by K. L. Kettle
The Chancellor wants me to fight for the right to be her ward. She wants me to win her, not the other way round.
I’ll show her fight.
There’s still heat in my side, a biting, sick, churning ache. But I don’t need to stay to see what they’ll do when they’re happy it’s fixed up.
No. I need to get to the dorms.
What about me?
There’s that idiot hope again, that you’re alive.
*
When I get up, the ache from the stitched-up gash hasn’t gone, but feels deeper, curling up my spine, down into my heels. The doctor watching over me warns me not to try to walk, her voice soft behind her cotton mask. I need the bathroom, I tell her, except I call it the ‘little boys’ room’. Her laugh is muffled. She thinks I’m sweet, helpless, stupid and I’m letting her believe that but with all the meds in my system it’s not hard to sound pathetic. She’ll show me the way, she insists, being ladylike. I’ll get there on my own, I insist. Give me this, a little bit of freedom. My hand grips Walker’s merit book so tightly my knuckles are white.
The doctor, Mareesh she says her name is, looks around before pulling her mask away so I can see her face, a small act of defiance on her part too. Ro said there were women who would just need an excuse. I didn’t believe her. Maybe there are more than I thought? The woman crying for her ward in my appointments was just the start.
You go, run, the young doctor’s face says, that expression of pity and hope in her eyes as she hands me a gown.
As I slip it on, I’m counting the days since the ball. If I’m right, the auction hasn’t happened yet.
I limp down the corridor, holding my gown closed as women stare and whisper. Most of them don’t look at me, refuse to move out of my way as I stumble ahead, so I have to weave round them. They sigh, shaking their heads. “Boys these days.”
I keep scanning the walls for the emergency exit. Do I care if they see me use the card to slip into the stairwell? How soon will the alarm sound when I don’t return?
Gritting my teeth, I fumble for the card in Walker’s merit book, pinching inside the cover until I find it. I think of how he could have used it to get free too, to escape the Lice, the doctors. How after all his years at the Chancellor’s side she threw him into the desert like a broken doll. No. I don’t care who sees me. With a swipe at the wall panel, the door clicks open and I dip inside.
A hundred floors down are my brothers, my dorm. I can warn them at least.
My bare feet still sting from the sand but I start moving, as fast as I can, one foot after the other, imagining their faces. The tales I’ll tell of Outside – of Eli and the Hysterics, the buggies and dunes.
Before last year’s Reserves.
Are you going to tell them the story, or shall I?
As the stairs extend above, below me, I can almost hear Walker laugh. You need to learn some showmanship, he said. I can hear his feet tap.
There’s no one following. No Lice stomping down the stairs from the infirmary. No doctors. When I reach floor zero, I keep going. You’re trying to tell me it’s my fault but I ignore you like you ignored me from the moment we joined the House of Boys.
Not going to answer? Suddenly so quiet?
At floor minus two the air gets thicker. There’s no air conditioning in the stairwell and the stifling heat chokes. My hand hesitates at the door to the dorms. I rest my head on the metal. There’s no way the card will open the front door; the Chancellor would never give Walker that kind of freedom.
Inside the dorm corridors there’s no one. My brothers must all be at their appointments, right? I’m not too late, am I?
Stumbling into J-dorm, I make my way to my bunk, the bedsheets untouched since I left them. Need somewhere safe to stash Walker’s card for now, so I reach underneath for my bag of stuff. Everything’s there: sweets, pens and the note I never gave you.
We need to talk, it said.
It’s all there except … the paper man you made. I pull off the bedsheets, tearing up my bunk to find little pieces of paper. It’s been ripped to shreds.
Did I just do that? Maybe it fell apart when I pulled at the sheets?
My brothers clatter into the dorm, alive, laughing. Stink’s face explodes into a grin when he sees me. He bounds across the room and flings himself against me with a hug. Rodders joins him and tries to stick a wet finger in my ear, saying that he’s a lot of pranks to make up. I shout as they hold tight, too much of me broken, but I don’t shake them off, even when others join in the pile-on. When I finally push them off, they start applauding.
