Chapter 34
“Hello?” I greet the child standing in front of the Plumber cottage, her back to me. “Are your parents home?”
When she turns, I see it’s Wendy, the girl whose finger Jarek amputated.
“Oh,” I say, eyes travelling to the site of her injury.
She blinks, and a shy smile spreads across her freckled face.
She’s got brown eyes, like most villagers, but hers are slightly tipped upward at the edges, giving her an impish appearance.
She holds up the heavily bandaged hand. “Your aunt thinks it’ll work fine again.
She says it’s thanks to your quick response. ”
A weight lifts off my chest. “I’m so happy to hear that.” Without touching her, I examine her face for signs of fever, her exposed wrist for the telltale red streaks of infection. She appears to be in perfect health. “Does it hurt very badly?”
“Only if I bonk it on things.” Her smile disappears, head hanging. “It’s nothing compared to the shame of being a thief.”
My throat burns. She’s too young to think of herself like this. “You didn’t steal, Wendy.” I crouch until we’re the same height, forcing her to look at me. “Finding food to bring to the village isn’t a crime.”
Her eyes swell with tears. “But I wasn’t supposed to be in the woods.”
I set my jaw, heart aching for how worthless Jarek has made the girl feel.
“Playing somewhere you aren’t supposed to is different than stealing.
And we’re only forbidden from going into the forest for our own protection.
” But I don’t believe that, not now that I’ve visited the woods myself.
It wouldn’t serve Wendy to hear the truth, though.
I stroke her hair and give her braid a little tug.
“You didn’t deserve that. Jarek shouldn’t have done it. ”
“You’re speaking against your House,” she says quietly.
My stomach lurches. When had it started coming so naturally? Despite myself, Mom’s words still ring in my ears. Don’t stand out.
“Wendy!” Augustus steps out of the cottage. I haven’t seen him since I believed he was threatening Gran.
“Within the Wall,” I say, holding up a hand in greeting. “I’m helping the Record Keepers conduct the census. May I borrow some of your time?”
“I’m busy,” he says. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth suggest he’s no stranger to a smile, though I can’t recall the last time I saw it.
He and Mom had begun walking the village together the past few months, Augustus always looking serious.
He wipes his hands on his heavy work apron.
“But you saved my girl’s finger. I owe you for it. ”
I’m shocked. “There’s no payment required for helping one another.”
He glances both ways down the lane. His is the last cottage I’m visiting today. The streets are empty, villagers tucked away at work.
“Used to be that way,” he says. “Why don’t you come inside?”
A cold thrill grips my spine. The families I visited yesterday were friendly.
They adhered to custom, offering me tea and a seat at their table, and they answered all my questions to the best of their ability.
The Plumber’s comment about how things used to be is the first time I’ve smelled the spark of rebellion that drives Meryl, Sal, Eero, and Oscar.
Have I misread Augustus this entire time?
I follow him inside. Except for the toolkit near the door, the length of piping stacked against a wall, and the rows of plumbing and library books on the shelves, it looks like every other cottage in the Valley.
Kitchen, dining space, and family room on the open main floor, stairs leading up to the bedrooms, door leading out the back to the laundry and bathroom.
It does lack the dampness that many of our homes have acquired over time, that faint tinge of mildew in the walls.
Well, I suppose they’ve never had a leaky pipe. I don’t see anyone else home.
“Can I pour you some tea?”
“No, thank you.” I learned the hard way that I should turn down most drink offers. I ended up nearly swimming to the final houses yesterday.
“I’ll help myself to a cup,” he says. “You let me know if you change your mind.”
“All right. Thank you.”
He’s wearing his work grays, but I notice his pants and tunic have more pockets than mine. What a useful addition. I wonder if he sewed them on himself or put in a special requisition with the Tailor House.
He brings the bubbling kettle to the table.
“My gran used to be of the Plumber House,” I blurt out. The room tilts for a moment. Was that too bold for testing the waters?
Augustus stops mid-pour. “Indeed. She was my own father’s sister.”
“Do you remember her? When she lived here?”
He chuckles, and the beautiful lines on his face deepen. I find myself relaxing around him for the first time. “I’m not that old, child. Your gran left at seventeen to marry your grandfather.” His eyes grow serious. “She told you she used to be a Plumber?”
I nod. I still can’t believe I said it out loud for anyone to hear. I tug the census materials out of my bag. My shirt catches on the edge of the cloth, revealing bruises all up my forearm.
He slams the tea kettle on the table, his voice a low growl. “Jarek did that?”
I tug down my sleeve. “No,” I say quickly.
He studies me, head tilted. “Then they’re combat bruises,” he says. “And yet you’re conducting a census rather than training with your new House.”
I keep my eyes averted, worried they’ll give away the truth.
When I finally peek back at him, his expression is thoughtful, like he’s making up his mind about something.
He finishes pouring the tea, then returns the kettle to the stove and walks to the front door with the mug.
Wendy’s sitting on the stoop. “Let me know if you see anyone on their way might need our services,” he says, offering her the tea. “This’ll keep you warm.”
My pulse does a two-step. I think he’s just asked his daughter to keep watch.
Wendy accepts the mug gratefully. He closes the door and takes a seat, pushing his chair away so he can cross his legs at the ankle.
I sit across from him. His posture is relaxed, his words anything but.
“We haven’t much time,” he says. “When you visited other cottages, how long were you inside asking your questions?”
“Twenty minutes or so in each.” I loop the bag off my shoulder and set it on the table. “I need to know—”
He holds up a weathered hand. “I know what you need to know. I’m fifty-eight and my name’s Augustus Auger. I live here with my father, Hephaestus, who’s seventy-six and who you’ve kept alive with willow bark tablets since his most recent heart attack.”
My stomach leaps into my throat.
He makes a clicking sound, blowing past the statement that could end my life if the wrong person overheard it.
“I know you think we don’t know, and I’m content to keep it that way.
I live with my wife, Coco, forty-nine, my brother, Alphonse, fifty-four, and his wife, Kate, who’s fifty-six.
They have a fifteen-year-old son named Edward who’s at school at the moment.
Coco and I have two girls, Wendy, outside, who’s nine, and eight-year-old Lydia.
Lydia’s also at school, but I’ll be outside the Wall before I’ll allow her sister to go back before that hand is healed. No one’s calling Wendy a thief.”
He smacks the table. The crack makes me jump.
“Coco and Alphonse are out performing the regular tasks of our House. Mending leaks. Checking water pressure. Unclogging drains. Kate’s been on loan to the Carters for a few weeks now, setting up some quick and dirty irrigation for the new fields.
Me too, usually, but I stayed back today with Wendy.
Hephaestus is likely upstairs napping. None of us plan to die, marry, or get pregnant anytime soon. You’ve got all that?”
I review everything I’ve feverishly written. I nod.
And then he utters the words sure to get me Harvested: “Good. So you’re part of that group being trained to fight?”