The Garden of Darkness

It had never in a million years occurred to the Master that someone could entertain the idea of believing in the soul. A soul. It was far worse than believing in God; it was destructive; it was a kind of blasphemy. Surely children were taught better these days. Belief in a soul wasn’t—scientific. He would have to watch Dante.

Now there was one Cured to go. A small one. Female. New to the territory. It was the Master who saw its trail, and he rushed ahead of the others even though he was soon out of breath. He didn’t want to give Dante another chance to ask questions. Questions undermined authority, and authority was something he had sought all his life, attained, reveled in. He had been a leader in his field, a recognized pioneer who had, right before SitkaAZ13 rendered such things meaningless, received the MacArthur Fellowship. But this would convey nothing to the majority of the children. He had to earn his authority in other ways now.

He caught up with the small Cured at the top of a rise. It cowered against a stiff thicket of thorny bushes, and there were scrapes and tears on its arms from trying to get through them. Its face was in shadow, and its long hair covered its neck.

But he didn’t have to look for the patch beneath her hair to know immediately that she wasn’t actually a Cured at all. She was a healthy delayed onset child. He wondered about her mental stability—after all, she could have come to the mansion anytime; she must have seen the other children in the courtyard when she came up to the perimeter. He examined her more closely. She appeared to be all bones; a tangle of long hair covered her face. Then she reached out a hand and pushed back her hair to reveal strange wide eyes.

“Eliza,” the Master said. “So here you are.”

She didn’t try to stop him as he leaned forward and gently put his hands over her mouth and nose.

She struggled, but only a little.

By the time the others arrived, she was unrecognizable.

The three they had hunted were dead. Charlie let out a whoop. Doug looked relieved.

Dante turned away.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE





SNOW





THEY TOOK THE turnoff for the reservoir and were at the water’s edge almost immediately. A few ducks swam close to the shore, and a blue heron stood in the shallows. The water stretched beyond them, winking brightly like cut glass.

“I had no idea it would be so big,” said Clare.

“The question is—where are the others?”

As they gazed out over the lake, there was a shout, and a small creature seemed to detach itself from a nearby wall.

It was Mirri.

She hugged Clare and gave a howl of victory before bursting into laughter. Then she hugged Jem for a long, long time.

Mirri led them into camp, where Sarai ran to them and clung first to Jem and then to Clare. Ramah stood and gave one of her rare smiles.

For Clare, seeing them all was as if the world had been born anew.

Bird Boy’s greeting was exuberant. He danced around them and then hugged them until he started shedding feathers. Bear rubbed up against him and began the job of licking him all over.

“I thought you two were probably dead,” Abel said, looking on happily.

Bear stayed close to Clare after greeting Bird Boy, and she noticed that the cold light of his yellow eyes had been replaced with a golden warmth.

It was later, as Clare and Jem were resting, and the others were putting together dinner, that Bird Boy approached them; he seemed profoundly uncomfortable.

“I’m supposed to talk to you,” he said.

Clare drew back, fearing something awful had happened in their absence, and that the others hadn’t wanted to break the news right away.

“What is it?” asked Jem.

“I’m supposed to tell you that you two stink.”

“What?” blurted Clare. “After all we’ve been through—”

Bird Boy looked abashed, but Ramah stepped over to them to help him out.

“You’re pretty ripe,” she said. “To be truthful.”

“Sarai used the word ‘stink,’” said Bird Boy. “Abel’s heated some water for you to wash with.”

His tone was so mild that Jem and Clare couldn’t take offence.

“We might have known,” Jem said to Clare. “Sam and Becca must have noticed.”

“If they did,” said Clare, “they were very polite about it.”

“Goats in the rain smell worse,” said Ramah. “But goats are supposed to smell like goats. So it’s not so bad. You two—well.”

“All right,” said Jem. “Bring on the water.”

“Ramah also wants to boil your clothes,” said Bird Boy.

Jem and Clare sheepishly went and began the process of re-civilizing themselves. After washing, Clare sat while Bird Boy combed through the mats in her hair.

“Whoo,” he said. “There’s some things here that’ll have to come out.”

Head lice. Jem and Clare both had head lice—and Clare remembered how she had seen nits while brushing Stuffo’s hair. Ramah at least knew a cure for head lice: she soaked both of their heads with kerosene, let it set, and then washed it out. But she couldn’t wash out the smell, and, for a long time, Jem and Clare left a wake of kerosene fumes behind them.