by Tim Lott
Bellyache stopped talking because Lady Luck had pushed an ancient and festering bath flannel into her mouth.
“Shut up, you miserable fat fool,” said Lady Luck in a voice that for once wasn’t at all fake-sweet.
Then, to Little Fearless’s shock, the Controller himself came round the corner. All the X girls stood to attention, which, given the state they were in, made them look even more ridiculous. The Controller came to a sudden halt and studied them through his tinted glasses, his mouth thin and angry. The smile playing around the edges of Stench’s mouth suddenly disappeared, and Lady Luck and the Whistler and Bellyache didn’t move a muscle. Little Fearless strained to hear what the Controller said.
“What on earth is this?” he said in a voice that held back his anger like a flimsy gate might restrain a marauding bull.
“Please, sir,” mumbled X1. “We had good information from one of our spies that someone was going to try and escape tonight. Sneak out in the rubbish bins.”
Little Fearless felt furious. She had a good idea how Lady Luck had found out about the escape attempt. She was sure that Tattle had been gossiping.
“There’s no excuse for appearing in public like this, covered in filth and muck. You’re a disgrace to your rank. A laughing stock. I won’t stand for it.”
“But, sir,” protested Lady Luck. “If she escapes again—”
“Escape? Escape, you stupid girl? Who would try and escape in the rubbish? Every time it leaves here, it’s taken straight to the City’s incinerator and set on fire! Any girl who tried to escape this way would be burnt to a crisp. That I can guarantee. You cretin.”
When Little Fearless heard this, she felt the blood drain from her face. Taken straight to the City’s incinerator and set on fire! Clearly she had been lucky that the driver had stopped on the way both times before, otherwise she would already be dead.
But what if this time she wasn’t so lucky?
She waited a few more minutes, then she stared round the side of the laundry basket again. The cold wind came in mighty gusts, shaking the rubbish containers and pulling at her clothes like the claws of tiny, vicious birds. She held on to her beret and pulled her tweed jacket tighter around her. Both the X girls and the Controller had gone, leaving Stench shivering by herself. All Little Fearless could hear was the faint echo of the Whistler’s sorrowful song, becoming fainter and fainter on the other side of the Living Block.
Hark, hark,
The dogs do bark,
The beggars are coming to town;
Some in rags,
And some in jags,
And one in a velvet gown.
It was a melancholy sound, and it almost made Little Fearless want to abandon her mission. Nevertheless, she very cautiously left her hiding place and approached Stench.
Stench looked at Little Fearless and Little Fearless looked at Stench. They both stood still. Then the tiniest flicker of a smile appeared at the corner of Stench’s mouth. Little Fearless saw it, and couldn’t help but smile herself. Their grins grew broader. Then they started to laugh. Once they started, they could not stop.
“Did you see X1?” cackled Little Fearless.
“Oh my,” hooted Stench, holding her football head in her big red muscular hands. “The expression on the face of old Bellyache!”
“Wasn’t it just brilliant when the Controller told them off?” said Little Fearless.
“Oh yes! And did you see that mess down the Whistler’s trousers?”
After a while, their laughter died away.
“You know – you’re not so bad for a Z girl,” said Stench, regarding Little Fearless almost thoughtfully.
“Thank you,” said Little Fearless. “You’re not so bad for an X girl, either.”
Stench paused and wrinkled her brow, as if trying to puzzle out a tricky piece of arithmetic. Then she said, “You can call me by my proper name if you like.”
“I’m glad. It’s a beautiful name – Lila.”
“I’m sick of my nickname. I pretended to myself I didn’t mind being called Stench. But really I hate it. The trouble is, after you’ve been in this place long enough, you have to pretend to yourself that nothing matters. But it does, doesn’t it?”
There was a long silence. Then Stench looked downhearted. “I suppose I’m never going to get the Device now.”
“Why not?”
