Ink

by Alice Broadway

  “You talk about her like she … like she matters. The blanks are gone, banished, just like she was. I’m not stupid, Obel. I am not a child.”

  Still he looks at me with that cold, measuring gaze. “Tell me something, Leora,” he says, and underneath the calm I hear a note of desperation in his voice. “Do you remember that woman, who wanted to be marked with a leaf, so she could remember her dead child? Who wanted her child on her family tree?”

  “You made me break the law.” My anger flares, but Obel just cocks his head as though it’s nothing.

  “Why did we do that in secret? Why could that child not be openly remembered? I’ll tell you why. Longsight is so afraid of the blanks that he refuses to even allow a day-old baby who dies unmarked be remembered. He is afraid that if we remember an unmarked baby, then we will start to try to remember other blanks too. He tells you all that the blanks are a threat, but he’s the most dangerous man I know.”

  I stare at him. I’m stunned not only by the words he speaks but also by his urgency and feeling. The calm and controlled man I’ve always seen is gone and he looks pained by the words he’s said to me.

  “That isn’t true.” I say quietly. My heart is beating so fast I can hardly think straight.

  He’s speaking calmly now. “Why do you think the government cares so much about records and marks? They want to know everything about you; they want to control you. They’re certain that the blanks are planning a revolt; so certain that they would hurt their own people. And what are they so frightened of, Leora?” He leans in, his face suddenly earnest. “They’re frightened of a bogeyman made up to scare children. Have you ever wondered if the blanks are really so terrible? Or are we just told they are?”

  I close my eyes. They’re stinging from tiredness and from all the tears I’m keeping locked away. I want to sleep; I wish I could just curl up and switch off from all this. Go back to before – before the public marking, before I heard Mayor Longsight’s warnings, when the blanks were like pictures in a book to me.

  “Don’t try to make out that the blanks are just misunderstood,” I whisper. “You’ve been to the museum; you’ve been through that green door. The blanks are monsters.” I shake my head at him and find the strength to move.

  “Think of your dad, Leora. He wouldn’t have wanted you to feel this way.”

  “I never stop thinking about him.” I struggle to keep my voice steady. “I don’t know why you think my dad has anything to do with witches and blanks.”

  “Leora. Your dad fought for freedom, for equality, for unity.” He groans in frustration. “One day you’ll understand.”

  I walk towards the back room and then turn around a moment. “Thanks for making today worse. I didn’t realize it was possible. You must be very proud.”

  Blinking away my angry tears I walk into the back room, take my bag down from the hook and wrap my shawl around myself. When I look back through the open door, Obel is still in the studio, sitting in his chair, head in his hands.

  I open the heavy door and don’t look back when I let it slam behind me.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I’m too tired for all of this. I’ve lost track of where I can go, of who is safe. These months have been the worst of my life. I thought things couldn’t get worse once Dad died – I thought I’d had my fill of sadness. But it was just the beginning. I try to look into the future and see light and hope, but there’s nothing there. It’s all bleak. It’s all cursed.

  It’s all blank.

  I walk with my head down against the biting wind that makes my eyes water and my face sting. I’m buffeted by people as they walk past. Maybe I don’t exist any more. Maybe I can be invisible.

  Less of those thoughts, I tell myself. Those are the thoughts of a blank. Those are the words of the White Witch.

  I’m mostly tired of feeling like the only one who hasn’t been let in on some big secret. I feel like my life is being orchestrated by everyone else. A man walks past me with his dog on a lead, bounding ahead of him, and I realize that’s how I feel: like a stupid dog who thinks it’s leading the way but all the time is being held back and controlled. Well, I can change that. I don’t have to wait for life to happen. I’m going to be in charge from now on.

  I know where I need to go.

