ELWYN BEGAN HIS JOB as Cronus Rhoad’s assistant in mid-July, and ever since, his life should have been saturated with colour, like old cloth dropped in a vat of dye. Elwyn was given a new wardrobe of good linen expertly cut in colours that looked good on his brown skin. And he got to stand with Rhoad for portraits, photographs and interviews. The coffee they drank wasn’t dandelion coffee like they drank back home, but real coffee from Mexico, and the cakes were flavoured with things Elwyn had never tasted: nutmeg, saffron, vanilla. Everything smelt good and was served on gold-rimmed plates in the glittering parlour. The air itself seemed brighter there, full of life and interest.
But Elwyn had seen Aelred’s face in the newspaper, and he could not unsee it. The image stayed with him, all morning every morning as he worked. He tried asking Rhoad questions about it, but Rhoad said that all he knew was that this gunman, identity unknown to all, claimed to have led the violent demonstration at the city hall and to have fired the gun that hit his foot.
‘And that’s the man’s picture?’ Elwyn asked more than once that first week.
‘The trial is on the second. You can go and see for yourself then, if you are interested in that sort of thing. They aren’t letting anyone into the jail to look at him – they claim that’s for public safety. But if I know Garreth’s campaign, he’s pulled some strings to arrange it that way. Nothing keeps a story in the papers like a mystery, and every reminder of the protest is a free advertisement for his backward ideas.’
‘So how do we know that’s him?’
‘Thinking too much about this mystery gunman is only playing into their hands, and is pointless. The courts will do their work. I don’t waste my time with things that don’t serve me, and I suggest you do the same.’
But every day after work, Elwyn haunted the jail behind the courthouse. He wasn’t alone; there was always a crowd of a dozen or so people trying to catch a glimpse of the man through the slats in the window. Petty thefts and incurable drunks usually filled the jail, but now there was an assassin from the woods, one that some folks said wanted a revolution. People stood out in the heat of the day, swapping gossip and buzzing with excitement over the ever-nearing trial. Elwyn tried getting close to the slats in the wall and calling out, hoping Aelred would recognise his voice. A moment from the protest replayed itself over and over again in Elwyn’s head: a cloaked man had asked Elwyn whose side he was on. A familiar voice. Aelred’s.
If Aelred heard Elwyn through the slats in the jail wall, he never answered.
Elwyn didn’t notice how people in the crowd looked at him any more. The question didn’t interest him – he had a million others always bubbling in his mind. Why was Aelred keeping his identity secret? Could Elwyn tell anyone that he knew him? What would Aelred have been doing at the protest? Why would Aelred, who hated guns, have fired one?
It all seemed wrong to Elwyn. He wrote again and again to Whim and to his family for answers, putting his sealed and stamped letters, as usual, in the brass mailbox at the front of the Blackwell house. But Elwyn never got any reply. He began to doubt what the newspapers said. If Aelred was in jail, someone surely would have told him. What if the courts didn’t have anyone to blame for that gun at the demonstration? What if the rioters all got away, and they needed to pretend they had someone to hold accountable. They could just circulate a picture, say he’s too dangerous to be in contact with the public. At the last minute, they could make the trial private, say it’s for public safety.
Elwyn had been spending his mornings around politicians and newspaper men. He understood that this was often how things worked for people like that. Rhoad’s words about Garreth influencing the courts for his own politics echoed in Elwyn’s mind. Every day, he doubted Aelred’s presence in the Liberty jail more and more. But he felt he had to know for sure. He had to find a way.
Elwyn spent hours walking around the jail, inspecting it from all directions. He missed lunch with the Blackwells more days than not, but he hardly thought about that. He had a bit of money in his pocket from his work with Rhoad and any time his hunger became a bother he bought a roll filled with sausage or sorrel from a vender. He ate absently as he thought, walking around the jail again and again.
He was buying one of these rolls when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
‘Hello there, goat boy,’ Hestia said coolly, but in good humour. Elwyn saw Hestia almost every day now – the family was always sitting around the breakfast table when Elwyn arrived – but he and Hestia hadn’t ever really spoken. She was groggy-eyed and irritable in the morning, and after breakfast she disappeared to work with her tutor. It was different seeing her out in the world. She stood with the ease and energy of a small flame.
‘Hi,’ Elwyn said.
Hestia looked at the roll Elwyn had chosen and wrinkled her nose. ‘The beef is much better, you know,’ she said, thanking the vendor and paying him for her roll.
‘I can’t eat beef,’ Elwyn said. If this encounter with Hestia had happened a couple weeks earlier, he would have been transfigured with joy, but now Elwyn was more eager to get back to the courthouse and find a way inside.
‘Can’t?’ Hestia said. ‘I’m suspicious of people who don’t eat delicious things.’
‘I promised my brother I wouldn’t eat any cows while I’m here. I used to walk him down to the train tracks to watch the cattle cars pass through – you could hear the moos and see a few noses and shadows through the slats, but not much. He was really happy I was going to a place where cows lived until he heard that people kill and eat them. And he’s just six, you know, the youngest of our family. It’s always hard to say no to the youngest.’
Hestia looked at him as if what he said was completely foreign. Elwyn felt that she was appraising him, her eyes narrowing as they looked him over. It was the first time since he arrived in Liberty that he felt he was being judged as a person rather than a Forester.
