The Finisher Read online

  The room was small and well illuminated. There was a white bowl with pipes against one wall. Against another wall was the toilet where you could sit down or stand up to do your personal business, as William had said.

  Our personal business was normally done in the loo located in a shack behind the Loons. The pipes we used were next to it. There was no hot water, only the freezing variety that came out most times at little more than a trickle.

  Here were thick cloths and a white cleaning bar set next to the bowl. I had seen one of those at hospital. Most Wugs just used the suds flakes you could get cheap at a shop on the High Street.

  I looked at John, who did not appear capable of movement. So I stepped up to the bowl and turned on the left tap. Water flowed out with good pressure. I put my hands under it. It was warm! I picked up the cleaning bar and rubbed it across my palms. The grime came off. I wiped my face and then washed it all off with the water. I hesitated and then grabbed one of the cloths and dried myself.

  I motioned to John to come and do what I had done.

  When I put the cloth down, I could see that it was black with my freed dirt. As I stared at the soiled cloth, I felt shame for having besmirched something so pristine of Morrigone’s.

  While John was using the pipes, I stared at the looking glass hung above the bowl. Myself looked back at myself. I had not seen my reflection for some time. It was not a pleasing sight. My face was a bit cleaner because of the bar and water, but my hair was all over the place, looking like an untidy stack of hay. I would have to give myself a hack soon.

  My gaze then flitted over my clothes. They were filthy. I felt truly embarrassed to be in this remarkable place. I was unworthy to ride in the elegant carriage. I was too unclean even to ride on one of the majestic sleps.

  I self-consciously rubbed at a dirt spot on my cheek that the water and cleaner had missed. My nose looked funny too, I thought. And my eyes appeared mismatched, one slightly larger and higher placed than its neighbor. In the light in here, my eyes looked more silver than blue.

  I opened my mouth and counted my teeth. My mother used to do this with me as a very young. We would skip over the gaps where my very young teeth had fallen out and continue on. She made a game and a song out of it.

  Tap, tap, tap, leap over the gap.

  Smile big and wide, as you have nothing to hide.

  John pulled on my arm. I looked down at his clean face as both the lyrics and my mum’s face faded from my mind.

  “I’m done, Vega,” he said, his fear obviously gone and replaced with something even more powerful. “Can we go eat?”

  WILLIAM WAS WAITING for us outside the door. Still ashamed of my appearance, I kept my gaze down as we followed him along another hall. But I couldn’t resist snatching a glance here and there. I wondered how large Morrigone’s home was.

  William opened another door and ushered us in. “Madame Morrigone, your guests,” he announced.

  The room alone was about six yards long and eight yards wide, far bigger than our digs at the Loons, where six Wugs slept together on tiny cots that had the firmness of a bowl of mush. It was no wonder I always woke with aches and pains.

  Morrigone was already seated. She had taken off her cloak. Underneath was the impossibly white robe she had worn at Steeples.

  “Please come and sit,” she said pleasantly.

  We did as she asked, though after seeing how dirty and disheveled I was, I could no longer meet her eye. What occurred next was something I would never forget. A female Wug dressed in crisply ironed black-and-white clothing appeared and put a bowl in front of me with steam rising off it. She did the same with John and Morrigone.

  “Hearty soup will help fight off the chill of the night,” said Morrigone. She picked up her spoon and dipped it into the soup that had been set before her.

  We did not, as a matter of course, use utensils at the Loons, but my parents had done so, and John and I knew how to use them. We were a bit rusty, though, and it showed when I dribbled a bit of soup onto the table and looked horrified.

  The female merely stepped forward and dabbed it away with a cloth.

  After the soup came cheeses. After the cheeses came breads. After the breads came greens. And after the greens came a side of cow that melted on my fork and then in my mouth along with round potatoes, ears of corn and green sprouts that were warm and tasted far better than they looked. Tiller fare rarely made its way to the Loons. We might get a few corn kernels and a bit of potato, enough for a mouthful, but that was all. I had seen ears of corn when the Tillers piled them in their cart. I had never had one on a plate in front of me. I watched Morrigone closely to see how to properly eat it.

