The Scourge Page 3

  However, they didn't know Weevil like I did. He was every bit as stubborn as me, if not worse. He loved the jokes we played on people, though he was more clever about getting away with them. He had plenty of other flaws that only I knew about, such as his pride, which he clung to like it was life itself. And ... well, he probably had even more faults that I could think of if given enough time. But above all, Weevil had a talent that neither of his parents knew about. Nobody knew, because if anyone suspected him of anything, the blame was laid at my feet instead and I never disputed it.

  Weevil could pick a lock faster than a scalded cat runs.

  He carried two long quilting needles everywhere with him, just for those times when he encountered a lock that needed opening. He never stole from anyone--Weevil was too good a person for that. But he used to borrow blankets or firewood from the pinchworms in town, just over the winter, then return whatever was left in the springtime. Of course, he didn't borrow things anymore, not since the Scourge. But the lack of practice hadn't dulled his skills with those needles. He would've already used them in the isolation wagon except that lock was on the outside of the doors.

  This cell had a fat lock on the door, though, one just begging for him to open.

  "It's a long way back home," I said to Weevil. "As soon as they notice we're gone, they'll start searching for us."

  "Every town has a river," Weevil said. "We'll find it and move upstream. Once we get home, there are plenty of places to disappear until the wardens forget about us."

  He jammed the tip of my knife into the lock to hold the tumblers steady while he inserted the needle for the more delicate work inside. I was never sure how he did it. Every time he tried to teach me, I ended up breaking the needle.

  Sure enough, only seconds later, the lock snapped apart, and he handed my knife back, then slowly pushed our cell door open. The metal hinges creaked louder than I would've liked, but we paused for several tense seconds and nobody came.

  We tiptoed out of the cell and back into the wide courtyard, which was surrounded with a few useless lamps that barely gave any light. Our wagon was still parked where we'd last seen it, though the horses were already unhitched and had been moved elsewhere. I motioned to Weevil that we should look for their stables. I was good on a horse. I could get us away. But Weevil shook his head, which probably was the right decision. A locked-up cell wasn't worth guarding. Nobody wanted to be within miles of anyone suspected of having the Scourge. But horses in Keldan were extremely valuable.

  Beyond the courtyard were a few small shops on the road, all closed for the night. Past the road was a wooded area, one that seemed dense enough to give us shelter until we found a river.

  We had only just gotten to the worn dirt road when our absence was discovered. An alarm bell sounded, and then men began shouting.

  "Run!" Weevil and I yelled to each other.

  We darted across the road toward the field, but quickly found ourselves in thick underbrush that tangled at our legs, slowing our escape. Frightened as I was in this unfamiliar darkness, I reminded myself to focus and get through this. I was often out at night and had run through dense underbrush before, though never with an injured ankle, or so much at stake if I were caught. I heard horses galloping toward us--how had the wardens collected that quickly? I turned back, checking whether I could see them, but the brush was already too thick to see much of anything.

  "This way!" Weevil hissed, but when I turned to find him, his voice became lost in the darkness. I followed as best I could in the way I thought he'd gone, but didn't dare call out to him and give away our position. Beyond that, my ankle was throbbing and slowing my run. Where was he? Did he realize we had become separated? If so, was he panicked too?

  Finally, I pushed through the underbrush and came out on another road. I had no idea where I was now, but at least I'd escaped the wardens. This road was lined with rows of houses, set back behind long yards that were lit with bright lanterns the government courtyard should have had. These weren't like the log shacks where my people lived, with gaps between the logs wide enough for mice to crawl through, or to leak in winter rains.

  No, these homes were made of stone and cut lumber, put together for style and beauty rather than our inexpensive, practical methods. I checked behind me again for any sound of the approaching wardens. Hearing nothing, I stopped for a moment and stared at the homes, wondering what it must be like to live in such a fine place. Were they just as beautiful on the inside?

  "Help me!" a voice called from up the road.

