Colorless

by Rita Stradling

  Annabelle

  I jumped back as a pile of fish poured onto a wooden pallet next to me. I wasn’t quick enough, though, and the spray of blood, water, and what could well be fish guts splattered all the way up my front.

  “Oh, that’s just unspeakably foul,” I muttered as I wiped now-colorless bits of fish off my neck and face.

  I’d been watching Joseph from the only shady spot not filled with dock workers. As more fish splattered down onto the pallet, I realized the workers likely avoided this small haven from the glaring sun for a reason.

  Several river boats and seafarers cluttered along the dock, thick ropes mooring them to grimy half-submerged poles. Hundreds of sweaty, dirty men moved back and forth between the gangplanks and the lengthy line of wagons lined up along open warehouses. Their heavily muscled arms carried everything from decorative chests to boxes overflowing with produce.

  As the men hauled their loads past, their expressions held a grimness I never saw on house or grounds servants. Their misery was worn plainly, with no forced civility to mask it. They scowled at the sun, boats, wagons, and even one another.

  My gaze tracked Joseph’s wide back as I skirted around another worker with another crateful of fish. The moment I stepped from the shade, the sunlight blinded me. The west-facing sun struck my retinas with its rays as if it, too, despised my existence. And when I’d blinked the light away, I’d lost sight of Joseph.

  I rushed between workers, dodging around crates and elbows, getting a lungful of sweet fruits along with the putrid smell of the river and its less-than-savory load.

  “Joseph,” I yelled, but no one took notice of me. When I was close to where I’d seen him a moment ago, I yelled again, “Joseph, I’ve lost you. Give me some signal.”

  A man at the base of a gangplank close to me turned, and I saw Joseph’s crude features. He didn’t turn all the way around, though, just glanced over his shoulder before turning again to the vessel.

  I knew next to nothing about boats, but the vessel he waited by stood out from the rest. It wasn’t the biggest, but any thief would know that this was where the true bounty lay. Its midnight-black hull shined as if it’d been carved from obsidian. Gold plated the ivory cabin’s edges, while crimson flags flapped above. A thief might know it held the greatest riches, but any thief with a spark of common sense would stay well away.

  It wasn’t only the well-dressed guards stationed everywhere around it, whose finery could not soften their brutish appearance; the real deterrent was the four-color crest that sat where a vessel’s name should be. It was a congregational vessel, just as Joseph had told me on our walk down to the docks.

  Joseph stood at the bottom of the gangplank with twenty other men, all of them the largest of the dock workers I’d yet to see.

  Joseph and I had had little time to discuss the assignment he wanted from me as only three turns up from where we’d talked, we met a busier street. He told me simply that twice a week after high noon, a congregational vessel would arrive and demand that the biggest workers among the crowd unload several trunks onto a congregational wagon. The men were never paid for this service, he had added in a growl. The orders were for the workers to set the trunks beside the wagon so that another set of guards could inspect that each was undamaged before loading them into the cart properly. As such care was needed, he and the other large dock workers were usually required past the normal quitting time.

  I was supposed to leech color from the trunk on the end of the pedestal. After I did, Joseph would fake an injury and limp off to take me to the Congregational Library. Later tonight, Joseph, Dylan and John would retrieve the colorless trunk.

  It wasn’t the worst of plans. As I’d never been to the Congregational Library, and my knowledge of Hopesworth were only of its main streets, the detour might actually save me time.

  That was, if nothing went terribly wrong.

  A guard stepped from the cabin. Where Joseph looked like a bruiser, this man looked like an executioner. It was in the coldness of his eyes and the expression on his gaunt features. The man’s red silk shirt looked out of place on his long, willowy frame. The material hung off his body as if it too was tired of the pretense of civility. His gaze scanned the men who all stood ready at the end of the gangplank.

  “Run,” he said. The low tonal baritone of his voice startled me. His voice was so similar to those of the monks that I immediately realized what this man must be—a novice. I knew they existed of course; monks were commoner children, left to the Congregation by parents who could not afford or did not want more children. I just had never in my life seen an actual novitiate of the Congregation.

  The dock workers all rushed forward at once, thudding up the gangplank and onto the ship deck.

  A smile touched the corner of the novice’s lips. “Run faster.”

  They rushed past him and into the cabin. Within seconds, a pair of the workers re-emerged with a medium-sized chest held between them.

  “Run… carefully,” the novice said through a smile. He spoke softly, yet his voice carried over the crowd.

  The men did just that, carrying out chests in pairs of two down the gangplank. The crowd of workers parted for the men as they crossed the stretch between the boats and the road.

  I followed just to the side of the first pair of men, rushing to keep up with their pace.

  Directly in our path waited a wide, black wagon the other wagons seemed to shrink away from. Even its shadow seemed overlong, stretching further east than it had any right to. Two men stood beside it. Thankfully, the large, overdressed bruiser type rather than more novices.

  They glowered as the men rushed forward, only to carefully set the trunks on a long, low stage before the wagon. Joseph was one of the third pair, setting the trunk down gingerly before his eyes peeked over to me. He and the other men rushed off toward the boat while others took their place.

