A Circus of Ink

by Lauren Palphreyman

  The Blotter who spoke steps forwards from the tight circle surrounding us. He’s old for a Blotter. Late forties, maybe, with a severe angular face and slicked-back sandy hair peppered with grey. Death curls up his arms and is painted on his chest and neck. He looks me up and down.

  ‘Fascinating,’ he says. ‘You look just like a Blotter. It must have taken you a long time to ink your skin like that. Shame it will be wasted when we burn it off.’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

  His lips twist into a cold smile, and he holds out a hand. ‘Give me the knife, lad.’

  ‘I’d rather slice you open with it, mate.’

  He shakes his head as though he’s disappointed, but his eyes glint. ‘There’s no point fighting it. It is written.’ He stares at me, waiting. ‘No? Okay.’ He looks over his shoulder. ‘Kill her.’

  Elle opens her mouth to speak, but I hurl the knife, and it embeds into the forehead of the Blotter about to shoot her. His eyes widen with surprise before he falls flat on his back.

  The Blotter in front of me doesn’t even flinch as the others raise their guns. ‘Don’t shoot.’

  The air is charged. Blotters always know what is going on, but right now, no one knows what the fuck will happen next. Me included.

  ‘So, this is your girl?’ says the Blotter. His eyes linger on Elle for too long, and every muscle in my body tightens.

  ‘Don’t you look at her. Look at me,’ I say.

  He steps towards her. Her breathing quickens. Panic ignites in my gut because I don’t know what he’s going to do. I’ve seen her do incredible things, but there are no hurricanes here. No stories. And she’s so small compared to the men surrounding her. So breakable.

  ‘Hey—’ I say.

  ‘I heard a story about a man like you,’ she says, looking up to meet his eyes. ‘He—’

  The Blotter nods, and one of the others slaps her across the face. She falls down, and I lurch forwards, but the two behind me grab my arms and pull me back. The Blotter raises his hand before I can fight them off.

  ‘I’d think very carefully about your next move, lad, if you don’t want us to shoot her face off.’

  I still, my breathing laboured.

  ‘Good lad.’ He chuckles. ‘I can see why you’re so taken with her. It’s a pity an example needs to be made of you both.’

  He nods, and one of the Blotters raises a plastic container and starts dowsing the carpet with fuel. My pulse quickens.

  ‘Can’t be having Twists masquerading as Blotters now, can we?’ His eyes glint as he holds my gaze. He looks as if he’s waiting for me to say something, but I have no clue what. Then he slips a box of matches out of his jeans pocket. The slimy motel twat whimpers, finally realising he’s fucked himself over along with us.

  ‘You’ve been told he’s not a Botter,’ says Elle.

  The Blotter who hit her before strikes her again. She falls flat onto her hands.

  ‘Touch her again, and I’ll fucking kill you,’ I say.

  ‘No, you won’t.’

  Rage builds in my chest. I can barely contain it.

  ‘Why do you think they told you to burn us and not shoot us?’ Elle’s eyes are locked on me now, a red mark across her cheek. The guy with the fuel sloshes it over her, and she coughs, spluttering and spitting on the carpet.

  I’m going to rip his fucking head off.

  ‘She’s got quite a mouth on her, hasn’t she?’ says the grey-haired bastard. ‘You will be burned because it is written.’ He nods at the Blotter with the containers, and he comes towards me.

  ‘Don’t you fucking—’ My threat is cut off as he throws the remainder of the fuel on me. I spit on the floor, the sour, artificial taste on my tongue.

  ‘No. We will be burned because the Creators don’t want you to see him bleed,’ says Elle.

  ‘Chain them to the desk,’ says the Blotter. ‘Let’s be done with it.’

  Elle’s eyes slide to mine. ‘They won’t shoot you, Jay.’

  She looks so fucking certain. So sure she’s right. And what choice do we have?

  I wrench my arms out of the grip of the two men holding me and knock the old guy aside. Elle stumbles to her feet towards me, and I grab her. She’s right. No one shoots. Why? But then the grey-haired guy raises his matchbox.

