‘You watched Hephaestus stab her before he was knocked unconscious,’ corrects Emory. ‘You must have saved her afterwards. That’s where all your medical supplies went. Whoever smashed her skull into pieces is the real murderer.’
Emory walks back to the village, trying to shake off her guilt. She didn’t kill Hephaestus, but deep down she wanted it. Did she let herself be deceived by Thea, hoping this would happen?
She’s honestly unsure, but she knows she latched onto his culpability with both hands, ignoring any questions her theory didn’t answer. She was worried about her father, and Clara, but that’s no excuse.
Halfway along the pier, she notices the gouges in the concrete, where his contraption was dragged, before being dumped into the sea.
Surely that had to have been the murder weapon. Thea found chunks of Niema’s skull wedged amongst its circuitry.
‘Dragged,’ she exclaims, out loud, wondering why she didn’t see it before. ‘Hephaestus didn’t need to drag his machine, he could carry it easily.’
She spins on Thea. ‘Were you strong enough to carry that machine Hephaestus brought down from the cauldron garden?’
Thea doesn’t hear her. She staring into the fog, her spirit being eaten alive by fear and shame.
‘Thea!’ yells Emory.
The elder turns, tears streaking her face. Emory repeats the question.
‘Could I carry it?’ she repeats blankly. ‘Yes, I suppose. Not for as far as Hephaestus, but I could certainly have brought it out here.’
Emory runs her finger through the gouge in the concrete.
‘A villager must have dragged it,’ she muses. ‘We wouldn’t have been strong enough to transport it all this way. But who would have wanted to hide a murder weapon that so clearly implicates Hephaestus.’
She springs up, running into the village.
Most of the supplies have already been sent up to the cauldron garden, leaving only the goodbyes. The sixty-one people who’ll be left behind are hugging their loved ones, and trying to be brave. They’re conducting four-minute funerals, turning themselves into mourning lanterns. Nearly everybody in the village begged me to let them sacrifice themselves, their hearts breaking to see their friends selected ahead of them. Ultimately, I chose those whose skills could easily be replaced, or had the fewest years remaining.
I failed, thinks Emory bitterly. I was supposed to stop this. I begged Thea to let me investigate and for what?
‘The world ended ninety years ago because too many people just let it,’ I say. ‘They had a chance to change things, to write a different future, and instead they gave themselves to apathy. They let themselves believe the job was too big so they wouldn’t risk failing. This is how you save the world, Emory. One failure at a time, but always in the right direction. Now, what do you know?’
‘What do I know?’ she repeats. ‘I know that a villager was trying to cover up the murder, and it was probably Adil. He lit the fire in the warehouse, hoping to burn Niema’s body. He probably moved the bird bath to hide the bloodstain, and likely dragged the machine along the pier.’
Her gaze flicks from the warehouse to the bird bath, the rain plinking off the metal and disturbing the water. ‘He couldn’t have done any of that alone,’ she thinks. ‘He was dying. He couldn’t have had that much strength left in him.’
Clara comes running into the yard, her concerned face brightening when she sees her mother.
‘We should go,’ she says. ‘Most of the supplies are already in the cauldron garden. Once the carriage comes back down, we need to be in it.’
‘I can’t go yet,’ says Emory. ‘The fog’s still coming. We need to know the name of Niema’s murderer and we have half an hour left. I’m going to stay in the village for as long as I can. There might be something I’ve missed that can help me figure it out.’
Clara pulls a face in confusion. ‘What’s the use in knowing who did it?’ she asks. ‘Only an execution can stop the fog, and we’d never do that.’
‘Niema killed my mother and kept my husband underground for five years,’ replies Emory. ‘Nobody on this island has a better motive for killing her than me.’
Clara considers this calm proclamation in shock.
‘You wouldn’t have!’
‘I’m not sure,’ admits Emory, obviously disturbed. ‘There’s something in me that knows how to hate. I’ve felt it these last few days.’
She averts her eyes, unable to look directly at Clara. ‘If I can prove I killed Niema, I’ll stick that memory extractor on my head and put an end to this.’
Clara goes rigid, shaking her head vehemently. ‘You wouldn’t kill anybody,’ she repeats stubbornly.
‘I have to know for sure.’
‘Then I’m staying, as well.’
‘Clara –’
‘No,’ she insists. ‘I had as much reason to kill Niema as you did.’
‘Don’t forget about me,’ says Seth, hobbling through the mud towards them. ‘I still think I’m the most likely culprit. Niema let me row her around for years, pretending we were friends. Even thinking about it makes me angry. If I’m responsible I want to know, and I reckon you’re the one who can tell me.’
Emory stares at her father, smiling involuntarily at the conviction on his face. This is how he used to look at the elders, she realises. It’s not just trust, it’s absolute faith. Of course, he’d wait until the end of the world to finally believe in her.
They’re interrupted by Thea, who’s clapping her hands for attention, a small throng of villagers following close behind, their faces blank with shock.
‘I need everybody who’s not going up to the cauldron to follow me,’ she screams, over the storm. ‘We’re going to seal up Blackheath. Emory, I need the key.’
‘You’ll never reach it in time,’ cries Emory, confronting her. ‘Blackheath’s more than an hour away over rough terrain.’
‘We’ll run.’
‘You’ll die.’
‘There’s no future without Blackheath,’ declares Thea stubbornly. ‘Sixty-one villagers need to stay behind anyway; we can’t all fit into the cauldron garden and survive. If we get there, we’ll close the doors after us. With a few trained hands and all of that equipment, I’ll be able to destroy the fog eventually. I just need time.’
She holds out her hand for the key.
‘Don’t give it to her,’ I say, in Emory’s thoughts. ‘Thea’s the only person left on the island who knows how the pods which grow your people work. If she dies, it won’t matter if you stop the fog or not.’
Emory rubs a hand across her face.
‘It’s suicide,’ she says to Thea weakly.
‘My sister’s down there, Emory.’ Her voice is pleading. ‘I’ve lost Niema and Hephaestus already. My entire species has been wiped out. I can’t endure any more loss.’
For the first time, Emory sees the pain burning at the heart of this woman, the agony of living. She’s been trapped here for ninety years, lied to by people who cared more about her skills than her well-being. In that light, she seems more villager than human.
‘Please,’ whispers Thea. ‘If you don’t let me go, they won’t come with me.’
Emory doesn’t know what she means until Thea shifts her eyes towards the villagers arrayed behind her. They’re watching Emory expectantly, waiting for her decision. After everything they’ve been through, they still need an elder.
Emory presses the key into Thea’s palm.
‘Good luck,’ she says.
Thea grips her forearm. ‘You did well,’ she says. ‘Far better than anybody could have imagined.’ She turns away, then back. ‘I know you don’t believe me, but I really didn’t kill Adil. I would have taken this key if I had.’