“Today, though,” he adds. “You’ll go ashore and buy proper clothing. I need you to be ready for tomorrow. Melily has a task.”
I don’t like the way he says task, letting the word roll across his tongue and then click deep in his throat.
“Can I speak with Sande tonight then?” I ask.
Lord Osperacy sighs and rests the paper he’s reading on the table. “Your criminal companion left Varasay on a different ship that is most likely still traveling. When he reaches his destination, and if you’ve been managing Melily well, I’ll allow you to speak with him then. Understood?”
I’m sure he would like me to now leave, but I risk asking another question. “Where… where is Sande going?”
Lord Osperacy picks up his folded papers again and says, “He’s going where I sent him.”
When Shara and Melily appear for the morning meal, Lord Osperacy tells them they’ll be escorting me into Beth’s high city so that I can purchase clothes. Melily seems happy enough about that (“I love shopping in Beth!”) while Shara gives me a kind smile and says, “I’m sure you’ll enjoy having your own wardrobe.”
We’re soon warmly dressed and climbing into one of the ship’s two automotors. Lord Osperacy arrives in the hold to see us off, carrying Timsy in one arm and holding a passbook in his other hand.
He reaches through the open automotor window and gives the passbook to me. “I suspect rumors about our visit to Varasay have spread,” he says. “Don’t draw attention to yourselves.”
A real passbook. I hold it like it’s made of gold. It feels strange to just be handed one after everything Sande and I went through in Varasay. I wonder if Lord Osperacy bought this in secret or if he really got me land certified. When I flip the leather-bound book open, I see Chancellor Noble’s walrus stamp. If it is a true passbook, Douglen must have commanded someone in Varasay to print it. I hope Sande now has one too.
Lord Osperacy also gives Shara some folded paper shells, and then our driver, a young serveman named Brindy, steers the automotor down a metal ramp that stretches out of the Trident’s hull. We shade our eyes from the bright sunlight as Brindy guides the wheeled vehicle along the pier and over to a roadway. Beth’s lower city doesn’t look like Varasay’s. It isn’t a cramped mix of mismatched housing towers, aging factories, and tiny shops. Instead it’s orderly and bleak. Rows of tall, identical buildings line thin streets that are otherwise empty—almost like endless barracks.
Aside from a monstrous desalination plant, I can’t tell if the buildings are dwellings, shops, or small factories. I occasionally spot groups of people marching in lines.
“Are those deeplanders?” I ask Shara.
She gives me a quick look, pressing her mouth closed.
Melily answers instead. “Beth doesn’t put up with sludges. The uplanders here own the deeplands and everyone who was dumb enough to live there.”
How awful. I watch a group of women Bessel’s age enter a plaster-covered building. Their clothes are plain, without any beads or embroidery, and I don’t even see any dream markings.
Something like this could happen so easily in Varasay, especially after the riot. Already the uppies send workers on motorliners out to farm distant, uninhabited lands. Surely sooner or later they’ll decide farming our land is easier.
I’m determined to hate everything about Beth, but my anger melts away when I see how beautiful the high city is—at least the currentways side we visit. Unlike Varasay’s garish, far-too-ornate high city, the snow-covered buildings here have a sort of quiet elegance. They are tall and lean, with delicate stonework and subtle-but-pretty details, such as arched doorways and hanging, copper lights. The roads also curve like flowing water, and they’re paved with dark gray and white stone. The sleek automotors that glide past us seem to move extra smoothly as well, and it’s hard to imagine motors grinding and clunking away inside them.
We eat our midday meal in a cookery house that reminds me of the Trident’s dining hall, except there are far more people and higher ceilings. A fancily-dressed man also plays music on an instrument that looks like a polished, uppy cabinet.
I dread blundering my way through yet another meal, but thanks to Shara, things don’t go that badly. She helps me select my dinner from what she calls a “dining list” and demonstrates how to use Beth’s double-ended fork. She also shows me how to cut my food into bite-size pieces using the shears tucked beside my plate. Melily, over on the other shore like usual, isn’t helpful at all. She spends a lot of time telling us about all the wonderful food she’s eaten before and why this food doesn’t compare.