  I turn and tackle him to the ground with a roar. He puts his hands around my neck as I slam his wrist into the fuel-soaked carpet. The matchbox flies across the room, landing beside the revolving door.

  ‘Elle!’ I yell.

  She’s already running towards it. I charge after her, throwing two Blotters aside, and the air is filled with confused yelling. They don’t know what’s happening. This isn’t going the way it was written. It’s the only thing that keeps us alive.

  ‘Just shoot them,’ says one of the Blotters.

  Elle is holding a match when I grab her by the waist and pull her towards the revolving doors. She lights it even though there’s fuel all over her.

  ‘What the fuck? Elle, come—’

  She throws it as I pull her through the doors. The lobby goes up in flames as we stumble onto the pavement. There are Blotter vans parked all the way down the road and more coming over the bridge.

  I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and pull Elle close to me, turning away from the motel as the reception desk hurtles through the window. The air is thick with heat and smoke and shouting.

  Elle’s cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are wide when I look down at her.

  ‘Run,’ she says.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Elle

  Run.

  We tear away from the river as more Blotters cross the bridge. A van skids down the road beside us, and a man with tattoos shoots out of the window. Jay pulls me down an alley between two towering buildings.

  ‘Keep going,’ he roars, rain running over his lips and into his mouth, mixing with the petrol.

  The van door slams shut as we race ahead. Jay kicks over a bin to obstruct the path of the Blotter now pursuing us on foot. Shouts fill the air, mixing with the smoke. More are coming.

  I can barely focus on our surroundings. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, and adrenaline pumps through my body. It’s fueling me, but it makes me feel as if I’m underwater. My lungs scream for breath, and the air feels thick.

  I don’t know the route we take through the urine-scented alleys and backstreets, always keeping away from the roads, but Jay knows. He is a Blotter. The routes through this Draft Two labyrinth are imprinted in his mind by the ink in his veins.

  Yet still, the Blotters follow us. They know their way too.

  Jay keeps urging me to move faster, grabbing my arm and pulling, but he never moves from my side. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. He’s trained for this; I’m not. It’s only the need to survive that keeps me going. I will not die. Not today.

  There’s a fire escape up ahead, against one of the skyscrapers lining the alley. Jay pulls me up it and smashes a third-floor window with his elbow. We climb through it into a thin, dark corridor.

  Panting, I follow him through the building. We spill out of another door into another alley and continue to run.

  And as my muscles scream, and the bottoms of my feet ache, and my lungs feel heavy with each breath of polluted air, Jay’s pace slows. He comes to a stop beneath some scaffolding. There are voices round the corner, by the road, and he pushes me against the wall, my face level with his chest. But it is just a couple of civilians heading home after a day’s work in the factories.

  He sighs, resting his forehead against mine. I take big gulps of air, my side splitting, and grab onto his top to stop my legs from buckling. He’s barely even breathless. When he meets my eyes, his full lips are hard, and his jaw is gritted as if he’s in pain. He opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, but then he shakes his head.

  He looks lost. Scared even.

  When I asked him if he knew when he would die, his response was devoid
of emotion. I don’t think he’s afraid to die. So who is he afraid for?

  Me?

  I put my hand on his chest. ‘We’re okay, Jay. I’m okay. This’ll be okay.’

  A breath escapes his lips. He steps back, taking away his heat, and looks at the long, dark road behind us. ‘This isn’t okay.’

  ‘Jay—’

  ‘Don’t you get it?’ He turns back to me and squeezes my shoulders. ‘We’ve lost them for now, but they’re going to kill you, little Twist. They won’t stop. It is written that we die. You are going to die.’

  I grab his arms, and his biceps harden against my fingers. ‘It was written that you kill me too.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  He moistens his bottom lip. There’s a struggle going on behind his cool, ink-blotched eyes. Then he steps back and leans against the wall beside me. He tilts back his head and lets out a hard breath.

  ‘I don’t know what we do now.’

  ‘We need to get into Draft Three. How far are we from the place we were supposed to meet the Canary?’