  John’s face was hovering so close to his plate that I could barely spot the food disappearing into his mouth. Morrigone had to show him that the part of the ear in which the corn kernels were imbedded was not actually edible. John was not embarrassed by this. He just kept eating as fast as he possibly could.

  Males are males after all.

  I too ate as much as I possibly could and then ate some more just in case I was dreaming and the feeling of being full would disappear when I woke. After the cow came plates of plump fruits and sugary confections that I had seen in the window of Herman Helvet’s shop but could never hope to buy. I noticed John surreptitiously slipping a few of them into his cloak. I think Morrigone saw this too, though she said nothing.

  When we could eat no more, John and I sat back. I had never eaten such a meal in all my sessions. I felt warm and sleepy and good.

  Morrigone said, “Do you desire anything else to eat?”

  I glanced at Morrigone, again ashamed to meet her gaze fully.

  “I think we’re fine. Thank you for such a wonderful meal,” I added hastily.

  “Shall we go to the library, then?”

  We followed her down the hall. I marveled at how she carried herself, so tall and straight and graceful, and I found myself trying to walk straighter too. We passed a longcase clock standing against one wall. It gonged the section of time as we passed, causing John and me to jump. Most Wugs don’t have timepieces, much less case clocks.

  We settled in the library, where the fire was still blazing. I sat, with Morrigone across from me. I felt my eyes grow heavy because of the big meal and the warm fire.

  John didn’t sit. He walked around the room, staring up at all the books.

  Morrigone watched him curiously.

  I explained, “John likes to read, but Learning doesn’t have many books.”

  “Then take any that you would like, John,” said Morrigone. He glanced at her in disbelief. “Really, John, take whatever books you want. I’ve read them all.”

  “You’ve read all of them?” I said.

  She nodded. “My parents encouraged reading from an early age.” She looked around. “This is the home I grew up in. Didn’t you know?”

  I shook my head. “No one in Wormwood knows much about you,” I said quite frankly. “They know you’re the only female member of Council. And Wugs see you from time to time, but that’s all.”

  “Your parents never spoke about my family?”

  “Not that I can recall, no.” I frowned because I felt I was disappointing her.

  “My grandfather was Chief of Council before Thansius. This was many sessions ago of course. He actually served on Council with your grandfather, Vega.”

  I sat up straight, my drowsiness gone. “My grandfather was on Council?”

  “He left before … well, before his …”

  “Event,” I finished for her with a frown. And I wondered once more about what Krone had said back at Quentin’s cottage. Did Council simply use an Event to explain away some Wug vanishing? If so, where was my grandfather really?

  “That’s right,” she said. “You really didn’t know Virgil was on Council?”

  I sat back, my frown deepening. I was so ignorant of my birthplace, my own family history. I looked over at John. He had pulled a dozen books off the
shelf and looked to be trying to read them all at once.

  “I was never told that much about Wormwood,” I said defensively. “But I am curious about it. Very curious,” I added for emphasis.

  “Learning is not what it once was,” she replied in a resigned tone. “Things that were taught when I was John’s age are no longer taught. That is sad to me.”

  “It’s sad to me too,” I said. “Perhaps you can tell me a few things?”

  “Alvis Alcumus founded Wormwood long ago, perhaps five hundred sessions or more in the past; no one knows the exact date.”

  “I knew that. But where did he come from? Because if he founded Wormwood, that means it didn’t exist before him. And that also means he had to come from somewhere else.” I had asked questions such as this many times at Learning and had never received an answer. I’m sure they were glad to see the back of me when I turned twelve sessions and my Learning experience was officially over.

  Morrigone gave me an uncertain look. “It’s not all that clear. Some say he appeared one light out of nothing.”

