Kelbee tried to look blank. ‘Mr Ganada?’
He walked around to her side of the desk. He was small and portly, made even shorter by his hunched shoulders. Speckled hair receded back from a sharp point in the centre of his forehead and he had the habit of rubbing his knuckles as he talked. He smiled an oily smile as he drew a baton from his belt and rested its tip on the desk. ‘I saw you. You missed the callisthenics.’
There was no let-up in the sound of the women around her but Kelbee knew they were listening. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said. ‘I was delayed at home.’
‘That’s no reason. If chores keep you, rise a little earlier, no?’ He lifted her chin so she was looking into his murky brown eyes. ‘Is that so hard?’
‘No, Mr Ganada.’
‘No, Mr Ganada,’ he repeated, sing-song. ‘It’s very simple. If you miss the morning exercises you will become unfit, which means you will be less efficient, which means I will have to move you back down the line. That’s how it works.’ His tongue darted over pale lips. ‘You don’t want me to do that, do you?’
‘No, sir.’
‘I’ve had my eye on you; you’re one of the good ones. But rules are rules, girl, so I have to give you a stamp.’
‘Sir, please—’
There was a crack like a pistol shot as he smacked the metal desk with his baton. Kelbee heard another woman gasp, which drew an annoyed look from the monitor. Then he held out his hand.
‘Your book. Now.’ The smile was gone.
Kelbee felt inside her bag with trembling fingers for the slim black notebook. The pages were blank and unmarked.
‘Hmm, your first one,’ he said, the sickly grin back. ‘What a good girl you are.’ He drew a heavy metal stamp and an ink sponge from a pouch and pressed them together.
Kelbee’s heart was beating fast. She would have to get the Major to sign the stamp and present it back tomorrow. He would be angry. He would hit her, she was sure of it. It might be bad. She’d never been cautioned herself, but she’d seen other women who had come in with bruising on their faces. Once, a girl she’d shared lunch with had been given a stamp for dropping a pail of black dye on fresh cloth and hadn’t returned for days; she still refused to speak to anyone, save for the monitors, and when she did her words were muffled.
Just as the monitor was about to stamp the page there was a loud crash from a few rows over and a high-pitched scream. Kelbee craned her neck and saw a crowd was gathering over by the cutting tables. Ganada, the stamp held in ink-stained fingers, took a step away from her desk and called out to a colleague.
A thin wail carried over the factory floor.
The monitor swore. He dropped both stamp and sponge into his pouch and rushed over towards the growing crowd. ‘Get back to work!’ he shouted as he pushed his way through. A few minutes later he reappeared with another monitor, carrying a young girl towards the double doors at the far end of the room. Her head was lolling and her arm was clutched to her chest. The light blue shirt was stained dark.
The cutting tables, where everyone started when they joined the garment factory. Accidents with the heavy automated shears were common; Kelbee had seen women with missing fingers, or in some cases whole hands. She’d come away unscathed herself, but it looked like this one had not been so lucky. Poor girl, she would go no further with an injury like that. She’d likely be looking at the shears that cut her for the rest of her life.
There was a piercing screech from the speakers and a voice barked, telling them to get back to their tasks. Within seconds the busy hubbub resumed as if the incident had never happened. Kelbee saw her book, still perched on the edge of the desk, the pages unmarked; she snatched it and dropped it into her bag before returning to her sewing.
Keep working, she told herself, don’t draw attention. You might get away with it.
* * *
At the end of the day Kelbee’s eyes felt as dried out as the clothes she’d been working on. It was late and she was alone in the elevator, thinking about what to make for dinner when there was a chime, and she realised it had stopped on Nebn’s floor. It was too late for him to still be at work but hope flared in her chest, hope that he would walk in and give her that smile that made everything seem better. Instead, two middle-aged women entered, deep in conversation, and the doors began to close.
She heard a shout, then a hand wedged itself into the gap and pushed the doors back open. Nebn stumbled into the elevator as if pushed. His hair was damp at the neck and he looked like he’d run for it. He saw her there and grinned.
