I stand up from my chair–

And sit right back down again because my head is spinning so fast.

“You all right?” Bradley says, his Noise full of concern.

“Same as usual,” I say. Though it isn’t, actually. Mistress Coyle’s timed treatments have worked okay, but my fever came back with a vengeance this morning and hasn’t left. Six more women have died, too, all older and unwell, but there are a lot of us getting sicker. Sometimes, you can tell who has a band and who hasn’t just by looking at their faces.

“She hasn’t found anything in the information the Mayor provided?” Bradley asks.

I shake my head, starting to cough. “If he’s provided everything.”

“Thirty-three days until the convoy arrives with a full medical bay,” Bradley says. “Can you hold on?”

I nod, but only because I’m coughing too much to talk.

The past week has gone unnervingly smoothly. Wilf rides down the road with tanks of water and rides back with cartloads of food, no problems at all. The Mayor’s even sent soldiers to protect him and engineers to improve the water collection. He’s also accepted Mistresses Nadari and Lawson to help inventory the food and supervise the distribution.

Mistress Coyle, meanwhile, looks happier than I’ve ever seen her. She’s even started talking about how to make the truce. Apparently, this involves a lot of blowing things up. Mistress Braithwaite, who did my soldiering training what seems like a lifetime ago, plants bombs in the trees, hoping to show the Spackle we can outwit them and also hoping to capture one who isn’t killed in the blast. Then we’ll send it back saying we’ll keep blowing things up if they don’t talk to us about peace.

Mistress Coyle swears this is how it worked last time.

My comm beeps, Todd calling with final word after the attack.

“None survived, did they?” I ask, coughing some more.

“No,” he says, looking concerned. “Viola, are you–?”

“I’m fine. It’s just coughing.” I try to swallow it away.

I’ve only seen him over the comm the past week since our big meeting by the old house of healing. I haven’t gone down there and he hasn’t come up here. Too much to do, I tell myself.

I also tell myself it’s not because a Todd without Noise makes me feel really–

Makes it seem like–

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” I say. “And again and again until it works.”

“Yeah,” Todd says. “The sooner we can get those truce talks started, the sooner this is all over. The sooner we can start making you well.”

“The sooner you can be away from him,” I say, realizing too late that I’ve said it out loud. Stupid fever.

Todd frowns. “I’m fine, Viola, I swear. He’s being nicer than ever.”

“Nice?” I say. “When was he ever nice?”

“Viola–”

“Thirty-three days,” I say. “That’s all we have to get through. Just thirty-three more days.”

But I have to say, it feels like for ever.

[TODD]

The Spackle attacks keep coming. And we keep stopping ’em.

Submit! We hear Juliet’s Joy shouting down the road. SUBMIT!

And we hear the Mayor laughing.

Heavy hoofbeats come pounding outta the darkness, the Mayor’s teeth shining in the moons-light. You can even see the gleam of the gold threads on the sleeve of his uniform.

“Now, NOW!” he’s calling.

With a disgusted cluck of her tongue, Mistress Braithwaite presses a button on a remote device and the road behind the Mayor erupts in gales of flame, instantly burning the Spackle who were in pursuit, Spackle who thought they’d found a random soldier away from what seemed to be the obvious trap we’d laid down another path.

But that trap wasn’t a trap. The random soldier was.

This is the fifth attack we’ve stopped in five days, each one getting cleverer with us getting cleverer in return, with fake traps and fake fake traps and different paths of attack and so on.

It feels pretty good actually, like we’re finally really doing something, like we’re finally–

(winning–)

(winning the war–)

(it’s ruddy thrilling–)

(shut up)

(but it is–)

Juliet’s Joy comes heaving to a stop next to Angharrad, and we all watch as the flames gather up into a cloud rising thru the trees and dissipating against the cold night sky.

“Forward!” the Mayor shouts, the buzz of it rocketing thru the Noise of the soldiers gathered behind us and they surge past in formayshun, racing down the road after any Spackle who might still be alive.

But from the size of the flames, it don’t look like there’ll be any left this time neither. The Mayor’s smile disappears as he sees just how much destruckshun there is down the road.

“And yet again,” he says, turning to Mistress Braithwaite, “your detonation is mysteriously too big to leave any survivors.”

“Would you rather they killed you?” she asks in a way that says that’d be fine by her.

“You just don’t want us to get the Spackle first,” I say. “You want to get one for Mistress Coyle.”

You could pretty much eat dinner off the glare she gives me. “I’ll thank you not to talk to your elders that way, boy.”

Which makes the Mayor laugh out loud.

“I’ll talk to you any way I damn well please, Mistress,” I say. “I know yer leader and there ain’t no pretending she’s not up to something.”

Mistress Braithwaite looks back at the Mayor, not changing her expresshun. “Charming,” she says.

“Yet accurate,” says the Mayor, “as usual.”

I feel my Noise go a little pink at the unexpected praise.

“Please report to your Mistress the usual success,” the Mayor says down to Mistress Braithwaite, “and the usual failure.”

Mistress Braithwaite heads off back to town with Mistress Nadari, scowling at us as they go.

“I’d do the same if I were her, Todd,” the Mayor says, as the soldiers start to return from the fire, no living Spackle found, again. “Keep my opponent from getting an advantage.”

“We’re sposed to be working together,” I say. “We’re sposed to be working towards peace.”

He don’t seem too worried about it, tho. Just look at the soldiers marching past us now, laughing and joking amongst themselves at what they see as another victory after so many defeats. And there’ll be still more to congratulate him when we get back to the square.

Viola tells me Mistress Coyle’s getting the same hero treatment up by the scout ship.

They’re fighting a war over who can be more peaceful.

“I think maybe you’re right, Todd,” the Mayor says.

“Right how?” I ask.

“That we should be working together.” He turns to me, that smile on his face. “I think maybe it’s time we tried a different approach.”

{VIOLA}

“What’s happening now?” Lee says, scratching underneath his bandage.

“Stop that,” I say, slapping his hand playfully, though the movement causes a terrible pain in my arm.

We’re in the healing room of the scout ship, the viewscreens on the walls showing the probes dotted around the valley. After yesterday’s too fiery attack by Mistress Braithwaite, the Mayor surprised us all by suggesting Simone lead the next mission. Mistress Coyle agreed, and Simone set to work, planning the whole thing with the absolute focus on capturing a Spackle and sending it back with a message of peace.

Which seems strange after we’ve killed so many of them to do it, but it’s been obvious since the beginning that wars make no sense. You kill people to tell them you want to stop killing them.

Monsters of men, I think. And women.

So today, Simone’s set up an even bigger diversionary tactic, positioning the probes in broad daylight to make it look like we expect the Spackle to come down one particular path from the south, where Mistress Braithwaite has planted decoy bombs, set to go off early like we made a mistake, all the while leaving another path open from the north, a path where armed women from the Answer, led by Simone, wait in hiding to capture a Spackle, hoping their lack of Noise will surprise them.