In which there are some changes
AN: Thanks again to Storylover00 for another review; much appreciated and glad you're still enjoying it!
And I'm sure most of you will be happy to hear, its looking like the next chapter will be longer than the average to keep things flowing properly.
Enjoy!
-notes and teaser at the bottom-
We're less than two weeks away from another Box day when Newt drops by the Medi tent in the middle of the afternoon.
Jeff and I are, in theory, boiling berries and herbs for an experimental remedy. But while the water in the pan slowly bubbles over the small fire we've started, we've taken to trying to bounce woodchips into empty jars from across the room.
I flick one and it bounces off the edge of the workbench. Jeff flicks one and it clicks against the jar before landing in the fire.
We're not very good. But it passes the time.
"You both look busy," Newt comments as he steps into the room.
Jeff gives him a smile, unfazed by the faint note of sarcasm in his voice. "Hey, we're working," he says. "We've gotta sit here until it's at boiling point; might as well keep it interesting."
Newt turns his eyes to me and I hold up my hands.
"Don't look at me. I do as I'm told."
Jeff barks out a laugh and Newt looks nothing short of sceptical.
I throw a woodchip at the fire, and it crackles as it licks it up.
"What's up, Newt?" Jeff asks. "Need something?"
"Looking for Clint," he says.
"Just went to check on Joe," I supply. "Make sure his head's completely better. You could find him at the back of Homestead."
"When he's back can you just let him know that a Council Meeting's been called?" Newt says. "I've still got to find Gally."
I nod. "Sure. After supper?"
Newt nods back and Jeff frowns.
"Who called it?" he asks.
"Dan."
My eyebrows rise. "Is everything alright?"
Newt looks back at me, and I can tell he's as lost as we are. "I'm sure its fine. See you guys later."
He lets himself out.
I can't help wondering why Dan might call a meeting. I haven't been up to the Bloodhouse since the day before. Has there been an accident? Have they found something?
It doesn't occur to me that it could be something good.
A woodchip clips me on the ear and I turn.
Jeff points to the pan.
"I think we're there," he says.
The berries have turned to a deep purple-red goo that looks like a very thick sauce in the pan. It smells amazing.
We share a look.
Jeff lifts the pan and I douse the fire.
"I think this is better off with Fry," Jeff says. "The only kind of ailment this will fight is hunger."
…
One of the Track-Hoes turns up not long after we abandon our remedy experiment. Jeff hands me the pan to take to the Kitchens while he turns to tend to the latest injury.
So I pick up my satchel, balance the pan in my hand and start across Homestead.
All the Cooks are bustling around in their usual organised mania. Broth bubbles away near the hollowed out hearth and Stan is working on what looks like rabbit meat on the main worktable.
I decide not to stick around, so I hand over the pan, explaining very briefly that it might make a decent sauce, and then duck back out.
The Council Meeting that Dan called weighs on my mind still, so I turn my sights for the Bloodhouse. I need to collect the eggs and milk the goats anyway, so I might as well go now.
I knock on the doorframe of the butchery before looking into the hut.
"Eva? It's okay – we've finished for the day," Frankie calls from inside.
I'm the only one who knocks in this way. I'd still rather not see the actual slaughter if I can help it. Frankie is just scrubbing down the bench with a cloth.
"Hey," I say, moving into the room when I've been given the all clear. "Is Dan around?"
"Pens," Frankie jerks his head to the back. "Fixing wiring on one of the chicken runs."
"Thanks," I reply.
I move around him and head out the back.
When I get there, it's to find Dan and at least four others all awkwardly shuffling around in a weirdly crouched position with their arms outstretched and making little kissing noises like they're trying to attract cats.
The chicken run is open and at least seven of the hens are happily darting in every direction, relishing their freedom.
I shake my head, amused despite myself, and go to help in the round up.
It takes at least half an hour, a mouthful of feathers, one nasty scratch, falling through a fence post and tripping over a water feeder before they're all back in the repaired run.
By that time, I return to the Medi Tent to get on with things, and forget until later on that I never asked Dan about the Meeting.
…
Clint gets the message, and as the dishes are cleared away after supper, he gets up and quietly leaves the Mess hall with the other Keepers.
The rest of us are clearing up and starting the usual fire when someone mentions they can't find Winston.
At this point, there's only one place I think he could be.
My eyes lift across the darkening field to the Council Hall. There's a faint, flickering golden glow, just visible at the distance, between the branch walls.
I hope again that nothing's gone wrong.
…
Dan looks quite pleased with himself when the Keepers trek back through the dark to join the fire.
Gally doesn't look impressed, but he rarely does, so it doesn't say much. Alby is smiling as much as he ever does as he greets some of the other boys and picks up a jar of Brew. Frypan is beaming and Newt is rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when his mind is preoccupied.
Stan and Lee are sitting with me. Frypan heads for us with Zart and Newt in his wake.
"What happened?" Stan asks.
