Chapter the Sixth of Part the Fourth
In which the narrative recounts acts from the life of Mark Streeter in Assid City, Hooglaan.
“Now remember,” said the Venerable Nemor Gray once the boys were lined up in the round foyer of his mansion, “this is much more than a concert, special your first public concert already is. This is the beginning of a great social experiment that will turn all of Hooglaan inside out. You are bodily proof that children cast into the Cesspool of Assid City at birth can rise to great things. The social ordering of the present time will not survive tonight’s concert and still less will it survive the great concert to come in the Assid City Civic Hall. Everybody who wishes to condemn children like you to slavery in their factories will be put to shame and a new age will dawn. You boys will be the ones to lead that age. So, sing well, as I know you can!”
With his speech concluded, the Venerable Nemor Gray took the arm of his wife and walked through the door into the chapel where once the God of the First Preacher was worshiped. Fresnik Singer nodded to Mark Streeter and Tormo Redhand to start their procession. As Mark led his side of the choir into the chapel and down the aisle, he still could scarcely believing that it was happening. The smart chorister’s uniform was quite a contrast to the rags he once wore on the street. His stomach was full and there were treats to follow after the concert. At the same time, Mark’s head was in a whirl over the strange and exciting events in Merithwell as much as it was over this concert. Mark almost thought he saw the walls of the chapel sparkling with Merithwell’s light. Mark and Tormo took their spots in front of the chapel and the other boys fell into their places. The Venerable Nemor Gray and his wife, seated in the front row, smiled encouragingly to the boys. The audience looked expectant and friendly except for a few people towards the back. When Mark recognized the Illustrious Vincent Metterling among them, he shuddered at the memory of the mysterious blackbirds that attacked Merithwell during Danzigger’s spirit journey. Mark hoped faintly that the concert would turn the man’s attitude inside out, but he had a feeling the man had no intention of allowing that to happen. Fresnik Singer glided to the front of the choir, sat down at the harmony maker and made a couple of funny faces to amuse and relax the boys. Mark turned his attention to the choir director and tore into the first song on cue.
As a cheerful reminder of where they had come from, the boys opened with a song they often sang among themselves when they lived on the streets: “Pick a pack of pockets.” The boys had taught it to Fresnik, who in turn composed a concert arrangement of it. The audience, not least Nemor Gray himself, were appropriately amused and they applauded accordingly.
The concert continued with a mix of short pieces, some serious, some comical. Each round of applause gave Mark a new burst of energy that he applied to the next song, which then drew even louder applause. Mark recalled how much easier it was to sing on the streets if people stopped and really listened and how he collapsed inside if people showed no interest. Now those days were over and done with.
Towards the end of the concert, Mark’s big moment came when he sang a solo while the rest of the boys hummed in the background. To Mark’s satisfaction, it was a bigger and more satisfying solo than the one Tormo sang earlier in the concert, although Tormo’s solo fitted his swaggering style of singing. Fresnik stood to conduct the song as this would be sung without the harmony maker. Fresnik gave the gentle cue for the boys to hum the first chord and then Mark entered with the first verse of the song about the moon’s search for just one person who dreamed innocent dreams. Each verse carried a bit more intensity than the last as the moon’s disappointment increased with each dream it visited. The entry to the last verse was especially delicate, starting on a higher note than in the other verses. Mark took a deep breath and pictured himself floating up and then down to the note like a feather. His mouth open, he almost cried out from a sharp pain in his ankle. Somehow, Mark held in his cry and composed himself a second time. There was no question that it was Peete who had jabbed his ankle with the point of his shoe. The boy was standing to Mark’s right and Peete did not succeed in looking natural after what he had done. Mark stifled a reflex action to kick Peete twice as hard as he had been kicked, knowing that the gesture would ruin his solo and the concert with it. Mark would deal with him later. Tormo looked unnaturally innocent. Mark would deal with him later as well. Fresnik, seeing that something had gone wrong, held the choir on their chord and nodded to Mark to start the final verse again. Perhaps it was because Mark shared the moon’s sorrow that Peete, who Mark thought had become his friend, tried to sabotage his solo. Perhaps it was because Mark was more determined then ever to show that he was the best singer. The result was a heartbreaking final verse to the song that reduced many people to tears, even the Venerable Nemor Gray himself, not to speak of his wife. A hushed silence filled the chapel that Mark found even more gratifying than the loud applause that followed.