  “You mean like a reverse Event?” said John.

  We both shot him glances. He was on the floor holding a book whose title was Jabbits and the Jugular. After nearly feeling their bite, I felt sick reading those words.

  Morrigone rose and went to the fire and held out her long, thin hands to the flames, while John turned his attention to another book, entitled Nefarious Wugs of Wormwood: A Compendium.

  I turned to Morrigone, hoping she would continue the discussion.

  “My father suffered an Event when I was only six sessions old,” she said.

  “Where?” I blurted out before I could catch myself.

  She didn’t seem to take offense. “He was last seen down by the Quag. He went there to collect a particular mushroom, the Amanita fulva, which grows only along the edge there. We never knew if that was where the Event occurred. There is nothing left to tell you the exact location of course. There never is.”

  I went to stand next to her, gearing up my courage to ask my next question.

  “Morrigone,” I began, and my tongue seemed thrilled to say her name, as though we were longtime friends. “If there is nothing left, how do Wugs know it was an Event? If your father was down by the Quag, couldn’t a beast have attacked him and pulled him into the Quag? If so, no Wug would go in to find him.”

  I stopped because I suddenly couldn’t believe what I was actually saying. I had just spoken about Morrigone’s father in a way that could be deemed disrespectful.

  “Your question is a perfectly natural one, Vega. I had it myself when I was a young.”

  “And did you find a satisfactory answer?” John asked.

  She turned from the fire and gazed at him. “Sometimes I think that yes, I have. Other times, well, it’s not an easy answer to arrive at, is it? Why some Wugs leave us,” she added wistfully.

  “I guess not,” I said doubtfully.

  “Now I would like to discuss some matters with you,” she said.

  My heart started beating faster because I was afraid what she wanted to discuss was Quentin Herms. But once more, Morrigone surprised me.

  “What do you think of the Wall?” She stared at each of us. John put a book down and glanced at me.

  “Do you believe it a worthy idea?” she said.

  “It is if it keeps the Outliers from eating us,” voiced John.

  “You said your vision had seen the attack on Herms,” I said. “And that you could also see the Outliers want to take Wormwood from us.”

  “That is true.”

  “So what became of Herms? You said your vision stopped. But you assumed that he was dead because of what was found left of him?”

  “My vision did not stop. What I said was a bit of an untruth to spare Wugs the horror.” She glanced over at an openmouthed John. “I have no desire to comment further on his fate. But Herms is no more.”

  I looked back from John to find Morrigone’s gaze full upon me.

  “You were there that light, Vega,” she observed. “And while I know you told Krone you saw nothing, are you absolutely sure you didn’t? Perhaps a glimpse?”

  With a start I realized that with her gift of special sight, Morrigone might have seen what I had seen at the edge of the Quag. She might know I had lied to Krone. I thought for a sliver. When I spoke, I did so with great care.

  “Everything happened so fast,” I began. “The attack canines were making a lot of noise and there were Council members rushing around. Some of them were very near the Quag. Whether they actually entered it or not, I couldn’t be sure. Perhaps I glimpsed one of them darting into the place. But surely a Wug would not stay there long, right?”

  She nodded. “No, no Wug in his right mind would stay in the Quag.” She looked directly at me. “It means death, be very certain of that.” She glanced at John. “Both of you.”

  I looked at John, who I knew needed no such admonishment. He looked ready to fall headfirst into the fire, so shaky was he.

  But something had occurred to me. “Thansius said that the Outliers can control the minds of Wugs. How?”

  “It is not clear. They are foul creatures to be sure, but their minds are advanced. Perhaps more advanced and cunning than our own.”

  “So they can make Wugs do their bidding?” I asked.

  She looked troubled by this question. “Let us hope you never have occassion to find out the answer to that, Vega,” she said ominously.

  I felt my face grow warm at her response and I looked away.

  She said, “I trust you both will give all your effort to help with the Wall.”

