“Are you trying to sleep over there?”
“You did get me up at four in the morning,” she grumbled, somewhat ashamed.
“We got up earlier.”
“Well, excuse me for needing more sleep to run properly.”
Laura rearranged her feet on the rungs of the stool, hoping the shuffling would wake her mind up again. It wasn’t working.
“If you’re still half dead, you can sleep.”
Laura rolled her head about as she looked around. Stools, counter … where did he expect her to sleep, the floor?
“Believe me, I’d love to. There’s just no place to sleep here.”
“So go upstairs.”
“Upstairs? As in your house, upstairs?”
“What, you afraid there are rats up there?” Clae replied, steadying a length of tubing.
“No, it’s just weird.” Laura made a face. “I mean, I don’t know.…”
The idea seemed like a terrible invasion of space. She wasn’t too happy with the idea of Clae in her room, but somehow this seemed worse. An uncrossable line: you could enter a church but you couldn’t go into the holy of holies.
“There’s a room right next to the stairs, right on the left. You’ll need to pull some sheets from the closet, but it’ll work. Just don’t touch anything else in there.”
Laura leaned toward Okane and whispered, “What room is this?”
“Unused one,” he replied, just as quiet. “Old guest room or something.”
“Okay. You sure?” she asked, glancing back at Clae. He was too busy tightening a screw to look at her.
“Just go. But don’t take too long, we’re on the clock.”
When neither did anything to stop her, she slid off the stool and made for the door behind the counter.
The stairs were steep to fit in the small area behind the door. As Laura climbed she didn’t look forward to going back down—she’d probably miss one of the little steps and fall and break something. Regardless, she climbed. The door at the top opened easily. There was a little entryway before the step up into the home beyond, just like in Laura’s apartment. She took off her boots here before venturing farther.
From the hall beyond, she could see a change in style. A small kitchen lay to her right, with even fewer appliances than the one in her own apartment. On one side the wall was a thick screen that slid across a track in the floor and folded neatly when drawn back. It was half open, and in the open space sat a tiny table, low to the ground. The room beyond seemed to be a bedroom.
Laura wanted to snoop, but this wasn’t her home and she had no right. She ripped her gaze away to search for the guest room. To her left stood a sliding door, thin but functional, and she pulled it open.
The cramped room here fit a short bed with no bedding, a rickety nightstand, a rocking chair, and what looked like a sewing basket, which Laura found strange. She never really thought of Clae as a sewer. Lots of men had housewives—little fold-up sewing kits in case of tears in clothing—but an entire sewing box? She located the closet on one wall and slid it open. It held two shelves, one at the height of her waist, the other above her head. The bottom bore a jumble of junk—kettles, broken cups, clothes racks, and the like. She looked up at the top shelf, and there she finally spotted some bedding. She pulled it down and frowned. The blanket smelled like mothballs. She fished out a pillow and slinked over to the bed.
The mattress creaked under her weight. It was uncomfortable. She found herself rolling around to find some better spot, but nowhere on the stupid floral-patterned springbag did she feel content. She realized why when she saw the label for Partch Mattresses. She used to pass that store every day on the way to school, but they shut down sometime when she was in second grade. They were cheap mattresses, low-quality.
She stared absently in front of her, cursing the mattress, and caught sight of something on the nightstand. The stand wasn’t the best quality either, but on the side, ROSEMARIE had been sloppily carved into the wood. What looked like a flower was engraved below.
She’d never heard of someone called Rosemarie before. It probably wasn’t anyone important.
How she managed to fall asleep, Laura had no idea. She jolted awake when she heard a tinkling sound. She sat bolt upright, looking around wildly before she was even truly awake. The tinkling came from a child’s toy, a small patched-up ball with a bell inside. It rolled in from the door, wobbling erratically owing to its internal framework, and came to a halt a foot from the bed. Laura reached out to pick it up.
“Are --- awake in there?”
“Okane?”
“Right.” He had to be just on the other side of the door. “It’s getting toward noon, and Clae’s just about done with all the forms he’s filling out. Probably a good time to go down, before he realizes how long it’s been.”
Laura checked her pocket watch, saw it was eleven forty, and lent a new urgency to her actions. She rolled herself off the bed, wadded up the blanket, and shoved it back into the closet. After giving herself a quick pat-down to check that she looked decent, she opened the door fully. Okane leaned against the opposite wall, turning another bell toy over in his hands.
“Where did you find these?” Laura caught his attention as she held up the one that had rolled into the guest room.
“They were in my room.” He gestured to another sliding door just down the hall. “It looks like it was a child’s room at one point. There are some old toys in there like these.”
“Toys?” Laura repeated, baffled. “It’s not like he’s got any kids. Shouldn’t those be in storage or something?”
Okane shrugged. “They don’t look like they’ve been used in a while. Maybe he’s just too lazy to pick them up?”
“Who knows.”
She handed over the ball, and Okane put them back into the other room. When they emerged into the shop space, Laura spotted Clae hunched over a stack of papers, scribbling away with a pen. Part of his hair stuck up like he’d been messing with it as he wrote. Laura skirted him and took the seat she’d been in earlier.