As promised, trays loaded with treats were spread out throughout the foyer for both singers and audience after the concert. Mark looked about for the Illustrious Vincent Metterling in the hope that he could approach the man with a “see me now” attitude, but he had disappeared like the bad dream he was for Mark. A tap on the shoulder turned Mark around.
“You were good,” said Timmon.
“Thanks.”
“I wish I was as good as you.”
“Keep singing and you will be,” said Mark.
“You really think so?”
“Sure. If I can do it, you can do it.”
A firm hand grabbed Mark by the shoulder. The Venerable Nemor Gray turned Mark to face him and crushed Mark’s fingers in a handshake.
“You really knocked everybody dead with that solo of yours,” said Nemor.
“Then how come you’re alive and shaking my hand and talking about it?” Mark asked with a smile.
“Ah! Caught me there! I guess I should say you knocked us into the new life you boys are giving this country of ours.”
“I suppose we could say that you sang so well we all had to rise from the dead to hear you sing,” said the Lady Venerable Nemor Gray.
“Well, I’m glad you’re alive since I guess you’re the one who’s making it possible for me to sing in this choir.”
“Glad to do it,” said the Venerable Nemor Gray. “I can’t wait to see what you do to the city officials in the City Civic Hall. Beats picking pockets, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t we pick pockets by making people pay to listen to us?” asked Mark.
“Ah! Caught me again! Hey, Tormo! Great solo you sang!”
Tormo seemed more ready for the bone-crushing handshake than Mark was, but Mark could see that the Venerable Nemor Gray had made a mistake in congratulating Mark first. Tormo was not going to forgive that gesture.
“You were great,” said Fresnik, who seemed to come out of nowhere.
“Thanks.”
“I was wondering, though. Did something happen at the end? Did you feel sick or something?”
“No, nothing. A bit nervous maybe. Coming in on that high note always scares me.”
“Which it should. Being nervous keeps you on your toes when you don’t let it turn you over completely.”
Mark thought about back paw telling on Peete, but rejected the idea out of hand, having decided that he was going to handle the matter himself in his own way.
“Mark, your singing was awfully sensitive,” said Renssa Reader.
“Uh—thanks.”
“Thank you for your part in making the concert such a pleasure.”
All this time, Mark kept an eye on Peete, who was drifting alone like a lost puppy. Deciding that he should confront Peete sooner rather than later, Mark worked his way closer to Peete indirectly, stopping to receive compliments from other guests who acted like important people. When he had positioned himself behind Peete’s back, he grabbed the boy by his wrist and turned him around. Peete’s guilty conscience flooded his face so violently that Mark almost felt sorry for him.
“Why did you kick me right when I was going to sing the last verse?”
Peete stared hard at the floor, a cookie dangling limply in his hand.
“It was an accident.”
“Then why didn’t you come straight to me after the concert and tell me you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” said Peete to the floor.
“Sorry for what? Sorry for the accident or sorry you did it on purpose?”
Peete’s eyes remained glued to the floor.
“It was Tormo made me do it,” Peete whispered.
“I thought as much,” said Mark. “But why did you do it?”
“He said he’d break my arm if I didn’t do it.”
“And what if I break your arm because you did do it?”
Peete went rigid. Mark was quite sure that the boy would have burst into tears if the two were not in so public a place.
“All right,” said Mark, “you go over to Tormo right now and kick him in the kneecap or I’ll knock two teeth out of your head some time tomorrow.”
“Please don’t make me,” Peete whimpered.
“More scared of Tormo than of me?” Mark asked.
Peete nodded and looked away. Mark pulled Peete back and made him face him.
“Did you kick me because Tormo is stronger than I am and so he can hurt you more than I can?”
“I’ll do anything you want if you can keep him from hurting me,” said Peete.
“Anything? Really?” Mark asked, tempted with the power Peete was giving him.
“I’m really sorry, Mark. You’re nicer to me than Tormo. I’d rather be your friend.”
“Hmm. Well, that’s nice. A fine friend you make if you kick him in the foot when he’s singing a solo just because a meaner kid asks you to.”
“I’ll make it up to you. I’ll help you fix Tormo if you want.”
Several ingenious schemes for hitting Tormo by return train ran in and out of Mark’s head, but each scheme ran aground on the thought of having to defend himself and “his” boys against another return train from Tormo and then having to come with another return train scheme for Tormo after that. More important, he was on the verge of getting Peete irrevocably on his side by being kinder than Tormo.
