The Last Murder at the end of the World

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?’

There’s a ripple of unease, only for Tomas to step forward.

‘I’ll stay,’ he says firmly. ‘I’m near enough sixty, anyway. I’d like to be of service, if I can.’

‘I’ll stay,’ volunteers Hossein.

‘And me,’ hollers Katia.

‘And me.’

‘Me.’

‘Me.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ cries Thea, watching every villager volunteer. ‘Why would you die to save a murderer?’

‘Because otherwise we’d be the ones killing him,’ points out Magdalene, holding her son, Sherko, by the shoulders. ‘Kindness first, always,’ she adds.

‘We’ve made our decision, Thea,’ says Emory. ‘We’re asking you to abide by it. No more killing, not for any reason.’

Thea snorts in disbelief.

‘And what will you do with Hephaestus? Have you considered that?’

‘We’ll ask him to work,’ says Seth gruffly. ‘He’ll grow his own food, and find a hobby, just like us. There’s a lot he can teach us. He’ll be of service.’

‘He’ll kill you. Every one of you.’

Their certainty wavers, but every face looks to Emory for strength. Her eyes never leave Thea’s.

‘This is what we’ve decided,’ she repeats.

‘You’re all mad,’ says Thea, hurling up her arms in exasperation. She considers another argument, but their expressions tell her quite clearly that she’s flinging rocks into the sun.

‘Fine, if that’s what you want, we’ll make our home in the cauldron garden, but you’ll have to live with me telling you how wrong you were.’ She blows out a defeated breath. ‘Tell me everything and I’ll talk to Hephaestus. This will go better for all of us if he learns the truth from me.’