The Dirt Eaters (21 page)

THE CHEF'S DESSERT

HERE COMES THE JABBERWOCK TRUCK, THE JABBERWOCK TRUCK, WITH ANY LUCK YOU'LL BE ON IT! TO THE CITY YOU'LL GO, AND SOON YOU'LL KNOW, THE SURPRISES IT HAS IN STORE!

—
LORE OF THE STORYTELLERS

D
RESSED IN HER GATHERING CLOTHES
, a pack on her back, Alandra speaks to the gatekeeper.

“Off gathering already, Alandra? What if some of the Blood Drinkers come sniffing around for their dead? I'll call a guard to go with you.”

“Not to worry, the governor himself told me it was safe.”

The gatekeeper chuckles. “Those raiders did a job yesterday.”

“Still, too many took wounds. My apothecary's dangerously depleted.”

“Well, then, you'd best be getting on with it.”

Roan hovers overhead. He relishes his newfound invisibility, though he wishes he could find a way to communicate.

Entering the red woods, Alandra stops and sings.

Time is wasting, are you near?

Now I need you to appear.

The moss in front of her jolts up and Lumpy, covered in dirt, scrambles out.

“That was fast. I didn't think you'd be able to get here so soon after the battle.”

“Where's Lelbit?”

Lumpy looks up. Lelbit drops from the thin branches to the ground.

“I'm glad to see both of you safe.”

Lumpy shrugs. “I'd have been dead a long time ago if I hadn't learned how to hide and not be found.”

Lelbit snorts.

“Okay, okay, one pair of Blood Drinkers uncovered me, but Lelbit corrected their mistake in a blink.”

“Are the rafts ready?”

Lelbit pulls up a mound of moss, revealing the two rafts they've constructed.

“The battle put a crimp in our schedule,” Lumpy says. “And these aren't easy things to make. They have to be watertight, able to hold a lot of weight, and raised on the sides.”

“Can you finish the next one by yourself? I need Lelbit's help.”

“Was Roan recognized?” Lumpy asks worriedly.

“Yes.”

Lelbit grimaces, but before she can move, Alandra grips her arm.

“I know where he is. You can enter by way of the waterworks.”

Roan, hovering above them, smiles to himself. No, you don't. Not exactly.

“I have a plan,” Alandra continues. But the roar of an engine sends the three running through the trees to a concealed rise. There they have a clear view of the road approaching Fairview. “Too soon,” Alandra sighs.

Roan recognizes him first.

“Saint,” Alandra shudders.

Lelbit lifts an arrow to her bow.

Alandra stops her. “No. We have too much to accomplish to risk bringing down the wrath of the Friends.”

Following Saint are ten Brothers on horseback. And lumbering along behind the Brothers is a truck. Lumpy's eyes widen. “I heard rumors some were still running, but I didn't believe them.”

The Jabberwocky Wagon. “It's come for the children,” Alandra curses as the rumbling truck comes closer. The vehicle has a picture on its side of an inverted triangle with a circle on top. It's the same symbol little Marla drew, thinks Roan, the same one that was drawn on my cast. Only this one has a giant tongue that reaches down to lick the circle. Frustrated at his lack of speech, Roan is grateful when Lumpy asks the question he longs to have answered.

“What's that picture mean?”

“Ice cream,” sighs Alandra. “Ice cream. The children think the Jabberwocky Wagon is filled with it.”

As Alandra arrives back in Fairview, Saint and his entourage are being warmly welcomed by Brack and Brother Raven. The Friends that came with Saint stand by him, while the town's residents, out in full force, admire the extraordinary motorcycle.

From above, Roan observes the livid scar that trails from Saint's ear down the length of his neck. But the prophet seems as strong and commanding as ever. Roan's attention is diverted by the shouting of the children, who run toward Alandra.

“It's here!” yells Lona, bursting with excitement.

“When're we getting our ice cream, Alandra?” Bub shouts.

“I don't know.”

“I wanna go now!” yowls Lona.

Alandra takes the little girl by the shoulders. “Don't worry. We've got a few things to do first.” She gathers them all close to her and whispers. “This is very important. When you go back to your rooms today, I want you all to fill up your packs with warm clothes.”

“They told us we didn't need nothing,” says Bub.

“Yeah,” adds Gip. “Our new parents will have all that for us.”

“Everything new and nice,” pipes in Lona.

“I know,” replies Alandra, putting on a cheerful facade, “but it's a long journey. And as your healer, I have to be certain you don't catch cold. Be sure to tell the others, all the new ones too. If anyone gives you guff, tell them it's healer's orders.”

“Healer's orders,” Lona solemnly repeats.

“Alandra! There's someone here I'd like you to meet!” Brack calls.

Roan wryly observes as Alandra covers her imminent be­trayal with a reserved veneer. “Alandra, meet the Prophet of the Friend.”

Saint beams at the sight of her. “So this is the healer who saved Roan.”

Alandra takes his outstretched hand.

“Thank you,” Saint says. “Roan means a great deal to me.”

Roan can tell Alandra's surprised at this display of fondness. Saint is utterly convincing, his tone open and honest. It's hard to believe he has deadly intentions.

“Forgive me,” Saint says, “but I'm anxious to speak with my disciple. You will be joining us for dinner tonight?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Alandra replies.

“Excellent.” Saint smiles, and with that, he and the governor head for the wine cellars.

Roan directs himself back to his body. Upon contact, he grows unusually heavy, weighted down by the loose chains that dangle from the wall to his manacled wrists and ankles. Saint is approaching through the open door.

While joined to the light, Roan was free of emotion, but now, in Saint's presence, blood pounds in his temples.

