The Finisher

Never let that happen again.

” On that first light, I had looked down at my ink-stamped hand and wondered what it was I was to do at this place. I found my workstation only because it had my name on it. A rectangle of blackened metal with silver letters spelling out vega jane on it and bolted onto the top of the wood. It wasn’t a pretty sign.

14 And the whole time I was thinking, It’s not just my name bolted to this place.

It’s me.

On that very first light as I stood next to my station, Quentin had hurried over and greeted me. He was a family friend and had always been very kind toward me.

“I thought you were starting next light, Vega,” he said.

“Or else I would have been ready for you.

” “I don’t know what to do,” I said with a touch of desperation.

He went back to his station and returned with a little figurine made out of metal. It was of a very young male pet- ting a canine. He said, “This, or things like this, are what you will finish. This is metal. You will also finish things in wood, ceramic, clay and other materials. The Wug and his canine I will paint in pleasing colors.

” “How do you know which colors to use?” I asked.

“There are instructions for each item on your worksta- tion. But you have some leeway to use your own creativity.

You will sometimes paint, sometimes carve, sometimes mold and sometimes distress objects to make them look older.

” “But no one has taught me how to do this.

” “I know you showed artistic ability at Learning,” he said. “Or else they would not have sent you here to be a Finisher.

” I looked at Quentin. “I just thought there would be some training involved.

” “There will be. I will train you.

” “What about your work?” I asked, glancing at the unfin- ished objects at his station.

15 “That will be part of your training, helping me finish them. I’ve been looking forward to this light, Vega. I had always hoped you would be assigned to Stacks.

” And he taught me. Each light, I had come in with a smile, but only because Quentin was there. I had picked up things quickly until my skill rivaled his.

I was recalling all of this now, not for nostalgic reasons but for a very different cause.

For Quentin Herms had been the very Wug I had seen rushing headlong into the Quag with the canines and Coun- cil after him. I knew that he would not be at Stacks this light.

I wondered when others would realize this too.

My head filled with more dread than puzzlement, I turned to the one thing I knew how to do: finishing pretty things that would be purchased by Wugs who could afford them. I was not among that number.


I lifted up my first task of the light. A small, unfinished porcelain bowl that required painting and then kiln-firing. As I held up the bowl, the top slipped and it nearly fell off. I set the top down on the table and gripped the bowl more firmly.

That’s when I saw the small piece of parchment tucked in there. I glanced around to see if anyone was watching and then I carefully dipped my hand in the bowl and took out the parchment. I hid it in a work cloth and put the cloth on the workstation and opened it, unfolding the piece of parch- ment as well. The handwriting was small and precise, the words clear.

I will not be back at Stacks, Vega. Go to your tree this night.

What you will find there may set you free from Wormwood, if you so desire. QH.

16 I balled up the parchment and swallowed it. As it went down my throat, I looked up in time to see four males enter Domitar’s office. They were all members of Council, as denoted by their black dress tunics. Jurik Krone was among them, which was not a good thing. He had seen me near the Quag this light. That coupled with the fact that I worked next to Quentin might not bode well for me.

Thirty slivers passed and I lifted my gaze when I heard Domitar’s door open. To a Wug, all the black tunics were staring at me. I felt my body stiffen like I’d been poked by one of the hot irons the Dactyls used in their work.

Krone came forward, the other Council members in his wake. He held up an object. When I saw it, my breath caught in my throat. I recognized it immediately, though I had not seen it for many sessions. I wondered how Krone could be holding it now.

“We meet yet again, Vega,” said Krone as he and his cohorts encircled me at my workstation.

“Yes, we do,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but it wobbled badly, like a very young testing out his new legs.

He held out the object in his hand. It was a ring. “Do you recognize this?” I nodded. “It was my grandfather’s.

” It had a distinctive design etched in the metal that matched a mark my grandfa- ther had on the back of his hand. Three hooks connected as one. I had never known what it meant and he had never talked about it, at least with me, but I had been only a very young when he had suffered his Event.

“Can you explain how Virgil Alfadir Jane’s ring came to 17 be found at Quentin Herms’s cottage?” Jurik Krone asked patiently, but there was a definite edge to his voice.

I shook my head, my stomach doing tiny flips and my lungs expanding faster than I would have liked them to. “I assumed it had vanished along with him when my grand father had his Event. As you know, there is nothing left of a Wug after an Event.

” Krone tossed the ring down on my workstation. When I reached out to take it, he slammed his knife blade into the ring’s opening, pinning it to the wood. I jerked my hand back and stared up at him fearfully.

