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Hildy’s voice pulls back a bit. “Put the knife away, Todd pup.”
Matthew drops his machete to the ground and puts an arm across his eyes as he snuffles and yowls and moans. I look over at Viola. She’s just staring at Matthew, probably as confused as I am.
I drop the knife to my side but I don’t let it go. Not yet.
Matthew’s taking deep breaths, pain Noise and grief Noise dripping everywhere, and fury, too, at losing control so publicly. “It’s meant to be over,” he coughs. “Long over.”
“I know,” Hildy says, going forward and putting a hand on his arm.
“What’s going on?” I say.
“Never you mind, Todd pup,” Hildy says. “Prentisstown has a sad history.”
“That’s what Tam said,” I say. “As if I don’t know.”
Matthew looks up. “Ye don’t know the first bit of it, boy,” he says, teeth clenched again.
“That’s enough now,” Hildy says. “This boy ain’t yer enemy.” She looks at me, eyes a bit wide. “And he’s putting away his knife for that very reason.”
I twist the knife in my hand a time or two but then I reach behind my rucksack and put it away. Matthew’s glaring at me again but he’s starting to back off for real now and I’m wondering who Hildy is that he’s obeying her.
“They’re both i
“Ain’t nobody i
He turns his back and strides into the orchard, not looking back.
Everyone else is still staring at us.
“The day only ages,” Hildy says to them, turning round in a circle. “There’ll be time enough for a-meeting and a-greeting later on.”
Me and Viola watch as the workers start returning to their trees and their baskets and their whatevers, some eyes still on us but most people getting back to work.
“Are you in charge here or something?” I ask.
“Or something, Todd pup. C’mon, ye haven’t even seen the town yet.”
“What law was he talking about?”
“Long story, pup,” she says. “I’ll tell ye later.”
The path, still wide enough for men and vehicles and horses, tho I only see men, curves its way down thru more orchards on the hillsides of the little vale.
“What kind of fruit is that?” Viola asks, as two women cross the road in front of us with full baskets, the women watching us as they go.
“Crested pine,” Hildy says. “Sweet as sugar, loaded with vitamins.”
“Never heard of it,” I say.
“No,” Hildy says. “Ye wouldn’t have.”
I look at way too many trees for a settlement that can’t have more than fifty people in it. “Is that all you eat here?”
“Course not,” Hildy says. “We trade with the other settlements down the road.”
The surprise is so clear in my Noise that even Viola laughs a little.
“Ye didn’t think it was just two settlements on all of New World, did ye?” Hildy asks.
“No,” I say, feeling my face turn red, “but all the other settlements were wiped out in the war.”
“Mmm,” Hildy says, biting her bottom lip, nodding but not saying nothing more.
“Is that Haven?” Viola says quietly.
“Is what Haven?” I ask.
“The other settlement,” Viola says, not quite looking at me. “You said there was a cure for Noise in Haven.”
“Ach,” Hildy psshts. “That’s just rumours and speckalashuns.”
“Is Haven a real place?” I ask.
“It’s the biggest and first of the settlements,” Hildy says. “Closest New World’s got to a big city. Miles away. Not for peasants like us.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” I say again.
No one says nothing to this and I get the feeling they’re being polite. Viola’s not really looked at me since the weirdness back there with me and Matthew and the knife. To be honest, I don’t know what to make of it neither.
So everyone just keeps walking.
There’s maybe seven buildings total in Farbranch, smaller than Prentisstown and just buildings after all but somehow so different, too, it feels like I’ve wandered right off New World into some whole other place altogether.
The first building we pass is a tiny stone church, fresh and clean and open, not at all like the darkness Aaron preached in. Farther on is a general store with a mechanic’s garage by it, tho I don’t see much by way of heavy machinery around. Haven’t even seen a fissionbike, not even a dead one. There’s a building that looks like a meeting hall, another with a doctor’s snakes carved into the front, and two barn-like buidings that look like storage.
“Not much,” Hildy says. “But it’s home.”
“Not yer home,” I say. “You live way outside.”
“So do most people,” Hildy says. “Even when yer used to it, it’s nice to only have the Noise of yer most beloved a-hanging round yer house. Town gets a bit rackety.”
I listen out for rackety but it still ain’t nothing like Prentisstown. Sure there’s Noise in Farbranch, men doing their usual boring daily business, chattering their thoughts that don’t mean nothing, Chop, chop, chop and I’ll only give seven for the dozen and Listen to her sing there, just listen and That coop needs fixing tonight and He’s go
“Oh, it gets black, Todd pup,” Hildy says. “Men still have their tempers. Women, too.”
“Some people would call it impolite to always be listening to a man’s Noise,” I say, looking round me.
“Too true, pup.” She grins. “But ye aren’t a man yet. Ye said so yerself.”
We cross the central strip of the town. A few men and women walk to and fro, some tipping their hats to Hildy, most just staring at us.
I stare back.
If you listen close, you can hear where the women are in town almost as clear as the men. They’re like rocks that the Noise washes over and once yer used to it you can feel where their silences are, dotted all about, Viola and Hildy ten times over and I’ll bet if I stopped and stood here I could tell exactly how many women are in each building.
And mixed in with the sound of so many men, you know what?
The silence don’t feel half so lonesome.
And then I see some teeny, tiny people, watching us from behind a bush.
Kids.
Kids smaller than me, younger than me.
The first I ever seen.
A woman carrying a basket spies them and makes a shooing movement with her hands. She frowns and smiles at the same time and the kids all run off giggling round the back of the church.
I watch ’em go. I feel my chest pull a little.
“Ye coming?” Hildy calls after me.
“Yeah,” I say, still watching where the kids went. I turn and keep on following, my head still twisted back.
Kids. Real kids. Safe enough for kids and I find myself wondering if Viola would be able to feel at home here with all these nice-seeming men, all these women and children. I find myself wondering if she’d be safe, even if I’m obviously not.
I’ll bet she would.
I look at Viola and catch her looking away.
Hildy’s led us to the house farthest along the buildings of Farbranch. It’s got steps that go up the front and a little flag flying from a pole out front.
I stop.
“This is a mayor’s house,” I say. “Ain’t it?”
“Deputy Mayor,” Hildy says, walking up the steps, clomping her boots loud against the wood. “My sister.”
“And my sister,” says a woman opening the door, a plumper, younger, frownier version of Hildy.
“Francia,” Hildy says.
“Hildy,” Francia says.
They nod at each other, not hug or shake hands, just nod.
“What trouble d’ye think yer bringing into my town?” Francia says, eyeing us up.
“Yer town, is it now?” Hildy says, smiling, eyebrows up. She turns to us. “Like I told Matthew Lyle, it’s just two pups a-fleeing for safety, seeking their refuge.” She turns back to her sister. “And if Farbranch ain’t a refuge, sister, then what is it?”