  John nodded vigorously and I did as well, though not quite so energetically. He said, “What will the Wall look like?”

  “It will be high, made of wood with guard towers at specified intervals.”

  “That’s all?” said John, looking disappointed.

  She focused more fully on him. “Why? What would you suggest?”

  He said with great conviction, “A two-layered defense. Height can be defeated in various ways. What would be much harder to overcome is if we combined the Wall with another obstacle that would reduce the effectiveness of any attack against us.”

  I was impressed and I could tell by her look that Morrigone was too.

  She asked, “What would this other obstacle be?”

  “Water,” he promptly answered. “Deep enough water to slow the Outliers down. If they are descended from beasts, I would imagine they are large and heavy, even if they do walk on two legs. Thus, I would dig moats on either side of the Wall. It would provide us great tactical advantage because it would allow us to control the situation and divide and conquer our opponent.”

  “That’s brilliant, John,” I said, marveling at how he had concocted this seemingly out of nothing. We had only just learned this light of the threat of the Outliers and of the Wall solution, and already he had improved upon our defensive plan.

  Morrigone nodded and added with a smile, “Brilliant indeed. When did you think of all this?”

  “When I was using the pipes in your room to wash my face. I saw how the water collected in the little basin. It gave me the idea for the moats.”

  My respect for John’s intellect, already high, increased a hundredfold. I could only stare at him in awe.

  Morrigone rose and fetched a book off the shelf and handed it to John. “This work is on numbers,” she said. “I understand from the Preceptor at Learning that you like to work with numbers.”

  John opened the book and instantly focused on what was there.

  However, I was wondering why Morrigone had queried the Preceptor about John.

  Morrigone looked at me. “We all must use our strengths in these difficult times. And it is incumbent on Council to determine what the strength of every Wug is.”

  I looked back at her uneasily. Had she just read my mind?

  Later, as we parted company, Morrigone said, “I would very much appreciate if n
either of you talked about your trip here. I realize that most Wugmorts don’t live at this level of comfort. And I myself find it more and more difficult to remain here when I understand the challenges the rest of Wormwood faces. However, it is my home.”

  John said, “I won’t say anything.” I could tell in his voice that he was hoping for an invitation for another grand meal. John was smart, but he was also a young male with a usually empty belly. Sometimes it was simple as that.

  The carriage took us back, with Bogle of course at the whip. The sleps moved swiftly and in perfect coordination and we were soon at the Loons, but Morrigone’s home would remain a vivid memory for a long time, as would the wonderful meal we had consumed.

  As we headed up to our cots, John, who was staggering slightly under the weight of all the books he had brought with him, said, “I will never forget this night.”

  Well, I knew that I wouldn’t either. But probably not for the same reasons.

  NEXT LIGHT, I walked John to Learning. He had stuffed as many of the books from Morrigone’s into his tuck as possible. I knew he would spend the time at Learning reading them. I had loved books at his age. I still loved books. But Morrigone had not extended her offer to me.

  I struck out for my tree, where I planned to eat my first light meal, which would forever seem trivial in comparison to the one we had enjoyed at Morrigone’s. It was no wonder that she kept her living arrangements a secret. Jealousy was not a lost emotion in Wormwood.

  As I walked, I touched the chain, which was wrapped around my waist and tucked under my shirt. A sliver later I ran into them.

  I first saw Roman Picus in his greasy coat and dented hat. A long-barreled morta rode over his shoulder and a short-barreled morta was in a garm-skin holder on his belt. With him were two other Wugs, both carrying mortas and long swords. I knew both of them, although I wish I didn’t.

  One was Ran Digby, who worked at Ted Racksport’s weapons shop. He was a mess of a Wug, one of the filthiest blokes about, actually. I would wager that he had never held cleaning suds in his hands in all his sessions. Racksport kept him in the back, building the mortas, principally because no one could stand the stench of him.