  He runs a hand along his stubble. ‘A few blocks. But we’ve missed it. We should have been there an hour ago.’

  ‘We have to try. She could still be there.’

  I take his hand and feel him give in, his rough fingers curling around mine.

  Soon, we’re walking through one of the Draft Two factory blocks. It’s a mass of huge industrial buildings with dark paths cutting between. Noise bellows from their high barred windows: loud mechanical creaks, metal screeching, monotonous thuds that vibrate through my bones. There are people inside of them now. There are always people inside of them.

  It’s to keep us busy, I think. I’ve seen the magic and technology of the Final City. There, everything is quick and bright and efficient. I don’t think there is need for these grey, never-sleeping buildings that suck souls and laughter and questions from people and chew on them with metal teeth until they are left hollow.

  But people who are busy and aching and exhausted are less likely to find time to do other things. Such as dream, or pass on stories at the black markets, or question the so-called gods.

  I follow the progress of the continuous streams of black smoke into the sky. The Creators put stars in the sky above the Citadel. Here, there is nothing but darkness.

  ‘My father used to say that stars were made of dreams,’ I say.

  ‘They’re not.’

  I exhale, and my breath mists in front of my face. ‘You lack imagination.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, you lack a survival instinct.’

  I narrow my eyes. ‘I’m still alive, aren’t I?’

  ‘For now.’

  Soon, the scent of the river adds to the smells of burning metal, industrial smoke, and the rain.

  ‘How did you know the Blotters wouldn’t shoot?’ says Jay suddenly.

  ‘If they’d shot you, you would have bled. If you’d bled, they would have known you were a Blotter.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So the Creators are obviously spreading the story that you’re not a Blotter. They were talking about you inking your own skin, remember? You’re dangerous, Jay.’

  ‘No shit.’

  ‘No. Not because of what you have done for the Creators. You’re dangerous because of what you represent. You’re a hole in their story, a contradiction, something that doesn’t make sense. You’re supposed to enforce the One True Story. They can’t let anyone know a Blotter can escape what is written. If anyone saw you bleed, they’d see the ink and they’d know the truth.’

  He runs a hand across his mouth. ‘If they’d shot us, we’d be dead. And this would be over. That’s what the Creators want. They won’t make that mistake again.’

  Maybe he is right, but the river glints ahead, and relief washes over me. We walk to the riverbank and stare over the wide expanse of murky water. There are shadowy buildings on the other side of the river, and lights from the Draft Three skyscrapers blink in the distance.

  I shiver, rubbing my arms, as I search for the Canary through the shadows.

  ‘Are you sure this is the place?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah.’ Jay stiffens as the wind carries male shouting from somewhere within the factory block. ‘Shit. We can’t wait for her.’

  Both of us look at the dark buildings behind us.

  ‘Can you swim?’ I ask.

  Jay raises his eyebrows. ‘You serious?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We can’t swim across the river.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He turns his head to me as I stare at the black stretch of water ahead. ‘You know why.’

  I know of the Creators’ stories—spread like poison by the Tellers. Stories about creatures lurking in the rivers; stories about fatal undercurrents and drownings and danger. Stories about what would happen to anyone who illegally crossed the boundaries between the Drafts.

  Stories are true when we believe them.

  I pull my leather jacket closer to my body and swallow. ‘It’s not that wide.’

  ‘Little Twist . . .’ His tone is warning.

  I glance over my shoulder. He looks menacing in the rain and the darkness. We cannot stay here. Even if we manage to lie low until tomorrow, the Draft will be swarming with Blotters by then. We need to get into the next Draft.

  ‘What choice do we have, Jay?’

  His features are like stone as he stares at me. Then his shoulders deflate. He walks forwards to join me.

  ‘This is a really bad idea, little Twist,’ he says.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jay

  The water is as black as ink. It’s thick and glossy too.

  It makes me think of my time in the Final City, in that room beneath the Citadel, surrounded by the Creators. Whispering. Weaving stories. The blood in my veins boiling.

  Fuck.

