“Of course,” I say. But I’m troubled by her story, and as I tuck the cardpaper into my jacket pocket, I’ve already decided to keep it.
I sit and talk with her until the Rinians return, and although I’d love to stay longer, there’s just not enough room for all of us in a single barracks unit. Leaving their small, temporary home, I step back out into the drowsy winter sunlight and begin to walk over to barracks building seven to tell Carnos about Gren’s generous gift. But I only get as far as building ten.
Perhaps I shouldn’t spend this money on a wedding, at least not yet.
It might be smarter to wait a sunedge or two just to see how Giron’s work assignments affect life in the barracks.
I know Gren is trying to help me, but if food becomes scarce, I may need to help her.
The Gray Straps assign Trennet a cleaning job at the big currentways desalination plant, and his shift starts before dawn. Bessel has to work at a boot factory, and although she says the boots are badly designed and the leather is low-quality, I can tell she’s excited about using a stitching machine. “It moves really fast,” she tells us after her first day. “It took some time to get the settings right, but then I got so much done. At this pace, they’ll have to give me a new work assignment after rest day. I’ll have made boots for everyone around the Sea Spread by then!”
As for me, like many young deeplanders, I have to work in a new factory owned by Giron Noble. There are several rumors about why Giron’s hired so many younger workers, such as the other factory owners prefer stronger and more mature workers, or Giron thinks young workers have more energy. But I think it’s because he still wants deeplanders to consider his work assignments a type of education. If all the youngest deeplanders go to the same place, it will almost seem like an uppy school.
Because of Sande’s experience at the deepland track house, he’s given a rare opportunity; the chance to choose his job. He can either work at the desalination plant with his pa or at Giron’s factory with me. And surprise, surprise, he chooses the factory.
“This way we can keep each other company,” he tells me with a smile.
But if Sande thought that working at the same factory would mean spending our days together, he’s mistaken. When we arrive for our first shift, we’re split into groups of boys and girls. I don’t know where the boys go, but us girls are sent up a flight of concrete stairs and told to put on uniforms—pale gray smocks, thin stockings, dark blue aprons and kerchiefs to tie back our hair. Once we’re wearing our uncomfortable clothes, we’re arranged along what the foreman calls an industry line. On my left, a young girl I don’t know must drill holes in sheets of metal using a machine as tall as she is. Those hunks of metal then travel down a conveyance belt to me, and I’m supposed to force rubber tubing through the holes. After that a worker named Amista, who is from Saltpool and is surely only ten tides old, must feed copper wires through the rubber tubes. I ask what we’re making, but the foreman doesn’t seem to know or care.
“I get paid per crate,” he says. “So you better move fast, or I’ll make you work a double shift and you’ll have to drag all night.” Dragging, we learn, means hauling leftover metal scraps across the factory, so they can be melted and reused.
The first day is terrible. The conveyance belt moves too quickly and none of us can keep up. Worse, Giron often strolls around our floor making humming noises of disapproval. At one point he tugs the rubber tubing out of my hand and forces it through the metal sheet himself. “It’s like you’re not even trying,” he tells me.
Our midday break is short, and I scald my tongue trying to gulp down a bowl of soup before it ends. Then we’re herded back to the industry line, back to standing on sore feet, and back to hunching over the conveyance belt. The production floor is hot too. Sweat soaks my uniform and stockings.
“I’m sorry I’m slow, but this is hard,” says the girl on my left—I think she’s from Pirock. The drill she’s operating is so large I’m sure it would tire Carnos out.
Once that first horrible day is over, I find out what happened to Sande.
“Oh it’s been great,” he tells me as we walk back to the barracks. “I’ve been slicing copper with a giant saw that might chop off all of my fingers.” He massages his hands, which are covered in blisters. Some of his sores have even torn open and the skin beneath is angry and pink.
Carnos visits me that night to see how my first day went. The uppies assigned him a job at the harbor, and he’ll be moving goods on and off the steamships when they arrive. “Since there are no ships yet, we cleaned out a storehouse today, and it was hard work,” he says. “But I can tell it will make me stronger. When we return home, I’m sure I’ll be a better hunter.”