“You heard what the Controller said. They put the rubbish on the incinerator. I don’t know how you got away with it before. But I know you won’t want to go again. And even if you were brave enough – or mad enough – to go, you’d never come back.”
“What nonsense! Of course I’m going,” Little Fearless said, pretending that she couldn’t care less.
Stench looked amazed. “You mustn’t, Little Fearless. It’s not worth it just to steal something.”
At this Little Fearless paused, wondering if she could trust Stench. Somehow, as she looked at her worried face, she felt that she could.
“I’ll make it into the City all right. And I’m not going to try and steal anything this time.”
“You’re not?”
“No. I’m going to find our families. That’s why I’ve been trying to get out from the start. And I’ll keep a special lookout for yours – Lila.”
With this, Little Fearless jumped onto Stench’s shoulders and pitched herself into the rubbish container from which Lady Luck and Bellyache and the Whistler had recently emerged. She heard Stench’s voice hissing at her from outside.
“You’ll be killed!”
“Don’t you want to see your family again?”
There was a pause. Then, just before the rubbish container began to move, Little Fearless heard a whisper.
“More than anything in the world. Good luck, Little Fearless.”
The Final Journey
Lock out the world and let yourself in.
Advertising slogan of
Omikron Gated Communities
What seemed like only a minute or so later, Little Fearless’s container was outside, and its contents – Little Fearless included – emptied into the rubbish lorry. Then, as before, the vehicle started its journey away from the Institute.
Little Fearless inspected her surroundings in the dim light. The usual revolting muck and useless trash. Mouldy food, a ruined old hearthrug that stank of urine, a broken laundry mangle, bits and pieces of anonymous busted metal and wood. She climbed over the piles of garbage so she could look out of the back.
This time, the lorry did not stop at all. It chugged and whizzed right through the City. Little Fearless peered out into the darkness and watched the City begin to diminish behind her. She craned her neck round the side of the lorry so she could see where they were heading. There, blotting out the horizon, was a huge blaze.
Little Fearless searched desperately for a solution. She couldn’t let her story end this way. She thought about throwing herself out, but the vehicle was moving too fast. She considered giving herself up to the man with the beard and the scar, but she didn’t trust him, and didn’t think she could make herself heard anyway.
The lorry drew closer and closer to the flames; Little Fearless could feel the heat. The vehicle reversed right up to the incinerator and stopped. A great orange glow filled her vision and scorched her face. There was the slam of a door as the driver got out. He activated the mechanism and the back of the lorry began to tilt. Bit by bit the rubbish began to tremble out onto the fire.
Little Fearless held on for dear life, and looked around frantically for something to save her. Her eyes alighted on the damp old hearthrug. It was rolled up and tied with string, but there was a small hole in the middle. As quick as she could, struggling to find her footing, she pushed herself into the middle of the carpet. Seconds later, she felt a bump and a jolt and she was out of the lorry and surrounded by intense heat. But the carpet was rolling, as she had hoped, and using the weight of her body she kept it rolling until it travelled past the fire and onto some muddy gro
und on the other side. It was scorching hot, but the dampness and thickness of the rug had saved her from burning alive. Wheezing and choking from the smoke, she fought her way out of the carpet.
Little Fearless hadn’t seriously injured herself, but the shock of the close escape and the fall from the back of the lorry, even cushioned by the rug, seemed to have set all the bones in her body trembling. She was dazed and stunned, and, with the mud, rubbish and white ash from the fire all over her, looked more bizarre than ever. She took a few deep breaths and tried to compose herself.
She made her way to a main road, along which cars whizzed every few seconds. In front of her was a small single-decker bus picking up passengers; it seemed to be heading in the direction she wanted. With a leap, she was on the back bumper. She held on for fifteen minutes until the driver spotted her in the rear-view mirror and she was forced to let go and walk. It was a journey that seemed to take for ever – and as usual she had very little time. As she walked she tried to think, but no clear thoughts would come. It was as if the cold wind and the choking ash in her lungs had fogged the inside of her head.