I’ve heard a lot of applause since I joined the House of Boys. Most of it empty. Most of it unwanted. Not this. My stomach swells with it. My side is a patchwork of stitches and glue. Head swirling. The paper pieces fall from my hand as they congratulate me for coming home.
When everyone heads to lunch, Stink lingers like a bad smell. “Before you ask –” he grins, showing off a long line of gleaming white teeth – “Quinn likes good pegs. Stings like pepper paste but worth it, right?”
His face looks wrong with such new teeth. “They look great,” I say.
“So you want to hear a story?” he asks.
“No,” I joke. I’ve missed this.
“Go on, it’s a short one.”
“Fine,” I sigh.
Stink takes a deep breath. “Here it is. I should’ve helped, when Vinnie and the others came after you. I was afraid. I’m sorry.”
“I’m alive, aren’t I?” I shift from foot to foot, remembering Aye-Aye fighting in the infirmary. Could I have tried harder to help him?
“We thought you’d been sent to the mines by the Lice. I kept thinking about it. That was the most insane thing ever, dancing with Madam Vor’s daughter. Mad.”
“Yeah.” I try not to smile. “I mean, there were the Hysterics too. They did attack…”
“Which was scary, sure … but, Jude, you asked a girl to dance!” Stink laughs. “Look, I’ll make sure the others don’t bother you. My way of making it up to you for being a useless bunk-brother?”
“Sure,” I say.
He’s about to leave.
“Justin?” I call and he turns. “Thanks.”
“That’s what brothers do. See you up there, Superstar!” he beams.
“Up there?”
“She sent you here to get ready for auction, right?” he says. He thinks I’ve been with the Chancellor all this time.
“Yeah,” I say. I figured I’d be a day early for auction. That I’d have a day to get them out maybe? “Tomorrow, right?”
“No, it’s tonight, that’s why we’re off appointments early.”
It can’t be tonight. I thought we had more time. Stink bursts out a laugh. “Wait, that reminds me. There’s something you have to see!”
*
Bzzzz
The speaker rattles in the dining room. By the clock, there are four hours until curtain-up. I thought there’d be more time, time for Ro to get back with the others. Did I count the days wrong?
Stink persuades me to come to the dining hall, even though I’m not hungry. “That’s the place to get the best look at them,” he says.
“At what?”
“You’ll see.”
Most boys try not to look at me, or at least not get caught. “The numbers of boys have gone down,” I say.
Rodders nods. “A lot have gone. Since the ball, even the most trivial misdemeanour and the House Fathers pack them off. What was it that kid in L-dorm did?” he asks Stink.
“Full-blast spat at Father Lim! It was glorious, splendid, a-may-zing, my friend.” Stink kisses his fingers. “But instead of going to the mines they said they packed him off to the infirmary! What a treat.”
“He went to the infirmary?” I say, a cold, creeping feeling inside.
“A-MAY-ZING,” Stink reminds me, up close. Displaying his shining new teeth. Clearly amazing is word of the month.
“That’s where you got your teet
h done? And they let you leave?” I ask.
“Er. Yeah, why wouldn’t they? I mean, I’ve got to go back for more work, though, they said. Everyone’s been offered treatments, even the troublemakers, and for free! Since you came back hot as hell after Swims –” Stink won’t stop grinning – “everyone’s been jumping for it. Amazing, right?”
“The infirmary isn’t somewhere you want to go.”
Rodders shrugs. “Hey, just cos they made you up and you don’t want the competition—”
“It’s not that, it’s…” I’m trying to find the words to warn my dorm mates about what happened to Vinnie and his gang, when Rodders’ name is called. Excited, he runs off and returns a few minutes later with a suit box in his arms. “Pressed and perfect and pure, gentlemen, I give you…”
He drops the box on the table. Stink stares in awe, not noticing his water has tipped over and is drowning his protein porridge. “Wow,” he says as Rod pulls out the white suit and dances up and down the aisle, wiggling his ass. The dining hall whistles and whoops and cheers.
Every boy at the auction gets a pure white suit.