“I don’t think my work will improve me,” I say miserably as we stand in the corridor outside the Olins’ barracks unit.
“It will give you strength here.” Carnos places gentle fingertips on the top few ribs of my chest, which is actually sweet, but then he adds, “You will need a lot of patience when you become a mother.” And even though he may be right, I don’t like the reminder that the two children I’m allowed to have will surely be with him. I also don’t like that my future children will probably have to work in a factory too.
Again I consider telling Carnos about Gren’s money. He would surely understand why I want to save it, for if he’s anything he’s practical. But just at that moment, Sande’s laughter floats out of the nearby doorway, and I say nothing.
The next day of factory work is the same, right down to the bland soup, which we eat in a chilly alley beside the factory’s cookery. The day after is the same again, and I start to feel as if I’m living a particularly awful day over and over.
On the sixth day, the poor girl on my left cries through her shift. I’ve learned her name is Selestea. And on my right, Amista curses whenever our supervisor’s out of earshot—which is often because of the deafening drill. I’m shocked at how many gritty words she knows.
“Can I switch with Selestea?” I ask our supervisor when he passes by. “I’m bigger and stronger.”
“It’s not like it’s up to me.” He doesn’t even stop walking. “Master Noble makes those decisions.”
And when I ask Giron, he says no.
That night Sande and I trudge into our barracks unit exhausted and ready for some of Bessel’s fish stew. She usually has it ready because she’s the first to arrive home, but tonight she’s just sitting on her lower bunk motionless.
“What’s wrong?” Sande asks.
She looks at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Your pa is dead.”
The Gray Straps didn’t tell Bessel much, or maybe she was too shaken to ask many questions. All she knows is that there was an accident at the desalination plant, Trennet died, and most likely, no one can reach his body for a few days.
At least a fellow Saltpool villager, Newis Rinian, was also working at the plant, and he’s able to give us more details. Apparently an uppy worker fell into a saltwater reservoir—one of the big tanks that stores tide water before processing. The man couldn’t swim, for not too many uppies can, and so the workers tried to throw him a rope. Trennet offered to jump in but was told not to. The plant workers said that if the pumps turned on, the man would be sucked down to the bottom of the tank. Someone ran to make sure the pumps were off—they were on clockwork controls—but Trennet didn’t wait. Perhaps the man was going under, perhaps Trennet figured he was a strong swimmer who could fight any current, but whatever the reason, he jumped in.
“Well at first everything was fine,” Newis tells us, looking miserable. “He swam over to that man and grabbed ‘em and was pulling him to the ladder. But then there was this awful rumblin’ that shook the whole building—the pumps had turned on. And then… just like that, Trennet and the uppy man—they were gone.”
We’re told Trennet’s body is stuck somewhere in the filtration system and can’t be reached until the entire plant is drained. Even more upsetting, we hear uppy wo
rkers at the plant are angry about missing several days pay. They blame us deeplanders for shutting down the plant—never mind that it was an uppy who first fell into the tank.
Bessel doesn’t cry much, but she also doesn’t seem to sleep. All night long, I hear her whispering things like, “How am I supposed to survive now?” or “Why would he do this to me?” As for Sande, he’s unusually quiet and unusually still. I was already feeling like an intruder in their barracks unit, but now it’s worse. I feel like I’m clumsily standing in the middle of what should be private family grieving.
I’m sad too, though. I always liked Trennet, and it’s terrible that he died in such a frightening way. I can’t help but morbidly wonder where his body is and how long it took between the dreadful moment he knew he couldn’t fight the suction of the pumps and the moment he drowned. I hope it wasn’t long.
Plant workers recover Trennet’s body two days later, and he doesn’t look like himself anymore. Instead he looks like a spongy, gray doll or the empty-eyed statues that stand near Threegod temples.
