The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,152

it became unclear what anyone stood for. The only constant was anger. Anger such that their nanites could not quell.

Security had been set at the very highest level throughout the city. At the entrance to the scythedom tower, it was not just BladeGuards stationed there, but scythes as well, who were ordered to glean anyone who got too close. For that reason, the demonstrators never ventured up the steps to the tower’s entrance.

Then, when a solitary figure walked right up the center of the stairs toward the waiting scythes, the crowd fell silent to watch what would happen.

The man was dressed in a rough-hewn purple frock and a split silver scapular that draped over his shoulders like a scarf. A Tonist, clearly, but by his attire it was clear he wasn’t just any Tonist.

The scythes on duty had their weapons at the ready, but there was something about the approaching figure that gave them pause. Perhaps it was the confidence with which he walked, or the fact that he made eye contact with each of them. He would still be gleaned, of course, but maybe it was worthwhile hearing why he was here.

Goddard could not tune out the riot below, no matter how hard he tried. Publicly he tried to spin it as the work of Tonists – or at the very least, instigated by them. Some people swallowed what they were fed; others did not.

“This will blow over,” Underscythe Nietzsche told him.

“It’s your actions moving forward that matter,” Underscythe Franklin said.

It was Underscythe Rand who made the most salient point. “You’re not accountable to them,” she said. “Not to the public, and not even to other scythes. But it’s about time you stopped making enemies.”

It was easier said than done. Goddard was a man who always defined himself not only by what he stood for, but by what he stood against. Complacency, false humility, stagnation, and the sanctimonious bickering of old-guard scythes who would steal all the joy from their calling. Making enemies was Goddard’s greatest strength.

And then one fell right into his lap. Or rather took an elevator there.

“I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but he says he’s a holy man, and that he speaks for the Tonists,” said Scythe Spitz – a junior scythe ordained after the death of the Grandslayers. He was all nerves and apologies, glancing at Goddard, Nietzsche, and Rand as he spoke, as if leaving any one of them out of the conversation would be an inexcusable offense. “I wouldn’t have brought this to you – I mean, we just would have gleaned him – but he said you’d want to hear what he had to say.”

“If the Overblade listened to what every Tonist had to say,” said Nietzsche, “there’d be no time for anything else.”

But Goddard put his hand up to silence Nietzsche. “Check that he’s unarmed, and bring him to my receiving hall,” Goddard said. “Nietzsche, go with Scythe Spitz. Size this Tonist up yourself.”

Nietzsche huffed, but went with the junior scythe, leaving Goddard alone with Rand.

“Do you think it’s the Toll?” Goddard asked.

“Sounds like it,” said Rand.

Goddard smiled broadly. “The Toll has paid us a visit! Will wonders never cease.”

The man who stood waiting for them in the receiving hall certainly looked the part in his ceremonial attire. Spitz and Nietzsche stood on either side of him, holding him tightly.

Goddard sat on his own personal seat of consideration. Nothing as overbearing as the chairs of the Grandslayers, but suitable. It was just as awe-inspiring as it needed to be.

“What can I do for you?” Goddard asked.

“I wish to broker a peace between scythes and Tonists.”

“And are you this ‘Toll’ person, who has given us such trouble?” Goddard asked.

The man hesitated before he spoke. “The Toll is my creation,” he said. “A figurehead, nothing more.”

“So who the hell are you?” asked Rand.

“My name is Mendoza,” he told them. “I’m the curate who the Toll has relied on all this time. I’m the true conductor of the Tonist movement.”

“My position on Tonists is clear,” Goddard pointed out. “They are a scourge on the world, and better off gleaned. So why should I entertain anything you say?”

“Because,” said Mendoza, “I was the one who armed the Sibilants in SubSahara – a region that openly opposed you. Since that attack, the region has been much more friendly toward you, hasn’t it? In fact, both of the candidates for High Blade are new-order thinkers – which means SubSahara will be fully aligned with you by their next