“Okay, Peete. I won’t make you do anything to Tormo. Not that I wouldn’t mind his getting kicked in the face sometime soon. Do you know why I didn’t kick you back during the concert? It was because that would have ruined the concert. And if I hit Tormo by return train, that could hurt the choir. We’ve got to make this choir as good as it can be and we have to sing together to get Merithwell built up and that’s more important than kicking Tormo in the face. I’m not trying to be nice, I’m just being practical. ”
“Yea,” said Peete, still looking quite scared. “Uh—Mark?”
“Yes?”
Mark had just about had enough of Peete, but he knew he had to give Peete all the time he needed or he might run back to Tormo.
“You sang good. I couldn’t believe how good you sang right after I kicked you. I’m awfully glad I didn’t wreck your solo.”
“Thanks, Peete,” said Mark who had to admit that he liked being complimented by the smaller boy. “I’m glad you didn’t wreck it, too. You know, you could have kicked me a lot harder if you really wanted to wreck things.”
“I know,” said Peete. “Uh—was it kind of like the time when those birds attacked us but you kept singing and so I wasn’t going to stop singing and run away from those things when you didn’t run away from them and Tormo didn’t run either, and those other boys kept on singing?”
“Yes, something like that,” said Mark.
It occurred to Mark that this was the first time he or any of the boys had said anything about what happened to Polnar and Passenell and the attack in Merithwell, much as it must be haunting all of them. Luke’s word for how he thought the boys felt seemed too strong at the time, perhaps because Mark and his boys were much more used to seeing people threatened with knives, but looking at the stress in Peete’s face, Mark began to think that Luke’s word was hardly an exaggeration.
“You were pretty spooked out our last time in Merithwell, weren’t you?” said Mark. Peete nodded. “Did singing tonights’s concert make you feel better?” Peete nodded again. “Did you notice a few people at the back who didn’t look interested in our singing?” Peete nodded a third time. “I think they are on the same train as the blackbirds in Merithwell. I think we can beat all the blackbirds in the seven worlds if we stick together. I’m counting on you.”
“Thanks,” said Peete, almost choking on the word.
Looking around the room, Mark noted that Timmon, Edwin and Guerry were chatting together and gobbling more than their share of torts while Tormo and Malvert stood together at the opposite end of the table, stuffing themselves as fast as they could.
“I think your best toss is to stick with Timmon and Edwin and Guerry, and I’ll stick with all of you. They don’t know what you did tonight and I won’t tell them so they’ll be all right with you. Okay?”
“Yea,” said Peete, his voice almost a squeak. “Thanks Mark. Next time I’ll lose an arm before I let anyone talk me into trying to wreck your solo.”
“It’s nice of you to feel that way,” said Mark, satisfied that this time he had Peete in the palm of his hand. “Go get some torts before they’re all gone.”
It was obvious to Mark that Tormo did not look happy about seeing him talk with Peete and that it was obvious to him what they were talking about. On balance, Mark preferred to be out in the open and for Tormo to know exactly where he stood in relation with the other boys. Keeping secrets could only make Tormo unpredictable. With that in mind, he walked up to Tormo. Malvert gave Mark his sharpest, meanest stare, which Mark pointedly ignored.
“You sang your solo pretty well,” said Mark to Tormo.
“You think so, do you?”
“I don’t feel obligated to dislike your singing,” said Mark cooly.
“And I suppose you want me to tell you how well you sang,” said Tormo.
“I have been told by lots of people that I sang well,” Mark replied, “and so I don’t need to hear you say you liked it.”
“It’s a good thing you don’t need any compliments from me because you’re not going to get them on account of your wispy voice,” said Tormo.
“You know,” said Mark, “that woman from Danzigger’s world said that we’ve got to keep singing, no matter what else happens and that means we’ve got to stick together.”
“Does that mean you want me to stick with you?” Tormo asked pointedly.
Tormo looked cool, but Malvert’s face was adding fury to fury.
“Yes,” said Mark, “I want you with us. You were a great help back there in that temple.”
“Thanks for the compliment. I suppose, you mean you want me with you as long as you get your way.”
“If I get my way, nobody’s going to get kicked in the middle of a concert,” said Mark.
“You want everybody to be nice because it’s to your benefit.”
“No, I’m not being nice, I’m just being practical.”
Proceed to Chapter the Seventh of Part the Fourth