by A. M. Sexton
I was beginning to get frustrated when I finally caught one watching me, obvious puzzlement in his eyes. It was Lorenzo, the boy who’d been snagged with Jabin. He was younger than me by several years, but like me, he’d been in the clan since he was a mere boy. I didn’t know him well, but I knew enough. He was smart. Reckless, at times, but street wise. I watched him, and he didn’t turn away as the others had. He also seemed to know better than to approach me outright.
I broke eye contact, but I reached up with my right hand and pointed to my eye. We all knew this sign. It meant, “watch.” Then I turned my back on him, reaching back briefly to touch my back pocket. I moved to the next vendor, walking slowly around his display until I could see Lorenzo again. He wasn’t looking at me. He was leaning lazily against a wall smoking a fag. He seemed to be looking up the clock tower, half a block to my right, but he reached up and touched the brim of his hat.
Finally, things were going as planned.
I went back to shopping. Or at least, to pretend-shopping. I listened to the angry grumbling of the vendors while trying on gloves at one cart and sampling colognes at another. Lorenzo took his time, but finally I heard a quick low whistle behind me and to my right.
My biggest worry was that he’d think I only wanted him to lift the wallet. That he’d actually pickpocket me like I was a real mark, too fast for me to get the message to him, but as it turned out, I needn’t have worried. He did it exactly the way we’d all been taught, except at about half-speed. I had just enough time after he pulled my wallet free to reach around and grab his wrist.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I asked.
He tried to shake his hand free, although he didn’t try too hard. If he’d really wanted to get away, he would have kicked me in the stones. “Nothin’ sir. Just bumped you is all. I shoulda looked, right, but I ain’t so bright. No harm done, right, sir?”
His eyes were huge, his voice whiny and desperate. Anzhéla hated the street cant, but it played well. He was a good actor.
“You took my wallet,” I said. “Give it back, and we’ll pretend it never happened.”
“I didn’t do nothin’! I ain’t got—”
I began looking around the plaza. “Where are the police when you need them?”
“A’right! A’right!” He pulled a wallet from his jacket with his free hand. With any luck, whoever was spying on me wouldn’t notice that it wasn’t the one he’d lifted off of me. The real one was tucked away in some other pocket. “Here’s your stinkin’ purse! Ain’t nothin’ worth stealin’ from a bitch like you anyway!”
I took the wallet and pulled him close, hoping that anybody watching might think I was threatening him. Instead, I hissed at him, “Straight to Anzhéla. Nobody else.”
I pushed him away and he ran, stumbling a bit as he did, but I knew it was all an act. I’d have to tell Anzhéla how well he’d done, if I ever got to talk to her again.
“Trouble sir?” the vendor asked me. A bit late, I thought, but what did I care?
“No problem,” I assured him. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
***
After breakfast the next morning, I dressed a bit more practically—regular boots, and only my vest instead of a coat. I’d made a big show of asking around Talia’s about where to buy a hat, and once I had their suggestions, I picked the one farthest away.
Outside the front door, a pedalcab driver was slowly cycling by. He smiled when he saw me and stopped, although he still stood on his pedals. “Ride, sir?”
“I’m going all the way to the hat shop on Brookshire, in the third quadrant.”
“I’ll get you there in half the time.”
The pedalcabs were one of Anzhéla’s more lucrative ventures, not because of the money she made, but because of the information she was able to collect. Nobody minded cabdrivers. Whether actually taking customers from one point to another, or simply lounging on their bikes at the busiest centers of the city, they were invisible, and trained to listen. A few well-placed cabs, and Anzhéla could gather information from nearly anywhere in Davlova. Using one of her drivers had seemed an obvious solution to our problem.
I waited until we’d gone a block, and then I leaned forward in my seat. “You work for Anzhéla?”
His pedaling slowed. He sat up a bit straighter on his bicycle seat, which allowed him to lean back toward me by a mere inch or so. “I don’t know Anzhéla, sir. My boss is Caldone.”
That made sense. Anzhéla had her hands in a lot of businesses and, through it all, her fingertips on the pulse of the trenches, but she obviously didn’t reveal her connections to everybody. To most of the clan, she was the marm, and nothing more. I knew better because I was older. I’d been around for thirteen years without ever being pinched or snagged in a raid. I’d known for years she was grooming me for more. To someday take over one of her enterprises. Little by little, she’d let me know about other pieces of her puzzle, although I was sure there was plenty more she’d kept to herself. It didn’t surprise me that this boy didn’t know about her specifically.
“What exactly is Caldone paying you to do?”
He pedaled slower, thinking. “To drive by once a week, right after the first bell. Pick you up if you’re there. Then go past the justice building and pick up some other bloke. After that, I go where I’m told. Keep my ears and my mouth shut. Most days, I’m paid to listen to my fares, but not this time. ‘Ignorance is bliss, Leb,’ Caldone told me. ‘Don’t be tryin’ to make yourself smart by hearin’ things what don’t pertain to you. Many a man’s found himself floatin’ cold in the waves for hearin’ the wrong thing.’”
I shuddered, wondering if I’d already doomed him to that fate.
