“Everyone, out,” I say. “Except you, Aramovsky. I want to talk to you.”
O’Malley’s eyes widen. He wants to stay. He clearly thinks I need his help with this. I ignore his unspoken warning; I can take care of this myself.
Spingate grabs Gaston’s hand. “Come on,” she says. “I need your help in the lab.”
Aramovsky crosses his arms, waits.
O’Malley is still standing there.
“I asked you to leave,” I say.
He flashes Aramovsky a clear look of warning. Aramovsky pretends to yawn.
O’Malley storms out.
I follow him into the corridor, stop him at the shuttle door.
“Wait,” I say. “You’re acting strange. Is there something I should know?”
We’re alone. This is his chance to tell me that he already knew the Observatory would have power, to tell me he knows about the symbols.
He shakes his head. “No. Just be careful with Aramovsky. He’s tricky.”
O’Malley turns and walks into the coffin room.
Is he hiding information from me? I’ll have to find out soon.
But first things first—it’s time to deal with Aramovsky.
I shut the pilothouse door. I don’t have the ability to lock it, but the others had to see how angry I am—Aramovsky and I won’t be bothered.
He smiles his fake smile. “Decided to do your own talking instead of having Bishop do it for you?”
“He doesn’t talk for me.”
Aramovsky looks at his fingernails, checking them for dirt. “Bishop told me that I needed to stop arguing with you”—he looks me in the eyes—“or he would hurt me.”
Is that true? I can’t have Bishop threatening people, and I can’t have him thinking he needs to fight my battles for me.
“I’ll talk to him about it. No one is allowed to threaten you for speaking your mind. We need everyone’s ideas.”
“Funny, I was speaking my mind in the coffin room when I said the red mold is a punishment from the gods. You got in my face, brandishing your spear. Tell me, Em, if Bishop hadn’t taken me outside, would you have threatened me?”
I don’t think I would have, but I can’t say for sure—I was furious.
“If you want to talk about threats, let’s talk about how you threatened Spingate.”
“I told you, all I did was repeat what the gods told me.”
Now he’s pretending the gods speak directly to him?
“The others might believe your lies, but not me. I know what you said to Spingate, and I know what you’re trying to do.”
“And what is that?”
“You want to be the leader.”
He smiles again. This time it feels genuine—but also dismissive, the smile of an adult dealing with a child.
“I want no such thing,” he says. “I merely want to give people guidance. I want us to be right with the gods.”
“You’re going to stop doing things that hurt us.” I keep my tone level, but I know he hears me. This is his warning. “That includes you stopping all this religion nonsense.”
I expected that to rattle him, perhaps make him mad, but he seems more exhausted with me than angry.
“You called it nonsense when we spoke at Latu’s grave. Think of all the miracles we’ve seen since then, and yet you still don’t believe in our destiny?”
“There are no miracles. We make our own destiny.”
Aramovsky sighs and crosses his arms. “You shouldn’t fight religion. Religion helps guide your decisions, helps people follow those decisions. We’re almost three hundred souls now—you’re struggling to make everyone obey.”
“The only people who don’t obey are the ones listening to you. And we’re almost three hundred because you let those kids out.”
He nods. “I did, because it was the right thing to do. Keeping them in their coffins because it is convenient for us would make us no better than the Grownups.”
That takes me by surprise, crushes my anger. I hadn’t thought about it that way. I never, ever want to be compared to Matilda and her kind.
“Maybe you have a point.”
“Thank you,” he says. “But I didn’t come to that decision on my own. I was guided to it.” He pauses, thinking carefully about his next words. “Let me help you, Em. The gods want to guide you—I can be their voice.”
Of course. With Aramovsky, it always comes back to power.
“I don’t need anyone’s voice to guide me.”
His eyebrows rise. “Oh? Then maybe I don’t understand what O’Malley is doing when he whispers in your ear.”
My face flushes hot. “O’Malley is not whispering,” I say, even though I know that’s exactly what O’Malley does. “I listen to everyone. He has good advice.”
“Oh? So was it really your idea to have Bishop reconnoiter for spiders?”
He noticed the same thing I did. Is he saying O’Malley manipulates me? That’s ridiculous…isn’t it?
I shake my head. “I make the final decisions”—I hold up the spear—“because I have this.”