The Knife of Never Letting Go

“We’re farmers, pup,” Hildy says. “Simple farmers, looking for a simpler way of life. That was the whole point we were a-trying for in flying all this ridiculous way to get here. Setting down the things that caused such strife for people of old.” She taps her fingers on a table-top. “Didn’t quite work out that way, tho.”

“We weren’t really expecting no others,” Francia says. “Not the way Old World was when we left.”

“So I’m stuck here?” Viola says, her voice a little shaky.

“Until yer ship arrives,” Hildy says. “I’m afraid so.”

“How far out are they?” Francia asks.

“System entry in 24 weeks,” Viola says quietly. “Perihelion four weeks later. Orbital transfer two weeks after that.”

“I’m sorry, child,” Francia says. “Looks like yer ours for seven months.”

Viola turns away from all of us, obviously taking this news in.

A lot can happen in seven months.

“Well, now,” Hildy says, making her voice bright, “I hear tell they got all kindsa things in Haven. Fissioncars and city streets and more stores than ye can shake a stick at. Ye might try there before ye really start a-worrying, yes?”

Hildy makes an eye towards Francia and Francia says, “Todd pup? Why don’t we get you a-working in the barn? Yer a farm boy, ain’t ye?”

“But–” I start to say.

“All kinds of work to be done on a farm,” Francia says, “as I’m sure ye know all too well–”

Chattering away like this, Francia gets me out the back door. Looking over my shoulder, I can see Hildy comforting Viola in soft words, unhearable words, things being said that I don’t know yet again.

Francia closes the door behind us and leads me and Manchee across the main road to one of the big storage houses I saw when we were walking in. I can see men pulling handcarts up to the main front door and another man unloading the baskets of orchard fruit.

“This is east barn,” Francia says, “where we store things ready to be traded. Wait here.”

I wait and she walks up to the man unloading the baskets from the cart. They talk for a minute and I can hear Prentisstown? clear as day in his Noise and the sudden surge of feeling behind it. It’s a slightly different feeling than before but it fades before I can read it and Francia comes back.

“Ivan says ye can work in the back a-sweeping up.”

“Sweeping up?” I say, kinda appalled. “I know how farms work, mim, and I–”

“I’m sure ye do but ye may have noticed that Prentisstown ain’t our most popular neighbour. Best to keep ye away from everyone till we’ve all had a chance to get used to ye. Fair enough?”

She’s still stern, still arms crossed, but actually, yeah, this seems sensible and tho her face ain’t kind exactly maybe it sorta is.

“Okay,” I say.

Francia nods and takes me over to Ivan, who looks about Ben’s age, but short, dark-haired and arms like effing tree trunks.

“Ivan, this is Todd,” Francia says.

I hold out my hand to shake. Ivan doesn’t take it. He just eyeballs me something fierce.

“You’ll work in back,” he says. “And you’ll keep yerself and yer dog outta my way.”

Francia leaves us and Ivan takes me inside, points out a broom, and I get to work. And that’s how I start my first day in Farbranch: inside a dark barn, sweeping dust from one corner to another, seeing one single stitch of blue sky out a door at the far end.

Oh, the joy.

“Poo, Todd,” Manchee says.

“Not in here, you don’t.”

It’s a pretty big barn, seventy-five to eighty metres from end to end, maybe, and about half full of baskets of crested pine. There’s a section with big rolls of silage, too, packed up to the ceiling with thin rope, and another section with huge sheaves of wheat ready to be ground into flour.

“You sell this stuff on to other settlements?” I call out to Ivan.

“Time for chatter later,” he calls back from the front.

I don’t say nothing to this but something kinda rude shows up in my Noise before I can stop it. I hurry and get back to sweeping.

The morning waxes on. I think about Ben and Cillian. I think about Viola. I think about Aaron and the Mayor. I think about the word army and how it’s making my stomach clench.

I don’t know.

It don’t feel right to be stopped. Not after all that ru

Everyone’s acting like it’s safe here but I don’t know.

Manchee wanders in and out the back doors as I sweep, sometimes chasing the pink moths I stir from faint corners. Ivan keeps his distance, I keep mine, but I can see all the people who come to his door and drop off goods taking a deep, long look to the back of the barn, sometimes squinting into the darkness to see if they can find me there, the Prentisstown boy.

So they hate Prentisstown, I got that. I hate Prentisstown but I got more cause for grief than any of them.

I start noticing things, too, as the morning gets older. Like that tho men and women both do the heavy labour, women give more orders that more men follow. And with Francia being Deputy Mayor and Hildy being whoever she is in Farbranch, I’m begi

Men’s Noise here, too, is a lot more controlled than what I’m used to. With so many women around and from what I know of the Noise of Prentisstown, you’d think the sky would be full of Noisy women with no clothes doing the most remarkable things you could think of. And sure you hear that sometimes here, men are men after all, but more of the time it’s songs or it’s prayers or it’s directed to the work at hand.

They’re calm here in Farbranch but they’re a little spooky.

Once in a while, I see if I can hear (not hear) Viola.

But no.

At lunchtime, Francia comes to the back of the barn with a sandwich and a jug of water.

“Where’s Viola?” I ask.

“Yer welcome,” Francia says.

“For what?”

Francia sighs and says, “Viola’s in the orchards, gathering dropped fruits.”

I want to ask how she is but I don’t and Francia refuses to read it in my Noise.

“How ye getting on?” she asks.

“I know how to do a lot more than ruddy sweep.”

“Mind yer language, pup. There’ll be time enough to get ye to real work.”

She don’t stay, walking back towards the front, having another word with Ivan and then she’s off to do whatever Deputy Mayors fill their days with.

Can I say? It makes no sense but I sorta like her. Probably cuz she reminds me of Cillian and all the things that used to drive me crazy about him. Memory is stupid, ain’t it?

I dig into my sandwich and I’m chewing my first bite when I hear Ivan’s Noise approaching.

“I’ll sweep up my crumbs,” I say.

To my surprise, he laughs, kinda roughly. “I’m sure ye will.” He takes a bite of his own sandwich. “Francia says there’s a village meeting tonight,” he says after a minute.

“Bout me?” I ask.

“Bout ye both. Ye and the girl. Ye and the girl what escaped Prentisstown.”

His Noise is strange. It’s cautious but strong, like he’s checking me out. I don’t read no hostility, not towards me, anyway, but something’s percolating in it.

“We go

“Ye might. We’ll all be a-talking bout ye first.”

“If there’s a vote,” I say, chomping on the sandwich, “I think I lose.”

“Ye’ve got Hildy a-speaking for yer side,” he says. “That counts for more than aught in Farbranch.” He swallows his own bite. “And the people here are kind people and good. We’ve taken in Prentisstown folk before. Not for a while but from way back in the bad times.”

“The war?” I say.

He looks at me, his Noise sizing me up, what I know. “Yeah,” he says, “the war.” He turns his head round the barn, casual-like, but I get the feeling he’s looking to see if we’re alone. He turns back and fixes his eye on me. An eye that’s really looking for something. “And then, too,” he says, “not all of us feel the same.”