The Wordsmith

CHAPTER 24

THE night passed slowly. It was cold in the old tower. Letta put her boots back on and shoved the knife in beside her bare foot. Then she crossed the hall again and perched half-way up the stairs. For the first hour or two she sat waiting to hear a noise at the front door or see it move, but eventually she relaxed. She had no idea if or when he would appear.

Her body ached, her head was beaten and bruised from her trip in the barrel, but she blocked it out trying to focus on what she had to do.

She let herself remember the feel of Marlo’s lips on hers, the warmth of his arms holding her close.

She saw the dawn break. A soft shaft of light fell from the high windows. She stood up and, balancing on the tips of her toes, managed to see the outside world through the narrow window. The sight below made her draw her breath in sharply. Out at the far boundary wall stood row upon row of people, a raggle-taggle army, strewn out in no particular order.

The wall was high and the very top of it was lined with shards of broken glass. But the rebels had scaled it. Even as she watched, a man appeared at the top of the bulwark. An ally on the ground took a step back, then slung a metal hook with a rope attached, in his direction. The hook found purchase, and instantly the man shimmied down, and jumped to the ground, joining his colleagues.

There were no gavvers to be seen. In the dark of the night, the rebels must have taken care of the ones who had been on duty at the tower. But more would come. She was sure of it. Noa would not come here to do this final act without backup.

A shiver ran through her. She tried to shut out the images of carnage that tormented her. The Creators were no match for the gavvers. She looked at the lines of people again. Creators, people from Tintown, all standing together, facing death and, above them, barely visible in the distance, Noa’s house. Had he already seen them?

She tried to find Marlo in the crowd but the light wasn’t strong enough. She knew he was out there though, waiting.

A slight movement caught her eye. She strained to see what it was. A grey wave coming across the fields. Gavvers. Had Marlo and the others seen them?

The harsh sound of stone scraping on stone interrupted her thoughts. She was alert instantly. She stood up, bracing herself. Her hand went to her boot and she pulled out the knife. She climbed the stairs, her feet clumsy on the pocked treads, never taking her eyes from the hall below.

There it was again. No doubt this time. Stone moving. Stone growling somewhere beneath her. She looked down, just in time to see the grey wolf turn, to the right, then to the left. As she watched, the marble circle was pushed up from beneath, and the stone slid to one side. The wolf had moved and, in the void beneath, Letta could clearly see the top of a man’s head.

She looked up. The staircase seemed higher than she remembered it. She didn’t want to go back up there to the top of the tower but she had no choice. Noa was about to make his entrance. Sweat broke on her forehead. She put her hand on the banister and started to climb the remaining steps.

She had almost reached the top of the stairs before she glanced down again. In a pool of early morning light, she saw Noa’s hunched figure emerge from the hole in the floor. He straightened up, trembling slightly as though harried by some inner gust of air. And then a second head emerged. A head, and then a body. Werber. He stood beside Noa like a startled ghost.

‘Stay!’ she heard Noa say. ‘Let no-one in.’

‘Yes, master,’ Werber’s familiar voice floated up to her.

If they looked up now they would see her. She tried not to breathe. She put her foot on the next tread. Would it creak? She couldn’t remember. The tread took her weight with a slight groan. She stopped. Had they heard her?

‘No-one comes up the stairs.’ That was Noa’s voice. ‘Do you understand?’

She climbed the last two steps quickly. Silently, she slipped through to the tanks.

She thrust the knife into her pocket and made her way along by the wall. The empty barrel stood there, as if waiting for her. She crouched down behind it. Timber creaked beneath her. He was climbing the stairs. Was he coming up alone? She listened hard. One set of footsteps. That meant Werber had stayed below, as ordered.

Her heart quickened. There it was again, another step and then another. He had reached the top of the stairs. Could he see her? She thought she heard him sigh.

Then more footsteps, nearer now. Her body tensed. He stopped. There was an eerie silence. Moving stealthily she peered around the side of the barrel. He was standing with his back to her, out on the walkway between the water tanks, looking down to where the clean water was held. His head was bowed as though he were praying and he was holding something in his hand.

