She didn't feel anything now. Ivar looked at her as if she'd gone crazy as they pulled their damp clothes on. She expected to feel sick sometime, but not now. Now she was going home to look after her mother. Koru… No, I'm not going to pray. I prayed before and my papa died. If there is a Goddess, she doesn't give a damn about us. We have to look after things like revenge. There probably isn't a Goddess. She looked down at a blood smear on a stone near her foot and scraped mud over it with her boot. No, I don't think there is.
Chapter Twelve
"Mama, you have to eat something." Megan smoothed her mother's hair back away from her face and put the bowl down on the floor.
"I'm just not hungry, Megan-mi." Ness turned away, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if she were cold. Her hair was dirty, hanging around her face, and her eyes red-rimmed. She'd started getting dressed again, even going to work, but her Gospozhyn wasn't happy with her any longer. She was doing simple polishing but no cutting because she didn't care enough anymore.
In the summer, Megan had seen to paying back everyone who had lent them money to get Lixand out of the dungeon; had seen how little was left. She hadn't been staying at the Guild Apprentice Hall at first, because of her mother, but she still was there for lessons, and used the Guild baths.
Their room smelled musty and close, the autumn rains having started early this year. Ness pushed her spoon through the barley stew, not interested.
"Mama, if you don't eat, you'll get sick."
Ness sat and listened for a moment, as if that's exactly what she wanted, then jumped and looked at her daughter, instead of through her. "Megan, love…" She stopped as if the words were too big for her throat, the easy tears welling up.
"Mama."
Ness held out her arms and they held onto each other. "It'll be all right. It'll be all right. It's got to get better." Megan didn't know how, but saying the words somehow helped.
Her mother nodded. "I suppose I should do something, shouldn't I?"
"Un-huh."
For the first time since the summer heat, Ness looked more like herself. "Don't grunt," she said. "It'll give people the wrong impression."
Megan's smile started slowly. It had been too long since her mother had bothered to correct her in any way. "Yes, Mama."
Ness got up from her cushion and wandered the room, picking things up and idly putting them down again. Shenanya knocked on the open door. "Ness? I've got to deliver a bit of lace to a lady on Bolduschchy Lane. Would you want to come with me then, for the walk? We could stop at the baths first—my copper."
Ness stopped, blinked. "Hello, Shen. I… that sounds nice. Thank you."
Megan threw Shenanya a grateful look as she helped her mother on with her coat. That afternoon Megan had come home from the Guildhall to find the lamp dry, the wick burned away into a sooty smear, their kraumak only lighting the darkest corner. Her mama didn't mind sitting in the dark anymore. Maybe that was why she'd been having all the little accidents that left bruised shins or arms, tiny cuts or burns on her fingers.
Ness often sat, turning an old shirt of Lixand's over and over in her hands as if she were looking for tears to mend. She was always getting his things out, as if he would be coming home soon and would need them.
When Megan asked, she would only say, "They remind me of him," and go back to looking at the shirt or the trousers or his best fringed belt.
Shen took Ness's arm companionably. "Well have a nice talk on the way. The sun's come out for a bit."
Megan stood by the door, watching them walk away down the gallery where Pol, the landlord's middle boy was nailing up the winter walls. She closed the door behind her and stood in the middle of the room, looking at everything that needed doing; the full bowl of stew Ness had left starting to dry around the edges, the breakfast dishes, the wallbed standing open with the feather tick hanging out, the floor needing sweeping.
The room was full of silence and she found herself listening for her father's humming to himself as he used to, marking a waxboard with notes for a story. His cushion lay by the table as if he'd just gotten up to go to the jakes. She found herself straining her ears as if she could hear him if she tried hard enough.
She gulped, swallowed tears, bent to pick up the shirt her mother had been turning over in her hands, and stood holding it as if she'd forgotten where it should go. She buried her face in it. It still smelled faintly like her papa and soap. That brought the tears. She moved blindly over to where his pillow was, now just for guests, burying her face in it as if it were his shoulder. There wasn't anybody to cry on, not anymore. Mama needs me. I can't cry on her shoulder. It wouldn't be fair. Nothing's fair. It was wrong. All wrong and it's Ranion and Avritha's fault. They're supposed to make it better and they killed my papa who never did anything wrong. She sobbed until her eyes were red and dry and her nose felt swollen and hot and the silence was there, would always be there, because it was the silence waiting to be broken by Lixand's voice.