  I run a hand over my mouth. I don’t want to go into that water.

  Elle sits on the riverbank. She’s mad. She has no idea what the Creators are capable of. I reckon even if we don’t die from getting sucked to the depths or eaten by the monsters that lurk there, we’ll probably get some disease from swimming through other people’s piss and sewage and rot.

  ‘Elle?’

  She glances over her shoulder. Can’t we go back to a couple of hours ago when I had my cock inside of her, my hands on her body, and my tongue in her mouth?

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If we die, you’ll never get to feel my cock inside of you again,’ I say.

  Her face remains impassive, but her breath hitches as she turns back to the river. ‘We’d better stay alive then.’

  I grin like a fucking idiot and run my hand over my mouth to hide it. I’m pathetic. Is that all it takes to make you happy, Jay? You can ruin your life by not doing what was written, end up consorting with a group of terrorists, get shot, nearly get burned alive, and wind up about to swim across a big dirty river that’ll probably kill you—but hey, a girl you like wants your cock, so it’s all okay!

  Elle meets my eye, and she’s breathing hard, her eyebrows knitting together. The smile dies from my lips. What are we doing? This is insane. She swallows, and her resolve hardens her soft features.

  ‘Elle, this is a bad—’

  She plunges into the river. I stare at the ripples, and time stretches on. She doesn’t resurface. Shit. I put my hand on the ground and swing over the edge after her.

  The water drags me down. It’s thick and dark and as cold as ice. There’s no world. No Circus. No stories. No Blotters or Creators or Twists. There’s nothing. There’s only ink.

  I’m in one of the pools beneath the Citadel. The Creators are watching me as I drown. Two of them are arguing, I think. It’s faraway. I can’t breathe. My lungs scream. My muscles spasm as I’m sucked into the depths. I raise my arms, but I can’t reach the surface. Black, sour ink seeps into my mouth. It curls up my nostrils. I don’t know which direction is up or down.

  But no
, I’m not in the Citadel, am I? I’m in the river. I survived the Citadel, but I won’t survive this. I’m going to die. This wasn’t written. I have no purpose. There is nothing.

  There’s Elle.

  I still. The fog in my mind starts to clear. The water lessens its grip on me. The bubbles leaving my lips are streaming upwards.

  Something brushes my leg.

  Panic stabs my heart like a blade. I kick hard, and I swim. Seconds later, I break through the surface of the water. The air burns my throat as I spit out black, murky water.

  ‘ELLE?’ Cold dread spreads across my chest. ‘ELLE?’

  I don’t know what to do. I can’t see her. There’s a pit settling in my stomach, and it’s so heavy I think it will drag me back down again.

  ‘ELLE?’

  The surface breaks a few metres away, and a tsunami of relief crashes over me. I propel through the water towards her. Her hair is sticking to her face, and there are streaks of brown across her cheeks. She’s looking around frantically. When her eyes lock on mine, she looks as panicked and relieved as I feel. She grabs the back of my neck, pulling herself into my body.

  ‘I thought you drowned,’ she says. Her pale lips are tinted blue, and her quickened breaths mist in the small space between us. ‘I thought you drowned. I couldn’t find you. I thought you drowned.’

  I put my hand flat on her back and pull her closer. I feel as if I’m suffocating all over again. My throat constricts, and my ribs close in on my lungs. Because it sounds as if she actually gives a shit. In fact, for the first time since I met her, she looks terrified.

  ‘You were looking for me?’ I say.

  ‘Yes.’

  I swallow hard. ‘Shall we get the fuck out of here?’

  She nods and lets go.

  The water is thick and calm as we swim away from Draft Two. The current has taken us some way from the riverbank already. I can’t help the trepidation that hangs over me though. Something brushed against my leg.

  One hundred and fifty metres to go.

  The bank gets closer. The Draft Three skyscrapers stretch into the sky, dark and foreboding.

  One hundred metres to go.

  I can’t see my arms below the surface, and the air smells like sewers. The Twist’s hair trails behind her over her rucksack, carried by the inky blackness.