Eventually she made her way to sector six, where Beauty’s parents lived. She found it easy to navigate her way through the neighbourhood, which was lush and prosperous. There were wide avenues and spotless streets, and houses that were more like mansions, with great gravel paths and Gothic pillars. Security patrol cars cruised the streets at regular intervals, and more than once Little Fearless had to duck behind a tree in case she was spotted. The way she looked, there was little hope that she might be mistaken for one of the rich kids who lived in this area.
She was just about to turn the corner into Beauty’s parents’ street when she saw a puddle of flashing blue light on the ground and heard the sudden whine of a siren behind her.
She looked round and saw a security patrol car drawing to a halt. A man wearing the uniform of the City Protection Company – a division of the Omikron Gated Communities – emerged. He was tall and heavily built, with a face that was neither stern nor kindly but trained to look blank and neutral. Little Fearless’s eyes darted around, looking for some means of escape, but she had no chance. She decided to stand her ground. Little Fearless racked her brains for some seed of an idea that would save her.
“Good evening,” said the security guard. His voice was not unfriendly, and he seemed to be viewing Little Fearless’s dishevelled and muck-covered appearance with amusement rather than suspicion. “And what might you be up to?”
The fog in her head suddenly cleared, leaving her mind sharp and pure. She gave a bright, breezy smile and said, with complete confidence and cheerfulness, “Well – what do you think?” She gave a little bow and turned round.
“I’m not sure,” said the security guard neutrally. “What do I think about what?”
“My costume, of course, silly,” she said. “My friend’s having a fancy dress party. Her daddy is a director of one of the Ten Corporations, and it’s going to be great fun. But instead of us all getting dressed up, she wants us to come looking poor. Isn’t that hilarious? The theme is beggars, outcasts and narcoholics. It’s this season’s look. This took me about two hours to get right. Do you like it? Do I look really, really, horrible?”
“Where’s the party?”
“It’s just down here.” She spoke the names of Beauty’s parents, and the security guard looked impressed. “There’s going to be a prize for the best costume – a week on a private island in the Sunlands – and I’m bound to win. My smells are just the best. I had to send my daddy’s chauffeur all over the nastiest bits of the City to find the worst-smelling stuff. And these clothes I had made by a theatrical company, retailored from the clothes of genuine homeless people. They’re so witty and clever, don’t you agree?”
“I need to ask you a question,” said the security man flatly.
Little Fearless braced herself. Now she was sure to be caught.
“Are you a boy or are you a girl?”
Little Fearless pretended to be shocked and offended. “How dare you! What do I look like, for heaven’s sake?”
“Well,” said the guard cautiously, not quite sure whether he was dealing with a deranged vagrant or the child of a rich and powerful family, “to be honest, you look vaguely like a boy.”
“Of course I’m a boy,” said Little Fearless indignantly, lowering her voice slightly to make it sound huskier and more masculine. “I know it’s a good costume, but you’ve got eyes in your head, haven’t you? You should get yourself some spectacles, or you’ll always be going around arresting the wrong people.”
The security guard paused. They had had a call saying that there might be a girl loose in the City who had run away from the City Community Faith School, but this apparition didn’t look like any girl he’d ever seen. His shift was nearly over, and he didn’t want to get into trouble for arresting someone whose wealthy family could probably get him sacked if the son – if it really was a boy – took enough offence.
“It’s a fantastic outfit,” he said, smiling. He turned back to his car. “You’re bound to win. I’ve never seen such a sight in all my life.”
“And what about my smell?” demanded Little Fearless. “What do you think of that? It took me hours to work out how to stink like a proper poor person.”
The security guard laughed, and opened the car door. “You smell absolutely terrible,” he told her, climbing into the car. “Have a nice holiday in the Sunlands.”
