-6-
IN OUR camp, bedtime is when the sun sets.
Sometimes I stay up after dark. I’ll sit in the library and read books by candlelight, but not often. By now, I know the few books we have by heart, and it’s nothing to write home about. Some volumes about edible plants, hunting tactics, how to sheer the sheep and ways to build huts and catch fish. In front of me right now is a different kind of book that I’ve read many times as well. A book containing imaginative stories called ‘fairytales’. Even in a fantasy world, parents are not to be trusted – the stories of Snow White and Cinderella make that perfectly clear. The mothers in those tales didn’t love their children either.
I close the fairytale book with a sigh and stare at the flickering candle in front of me. Real reading is out of the question. I can’t get the images of the fight earlier this evening out of my head. Of Andy taking a beating by Cal while Max was holding him from behind. Of the youngsters who were all forced to watch. Some of them had averted their eyes. Some of them had seemed relieved that it wasn’t their turn this time.
Some had enjoyed the spectacle.
Mara’s right. This truly is a place to be scared of.
My gaze drifts across the room toward the door in the back of the library. That’s the room where Saul keeps The Book. Every week, he takes it out to read to us during assembly on the lawn in front of the manor house.
Saul always tells us how each and every one of us has to feel the Force within and shouldn’t be dependent on anyone. The Fools, separated from us by a Wall, believe that help will come from afar. That salvation lies beyond the horizon, away from our island. That’s why they put so much energy into building ships, and that’s why they sail so far away that they never return. But we don’t. We are strong – and stand alone.
When I look around me, I suddenly notice I am the only one left in the library. But I can still hear noise. Downstairs, in the hallway, I hear raised voices.
Curious, I tiptoe through the hall and down the stairs. I can make out more now: Saul is shouting something, addressing his brother.”Hold him, Ben.” It’s followed by a grunt, like Ben has to restrain or lift someone. Shuffling of feet and muttered cursing.
Oh no. Haven’t they brutalized Andy enough for today? I thought they’d frogmarched him to his hut after the fight, covered in abrasions and sporting a black eye. Mara had even told me she’d bring him some medicinal ointment later on.
No, I don’t think this is Andy. The person they’re trying to hold down is grumbling in a voice that sounds older than the ones belonging to the youngsters in the manor house.
A shiver runs down my spine when I freeze on the stairs. I am not allowed to see this – I can sense it. But still, I want to look.
Quiet as a mouse, I sneak down the last few steps and cautiously look around the corner. This part of the house is illuminated by torches lining the walls so visitors can see where they’re going. Saul allegedly has nocturnal visitors sometimes – girls, according to Colin, but I’ve never heard any of the girls mentioning it.
All the way in the back of the hallway is a beer cellar. It’s always locked, because Saul says beer should be under lock and key. We only pour alcohol on special occasions – weddings and such. It’s quite a chore to make.
Saul and Ben are standing by the beer cellar door, Ben supporting a man with blood running down his right temple. He’s hanging limply in Ben’s arms.
Who is he? One thing is certain: he’s not from the village. I’ve never seen him before, and I’m sure I know all the people in Newexter. That rules out the possibility of him being a spy for the Eldest as part of the intervention my mother mentioned. The only thing I can think of is that he might be a Fool. But why would they knock one unconscious and confine him to a cellar?
Then again, he may have already been hurt. Perhaps they found him like this. Perhaps they’re going to help him.
Saul opens the door with a tiny, silver key on his keychain. Ben pushes the wounded man over the threshold, making him trip on his way into the dark beer cellar. Without another word, Saul slams the door shut and turns the key.
Looks like they’re not going to help him.
“Let’s go get Max,” Saul tells his brother. “I want to discuss things with you two.”
When they turn around, I dodge away, heart hammering in my throat. Please, please don’t let them come up the stairs. I have no idea where Max is.
Fortunately, I can hear the door to Saul’s room close with a thud. The hall is silent. I carefully glance around the corner again, my eyes landing on the cellar door.
My jaw drops. Saul’s keys are still in the door. My mouth turns dry when I spot the ancient, intricately-decorated key that fits the lock of the library room upstairs – the room hosting The Book. My heart speeds up. This is the only chance I will ever have if I want to know what exactly Saul has kept from us.
I dash forward, take the entire set of keys in one hand to prevent them from jangling together, and use the other hand to take the library key off the chain. Sweat is pooling in my palms.
The sound of voices makes me jump. Not on the stairs, but behind one of the doors. Fragments of sentences, Saul’s loud and annoyed voice. “… does he think he is… not crazy… nobody on the island…”
As quickly and quietly as I can, I sprint toward the stairs, taking two, three steps at a time on my way up to the library.
How long will it take Saul to discover the key to The Book Room is missing?
I don’t have much time.