They walked together for the first time that evening. As they reached the park, he paused at a garland of blooms that had been set out for the parade. He looked both ways, then plucked out three blue flowers, but waited until they were well under the trees before he stepped close and gave them to her.
A whispered invitation.
She nodded.
Endeldam
Cale and Aulk made their way into the range of bald hills that split the wide steppe from the coast, following an ancient road. The occasional pothole jostled the cab of the bulky skimmer truck. Cale didn’t speak much. His breathing had settled after the first hour, but every so often the words of the message – pressed against his heart inside his jacket – rang in his head and panic would creep up, making the blood boom in his ears.
The cab was cluttered and close, made closer by their thick layers of clothing. Despite a trickle of warm air struggling through the vents, the cold from the mountains had seeped in. As Ras’s light began to fade, Aulk fished blankets from behind the seats and offered one to Cale, who nodded in gratitude before wrapping it about his legs and body, leaving only his head exposed; like everything in the cab, it reeked of engine oil. The fisherman fiddled with the ancient radio unit, finding only static.
‘How long to your village?’ Cale asked.
‘Some hours yet. Still going up, need to start going down.’ Aulk prodded the radio one more time as an afterthought. ‘Got to get this bastard thing fixed,’ he muttered.
‘Shouldn’t you watch the road?’
‘Nah, pretty much drives herself. She’s a good old beast, though she don’t look it.’ He patted the cratered grey dashboard.
Cale gazed out of the side window as they wound higher and higher above deep, shadowed valleys. Evening had set and was leading the night in. The peaks began to feel like walls pressing in on him.
He’s not waking up, Cale. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get those words out of his head.
Aulk cleared his throat. ‘Here,’ he said, blowing on his fingers. ‘Did I tell you about this fish I caught with two heads? I was out, before the cold set in, with my brother’s boy. Feckless prick he is, but good in a storm. Anyway, we was out past the point…’
Cale settled, allowing the chatter to wash over him. His lids felt stone heavy and his gaze kept wandering back to the crags and peaks outside. On his side of the road the edge dropped away, just a jagged line between earth and empty air. The light was faltering now and the headlamps flicked on, carving twin cones into the gloom.
‘…he says to me, where’s the bait? Where’s the bait? And I says, you was meant to pick up the fuckin’ bait! And then he says…’
The gloom deepened until Cale could no longer see the bottom of the ravine. His head felt so heavy on his neck. Aulk’s voice was a steady drone at the edge of the world.
‘…Endeldam. Lived there since I was born. My da and his da too, going way back. He said since before the Ruin, but never believed that. Got a load of cages for catching redcrumn out past the point. Sometimes follow the breeze further out and net a charce or three, and if luck really opens her ankles maybe even a naru. Got three boats now, from the one I got from Da…’
Another voice slid in, smooth as a razor; a whisper at the edge of hearing, muffled as if by a great distance. It slipped into the cracks of the fisherman’s chatter, blending with his rough tones and singing its own sibilant song.
What about you? it said.
What have you ever made that lasted, old man?
‘…you can stay as long as you like. Nowhere else to go, anyways. Little chance of finding a berth these days…’
Nowhere to go, not for you. Not any more.
‘…cargoers barely come these days, once or twice a season maybe, for scraps. It’s that bloody fishery, ain’t it? On the other side of the bay. They say to me, why bother with your bony catches? Your measly snappers? The shits…’
Though his lids were closed, Cale could see the cab of the skimmer, darkness leech-like against the dirty glass. As he watched, it began to seep in, an inky mist pouring into the cab; pooling in the foot wells, rising higher, higher. The headlamps cut through the murk ahead, which was now thick as earth, and they tunnelled ever onwards, delving deeper even as it engulfed them. He opened his mouth to shout, scream at the fisherman to stop his mindless chatter, to pull them away from the mire that was swallowing them, but no sound came out.
‘…livelihood’s going down the crapper, but it’s supply and demand, they say. Just pay your tithe on time like a good boy…’
Stick to the rules and no one gets hurt, wasn’t that it? Wasn’t it, sir?