“Sorry, brother, there wasn’t one at Jai’s for you,” Rod tells me. “Hope you’re not going up onstage in your pants like in Swims? None of us’ll get a look-in!”
“Walker insisted his tailor make mine,” I say, while the boys around us laugh.
“Oooooo,” they sing in unison.
“Nice,” drawls Stink. “So it’s true then? You were working with him?”
I forgot it was a secret. “Sorry, I should’ve said.” It feels good to talk about him.
“Mate, he was hardly subtle with his crushes, you know that. At least you didn’t go on about it like… Anyway, you seen him since Swims? The rumours are mad. He was meant to show up for auction prep the other day but we got that lackey Fry instead. The guy could hardly keep everyone under control, kept crying every few minutes.”
I shake my head. Another lie and by the way they all look at each other I bet they can tell. Stink shrugs like he doesn’t actually care.
“Well, here’s to Mr Walker.” Stink raises his glass. “And to whoever gets to fill his slippers.”
They all look at me as we crash our glasses of water together.
“Here they come,” Stink splutters, smacking me on the shoulder. He points at the entrance as everything goes quiet.
Three boys. No, not boys. They’re too big.
Vinnie. Toll. Aye-Aye.
Should I look? I can’t help staring as they walk together in a line. They don’t look at any other boys. The expressions on their faces don’t change.
I remember the laughter, how they posed and preened in the dining hall. Their bodies seem larger than they were before. Veins thick in their arms. And here’s the creepiest thing – they seem even more handsome, at least by the Chancellor’s standards. Set zero smiles as empty as the masks the women wear at Reserves. It’s a perfectly choreographed performance. Perfect poise. Perfect smiles. Perfect men.
If you were still alive, she’d have pinheaded you too, right? You’d be back too.
“Pinheads,” Stink whispers. “Serves them right, eh? No one’s going to pick a fight now!”
As I stand, the sound of our bench shifting back makes the Roids’ heads turn slowly. Their once-bright eyes seem clouded, cataract white. There’s nothing behind their eyes when they look at me. They collect their suit boxes, turn and leave silently. Good boys. Quiet boys. Graceful boys who know their place.
After they’ve gone, not one boy in the dining room says a word. I search their faces but they look away, at their food, at the walls, the floor, anything but me.
They’re not in awe of me: they’re afraid.
*
Bzzzz
Three hours till curtain-up.
Father Jai sent a note. My suit’s waiting in appointment room forty-two. Music pipes into the room, skipping like before. There’s the same path I’d worn in the floor. Jai brought up a mirror. My suit, ordered by Walker, is the best I’ve ever seen. Soft cotton, sharp creases, buttons made of bone. The silk lining is black. The tie too. But the material isn’t white like my brothers’ suits. It’s blood red.
There was another smaller box that Jai gave me. When I tear at the paper, it comes away easily. Lifting the lid, I pull out the bag, untie the string and look inside.
Shining shoes, black leather, firm heels. When I put them on, I have to stamp on the floor. I can feel Eli’s hand pounding my chest. Shoes for dancing. Shoes for running. Shoes for standing tall. Are they from Walker too?
“You’d be amazed how thick the armour of a good suit can be,” I say, slipping into the suit, mimicking the pauses and tones of Walker’s voice and winking at myself in the mirror because that’s what he’d do.
In my new face, there’s Walker’s catalogue of smiles. His wink. The skin of the boy who never saw the sun has been scorched. Everything is squarer than I remember. Solid as stone. Stubble on his cheek. This face belongs to someone who isn’t afraid to take what they want.
*
Thirty minutes to go and Jai comes to get me. I didn’t hear the buzzer. Too busy pacing, worrying. Jai’s huge frame walks me along the line of my brothers in the dorm corridors. Stink pats me on the arm and whistles at the suit. Rodders winks. Jai leads me to the head of the line.
“You will make your dorm proud,” says Father Jai, striding past the other House Fathers who have boys in the auction. There’s pride in his walk; the other Fathers show respect too. Another result of having the Chancellor’s favour, I bet. Don’t mess with his superstar or your boys will end up like the Roids.