  The government building looms before me. Utilitarian and imposing, the red-brick building hasn’t been designed with beauty in mind. It’s all boxes, squares and sharp corners. It’s as if the architect wanted the place to be as ordinary as possible, so as not to distract from the truly important work that takes place inside. I’ve never been in the administration section of the government building before. They used to offer it as a school trip, but I couldn’t think of anything more boring. Of course, Verity went every year. We haven’t seen each other for a bit; work takes up more time than I expected. The last time I went round to her house Simon said she had a cold and I didn’t see her. I’ve missed her.

  The entrance foyer is impersonal and pale brown. Chairs line one wall and people are waiting there. The curved reception desk takes up most of the space and people must pass it to get to the offices. I see that the girl on reception is one of the popular ones from school; she would make fun of me whenever she sat behind me in class.

  I walk briskly past the desk with my shawl still on, deciding that if I look confident enough no one will stop me. She looks at me. I don’t know if she recognizes me but she has her usual look of disdain. Maybe that’s just how she always looks. I see her open her mouth to speak, and then a person comes to the desk, rings the bell and claims her attention.

  I keep walking.

  When the corridor takes me round a corner I pause and try to get my bearings. There are signs on the walls and hanging from the ceiling pointing the direction to different departments. I look for the Funerary and Soul-Weighing Department, and follow the signs.

  Walking through corridors with countless wooden doors – hidden rooms full of important people making decisions – I wonder how Verity manages not to get lost. Eventually I reach her department and push through an oak door.

  It’s quiet in here, with thick carpets and richly panelled walls. Everything feels hushed and secret. I keep my shawl up and head down. Of course I turn a corner and walk right into someone. Muttering an apology, I hurry past. A hand falls on my arm and I freeze.

  “Leora? What are you doing here?” Verity hisses. She grabs my hand and leads me back the way she came, rather quickly, I think. She opens a wooden door and pulls me in behind her.

  I close the door behind me, and Verity and I take in one another’s shocked faces and her demeanour changes; she sighs with relief. The room is dominated by a grand desk with ornate carvings on its legs. There are cabinets lining the walls, each with a keyhole, each keeping secrets.

  “Is this your office? It’s enormous!”

  “I know!” She grins at me. “Honestly, what are you doing here? Why didn’t you just call for me at reception?” She grabs a spare chair and puts it across from her own larger one.

  “Yeah, that would have been easier,” I concede, sinking into the seat. “I didn’t really want anyone to see me.” I unwrap my shawl and Verity’s eyes widen.

  “What on earth has happened to your face?”

  I put my hand up to where the bump on my head is raised and sore. I sigh and tell Verity what happened. She is furious my behalf and it feels wonderful.

  “He just lost his temper. I don’t think he meant me to fall.”

  “There is no excuse for that, none. He shouldn’t have touched you.” She’s pacing around her office, her cheeks flushed with rage. “What a horrible thing to happen at work, and you were loving it so much. Are you OK?”

  She comes and hugs me while I’m still sat on the chair. She strokes my hair and whispers words of comfort about how he’s gone now and losers never win.

  “I’ll be fine, Vetty. It’s a shock, that’s all.”

  I give Verity a tight smile. In the re
lief of talking to my best friend, I’ve lost sight of what I came for. I need to find out what she knows. How much she knows.

  “Anyway. Distract me. Tell me about what you’ve been doing.” I look around the room. “I didn’t realize you were so important. You must have really impressed them.”

  Verity sits back down. She gives me a quick smile, but I feel a shift in her manner. She seems awkward – embarrassed, almost. Worried. Or am I imagining it?

  “Well, I know how dull you think my job must be, and I know it’s not the same as making marks, but actually it’s been really interesting.”

  “You’re still excited about this new role?”

  Verity grimaces. “Well, let’s just say it definitely feels like I’m new, but I’m getting the hang of things slowly. Everyone is very nice. Did I tell you that I met Mayor Longsight a few weeks ago?”

  I shake my head, eyes wide. “I knew you were hoping to.”