"Winston just got promoted," Frypan says.
We all gape.
The Keepers have been the same since I arrived, and from what I can figure, it's generally the person in the team who's been around the longest or knows the job best.
"Winston's Keeper?" Lee checks. He's starting to smile.
Zart nods. He's beaming, too. "Yeah. I think he's a little worried, but it's been settled. We voted."
"Alright!" Lee cheers. "Sorry, guys." He gets up and rushes straight over to the other Slicers, where he claps Winston on the back. There is a buzz of celebration from their corner of the camp.
"Where did it come from?" Stan asks.
Frypan and Zart sit on the log behind us and Newt takes his usual spot next to me, on the ground.
"Dan said all the Slicers agreed on it," Zart says. He shoots a look at me. "Apparently they asked you, too."
I remember Dan catching me in the chicken run a few days back and asking what I thought of Winston; if I thought he did the job well. He joked that he'd take over one day, and I remember saying he'd be good at it.
"I remember," I say. "Didn't know he was thinking of this, though."
Zart shrugs. "Anyway, Dan took it to the Council. Winston had to be there. The vote was passed."
"What happened?" I ask.
Obviously Winston was promoted, but not all the Keepers looked happy about it.
"Gally had a bit of a sour look on it," Frypan admits. "Said being a Keeper was earned through hard work and time in the Glade. But he was overruled."
"Didn't take it too well, then?" I spot him with the other Builders. Most of the lingering annoyance has left and he looks relaxed as he laughs with the others.
"He'll get over it," Newt says, joining the conversation at last. "It's the principle of it more than anything. He's a good guy, really. Just has very set ideas about what makes a community work and what doesn't."
Zart stands up, clapping Frypan's shoulder. "Well, I'm off. Rob still can't choke down Gally's Brew yet – we've got to work on that. Night, guys."
He ambles away to the other Track-Hoes and I lean against Newt. He braces his hand into the ground and turns his body into me, to better support us both.
"How's Dimitri doing?" I ask.
I can just see him through the fire, standing with Doug and Ben. Since joining the Runners, a shadow seems to have been cast over him, and he hasn't laughed as much as he used to – not that I was ever that close to him.
And after Justin, I'm a little afraid to get close to any of the Runners more than I already have.
"He's doing well, according to Minho," Newt says. His voice is right by my ear. "Alby was talking to them not long ago. It sounds like there are some things going on, but they're still puzzling it out."
"Why?" Frypan asks, and I twist my head to look at him. "You want back in?"
"No," I say without hesitating.
The first day I spent in the Maze, I missed the Great Goat Escape. But it's not just that. I can't have that life; the same life that drove Newt to jump from a wall.
Fry smiles in a very quiet way, and there's something very knowing in his expression. It feels like I said far more than 'no'.
"It's not that," I continue. "It's just that he's been doing it a while now. I guess…I just hoped he was coping."
"He is," Newt says. There's something poignant in his tone, and I somehow know what he means.
No one will let him not cope. After Newt's attempt, the Runners all watch out for each other that much more.
"Brew anyone?"
We look up.
Dan is standing to the side cradling four jars. We all take one and he sits down with us.
"Congrats on your demotion," I say, smiling.
Dan snorts, "Thanks, Evie." His eyes turn to the Slicers across the fire. "Winston will do great. I just wanted to focus on the job again, you know – not handling the team. But it's all good; Lee insisted that if Winston took over, you kept your half-job with the animals. Winston said he wouldn't have it any other way."
"Good to know," I say.
He raises his jar, the liquid sloshing about inside. "Cheers everyone."
We all toast and knock back mouthfuls.
I've learned to handle Gally's secret recipe. It burns down my throat with each sip, but unlike the early days, when the burn felt like being flayed from the inside, it now has the sensation of burning away the bad.
If it tastes like that to everyone, no wonder Greenies go to lengths to learn to tolerate it.
…
The Lookout Tree has been revamped.
The unlikely looking construct the Builders and Bricknicks had been collaborating on – and half failing at – turned out to be a series of new platforms and ladders that have taken a handful of days and a handful of injuries to be rigged into place on the Tree.
The old rope ladder is gone and the top platform reinforced. There's now fixed ladders and about three different levels up to the top.
It looks very good; a lot more useful than what it used to be. More than a few of us joke that it will be far more used now that it's easier to climb and move around on.
It was Gally's idea.
Winston supplies the Kitchen with a fat goose to throw a small feast in thanks.
…
I finish whittling the silver birch branch the following morning.
I've been working on it in the early hours or late at night. The tiny knife I've hidden away did all the work. It's a very simple shape; a long bow with a tiny groove for an arrow, a slope cut in for a hand to grasp the middle and tapering ends with notches for a string.
It flexes a little, but is still quite solid. I just hope it can bear the tension of being strung.
I have to let myself into one of the storage huts before first light that morning to find the ball of tight elastic line that the clothing rig was cut from. I cut away a length of it and make back for my hammock.