  I headed that way before I could think better of it, before I realized it wasn't Weevil calling for me, or anyone who sounded even remotely like him. This was a girl's voice, with the accent of the pinchworms. With their fine breeding and manners, why was one of their daughters out so late?

  "Help!" the girl called again.

  The voice came from below a bridge. This was surely the same river where Weevil was headed. If I went upstream, maybe I could find him again.

  I slid down the slope, expecting to see someone in danger. Instead, I was greeted by the funniest of sights, illuminated by the moonlight. A girl with auburn hair and a dress made of silk, lace, and snobbery was standing in a small wooden boat under the bridge. Not only was she standing, but she was holding the bottom of the bridge with both hands, trying not to let the boat drift any farther downstream. She was probably two or three years older than me, but clearly didn't have the good sense of a River Person half my age.

  "Thank you," she said as she saw my approach. "You have no idea how long--"

  I couldn't help but laugh. "What are you doing?" I asked.

  "Oh!" Her tone was immediately condescending. "What is a grub doing in Marisbane?"

  "I can go away if you'd like." In fact, I'd be happy to do that. The only thing keeping me here was the likelihood of finding Weevil near this river.

  "No! You're just the person to help me. Grubs are used to getting dirty, aren't you?"

  "Not really," I answered. Though of course we were, almost as a rule. If there was another way to live, I didn't know it.

  "Can you help me get this boat to shore? I missed the ramp, and the next exit is quite a ways down."

  My eyes narrowed. "What are you doing out here so late?"

  "None of your business. Can you help me?"

  The Scourge hadn't come to the river country, but it was in the towns and probably was an infestation here. Whether I endangered her, or she endangered me, I started back up the shore. "I'm sorry, I can't."

  "Please! I can't hold on much longer, and if I let go, I'll be in so much trouble!"

  I sighed. "Okay, but slide back in the boat as far as you can." As far away from me as possible. Then I hiked my skirt and waded in the water toward her boat. I knew full well that the wardens were still somewhere on the road searching for me, but I had just gotten an idea. It involved this girl's boat after she got out of it. River country was upstream, but the wardens knew that, so they would search that way as well. Once I found Weevil, he and I could get away very quickly if we went downstream for a few miles, then went home another way tomorrow.

  I said to the girl, "For your future escapes or whatever pretend reason you're out here, you don't need a ramp to dock your boat. Steer it into any thick patch of weeds, and it's just a short splash of water and you're out."

  "Look at my dress," the girl said, holding out her skirts. "Silk ribbons are worth a fortune! Tomorrow morning, my father would surely notice even a short splash of water."

  I nearly splashed her, just for saying that. But instead, I asked, "Why did you sneak out?" This girl was more interesting than I had expected. Not a typical pinchworm.

  "My family has money and power you can't even dream about," she said. "I don't need to sneak."

  No, she was a typical pinchworm after all. And a liar too. Perhaps more than anyone, I had experience in sneaking. By now, I could recognize it anywhere.

  I steadied the girl's boat and then dra
gged it toward the shore, making myself plenty wet in the process. That wasn't all bad, though. The water cooled the itch on my leg and washed the vinefruit juice from my arm.

  "Can you help me to shore?" the girl asked. "I mean, without getting me wet?"

  "Sorry," I said. "You're on your own for that." Aside from the fact that I had been accused of having the Scourge, if I was halfway in the water and surviving, then this girl could surely dip a toe in it too.

  "Stop right there!" a voice shouted, followed by the sharp cock of a pistol's hammer. Warden Brogg. My heart sank. If I had put aside my pride and just helped this girl get out, I'd have her boat by now.

  The girl immediately reached out and slapped me hard across my cheek. "How dare you steal this boat?" she said. "Filthy grub!"

  Stealing? Well, sure, I had planned to steal it, but not while she was still inside. I was so stunned by her accusation that I didn't know how to react. I even opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  Brogg edged down the shore and wrestled me out of the water. "So, Ani, you're a thief too?" he snarled. "I should've expected this from a grub."

