The Knife of Never Letting Go

“Is Haven a real place?” I ask.

“It’s the biggest and first of the settlements,” Hildy says. “Closest New World’s got to a big city. Miles away. Not for peasants like us.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” I say again.

No one says nothing to this and I get the feeling they’re being polite. Viola’s not really looked at me since the weirdness back there with me and Matthew and the knife. To be honest, I don’t know what to make of it neither.

So everyone just keeps walking.

There’s maybe seven buildings total in Farbranch, smaller than Prentisstown and just buildings after all but somehow so different, too, it feels like I’ve wandered right off New World into some whole other place altogether.

The first building we pass is a tiny stone church, fresh and clean and open, not at all like the darkness Aaron preached in. Farther on is a general store with a mechanic’s garage by it, tho I don’t see much by way of heavy machinery around. Haven’t even seen a fissionbike, not even a dead one. There’s a building that looks like a meeting hall, another with a doctor’s snakes carved into the front, and two barn-like buidings that look like storage.

“Not much,” Hildy says. “But it’s home.”

“Not yer home,” I say. “You live way outside.”

“So do most people,” Hildy says. “Even when yer used to it, it’s nice to only have the Noise of yer most beloved a-hanging round yer house. Town gets a bit rackety.”

I listen out for rackety but it still ain’t nothing like Prentisstown. Sure there’s Noise in Farbranch, men doing their usual boring daily business, chattering their thoughts that don’t mean nothing, Chop, chop, chop and I’ll only give seven for the dozen and Listen to her sing there, just listen and That coop needs fixing tonight and He’s gonna fall right off of that and on and on and on, so heedless and safe-sounding to me it feels like taking a bath in comparison to the black Noise I’m used to.

“Oh, it gets black, Todd pup,” Hildy says. “Men still have their tempers. Women, too.”

“Some people would call it impolite to always be listening to a man’s Noise,” I say, looking round me.

“Too true, pup.” She grins. “But ye aren’t a man yet. Ye said so yerself.”

We cross the central strip of the town. A few men and women walk to and fro, some tipping their hats to Hildy, most just staring at us.

I stare back.

If you listen close, you can hear where the women are in town almost as clear as the men. They’re like rocks that the Noise washes over and once yer used to it you can feel where their silences are, dotted all about, Viola and Hildy ten times over and I’ll bet if I stopped and stood here I could tell exactly how many women are in each building.

And mixed in with the sound of so many men, you know what?

The silence don’t feel half so lonesome.

And then I see some teeny, tiny people, watching us from behind a bush.

Kids.

Kids smaller than me, younger than me.

The first I ever seen.

A woman carrying a basket spies them and makes a shooing movement with her hands. She frowns and smiles at the same time and the kids all run off giggling round the back of the church.

I watch ’em go. I feel my chest pull a little.

“Ye coming?” Hildy calls after me.

“Yeah,” I say, still watching where the kids went. I turn and keep on following, my head still twisted back.

Kids. Real kids. Safe enough for kids and I find myself wondering if Viola would be able to feel at home here with all these nice-seeming men, all these women and children. I find myself wondering if she’d be safe, even if I’m obviously not.

I’ll bet she would.

I look at Viola and catch her looking away.

Hildy’s led us to the house farthest along the buildings of Farbranch. It’s got steps that go up the front and a little flag flying from a pole out front.

I stop.

“This is a mayor’s house,” I say. “Ain’t it?”

“Deputy Mayor,” Hildy says, walking up the steps, clomping her boots loud against the wood. “My sister.”

“And my sister,” says a woman opening the door, a plumper, younger, frownier version of Hildy.

“Francia,” Hildy says.

“Hildy,” Francia says.

They nod at each other, not hug or shake hands, just nod.

“What trouble d’ye think yer bringing into my town?” Francia says, eyeing us up.

“Yer town, is it now?” Hildy says, smiling, eyebrows up. She turns to us. “Like I told Matthew Lyle, it’s just two pups a-fleeing for safety, seeking their refuge.” She turns back to her sister. “And if Farbranch ain’t a refuge, sister, then what is it?”

“It’s not them I’m a-talking about,” Francia says, looking at us, arms crossed. “It’s the army that’s a-following them.”

“Army?” I say, my stomach knotting right up. Viola says it at the same time I do but there’s nothing funny bout it this time.

“What army?” Hildy frowns.

“Rumours a-floating down from the far fields of an army a-gathering on the other side of the river,” Francia says. “Men on horseback. Prentisstown men.”

Hildy purses her lips. “Five men on horseback,” she says. “Not an army. Those were just the posse sent after our young pups here.”

Francia don’t look too convinced. I never seen arms so crossed.

“And the river gorge crossing is down anyhow,” Hildy continues, “so there ain’t gonna be anyone a-coming into Farbranch any time soon.” She looks back at us. “An army,” she says, shaking her head. “Honestly.”

“If there’s a threat, sister,” Francia says, “it’s my duty–”

Hildy rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a-talking to me about yer duty, sister,” she says, stepping past Francia and opening the front door to the house. “I invented yer duty. C’mon, pups, let’s get ye inside.”

Viola and I don’t move. Francia don’t invite us to neither. “Todd?” Manchee barks by my feet.

I take a deep breath and go up the front steps. “Howdy, mim,” I say.

“Mam,” Viola whispers behind me.

“Howdy, mam,” I say, trying not to miss a beat. “I’m Todd. That’s Viola.” Francia’s arms are still crossed, like there’s a prize for it. “There really were only five men,” I say, tho the word army is echoing round my Noise.