The Book Eaters(83)

Hester pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “What is it?”

“The rest of the story,” Devon said.





24

THE REST OF THE STORY





TWO YEARS AGO


When I used to read fairy tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one!

—Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

Blood painted her mouth in bitterness. Devon gagged until she vomited up chunks of flesh. She couldn’t feel anything except dumbfounded amazement, which seemed wrong to her. Surely you should feel something when you tore out throats. Surely.

Cai was screaming. The noise punctured her numbness and she turned to see him dragging himself across the carpet, banging his head against the wall.

Driven by some base functionality, she crawled over and tried to keep him from hurting himself, wrapping her arms across his torso and smearing putrefaction on him. Her protection only tainted him; how typical. Her breath came shallow and she found it hard to think, but that was because Cai kept screaming. Children shouldn’t scream like that.

She was still there when Ramsey Knight arrived twenty minutes later to find her covered in vomit and gore, kneeling on a floor soiled by the blood and guts of two corpses while Cai thrashed and howled in her arms. Arterial spray slathered the room in ropey strings of blood, more of it pooling and congealed. Matley had lost bladder control and lay placid in his piss-stained trousers. Still alive, somehow.

“Jesus-bloody-goddamn-fucking-Christ on a unicycle!” Ramsey glared down at Matley’s inert form as other knights filtered into the room, some of them examining the scene and speaking in low voices. “Idiot Easterbrook. What bullshit is this?” He gave Matley a hard kick in the ribs; no response.

Bullshit: noun, Devon thought dully. Stupid or untrue talk or writing; nonsense. Strange, that. She would never have described wanton death as bullshit.

“I’ll get the lad.” One of the knights bent over them.

Devon huddled into the wall. “You can’t have my son.” Her arms wound tighter around the toddler, fingers seeking purchase in the slight mass of him. “He’s mine. He’s mine and I’ll keep him!”

She was snarling as she spoke, bookteeth bared. Even as the knight recoiled in disgust, it struck Devon that she could not quite remember why she wanted her son, other than she’d paid a terrible price to keep him and simply could not let that go to waste.

“You’re something else,” Ramsey breathed, scrutinizing her from top to toe. “Really, Dev, you are phenomenal in your way.”

The other knight was already lifting his crossbow. “She’s a lost cause.”

Ramsey touched him on the shoulder. “Hold off a second, Ealand.” He looked down at her over the curve of that proud, Roman-emperor nose. “I never did thank you, by the way. Getting me sent off to the knights was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She retched up another gob of human flesh, scarcely listening.

“I think we can still use them for the intended purpose.” Ramsey pulled out a sleek mobile phone. “Don’t separate them yet, and don’t shoot her unless she attacks. I need to make a call to Kingsey. See if we can adapt the situation to our advantage.” He stepped outside, phone in hand. The other knights exchanged glances but waited.

Situation. Purpose. Meaningless words drifting lazily through Devon’s subconscious, nothing clicking together. Like a misaligned puzzle set. Matley had told her there were no more knights, yet knights were here, talking like they’d had a use for her. A plan. There were no plans. Mice and men. Was she the mouse, or the man? She tried to think but Cai was screaming and it overloaded her senses.

The room stank overpoweringly of viscera. She kept her son from rolling in anything too grotesque as he flailed in agony, her mind existing in a place that had long ago surpassed normal fear or worry. Cai was unwell, and she didn’t understand; he’d fed, it was horrific, but he was a mind eater, and it had saved her, and why was he so unwell?

Ramsey came back in, tucking the mobile into a pocket. “Commander Kingsey says we should proceed. Is there anywhere else I can sit down? I need to debrief her, and I’d prefer not to do it while holding my nose the entire time.”

Another knight said, “You think this can be salvaged?”

“She was useful before and is useful still,” Ramsey said. “Take it up with the commander if you don’t like it.”

Silence descended. No one else argued.

“Your agreement is appreciated,” Ramsey said. “Moving on. This is a working farm, aye? With trafficked illegals and other such labor?”

It was Ealand who answered. “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent.” Ramsey jerked a thumb. “Go to the building where the workers are housed and bring me back the youngest child you can find. We’ll be in the adjoining room.” He looked down at Devon. “Get up.”

She looked up, Cai sobbing disconsolately against her chest. “What’s going on?”

“If you want your son to survive,” Ramsey said, “then come with me.” When she hesitated, he added, “Or we can shoot you both now. Your choice, little sister.”

She stood up, writhing child in arms. “What’s wrong with my son?”