He started the engine and drove off, waving to Little Fearless as he went. Little Fearless waved back, and then quickly covered the hundred yards to the home of Beauty’s parents.
The house was immaculate. It was set in large grounds, with expanses of manicured lawns and tidy flower beds, and was illuminated by hidden spotlights in the front garden, which was the size of the whole exercise yard for the thousand girls at the Institute. The house was painted candy pink, and had huge stone columns at the front which supported the roof to a large porch. There were lights on behind high windows, and an immense triple garage off to the far side. The house was hemmed in by high railings three times the size of Little Fearless, and she knew she could not climb them. Besides, there were signs that said BEWARE OF THE DOGS, and she had heard distant barking from behind the house.
There were large double gates at the entrance, with a speaker grille and a series of buttons. Little Fearless decided she had no choice but to press the buzzer. She waited for somebody to answer, but instead an electronic voice issued from the loudspeaker. It was bright and affable, but entirely artificial.
“Good evening, and welcome to Sanctuary Mansion. If you have an appointment, please press one. If you know your security code, please press two. If you are a vendor or a street salesman, or a collector for charity, please move on swiftly. For any other enquiries, please press three.”
Little Fearless could barely reach the buttons, and had to stretch up on tiptoe to press three. Another electronic voice manifested itself.
“Good evening. None of the housekeeping staff are available at present. Please leave a message after the tone and we will attend to you as soon as possible. Thank you for calling.”
Little Fearless felt irritated. This was hopeless. Nevertheless, she began speaking into the grille, feeling vaguely foolish. “I have come from the Institute, I mean the City Community Faith School, so that I can—”
At that point the loudspeaker let out a long beep and announced, “Thank you for your message. Unfortunately the night staff are occupied with other duties at the moment, and will attend to you as soon as they have a chance. Thank you for waiting.”
Little Fearless heard a car engine in the distance, and wondered if it was the security man on his rounds again. She pressed the buzzer again, and the voice repeated itself, asking her to leave a message. This time she tried to speak as quickly as she could.
“Your daughter is in trouble. I have a bottle of tears that—”
But again the machine i
nterrupted. “Thank you for your message. The memory is now full and your message could not be saved. Your visit is much appreciated. Please wait until the night staff have an opportunity to attend to your needs.”
The machine fell silent. Little Fearless pounded at the gates with her tiny fists. An answering cry of barks and growls came, and several huge dogs began to slouch around the tidy bushes and shrubs. Little Fearless sighed hopelessly, and looked desperately around her. Ten feet to her right was a letter box marked SANCTUARY MANSION.
She felt in her pocket for the letter that Beauty had given her. The flap was open, the glue melted by the heat of her body. In her haste, as she fumbled with it, the letter fell into a puddle. She picked it up and shook it off. She’d better check that was still readable, she thought. She didn’t know what was in it, but she felt pretty certain what the tone would be. Beauty was proud and haughty, and furious with her parents. Little Fearless expected the note to give them a dressing-down in no uncertain terms and demand that they come and fetch her right away.
In the reflected light from the illuminated garden, she read Beauty’s message written in slightly shaky pencil, blurred by water from the puddle.
Dear Mum and Dad,
I am so sory for everything I did. I’m sory I was not a creddit to you and that I made you a shaymed. Plese come and get me. I cant stand this place. I feel so ugly and alone. Plese come and save me. It is terible here.
Plese lissen to Little Fereless, who is the bravest person I have ever nown. Everything she says is true.
Love—
And there was Beauty’s real name, which until then Little Fearless had never known.
The sound of the engine drew nearer. She could see a blue light flickering through the trees. She knew if the security guard saw her now, she would have no chance of pulling the wool over his eyes again. Hurriedly she put the letter back in the envelope, thrust it in the letter box and fled as fast as she could.
Little Fearless trudged towards Angel Square, her heart puckering into a dry pouch of disappointment. The small bottle of tears felt like a heavy rock in her pocket.