Monsters of Men

“What if it’d been Simone down there instead of Todd?” I say.

And Simone is all over his Noise, his deep feelings for her, feelings I don’t think are returned. “You’re right,” he says. “I don’t know. I hope I’d make the right choice, but Viola it is a choice. To say you have no choice is to release yourself from responsibility and that’s not how a person with integrity acts.” A child, his Noise says, A CHILD, and his voice softens. “And I do believe you’re a person with integrity.”

“You do?” I say.

“Of course I do,” he says. “What’s important is taking responsibility for it. Learning from it. Using it to make things better.”

And I remember Todd saying, It’s not how we fall. It’s how we get back up again.

“I know,” I say. “I’m trying to make things right.”

“I believe you,” he says. “I’m trying, too. You fired the missile, but we made it possible for you to do it.” And I hear Simone in his Noise again, with some spikes of difficulty around it. “You tell Todd to tell the Mayor we’ll only help with things that save lives, that we’re working for peace and nothing else.”

“I already have.”

And I must look so sincere about it, he smiles. It’s so much what I’ve been waiting for that I feel a little leap in my chest. Because his Noise is smiling, too. A little bit.

We see Mistress Coyle coming out of a healing tent, blood on her smock.

“Unfortunately,” Bradley says, “I think the road to peace lies through her.”

“Yeah, but she’s always acting so busy. Too busy to talk.”

“Maybe you should get busy, too, then,” he says. “If you’re feeling up to it.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m not feeling up to it. It’s something I have to do.” I look back over to where Wilf is working the animals. “I think I know just who to ask, too.”

[TODD]

My dearest son, I read. My dearest son.

The words my ma uses at the top of every page of her journal, words written to me just before and after I was born, saying everything that happened to her and my pa. I’m inside my tent, trying to read ’em.

My dearest son.

But they’re pretty much the only words I can make out in the whole stupid thing. I run my fingers down the page and then the next one over, too, looking at the scrawl of words stretching everywhere.

My ma, talking and talking.

And I can’t hear her.

I reckernize my name here and there. And Cillian’s. And Ben’s. And my heart starts to hurt a bit. I wa

But I can’t–

(stupid effing idiot)

And then Food? I hear.

I put down the journal and poke my head outta the tent. Angharrad’s looking at me. Food, Todd?

I’m immediately up, immediately over to her, immediately agreeing.

Cuz it’s the first time she’s said my name since–

“Of course, girl,” I say. “I’ll get you some right now.”

She nudges her nose against my chest, almost playful, and my eyes go wet with relief. “I’ll be right back,” I say. I look round but don’t see James nowhere. I head over past the campfire, where the Mayor’s frowning over yet more reports with Mr Tate.

He didn’t have many men to spare but after the attacks on the spies this morning, he said he didn’t have no choice about sending small squadrons of men to the north and south with orders to press on till they heard the Spackle ROAR, then to camp there, far enough away so the Spackle knew we weren’t just go

I head out into the army, glancing cross the square to where you can just see the top point of the water tank peeking up over the foodstore, buildings I never bothered noticing till they turned into life or death.

I see James coming away from ’em, into the square.

“Hey, James,” I greet him. “Angharrad needs some more feed.”

“More?” He looks surprised. “She’s already been fed today.”

“Yeah, but she’s still only coming outta the shock of the battle and all that. Besides,” I say, scratching my ear, “for the first time, she’s actually asking.”

He gives a knowing smile. “You gotta watch out for that, Todd. Horses know where to take their advantage. You start feeding her every time she asks, she’s go

“Yeah, but–”

“You need to show her who’s boss. Tell her she’s had her feed today and that she’ll get some in the morning like she’s sposed to.”

He’s still smiling, his Noise is still friendly, but I’m finding my own self getting a bit a

He frowns a little. “Todd–”

“She needs it,” I say, my voice raising. “She’s recovering from a wound–”

“So am I.” He lifts up the hem of his shirt. There’s a burn all the way cross his belly. “And I only ate once today.”

And I can see what he’s saying and I can see how friendly he means to be by it but there’s Boy colt? ru

“I’ll get it for you,” he says–

And he’s looking at me–

And he ain’t blinking–

And I can feel something twisting, some winding curling invisible cord in the air–

And it’s twixt my Noise and his Noise–

And there’s a little buzz–

“I’ll go get it right now,” he says, not blinking. “I’ll just bring it on over.”

And he turns and starts walking back to the foodstore.

I can feel the buzz still bouncing thru my Noise, hard to follow, hard to pin down, like a shadow that’s just left the spot wherever I turn to look–

But it don’t matter–

I wanted him to do it, I wanted it to happen–

And it did.

I controlled him. Just like the Mayor.

I watch him go, still walking to the foodstore, like it was his own idea.

My hands are shaking.

Bloody hell.

{VIOLA}

“You’re the one here who knows the most about the truce,” I say. “You were a leader of New Prentisstown then and there’s no way–”

“I was a leader of Haven, my girl,” Mistress Coyle says, not looking up from where we’re handing out food to a long queue of townspeople. “I have nothing at all to do with New Prentisstown.”

“Here ya go!” Jane practically shouts next to us, putting the small rations of vegetables and dried meat into whatever containers people have brought with them. The queue stretches right across the hilltop, where there’s barely a handkerchief of free space to be seen. It’s practically become its own frightened and hungry town.

“But you said you knew about the truce,” I say.

“Of course I know about the truce,” Mistress Coyle says. “I helped negotiate it.”

“Well, then you could do it again. Tell me at least how you started.”

“A bit too much talking?” Jane says, leaning over towards us, concern on her face. “Not enough handing out the food?”

“Sorry,” I say.

“Only, the mistresses get mad when you talk too much,” Jane says. She turns to the next person in the queue, a mother holding the hand of her young daughter. “I get in trouble all the time.”

Mistress Coyle sighs and lowers her voice. “We started by beating the Spackle so badly they had to negotiate, my girl. That’s how these things work.”

“But–”

“Viola,” she turns to me. “Do you remember the fear you felt run through the people when they heard the Spackle were attacking?”