A block later, I heard a man call out, “Cab! Here please!”
The pedaler slowed. “Got a fare already, sir.”
“Where to?” the man called back. I couldn’t see him, and it wasn’t a voice I recognized.
“Third quadrant, sir. Brookshire.”
“Perfect! You can drop me on the corner of Edgeware.”
The boy braked to a stop. He looked back at me with the barest of a wink. “Fancy to split your fare, sir? Save you a penny or two.”
“Why not? A bit of company might be nice.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected. I’d known neither Anzhéla nor Frey could come. I thought maybe they’d send somebody else from the clan, but the man who climbed in to sit next to me wasn’t anybody I’d met before, and he certainly wasn’t anybody who’d spent a day of his life in the trenches. He was dressed too well for that, wearing a velvet jacket with gold buttons and a silk neckerchief peeking from his collar. He looked to be in his mid-forties, and although there was no sign that he was injured or lame, he carried a silver-handled cane.
He settled in beside me, and Anzhéla’s pedalcab driver began to take us down the road.
“Who are you?” I asked the man next to me.
“My name is Aleksey. What do you have for me?”
“Who are you?” I asked again. “Are you the client?”
“I’m the man your employer sent to collect your report. Is that not enough for you?”
I debated that, but in the end, there was nothing I could do but trust that the system Anzhéla had set up would get the information safely back to her.
“Donato left town on some kind of business trip last night. He said he’d be gone several days.”
“What kind of business would he have out of town? His job is judging criminals here in Davlova.”
“I don’t know. The only thing he told me was that it was a foul business. And I got the impression it wasn’t the first time.” When I return, the beast is always tugging at his leash. I shuddered a bit at the memory. “And I know it’s in Deliphine.” I hadn’t realized it at the time, but as I’d lain in bed the night before, I’d figured that bit out. I bet the sheets still smell like your hair and your sex. Which meant he was traveling on his yacht. “I know he’s taking his bo
at, and it can’t be anyplace else across the sea, because he’ll be there and back in a few days.”
“Interesting.” The man sat for a while, twirling his cane on the floor of the cab, thinking. We’d passed the plaza and were heading into the third quadrant.
“It reminds me of something else,” I told him. “I didn’t think much of it at the time, but when he took me to his yacht, we saw Elias again and afterward, Donato said, ‘I despise dealing with him, but he’s important. A necessary evil.’””
The man raised his eyebrows at me, obviously missing my point.
“Think about it—why would Donato have to deal with Elias at all? Just because he’s the harbor master? He could ignore him like he does every other servant in the world. He could probably have the man replaced with a snap of his fingers.”
“So whatever he’s doing in Deliphine, it requires Elias’ cooperation.”
“I think so, yes. That, or his silence.”
A slow smile of approval spread across his face. “Anzhéla said you’d be good at this. Is there anything else?”
“Yes and no. This isn’t really about him specifically, but he was talking to me about a drug. I don’t know the name, but it’s an aphrodisiac. Almost a hallucinogen. He said it was highly addictive and obscenely expensive.”
“Ah. You probably mean dew.”
“Dew?”
“That’s the street name, at any rate. It’s a derivative from a plant called inseldew.”
“He told me that he knows a man who gives it to his female slaves until he tires of them, and then he cuts them off.”
“But he didn’t tell you who it was?”
“No.”
He sat back and stared out of the cab, pinching his lips with long, manicured fingers. “The simple answer would be that he’s bringing in drugs. Maybe dew.”
“He doesn’t use it himself.”
“That doesn’t matter. In fact, the smart ones never do partake of their own wares. The thing is, it’s easy enough to get for men like him. On this side of the wall, we have to deal with the black market, but there’s very little to keep those tattooed bastards in check. Everybody knows they can get anything they want. Especially somebody like Donato, who was born into it, rather than buying his way through the wall like the rest of us.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, but we were coming up to Brookshire Street. The cab would have to turn left and go down several blocks to take me to the hat shop. Aleksey suddenly sat up and called out, “Here driver! Drop me here.”
He paid the driver and I watched him cross the street to the white district, swinging his cane and whistling as he went.
Buying his way through the wall like the rest of us.
No matter what Aleksey chose to admit, I felt sure I’d finally met Anzhéla’s client.
CHAPTER NINE
Seven days later, I found myself back at Donato’s house.
“He’s in a rage,” the butler mumbled to me as I went past. “Be ready.”
My heart sank a bit at his words. Despite Donato’s warning to me, I’d secretly harbored hopes that he’d be tender when he saw me again. That maybe he would have actually missed me.
I should have known better.
As soon as I was in the bedroom, I took the ildenaaf. I also stashed a few of them in places throughout the room—one wedged into the corner of the windowsill, one tucked into a decorative swirl in the carved wooden headboard, another on the floor by the foot of the bed. I’d also brought a packet of the sedatives with me. I didn’t use them often anymore, but I took one now. The rest I slid between the mattresses.
Then I waited.
The door finally opened, but it wasn’t Donato who came in. It was the boy. I’d been lounging on the bed, but I stood to face him. I’d thought about him often. I’d wondered how often Donato used him, if he lived in the house, if he had any kind of freedom at all. I had a hundred questions I wanted to ask him. And now here we were, alone, for the moment at least.