  "I didn't--" I started to say, then let it go. Trying to fight this would be like taking a swing at a snake. I might hit its mouth, but it'd swallow my arm. There was no way to win.

  "How many more crimes will you commit today?" he asked.

  Hot tears stung my eyes, but I pushed them away. The answer was, as many crimes as it took to get away from this place. I just wanted to go home.

  Brogg held me while Warden Gossel came down to help the girl out of the boat.

  "My name is Della Willoughby," she said, and then pointed. "My home is right there. This grub--Ani?--dragged my family's boat over here to the water. I heard it and came outside to stop her. She forced me into the boat and who knows what she'd have done once we got away!"

  Gossel turned to me. "Is this true?"

  I was too furious to speak. Of course I could deny the charges, but what would be the point? There was no way these wardens would take my word over hers, especially since I had just escaped from their cell. Obviously I had been trying to escape, making Della's story more plausible than mine.

  "Where's your friend?" Gossel asked. "The boy who was with you?"

  I kept my eyes straight forward, refusing to look either up or down the river. Weevil would be somewhere nearby--I knew it. But the last time he revealed himself, he ended up with a bump on his head and a long ride in an isolation wagon. I prayed he would not reveal himself now, not even for me. Especially not for me.

  "We'll find him," Brogg said. "We always find the escapees."

  "So a lot of people escape that cell?" I asked. "Does the governor know how bad you are at your job?"

  Ignoring my questions, he pulled me with him up the steep riverbank, and then Gossel took Della's arm as well, to help her along. Once we reached the road, Brogg led me toward his horse, but Gossel said, "She walks."

  "Her ankle is injured," Brogg said. "She's limping."

  "If she could limp away from the cell, she can limp back to it."

  Brogg frowned at me, as if the injured ankle was somehow my fault. Then he tied my hands in front of me and climbed onto his horse, tying the other end of the rope to the back of his saddle. I barely looked at him. He could ride as fast as he wanted. I'd keep up with the worst he could do. Or at least, I hoped I could. My ankle was throbbing worse than ever.

  "This other girl should ride," Gossel said.

  It took Della a moment before she realized they were talking about her. Then she stepped back. "No, my home is over there. I can walk."

  "The grub is suspected of having the Scourge," Gossel said. "You came in contact with her, so I'm afraid we'll have to test you too."

  "What?" Della turned to me with a look that could have started fire. "You have the Scourge?"

  "I'm half-dead already," I said, and coughed, just to make it sound worse. "You probably caught it when you accused me of stealing your boat." If she could lie about me, then I'd feel no guilt for lying to her.

  "Knowing that, you came down to the river?" she yelled. "How dare you?"

  "Maybe you shouldn't have slapped me," I said. "I told you to stay back."

  But I was the one who should've stayed back. I should have ignored her and any foolish ideas about taking her boat. I didn't have the Scourge--I was almost sure of that--but I still should've walked on. Obviously.

  "We'll notify your father of your whereabouts," Gossel told Della. "I'm sure we'll have you back home first thing in the morning."

  Two offers that had not been extended to me. My parents were probably still awake, desperate for any news about me. My father would've gone to Weevil's home, hoping to find me there. Weevil's family wouldn't know what had happened to him either. Then my father would check the road to the towns, or the towns themselves. He'd expose himself to the Scourge that way.

  I wasn't sure how far away we were from river country, or how late at night it was, but a full day of wagon travel could put us fifteen or sixteen miles away, maybe more. Once he got safely out of this town, if he found a good road, Weevil could be home by tomorrow night. I hoped our families could last that long without going out of their minds with worry.

  I didn't look for Weevil as I was led back to the courtyard. If I had seen him, I might've reacted and given him away. So instead of looking, I kept focused on moving forward. My limp was quickly getting worse, and each step begged me to stop. Nor did it help that my boots were wet now, making my feet heavier than before. However, every time I tried to slow down, the rope yanked me forward. My only choice was to keep going or be dragged back to the courtyard.