Noa turned slowly. She could see the canister, the long fingernails splayed across it, its silver case glowing in the low light of the dawn. It would only take him a second to open it and poison the water. Gavvers could come at any minute, but for now, he was alone. She couldn’t stop him from here, though. She would have to go on to the walkway. She stood up. She watched as his head pivoted in her direction.

‘Letta!’ he said sharply, a deep frown furrowing his brow. ‘What are you doing here? How did you get in?’

‘I wanted to talk to you,’ she said.

She moved along the wall, her eyes riveted to the scene before her.

She was at the walkway now. How could she walk out there? There was no handrail. Nothing to hold on to. Nothing to stop her tumbling down … down …

‘Well, Letta?’

She had to get closer to him.

She stumbled forward, stepping onto the narrow platform. She dared not look down. Even so, she was intensely aware of the sheer drop either side of her. The walkway seemed to swing up towards her, making her head spin. Black dots danced in front of her eyes.

‘Go back, Letta! Go back before you fall.’

His voice was gentle and she wanted nothing more than to obey him.

‘Look down, Letta!’ he said. ‘See how high up you are. What if you stumble?’

Don’t listen to him. Concentrate. I have to distract him, she thought. Keep him talking. She took another step. Every atom in her body was screaming at her to lie down on the ground, to curl up in a ball, eyes closed.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ she said.

Even as the words left her lips she heard a massive roar from outside. Orders were being given. Urgent commands. She couldn’t make out what they were saying but there was no mistaking the tone. The gavvers had reached the far boundary. Despite herself, her eyes went to the opening in the wall.

‘They will all die,’ Noa said, following her gaze. ‘Like lambs to slaughter.’

The cold words crawled towards her like cockroaches.

‘Please,’ Letta said, ‘listen to me. You may be powerful enough to destroy language, but even you are not powerful enough to bring it back. “Extinction” is the saddest word of all. Benjamin told me that you told him that, a long time ago.’

Lambs to slaughter. Marlo!

Focus, she told herself. Focus! Don’t let him deflect you.

‘There must be another way,’ she said, though her vertigo was attacking her again, leaving her mouth dry and her head light.

‘No!’ The word had the force of a bullet, making Letta take a step back. Her stomach lurched.

‘No. There is no other way. I cut out their tongues. I instigated List. Nothing works, Letta. Language is what makes man ungovernable.’

Letta felt the blood rush to her face.

‘But it is also what makes us human and different to all other creatures on the planet.’

She had to be near enough to him to grab the canister should the chance arise.

Noa laughed.

‘Different? Do you know that we and the common fruit-fly share the same biological structure? Not so different, Letta. But we are the only ones who can take an idea and plant it in the mind of another. Like the Desecrators did with you.’

His voice trailed off. Letta struggled to line up the words in her head as she imagined the people outside were lining up their soldiers. The room was spinning round and round. She put her hands out to steady herself.

‘We need words,’ she said. ‘Why can’t you see that? We can think because we have words. Without them, we won’t have memory to look at the past or imagination to glimpse the future. Without words we will be imprisoned in the here and now for ever.’

He shook his head.

‘Would that be so bad?’ he said.

‘Yes!’ Letta shouted. ‘Of course it would. The here and now is only the smallest part of who we are. Each of us is all that we have been, all of our stories, all that we could be. You of all people should know that.’

Her throat constricted. Emotion was hitting her in waves but she struggled against it.

Noa shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘We won’t need words –’

‘Of course we will,’ Letta threw back at him. ‘Words have the power to change everything.’

Her voice cracked. She bit her lip, trying to steady herself. Her head was swimming, a cold soup of muddied thoughts. She could feel her body being drawn to the edge of the walkway. She had to keep talking.

‘Without words, how can we reach out to others? How can we express our love for one another?’ she said.

She was thinking of all the words she and Benjamin had shared. Thinking of the few precious words she could remember from her parents. Thinking of Marlo and all the words she desperately wanted to say to him. Layer upon layer of words. Suddenly, a roar from outside filled the room. The unmistakable sound of a battle commencing.

Noa cocked his head. ‘Listen!’ he said, as the cries from outside tried to drown out his words.