‘…you’d want to live next to an old ruin, anyway? You ain’t a murderer as I can measure it, and no dissident. Still, two wives and a brood of kiddies ain’t cheap…’
Even the beams of the headlights were fading behind the swirling, liquid dark. It was as cold as death. The mist rose up to his mouth and he tried again to scream but couldn’t.
‘…new Factor threw a whole family out on the street for not paying the tithe. Scratching a living from some cave, moss and berries. What a waste…’
All a waste. A cold-eyed waste, said the other voice. It was louder now, drowning out the fisherman. It was angry.
Where were you when that jackbooted son of a bitch took them? They looked up to you.
Let me go, old man.
‘No!’ Cale awoke with a start. There was no mist. His heart pounded a tattoo.
Aulk was staring. ‘Bad dream?’
‘Mmm.’ Cale shifted his shoulders; the blanket had slipped down and he was frozen. The anger from the other voice lingered, resonating as if it had been real – anger like a hot ball in the centre of his chest.
‘You were talking in your sleep,’ said Aulk. ‘A woman’s name, maybe. Dunno.’ The old fisherman shrugged. He offered over the rice pocket he was munching; Cale thanked him but waved it away.
Outside the window, Marna was cut in three by the limbs of the Lattice and threw jagged silver shards across the mountains, lighting the highest peaks like beacons. Cale found a spot on the dashboard, a divot burned black long ago by dropped ash, and stared at it until he felt calm return.
Aulk finished his rice and tossed the wrapper down by his feet. ‘Know what?’ he said, turning to face Cale. ‘Caught a ray with three tails once. Ever seen one of those?’
* * *
By the time Marna’s pale light had cleared the Lattice their skimmer truck had begun its descent towards the sea. Aulk’s constant babble helped keep the night at bay but Cale didn’t sleep again. His eyes felt gritty and his neck was stiff against the headrest.
Finally, their headlamps rounded the last bend and led them into Endeldam. The village was mostly dark, with only a smattering of lights. Cale found it hard to picture the shadowed streets from the hazy memories of a handful of visits. Was that a house he recognised? Had he walked that path? In the night, everything seemed foreign and new. A few windows were still lit – some by electrical light, some by the flicker of candles. Only the bar on the central square showed any real life under its loud, neon sign. He heard the pumping of music as they passed; a man was pissing up against a wall, swaying on the spot, steadying himself with one hand. They carried on down the hill.
Aulk’s house was set back some way from the road, with a gravel driveway flanked by tilled patches of dirt. Cale could make out rows of sticks set out to carry the Wake’s new creeper-beans. A chain-link fence marked out the plot, with the neighbours’ houses some distance away in the darkness. The building itself was two floors of wood plank, the reddish bolma interspersed here and there with driftwood, Ras-bleached and wave-polished. A raised porch of decking fronted the place, lit by the soft glow of storm lamps, the walls hung with trophies from the sea: gaping shark jaws and stinger-tails. The windows were shuttered, the light from inside peeking out through gaps in the wood. Everything was deserted except for a single figure, sitting in an old rocking chair, its face in shadow.
‘Very quiet,’ said Aulk. ‘Where are they all?’
Cale saw more lines than usual across the fisherman’s brow.
They stepped down from the skimmer and stretched, welcoming the freedom of the chill air. Cale caught salt on the breeze and, almost too faint to make out, the crash of waves. He reached into the cab and grabbed his holdall, dropping it at his feet while Aulk took a few steps towards his home, craning to make out the shadowed figure.
It stood, the muted light revealing its features.
The face looked boyish in its roundness, out of place between the peaked hat and stiff uniform collar. A young man, with hair clipped short, precise, like the starched uniform he wore. Polished buttons glinted, black boots hugged slender calves and swallowed the light. He looked like a boy playing dress-up. A serious, dangerous boy.
‘Citizen,’ he said. ‘You’re out late.’
‘Evenin’, sir,’ Aulk mumbled. ‘I, um, I didn’t know there was a curfew.’
‘There isn’t. Yet.’ The slight figure stepped down from the porch into the gravel of the driveway. ‘I was in the area and thought I’d pop in. A social call, you know?’ The eyes turned to Cale and they locked gazes. ‘Who’s your friend?’