He slowly pulled his knife blade free and picked up the ring. “You know Herms?” Krone said quietly. “He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?” “He’s a friend of my family’s. He’s the only other Finisher here besides me.

” “Why is he not at work this light?” “I don’t know,” I said quite truthfully. Still, I was raptur- ously relieved to have swallowed Quentin’s note. “Maybe he’s hurt or sick.

” “He’s neither.

” He stepped closer. “Let us speak frankly.

You were near the Quag at first light. You saw us chas- ing him.

” “I told you, I saw nothing. And you didn’t tell me who you were after.

” I looked up into Krone’s face. “But why were you chasing Quentin?” “There are laws, Vega, laws that Quentin Herms has bro- ken. And for that he will be punished.

” Krone gave me a searching look that seemed to leave no crevice of my being untouched. “If he tries to contact you, you will inform 18 Council immediately. The consequences for not doing so will be harsh. This is a serious matter, Vega. Very serious indeed.

” He paused. “I am speaking of Valhall for those who disobey.

” Every Wug there, myself included, drew a sharp breath.

No Wug wanted to be locked up in that cage in plain sight and guarded by the brutish Nida and the ferocious black shuck.

He put his hand on my shoulder and lightly squeezed. “I am counting on your help with this, Vega. All of Wormwood needs to stand together on this matter.

” Then his hand glided to my face and pulled something free. He held it up. It was a bit of the parchment from Quentin’s note that had caught on my skin. With a thrill of horror, I saw that it had a smudge of ink on it.

“A remnant of your work, perhaps?” he said. Krone’s gaze once more bored into me. Then he turned on his booted right foot and strode out. His colleagues followed.

I shot a glance at Domitar. I had never seen him so pale and his skin so clammy.

“You will cooperate, or it will be Valhall,” he said to me, and then spun on his heel, almost toppling over in the process, and disappeared into his office.

I turned back to my work and waited for the night to come.

19 T R E S Hector and Helen After the bell rang for the end of work at Stacks, I changed back into my threadbare clothes and left to walk back to Wormwood. I was so full of impatience that I wanted to run the whole way. I wished it were night already so I could go to my tree, but I could do nothing to speed up time.

My route to Wormwood proper did not take long.

Wormwood was not sprawling. It was compact, like a small fist waiting to hit something. There were lines of shops set across from each other on the High Street, which consisted of wavy cobblestone. These shops sold things that Wugmorts needed, like clothing, shoes, basic foodstuffs, plates and cups.

A chemist’s shop sold healing herbs and salves and ban- dages. There was even a place that would sell you a sense of happiness, which seemed in short supply here. I was told the shop did a brisk business. We knew we had it good in Wormwood, but we apparently had a hard time actually believing it.

As I walked, my mind whirled. Krone and Council had been chasing Quentin, who had fled into the Quag. I had caught a glimpse of him before he had fully disappeared.

I had seen the expression on his face. It was one of terror but tinged with relief. Relief at going into the Quag? My mind could hardly contemplate such a thing.

As I trudged along, I passed the Loons. It had been my home for the last two sessions, ever since my mother and father were sent away to the Care. The Loons was a rectangle of warped boards, dirty glass and cracked slate shingles.

There were two floors with five small cot rooms on the top floor and six boarders to a room. That added up to thirty Wugmorts with lax hygiene all in close proximity.

That’s why I preferred my tree.

I passed by the front door of the Loons, and a Wugmort I well knew stepped out. His name was Roman Picus. He was wearing his usual garb: a slouch hat with a dent in the middle, blue not overly clean dungarees, white shirt, black vest, lumi- nous orange-red garm-skin boots, and a long, greasy coat. He had long whiskers running down both sides of his face, curv- ing like fishhooks into his sun-reddened cheeks. A heavy bronze timekeeper suspended by a knotty chain hung across the front of his vest. On the timekeeper’s face were the vari- ous sections of light and night broken into their respective compartments.

“Good light, Vega,” he said grudgingly.

I nodded at him. “Good light, Roman.


” “Coming from Stacks?” “Yes. I’m picking John up from Learning and then we’re meeting Delph at the Care.

” He gave a loud snort. “Why you waste your time with that great gormless sack-a nothing, I’ll never know. But I sup- pose you don’t think too highly of yourself, and I would have to agree with you there, female.

” 21 “If you think Delph is such a waste, why not challenge him in the next Duelum?” His face reddened. “I’m too old for the Duelum. But in my prime, female —” “And how many Duelums did you win in your prime, male?” He grimaced. “You best learn, Vega,” he growled. “Go along to get along.