  The trunks gleamed, wood inlaid with gold and what looked like silver, but could be more precious metals.

  Looking down, I found only one useable finger on my left hand. I hooked my thumb under the edge of my glove and peeled it off.

  Slowly, I leaned toward the first trunk as trunk after trunk was set down on the stage before me. When the first line was full, the men started a second row. The trunks were identical and so evenly spaced it looked as if the patterns on their lids continued through unbroken, carved designs webbing across the entire stage.

  My fingertips hovered just inches from the beautiful carvings of the nearest trunk. There were so many trunks, dozens, maybe even hundreds. What would the monks do if just one went missing? What would be the consequences and who would pay them?

  I glanced over to the two brutish-looking men overseeing the dockworkers. My immediate judgment of them was that they were the type of men who would bully and abuse. Perhaps that was true. Yet, if I stole this money while they oversaw the trunks, and the money was missed, the loss would be determined their fault.

  There were too many unknowns in this situation.

  My father had always told me that when laying down judgment, it was important to consider the lasting effects of my judgments as much as the immediate ones. The issue was that there was no precedence for gauging the lasting effects here. If anyone had ever stolen from the Congregation, word had never been spread about it. I never considered the consequences because up until this point, it was unheard of in my mind. However, if a man stole from a lord, which happened from time to time, the consequence was for that man to disappear into the Congregation’s care and never be heard from again.

  If I did this, I would be condemning an unknown number of people to that or a worse fate.

  If I didn’t do it, my parents very well could have died in vain. I would soon die, and all that would be left was a printing press that would no longer be printing my father’s message.

  The sun baked the exposed skin of my hand and arm as I tried to make my decision.

  From what Sophie said, this was
what the monks and magicians were afraid I would do—rob them of their possessions. The only logical conclusion I gleaned from that information was that past iconoclasts had done that exact same thing. Yet, Sophie also said it might be better if I simply faded into non-existence.

  A loud cough startled me into standing.

  Joseph’s blue gaze sliced into mine with its intensity as he headed to pass me.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry,” I said.

  His nostrils flared as he followed the other workers toward the Congregational vessel.

  “There’s too much risk involved this way!” I shouted after him, though he didn’t turn around. “Risk for others, I mean!” As he continued, I turned, feeling stupid for yelling after him. I didn’t know why I felt the need to clarify why I wasn’t going to do it—it wasn’t like I had his good opinion to begin with.

  For some reason, I waited for a few seconds, watching the workers carry over the trunks in an orderly precession, surrounded in the chaos of the rest of the workers.

  If this was a power sent to me by the gods, they obviously picked the wrong vessel for it. I spun slowly in place until I saw the two spires piercing above the city.

  As horrible and ridiculous as the notion was, heading toward the templum was my only logical course. It was the one point of reference I had in a tangled web of unfamiliar streets.

  “I can do this…” I walked into the shadow of the great black wagon and out into the cobbled street. “I can do this,” I said again as I crossed to the side of the road and marched beside the warehouses there. “It’s a riddle, and I simply need to do some research and solve it.”

  Unfortunately, I’d never had much patience for riddles.

  I had a sudden and strange wish that my cousin Tony was here. He’d always teased me with his superior reasoning skills before he fell apart and everything grew hateful between us.

  Turning the corner, I stepped into the blessed relief of the shade. My exposed skin felt stretched thin and burnt, though the sun had leant me no color.

  “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

  I jumped and spun as an embarrassing, “Eek!” escaped me.

  Joseph rushed to catch up to me, a glower heavy on his face. I was beginning to wonder if his face made any other expression. “Why didn’t you wait for me? I had to practically run out of there, and I don’t think any of them believed I was injured. I could be facing some pretty dire consequences over this!”

  “Lower your voice. If someone comes by, they will see you talking to yourself,” I whispered, though I wasn’t the one who needed to be quiet.

  “I don’t care! They’ll just think the heat has touched my mind—it happens to people all the time. What I want to know is why you left me behind. We had a plan. I thought you understood it.”

  “I-I…” I spluttered. “Are you always this angry? Do you constantly go around berating everyone? Having a conversation with you feels like I’m constantly locked in battle.”

  “Oh, I must apologize; am I not good company for you?” he asked. “So that’s why you wandered off and made me risk my job—maybe even my life—to come find you?”

  “No.” I shook my head for emphasis. “I assumed the deal was off.”

  “You assumed I’d just let you die—without even trying to help you?” he said.

  I forced a scoffing sound. “I’m not dying.”

  “Sophie said you were this morning. When Sophie says something like that, I usually believe her.”

  “Did she tell you anything else?” I whispered.

  “Only that you wouldn’t let any of us help you—something about you being too a proud to accept help from commoners.” His expression told me plainly what he thought of that. “Obviously, as a noble—”

  I stomped my foot. “Stop talking for a minute and I’ll gladly accept your help, commoner!”

  “Did you just stomp your foot—what are you, eight anni old?”

  “Where is the Congregational Library? Where is it? If you would like to direct me, I would be grateful!” I yelled.

