CHAPTER 24
The next morning, Dib found himself sitting in a chair, worried and anxious, sweating, facing eleven other kids. They were seated in chairs arranged in a semicircle around him. Once settled, he realized they were the Keepers, and to his chagrin that meant Torque was among them. One chair directly in front of Dib stood empty—he didn't need to be told that it was Letter M's.
They sat in a large room of the Homestead that Dib hadn't been in before. Besides the chairs, there was no other furniture except for a small table in the corner. The walls were made of wood, as was the floor, and it didn't look like anyone had ever attempted to make the place look inviting. There were no windows; the room smelled of mildew and old books. Dib wasn't cold, but shivered all the same.
He was at least relieved that Gaz was there. She sat in the chair to the right of Letter M's empty seat. "In place of our leader, sick in bed, I declare this Gathering begun," she said, with a subtle roll of her eyes as if she hated anything approaching formality. "As you all know, the last few days have been bloody crazy, and quite a bit seems centered around our Greenbean, Dib, seated before us."
Dib's face flushed with embarrassment. "He's not the Greenie anymore," Torque said, his scratchy voice so low and cruel it was almost comical. "He's just a rule breaker now."
This started off a rumbling of murmurs and whispers, but Gaz shushed them. Dib suddenly wanted to be as far from that room as possible.
"Torque," Gaz said, "try to keep some buggin' order, here. If you're gonna blabber your shuck mouth every time I say something, you can go ahead and bloody leave, because I'm not in a very cheerful mood."
Dib wished he could cheer at that. Torque folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, the scowl on his face so forced that Dib almost laughed out loud. He was having a harder and harder time believing he'd been terrified of this guy just a day earlier—he seemed silly, even pathetic now.
Gaz gave Torque a hard stare, then continued. "Glad we got that out of the way." Another roll of the eyes. "Reason we're here is because almost every lovin' kid in the Glade has come up to me in the last day or two either boohooing about Dib or beggin' to take his bloody hand in marriage. We need to decide what we're gonna do with him."
Torque leaned forward, but Gaz cut him off before he could say anything. "You'll have your chance, Torque. One at a time. And Dib, you're not allowed to say a buggin' thing until we ask you to. Good that?" She waited for a nod of consent from Dib—who gave it reluctantly— then pointed to the kid in the chair on the far right. "Brian, you start."
Brian, the quiet big guy in glasses who watched over the Gardens, shifted in his seat. He looked to Dib more out of place than a carrot on a tomato plant.
"Well," Brian began, his eyes darting around almost like he was waiting for someone else to tell him what to say. "I don't know. He broke one of our most important rules. We can't just let people think that's okay." He paused and looked down at his hands, rubbing them together. "But then again, he's ... changed things. Now we know we can survive out there, and that we can beat the Grievers."
Relief flooded Dib. He had someone else on his side. He made a promise to himself to be extra nice to Brian.
"Oh, give me a break," Torque spurted. "I bet Zita's the one who actually got rid of the stupid things." "Torque, shut your hole!" Gaz yelled, standing for effect this time; once again Dib felt like cheering. "I'm the bloody Chair right now, and if I hear one more buggin' word out of turn from you, I'll be arrangin' another Banishing for your sorry butt."
"Please," Torque whispered sarcastically, the ridiculous scowl returning as he slouched back into his chair again.
Gaz sat down and motioned to Brian. "Is that it? Any official recommendations?" Brian shook his head. "Okay. You're next, Spuddy." The young cook smiled and sat up straighter. "Shank's got more guts than I've fried up from every pig and cow in the last year." He paused, as if expecting a laugh, but none came. "How stupid is this—he saves Letter M's life, kills a couple of Grievers, and we're sitting here yappin' about what to do with him. As Keef would say, this is a pile of klunk."
Dib wanted to walk over and shake Spuddy's hand—he'd just said exactly what Dib himself had been thinking about all of this.
"So what're ya recommendin'?" Gaz asked. Spuddy folded his arms. "Put him on the freaking Council and have him train us on everything he did out there."
Voices erupted from every direction, and it took Gaz half a minute to calm everyone down. Dib winced; Spuddy had gone too far with that recommendation, almost invalidating his well-stated opinion of the whole mess.
"All right, writin' her down," Gaz said as she did just that, scribbling on a notepad. "Now everyone keep their bloody mouths shut, I mean it. You know the rules—no idea's unacceptable—and you'll all have your say when we vote on it." She finished writing and pointed to the third member of the Council, a girl Dib hadn't met yet with black hair and a freckly face.
"I don't really have an opinion," she said. "What?" Gaz asked angrily. "Lot of good it did to choose you for the Council, then." "Sorry, I honestly don't." She shrugged. "If anything, I agree with Spuddy, I guess. Why punish a guy for saving someone's life?"
