“Yup,” Wilf says again.
“D’you like bread?” she asks me.
“I do.”
“Ya gotta have bread,” she says, to the ground, to the sky, to the rocks. “Ya gotta have bread.”
And then she’s back off to the dining hall, not another word, though Wilf doesn’t seem to much mind or even notice. But I know, I definitely know that Wilf’s clear and even Noise, his lack of words, his seeming blankness doesn’t describe all of him, not even close.
Wilf and Jane were refugees, fleeing into Haven as the army swept behind them, passing us on the road as Todd slept off his fever in Carbonel Downs. Jane fell ill on the trip and, after asking directions, Wilf took her straight to Mistress Forth’s house of healing, where Jane was still recovering when the army invaded. Wilf, whose Noise is as free of deception as anyone’s on this planet, was assumed by the soldiers to be an idiot and so allowed to visit his wife when no other man was.
When the women ran, Wilf helped. When I asked him why, all he did was shrug and say, “They were gone take Jane.” He hid the less able women on his cart as they fled, built a hidey-hole in it so others could return for missions, and for weeks on end has risked his life taking them to and fro because the soldiers have always assumed a man so transparent couldn’t be hiding anything.
All of which has been a surprise to the leaders of the Answer.
But none of which is a surprise to me.
He saved me and Todd once when he didn’t have to. He saved Todd again when there was even more danger. He was even ready the first night I was here to turn right back around to help me find him, but Sergeant Hammar knows Wilf’s face now, knows that he should have been arrested, so any trip back is pretty much a death sentence.
I take a last spoonful of my porridge and sigh heavily as I pop it into my mouth. I could be sighing at the cold, sighing at the boring porridge, sighing at the lack of anything to do in camp.
But, somehow, Wilf knows. Somehow, Wilf always knows.
“Ah’m shur he’s okay, Hildy,” he says, finishing up his own porridge. “He survives, does our Todd.”
I look up into the cold morning sun and I swallow again, though there’s no porridge left in my throat.
“Keep yerself strong,” Wilf stays, standing. “Strong for what’s comin.”
I blink. “What’s coming?” I ask as he walks on towards the dining hall, drinking his mug of coffee.
He just keeps on going.
I finish my coffee, rubbing my arms to gather some heat, thinking I’ll ask her again today, no, I’ll tell her I’m coming on the next mission, that I need to find–
“You’re sitting out here all by yourself?”
I look up. Lee, the blond soldier, is standing there, smiling all toothy.
I immediately feel my face go hot.
“No, no,” I say, standing straight up, turning away from him and picking up the plate.
“You don’t have to leave–” he’s saying.
“No, I’m finished–”
“Viola–”
“All yours–”
“That’s not what I meant–”
But I’m already stomping back to the dining hall, cursing myself for the redness of my face.
Lee isn’t the only man. Well, he’s hardly a man, but like Wilf, he and Magnus can no longer pretend to be soldiers and go to the city, now that their faces are known.
But there are others who can. Because that’s the biggest secret of all about the Answer.
At least a third of the people here are men, men who pretend to be soldiers to shuttle women in and out of the city, men who help Mistress Coyle with the planning and targets, men with expertise on handling explosives, men who believe in the cause and want to fight against the Mayor and all he stands for.
Men who’ve lost wives and daughters and mothers and who are fighting to save them or fighting to avenge their memories.
Mostly it’s memories.
I suppose it’s useful if everyone thinks it’s only women; it allows men to come and go, even if the Mayor surely knows what’s what, which is probably why he’s denying the cure to so much of his own army, why the Answer’s own supply of cure is becoming more burden than blessing.
I cast a glance quickly back to Lee behind me and forward again.
I’m not sure of his reason for being here.
I haven’t been able–
I haven’t had the chance to ask him yet.
I’m not paying attention as I reach the dining room door and don’t really notice when it opens before I can take the handle.
I look up into Mistress Coyle’s face.
I don’t even greet her.
“Take me with you on the next raid,” I say.
Her expression doesn’t change. “You know why you can’t.”
“Todd would join us,” I say. “In a second.”
“Others aren’t so sure about that, my girl.” I open my mouth to reply but she interrupts. “If he’s even still alive. Which matters not, because we can’t afford to have you captured. You’re the most valuable prize of all. The girl who can help the President when the ships land.”
“I–”
She holds up her hand. “I won’t have this fight with you again. There is too much important work to do.”
The camp feels silent now. The people behind her have stopped moving as we stare at one another, no one willing to ask her to get out of the way, not even Mistresses Forth and Nadari, who wait there patiently. Like Thea, they’ve barely spoken to me since my arrival, all these acolytes of Mistress Coyle, all these people who wouldn’t dare to dream of speaking to her the way I’m speaking to her now.
They treat me as if I’m a little dangerous.
I’m slightly surprised to find I kind of like it.
I look into her eyes, into the unyieldingness of them. “I won’t forgive you,” I say quietly, as if I’m only talking to her. “I won’t. Not now, not ever.”
“I don’t want your forgiveness,” she says, equally quietly. “But one day, you will understand.”
And then her eyes glint and she pulls her mouth into a smile. “You know,” she says, raising her voice. “I think it’s time you had some employment.”
[TODD]
“Can’t you effing things move any faster?”
The four or five Spackle nearest to me flinch away, tho I ain’t even spoken that loud.
“Get a move on!”