The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,59

perceived as an insult. He said nothing more, because he figured he could only make things worse.

Rand was now legendary. Everyone in the Mericas – maybe even the world – knew that she was the one who had brought Goddard back from the dead in a manner not even the Thunderhead would dare. Morrison was always put off by that grin of hers. It made you feel like she knew something you didn’t and couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when you found out.

“I hear you made a man’s heart stop last month with one blow,” Rand said.

It was true, but the guy’s nanites had started his heart again. Twice. In the end Morrison had to turn off the man’s nanites to make the gleaning stick. That was one of the problems with gleaning without weapon or poison. Sometimes it just didn’t take.

“Yeah,” said Morrison, not bothering to explain. “It’s what I do.”

“It’s what we all do,” Rand pointed out. “What’s interesting is the way you do it.”

Morrison was not expecting a compliment. He tried to offer her his own unreadable smile. “You think I’m interesting?”

“I think the way you glean is interesting. You, on the other hand, are a total bore.”

Finally, Goddard came out of his bedroom suite, his arms wide in welcome. “Scythe Morrison!” he said with far more warmth than Jim had expected. His robe was slightly different from the one he used to wear. It was still dark blue, and speckled with diamonds, but if you looked closely, you could see cross filaments of gold that shimmered like the aurora borealis when the light hit it.

“As I recall, you were the one who seconded Scythe Curie’s nomination for High Blade, were you not?”

Apparently Goddard wasn’t wasting time with small talk. He was going straight for the jugular.

“Yes,” said Morrison, “but I can explain…”

“No need,” said Goddard. “I enjoy a vigorous competition.”

“Especially,” added Rand, “one that you win.”

It made Morrison think of the games he liked to watch, where the outcome was already determined, so he knew which team to root for.

“Yes. Well, at any rate,” said Goddard, “neither you nor our friend Constantine had any idea that I was waiting in the wings, planning a grand entrance when the nomination was made.”

“No, Your Honor, I did not.” Then he caught himself. “I mean, Your Excellency.”

Goddard made a point of looking him over. “The gems on your robe add a nice touch,” he said. “Are they a fashion statement, or something more?”

Jim swallowed. “More,” he said, hoping it was the right answer. He glanced at Rand, who was clearly happy to watch him squirm. “I was never actually aligned with the old guard,” Morrison told them. “I nominated Curie, because I thought it would impress Scythe Anastasia.”

“And why would you want to impress her?” Goddard asked.

Trick question, thought Morrison. And he decided it was better to be nailed by the truth than to be caught in a lie. “I had the feeling that she was going places – and so I figured if I impressed her—”

“You might get pulled along in her wake?”

“Yes, something like that.”

Goddard nodded, accepting the explanation. “Well, she did go somewhere. Although to be more precise, I suspect she went multiple places before she was fully digested.”

Morrison chuckled nervously, then stifled himself.

“And so now,” said Goddard, indicating Morrison’s gem-covered robe, “do you seek to impress me?”

“No, Your Excellency,” he said, once more hoping it was the right answer. “I don’t want to impress anyone anymore. I just want to be a good scythe.”

“What makes a good scythe, in your estimation?”

“A scythe who follows the laws and customs of the scythedom, as interpreted by their High Blade.”

Goddard was now unreadable – but Morrison noticed that Rand’s grin had faded, and she looked more serious. He couldn’t help but feel that he had just passed some sort of test. Or failed it.

Then Goddard clapped him warmly on the shoulder. “I have a job for you,” he said. “A job that will prove that your loyalty isn’t just a fashion statement.”

Goddard took a moment to look out at the eastern view. Morrison joined him.

“You are no doubt aware that the Tonists have found themselves a prophet who is uniting the various factions of their cult around the world.”

“Right. The Toll.”

“The Tonists are the enemies of all we represent. They don’t respect us, or our calling. Their adherence to fictional doctrine threatens to undermine our society. They are weeds that need to be pulled