My jaw drops, but only for a second. “Liar,” I say, letting that mouth of mine get the better of me again. “I mean, that can’t be right,” I say.
“I got no reason to lie,” he says. “I know I don’t sound it, but my voice ain’t what it used to be. I been in here fer over a year. Lack of food and water and regular speakin’ will do that to a voice. Make it sound old, that is.”
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s say I believe you about being eighteen. Why’ve you been in here so long? What did they say you did?”
“I shouldn’t e’en tell you,” he says.
“Why not?”
“Greynote’s daughter and all.”
“I told you I won’t tell nobody,” I say.
He says nothing, playing my silent game now. I can’t tell if he’s looking at me, or if he’s dozed off, as I can’t see his eyes. Finally, he says, “There was this little girl who lived next door. She was a real nice Totter, friendly as all get out, always saying hi and pickin’ me flowers. She was my little Totter friend. One day, she didn’t come home from Learning.” Raja’s voice catches and his hands move up to grip the bars a little higher.
“Where was she?” I ask.
“Dead,” he says. “They found her in the watering hole, sunk to the bottom with a rock tied to her little ankles.” I hear a sob escape his throat, and I can barely see his shoulders shaking in the dark.
I wait a few seconds, till he stops shaking and goes all still-like. Stiller’n a stone. “They said you killed her?” I say.
“I didn’t,” he says, his voice as strong as it’s been since we started talking.
“I wasn’t saying you did. But that’s what they said?”
“Yeah. They had all kinds of proof. Blood on one of my shirts I hadn’t worn in a full moon. Footprints near the waterin’ hole that matched my feet exactly. Of course, there were a zillion footprints that matched everyone’s feet around the waterin’ hole, but they picked out just mine. But the clincher was a little doll that this Totter was always carryin’ ’round, Josie she called her. Rattier’n hand-me-down socks it was, but she loved it like a real friend, never let it get out of her sight.”
“Where was it?”
“Under my tugskin sleeper,” he says, metal in his voice.
“Someone put it there.” There’s conviction in my voice, which surprises me. Why should I believe this convicted murderer’s story? I just met him. He probably tells everyone this to get them to like him, when he’s really wooloo in the head, getting joy out of watching the life drain out of little girls. But I do believe him. ’Cause of his tears and ’cause I shouldn’t be in Confinement either.
“They had to of, ’cause I didn’t do nothin’ to that little girl. The Greynotes didn’t wanna listen to my side of the story, which is why I think at least one of ’em was in on it. They just declared the evidence and gave me life in Confinement. My momma died one full moon after I got in ’ere, and my daddy a full moon after that. I didn’t get to see either of them again—they were too sick with the Fire to come visit.”
“That’s awful,” I murmur. “I’m sorry, Raja.”
“Thanks for listenin’,” he says. “It helps to get it out. When I can’t speak it, my past is like a horde of burrow mouses inside my stomach, nibblin’ away at me.”
“There hasta be something you can do. Someone we can tell. It ain’t right, Raja. When I get out I’ll tell my father.”
“No! Don’t do that,” Raja says, his voice sharper’n a spear barb. “If you start makin’ dunes, they’ll lock you up too. There’s somethin’ dangerous going on here. A dangerous game by dangerous people.”
“Whaddya mean? Like a ’spiracy?” I say, shifting to my knees.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, but I won’t say no more. Too dangerous for you if you know the rest. They’ll kill me and they’ll kill you.”
“C’mon, Raja. You can’t do that. Tell me. No one’ll know.”
“My lips are sealed with tug-gut glue.”
“Fine. Whatever. I’m going to sleep.” As sad as Raja’s story was, if he don’t want to say no more, then I’m done with it. ’Spiracy—bah! The sun’s probably gone into his brain.
Chapter Thirteen
Although I got a whole swarm of flies buzzing in my head now, I fall right asleep. A day of doing nothing but talking and waiting can make you awful tired. Plus, the sooner I sleep, the sooner I’ll awake to a one way trip back to the village.
When I do awake I feel like I haven’t slept at all. It’s still pitch dark, so dark that waving my hand across my face results in nothing but a waft of air on my cheeks. It feels good. The night is hot, as if the ground sucked up all the sunlight and is slowly releasing it, baking me like a ’zard in a firepan.
I’m instinctively aware that I didn’t wake up naturally. Something woke me. Some sound, some force, someone. “Raja,” I say, sticking my ear between the bars to listen for a response. Nothing. I can’t even hear breathing, but that don’t mean nothing. He might just be a soft night-breather.
“Raja!” I hiss a little louder. No response.
Then I hear it. A clink. Not from Raja’s cage, but from further down the row. The clink is followed by a voice, low, but discernible. “Move out, you dogs!” Keep’s voice, gruffer’n a Killer’s bark.
As my night vision clears, there’s more clinking off yonder. This time I can see much better’n earlier. The black cloud army has marched on to another place, and the moon goddess and her star servants are casting a dim glow on everything. A night light.
I see bodies moving about, a thin line of men. They’re carrying something. Tools of some kind. Sharp and heavy. Axes. Saws. The type of stuff the hut builders use to construct the Greynote homes. Like ours. I remember watching in awe as what was just a big ol’ tree trunk and a patch of dusty land slowly transformed into our house.
I can also see that Raja’s cage is empty. A pile of durt sits next to the hole he crawled out of.
~~~
I gotta get out of this cage.
Something’s going on and I need to know what. If Raja won’t tell me, then I hafta find out on my own.
I could try digging out the hole, pushing the big rock outta my way, but if big guys like Bart can’t get out like that, it seems unlikely a scrawny runt like me’ll be able to do it. I walk around the cage, tapping on the wooden bars with a rock, checking for weaknesses. Seems pretty solid, but…
It’s not made for someone like me. The bars are relatively close together, but not so close that you can’t stick your arms and legs through. Like I did earlier with Circ, hugging and touching hands. In fact, some of the gaps are so wide, I might just be able to squeeze through.
They’re not made for someone with a child’s body, someone so thin and so skeleton-boned that she almost disappears when she turns sideways, as some of the other Younglings like to joke. It’s no joke now.
I try a random gap between the bars, try to force myself between the wood, careful to keep my broken arm tucked safely behind me. But this wood is sturdy and has no give. The wood won’t budge in either direction and the gap is too small. My hips get stuck ’fore I ever really get started.
Moving on, I try to find a gap that’s bigger’n the last one. Most of them are uniform, well measured, but then I find one that seems wider’n t’others. Perhaps it’s just an optical illusion, the moon shadows playing tricks on me, or…
I jam myself into the gap with a running start.
Ahhh! The wood stings me, scrapes me, tears my flesh when it rubs, but I’m pushing forward, making progress, nearly through!
And then I’m stuck. Not stuck like I just can’t go forward any more, but stuck like I can’t go forward or backward or anythingward. Just plain ol’ stuck. Like a tug in the mud.
I’m wedged in so tight it’s hard to breathe. I suck in quick breaths as I try to think, but none of them fully satisfy my hungry lungs. If I got in, I gotta be able to get out, right? Wrong. I had a lot of momentum coming in, but I got nothing going out. Starting from a stuck position, I can’t get enough force going to unstick myself. No matter how much I strain—backwards or forwards—I ain’t budging. New tactic required.