To be honest, I’m not sure I like this food either. Shara suggested I order creamy root mash and fish cakes. Although the mash tastes good, it’s richer than what I usually eat and feels heavy in my stomach. As for the fish cakes, there’s something oddly fragrant about them. It’s as if I’m eating a flower or something flavored with uppy soap.
After our meal, the serveman in the automotor, Brindy, drives us over to Beth’s clothing district where many brightly lit stores line the streets. Melily dismisses most of the shops as “too first tide,” “too tacky,” or “too mid city,” before leading us into one with a sign shaped like a flutterbee. There, I try on dress after dress after dress. And I’m amazed by the many different types of fabrics, colors, and shapes of clothing there are.
“I like this one,” I say, standing before three connected mirrors in a green gown that hangs from my ribs like a waterfall. I love how it swings and wafts out when I twist. It’s so soft, too. I feel like I’m wearing flower petals.
“That is very pretty on you, isn’t it?” The shopkeep appears in the mirror on my right, cradling an armful of other gowns. She’s round and dimpled, and if she had thicker eyebrows, she’d look like Carnos’s mother, Itanda.
“Yes, what a beautiful color.” Shara joins me at the mirrors too and adjusts the lace on my shoulders. “I don’t think Melily or I could get away with that shade of green.”
“Um, this is taking forever,” Melily says from where she lounges in a plush chair. She snaps her fingers at the shopkeep. “I want to try something on too. Find a dress for me.”
The shopkeep winces as if someone’s pinched her, surely confused as to why she feels compelled to do what Melily says. “Oh, I’m afraid we don’t sell children’s clothing here.”
And even though I haven’t known Melily for long, I know the shopkeep just made a terrible mistake.
“What?” Melily sits up straight. “Say that again.”
The shopkeep places her armful of dresses on a chair made of coiled wire and silver leaves and looks even more confused. She repeats what she said, word for word, or at least tries to. “I’m so sorry… miss, but we don’t sell children’s clothing.”
Melily stands as tall as she can—which even in her shiny, heeled shoes is not that tall. “You know, it’s not nice to insult customers. Maybe I should teach you a lesson to make sure that you don’t offend anyone else.”
“Melily.” Shara reaches for her arm. “There is no need to—”
“Shut up,” Melily says.
Shara falls silent. She has to. She’s only Douglen’s balance and can’t resist Melily’s wavurl.
That means it’s time to do my job. Lord Osperacy doesn’t want Melily causing trouble, but how do I stop her? I can’t undo her commands, only resist them. “Let’s go to another shop,” I suggest. “I can buy clothes somewhere else.”
Melily ignores me. “So do you own this place?” She strolls toward the shopkeep, her shoes clickity-clacking across the pink and white tiled floor.
“No,” the woman says, looking troubled.
“Then listen very closely,” Melily says. “I want you to take all the dresses you can carry and throw them in the—”
“No,” I say loudly, interrupting her. “Melily, your father will be angry if you do this.”
“Uh, I don’t care,” Melily says, still glaring at the shopkeep who’s hunched
up as if she’s about to be struck.
I feel like I’m trying to reason with a ridge cat. “If we draw attention to ourselves, we’ll have to stop shopping, and you said you need new shoes.”
“You’re the one desperate for attention.” Melily puts her hands on her hips. “You’re the one flouncing around in dresses you can’t afford. You’re the one who’s just a lucky sludge born at the wrong time.”
I take a deep, quick breath. I wouldn’t say I’m lucky, aside for maybe the Trident arriving in Varasay when it did, but at least I’ve distracted Melily from using her powers on the shopkeep. “You’re right, this dress doesn’t look good on me. Maybe you can help me find something better.”
I hastily change back into the dress I was wearing before, another gown borrowed from Shara, and emerge to find the shopkeep boxing up numerous items.
“And ah… I’ll take that too.” Melily points to the green gown I just took off, which hangs over the dressing alcove door.
The shopkeep obediently fetches it and tallies the cost of the items.