I help with the grim task of wrapping his remains in fernflax cloth, and then we place him on a litter of woven reeds. Since we can’t bury anyone while the tide passes and we don’t tend to burn bodies like uplanders, the priests let us float our dead into the currents.
Usually we say our final goodbyes at dawn, but we take Trennet to the harbor at midnight because we have to work our shifts first.
Sande carries the litter through the lower city with his close friend Leej, fellow villagers Newis and Mernor Rinian, as well as Carnos and his brother Marl—who insisted that they help. Bessel follows her husband’s body, silent and sad.
I walk even further behind them with a group of Saltpool villagers and other deeplanders who knew Trennet. Gren hobbles along with us too, and although it’s good to see her outside, I worry about her. She’s still very weak, and it’s cold tonight. It hasn’t snowed yet, but the air has the icy smell of snowflakes.
A fitful wind tugs at the fernflax wrapped around Trennet’s body. It makes me think grim thoughts like perhaps his death shadow is still trapped inside him fighting to fly free.
I haven’t been to the wharf yet this tide. Sande and I often watch the first steamships arrive, but I doubt we’ll have time for that with our new jobs. The boats won’t be here for another few days either since it’s not wise to sail too close to the leading edge of the ocean.
And not only is it strange to see the docks so empty, I’m also not used to seeing them at night. Deeplanders are supposed to be inside the barracks fence at sundown. Today, though, we have special permission to be out late. The rows of concrete piers look so lonesome in the dark. Only a few of the electric lights are on, and there are no workers shouting to each other or autohaulers rumbling through.
A priest joins us to say prayers of the dead on behalf of K’Gar, Shale, and Laeros. We gather beside him near a launch ramp that leads down into the black water. There, a small uplander fishing boat waits to tow Trennet’s litter further into the tide. The currents wouldn’t carry him off otherwise.
The priest recites his prayers as soon as we’re assembled, and he speaks quickly as if longing for his warm bed in the temple dormitory.
I’m sure there was once Water Goddess prayers for the dead too, and I wish I knew them.
After the priest says a final, “Praise Threegod,” Carnos thumps a hand on Sande’s shoulder. “If only I could avenge your father’s death. I never knew my father. He died when I was small, and I was looking forward to knowing yours.”
Carnos’s naive kindness almost makes me smile, but now is probably not the best time for him to befriend Sande. I step forward to intervene, but to my surprise, Sande covers Carnos’s hand with his own and says, “If there was a way to avenge my pa, I’d welcome your help.”
Bessel weeps as the fishing boat tows Trennet’s litter out into the water, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard her cry. There’s a hollow, rough sound to it.
I watch the fishing boat move slowly away, its uppy motor growling, and I realize something. I decided to marry Carnos because I wanted to keep Sande and me safe from temptation and safe from punishment. But life near Varasay is perilous no matter who I marry, especially now that we’re being forced to work. Trennet followed the city’s rules, and he still suffered. I’m also sure he won’t be the last to die in the factories.
I think of the wallet Gren gave me and the paper shells inside.
Perhaps it’s time to spend that money.
When we return to barracks building ten, I wait for Bessel to use the scrubpits on the first floor, and as soon as she’s gone, I climb into Sande’s bunk and kiss him all over his face and neck.
“Nerene?” He blinks. “What are you…”
“I have the money we need to buy passbooks,” I say between kisses. “Gren gave it to me for my wedding, but I won’t let my children work in these awful factories, and I won’t watch you die in one. Let’s go to that faraway city of yours.” I touch his dark brown curls. “Elvah, wasn’t it?”
“Ellevah, it’s called Ellevah.” Sande wipes his eyes, still red from crying. “And yes. Yes! Let’s go. I’ll get us passbooks.” Now he kisses me all over my face and neck, pressing me back onto the rope netting of the cot, folding me up against him. And oh I’ve missed him and this—
But we can’t let it go on. Bessel will be back soon.
