For the first time since they made me leader of the community, I realise why I told Hannah I was thinking of leaving. It’s fear. Not of having to negotiate territory, fight a war, and make sure we come out of it with more land than when we started. I can do that blindfolded.
It’s this that scares me.
My seniors have left the House.
I’m in charge of fifty kids who don’t give a shit about the territory wars. They just want to be looked after.
And I have no idea how.
Chapter 5
He went missing on one of the prettiest days Narnie could remember in her whole sixteen years. One of those days when she woke up and actually wanted to be alive.
Over the next twenty-four hours the four of them called his name, first with annoyance, then urgency, hysteria, rage, grief.
And then with despair.
By the third day everyone else at the school joined in, as well as the Townies and the Cadets.
But the birds still sang and the river still flowed and the flowers were in full bloom.
And then their voices stopped and their souls stood still and they ceased being who they had been.
Because who they were had always been determined by him.
Five days after his disappearance she scraped the words and numbers on the trunk of the Prayer Tree.
MATTHEW 10.26
And she vowed that she would never leave this place until he returned.
Chapter 6
The boy in the tree in my dreams comes calling again. His visits are more frequent these days. I ask him why and he tells me it’s because he’s waiting for someone. For the first time ever I feel a chill slice through me. I ask him who it is he is waiting for but he doesn’t answer. For some freaky reason, Hannah comes to mind and just when I’m about to ask him another question, I sense that there is someone else in the tree with us. Someone at the edge of the branch, like a shadow, but I can’t quite see their face. The boy stands up tall on the branch and dives into the water below and I hear a whimper from the shadow at the end of the branch. It frightens me so much that, with shaking legs, I stand as well. Ready to jump. Just about to.
“Taylor?”
I look at my clock. Six A.M.
Raffaela is standing by my bed. “It’s Ben. You should see what the Cadets have done to him.”
They went for his fingers like they knew how much he needed them. His House leaders would always do that to him, too. Ben’s a muso. Loves anything that produces a tune, so naturally it’s always his fingers that get smashed when someone is pissed off with him, and Ben has one of those personalities that invites pissed-offness. Raffaela has his fingers taped and it’s a while before he looks up at me. I flinch at what I see.
I’m presuming the eye will go a purply colour and that it will be difficult for him to eat for a day or two, judging by the amount of blood around his mouth. Raffaela cleans him up with the practicality of someone who has spent a lifetime doing it and I try to keep my mind on the semi-carnage in front of me but I just can’t help thinking back to my dream.
“So you made the offer,” I say.
He nods but even that seems painful.
“And they didn’t like it?”
“He wanted the negotiations to take place between him and the girl. ‘Isn’t she in charge over there?’ That’s what he said. Like I thought he would. Remember that part where I said he’ll want to speak to you?”
“And he’s a coward who gets his thugs to do the dirty work for him.”
“Oh no,” Ben says, trying to shake his head and pushing Raffaela’s hand away. “He did all this himself. You’ve got to hand it to him. He does his own dirty work.”
I can tell Ben’s angry.
“I am allowed to delegate,” I say to him, speaking more sharply than I should.
“Yeah, I know. But you weren’t delegating. You were avoiding someone and I got caught in the middle. Look at me. I’m five foot four. I’m a weakling. My specialty is medieval jousting and violin. I’m not built for pain. He, on the other hand, is a ten-feet-fricken-tall unit.”
“Then we try again and give him want he wants for the time being,” Raffaela says.
“We have no idea what he wants.”
“Did this happen on our territory or theirs?”
“Does it matter? It hurts the same. They have booby traps everywhere. It’s like one of those bad Chuck Norris–Vietnam War movies from the eighties.”
“So they’re bored?” I ask.
“Out of their tiny brains. They just worked out that you can’t get mobile coverage out here. So no text-messaging means more terrorising. You can’t walk a metre without a trip-wire getting you. You need to call a meeting with Richard and the other leaders. Remind them of exactly where the boundaries are because if one of the younger kids gets caught in the wrong area, there’ll be casualties and the teachers will start asking questions and the other Houses are going to go apeshit.”
“Then we’ll go check the boundaries later today.”
“I’m not going!”
“Yes you are, Ben. You’re my second-in-charge.”
“Only chosen because you didn’t want Richard. Don’t think for one moment that I thought you picked me for any other reason. I don’t get chosen for things unless there’s a motive. You know why I’m head of my House? Because Number One Son found Jesus Christ and is now a happy clapper with those Hillsong People in Sydney, and I’m about this close to joining him.”
“I’ll get Richard, then. He’ll be the best of a bad bunch of backstabbers. Is that okay with you?” I snap. I walk out and slam the door, thumping furiously down the stairs.
The teacher who has replaced Hannah is calling the roll in our dining room and everyone acts as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Everyone except for me and Jessa McKenzie. She sits at the bottom of the stairs wrapped in her nightgown, with that perfect yearning concern on her face.
“Go get some breakfast,” I say firmly.
“Are you going to Hannah’s?”
“It’s none of your business where I’m going,” I mutter, slamming out the front door.
Hannah’s house has begun to lose her scent. These days it smells musty and still. I walk to her room in the attic and lie on her bed. It’s been a week since I’ve seen her and I know that it’s time to go and speak to one of the teachers. To ask casually where she is. I bury my face in her pillow. I can’t remember one day in the last five years that Hannah hasn’t been around and for a moment I want to cry. I’m angry that I want to cry because I feel like I’ve been manipulated by the soundtrack in my head—the same one that made me cry in some shit sentimental movie with Julia Roberts where the mum is dying of cancer. I get off the bed and walk down to the kitchen. Hannah’s manuscript is there on the table, but it seems thinner and the pages are spread out like someone’s just read them, like someone’s just been here, which makes me feel uneasy. The pages aren’t numbered, so I don’t know whether I have the beginning or end or whether it’s in sequence but these days I’m not really looking for continuity.
All I’m after is something that makes sense to me.
In between setting up a bilateral agreement with the enemy, banning rumours about serial killers, and fobbing off an attempted coup d’état by Richard and the other House leaders, I go to see our Principal about Hannah and realise that in the whole time I have been at the school, I’ve been in this office only once. John Palmer moves from behind his desk and sits me down in one of his “guest” seats like he’s promoting the notion of some kind of warmth and familiarity. It’s not that I don’t like the adults around here; it’s just that they don’t stick around long enough. The Jellicoe School is their stepping stone to some other place and there have been three Principals since I’ve arrived. That’s what makes Hannah different. Rumour has it that Hannah went to school here and just never left. That’s another of what I call the Hannah mysteries. Why would a woman who’s not even in her mid-thirties hide herself away from the world out here? Worse still, why would she choose to leave out of the blue and not tell me?