She lay still for a bit, then she got up and started cleaning. There was too much to do that Mama couldn't, and there was the schooling to do as well.
Her hands were wet with the washing up when someone tapped on the door. "Hello?"
It was Pol, nervously twisting his hands together as he stood in the hall. "Hi. Umm. Well, me mam sent me down… I hate asking but she said I should." He coughed. "Mam said you'd been good tenants but, well…"
"What, Pol?"
He blushed and Megan thought that he'd never make a good landlord. "It's the cycle's rent… it's only a bit overdue."
"Mama paid that, didn't she?" Megan's voice sounded thin in her own ears. Mama forgot? Mama never forgot, not once she told Shen that she could manage, and that was two months ago.
"Well, mam said not." He looked down at Blue who wove around their ankles, purring. "'s long as ye know."
"Thank you, Pol. She must have forgot. If you wait, I'll get it." Megan scooped up the cat. No, if her mother had just forgotten, then it was in the box. Blue squirmed and jumped down. She went to her parents' cupboard box and hesitated. It was her mama's business, something that Mama and P—that Mama was supposed to look after. But if Mama can't, I have to. Feeling worse than a thief, she opened it and searched for the rent pouch under their papers. She weighed it in her hand, wondering. Ever since she'd been helping with her Bits, Papa had let her help keep track and the pouch felt too light. "Hold on a second, Pol," she called over her shoulder, and counted out the coins. It was short. Not much but still short. If it's short and we don't pay, we'll be in the street soon with nowhere to go.
She counted it out to Pol. "It's mostly there. I think Mama has the rest"—I hope she has the rest. She has to—"and she'll be around today, I think." I hate lying. I don't know. It's not a lie, really, I just don't know for sure.
Pol grinned and nodded. "Okay,'s fine. Mam said yah'd likely forgot, what with all—uhm, well, that." He blushed again, suddenly interested in the wood grain at his toes. "Sorry," he stammered. "Din't mean tah remind ya."
"It's okay, Pol."
"Right then, Goddess guard."
"Yeah, thanks." Like She guarded my papa? There isn't a Goddess. "You too."
She sat down and thought about the money, wondering what her mother might have done with it. There wasn't that much food; a little flour, a crock of peas and beans. There wasn't any fruit, or bread—not even stale—no meat or even any milk.
She started counting up the things that had to be paid for aside from food. Clothes… Mama hadn't spent anything on clothes since the summer, except for new boots. A new coat? No. There were Guild fees that her Gospozhyn mostly took out of her pay; tax, always too much tax. Lamp oil? No matter how she tried to balance the money, it always came up short.
Maybe she had lent some to Shen for some reason. That was probably it. Should I ask her? Am I supposed to ask her? I can't, Mama's always been on time with the rent. She'd never forget—but she did. It made Megan feel like a coal had just kindled in
her chest. If her mother could be unreliable… I have to keep an eye on things. I have to worry about it or she might forget again and well lose our room. She felt helpless and small, fighting huge darknesses she couldn't see; the whole world, it seemed. Everything.
"Hi, Rilla." Megan hugged her cousin, who met her at the Apprentice Hall gate. It was growing dark, lamps being lit and kraumak lanterns unhooded in the dusk like a carpet of fire-fleas glowing on the walls of the city.
"Hi, Meg." Rilla squeezed back then tickled under Megan's ribs. Megan squealed and tried to wiggle free. "Feel better?"
" 'f you stop, Koru, stop that!—eek, I'll—stop—tan your ass—'f you don't—" Panting, she wiggled loose, tickling back.
"No fair!—hey!—I'm littler!"
"Why'd you start, half-bite?"
They played tag through a couple of streets, then ran down to Megan's hiding place. The cracked mosaic was still warm from the sun, though the air was cold; winter was coming fast. Megan was glad that her mother had straightened out the difference in the rent when she and Shen had gotten back. It would be suicide to be out on the street in winter.