  “Then I’ll direct you!”

  My arms crossed over my chest as I glared. “Then I will be much obliged to you, commoner.”

  “Why are you calling me that?”

  “Isn’t that what I’m thinking—every time I speak to someone who isn’t a noble, I just think—commoner, commoner, filth, filth, filth.” I waved my hands, gesticulating, which sent my glove flying off my hand and into the air. It took forever to fall, fluttering like a dying butterfly. My gaze fell to the ashen glove lying on the grimy cobblestones, then up to my missing hand. “Oh, dear gods,” I whispered.

  “Here.” Joseph leaned down, grabbing the glove off the ground and holding it out to me.

  “Thank you.” After taking it, I didn’t know where to put it, so I just gripped it in my fist. The heat of impending tears stung my eyes, and I quickly blinked it away. “Um, if you could…” I swallowed heavily and started again. “If you could show me the way, Joseph, I would be much obliged to you, truly.”

  “I’ll show you the way, of course.”

  We walked in silence after that, weaving through the hot, unknown streets. At first, our course was toward the templum, but when we were about halfway, we veered north toward the more affluent residences in town. The traffic was light on the streets in this part of town. Aside from a few maids and street sweepers, the traffic was mounted or in carriages, passing us quickly.

  As we continued, the houses grew both in size and familiarity. With my parents’ limited resources, I had only visited a few other cities, but in what I had seen of Domengrad, Hopesworth had a distinctive style. Instead of being spread apart, even the nicest townhouses crowded together, displaying their wealth in the height of their colorful façades.

  “My family lets one of these townhouses,” I mumbled as I scanned the façades, trying to determine which one.

  “You don’t even know which mansion you own?” Joseph snorted in obvious derision, and I realized I had completely forgotten my company and his apparent hatred for me.

  “Actually, I own nothing. My cousin owns one of these,” I corrected, tersely.

  He only glowered forward.

  “May I ask a question? And I don’t mean to offend you.”

  He raised a brow at me. “Sounds like you’re going to ask something offensive.”

  “Well, I don’t mean to—but just for curiosity’s sake, I’d like to ask you a question,” I said.

  “Ask.”

  “Well… it sounds as if you hate all nobility. Can you not see the difference between—say, my father and his brother? I mean, in their station?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Okay, I’ll give you a better example. You know my cousin Lord Anthony Klein?”

  He grunted in what I thought was affirmation.

  “Can you not see the difference between his station and mine?”

  His brow furrowed and eyes narrowed on me like I was trying to trick him. “I thought you two were getting married.”

  “Were being the operative word there,” I mumbled before continuing, “Aside from the marriage that’s not going to happen, do you see the disparity in our stations?”

  “I see that he is more of an ass than you—”

  I halted.

  Joseph kept walking a few steps before he looked back. “What are you doing?”

  I pointed to myself. “You can insult me all day long, but you will not insult my cousin in front of me!”

  He leaned in and gestured out. “You called him a horse’s ass not two hours ago.”

  “I did and I meant it, but he’s mine to insult, not yours! He’s my cousin! Think about it—you can call your brothers horse’s asses, but can I?”

  “Fine. Point taken—actually, what is your point? Can we keep moving, please?” He nodded to the street. “This is the type of place where I can’t walk around talking to myself—someone will summon the monks, and I don’t think you want that.�
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  “All right, as long as we’re clear about my cousin.” I caught up to him. “The point I was making is that there’s a huge disparity in my cousin’s station and my own—I was basically considered a commoner myself.”

  He snorted.

  “It’s true. When my cousin announced our engagement, everyone knew it was against my wishes. But they didn’t talk about that; they didn’t talk about the fact that we were first cousins, either—something that is looked down upon in this day and age. They only discussed the fact that I was marrying so far up in the world, what a social climber I was, and on and on.” An angry breath escaped me at the memory.

  “You’re wrong,” Joseph muttered.

  I glared. “Excuse you, I am not wrong!”

  “If you’d been considered a commoner, if Lord Anthony announced that he planned to marry you, you’d have been taken by the Congregation. There might have been a lot of difference between you and Lord Anthony, but it is nothing like the difference between you and me.” He gestured to another street. “The library is this way, just on top of that hill.”

  The street he pointed to ended at a heavy metal gate. Iron twisted from one side of the road to the other, connecting on both sides to a high stone wall. The wall was nearly as tall as the three-story houses before it, and the metal gate too tightly woven and tall to see past.

  Joseph turned away and mumbled, “How do you plan to get in?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to wait until the gate opens,” I said. I didn’t need to mention that even with two hands, the gate and wall both looked too sheer to climb. That wasn’t even to mention the row of decorative spikes that lined the top of the gate.

  Joseph nodded down to my missing hand. “Do you have time for waiting that long? It could take hours.”

  I didn’t look down. I didn’t need to look to know that the invisibility had crept up my wrist. Closing my eyes, I admitted, “I’m trying not to think about it. If I can stay calm, I can think. And if I can think, perhaps I can solve this problem.”

  His gaze moved from my arm to the houses on the opposite side of the street. “I could get you in there faster.”