A Town Called Dust: The Territory 1 (11 page)

Rusty raised his sword and charged at Max. Granted, Rusty’s charge was quite impressive, complete with war cry, but when he reached Max it was all to no avail. Max sidestepped quickly and brought his sword down with a low slice to the back of Rusty’s knee. Rusty turned and swung the sword at Max’s head. Max ducked and lashed out with the point of his blade. The wooden training swords had blunted ends, but that wasn’t a large consolation to Rusty as the end of the sword landed in his unmentionables. He buckled over.

“It’s not right to hit somebody there,” Glenden said and he stepped forward again. Max began moving toward him, light on his feet, gathering speed.

“You’re probably right,” Max said as he brought his sword down. Glenden parried the blow awkwardly. Max was quick to slide the blade off and then strike low. He hit him just above the hip and then his blade darted high again, then to the side, then low. Glenden was tied in a knot of confusion by the time Max brought the sword down hard on his forehead. The sickening crack and instant display of blood made the boys  watching groan empathetically.

One of the boys on the outer edge of the circle called out. “Look out, he’s coming!”

“What in Ancestors’ hell is going on?” It was the unmistakable sound of The Bear on a rampage. “I told you putrid little turds not to practice on each other!”

The Bear breached the circle as the boys scattered, some attempting to resume their independent practice and hoping the main culprits would bear the brunt of his anger. The Bear caught sight of the scene. Tank was lying face down on the ground. Rusty was doubled over in the dust, moaning softly and clasping his groin. Squid was standing watching, a trickle of blood dripping from his nose and a tinge of purple in his eye sockets. Glenden was holding his profusely bleeding forehead. Max was standing before him, proudly admiring his handiwork, and Darius was nowhere to be seen.

“Someone had better start explaining,” The Bear said, the vein in his forehead threatened to burst and spray them all with the liquid anger that coursed through his body. “What happened?”

It was Glenden who spoke first. “He … he belted us up.” He pointed to Max. “He’s a psycho.”

The Bear looked at the five boys. “What, all of you? He took all of you down?”

Glenden, Rusty and Tank were silent. Not that Rusty could have spoken even if he had wanted to. He was rocking from side to side on his back, his knees curled to his chest.

“No,” said Squid quietly, “he didn’t fight me. He stuck up for me.”

Max looked at Squid. Squid managed a smile but didn’t receive one in return.

“But you,” The Bear said, looking at Max, “you took out these three.”

“Yes,” said Max.

The Bear snorted, which was most likely a sound of approval, but it was always difficult to tell with him. “You three drag yourselves to the infirmary and I’ll deal with you later.” He turned to Max. “You can go to my office and wait. I think the Dean needs to have a word with you.” Finally he gazed over to Squid. “That’s broken I’d say, come here.”

Rusty, Glenden and Tank began to move back across the yard, leaning on each other in an exaggerated display of suffering. Squid threw his sword at the ground, tip first, but the red dirt was too hard for it to stick in impressively, and instead it fell on its side. Scooping it up, he walked over to The Bear. The Bear looked at his nose and prodded it gently with his forefinger.

“Ouch,” said Squid instinctively.

“Yep,” said The Bear. “Squeeze the hilt of your sword.”

“What?” asked Squid, but it was too late. The Bear cupped Squid’s nose between his fingers and slid his hands down. There was an audible click. Squid squeezed the hilt of his sword hard enough that his knuckles turned white. He screamed, or more accurately, and more embarrassingly, he squealed. Squid’s world grew blurrier than usual and his head felt light. It occurred to some part of him that it would be easier to cope with all this pain if he were asleep. He closed his eyes and fell backward.

Lynn walked down the corridor. No, not Lynn, Max … Max … She had to think of herself as Max now. She couldn’t risk making a mistake and being found out. She thought, not for the first time, just how stupid an idea this was. What was she even doing? Did she honestly believe this could work? Eventually they would discover who she was and she’d be kicked out. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t become a Sister, she couldn’t be like them, she couldn’t treat people the way they did. She’d made it all the way to the Academy. She couldn’t get caught now. She had to focus.

Fleeing from the cathedral had been easier than she’d imagined. For all the intensity of her conviction that she was imprisoned there, all she’d needed to do was wait for dark, lower her bed sheet out the bathroom window and climb down. Avoiding the Holy Order guards in the courtyard had been tricky but she’d stolen into the Diggers’ training yard so often to borrow training swords that she was well practiced at sneaking around.

A trip through someone’s backyard and a visit to their clothesline had netted her boys’ clothes, and a visit to her now empty house had allowed her to collect the bag of money she knew her father kept in his desk drawer. Then she was on her way.

There was a story she’d heard at school once, about an older boy who had left Alice and run away to work at a bio-fuel production plant somewhere in the Outside. Everyone said he’d hitched a ride on one of the bio-trucks leaving Alice. They said that if you had enough money they’d let you hide among the cargo and ride out of the city and happily drop you anywhere that was on their route.