So I reluctantly untangle myself, climb down from Sande’s cot, and find Gren’s wallet under my blankets. Handing the canvas pouch to him, I say, “I hope this is enough money. You find us passbooks, and I’ll have Carnos tell me which steamship we should travel on.” I feel terrible using Carnos any more than I already have, but since he works at the docks, he’ll probably know which ships are in port. He probably won’t question why I want to know either.
The next morning Sande seems brighter and more energetic than he’s been all tide. He rises early to make us sweet river rice for breakfast, taking care to brown a crunchy crust on the bottom of the pan. Bessel is too miserable to notice his changed mood. She used to spend her mornings gleefully complaining about how our neighbors stored too many things in the shared corridor or boasting about how she could design better boots at the factory where she works. But since Trennet drowned, she hardly talks, and when she’s not working, she often stays in bed.
As soon as Sande and I leave for our factory shift, I say, “Do you want your maam to come with us?”
He gives me a grateful look. “I didn’t want to ask. I know she’s always awful to you, but I’m also worried about leaving her here alone. Maybe if we travel to someplace nicer, she’ll be nicer.”
I nod, wishing Gren could come too, but of course she can’t. It’s not just that she’s older and ill, her family is here—her daughters and their children. I’ll miss her intensely though. As Gren would say, I’ll miss her like a shucked clam misses its shell.
I’ll miss her like I still miss my maam.
It takes Sande another sunedge to find all three passbooks.
“It wasn’t easy,” he whispers to me during the only day the uppies now let us sell our wares at the barracks market—K’Gar third day. “I had to go to the UPT merchants, and not the friendly ones—the ones who look like they can crack open waterpods with their bare hands.”
“I’m glad you got the passbooks though,” I say under my breath, while also smiling at the two uppy women rummaging through my baskets of dried herbs. I wish they’d be more careful and not mix everything up.
“Oh don’t buy those,” one woman says to the other. “You can get them shipped in from Suthrellon, and they’re much cheaper.”
“Mine are fresher,” I say loudly. I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s worth a try. The more steamships roaming the tide, the less we deeplanders sell.
Thankfully a few regular Varasay customers stop by too. Most of them run cookeries or prepare food for wealthier uppies, and many of them ask about Gren and are concerned
when they hear she’s ill. One woman, Parsita, even promises to bring by a healing tea that she says can get rid of a cough. “You’ll have to pay for it though,” she tells me. “I can’t just give things to deeplanders for free.”
Later that night, while Bessel sleeps, Sande shows me the passbooks he bought.
“I tried to find ones that match our ages,” he whispers as we examine his purchases beneath the dim electric lights in the quiet corridor outside unit 34-C. I expected the passbooks to be sturdy and large, like the Varasay record books, but they’re remarkably small—only about the size of my hand. They’re also covered with soft amphib leather and embossed with various golden symbols that must represent different mountain cities. The first page of my passbook has information written on it that I can’t read, and the rest of the pages are mostly blank. I do notice a few ink stamps though—a seapony, a mountain dog, and a star urchin.
“Some cities stamp your book,” Sande explains, although then he adds an uncertain, “I think.”
I hold the book meant for me. Apparently I’ll have to pretend I’m someone named Voreska Mynd, and Voreska is twenty tides old not eighteen. “Are you sure that’s what this says?” I touch the tiny, printed words. “Those merchants might have lied to you.”
“They might have.” Sande closes his passbook. “But I think it’s a risk worth taking.” He runs a finger across my cheek. “There’s a girl in Ellevah named Voreska, and I’d like to marry her.”
“If she’ll have you,” I laugh. I don’t like the name Voreska, but I suppose I’ll just have to think of a nickname.
We also decide not to tell Bessel our plans just yet.
“I know my maam—if she thinks about leaving for too long, she’ll get scared and refuse to go.” Sande moves out of the soft yellow light and into the shadows.
I nod. “Let’s tell her about the trip when everything’s ready.”
Gathering information about the steamships is as easy as I expect, although I do feel intensely guilty about it. I start visiting the wharf after my factory shifts, and although I cringe every time Carnos proudly introduces me as his betrothed, he does know a lot about the ships.
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