  “Well, he is amazing – exactly how you’d imagine him to be, you know? Anyway, he spoke to me – I thought I was going to die – and we talked about me hoping to work here, doing the Funerary stuff, and well, I think he might have pulled some strings.”

  “That is so cool. I can’t believe you met him! You must have made quite an impression.”

  Verity shrugs, but there’s a faint blush on her cheeks. “Well, anyway, I’m just glad to be here. Everything moves at a different pace and there’s this big project that has just come in – they need everyone working on it.” She tails off and avoids my eye.

  I’m feeling pretty terrified about what she might say next. What I might learn. On the one hand it’s impossible that my best friend would find out something about my dad and not tell me. On the other, at this point anything seems possible.

  “So, tell me about what they’ve got you doing.” I urge her on.

  She looks down at the desk, and when she speaks, although her tone is casual, something doesn’t ring quite true. I know her too well. “Well, at the moment I’ve been asked to go through the information and evidence for the weighing the soul ceremonies that are coming up – working on individual cases. I think that’s why they let me join the department early; it’s all stuff I did for extra credit last year. Basically, I summarize the evidence so the judges can reach their decision.”

  “Yes?” I say quietly. “That sounds interesting.”

  “It’s such an honour, Leora. Sifting through people’s lives. Getting at the facts. They don’t want anything that could be biased by someone’s interpretation. That’s why I’m only allowed to summarize; I can’t make recommendations. It’s a huge responsibility. What if I miss something crucial? What if I’m the difference between someone being remembered or forgotten?” She shifts in her seat.

  I lean forward. “You’ll make the right decisions, Verity. You always have.”

  She pauses and looks away from me. “Some cases aren’t as clear-cut as I’d like them to be.”

  She gives a sad smile and right then I know. “You mean cases like my dad’s?”

  She nods. “I shouldn’t be talking about this. Not to you. Well, not to anyone. But especially not to you.” She takes a deep breath. “Still, I can’t not say anything. You’re my best friend. Lor, I think you should know. They’ve put me on your dad’s case and there are rumours. Rumours that the man you saw that day in the square, the man who was marked – his name was Connor Drew – that the body he stole skin from was your dad’s. And that the reason he stole skin was that there was something your family wanted removed. Disappeared from his life.”

  “I … I know about the rumours, Verity.” She lets her eyes flick to mine. “And I know about Connor Drew. I know what he did for my dad.”

  At this she exhales with relief. “Oh, Lor, I’m so glad.” She shakes her head. “No – I’m not glad – I’m sorry. But I’m glad you know. I had no idea what to say.” I sit up straight in my chair. This has become business. “But, Lor, that’s all I know. That Connor might have taken some evidence that marked your dad as…” She swallows and I close my eyes. “As forgotten.”

  Seeing me wince at hearing it said out loud, Verity swears. “You know that too, don’t you? I had hoped it was just hearsay. God, I’m sorry, Lor.”

  “How much do they know, Verity?”

  She stares miserably at the desk. I’m forcing her to jeopardize everything – her job that she loves so much. “There are just so many questions. That’s what makes this case complicated. They’ve examined your dad’s book and there’s unverified scarring, so they suspect that the marks have been doctored, or, in some cases, completely covered over. That, along with the fact that we suspect your father and Connor Drew were known to each other through flaying, and the fact that Drew was arrested for editing people’s history…” Her eyes meet mine. “The scarring is…” She lightly touches the back of her head, a fleeting gesture, and I nod. She’s told me enough.

  “Thank you, Verity. I know you didn’t have to tell me any of this. And yes, I’ve heard … things. I’ve been worrying and keeping it all secret. How … how long have you known?”

  “Not long, I swear. His case has only just come up.”

  “I should have come to you sooner, Vetty. You know I trust you, don’t you?” Verity nods reluctantly. “I’ve been too scared. It gets more real when you talk about it, doesn’t it?”