She’d made her way to one of the smaller gates on the far side of Alice, through which food and produce were brought into the city. She’d paid a bio-truck crew, probably more than she should have, and that was that. She’d ridden in a bio-truck trailer all the way to the Rock. Now she was here, ready to blend in for as long as she could, although things hadn’t gone particularly well so far.

Lynn approached the door to the Training Master’s office. The other Scants were on a break now, most likely lying on their beds in the barracks rubbing their sore palms and complaining about one thing or another, but ever since the fight that stupid boy Darius had started, Lynn had been on extra duties, tasked with jobs for The Bear. She was just about to knock when she stopped herself; there were voices coming from inside.

“And what about the Scants?” Lynn could hear The Bear asking. “Any chance they won’t be useless?”

“They are actually progressing quite well,” another voice answered. Lynn was reasonably sure it was Lieutenant Walter. “Some way to go still, of course, but most of them are Outsiders fresh out of rural areas.”

“So I’ve noticed,” The Bear answered. “Like that Squid boy.”

“Yes, sir, he and a number of the others have come from dirt-farming communities.”

“He’s useless.”

Lynn strained to listen. She could tell Walter was speaking quietly.

“I wouldn’t say that, sir. There is work to be done, I’ll admit, but he is intelligent, very intelligent.”

“Unfortunately,” The Bear said, “intelligence is not what an Apprentice needs, especially these ones. They will find themselves on the edge of battle before they are ready. They need bravery and natural skill, neither of which Squid has.”

“Yes, sir,” Walter answered.

“Your orders were to recruit boys with potential, not absolute wastes of space.”

“Yes, sir,” Walter answered again, “but he’s—”

“No buts about it,” The Bear said, cutting him off. “If he doesn’t have it in him, cut him loose. That goes for any of them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We won’t be sending you on recruitment detail again if this is what you return with.”

“Yes, sir, I understand, sir.” There was quiet for a moment. “Is there anything else, sir?”

Lynn could feel the tension seeping out beneath the door.

“No,” The Bear said, “you are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Walter said, “thank you, sir.”

Lynn jumped back from the door as it opened inward. She stepped sideways and stood next to the door as casually as she could. Lieutenant Walter looked at her for just a moment before striding off down the corridor. Lynn waited and, as Ms Apple had always advised, counted slowly to ten before knocking.

The Bear’s gruff voice called out from within. “Yes?”

“It’s Max, sir.”

“Enter,” called The Bear, mumbling something about Scants.

Lynn walked into The Bear’s office. It was a stuffy room filled with thick air that smelled of liquor and time. The Bear was shuffling through papers on his desk, wiping away the thin layer of dust that covered one of them. It was a map. Lynn saw that it had a town marked on it: Dust, the place Squid was from. The Bear was reading from a letter and marking a large area on the map in red, adding arrows that pointed directly toward Dust. Lynn couldn’t help but notice the open, half-empty bottle beside him.

On the map Lynn read the words “breach location,” “fall-back line” and several other notations of dates and directions of movement. It didn’t take long for her to understand. There had been rumors floating around the Rock that there’d been a big breach in the fence. It looked like it was true. They were tracking the movements of a horde of ghouls.

After some minutes of being ignored Lynn stepped forward. “Sir?”

The Bear was startled for a moment, seeming to have forgotten Lynn was even in the room.

“What?” The Bear eventually snapped.

“Uh, I’m reporting for extra duties.”

The Bear stared at Lynn for a moment and then, as if realizing who was standing before him, folded the map over, hiding it from view.

“Out!” The Bear called. “No extra duties today. You are dismissed.”

Lynn hurried out the door before The Bear changed his mind.

That afternoon they had sword training again. Lynn ran through the motions that the instructor, Sergeant Francis, had showed them. They were simple movements, a step forward slash and a step back parry, so easy that Lynn could perform them almost without thinking. She found herself watching Squid. He was playing with the gauze cloth that had been jammed up his nose to staunch the bleeding. The doctor said it had to stay in for three days. It was obviously itchy, and more than once Lynn had seen Squid forget to breathe through his mouth and begin to gag uncontrollably. Lynn couldn’t help but think about what The Bear had said as she watched Squid practicing with his wooden sword. His step forward slash resulted in a sharp cracking sound as he struck his own knee. Then, during his back parry, he smashed himself in his already broken nose, causing him to cry out and drop the sword to the ground.

Lynn resumed her own practice. What did she care if that dirt lifter got sent away? He really was useless. Lynn slashed then parried, again and again, moves she had mastered long ago. Squid picked up his training sword, looking around to see if Sergeant Francis had noticed his mishaps. He began slashing again enthusiastically. At least, Lynn thought, he wanted to try. It wasn’t his fault The Bear didn’t recognize that as a form of courage. Out of the corner of her eye Lynn saw Squid manage to somehow hit his own hand.