‘See how we express love for one another? No, Letta. The time for words is gone. We can control men’s bodies but their minds teem with words and the words are rotten to the core.’ He was roaring now, his own words bouncing off the high walls. ‘They need to be cauterised, cleansed, eradicated. How do you like those words, Letta?’

‘You all right, master?’ came Werber’s voice from somewhere beneath their feet.

Letta dared not look.

‘All well,’ said Noa, and Letta could see him breathing rapidly, trying to calm himself. ‘Stay. Guard door. I can handle this.’

Noa held up the canister. He could open it in a heartbeat, she thought. A flick of his wrist and it would be done. Letta walked further along the walkway, a pulse throbbing in her throat. Images filled her head of her body falling into the chasm below. She dug her nails into her hands.

‘The Green Warriors and I will still have language,’ he said. ‘To finish what we started, but the next generation and all other generations will be Wordless, because they will never be contaminated by language.’

His words were flying all about her now. Red fireflies, chaotic, out of control. The room was spinning faster, drawing her towards its vortex.

He raised his hand to open the canister.

‘You think you have all the answers, Letta. In that, you are very like your mother.’

She managed to take a step, but the dizziness almost overpowered her. Don’t slip, she told herself. Don’t slip! She was near enough to grab him, she thought. Throw him off balance. His hand still hovered over the top of the canister. He was talking again. She tried to focus on what he was saying. Outside, the noise of battle was getting louder.

‘I knew her, you know, your mother. I knew her very well.’

‘I doubt that,’ Letta retorted. ‘I doubt you really knew her at all. You didn’t know Leyla, did you? You didn’t think she would stand up to you and try for something better. And you didn’t know my mother. She was the bravest of them all. That’s what Amelia said. The bravest of them all.’

She saw the confusion on his face and, for a second, she forgot her fear, forgot that she was on a high walkway with a drop on either side, forgot about her mother, forgot everything but what she had to do. Her legs stopped shaking, her heart slowed.

‘Put down the canister,’ she said.

And suddenly the knife was in her hand.

‘It is over for you, Letta, but not for me, and not for Amelia –’

‘Amelia?’

The word shot from her mouth sharp and true.

Noa stood up taller.

Letta laughed then, a harsh, forced sound.

‘Really?’ she said. ‘You believe that? After what you did to Leyla? You think Amelia will stand by you? How little you know her!’

‘Amelia will forgive me,’ he said. ‘She will understand that –’

Letta took another step towards him.

‘No!’ she said. ‘She will never forgive you. Have you not wondered how I knew where to find you? And when to find you? How I knew about my mother?’

She saw the confusion on his face again. A flickering light in his eyes, there and then gone. He shrugged.

‘What does it matter who told you?’

Please let this work, Letta thought. Let him love her as much as I think he does.

‘Amelia told me.’ Letta’s words slipped into the half-light, testing, challenging.

‘No!’ he said. ‘Liar.’

‘Yes,’ Letta said, taking another shaking step. But it was as if her body had woken up again and realised where it was – poised on the edge of a precipice. She could feel the sweat prickling her skin, her breath coming in laboured gasps, too fast, not enough air. Her brain was screaming at her to go back, her head pounding, her legs weak. His face was splitting into two faces, one overlapping the other, the edges blurred, everything in constant motion.

‘Amelia betrayed you.’ She forced the words out and was rewarded when she saw the colour drain from him.

She took another step. She felt as if she were walking on a high wire. She looked down, despite herself, and felt an overwhelming urge to jump, to let her body fall down into that abyss. A mist descended before her eyes. The background noises receded. She was going to faint.

No! Talk to him! Talk! She forced herself to look at him.

‘You thought she loved you, didn’t you?’

His hands began to shake. ‘Get back!’ The words came out like a whisper.

Letta stopped. Was the walkway swaying? She had to take advantage of his shock. Words would only get her so far. She took another step.

‘She doesn’t love you, John. You lost that when you broke her heart.’

‘No!’ he cried. ‘You’re lying. Amelia would not betray me.’

Outside, Letta heard uproar from the front yard, as what sounded like a herd of wild animals came teeming through the out-of sight boundaries and hurtled towards the tower.