Yet before she’s through, Melily says, “Never mind the price, just give me everything for free.”
“Yes, yes of course,” the woman stammers.
“Melily, that’s stealing,” I say.
“So?” She runs her fingers over the silky top of a fabric-covered box. “You can’t stop me.”
“Yes, I can.” I am bigger than her. “I could pull you out of the shop and make you leave everything here.”
Melily’s eyes widen because she surely knows I could overpower her. And at the very least, being dragged out of a shop would be embarrassing. Her concern doesn’t last long, though. “Yeah? Really? Well go ahead and try. ‘Cause if you do, I’ll scream and tell everyone who comes running to rip your arms off.” She pauses, then maliciously adds, “I’ll make Shara attack you too.”
Behind Melily, out of her line of sight, Shara makes hurried, lowering motions with her hands, encouraging me to calm her down. And fathoms, how am I going to control this girl? Her wavurl might not affect me, but what does that matter if it affects everyone else?
So I give in, and it feels like giving up. “You’re right,” I say to Melily. “I’m not being nice, and I’m sorry. I’m not used to visiting uplander stores.”
At least the automotor can only hold so many packages, and Shara manages to convince Melily that we should leave some room for the items Lord Osperacy wanted me to buy.
Still though, surely this shopkeep will be accused of stealing and lose her job, or maybe she’ll be punished more severely. I don’t know how strict Beth’s laws are. And just as upsetting, if I can’t control Melily, Lord Osperacy won’t need me. And if he doesn’t need me, what will happen to me then? And what will happen to Sande?
As we walk across the snowy street to another clothing shop—one Melily thinks looks “too boring”—Shara flashes me a quick, sympathetic smile that seems to say, it’ll get easier.
I hope so.
I also wonder why Shara married Douglen. Surely she could have been his balance without marrying him, and it’s hard to imagine she loves him.
Thankfully Melily behaves for the rest of the afternoon or is at least sulky but tolerable. Even though she tells me that every outfit I try on is ugly or not my color, I still return to the ship with a small stack of parcels and boxes, and I won’t have to borrow clothes from Shara anymore.
That evening, I’m the first to arrive in the dining cabin for the evening meal. Shara appears not long after I do, and I’m thankful because I have a question for her. While servewomen arrange dishes on the table, I join Shara by a window overlooking Beth’s busy harbor.
“How do you manage Douglen?” I ask. “I don’t know how to be a good balance.”
Shara gives me a conflicted look. “I wish there was an easy answer. I suppose it helps if I stay calm because if I get upset, he’ll get even more upset. But… I can’t stop him from doing what he wants to do. I can only offer advice and hope he listens.” She then falls silent as Lord Osperacy enters the dining cabin.
He says, “I’m glad to hear you were successful today.” And I’m relieved that he doesn’t seem to know about what happened at the dress store.
After we eat, though, he calls me to his suite of cabins, back to the carpeted, decorated room where I first met him. Walking around his desk and opening a drawer, he says, “I have something for you.”
He then places a gleaming, silver gunnerife on his desk, and says, “Bring this with you tomorrow.”
I stare at the weapon’s reflective surface and curving handle. Snappers stun and never kill, but gunnerifes are like death you hold in your hand. I don’t even want to touch it.
But I want Lord Osperacy to think I’m being cooperative, so I take the gunnerife and say, “Thank you.” Yet when I return my cabin, I hide it behind my new underthings, which Marthes arranged neatly in a drawer, and I plan on leaving it there.
Melily and I set out early the next morning. It’s snowing, but I’m warm in my new fur jacket, soft wool mittens, and felt hat. I’m also wearing new boots, pale ones that fasten with brown laces, a beaded dress the color of a cresting wave, and Marthes fashioned my dark hair into two knots with cascading curls using heated, electric tongs. I look pretty, but not deeplander pretty. I’m uppy pretty, and it makes me feel like I’m wearing a costume.
Before we leave, Lord Osperacy pulls me aside and asks if I’m ready to protect Melily. I know what he’s really asking—do I have the gunnerife? I nod yes, even though it’s still hidden in my cabin.