Lynn stopped, sighed, and walked over.

“If that was a real sword,” she said, “you would’ve cut your hand off. When we do start using real swords I don’t want to see you bleed to death. You’ve never used a sword before, have you?”

“Why would I have?” Squid asked.

Lynn looked at him. “That’s fair, I suppose.”

“I don’t really like them,” Squid added. “They’re quite sharp.”

“Here,” Lynn said, holding her sword in front of her. “If you’re going to use your left hand to hold your sword you should stand with your left foot forward. This keeps your sword to your enemy, your body turned away from them, and it will improve your balance.”

“It’s okay,” Squid said. “Class is almost over.”

“Come on,” Lynn insisted.

Squid didn’t move.

“Look,” Lynn said, lowering her sword and her voice. “I know what I’m doing. You don’t. If you don’t start figuring it out they’ll send you away.”

Squid seemed to think for a moment before lifting his wooden sword tentatively, holding it away from himself as if it were a snake that at any moment might whip around and bite him.

“Bring it in closer,” Lynn said. “Hold it tight. Pretend you have some kind of confidence with it. My father once told me that if you’re no good with a sword at least look like you know what you’re doing.”

Squid straightened his back, bent his left elbow and tried to hold the sword strongly. “Who’s your father?” he asked without looking at Lynn.

“Nobody,” Lynn said quickly, wishing she hadn’t said anything about him. “It doesn’t matter. He just knew a bit about swords.”

“How come?” Squid said, eyes still on the sword. Anyone with more social skills than Squid would have known not to push the point.

Lynn looked at him. “Just leave it, okay!”

Squid stared blankly at Lynn’s face for a moment. Then he returned to posing with the sword. “Like this?”

Some of the other students had turned at Lynn’s loud outburst but it hadn’t seemed to bother Squid in the slightest. He was so weird. Lynn sighed. He was standing like a duck.

“Maybe just try and pull your … straighten your back and … hold on.”

Lynn gave Squid’s backside a nudge with her foot. Squid nearly overbalanced before he stood up straighter.

“Okay, now just …” Lynn reached around and pulled Squid’s arm up so that the blade was in front of his face at an angle ready to strike. “Now, try your forward slash.”

“So I slash from out to in?” Squid asked as he turned quickly toward Lynn, not realizing that he hadn’t stepped away. Lynn dropped to the ground with reflexes like a cat. Squid’s face went red.

“Sorry,” he said.

“That’s all right, try it again.”

Squid and Lynn practiced next to each other, Lynn running through the motions absent-mindedly while she watched Squid’s movements. With the odd tip here and there, and an occasional intervention to stop him re-breaking his nose, it seemed that Squid was at last becoming more comfortable with the sword. That was a start, Lynn thought. She had lessened the chances that she or anyone else within a five-mile radius of Squid would be in mortal danger.

Throughout practice the pair began to speak more. Well, Squid did quite a lot of talking, more than he had ever spoken to her before, and Lynn mostly listened. Squid told her about long days on the farm, his uncle’s temper and his aunt’s obsession with knitting. Lynn told Squid nothing.

“My parents are dead,” Squid said with the delicateness of a sledgehammer. “Are yours dead too?”

Lynn looked at him for a long while. “Yes,” she said in the end, “they are.”

“My parents died so long ago I don’t remember them,” Squid continued. “When did yours die?”

“My mother died about four years ago but my father …” Lynn looked away. “Do we have to talk about this?” Surely even Squid could sense this issue was a little too raw to probe.

“My uncle and aunt were good to take me in the way they did,” Squid said.

“I thought you hated the farm.”

“I don’t know,” said Squid. “I never said I hated it.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Max said. “You could go back.”

“No, I can’t,” Squid said. “I got conscripted.”

For the first time since her father’s death, Lynn burst out laughing. “You got conscripted? You? Why on the Ancestors’ red earth did they do that?”

Squid agreed that he found it a little odd but he recounted the story of going to the market in Dust, his encounter with Lieutenant Walter and the wild metalworker, and how he had come to be here. By the end of the story Lynn’s laughter had abated and she was thinking once again about what she had overheard The Bear saying.

“You showed your uncle kindness when you didn’t have to,” Lynn said. “That’s important.”

Squid went through the motions of the sword drill. Step forward slash, step back parry. Lynn couldn’t help wondering how much longer they would be repeating this same tedious exercise. They seemed to have been doing it for hours.

“Why are you here?” Squid asked after a few moments of concentrating on his practice. He was improving, slowly. He didn’t seem worried when Lynn didn’t answer.

“All right, Scants,” called Sergeant Francis. “I’ve seen about as much as I can handle. Form up over here.”

Sergeant Francis proceeded to show them how to slide out from a locked parry and then sent them off to practice with a partner, one hundred times. Squid looked at Lynn and smiled a big goofy smile. It was all Lynn could do to keep in her sigh.