Chaos Walking: The Complete Trilogy (21 page)

“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 dinner.”

“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 gonna
a-welcome
us?”

“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 innocent boy, I’m sure–”

“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, running towards me the length of the barn.

“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.

Good dog,
I think,
Good effing dog
.

And I can’t leave him, can I?

I run back into the darkness, towards where I can see Matthew hopping around and the form of Manchee dancing twixt his legs and swipes of the machete, barking his little head off.

“Todd! Todd! Todd!” he’s barking.

I’m five steps away and still running when Matthew makes a two-handed strike down at the ground, embedding the tip of the machete into the wooden floor. I hear a squeal from Manchee that don’t have no words, just pain, and off he flies into a dark corner.

I let out a yell and crash right into Matthew. We both go flying, toppling to the floor in a tumble of elbows and kneecaps. It hurts but mostly I’m landing on Matthew so that’s okay.

We roll apart and I hear him call out in pain. I get right back up to my feet, knife in hand, a few metres away from him, far from the back door now and with Matthew blocking the front. I hear Manchee whimpering in the dark.

I also hear some Noise rising from across the village road in the direkshun of the meeting hall but there ain’t time to think about that now.

“I’m not afraid to kill you,” I say, tho I totally am but I’m hoping my Noise and his Noise are now so rackety and revved up that he won’t be able to make any sense from it.

“That makes two of us then,” he says, lunging for his machete. It don’t come out first tug, or the second. I take the chance to jump back into the dark, looking for Manchee.

“Manchee?” I say, frantically looking behind the sheaves and the piles of fruit baskets. I can still hear Matthew grunting to get his machete outta the floor and the ruckus from the town is growing louder.

“Todd?” I hear from deep in the darkness.

It’s coming from beside the silage rolls, down a little nook that opens up next to them back to the wall. “Manchee?” I call, sticking my head down it.

I look back real quick.

With a heave, Matthew gets his machete outta the floor.

“Todd?” Manchee says, confused and scared. “Todd?”

And here comes Matthew, coming on in slow steps, like he no longer has to hurry, his Noise reaching forward in a wave that don’t brook no argument.

I have no choice. I wedge myself back into the nook and hold out my knife.

“I’ll leave,” I say, my voice rising. “Just let me get my dog and we’ll leave.”

“Too late for that,” Matthew says, getting closer.

“You don’t wanna do this. I can tell.”

“Shut yer mouth.”

“Please,” I say, waving the knife. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Do I look concerned, boy?”

Closer, closer, step by step.

There’s a bang outside somewhere, off in the distance. People really are running and shouting now but neither of us look.

I press myself back into the little nook but it’s really not wide enough for me. I glance round, seeing where escape might lie.

I don’t find nothing much.

My knife’s gonna have to do it. It’s gonna have to act, even if it is against a machete.

“Todd?” I hear behind me.

“Don’t worry, Manchee,” I say. “It’s gonna be all right.”

And who knows what a dog believes?

Matthew’s almost on us now.

I grip my knife.

Matthew stops a metre from me, so close I can see his eyes glinting in the dark.

“Jessica,” he says.

He raises his machete above his head.

I flinch back, knife up, steeling myself–

But he pauses–

He pauses–

In a way I reckernize–

And that’s enough–

With a quick prayer that it ain’t the same stuff from the bridge, I swing my knife in an arc to my side, slicing right thru (thank you thank you) the ropes holding up the silage rolls, cutting the first lot clean away. The other ropes snap right quick from the sudden shift in weight and I cover my head and press myself away as the silage rolls start to tumble.

I hear thumps and clumps and an “oof” from Matthew and I look up and he’s buried in silage rolls, his arm out to one side, the machete dropped. I step forward and kick it away, then turn to find Manchee.

He’s back in a dark corner behind the now-fallen rolls. I race over to him.

“Todd?” he says when I get close. “Tail, Todd?”

“Manchee?” It’s dark so I have to squat down next to him to see. His tail’s two thirds shorter than it used to be, blood everywhere, but God bless him, still trying to wag.

“Ow, Todd?”

“It’s okay, Manchee,” I say, my voice and Noise near crying from relief that it’s just his tail. “We’ll get you fixed right up.”

“Okay, Todd?”

“I’m okay,” I say, rubbing his head. He nips my hand but I know he can’t help it cuz he’s in pain. He licks me in apology then nips me again. “Ow, Todd,” he says.

“Todd Hewitt!” I hear shouted from the front of the barn.

Francia.

“I’m here!” I call, standing up. “I’m all right. Matthew went crazy–”

But I stop cuz she ain’t listening to me.

“Ye gotta get yerself indoors, Todd pup,” Francia says in a rush. “Ye gotta–”

She stops when she sees Matthew under the silage.

“What happened?” she says, already starting to tug away the rolls, getting the one off his face and leaning down to see if he’s still breathing.