The bow is still a secret.
…
The top of the new Lookout Tree is a relaxing place to be.
When jobs pack up for the day, I duck out of the Medi Tent and jog across the field to scale the ladders that are just two days old.
The platforms are solid underfoot, making a comforting hollow sound with each step across them. The rails surrounding the top make a structure like a bird's nest on a ship, and they creak lightly in the breeze.
There isn't much wind at all in the Glade on most days. Now and then a breeze can reach the field, but thanks to the towering walls, it's quite a sheltered environment. The draught at the top of the tree is just a little bit stronger, enough to blow my hair back off my shoulders and flutter through my thin sweater.
"Hey," Eric says from behind me.
I twist around, gripping the rail in front of me but remain sitting, my legs swinging into open air.
Eric shoves a crate up through the trapdoor ahead of him and pulls his body onto the platform after it.
"Sorry," he continues. "Didn't spot you up here."
"Its okay," I shrug. "What's with the box?"
He beams.
"Games."
My face must fall at just the thought of Zart inventing something else, because Eric laughs.
"It's an old one," he says, which is only a little reassuring. "They're rocks."
I'm not sure I want to ask.
He pushes the crate to a corner, and it definitely does seem to be full of grey rocks about the size of someone's fist, then he drops down beside me, letting his legs swing free over the side of the platform, too.
"This is pretty cool now," he says.
I half laugh. "Didn't you help build it?"
He shrugs bashfully. "Yeah, but I was mainly putting the ladders together. I haven't been up since it was finished."
"It definitely feels safer than the old one," I agree.
"Well, that's not difficult," Eric says. "Gally's saying we need to consider more space for hammocks, too," he continues. "I think that's our next project."
He nudges me gently and climbs back to his feet. "Anyway, I'll see you later."
"Sure," I say, absently.
He ducks back down the trapdoor, and I watch him head off across the field for Homestead, but my mind is stuck on the last thing he said.
We need more space for hammocks.
No matter how many people we lose, there's always a new arrival, and – thankfully – we don't lose that many. The population in the Glade is steadily on the rise, and it brings up far too many questions.
Will there become a time that it simply can't sustain so many inhabitants? What will the creators do then? Intentionally kill some off? Remove some in another way? Or just keep observing?
But perhaps more worryingly, I can see the passing of time in the shape of Homestead; clearer up here than on the ground. The cluster of well made huts, all with their own purpose from the hammock shelters, to the kitchen and mess hall, and the numerous small storage shacks.
It's clearer than ever that this place, however unwillingly, has been home to some of my friends for years.
They've made it their own, built on it, formed a society, and are constantly changing and upgrading.
It sets a chill into my chest.
What if that is part of what the creators want?
What if we're meant to grow up and grow old here?
Don't be stupid, I think to myself. Whatever this is, far too much has gone into it – time, money, technology, planning – just for a bunch of people to watch a bunch of kids grow up. There's something bigger at work. We just don't know what, yet.
Hurriedly, I climb down from the Tree and head for the Kitchens. Frypan and the other Cooks will still be around, and they never fail to take my mind off of things.
I figure I could use that about now.
INFO
1. A lot of this chapter is my own theories, so please bear with me. First, something someone said to me indicated that the weapons in the MR book are generally kept locked up, or just used by Keepers. I don't know if that's right. So again, this is an instance where it's very much the movie-verse. It looked like weapons were used frequently just as tools - like machetes, knives, shovels, pitch forks and so on, which is why, though Eva hasn't told anyone, her making her own weapon, and possibly learning to use it isn't exactly against any rules. Second, I don't know if the Lookout Tree is specifically talked about, but I wanted it to be upgraded in this way mainly to demonstrate the passing of time and the better skill sets of the Gladers. Its one of those little things that makes you think about how life is evolving within the Maze. I thought, anyway.
2. Third, finally, the changing of Keepers (this deserves its own bullet point). This was planned from the start. Another little way I wanted to look into change and development, this time within the community itself. Winston is Keeper when Thomas arrives, but I liked the idea that he wasn't always. That someone else was first and it was a group decision to elect him into the role. Dan wants to step aside, Winston is happy to take on the role, so they discuss it as a team, and then have to get an okay from the Council. And that's really it, a chance to explore how decisions might have been made, how positions are elected and so on. Its all about the way of life. So, on that point, I do want to thank any of you who started reading this going 'What? Who's Dan? Winston's Keeper, Dummy!' but had enough faith in me (maybe) to just keep reading.
Hope you're all still enjoying it. Things get fun next chapter (not that they aren't already, of course, but I do like the next one), so stick around!
Chapter 12 - Teaser
"I knew exactly what I had to do, within minutes of waking up in the Box, to break apart a hinge and let a goose out, but I don't even know what colour my eyes are."
Winston looks up in surprise.
"You don't? You never asked anyone?"
-To be posted at the end of the week-