I stepped closer to him. His regarded me with his huge, spooky eyes. “I need to see your tattoo.”
My request confused him, but he pulled his drape aside to reveal the twin lines of spidery blue text running down the right side of his chest. I wished I had a pencil and paper, but I hadn’t dared risk it. Instead, I’d have to rely on my memory.
“Can you read it?” the boy asked.
“No. But somebody will be able to.”
“Why does it matter?”
“I don’t know that it does, but it’s the only thing I have to go on.” I looked up into his pale eyes. They were filled with a weariness that bordered on exhaustion. It broke my heart. “Tell me your name.”
“No.” His gaze darted wildly around the room, as if fearing a trap. Apparently, not finding one, he looked back at me, practically begging me to rescind the question.
I didn’t. “I’m Misha.”
“We don’t have names.”
“Just because he chooses to ignore them doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
His eyes filled with tears. “I’m Slave, and you’re Whore.”
I shook my head. I reached out to take his hand. He stood completely still, as if unaware of my touch. “Maybe we can help each other.”
“Nobody can help me.”
“I can’t free you. I can’t change what he does, but I’m not your enemy. Would it be so bad to enjoy each other?”
He closed his eyes, his breathing slow and labored as if he was in pain. “He never lets me come.”
“Is that what you want? I can give you that.”
“You don’t understand. It’s a word. A command he has to give.”
“Then tell me the word—”
“I can’t!”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
He jerked his hand away from me, glaring at me with so much anguish, I took a step back. “You don’t understand. It’s them!” He pointed toward the wall, toward the sea. “The Dollhouse. It’s what they did to me.” He clenched his eyes shut, reaching up to touch a spot behind his right ear, near the nape of his neck. “It’s here. The programming. This black spot where the word should be. I don’t even know what it is.”
“Somebody must know.”
“He’s the only one. And even if he said it, which he never does, I wouldn’t hear it. That black spot would swallow it up.”
“So... Never?”
He put his face in his hands. “Not that I can remember.”
It was a horrifying thought, to be driven to feel pleasure, to be forced to enjoy something so horrible, and yet to not even be granted the simple reward of release.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, because what else could I say?
“It would be better if I didn’t enjoy it, but I do. Goddess help me, I do. No matter how much I hate him, the programming is stronger. My body betrays me.”
“I want to help,” I said weakly.
He looked up at me, his eyes suddenly sharp and intense with hope. “Will you kill me?”
I instinctively stepped backward. “What? No!”
“Please?”
“Tell me you don’t mean that.”
His shoulders fell. He slumped in defeat. “I can’t do it myself. The programming won’t let me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” I stepped closer again and reached out to touch his arm. He didn’t respond to my touch, but he didn’t pull away either. “I don’t want to be like him.”
He laughed. There wasn’t much humor in the sound, but he attempted to smile at me. The fragile sincerity of it made me ache. “You’re nothing like him.”
“But—”
“The best thing either of us can do is obey. As long as he doesn’t get angry, I can bear it. And the same goes for you. Whatever he tells you to do, don’t hesitate. Just do it. Whatever it is, I guarantee I’ve been through worse.”
“But—”
“He’s coming!”
How he knew, I wasn’t sure, but I turned
to stare nonchalantly out of the window as Donato came in. One look at him told me the butler had been right. There was no fondness in his eyes when he looked at me.
“Both of you take off your clothes. Now.”
The boy had only his drape, so it took him only a second to undress. Donato grabbed him, pulling him into his arms. For a moment I thought he was going to kiss him—to show him some bit of affection—but he immediately bent his head to the boy’s nipple and bit him. He had to bend awkwardly, to half lift the boy in his arms, and the slave cried out. It was a sound I knew. A sound that had haunted me since last time. A scream of pain morphing into a groan of pleasure. Donato used his fingers to pinch the boy’s flesh harder, twisting mercilessly. “Scream for me, little slave,” he said. “Let me feel that big cock of yours get hard.”
When he was satisfied there, he turned to me. He kissed me, nipping at my lip with enough savagery to draw blood. He clutched at my erection. I was glad I’d taken the il, because he would have been furious if I hadn’t been hard, and I wouldn’t have been able to rise for him on my own.
Finally, Donato pushed us both to our knees, side-by-side. He held each of us by a handful of hair. He guided us to his cock, first one of us, then the other. We took turns sucking him as he pulled our hair, jerking our heads back so we’d have to look up into his eyes. The il caused my cock to remain hard, but the boy’s—I refused to think of him as Slave—kept going flaccid between his legs, despite the pain of having his hair pulled.
Finally, as the boy took his turn, Donato grabbed my hair again, forcing me to look up at him. “I want him hard, too,” he said. For a moment, I wasn’t sure what to do, but he pulled my hair harder. “Use your fingers.”
I misunderstood. I started to reach for the boy’s cock, but a slap brought me up short. I put my hand against my stinging cheek. “Not like that. Do it the way I showed you. Fuck him if you have to.”