“Hello, Little Brother. It's been too long.”

Roan remains silent.

“Don't you have anything to say?”

“Sorry about the bike.”

“It was much easier to replace than the other thing you took from me.”

“What was that?”

“My trust. You shamed me in front of my men. And you shamed the Friend Himself.”

“You invented the Friend. You invented it all. I've seen the proof.”

For a moment, Saint is taken aback. Then he nods with understanding. “Is that what this is all about?” he asks. “Yes, I found a book. But only after the Friend revealed Himself to me on the mountain. My revelation was real. I heard His Word. I am His Prophet. The book helps me to understand that experience.”

Roan searches Saint's eyes in the flickering light, trying to find truth there. It's impossible to tell.

“The City wants you, Roan. They've ordered me on pain of death to return you to them. You and your sister united would give them unlimited power.” He lowers his voice. “Roan, the Friend could use that power to contain their madness. Join me. Together we can bring justice to the Outlands.”

“Why should I believe your intentions are any different from the City's?”

“The City is evil, Roan. You've seen the evidence of that. It wants to enslave all of us. I've witnessed the hideous things the City does to people.”

“To children, you mean, with your assistance.”

Saint grimaces. “Roan. The Friend wants the terror to stop. I want the terror to stop. As we speak, Brother Wolf is at our encampment, making preparations. Join us, Roan.”

Roan glares at him. “Were the children of Longlight sold too?”

The Prophet's eyes brim with emotion. “You met Kira. You've been in my empty house. We all make sacrifices, my Brother. I've made them too.”

“Brother Saint, you chose your pain.”

Saint smiles ruefully. “Stand with me. Stand with the Friend, Roan. King Zheng created a nation that lasted over two thousand years. He had his wall to build, and we have ours. Sacrifices will have to be made. But that is the cost of freedom.”

“King Zheng was a tyrant. His nation was never liberated from dominance and control.”

“But the unity he brought gave his people the strength they needed to survive.”

“A strength constantly tested at their cost.”

Saint moves closer to Roan, his eyes desperate. “The City sent me once before to claim you. I protected you then. I will not be given a second chance.”

“Then why don't you make a cut behind my ear and insert the drug? Raven said you'd bring it. I know it's effective.”

Saint spits out the name: “Raven! Nothing would make him happier. I want an ally, not an automaton.”

“I will never be your ally.”

Vehement, Saint grabs the front of Roan's shirt. But Roan jerks forward. Looping his wrist chain over Saint's head, he yanks it against the Prophet's neck. “This is for my mother, for my father, for my aunts, my uncles, my friends.” Saint flails, but Roan tightens the links, engorged with the fever of revenge. “You...killed...them...all.”

“If you kill him, you're the same as him.” His voice? Whose is it?

The instant of hesitation is enough. Saint detects the weakness, and a blow to Roan's head breaks his hold on the chains.

Saint speaks quietly. “I have no choice, Roan. Neither of us has a choice. You're with me, or we're both dead.”

Roan does not answer.

Picking up his lantern, Saint mutters, “We leave in the morning,” and slams the door behind him. Flushed with adrenaline, Roan is left to contemplate his fate in the darkness. He is confused by the concept of choosing between evils. It's something Alandra's done, watching child after child be sent to certain death, waiting for the chance to save a few. And although Saint claims a larger purpose, he's killed too many trying to attain it. Whatever that voice was, Roan's happy it stopped him, or he'd be bearing the same burden.

It takes an eternity to calm himself, but Roan finds his breath again. Once he does, he floats free, honing in on the sound of Alandra's voice.

“The meal was remarkable, Yasmin, so delicious. And I hear you're making my favorite flan for the dinner tonight.”

The chef smiles proudly as she stirs a large pot of custard in the steaming kitchen. “I am, my friend. And today it must be perfect, for the Prophet is here. I had the honor of cooking for him once many years ago. He was especially fond of my flan.”

“If I know you, many wonders are in the works.”

“Ah, yes, yes, it's lovely to treat an appreciative palate. I waste my time trying to please the others. All they really care about is that,” Yasmin mutters, pointing at the large keg of wine in the pantry.

Alandra nods sympathetically and moves close to the simmering custard. She sniffs dreamily. “Could I have a little taste?”

Yasmin chuckles. “Even before it has time to set, you can't resist my flan!”

She puts a spoon in the liquid, blows on it, and holds it up to Alandra's lips.

“Mmm...heaven,” Alandra murmurs. “Although, forgive me for saying this, Yasmin, but isn't it missing something?”

Yasmin nods sadly in agreement. “I know, but there's nothing I can do.”

Alandra pulls a small package out of her pocket. Yasmin's eyes open wide.

“What have you there?”

Alandra smiles and holds the mystery ingredient under Yasmin's nose.

“Vanilla! You found me vanilla! How did you get it?”

“Trade secret. But there should be just enough.”

Yasmin unwraps the precious stick and draws it through the warm cream. “You're wonderful! Thank you!”

Ecstatic, the chef immerses herself in her preparations, allowing Alandra to slip unnoticed into the pantry. She pulls the cork from the raiders' cask of wine, spills the contents of a small vial inside, and replaces the stopper. Calling her good-byes to Yasmin, she heads off along the street.

The water purification plant is her next destination. Roan sees Alandra put on her most gracious smile to greet Master Vorn, the plant's tall, somber overseer.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, master, but I've come to get water for the children's journey.”

“That order comes from the Children's Home.”

“Normally it would, yes, but with the group being so large, you know, fourteen children, I've been drafted to arrange the transport preparations. I'll need enough for seven days.”