The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,135

knows me,” he told Jeri.

“But nobody does know you,” Jeri said. “They know the Toll—but not you. Take me, for instance; I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s… Greyson.”

Jeri smiled with the warmth of the Madagascan sun.

“Hello, Greyson.”

That simple greeting seemed to both melt him and freeze him at once. Madagascans were known to be charming—perhaps that’s all it was. Or perhaps not. He realized he’d have to unpack it later.

“For me, I’d never want to be far from the sea,” Jeri said.

“Thunderhead,” said Greyson, “what are your thoughts on that?”

And the Thunderhead said, “There is a city or town in every region that is the farthest from the sea. I assume the captain would not care to live in any of those places.”

“But,” said Greyson, “if they had jacaranda trees like that Madagascan lake, maybe Jeri might feel at home.”

“Perhaps,” said the Thunderhead.

And then Greyson made a stealth move. The kind of move one’s opponent wouldn’t see coming. But of course the Thunderhead did. In fact, the Thunderhead welcomed it.

“Tell me, Thunderhead, what are some of the regions where jacarandas grow.”

“Although they do best in warmer climates, they grow in almost every region now,” the Thunderhead told him. “Their purple blooms are appreciated around the world.”

“Yes,” said Greyson. “But can you give me a list of… oh, say… four places where they can be found?”

“Of course, Greyson. Jacaranda trees can be found in WestMerica, Isthmus, Lower Himalaya, and even in the botanical gardens of Britannia.”

Jeri studied him. “What is it? What did the Thunderhead say?”

“Check and mate,” Greyson said, and gave Jeri his stupidest grin.

* * *

“We’re looking for a town in the Britannia region that’s farthest from the sea. That’s where we’ll find Scythe Alighieri,” Greyson told Anastasia.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” said Greyson. “Probably,” he corrected. “Maybe.”

Anastasia considered it, but then returned her gaze to Greyson. “You said we.”

Greyson nodded. “I’m going with you.” It was the most spontaneous decision Greyson had made in years. It felt good. More than good, it felt freeing.

“Greyson, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Anastasia said.

But he would not be deterred. “I’m the Toll, and the Toll goes where he pleases,” Greyson said. “Besides, I want to be there when Scythe Anastasia changes the world!”

The Thunderhead said nothing either way. It didn’t influence him against it; it didn’t suggest that it was the right thing to do. Or perhaps it wasn’t commenting because it involved a scythe. It was only when Greyson was alone again that the Thunderhead spoke to him. It wasn’t about their destination, however. The conversation took an entirely different direction.

“I sensed a change in your physiology as you spoke to the salvage captain,” the Thunderhead said.

“Why is that your business?” Greyson snapped.

“It was just an observation,” the Thunderhead said calmly.

“With all your years of studying human nature, don’t you know when you’re intruding into my privacy?”

“I do know,” said the Thunderhead. “And I also know when you want that privacy intruded upon.”

As always the Thunderhead was right, and it ticked Greyson off. He wanted to talk about it. To process it. But of course there was no one he could talk to but the Thunderhead.

“I believe she had an effect on you,” it said.

“She? Isn’t it presumptuous of you to call Jeri ‘she’?”

“Not at all. The sky above the cave is clear and full of stars.”

Then the Thunderhead explained to Greyson how Jeri saw gender, a thing as varied as the wind and ephemeral as clouds.

“That’s… poetic,” said Greyson, “but impractical.”

“Who are we to judge such things?” the Thunderhead said. “And besides, the human heart is rarely practical.”

“Now that sounds judgmental….”

“Quite the opposite,” said the Thunderhead. “I long for the luxury of being impractical. It would add… texture… to my existence.”

It was only later, after Greyson had taken his earpiece out and he was lying in bed, that it occurred to him why his conversation with Jeri Soberanis felt so inviting and unsettling at the same time.

Hello, Greyson, Jeri had said. Nothing strange about that. Except that it echoed something deeper. They were the same words, the same tone of voice the Thunderhead had used the moment it began speaking to him again.

“The Mars colony was reduced to a radioactive crater long before I was born—but for those of you who are pushing a hundred, you’ll probably remember the public outrage. After the moon, and then Mars, people felt that colonization was just too dangerous. People turned against the idea of off-world solutions. Or should I say were turned