For a second all was quiet as if the building itself was holding its breath. Then a ferocious crash rent the air, a bang like a cannon-blast. Letta screamed as the old wooden door below splintered, sundered and fell. The noise of battle filled the tower. Men and women shouting, screaming, scuffling, grunts of pain mingled with the smell of fresh blood. Letta glanced down. Creators and gavvers swarmed beneath her feet, locked in battle. The picture swam before her eyes. She saw people hack and stab one another, beat and kick one another and, in the middle of it all, Marlo, locked in hand to hand combat with a gavver twice his size.

‘Marlo!’

Distracted, he looked up, and Letta watched in horror, as the gavver raised a finely honed dagger and aimed it at Marlo’s throat.

‘Marlo!’ she screamed again. She saw him turn and grab the other man’s arm, forcing the dagger to fall to the floor. Marlo raised his own knife and Letta could almost feel the soft flesh yield beneath the blade, feel the veins slice and rupture. The body sagged. The man fell to the floor.

Noa lunged at her then, throwing his body forward, trying to knock her off balance. She felt the rough cloth of his coat under her hand and clung to it. On either side of her the void loomed. She could feel herself falling, losing balance. She managed to drop to her knees. From there, she grabbed onto his legs. He kicked out, knocking her onto her back.

She looked up to see him fumbling with the top of the canister. She hauled herself onto her feet. She stretched up and grabbed his wrist. The canister was so close she could see her own eyes reflected in it. He jerked his arm, pulling her towards him. She could feel his breath on her face. With his other hand he caught the back of her neck in a vice-like grip.

‘Look!’ he said. ‘Look down!”

She glimpsed the drop beside her and dizziness overcame her. Don’t let go of him! She raised the knife and bore down with all her strength. She felt it cut through flesh and hit bone. Somewhere, far away she heard him scream. As he did, she lost her balance, stumbling backwards. She fell heavily, narrowly avoiding the edge of the walkway, her elbows and the back of her head smashing into the wooden slats..

Painfully, she hauled herself to her feet. He was still struggling with the top of the canister. Her whole body swayed. This is it, she thought. Images of the Wordless flashed before her. She had to try one more time. Her heart thumping, she made a wild lunge at Noa’s hand. She felt the cold metal under her fingers for a second, and then it was gone. Noa had yanked his arm backwards to avoid her, but the sudden movement unbalanced him.

As she watched, he lost his footing, stumbled backwards and then, in slow motion, she saw him topple, tumble and dive over the edge of the platform, down, down into the throng of bodies below, a wounded bird, buffeted on a seething wave of humanity, his coat flapping in the stale air. She watched until he came to rest in a crumpled heap on the stone floor.

There was a stunned second of silence, and then commotion broke out, with screams and cheers and roars from the opposing forces. For a moment, Letta was aware of Werber standing slack-jawed, staring down at his master’s body. Slowly, he raised his head and looked up at her. Their eyes locked.

The canister rolled along the floor lit by the bright new sun pouring through the windows and then she heard Carver’s voice like a roar of thunder:

‘Get her!’

It seemed to Letta that the scene below shattered into tiny fragments:

Carver with three of his men advancing on the stairway.

Finn slammed to the floor by a gavver, his hands covering his head.

Another gavver thrown across the room by a ferocious Kirch Tellon.

Marlo on his feet, blood streaming from his head, blocking the stairs supported by a squad of his own people.

Beside him Mrs Pepper swinging a wooden bat at anyone foolish enough to come within her reach. Mrs Pepper a Desecrator!

Carver shrieking at his own men as they spread out in a line in front of the doorway.

And then Finn looked up at her.

‘Letta!’ he shouted.

She was about to rush to the stairs when she noticed the canvas pipes. Maybe she could use these to create a distraction.

Pulling out her knife she began to hack at the pipe nearest to her. But the thick fabric resisted the blade.

‘Letta!’ she heard Finn’s voice again, more urgent now.

She raised her arm and stabbed the fabric with all her might and was rewarded with a spray of water that hit her in the eyes, blinding her for a second.

