“No, it ain’t,” I say. “Everyone’s got desire, but they don’t go round being able to control folks.”

“That’s because the desire of most folks is to be told what to do.” He looks back across the square, covered in tents and soldiers and townsfolk all huddled together. “People say they want freedom, but what they really want is freedom from worry. If I take care of their problems, they don’t mind being told what to do.”

“Some people,” I say. “Not everyone.”

“No,” he says. “Not you. Which paradoxically makes you all the better at controlling others. There are two kinds of people in this world, Todd. Them.” He gestures at the army. “And us.”

“Don’t you include me in no us.”

But he just grins again. “Are you sure about that? I believe the Spackle are connected by their Noise, all bound up in one voice. What makes you think that men aren’t? What connects me and you, Todd, is that we know how to use that voice.”

“I ain’t gonna be like you,” I say. “I ain’t never gonna be like you.”

“No,” he says, his eyes flashing. “I think you’ll be better.”

And then there’s a sudden pulse of light–

Brighter than any electric light we’ve got anywhere–

Blazing cross the square–

As near the army as you can get without being in the middle of it–

“The water tank,” the Mayor says, already moving. “They’ve attacked the water tank!”

{VIOLA}

“Fatal?” I say.

“Four women so far,” Mistress Coyle says. “Another seven that won’t last the week. We’re keeping it quiet because we don’t want a panic.”

“That’s only ten or so out of a thousand,” I say. “Ones who were weak and ill anyway–”

“Are you willing to risk that belief on your own life? On the life of every banded woman here? Even amputating their arms didn’t work, Viola. Does that seem like a normal infection to you?”

“If you’re asking me if I believe you’d lie to get me to do exactly what you want, then what do you think my answer’s going to be?”

Mistress Coyle takes a slow deep breath, like she’s trying to keep her temper. “I’m the best healer here, my girl,” she says, her voice fierce with feeling, “and I could not stop those women from dying.” Her eyes fall to the bandages on my arm. “I might not be able to stop it for anyone with a band.”

I put my hand lightly to my arm again and feel the throb of it.

“Viola,” Simone says quietly. “The women are really sick.”

But no, I’m thinking. No–

“You don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head. “This is how she works. She turns a small truth into a bigger lie to get you to do what she wants–”

“Viola,” Mistress Coyle says–

“No,” I say, louder, because I’m thinking more. “I can’t risk you being right, can I? If it’s a lie, it’s a clever one, because if I’m wrong, we all die, so yeah, okay, I’ll see what I can find out from Todd.”

“Thank you,” Mistress Coyle says hotly.

“But,” I say, “I will not ask him to spy for you and you will do something for me in return.”

Mistress Coyle’s eyes light all over my face, seeing how much I mean it.

“Do what?” she finally says.

“You’ll quit putting me off and tell me, step by step, everything you did to make peace with the Spackle,” I say. “And then you’ll help me start the process up again. No more delays, no more waiting. We’ll start tomorrow.”

I can see her brain working, crafting whatever advantage she can get out of this. “I’ll tell you what–”

“No deals,” I say. “You do everything I ask or you get nothing.”

There’s only the smallest of pauses this time. “Agreed.”

And there’s a shout from the scout ship. Bradley’s running down the ramp, his Noise roaring. “Something’s happening in the town!”

[TODD]

We run towards the water tank, the soldiers in front of us parting to make way, even if their backs are turned–

And I can hear the Mayor working in their heads, telling ’em to move, telling ’em to get outta his way–

And as we get there, we can see it–

The water tank is teetering–

One leg has been nearly blown off, maybe even by one of those spinning fire things shot from close range, cuz sticky, white flames are spreading over the wood of the tank almost like liquid itself–

And there are Spackle everywhere–

Rifles are firing in all direkshuns and the Spackle are firing their white sticks and men are falling and Spackle are falling but that ain’t the worst problem–

“THE FIRE!” the Mayor screams, hitting it inside the head of everyone standing round him. “GET THAT FIRE OUT!”

And the men start to move–

But then something goes wrong, something goes really wrong–

Soldiers on the front line start dropping their rifles to get buckets of water–

Soldiers who were in mid-fire, soldiers who were right next to Spackle–

They just turn and leave like they’re suddenly blinded to the battle they were just fighting–

But the Spackle ain’t blinded and men start dying in bigger numbers, not even looking at who’s killing ’em–

WAIT! I hear the Mayor think. KEEP FIGHTING!

But there’s some kind of catch in it now, and some soldiers who dropped their guns pick ’em up again but others just stand there sorta frozen, not knowing which to do–

And then they fall to the ground, too, hit by Spackle weapons–

And I see the Mayor’s face, see it nearly splitting with concentrayshun, trying to get some men to do one thing, other men to do another, and it’s all adding up to no one doing nothing and more men are dying and the water tank is gonna fall–

“Mr President?!” Mr O’Hare yells, storming in with his rifle and almost immediately struck dumb by the Mayor’s messed-up control–

And the Spackle see that the army’s confused, that we’re not doing what we should be doing, that only some soldiers are firing, but others are just standing there and we’re letting the fire spread to the foodstore–

And I can feel it in the Spackle Noise, even if I don’t know the words, they’re smelling a victory bigger than they thought possible, maybe the final victory–

And all the while, I ain’t frozen–

I don’t know why but I’m the only one who don’t seem to be stuck under the Mayor’s control–

Maybe he ain’t in my head after all–

But I can’t stop to think about what that means–

And I grab my rifle by the barrel and swing it hard right into the Mayor’s ear–

He calls out and stumbles sideways–

The soldiers nearby yell, too, as if someone punched ’em–

The Mayor sinks to one knee, hand on his head, blood spilling twixt his fingers, a whine in the air coming from his Noise–

But I’m already turning to Mr O’Hare and yelling, “Get a line of men firing, now, now, NOW!”

And I’m feeling the buzz a bit but I don’t know if it’s my words working or if he sees what needs to be done but he’s already leaping and shouting to the soldiers nearest him to line up, to get their effing rifles in the air, to FIRE–

And as the gunshots start ripping thru the air again and as the Spackle start falling again and moving back, tripping over themselves in the sudden change, I see Mr Tate running up to us and I don’t even let him open his mouth–

“Put that fire OUT!” I yell.

And he looks at the Mayor, still kneeling, still bleeding, and then he gives me a nod, and starts yelling at another group of soldiers to get buckets, to save our water and food–

And the world is taking off all round us, screaming and yelling and tearing itself to pieces and there’s a line of soldiers now pressing forward, pushing the Spackle back from the water tank–

And I’m standing over the Mayor, who’s kneeling there, holding his head, the blood seeping out all thick-like and I ain’t kneeling down next to him, I ain’t seeing if he’s all right, I ain’t doing nothing to help him.