” “Speaking of going, where are you off to, Roman?” He looked like I had slapped him. “You’re asking me such a question?” “We’re having such a nice conversation, I wanted to keep it going.

” “D’you want to be written up at Council, Vega?” “Absolutely. I hear that with three or more infractions the offending Wug is eligible for some sort of prize.

” “I have no slivers for idle dithering with the poor likes-a you.

” But then he paused and studied me. “Quentin Herms?” he asked.

“What of him?” “Hear he’s done a bunk.

” “Maybe,” I said cautiously.

Roman shrugged and looked at his boots. “Maybe a garm got him. Har.

” “All lodging fees collected for the quartersession?” I asked, intentionally changing the subject. I did not want to discuss Quentin Herms.

He smiled wickedly and held out a large, grimy hand.

“Speaking of, I’ll just take yours now, Vega.

” 22 I held out a small sheet of parchment with writing and a seal on it. “I paid after I walked John to Learning. Your clerk gave me a bit of coin off for bringing it around myself and saving him a trip.

” His smile fell away to a frown. “Oh, he did, did he? Well, we’ll see about that.

” “All mouth and no trousers, Roman.

” “And what the bloody Hel do you mean by that?” “Your clerk showed me the official scroll you signed authorizing the discount. I like to know things like that before I commit my wages to pay for space in that dung heap you call lodging.

” Roman could chuck my brother and me out of the Loons if he wanted to. Maybe part of me desired that. But he simply turned and stalked off, and I hurried on.

The Learning was housed in a building located near the other end of the High Street. It could hold a few hundred youngs but now had less than half that. Learning was done in Wormwood, but it was not done with a lot of energy. As I stood on the lumpy cobblestones and waited, it struck me that the top edge of the building’s roof was sad-looking. Its roof curved a bit downward like it was frowning.

The door opened and the youngs started to trickle out.

The last Wug out was always my brother.

John Jane was short and skinny and looked far younger than his age. His hair was dark and long, nearly as long as mine. He would not allow me or anyone else to cut it. He was not strong, but he would fight you if you tried to cut his hair.

His gaze was downcast. He was seemingly enthralled by his 23 feet, which were disproportionately long and promised great height later. John Jane did not look like much on the outside, but there was a great deal going on inside his head.

I had seen him make observations about things I’d never thought of. And he never forgot anything. It was only in pri- vate moments when we were together that I gained glimpses of what was really in his upstairs room. It was quite full, that room, far fuller than mine.

A shy smile crept across his face, and his shuffle picked up. I held up my tin box. On the way here, I had stopped and picked him some berries, and there was also a feather wing I got for him and smoked up earlier in the hearth at Stacks.

John liked his meat, though we don’t have much of that at the Loons. He hurried across the cobblestones, opened the box, and saw the wing. He looked at me and smiled again. I did not understand John most of the time, but I loved to see that smile. There was no food provided during Learning, although the time spent there was long. They said food distracted youngs. I believed a lack of food distracted everybody. I said so when I was a young. It was a wonder, I realized now, that they let me stay until I was twelve sessions, which was the age when Learning ended. That was far too early, I thought, but I didn’t make the rules, did I? John took my hand with his free one and we walked along. As we did so, I looked around. There were clusters of Wugmorts here and there. They were all talking in hushed whispers. I also saw Council members in their black tunics scurrying around like rats through rubbish.

I had seen Quentin flee into the Quag. It wasn’t simply because Council was after him with the canines. His note 24 told me that he had not intended on coming back, and that note had to have been placed in the cup before first light.

Clearly, Quentin had planned on going into the Quag, Coun- cil and canines or not. But why? There was nothing in the Quag except certain death. And there was nothing on the other side of the Quag at all. Yet Quentin’s note had said what he had left would set me free from Wormwood. My mind leapt ahead to the obvious conclusion.

There was some place beyond the Quag. Or so he believed.

My focus turned back to John.

We had a ritual, John and I. Every other light after Learn- ing, we went to see our parents at the Care, where Wugs who were unwell and for whom the Mendens at Hospital could do nothing more were sent. The place was guarded by a huge Wug named Non.

Non knew John and me because we came so often. But each time, he treated us as though it was our first visit. It irritated me terribly and seemed to greatly amuse him.

