0038 is next in line. It’s a tall one, probably male, skinny as anything and getting skinnier cuz even a fool can see that the fodder we put out every morning ain’t enough for fifteen hundred Spackle.
“Put the band round its neck,” Davy says.
“What?” I say, my eyes widening. “No!”
“Put it round its effing neck!”
“I’m not–”
He lunges forward suddenly, clonking me on the head with the bolting tool and ripping the metal bands outta my hand. I fall to one knee, clutching at my skull and the pain keeps me from looking up for a few seconds.
And when I do, it’s too late.
Davy’s got the Spackle kneeling in front of him, the 0038 band twisted tight around its neck, and is using the bolting tool to twist it tighter. The soldiers on the top of the wall are laughing and the Spackle’s gasping for air, clawing at the band with its fingers, blood coming from round its neck.
“Stop it!” I shout, struggling to get to my feet.
But Davy slams the bolting tool shut and the Spackle tumbles over into the grass, making loud gagging sounds, its head starting to turn a cruel-looking pink. Davy stands above it, not moving, just watching it choke to death.
I see the bolt cutters Davy set on the grass and I stumble to ’em, grabbing ’em and rushing back over to 0038. Davy tries to stop me but I swing the bolt cutters at him and he jumps back and I kneel beside 0038 and try to get to the metal band but Davy’s twisted it so tight and the Spackle’s thrashing so much from suffocating that I finally have to force him down with one fist.
I cut the band free. It flies off in a mess of blood and skin. The Spackle takes in a rake of air so loud it hurts yer ears and I lean back away from him, bolt cutters still in my hand.
And as I watch the Spackle struggle to breathe again and possibly fail and as Davy hovers behind me, bolting tool in his hand, I realize how much clicking I’m hearing running thru the Spackle and it’s now, of all times, of all moments, of all reasons–
It’s right now they decide to attack.
The first punch glances lightly off the crown of my head. They’re thin and they’re light so there’s not much weight behind the punch.
But there are fifteen hundred of ’em.
And they come in a wave, so thick it’s like being plunged under water–
More fists, more punching, scratches across my face and the back of my neck and I’m knocked farther to the ground and the weight of ’em presses down on me, grabbing at my arms and legs, grabbing at my clothes and hair, and I’m calling out and yelling and one of ’em’s taken the bolt cutters from my hand and swings it hard into my elbow and the pain of it is more than I can actually stand–
And my only thought, my only stupid thought is–
Why are they attacking me? I tried to save 0038.
(but they know, they know–)
(they know I’m a killer–)
Davy cries out as I hear the first gunshots from the top of the stone walls. More punches and more scratches but more gunshots, too, and the Spackle start to scatter which is something I can hear more than see cuz of the pain radiating up from my elbow.
And there’s still one on top of me, scratching at me from behind as I lie face-down on the grass and I manage to turn myself over and tho the guns are still firing and the smell of cordite is filling the air and Spackle are running and running, this one stays on me, scratching and slapping away.
And the same second I realize it’s 0001, the first one in line, the first one I touched, there’s a bang and she spins and falls to the grass beside me. Dead.
Davy’s standing over me with his pistol, smoke still coming from its barrel. His nose and lip are bleeding, he’s got as many scratches as I do, and he’s leaning heavily to one side.
But he’s smiling.
“Saved yer life, didn’t I?”
The firing of rifles carries on. The Spackle keep running but there’s nowhere to go. They fall and they fall and they fall.
I look down at my elbow. “I think my arm’s broke.”
“I think my leg’s broke,” Davy says, “but you go back to Pa. Tell him what’s happened. Tell him I saved yer life.”
Davy’s not looking at me, still raising his pistol, firing it, keeping his weight all weird on his legs.
“Davy–”
“Go!” he says and there’s a grim kinda joy coming from him. “I got me a job to finish here.” He fires the gun again. Another Spackle falls. They’re falling all over the place.
I take a step towards the gate. And another.
And then I’m running.
My arm throbs with every step but Angharrad says boy colt when I get to her and snuffles my face with a wet nose. She kneels down so I can flop forward onto her saddle. When she takes off down the road, she waits till I’m upright before she hits the fastest gallop I ever seen from her. I’m hanging onto her mane with one hand, my hurt arm curled under me, and I’m trying not to throw up from the pain.
I look up now and then to see women watch me ride past from their windows, quiet and distant. I see men watch the horse run by, looking at my face all bloody and injured.
And I wonder who they think they’re seeing.
Are they seeing one of them?
Or are they seeing their enemy?
Who do they think I am?
I close my eyes but I nearly lose my balance so I open them again.
Angharrad takes me down the road on the side of the cathedral, her shoes striking sparks on the cobbles as she turns the corner to go round to the entrance. The army’s in the square doing marching exercises. Most of them still ain’t got Noise but the pounding of their feet is loud enough to bend the air.
I wince at it all and look up to where we’re going, to the front door of the cathedral–
And my Noise gives such a shock, Angharrad stops up short, scrabbling on the cobbles, flanks foaming from getting me here so fast.
I barely notice–
My heart has stopped beating–
I’ve stopped breathing–
Cuz there she is.
In front of my eyes, walking up the steps of the cathedral–
There she is.
And my heart jump-starts again and my Noise is ready to scream her name and my pain is disappearing–
Cuz she’s alive–
She’s alive–
But then I’m seeing more–
I’m seeing her walking up the steps–
Towards Mayor Prentiss–
Into his open arms–
And he’s embracing her–