  Luckily, we weren't that far away. The first thing I did once I was back inside the cell was to collapse onto the bed and give my foot a rest. It had swollen so much that it pressed on the leather of the boot. I probably wouldn't be able to take the boot off now even if I wanted to. Or if I did, I'd never get it back on again. So although it hurt to leave it the way it was, that was how it'd have to stay.

  "In you go, miss," Gossel said to Della, firmly, but in a kinder tone than he'd ever used with me.

  She stopped short of the cell doors. "Absolutely not. Do you know who my father is?"

  "This is where those suspected of having the Scourge must wait until they can be checked by the physician. It's Governor Felling's orders."

  "My father should be the governor right now! The last election was a fraud!"

  I didn't know about that. By law, River People couldn't own property, and as such, weren't granted the right to vote. But if all I had to choose from was the father of a girl like her and a governor who would house sick people--or those suspected of being sick--in a cell meant for criminals, then for now, I was glad not to have to vote. It was like choosing between two poisons, the only difference being the way it would kill you.

  "Your father can take up the matter with Governor Felling tomorrow morning," Gossel said. "Now walk in, miss, or I'll push you in."

  Push her in, I thought. I would've liked to have seen it.

  But Della stepped inside and the door behind her clanged shut. Gossel looked my way and said, "We'll be watching this cell very closely now. Try to run again and you won't return to this cell. You won't return anywhere."

  I turned away from him to lie down on the bed. I wasn't going to try escaping. I could barely walk, much less run.

  Once we were alone, Della crouched down in the corner of the cell and began crying, far too loudly for my taste. Perhaps she hoped that her cries would carry across the courtyard, roads, and river to pierce those thick walls of her home and tell her father where she was. Instead, they only pierced my ears, like a hawk swooping for the kill.

  I knew how to make her stop. But I wouldn't do it. I didn't hate her that much. Not yet anyway.

  Back in the isolation wagon, Weevil had told me that the sound of scratching was the second-worst sound in the world. That was a joke between us, because we both
knew the worst--it was me, singing. I could sing to Della now and make her cry for an entirely different reason.

  Singing was the way Weevil and I had met. Four summers ago, I had been working in my family's garden, singing a tune to pass the time. Weevil had been fishing nearby and came to the rear of our garden to beg me to stop.

  "I don't mean to be rude," he had said, "but that truly is the most horrible sound I've ever heard. Sort of like a chicken's dying squawk. Only that ends--yours just goes on and on. And then on and on some more, like you don't even need air while creating that blasphemy of noise."

  With a smile, I had sat back on my heels. "Did you seriously think that wouldn't be rude?"

  "Oh, it was rude--I agree," Weevil had said. "And I'm sorry about that. But it wasn't as rude as you singing in the first place. Honestly, if I had any money, I'd give you all of it, just to beg you to stop."

  "But you don't have money," I'd said with a wink, and then continued singing. Weevil's pretending to roll on the ground in pain--or perhaps actually being in pain--was the beginning of our friendship.

  It had also given me a great idea for how my singing might be of use. Ironically, that same idea might spell the end of our friendship. I wished I knew where Weevil was now, whether he was already on his way home. I hoped so.

  At least if he was gone, he wouldn't have to share in the misery of listening to Della cry. Until this very moment, I had been comfortable knowing that my singing could produce the worst sound in the world.

  But Della's crying was worse, and she was getting louder.

  Finally, just to get her to stop, I rolled over and said, "Would you like me to sing to you? It might help you get to sleep." Or make her pass out--I didn't much care.

  "No."

  Good, because I wasn't in the mood to sing anyway. Without my heart in it, I'd probably end up sounding only mildly horrendous.

  I said, "Listen, for whatever it matters, I don't have the Scourge."

  "Stop talking, grub."

  I sat up. "My name is Ani, not grub. And I'm just saying that I understand you're scared. I am too, but I'm not sick. Even if I was, one slap on the cheek probably won't get you sick either. We're going to be all right."