John had already hungrily begun eating his wing, and the fatty juice from the meat spilled across his small mouth. As we walked up to the Care, I saw Delph step from the deepen- ing shadows of a chestnut tree. He looked nervous. His hair was even whiter from working at the Mill all light, and his face and shirt were sweat-stained. He nodded shyly and looked down at John.

“Hello, Delph,” said John. He held up his feather wing.

“Do you want a bite?” Delph, I knew, was tempted. But he shook his head. I think I knew why. It was quite obvious how skinny my brother 25 was. I don’t think Delph wanted to deprive him this bit of food.

We all turned and walked together to the entrance. I gritted my teeth and told Non we were here to see our mother and father. I let him see the Council parchment that allowed our visits. Non took his time examining the document, although by now he had probably memorized every word on it. He handed it back to me and then glared at Delph.

“But his name is nigh on there, female.

” Delph took a step back, which made Non grin mali- ciously. He said, “Y’know, for such a great big Wug, you’re more like a female, ain’t you, Delph? Scared of your own shadow.

” He made a lunge at Delph, and Delph jumped back.

Non roared with laughter and tossed me the key to my parents’ room. “G’on in, then. Don’t think the likes of him can do much harm.

” I said, “If I remember correctly, Delph beat you in the last Duelum, Non. How long were you unconscious again?” Non’s smile disappeared, and as we passed by, he gave Delph a hard shove in the back that nearly sent him sprawl- ing. I said nothing and didn’t look at Delph, because I knew how embarrassed he was. In my mind, I slaughtered Non one thousand times with increasing fervor.


We passed through the doorway and into a long corridor that was dark and cool. Even when it was hot outside, it was cool in here. I didn’t know how this was accomplished. At any other place in Wormwood, the only way to get cool was to open a window and hope for a breeze or pour cold water over your head.

We passed a Caregiver in the hall. She was dressed in a 26 gray cloak with a white cap on her head. She nodded, gave a terse smile and hurried on.

There were doors opening off the long hall. They were all locked. I knew this because during past visits I’d tried to open several of them. There were brass plates bolted to the doors of each room with names on them like Judith Frigg, Wolfgang Spriggan and Irin Grine. I didn’t know these Wugs, but I had seen some of their families here. They had looked as blank and hopeless as I probably did.

The brass plates were removed only when the Wug whose name was on it “slipped away,” as they said in Wormwood.

I wondered when our mother and father would slip away. We arrived at the door with two brass plates. I read them out loud for what seemed the millionth time.

“Hector Jane. Helen Jane.

” I don’t know why I did this. I looked at John. He never read the names out loud; he simply mouthed them.

I pulled out the key Non had given me, turned it in the old lock, and the door opened. I took hesitant steps in. John followed. Delph brought up the rear. I closed the door behind us. It always made a whooshing sound as it sealed shut.

There were two cots in the room with a small wooden table between them. There were no lanterns or torches that I could see. The only illumination seemed to come from the ceiling. I don’t know how this was managed. Another mys- tery. There were no windows. When you’re in the Care, apparently sunlight is not required. There were also no chairs for us to sit in. Perhaps they did not like to encourage long visits.

While Delph hung back, I walked up to the first cot.

27 My father lay small and shrunken under a single dark blanket. I remembered him as tall and strong. He was no lon- ger. His face used to be pleasing to look at. That was also no longer the case. I don’t know much about healing or things that make you sick. But it looked to me like what was missing from my father was, well, my father. I don’t know how you steal someone from the inside and leave the outside, but it appeared to have been done to him. There could be no sort- ing out such a thing, I imagined.

John crept next to me and placed his hand on top of our father’s. When I looked at John’s face, it was scrunched up like he was in pain. I have asked him about this. He merely shrugged and said the hurt wasn’t on the outside.

I opened my tuck, which I had brought with me from work, and pulled out a cloth soaked in water from the pipes at Stacks. I put it on my father’s forehead. He always seemed hot, even though the room was always cool. I was careful not to let my fingers touch him. I adored my father and I used to love to be hugged by him. But there was something in this room that made me not want to touch him. I have fought against it, but I couldn’t seem to break through. It was like a wall of walls separating us.

John lifted out a book from his tuck and began to quietly read to our father.

I glanced over at Delph, who stood like a statue in the corner. “Delph, do you want to come over here and see him?” Delph stepped forward. “Is he s-s-sleeping?” “Something like that, Delph.

” I left John and Delph and went to the next cot.

28 My mother too was small and shrunken, though she used to be nearly as tall as I am. Her hair used to be long and light and would catch a breeze and dance across the riled air. Now it was chopped close to her head, almost like a second skull.