“Lil. You gonna make her work? ’Cause it ain’t fair I’m working if she’s not!”
“Stevy, she’s sick. She needs some time. I’ve commed Doc—”
“She ain’t sick! Just lazy!” the man roars.
Elder puts up both his hands. “Stevy, I’m doing what I can. She can go back to work when she’s read—”
But he doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence. His eyes widen with shock as Stevy rears back his fist and slams it straight into Elder’s jaw. Elder cr
ashes to the ground. As soon as he manages to get back on his feet with the help of the handrail, Stevy slams his fist into his face again. Elder staggers back, but this time, he doesn’t fall.
I don’t realize I’ve screamed until the sound is out of my throat. Behind us, the group of spinners who were outside plying yarn have all noticed—they’re standing up; they’re rushing forward; they’re screaming too; they’re holding back; they’re whispering to each other behind their hands.
I spin around. “Someone do something!” I shout at them. I’ve witnessed enough high school fights to know that a girl like me would be stupid to rush between them—they’re both at least a foot taller than me, and one of Stevy’s punches could easily knock me out.
Three of the spinners—two men and a woman who’s not that much bigger than me—rush forward. But before they reach us, Stevy falls to the ground, clutching his head. The spinners stop short, staring.
Elder wipes his bleeding lip with the back of his hand.
“Make it stop,” Stevy says, his voice somewhere between a whine and a demand.
“It will automatically stop in about two minutes. ” Elder speaks calmly, but there’s a cold impassivity to his voice that frightens me. “By that point, I think you should have learned punching me is a very bad idea. ”
“What have you done?” I ask.
His lip won’t stop bleeding; his teeth are outlined in red. “Something I told myself I’d never do,” Elder mutters. “Come on. ”
He doesn’t continue down the main street. Instead, he veers down an alley that heads toward the Greenhouses.
“It was something with his wi-com,” Elder says even though I’ve dropped the question. “Eldest did it to me once. It’s pretty effective at stopping someone. ”
“Elder!” a voice bellows after us. Elder freezes, then turns slowly back to the scene of the crime.
Stevy is lying on the ground, whimpering and clutching his head. Bartie looms over him, pointing at Elder. “What right do you have to punish this man like this?” he roars. “You said you were so much better than Eldest, but look at you! The first time someone protests against you, you punish him so severely he can’t even stand!”
Elder narrows his eyes and storms back to Bartie and Stevy. “Okay, first? He can stand. It’s just a thing that makes your wi-com make noise. And second? He punched me. He punched me. ”
Even though Bartie and Elder are close enough now that they could talk in normal tones, both of them are yelling. Bartie has his guitar strapped to his back, and for a crazy moment I think he’s going to grab it by the neck and swing it at Elder’s head. Instead, he just shouts, “What will you do the next time someone disagrees with you? Kill them?”
“Oh, come on! Quit exaggerating!”
But no one else seems to think Bartie’s exaggerating. They’re all watching Stevy moan and writhe on the ground.
“It’s not that bad,” Elder tells Stevy. “And besides, it should be over now. ” But Stevy doesn’t get up. I wonder, is he playing up the pain to get attention, or does it really hurt as badly as it seems?
“We can’t trust you, Elder,” Bartie says, still shouting loudly enough for everyone to hear. He’s drawing a crowd—the spinners have all hopped up from their spinning wheels to see what’s going on. The bakers, covered with flour, are poking their heads out of their shop windows. The butchers walk out, meat cleavers still in their hands.
“When have I lied?” Elder says. “When have I proven dishonest?”
I try not to think about how Elder hasn’t told everyone that the ship’s stopped. It’s not a lie, after all, just . . . not quite telling the whole truth.
“Everything I’ve ever done has been for this ship!” Elder bellows.
“Even her?” Bartie asks, pointing past Elder. At me.
“Don’t bring Amy into this. ”
I stand, rooted to the spot, as everyone, even Stevy, turns their gaze on me.