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“Bout what?” I say, not liking his look, not liking his buzz.
“Bout history.” He’s talking low, his eyes still poring into me, leaning a little closer.
I lean back a little. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Prentisstown’s still got allies,” he whispers, “hidden away in surprising places.”
His Noise gets pictures in it, small ones, like Noise speaking just to me and I’m starting to see them clearer and clearer, bright things, wet things, fast things, the sun shining down on red–
“Puppies! Puppies!” Manchee barks in the corner. I jump and even Ivan startles and his Noise pictures fade right quick. Manchee keeps barking and I hear a whole raft of giggling that ain’t him at all. I look.
A group of kids is kneeling down, peeking in thru a torn-away board, smiling, laughing with daring, pushing each other closer to the hole.
Pointing at me.
And all so small.
So small.
I mean, look at ’em.
“Get outta here, ye rats!” Ivan calls but there’s humour in his voice and Noise, all trace of what was before hidden again. There’s squeals of laughter outside the hole in the wall as the kids scatter.
And that’s it, they’re gone.
Like I mighta made ’em up.
“Puppies, Todd!” Manchee barks. “Puppies!”
“I know,” I say, scratching his head when he comes over. “I know.”
Ivan claps his hands together. “That’s lunch then. Back to work.” He gives me one more important look before he heads back to the front of the barn.
“What was that all about?” I say to Manchee.
“Puppies,” he murmurs, digging his face into my hand.
And so there follows an afternoon pretty much exactly like my morning. Sweeping, folks stopping by, a break for water where Ivan don’t say nothing to me, more sweeping.
I spend some time trying to think about what we might do next. If it’s even we who’s doing it. Farbranch’ll have its meeting about us and they’ll definitely keep Viola till her ship arrives, anyone can see that, but will they want me?
And if they do, do I stay?
And do I warn them?
I get a burning in my stomach every time I think about the book so I keep changing the subject.
After what seems like forever, the sun starts to set. There’s no more damn sweeping I can do. I’ve already covered the whole barn more than once, counted the baskets, re-counted them, made an attempt to fix the loose board in the wall even tho no one asked me to. There’s only so much you can ruddy well do if no one lets you leave a barn.
“Ain’t that the truth?” Hildy says, standing there suddenly.
“You shoudn’t sneak up on people like that,” I say. “All you quiet folk.”
“There’s some food over at Francia’s house for ye and for Viola. Why don’t ye go on there, get something to eat?”
“While you all have yer meeting?”
“While we all have our meeting, yes, pup,” Hildy says. “Viola’s already in the house, no doubt eating all yer di
“Hungry, Todd!” Manchee barks.
“There’s food for ye, too, puppup,” Hildy says, leaning down to pet him. He flops right over on his back for her, no dignity whatsoever.
“What’s this meeting really about?” I ask.
“Oh, the new settlers that are a-coming. That’s big news.” She looks up from Manchee to me. “And introducing ye around, of course. Getting the town used to the idea of a-welcoming ye.”
“And are they go
“People are scared of what they don’t know, Todd pup,” she says, standing. “Once they know ye, the problem goes away.”
“Will we be able to stay?”
“I reckon so,” she says. “If ye want to.”
I don’t say nothing to that.
“Ye get on up to the house,” she says. “I’ll come collect ye both when the time is right.”
I only nod in response and she gives a little wave and leaves, walking back across a barn that’s growing ever darker. I take the broom back to where it was hanging, my steps echoing. I can hear the Noise of men and the silence of women gathering across the town in the meeting hall. The word Prentisstown filters in most heavily and my name and Viola’s name and Hildy’s name.
And I gotta say, tho there’s fear and suspishun in it, I don’t get a feeling of overwhelming non-welcome. There’s more askings than there is anger of the Matthew Lyle sort.
Which, you know, maybe. Maybe that ain’t so bad after all.
“C’mon, Manchee,” I say, “let’s go get some food.”
“Food, Todd!” he barks along at my heels.
“I wonder how Viola’s day was,” I say.
And as I step towards the entrance to the barn I realize one bit of Noise is separating itself from the general murmuring outside.
One bit of Noise lifting from the stream.
And heading for the barn.
Coming up right outside it.
I stop, deep in the dark of the barn.
A shadow steps into the far doorway.
Matthew Lyle.
And his Noise is saying, Ye ain’t going nowhere, boy.
“Back! Back! Back!” Manchee immediately starts barking.
The moons glint off Matthew Lyle’s machete.
I reach behind me. I’d hidden the sheath under my shirt while I worked but the knife is definitely still there. Definitely. I take it and hold it out at my side.
“No old mama to protect ye this time,” Matthew says, swinging his machete back and forth, like he’s trying to cut the air into slices. “No skirts to hide ye from what ye did.”
“I didn’t do nothing,” I say, taking a step backwards, trying to keep my Noise from showing the back door behind me.
“Don’t matter,” Matthew says, walking forward as I step back. “We got a law here in this town.”
“I don’t have no quarrel with you,” I say.
“But I’ve got one with ye, boy,” he says, his Noise starting to rear up and there’s anger in it, sure, but that weird grief’s in it, too, that raging hurt you can almost taste on yer tongue. There’s also nervousness swirling about him, edgy as you please, much as he’s trying to cover it.
I step back again, farther in the dark.
“I ain’t a bad man, you know,” he says, suddenly and kinda confusingly but swinging the machete. “I have a wife. I have a daughter.”
“They wouldn’t be wanting you to hurt no i
“Quiet!” he shouts and I can hear him swallow.
He ain’t sure of this. He ain’t sure of what he’s about to do.
What’s going on here?
“I don’t know why yer angry,” I say, “but I’m sorry. Whatever it is–”
“What I want you to know before you pay,” he says over me, like he’s forcing himself not to listen to me. “What you need to know, boy, is that my mother’s name was Jessica.”
I stop stepping back. “Beg pardon?”
“My mother’s name,” he growls, “was Jessica.”
This don’t make no sense at all.
“What?” I say. “I don’t know what yer–”
“Listen, boy!” he yells. “Just listen.”
And then his Noise is wide open.
And I see–
And I see–
And I see–
I see what he’s showing.
“That’s a lie,” I whisper. “That’s a ruddy lie.”
Which is the wrong thing to say.
With a yell, Matthew leaps forward, ru
“Run!” I shout to Manchee, turning and making a break for the back doors. (Shut up, you honestly think a knife is a match for a machete?) I hear Matthew still yelling, his Noise exploding after me, and I reach the back door and fling it open before I realize.
Manchee’s not with me.
I turn round. When I said “run”, Manchee’d run the other way, flinging himself with all his unconvincing viciousness towards the charging Matthew.
“Manchee!” I yell.
It’s ruddy dark in the barn now and I can hear grunts and barks and clanks and then I hear Matthew cry out in pain at what must surely be a bite.