‘I needed to talk to my friends without you interfering,’ says Emory, leaning over the edge of the boat to wash her hands in the water. ‘Besides, I didn’t want a murderer near my daughter.’
Thea’s breath catches in her throat.
‘What are you accusing me of?’ she asks, her voice tight.
‘I followed you to Blackheath last night,’ says Emory, refusing to look at her. ‘You wanted to kill Hui, and I know you murdered Adil.’
‘You’ve got it all wrong.’
‘You just can’t stop lying, can you?’
‘I didn’t kill Adil!’
‘Of course it was you,’ declares Emory, glaring at her. ‘There was nobody else in Blackheath last night.’
‘How dare you accuse me of something like that without proof,’ argues Thea haughtily. ‘Who do you think you are?’
Emory meets her anger with rage.
‘I’m a villager,’ she exclaims. ‘And after everything I’ve seen from you, I’m proud of that. This island’s in danger and instead of helping me protect it, you and Hephaestus have spent the last two days lying to me and covering your tracks. I’m sick of the both of you.’
Thea feels a sudden shiver of uncertainty. There’s something strange in Emory’s expression that she’s never seen in a villager before. Her eyes are hard, her glare fierce. Almost predatory.
Catalysts and reactions, thinks Thea. For the last few days, Emory’s been submerged in the very worst of humanity, and it’s fundamentally altered her. This isn’t the same person who pleaded with her to investigate Niema’s death. The deference is gone. The fear. The doubt.
Thea feels like she’s dealing with a human.
She glances at Seth, expecting him to reprimand his daughter, but he stares on blankly. Evidently, it’s not only Emory who’s been transformed by Niema’s death.
‘Why would I kill Adil?’ asks Thea, adopting a placating tone. ‘He came to my lab last night. He told me that Blackheath was open, and Hephaestus and Niema had been using it for years, sleeping there whenever they needed a little luxury. He showed me the rooms they’d been using. The empty food packets. Niema’s favourite cup still had tea in it.’
Thea stares hard at Emory. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like there’s enough room in the boat for the three of them, and her misgiving.
‘Why would Adil help you?’ asks Emory. ‘He hated the elders.’
‘I have no clue, but he’s the only person who’s told me the truth in forty years,’ she declares hotly. ‘I had no reason to kill him. He was going to give me the key to Blackheath.’
‘Where were you when he died?’ asks Emory, considering this point.
‘I went to see my sister. I was going to wake her up, but I decided against it at the last minute. It was the hardest choice I’ve ever had to make, but she’d never forgive me for trapping her in the cauldron garden.’
The boat rocks, passing over choppy water. They’re rowing by the farms, but nobody’s tending the fields this morning. Every vegetable that was halfway ripe has been harvested already, the seeds collected, and the tools removed from the sheds. Most of the animal pens are empty, but Shilpa and Abbas are still trying to negotiate with some recalcitrant cows.
The boat comes within sight of the sea wall leading into the bay. Plumes of sooty smoke are still rising from the infirmary, partially obscuring the cable car, which is rising into the black storm clouds swirling around the cauldron.
‘I can’t go back to the village,’ says Thea nervously. ‘If Hephaestus –’
‘He’s unconscious and tied up,’ replies Emory. ‘I used the Nyctanthes prumulla we found in the lighthouse. He should be out for another hour, at least. He’s not going to hurt you.’
Thea gapes at her. ‘You took down Hephaestus?’
‘I had to,’ remarks Emory distantly. ‘He murdered Niema.’
SIXTY-NINE
Seth drives their boat up on the pebbles, then hops out and moors it. Emory clambers after him, glancing at the fog.
‘How long until it gets here?’ she asks out loud.
‘An hour,’ I reply. ‘Probably less with this wind.’
Thea follows them into the village, her thoughts still reeling. Emory hasn’t explained any of the details of the murder yet, but Thea doesn’t care.
She didn’t do it. That’s all that matters, right now.
She should be relieved – and a part of her is – but that isn’t the emotion surging through her body right now. It’s not why she feels light enough to float. She’d been so convinced of her guilt that she was ready to kill Hui in her bed to conceal it. She never would have believed herself capable of such brutality, but there’s something oddly comforting in discovering this steel inside of herself. Whatever comes next, she knows she has the will to confront it.
Her head hurts, and her hands are ragged. She’s tired, wet and dirty, but she feels remade, like she’s crawled out of her own grave. For the first time in years, the future doesn’t seem so ominous, because she feels like the most dangerous thing in it.
Everybody’s in the exercise yard, which is piled high with boxes of supplies, waiting to be transported to the cauldron. Thea’s surprised to find crates from Blackheath amongst them, including medical supplies and food packets.
Hui’s being carried on a stretcher towards the cable-car station, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s breathing shallowly, Clara hurrying alongside beside her.
‘When did you do all this?’ asks Thea, awed.
‘While you slept,’ says Emory. ‘Isn’t that when most things get done on this island?’
As they approach the bird bath, the villagers stop their conversations, turning to inspect them. Emory’s greeted with cries of elation, people squeezing her arms and throwing smiles at her feet like roses.
This is how they used to treat Niema, thinks Thea.
By contrast, their reaction to her is cool at best. She can see the betrayal in their eyes, the pain of knowing the truth. She meets every gaze, staring them down. Confidence floods through her once more.
Of course they lowered their eyes, she thinks. They were designed for deference, to serve and obey humanity. In the end, they’ll always crave her control.
Emory is something else. She was born flawed, the genetic leash around her neck frayed from the beginning. That’s okay, it’s not contagious. Thea even found it amusing once.
Whatever mutiny’s brewing amongst the villagers, Emory’s at the head of it. Once she’s dealt with, everything else will fall into place.
‘Where’s Hephaestus?’ Thea demands, searching among the boxes. ‘Every second he’s alive brings the fog closer to the island.’
‘I’ve spent two days searching for Niema’s murderer, trying not to think about what happens when I find them,’ says Emory, ignoring the question. ‘I told myself it was out of my hands, and it was up to the elders, but that’s not good enough. We can’t call ourselves good people if we stand by and let terrible things happen.’
‘I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,’ snaps Thea.
‘We’ve decided not to execute Hephaestus,’ says Emory firmly. ‘We discussed it this morning and everybody agreed that it’s not what we do. We don’t hurt people, even to save ourselves. We’re going to evacuate to the cauldron garden.’
Murmurs of agreement run circles around the throng of villagers, who’ve stopped what they’re doing to watch the argument.
‘The cauldron can’t support our number,’ argues Thea, stunned. ‘Sixty-one of you would have to stay behind.’ Her gaze roams the crowd, hunting for doubt. ‘How will you decide who they are?’