The Book Eaters(59)
“I don’t understand?”
“Unguarded border,” he said impatiently. “Think, Devon. What’s the main thing that makes escaping the Families difficult?”
She goggled at him, at a total loss. “They’re … powerful?”
“Nah, not really, they just pretend they are,” he said. “It’s the fact that we can’t easily leave this bloody island, because none of us have any proper documentation.”
“Oh. Of course.”
“But we can do it if we chain our journey through Northern Ireland,” he pressed. “We could take a ferry there without needing passports, since it’s part of the United Kingdom. Then drive quietly across the border into the Republic, because they don’t have border checkpoints between the two. Boom, out of Britain.” He grinned. “If you want to escape the Families, all you have to do is take a ferry to Northern Ireland.”
She said, doubtful, “Aren’t there book eaters there?”
“Not anymore! The last of the Irish ’eaters dispersed in the 1940s. Some went abroad to America, never heard from them again. The rest merged their lineage into the Ravenscars and the Winterfields. Both Irelands are free of the Families.” He leaned forward, face aglow with excitement. “What do you think? Good idea?”
“I…” She put her head in her hands, overwhelmed by all he was suggesting. Overwhelmed they were even discussing this at all. “Stop. Please, stop. I’m glad you care, it means a lot to me. But I can’t up and go to this Ireland place. Northern Ireland, whatever. I have a daughter, Jarrow. There is no plan we can concoct that will let me bring her, because she’s trapped in Birmingham.”
His face fell. “She’ll be trapped whether you go or stay.”
“But if I stay, I’ll get to see her when I’m done having children. I have a meeting, it’s all set up on her tenth birthday. If I behave, if I do as I’m told and—”
“Listen to yourself,” he said, almost a growl. “The Family have you fooled into thinking life is a fairy tale. There is no happy ending to this story. It is just a con.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m bloody stupid.” She kept her voice low, her jaw tight, in contrast to his wild gesturing. “If I go with you, I will definitely never see Salem again. That’s a certainty. She’ll be lost to me forever. Staying is my only chance, however slim.”
“Oh for god’s sakes, Dev, there is no chance at all, right? They are never going to let you see your daughter again! When have you ever heard of mothers visiting their biological children? Why the hell would they make an exception for you? Did your mother ever come to visit?” His fists battered the table in sudden fury. “Fucking think about it! Do any mothers ever visit?”
She stared at him with eyes wide and lips parted, a child struck dumb. A memory of Uncle Aike lounging in her bedroom, ankles elegantly crossed as he said, so casually, Five hundred years of ’eater traditions do not get overturned on the whims of one pampered girl.
“It’s bait,” he stormed. “They’re saying this bullshit to keep you quiet until you’re old and tired like the aunts, and don’t have the heart to fight anymore. Can’t you see that?”
“Just shut up!” She clapped her hands over her ears. “I came here to play video games. That’s the only escape I’m interested in. The only escape that is possible for me. If you want to leave, you can do that. Go off and don’t come back. No children, no responsibilities anchoring you down. But you don’t want that, do you? Because this isn’t about me or my life, it’s about you and your need to … to rescue someone!”
Jarrow folded into a chair as if she’d sliced his tendons.
Silence cowered between them.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and when that didn’t seem enough she added, “If you no longer want me to come here, I’ll understand.”
“Don’t be daft,” he said, after a moment. “You’re always welcome to play games, or anything else. Always.” He reached out and scraped the map off the table, stashing it into a drawer. “And if you ever change your mind, let me know. I’m serious.”
What that offer cost him, she couldn’t begin to guess. Even in her distress she was grateful.
“I’ll think about it,” she lied, and turned away from the maps that were too real of an escape, back toward the safe prison of the games room and its promise of digital abandon.
18
THE MANY FACES OF DEVON FAIRWEATHER
PRESENT DAY
The book eater inability to write by longhand in any form, including codes or pictographs, is truly fascinating. They cannot even type electronically! I am reminded of situational mutism (such as that experienced by some autistic individuals or people with anxiety), where someone may have healthy vocal cords and academic knowledge of human language, yet still be unable to communicate verbally.
I believe book eaters experience a similar communication processing barrier. Any action the brain categorizes as written communication becomes psychologically impossible for them to perform. The fact that mind eaters can do it easily must surely, to them, seem a cruel irony.
—Amarinder Patel, Paper and Flesh: A Secret History