  Verity concedes with an incline of her head. “I’m so sorry, Leora.”

  She’s quiet for a while and starts to doodle with the pencil. “So if your dad was marked, what did he do, exactly?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know, Vetty. I just don’t know.”

  And because it’s Verity, and because I finally can, I let my guard down completely. I tell her I saw the mark on his scalp only by chance, when I was small, and that the public marking brought that memory, kicking and screaming, to the surface. I tell her my mother won’t tell me anything.

  Now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. I tell her about finding out that Dad’s book was confiscated at the museum. I tell her that I met Connor Drew’s son, and that he thinks he can help me, but that I’m scared I can’t trust him. I tell him that he’s called Oscar and he has dark eyes and curls and that his glasses are always askew.

  She squeals when I tell her that, pulls her knees to her chest and says, “Oh! Tell me more – do you like him?”

  I shake my head at her. I need to keep talking. I’m just about to tell her about Obel making me draw the White Witch and how dreadfully alike we look, and how that must just be a coincidence – mustn’t it? – when there’s a knock at the office door. Verity’s eyes widen with panic. “Quick – behind the door!” she whispers.

  She opens it a little and stands talking in the doorway. When the visitor is gone she shuts the door and leans her head against it.

  “That was close. Seriously, if anyone sees you – if they make the connection – we’re in big trouble. If I’m going to work on your dad’s case, no one here can know we’re friends.”

  I nod. The repercussions for her could be huge. “Tell me one thing, Verity, and then I’ll leave. Do you think my dad’s in danger?”

  “I don’t know, Leora. I don’t think they have anything concrete now, but I know they’ll keep digging. They’re working hard to find Connor Drew’s hidden work. They seem to have really focused on finding something.” She hesitates then carries on quickly: “Look, I think you need to talk to this Oscar, ask if he’s heard anything new. You contact him, and I’ll find out everything I can and then let’s regroup.”

  “He doesn’t deserve this, Vetty. I wish I knew what he’d done to be marked, but whatever it is, he was a good man. You know he is worthy, don’t you?”

  Verity hugs me and whispers, “I do. I’ll help you, Leora. We’ll make sure he’s remembered.”

  I leave the office alone, with my scarf pulled up and complicated directions from Verity on how to find my way out. She looks nervous as I leave, and I can’t help regretting that I’
ve involved her. But I had no choice.

  The corridors all look the same; I guess that’s what works here – everything uniform, predictable, controlled. The foyer is busy when I get there and I leave without being noticed; the haughty receptionist is deep in conversation with a broad figure. As I slip past, I notice who that is.

  Mel.

  Verity’s right, I need to talk to Oscar. I walk to the bookbinders where he works. It’s late though and he’s already left for home, but I talk to someone who works there who agrees to pass on a message the next morning. I scrawl a quick note and leave it with him.

  Heading home, I see a dirty white feather on the ground and again my mind wanders back to my conversation with Obel and the fable of the White Witch. I can’t keep away from her story. Although, it’s not her story at all, is it? She lurks at the edges of Moriah’s tale. She’s in the blank space. I should be drawn to the one with words and marks – and yet there she is. The first of her kind. Forgotten, because she has no story to live on.

  But not really forgotten. Obel is right, I realize. You can’t count as forgotten if your story is told to children every day.

  There are other ways of remembering, then.

  And suddenly I wonder for the first time about all those forgotten souls. What were they like? Can they be remembered? Do they actually live on, through their friends and family? If my father is forgotten when his soul is weighed, then is he truly gone?

  These are dangerous thoughts.

  When I get home Mum greets me with cross words about being late, but when she sees my bruised face she rises without speaking, and leaves the room. A few minutes later I am lying with my head on her lap and she’s bathing my wounds with warm water infused with lavender while I tell her about Karl. She carries on long after I’ve finished talking; the silence is soothing and her gentle touch and the fragrance sends me to sleep, right there.