CHAPTER 4
I’M STRETCHED OUT ON the ground, where I threw myself after I saw the weapon. I roll over, and my hands fly over my chest, my stomach, making sure I’m still in one piece. There’s no knife, and when I turn my head I see it planted in the plaster wall behind me. I’m breathing hard, and my body is already humming with the need to get up and run. But I can’t go far. The chain has made sure of that.
I’m stuck here. A stone’s throw away from a boy who just tried to kill me.
Scrambling up, I run for the knife. I have to work it back and forth to pull it free, but I never take my eyes off the Driver. When the grip is in my hand I start edging sideways, towards the Watcher office, whipping the chain after me so I don’t trip.
I take a closer look at my attacker. He’s got wide, shocked eyes, high cheekbones, and his mouth is hanging slack. He must be surprised I’m not dead. He’s young—the youngest Driver I’ve ever seen. He can’t be more than a few years older than me. But it’s hard to say exactly? because his face is smeared with dirt.
His spooked horse is bucking behind him, and though he holds the lead tightly in both hands, be barely turns to calm her. Now that the shock has passed, I can see the horror in his face.
“That’s right,” I say, trying to puff myself up. “They’ll hang you for that. I’m Unpromised.” I’ve never used this as a shield before, but I do now. I wish I had my earrings to prove it.
His look remains unchanged, and I remember that Drivers don’t speak the common tongue. They don’t speak at all actually—they’re mute.
“Unpromised!” I yell slowly. As if this will make him understand.
A few seconds later, the Watcher comes careening around the side of the building. The metal handle of the wire is ready in his hand and his black eyes are narrowed. I try to hide the knife up my sleeve, but he’s seen it. His thumb presses down on the wire, and with a click, a glowing green rope inches out. The electric whirring sound makes my blood run cold.
He doesn’t even look at the Driver. He’s only looking at me. As always, everyone thinks that I’m the biggest threat around.
“Wait,” I say. “Wait, it was him.” I point across the poisoned stream.
The Watcher is suddenly before me—he moves so fast a short scream bursts from my throat. I drop the knife and hold up one hand. The other, weighed down by the chain, is out to my side. I’m shaking, and the links rattle together.
I might be scared, but I’m not stupid. Even with a blade I’m no match for a Watcher. He’d break my neck before I could take my next breath. But even though I know this, I hate that I’m not stronger.
He picks up the knife from the ground, then presses a button which retracts the wire, and replaces it in his chest strap. Then, right in front of my face, he breaks the knife in half with just his hands. His face shows nothing. No emotion at all.
Only now does he glance at the Driver.
The boy’s done. There’s no way the Watcher will let him live. Much as I hate being trapped here, I’m worth a lot, and for the first time I’m glad about that. But the Watcher only tosses the hilt of the broken knife across the stream, where it lands at the Driver’s feet. The boy is shocked too; he doesn’t even pick it up.
“Don’t kill her,” my guard says in a flat, bored voice.
That’s all he says.
And the Driver probably doesn’t even understand anyway.
Solitary was a bad idea. I’ve kept myself off the auction block, but at a huge price. None of the other Drivers have come back here before. No one at all comes back here. But now that this crazy boy has found out I’m here, unable to escape and without so much as a fence for protection, who knows what he’ll try.
But for now, the Watcher is distracted.
My mind springs back into action, and I know it’s reckless, and I know it’s too soon and I should stick to the plan, but I can’t let this chance pass me by.
Much as it revolts me, I fake a sob and bury my face into my guard’s rock-hard arm. I don’t even have to force a tremble; my body is still reeling. I feel his shoulders move as he looks down at me slowly.
“He tried to kill me!” I say, moving subtly so my face is against his chest.
And before the Watcher can figure out what to do next, I slide my hand into his utility strap and latch my fingers around the small metal cylinder beside his wire. The key to my bracelet.
He knows what I’ve done when I jerk ever so slightly as I pull away. In a flash, he’s lifted me off the ground. One hand squeezes my shoulder in a vicelike grip. The other is clutching my throat.
I can’t breathe. I struggle, kicking my legs out at him, and drop the key on the ground so that my fingers can peel away his grasp. But though my nails dig into his thick leather gloves, they cannot release his hold.
My spine pops as my weight pulls me down and stretches my back. I begin to panic. I can no longer see his cold stare; my eyes are beginning to slip out of focus. He’s going to kill me. The Driver needed a knife to do it. The Watcher just needs his bare hands.
An instant later I am weightless. Light as a feather. And then I collide with the plaster wall against the back of the office. A bright explosion of color bursts before my vision, and instantly everything is clear. The Watcher has thrown me, and now he is picking up the key I have dropped on the ground. Straight before me is the Driver. Staring. One of his hands reaches towards me, but it’s empty.
And then I slump to the ground, and everything goes black.