“How are the forms going?” she asked.
“Behold, it lives,” Clae deadpanned.
“Amazing,” Laura retorted, just as dryly. “But really, how long have you been at that?”
“An hour.” He leaned back on his stool, using his hands on the counter for balance as he cracked his back.
“Ouch.”
“When these things happen on military ground, they always end up requiring far more paperwork than should ever be needed,” Clae hissed. He signed the bottom of a page with a flourish.
“You’ve done this before?”
“Twice. All cases of extreme stupidity. That mask this time? It was a good-luck charm from a trainee’s girlfriend, procured from the Mad Dogs mob. Apparently she got huffy when he left for the army and was convinced he was cheating. Decided he was better off vanishing from the world, collateral damage be damned.”
Laura wanted to ask how he knew this, but he looked a little too angry to hold a civil conversation. Okane rolled his eyes toward the telephone, and she got her answer anyway.
“Anything else happening today? I’m guessing no since I was able to take a nap.”
“There’s a package by the door. It has some things inside for the both of you.” Clae jabbed his pen toward the door.
Sure enough, there was a big package wrapped in brown paper. Laura glanced at Okane in confusion, but he looked just as baffled as she felt. He went to retrieve it, and set it on the counter, just out of the way of the papers.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Open it and see for yourself.”
Cautiously, Okane peeled the paper away. He took care not to rip any of it, which Laura didn’t know whether to find annoying or endearing, but he got it open eventually. Laura couldn’t see well, since the paper stuck up in the way, but Okane cocked his head to the side like a curious dog. He reached in and pulled up a dark green vest with subtle swirling designs i
n the fabric.
“I don’t understand.”
“That one’s for Laura.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“It’s specially made fabric,” Clae explained, putting the pen down. “There’s only one dressmaker in Amicae who can make these kinds of clothes. They’re specially treated with kin.”
“I think I remember you talking about this before.” Laura took the vest. She could tell right away that it had been fitted, and it was very good quality.
“It’s an extra defensive measure against the monsters,” Clae explained to Okane. “The fabric has been saturated with kin to the point it gives off a similar aura, which doesn’t fade. With luck, they’ll just register you as weak kin and try to avoid touching you.”
“Hang on.” It hadn’t occurred to Laura before, but now it seemed painfully obvious. “Is your coat made of this sort of thing too? I mean, that one time the monster tried to hit you, but it didn’t seem to do any damage.”
“I prefer the coat since it covers more, but since you’ve both expressed your distaste for the style, vests seemed the better option.”
“Wow,” Laura muttered, running a hand over the buttons. “Thanks. Really, thank you.”
“Can’t have you two keeling over on me.” Clae said this as if it would be a terrible inconvenience and not a tragedy.
“Thanks.” Laura’s tone dripped with sarcasm.
Meanwhile Okane pulled out another vest, this one black with silver buttons. After examining it for a moment, he laid it over his shoulder and lifted out more vests, even shirts and sets of pants.
“Who’s the special dressmaker?” Laura watched in awe as more and more expensive clothing made an appearance.
“His name is Zavodsky. He’s a finicky bastard who doesn’t like turning over the product until he’s been over it a thousand times for error and has the complete set done.” Clae plucked a dark purple vest from the pile, wordlessly claiming it along with a less flashy brown one lined with green. “He’s had your vest finished for months but refused to hand it over until he had the entire batch ready to go, and then he got wind of the new Sweeper and had to hold on until he had two wardrobes done.”
“That’s nice of him,” Laura grumbled.
“He’s insufferable,” Clae agreed.
More objects peeked out from the package paper. Okane looked busy with the wide array of clothing, so Laura picked them up. Thick ID cards, the width of her palm and shorter, to be more easily stored in pockets and coin purses. Laura had an ID card of her own tucked away on her person, but one of the new cards bore her name and information, just on yellowish background instead of white, with the addition of three small stars in the corner above her picture. Laura Kramer, it read, in meticulously fine print. The other two read Okane Sinclair and Clae Sinclair, with stars to match hers. Okane looked spooked in his photograph, and Laura fought a smirk at that. She recognized the backdrop in the photos. These must’ve been from their venture to a professional studio, a week after Okane was dragged out of the Sullivan house.
“What are these?”
Clae glanced over.
“New IDs. They’re revamping public workers’ cards, changing color so they’re easier to spot. Stars correspond to level of importance. We may end up having to show those instead of rings soon.” He gave his ring a rueful twist. “But now Okane’s officially registered. Congratulations.”
“I’m what?”
Okane held out one weak hand, and Laura gave him the card. She scanned the info as she did. DOB August 25, 1214. So they pegged him to be nineteen, a year younger than her. While he gaped at the card, she peered down at Clae’s. April 26, 1206. That made him twenty-seven.
Clae plucked the card from her hands and frowned at it.
“What’s so interesting?”
“Nothing! Just admiring that hairstyle.”