Disappointment surged through her as she realised it was nothing like she’d hoped for. In her imagination a huge wave of water would burst from the pipe, creating enough of a distraction to give her friends a chance to escape, but now she saw that her gesture was pointless.

‘Letta!’ Finn’s voice rent the air. ‘Now! Jump!’

She stumbled towards the stairs. Beneath her, the hall was still thronged with people, grappling, stabbing, falling. She stopped and looked down the length of the stairs. The Creators were losing ground, being pushed back up the stairs by a pack of resolute gavvers, led by Carver. There was no way she could force her way through. She looked down and to her right. The grey wolf had closed the tunnel but if she could get to it …

Bang! A hook narrowly missed her head and caught in the banisters. Beneath it like a long tail a rope fell into the hall.

‘Come on, Letta!’ Finn shouted at her. ‘Grab the rope!’

She looked down. She couldn’t do it. But even as the words formed in her head she was swinging her leg over the banister. Her hands felt the coarse rope. She jumped. All the air was sucked from the room. She wrapped her legs around the rope. Her body swung out over the void, momentarily becalmed above a boiling vat of fury.

Marlo! Where is he? Her eyes scanned the room. There he was! At the bottom of the stairs still pushing back the bank of gavvers who assailed it. Beside him, Mrs Pepper battled furiously. And then she saw it. Carver! He was standing, gun in hand, aiming it at Marlo.

‘Marlo!’ Letta screamed but her warning was drowned in the waves of noise coming from the battle. Then she reached out, and kicked the wall behind her with all of her force, propelling herself forward. With both feet she struck Carver’s head with as much power as she could muster, and felt the satisfying heft of his body being pitched forward. He staggered. The gun went off.

‘Marlo!’ Letta screamed just as Mrs Pepper stumbled and fell from the stairs, her head smashing on to the stone floor. Marlo looked up at Letta, his face white and drawn, eyes wide and staring. What had she done? Had she killed Mrs Pepper?

‘Letta!’ Finn’s voice called urgently from the hall.

Letta slid down the rope, white-hot pain searing her hands as the rope burned her palms. She had to get to the canister.

She stumbled across the hall, dodging bodies as she went, Finn doing his best to shepherd her. She pulled away from him, dropped to the floor and crawled, the prize only strides from her, sparkling in the sunlight. With one huge effort she pushed her way through and grabbed it, its metal casing cold in her hands. And then pain exploded in her lower back as a boot crashed into her. She looked up in time to see Carver staring down at her.

‘Give it to me!’

He drew back his boot to kick her again when two men locked in combat fell across his path. Letta looked around desperately, trying to see a way through, but her path was blocked by a phalanx of gavvers, truncheons in their hands, coming straight for her.

It’s hopeless, she thought when suddenly, above it all, she heard a loud rip, a groan from the top of the tower, as the canvas pipe burst. Then, the gushing fall of water, inflated by enforced containment, swallowed all other sounds, drowning them in the noise of its own rage. Whoosh! The torrent hit the stone floor, scattering bodies as it fell on the battle, in one giant exclamation. Letta gasped as she was thrown back.

Clutching the canister to her chest, she hesitated for only a second and then, her clothes heavy with water, her feet slipping and sliding, she dashed for the grey wolf stone. She placed her hand on the wolf’s head and pushed. The stone moved to reveal the gaping mouth below.

It was too dark to see much, but the air that rushed back at her was fusty and dank. There was a ladder attached to the wall of the tunnel. With her free hand, Letta grabbed it and started to descend. Just as her foot hit the third rung a hand clamped down on her arm, the fingers digging into her painfully. No! she thought. I can’t fail now. She looked up fully expecting Carver’s small eyes to look back at her. But it wasn’t Carver. Her throat constricted, she could barely force the word out.

‘Werber!’

His grip tightened.

‘Please, Werber,’ she said, staring into his eyes. Deep pools of brown like she had seen in the fields on harsh winter days. Letta held her breath. He looked back over his shoulder, a quick, furtive glance, then turned and faced her again. His mouth opened.

‘Go!’ he said in a jagged whisper. ‘Go!’

Above her head, the stone slid back into place, blocking out the light, enveloping her in darkness.