Quinn.'

Another cold silence, before Fenton said, simply, ‘Again.'

The giant scored a savage kick, deep and low, into my back, just missing my spine but tearing tissue, and something inside me screamed.
Oh fuck!

‘If you persist in this stupidity, we will have you taken downstairs to a place more suited to interrogation,' said Fenton, and my skin suddenly iced over with sweat. ‘For the last time, tell us what you know about Quinn.'

‘Bald. Kinda fat. Not my type.'

Fenton showed remarkable restraint. ‘And what did you understand his role to be in the uprising?'

‘I'm pretty sure you already know,' I dared, exhausting his patience. This time it was Reed who did the honours, driving in hard with his boot, scoring my other side so I groaned with the agony. At this rate I'd be pissing blood for a month. Then mountain man leaned down and just kind of lifted me into the air by my hair, ripping at the roots.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
If I ever got out of this, I was gunna shave my fucking head!