Megan sniffed. "It's gonna rain. T'night or't'morrow, then."
Rilla giggled. "You're starting to sound like Dimi when he forgets to 'talk up'." Megan bristled.
"I do not. I don't! Yer wro—" Then she stopped, listening to herself. "I suppose ye—your right. I'm starting to sound River-like."
"So, 'zat so bad? Nohow like out-city, that'd be a prigging, that."
Megan wrinkled her nose, thinking. Her Gospozhyn at the Guild had been coaching her in other dialects and turns of phrase, but she'd never thought to listen to her own speech patterns. When she spoke, it was more carefully than usual. "That's funny, hearing you talk like that Rilla, but we have to be careful to sound like Middle, at least."
"Whyza—Why is that?" Rilla pulled the words apart with difficulty.
"We're not here forever. I mean, we started better and if we want to be better we have to sound like it, or everybody’ll laugh at us behind our backs when we get enough money to get out of River. Nobody'll respect us."
Rilla thought about that, dropping pebbles onto the cracked tile from a height. "I suppose." She sounded doubtful. "You're more Middle than we are—mam and I."
"Bullshit!" Megan said firmly, grimaced, then changed it to, "That's… urn… nonsense!"
Rilla tossed the pebble into one of the holes in the tile; they listened to it hit one of the old beams a floor down, men the couple of seconds later it hit a puddle in the bottom, plink. "Y-yes," Megan continued. "We're family, kin, and if I'm Middle Quarter, so are you."
"Okay." Rilla thought a bit longer. "Mam's with your mama. One of our neighbors said something about her being slough-kin who didn't care about her own, and mam got offended. She said she'd show high-snot idiots that she was as good as any of them and could look after her kin as well as any."
"Mama won't like Aunt being there all the time."
"I guess not. I wouldn't, though my mam's been getting better. She's been dry after she blew it all getting drunk when Uncle Lixand died."
Megan swallowed the hurt feeling, waiting for it to go away as it always did now; it was getting easier. What she tried to hold on to was her anger, which was hard but getting easier, too.
Megan, arms full of clean laundry, walked carefully through the doorway and put it down on the chest. Tikhiy had helped her, so the washing had only taken half the time it normally would and the sun was still out. She didn't see Ness right away. Her mother sat with her back to the wallbed in the corner where Megan's bed had been. She held the kitchen knife in her right hand, making a pattern of small cuts on the left, smiling.
Megan stood, staring. It wasn't accidents. She was doing it herself. Anyone in the City knew what that meant; especially mixed with the faint, sweet smell of the DreamDust in the room.
DreamDust turned the pain you felt into pleasure. A Haian would use it only for the dying, if they used it at all. In a weaker form it was sometimes used to blunt grief. Once or twice, even a little more, was safe enough, but more grabbed you by the throat.
"Mama!' Megan was too shocked to do more than exclaim.
"Bylashka…" Ness smiled dreamily at her daughter, then down at her hands. "It doesn't hurt anymore. Not now. Isn't this interesting?" She held up her hand, where the faint cuts bled. "Look." She brought up the knife and laid another across her palm, cutting head, heart, and life lines.
"NO!" Megan pulled the knife away from her mother, who didn't resist, only bunked at the seeping cut. "That's where the money's been going. That's why you haven't been eating. Mama, you'll die. You can't keep doing this."
"Oh." Ness blinked as Megan salved the cuts, scolding. Then she just sat and watched Megan search the bed and the room, finding one other packet of Dust.
"Mama, you're going to bed and sleep it off."
Ness got up at Megan's insistent pull on her arm, turned as if she were in a dream and, laughing, slapped Megan across the face.
Megan stared, her hand covering her cheek. She hit me. The words floated through her mind like a bubble in syrup. She hit me and laughed.
Ness grabbed the hand Megan had folded around the packet of Dust and pried her fingers open. "Give it. After all I've been through I deserve a little pleasure." She stopped and looked at Megan. "I'm not addicted. I can stop any time I want to, I just don't want to."