“Remember, you must keep Melily out of trouble,” Lord Osperacy says. “It won’t be easy either. She’s strong-willed. You must be stronger.”
I wasn’t stronger yesterday, so I feel anxious as I climb into the automotor and shimmy onto the soft seat. It doesn’t help that all I know about Melily’s task is that she’s supposed to acquire something. What that something is or how she’ll get it or even where we’re headed is still a mystery.
Today Brindy drives us into a tunnel that cuts through the mountain, connecting the wharf to the countertide high city. For a long time, we travel in darkness, with only the automotor’s twin driving lamps illuminating the concrete road ahead and the man-made arches above. Eventually there’s a burst of daylight, and we emerge onto a roadway. Leafless trees flash past my window, and a smooth brick wall rushes past Melily’s side of the automotor. After a while, we reach a gate where we have to show our passbooks to several uniformed men. Like yesterday, the city guard hardly look at our passbooks. I suppose they assume two well-dressed young ladies in a gleaming automotor belong in the high city.
Beth’s countertide high city is a lot like the currentways one, all elegance and modest beauty. Brindy parks the automotor alongside an ornate building that’s both shorter and wider than the housing towers surrounding it and covered with windows. “When should I return, Miss Osperacy?” he asks, opening the door for us.
“In an hour,” Melily tells him, climbing out. She glances briefly at me. “You should stay here with Brindy. You’re just going to be in the way.”
If only I could stay in the automotor without angering her father. Reluctantly, I climb out too.
Beth is colder today than yesterday. Clumps of snow whirl down from the sky and cling to my shoulders and hair. Brindy drives away, and for several moments I shiver as Melily inspects a pillar covered with paper signs that I can’t read. She peels off a yellow square, tucks it into her white-fur jacket, and then turns to face me. “Now listen, acquiring things is my specialty, so don’t say anything. If they know you’re a sludge, this will be harder.”
If acquiring things is Melily’s specialty, Douglen must have a specialty too. When I ask Melily what it is, she shrugs. “Oh I don’t know, a bunch of dull political stuff like fixing fights and trials, that sort of thing. Douglen makes Father more money, but Father cares more about what I do.”
She clatters up the nearby stairs in her heele
d shoes, her fluffy jacket obscuring her shape, making her look like a snowball supported by two black sticks.
I awkwardly follow her. I’m not used to my new boots—the soles are slippery and the ankles stiff.
When I reach the top of the steps, I find Melily waiting for me beside a set of brass doors that are flanked by stone dolphin statues. She purses her lips and tilts her head. “Uh, I thought Brindy would return while you were climbing. Threegod, you’re slow.”
I look up at the building. It seems larger and grander now that I’m standing so close to it, and judging by the half-dozen people entering and exiting through the ornate doors, it must be some type of public hall. “Where are we?”
“Oh right, you can’t read. It’s Beth’s museum.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
Melily partially closes her eyes and flattens her mouth. It’s a look I’m getting used to—one that both mocks my ignorance and delights in knowing something I don’t. “Museums are buildings where people keep old, expensive things. Shara’s obsessed with them, and I think they’re boring. It’s the sort of place you have to at least pretend to like, though, or everyone thinks you’re stupid. Now come on, it’s cold.”
We enter a round chamber with a domed, blue glass ceiling and a darker blue, tiled floor. I feel like I’m underwater.
A young man wearing an elegant suit greets us. The cool, wintry light shining through the roof paints him blue as well. “Good afternoon! Welcome to the Royal Museum of Beth. Admission today is fifteen shells.”
Melily doesn’t reach for her handbag, though. Instead she laughs, and the sound echoes through the hall like chimes. “Oh, come on, you’re not going to make us pay.”
“No, I guess not,” the young man chuckles too, looking mildly confused.
“We’re here to speak with Sir Saevel Mauricen,” Melily continues. “Go find him for us.”
“Certainly.” The young man shudders as if attempting to shake free of her command, but he still strides obediently over to a small door. “Please wait in the main gallery.”
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