Cale answered. ‘Local craftsman.’
‘Is that right? Local craftsman? I didn’t know we had any, local or otherwise. No, no.’ He made a show of looking Cale up and down. ‘I don’t know you. You’re not on my lists.’ He took a step forwards; he was a whole head shorter and had to tilt his chin upwards to maintain eye contact.
‘I doubt I am,’ said Cale. He heard the fisherman draw in a sharp breath. Don’t make trouble, he reminded himself. ‘I live out on the steppe. At the old mine. Aulk is a friend.’
‘Really? I don’t recall him mentioning you before, friend.’ The silence stretched. A sudden smile cracked the boyish face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Where are my manners? I’m the Factor of this armpit of a town.’ He pointed a gloved finger at his epaulette and the gold bars that showed his rank.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Cale.
‘Likewise, I’m sure. Your name?’
‘Cale.’
‘And you have your papers?’ The Factor held out his hand, smile fixed like wax. ‘I’d like to see them.’
‘I’m not sure where I put them. It’s dark.’
The Factor’s gaze didn’t waver. He cleared his throat and began to quote. ‘“Citizens are required to have their papers on hand at all times. They must present these to any official or representative on request and without delay.” That’s the law. As you can see, I’m the representative or official.’ He pointed again at his rank bars. ‘So, again. Your papers.’ The smile had vanished.
Aulk, fidgeting, cut in. ‘Hey look, Factor, we just had a long journey. My friend has all the right papers and I’ll vouch for him. Besides, he’s right, it’s dark like a fucking cave out here. And cold, eh? Maybe we can have a drink, sit down and… well, have a talk like reasonable men. What do you say?’
The official’s eyebrows lowered.
‘I think I have them here,’ said Cale. He crouched and rooted around inside his bag, drawing out a plastic wallet. After a slight hesitation, the Factor took it and began to leaf through the card sheets within.
Cale caught Aulk’s eye, who nodded in mute gratitude.
The Factor scowled in the half-light. ‘That’s… hmm. What is that? I can’t see a damned…
’ He breathed a long sigh. ‘Oh, it’s too dark out here. How do you expect me to read this without adequate light, eh?’ He put the cards back in the wallet and tossed it at Cale’s feet. ‘I am not satisfied, citizen. Even in this piss-awful light I counted only four documents in there – the standard now is seven, eight for migrant workers.’
‘I’ve been away from things for a while.’
‘I can see that. Anyhow, you’ll present yourself to my offices tomorrow morning and my staff will run the necessary checks. There will be an administration fee. But at least we’ve been introduced, eh?’ The thin smile reappeared. ‘I know your face now.’ With that, he straightened his tunic before brushing past Cale, heading for the main road.
Cale kept his eyes on the middle distance.
Halfway to the gate, the Factor paused. ‘Aulk,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘I’ll expect you in the next couple of days. There’s still the matter of your outstanding tithe.’ A crunch of gravel. ‘A pleasant evening, citizens!’
Aulk called out a hurried, ‘Night, sir!’ but was answered only by faint whistling, moving off into the distance.
As they crossed the threshold Aulk’s household erupted into homely chaos. Children appeared from every side, jabbering questions at their father while his two wives fussed with coats and hats. Cale’s overcoat, stiff with the cold, was taken with a disapproving cluck. The older children stood apart, eying the newcomer with suspicion. The front room doubled as the kitchen and was lit and heated by a large metal stove in the centre, its black pipe disappearing up into the eaves.
One of the younger boys stood in front of Cale and stared up with a defiant gleam in his eye. ‘I’m Jeb, and I’m six. Who’re you? Why’s your beard so big? Are you a demon?’
Aulk shooed the boy away and tugged at Cale’s sleeve, guiding him over to a wooden table. They both sank onto benches polished smooth from use. Thick broth with chunks of fish was ladled into bowls by the younger of the wives while the other corralled the offspring into another room. The two men ate in silence as the household settled down for bed. After the first spoonful of spiced stew Cale found he was ravenous. Aulk poured two large cups of rakk and they both drank deeply without toasting.
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