"Mama…" Megan whispered. "Don't, please. Please don't. It'll hurt you—"
"No, it won't!" Ness cried. "This is the best it gets for now, forever!" She shook the fist in Megan's face, clutching the packet so hard that the stitches tore. She stopped, looked at the powder on her fingers, sticking to the salve, and slow as a nightmare, reached up to put her fingers in her mouth.
Megan, forgotten, backed away from her mother. She dodged around Ness and ran for the door, taking the knife with her.
She ran for her hiding spot and sat for a long while, hugging her knees. Then she got up to go to Marte, though she didn't want to. Shen, Dimi or Varik were good friends, but only kin could really help… if you could persuade them to.
She walked down to her aunt's rooms, torn between getting help and the fear that Marte would laugh in her race. It's Mama who needs help and Aunt said "Don't come crawling to me." But it's me asking, not Mama. And there was the neighbor who made her feel bad about being slough-kin.
She turned down Dogleg Alley, her steps slowing in the mud. The alley was far enough down the rift that it was almost Lake Quarter, with the street cobbles hidden under inches of mud washing down from farther up the City. On top of that lay garbage; more than around the Flats. Only the center of the street was hard packed, the piles of refuse on both sides rising almost hip high. Underneath, on both sides, you could hear a muffled rustling as rats burrowed in relative safety from the city's cats, or beetles spun webs of tunnels, chewing. In the spring rain these loosely packed ridges sometimes washed away, leaving the path in the middle of the street raised.
Doorways were, often as not, dug down below the level of the street, steps cut into the muck that dried rock hard in summer. In winter it froze, but people had to be careful in spring and fall.
Aunt makes more money than we do. Why does she live in this mess? Her steps slowed further. Aunt spends a lot of money on wine and wadiki. And Dust is more expensive… She stopped, staring at a Duster lying sprawled out of door well, half across the street. She'd never looked at them, lying in the gutters or under bridges, sitting in the shadows of the Market, staring and laughing at nothing. It had never been important before.
The man stank of urine and shit, horribly cut by the smell of newly baked bread—the smell of someone starving to death. He was a naked rack of bones, great oozing patches all over his body, hiding some of the self-inflicted scars. Some of his fingers were missing. He was awake, eyes open, breathing rattling and wet, his lips and gums greenish blue. He smiled at nothing, flies busy around his and in his open
mouth. He giggled and occasionally coughed, but the only part of him that moved was his chest as he breathed. That's what Dust does. That's what could happen… is happening to my mama.
Megan gagged, backed up and fled. No. No it's not. Not to my mama. She might not care anymore, but I do and in make Aunt care. I'll make her care.
She ran, panting in the cold, fetid air between the narrow houses as if she could run from the memory of the Duster lying in the alley, until she stood gasping for air in front of the building where her aunt's rooms were.
She hesitated another minute, waiting till she wasn't panting any longer. I'm always coming to Aunt, running. I won't anymore. It's not right. She'll always think I want something and, well, I'm going to stop it. She walked down the steps to the door, trying to feel something more than afraid.
The inside the house it was almost as odorous as the outside. Musty wood, mud; a faint greenish almond smell that prickled the insides of her nose drifted down the hall from her aunt's rooms, from the drug still. Megan blinked back tears. It was like the smell of the Dust on her mother's fingers.
Marte hadn't yet taken down the summer curtain that was the door and it moved a little in the dim light. From inside there was the clink of clay bottles, the low almost tuneless hum, a mannerism very close to Lixand's, as Marte worked.
"Aunt?"
"Hey? Oh, come in." Megan pushed the curtain aside and stepped in, stopping because it was even darker inside than out, the only fight a shaded kraumak over the table. The light glinted off the glaze of bottles on the shelves like beetle's eyes in the dark, ceiling a green fuzz of drying herbs, like in the old house but much closer overhead. It was warm and humid because of the still. Marte sat cross-legged at the low table, sorting bottles into a box rack at her elbow.
"Megan. Hello." Marte sounded sour. "Rilla's not here. She's hanging about somewhere, I don't doubt."
"Hello, Aunt. I didn't come to see Rilla; I came to talk to you."
"Oh?" Marte's voice went from merely sour to cold. "Another problem?"
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