“Yes, Father,” my brothers repeat.
“You will make your brothers proud!” shouts Father Jai as he disappears down the line.
“Yes, Father!”
I’m not joining in with the chant. Father Jai nudges me. “Stand up straight now, son, please. You will make your house proud.”
My new shoes are snug, made for less well-travelled feet.
“Yes, Father.”
“Thank you, Jude,” he bobs, softening his voice. Jai sweats through his make-up as he tidies his flattened-down hair. It’s the only time he’s ever called me by my name. He’s afraid too as he hands me the basket of white velvet ribbon.
“You know the drill,” he orders.
I pull out a ribbon and he passes the basket to my brothers. “We blind ourselves to beauty,” they chant as they wrap the ribbon round their eyes. “Our speech is sacred. To love is illusion.”
Today. Tonight. Now. It’s really happening.
Why can’t I shake the feeling that we’re all still playing the Chancellor’s game?
“Don’t ruin this, son,” says Jai. “She pays what she promised for you and every boy in your dorm after you benefits.” I forgot J-dorm gets a cut of my bid. He pulls the ribbon from my fist, reaches round my head and ties it so tight that I swear. As I try to adjust it, he pokes me in the side. Right where my stitches are. “You’ll be grateful? To the dorm that groomed you?” he checks. “You are honour and charity and grace. You are silent and respectful. Understand?”
Stand up. Stand tall.
“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to,” I say. I’m here because I chose to be. I chose to do this. Whatever happens, this is my choice. My life. No one else’s.
“Five minutes to curtain. Stay still, please,” says Madam Glassey over the microphone. “Set the stage.”
My heart is drumming in my ears. I want to take off the blindfold but, for now, I have to play along.
Even though I know my brothers must be on the stage with me, I feel alone, picturing the vast space of the theatre as a gaping mouth, the rotten red chairs its teeth, the chandelier its tonsils rattling as it prepares to swallow.
Beyond the blindfold, the spotlights give everything an orange glow. Then there’s breath, chatter, the sounds of squeaking shoes, the shuffle and coughing of the crowd. I imagine Stink grinding his n
ew teeth as he prepares to remember every second for the stories he’ll tell.
My whole body is shaking. It’s not nerves. Something’s wrong. The pressure of the high waist on my trousers helps with the pain of the wound in my side but when I press my hand against it the wound burns hotter than ever.
Perfumed women gather round me, laughing, adjusting my suit as the burbling sound of the audience grows beyond the curtain. I grit my teeth as they spray my hair, rearranging it on my head until it’s right. I cough in the haze, my side stabbing with pain each time. But I am obedient. I am loyal.
“Smile, sweetheart,” says one. “He’s too grey – can we get some foundation over here?” There’s the smell of oil paint as they slap cover-up on my cheeks. “This is your big day.”
“Thanks,” I say through gritted teeth. Not smiling.
One last small victory.
Music starts: booming, floor-shaking drums rumble with triumph through the theatre. A microphone whistles as I picture the masked audience. Their eyes wide, they lean forwards, hungry for the echoing voice of Madam Glassey. She says each word slowly, swallowing the ends of her sentences. “Ladies, welcome to … to the Great Theatre for the last event of this season’s auction,” she stutters. “Lots of memorable nights but, erm, none more so than tonight.”
Beyond the curtain, only the fabric of their dresses rustles.
“I’ve a sad announcement.” Madam Glassey swallows. “In the last few days, you’ll have noticed the absence of our good friend the … the…” She chokes on her words. I don’t think it’s an act. “Mr Russal Walker sadly passed this week.”
The rage bubbles up through me. I clench my stomach where the grief sits.
From behind the curtain come cries of shock from the audience. My eyes ache underneath the blindfold, pricking with tears as I bite my tongue to stop myself from screaming out, He’s not dead, she pinheaded him! Soon I’ll tell them. I’ll tell them everything.
“In honour of Walker and his tireless commitment to our beloved Chancellor, we must acknowledge him,” Madam Glassey adds with a sniff.