There was a noise back by the jail; people cheered, then groaned collectively. Elwyn whipped around in that direction, but there was nothing to see.
‘Don’t tell me you’re wasting your time on this ridiculous trial. The Mystery Gunman,’ she said in a mocking tone.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s always the same. People do everything they can to keep danger out of their lives, then when something terrible actually happens, they tear into it like starving dogs.’
‘That’s not how it is for me.’
‘Oh, of course not,’ she said.
‘You’re just like your dad. “Don’t put time into what doesn’t serve you.”’
‘I’m nothing like my dad.’
‘No? Well, anyway, this does serve me. For me this is personal. It isn’t about thrill-seeking. It’s about family.’
Hestia took a bite of her bun and assessed Elwyn more closely. They were walking around the square aimlessly, or so it seemed to Elwyn. The sun was bright, but the day was fresh with clouds the colour of moth’s wings. He looked back at the jail again, which was now blocked from view. He was tired of carrying all the questions in his head alone. He wanted to talk. He wanted to be understood.
‘The man whose picture they have in the paper, the man they say is going to be tried as an assassin – it’s my best friend’s father. Whim. She’s like a sister to me, and I’ve known her dad all my life. I haven’t told anyone—’ Elwyn began.
‘Nor should you.’
‘But it can’t be right. He’d never do something like that.’
‘You can’t know that. People are usually capable of more than you think, for better or worse.’
‘None of it makes sense. Aelred never liked guns. He always complained they were loud and ugly. And then also, no one has really seen who they have in jail. And I haven’t heard anything from anyone back home…’ Elwyn’s voice trailed off as he looked back at the courthouse again. ‘I just need to know if it’s him. If he’s really there.’
Hestia looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. ‘What difference does it make to you?’
‘“What difference does it make”? It makes all the difference. I mean, if he’s in jail, then I have to do something. I’ve got to find a lawyer or find a way to prove he’s innocent or… I don’t know. Something. And if it isn’t Aelred, then everything’s all right. I’m hoping they don’t have anyone at all, but just picked a random name and picture.’
‘That’s all right to you?’
‘Sure.’
‘You’d be fine with the leaders of this country, the courts, the law-enforcers, lying? You don’t mind them manipulating citizens to believe what they want them to believe as long as the people you know are okay?’
‘Well, I don’t know. That’s just politics, isn’t it? They might have good intentions, at least some of them.’
‘Oh, might they?’
‘Yes. I mean, I’m sure there are bad examples here and there, but there are plenty of people like your dad, too.’
‘Well, that I can’t disagree with,’ Hestia said with a cynical laugh. ‘There are certainly plenty of people out there willing to sacrifice honesty for their own personal ambition. Most of them just aren’t as good at it as my father is.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Yes, well, you’re a very good assistant to him, aren’t you?’ she said, clearly displeased, though Elwyn wasn’t sure why or where the conversation went wrong. He just knew he didn’t want to be arguing.
‘Listen,’ he said, trying to start over, ‘have you ever had ice cream?’
‘Of course.’
‘I haven’t. I got close once. When I was twelve, this woman in my hometown had a big party for her ninetieth birthday. Old Finchy, we call her. People came in from all over the woods and she bought whisky, sheep for roasting, and a bunch of milk, cream and ice. She mixed the milk and cream with big chunks of honeycomb from her hives and had us all take turns churning it in buckets to make ice cream. But she said it was a celebration of age, not youth, so people would be served oldest to youngest, and the old folks had appetites, let me tell you. By the time we kids got to it, all that was left was the melted bits of cream and honey in the bottom of the bucket, and we passed it around and licked it clean. Anyway, I’ve wanted to try ice cream ever since I got here, but no occasion seemed right. Until today.’
The cynicism had softened a bit on Hestia’s face. ‘What’s today?’
‘The day we became friends. Unless you think I’m too good of an assistant.’
If there was a hint of a smile around the corners of Hestia’s mouth, she tried not to show it. ‘You’re buying?’ she said.
‘Of course.’
The two of them got ice creams in paper dishes and walked for a while, Elwyn talking about about Aelred and Badfish Creek, Hestia talking about the girls’ boarding school where she had spent most of her young life.
‘I miss it. I’d be there another year still, before going to university, but they pulled me out so I wouldn’t miss campaign events. Boarding schools and distant daughters aren’t popular with the working people,’ Hestia said. Her father had told Elwyn the same thing, but when Rhoad said it, the idea seemed practical. Now it seemed cruel, using logic like that on another person’s life.
‘Why did you tell me about your friend’s father?’ Hestia asked. ‘I could tell everyone. I could make things worse. Why do you trust me?’
‘I don’t know. But I do. Am I wrong?’
The heat rose from the stone below them, melting the ice creams. Hestia’s was charlie-mint, Elwyn’s black raspberry.
‘Think about what I said. About what it means for the powerful to deceive the people they serve,’ Hestia said, taking her last, melted bite. ‘And I’ll be thinking about the situation with your friend’s father.’ Once again, she looked at Elwyn, assessing him carefully.
‘Goodbye, Elwyn Bramble,’ she said and walked away.