The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,136

the mountains, the beaches, the forests. The people are kind, gentle, and accepting. You should see Antananarivo – our capital city – and the way the sun hits the hills at sunset!”

“Thunderhead,” said Greyson, “tell me something interesting about Antananarivo.”

The Thunderhead spoke, and Greyson listened.

“What did it say?” Jeri asked.

“Uh … it told me that the tallest building in Antananarivo is 309.67 meters high, and is exactly the same height as four other buildings in the world, down to the millimeter.”

Jeri leaned back unimpressed. “Is that the most interesting fact it could find? What about the jacaranda trees around Lake Anosy, or the royal tombs?”

But Greyson put up his hand to stop Jeri, and thought for a moment. The Thunderhead never said anything without reason. The trick was to read its mind. “Thunderhead, where are those other four buildings – I’m curious.”

“One in the Chilargentine region,” it told him, “another in Britannia, the third in Israebia, and the fourth in the region of NuZealand.”

Greyson told Jeri, who was still unimpressed. “I’ve been to all those regions. But home is always the best, I suppose.”

“Have you been to every region in the world?” Greyson asked.

“All the ones with a coast,” Jeri said. “I have an aversion to landlocked places.”

And then the Thunderhead offered a simple, and obvious, opinion – which Greyson shared.

“The Thunderhead says you’d probably be most at home in regions that feature an island or archipelago roughly the size of Madagascar.” Greyson turned his head a bit – a habit he had when he was speaking to the Thunderhead in the presence of others. “Thunderhead, what regions might that be?”

But the Thunderhead was silent.

Greyson grinned. “Nothing … which means we’re on to something!”

“The ones I can think of off the top of my head,” said Jeri, “are Britannia, Caribbea, the Region of the Rising Sun, NuZealand, and the ’Nesias.”

“Interesting,” said Greyson.

“What?”

“Britannia and NuZealand have come up twice…”

To that, the Thunderhead was, once more, silent.

“I’m beginning to like this game,” said Jeri.

Greyson couldn’t deny that he was, too.

“What region would you like to live in?” Jeri asked. “If you had your choice of any in the world?”

It was a loaded question, and perhaps Jeri knew that. Because everyone else in the world did have that choice. Anyone could live anywhere. But for Greyson it was less of an actual place than a state of mind.

“I’d want to live in a place where nobody 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