"So you do have an opinion—is that it?" Gaz insisted, pencil in hand. The girl nodded and Gaz scribbled a note. Dib was feeling more and more relieved—it seemed like most of the Keepers were for him, not against him. Still, he was having a hard time just sitting there; he desperately wanted to speak on his own behalf. But he forced himself to follow Gaz's orders and keep quiet.
Next was acne-covered Flan, Keeper of the Blood House. "I think he should be punished. No offense, Greenie, but Gaz, you're the one always harping about order. If we don't punish him, we'll set a bad example. He broke our Number One Rule."
"Okay," Gaz said, writing on her pad. "So you're recommendin' punishment. What kind?" "I think he should be put in the Slammer for a week with only bread and water—and we need to make sure everyone knows about it so they don't get any ideas."
Torque clapped, earning a scowl from Gaz. Dib's heart fell just a bit. Two more Keepers spoke, one for Spuddy's idea, one for Flan's. Then it was Gaz's turn.
"I agree with the lot of ya. He should be punished, but then we need to figure out a way to use him. I'm reservin' my recommendation until I hear everyone out. Next."
Dib hated all this talk about punishment, even more than he hated having to keep his mouth shut. But deep inside he couldn't bring himself to disagree—as odd as it seemed after what he'd accomplished, he had broken a major rule.
Down the line they went. Some thought he should be praised, some thought he should be punished. Or both. Dib could barely listen anymore, anticipating the comments from the last two Keepers, Torque and Zita. The latter hadn't said a word since Dib had entered the room; she just sat there, drooped in her chair, looking like she hadn't slept in a week.
Torque went first. "I think I've made my opinions pretty clear already." Great, Dib thought. Then just keep your mouth shut. "Good that," Gaz said with yet another roll of the eyes. "Go on, then, Zita." "No!" Torque yelled, making a couple of Keepers jump in their seats. "I still wanna say something." "Then bloody say it," Gaz replied. It made Dib feel a little better that the temporary Council Chair despised Torque almost as much as he did. Though Dib wasn't that afraid of him anymore, he still hated the guy's guts.
"Just think about it," Torque began. "This slinthead comes up in the Box, acting all confused and scared. A few days later, he's running around the Maze with Grievers, acting like he owns the place."
Dib shrank into his chair, hoping that others hadn't been thinking anything like that. Torque continued his rant. "I think it was all an act. How could he have done what he did out there after just a few days? I ain't buyin' it."
"What're you tryin' to say, Torque?" Gaz asked. "How 'bout having a bloody point?" "I think he's a spy from the people who put us here." Another uproar exploded in the room; Dib could do nothing but shake his head—he just didn't get how Torque could come up with all these ideas. Gaz finally calmed everyone down again, but Torque wasn't finished.
"We can't trust this shank," he continued. "Day after he shows up, a psycho Irken comes, spoutin' off that things are gonna change, clutching that freaky note. We find a dead Griever. Dib conveniently finds himself in the Maze for the night, then tries to convince everyone he's a hero. Well, neither Zita nor anyone else actually saw him do anything in the vines. How do we know it was the Greenie who tied Letter M up there?"
Torque paused; no one said a word for several seconds, and panic rose inside Dib's chest. Could they actually believe what Torque was saying? He was anxious to defend himself and almost broke his silence for the first time—but before he could get a word in, Torque was talking again.
"There's too many weird things going on, and it all started when this shuck-face Greenie showed up. And he just happens to be the first person to survive a night out in the Maze. Something ain't right, and until we figure it out, I officially recommend that we lock his butt in the Slammer—for a month, and then have another review."
More rumblings broke out, and Gaz wrote something on her pad, shaking her head the whole time— which gave Dib a tinge of hope.
"Finished, Captain Torque?" Gaz asked. "Quit being such a smart aleck, Gaz," he spat, his face flushing red. "I'm dead serious. How can we trust this shank after less than a week? Quit voting me down before you even think about what I'm saying."
For the first time, Dib felt a little empathy for Torque—he did have a point about how Gaz was treating him. Torque was a Keeper, after all. 'But I still hate him,' Dib thought.
"Fine, Torque," Gaz said. "I'm sorry. We heard you, and we'll all consider your bloody recommendation. Are you done?"
"Yes, I'm done. And I'm right." With no more words for Torque, Gaz pointed at Zita. "Go ahead, last but not least." Dib was elated that it was finally Zita's turn; surely she'd defend him to the end. Zita stood quickly, taking everyone off guard. "I was out there; I saw what this guy did—he stayed strong while I turned into a panty-wearin' chicken. No blabbin' on and on like Torque. I want to say my recommendation and be done with it."
Dib held his breath, wondering what she'd say. "Good that," Gaz said. "Tell us, then." Zita looked at Dib. "I nominate this shank to replace me as Keeper of the Runners."