He gave the card a skeptical look and declared, “I’m nothing but fashionable,” before moving on. He twirled his pen and went back to the forms, ignoring them completely. Laura ignored him now too. She swapped her old vest for one of the new ones and spent the rest of the day with boosted confidence, because she knew it looked good on her.
* * *
When she arrived back at the Cynder Block and turned in her bicycle, Mrs. Haskell gave her a weird smile and said she looked nice. She also asked if Laura had a boyfriend, which was so far off Laura had to laugh. She was still giggling when she reached the apartment on the top floor. Morgan noticed her good mood even before she saw her.
“Did you have a good day?” she called as she stirred something on the stove.
“Yes and no,” Laura answered. “Getting up so early was awful. I’m sorry they barged in like that.”
“It was fine,” Morgan chuckled, but there was some strain to it. Obviously this would not be welcome if it happened again.
“But I got to—” Mentioning a nap at a man’s house was a big no-no even if it was a genuine act of goodwill; she backtracked. “To get to know Okane a little better! And Clae got me some new clothes.”
“Did he?” Morgan looked back and did a double take. “Oh, my. Where did he get that?”
“A specialist.” Laura patted the fabric of the vest proudly. “I’m not sure how he got my size or anything,” and now that she thought about it that was a little creepy, “but it looks great, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
Morgan set aside the spoon and walked over to get a better look. She made the same kind of weird smile as Mrs. Haskell had, though it wavered a little.
“How much did this cost?”
“I don’t know, but it has to be a lot. Quality costs. I’ve got a small wardrobe in here!” She held open the bag she’d borrowed from Brecht, showing off the clothes she’d stuffed inside.
“If he’s spending this kind of money on you, are you sure it’s not that kind of present?”
Laura’s smile dropped. “Morgan. We’re funded by the city and this is a uniform for the job.”
“I’m just saying, it seems like he went to some lengths to get you a present.”
“You’re crazy.”
Morgan rolled her eyes. “Just be careful, okay? Sometimes things like this just get to be a slippery slope. It’s okay if it’s for the job, but don’t make him think you owe him anything for it.”
Laura took a look at Morgan’s worried face and averted her gaze. The memory of Charlie resurfaced and she felt another surge of anger at him, at anyone who could see this woman and think anything bad of her. She was so much kinder and braver—strange as that thought was—than most married women Laura knew. Even if she was on Laura’s back about marriage all the time, it was an attempt to help her.
“He only got it because it’s a Sweeper uniform. And it’s only nice because the tailor is a perfectionist. Clae got clothes for Okane and himself too. He’s not targeting me for anything.”
Morgan frowned and crossed her arms as she sighed. “Just keep an eye on this, okay? Get out while you can.”
“Really, you don’t have to worry.”
With a thundering of little feet, Cheryl came running in from outside. She didn’t close the door behind her and didn’t bother to take off her shoes either. Morgan lunged and snatched her up off the ground.
“What are you doing?” she laughed.
“Getting money.”
“For what?”
“I found a penny doll for one argent!” Cheryl kept kicking like she was running in midair. “Gotta get it quick!”
“That sounds like too good a deal to me,” said Laura.
“But it’s there!”
“All right,” Morgan told her. “Go on then. But you’re using your own allowance.”
She set her down. Cheryl looked up to smile at her, but caught sight of Laura’s vest.
“Ooh. That’s pretty.”
“Isn’t it?” Laura grinned.
“If you have money for that, you have money for a penny doll, right?�
�
“If I had the money for this vest I’d have already spent it all, so I wouldn’t have any left for the doll.”
“That’s an excuse.”
“Didn’t I say you’re supposed to use your own money?” chided Morgan.
Cheryl made an unhappy sound and ran to her room. Morgan threw up her hands in surrender.
“And still with the shoes. She’ll never learn,” muttered Laura.
“You were the same. She’ll learn soon enough.”
Cheryl ran past them again, coin fisted in her hand, and Morgan caught her again, spinning her about and ordering her to spend the paper money first. Paper money had only recently come into existence, and Morgan was among the majority of people who believed it wouldn’t be worth dirt in a year’s time. Cheryl wasn’t pleased by the delay. As she scrambled out the door, Morgan called, “Be careful!”
“I will!”
The door closed behind her.
15
GODS IN THE RABBLE
“Why do you keep working there?”
The sigh came out of nowhere, early on October first as Laura prepared for work. She’d been checking the contents of her coin purse when Morgan leaned on the counter beside her, looking sad and worn. The woman had been involved in a stressful catering job the day before, and these always sent her into a funk that had her questioning the point of everything.
“What, as a Sweeper?” Laura asked. “I told you, it’s completely safe.”
“Nothing is completely safe.”
“So what, I should join a factory and get my fingers chopped off by machines?”
Morgan shuddered. “No! No. I just mean—why can’t you be a maid or something? Work in a big house? Do laundry, or dressmaking, teach, work with the post, be a telephone operator! They’re all valid, reliable positions!”
“And my Sweeper job isn’t?”
Morgan made a frustrated noise, rubbed at her face, and peered between her fingers. “I just don’t know. I can’t even tell if you’re happy there.”
City of Broken Magic Page 24