by H M Sealey
Missy slaps me hard across my face and I sober up with a jolt.
“Ow!”
“Stop this Elsie.” She says, her eyes grim. “If you try to run they’ll hurt you. You think these people would think twice about hitting us?”
“H – hitting people’s illegal.” I say, rather stupidly considering slavery is far more illegal and that’s not stopping them. “I’ll sue them.”
“Don’t be stupid Elsie. We have to survive this.” She takes me by both shoulders, the other girls ignore us completely, each lost in their own fears, their own misery. “Do you understand? We have to survive. Whatever it takes.” Missy brings her head close to mine so our foreheads are touching, water from her wet hair runs down my face to join my tears. She lowers her voice. “There might be help coming for us Elsie. I can’t promise, but there might be.”
I look up to see Nicky watching us, arms folded, a bored expression on her face, as if she’s checking the inventory for a warehouse rather than supervising trafficked girls.
“Clothes girls.” She nods to the railing against the wall. The dresses are all the same, short, but not indecently so, with buttons up the front, like men’s short-sleeved shirts in white. Missy takes one for me and helps me into it. There’s no sign of any underwear or shoes. I still feel half dressed, but I sit quietly as Missy combs the tangles out of my hair and then does the same to her own.
Nicky surveys us once we’re ready.
“Good. You all look very nice. Now listen. Today you follow every order given to you. Understand? If you’re told to sit, you sit. If you’re told to strip, you strip. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to and answer any questions politely and truthfully. If any of you wreck a sale for any reason, Zeb’ll make you wish you hadn’t. Understand?”
We all understand and none of us fight when Zeb and his men turn up. He examines us in turn, nodding his approval. Missy stares directly ahead, her face like flint.
Jeb pats her face. “Bloody Hell girl, you’ve got a face like a slapped arse. You look like someone’s just died.”
Missy continues to stare ahead. “No, I look like I’ve been kidnapped, branded and I’m about to be sold. Sorry if I can’t find anything to smile about.”
Zeb leans forward and speaks softly. “If you carry on looking like that, I’ll do a lot more than just slap your arse. So give me a smile.”
To my surprise, Missy softens her face; it’s not quite a smile, but something close.
“Better.” Zeb says, then turns to me. The tears are pouring down my cheeks but I’m not making a sound.
Zeb digs in his pocket and brings out a handkerchief. He puts it into my hands.
“You wipe those tears away now.” He says in a far kinder voice. “Go on, crying makes your eyes red and puffy and you have lovely eyes. The clients will want to see them.”
I rub my eyes obediently. There are tears in Missy’s eyes too, but she flicks them away angrily. Missy never liked to cry.
Once our hands are bound with zip ties again, we’re herded out through the concrete corridors and up a flight of stairs. Missy stays close to me as the front doors are opened and we walk down the stone steps on bare feet.
There’s a commotion behind us and we all turn in time to see one of the other girls running across the garden on desperate feet, she’s heading around the building. I can see from here she won’t get far.
One of the men in fatigues races after her, and a moment later, he drags her back, her legs kicking out at anyone in range.
“Get off me you fucking bastards! You’re scum! Scum!”
I hear the thud as Zeb slaps her, but I doubt that’s where it’ll end.
“Stupid cow!”
She starts to scream and the scream doesn’t stop. It’s long and wretched and it tears at my heart. It’s the scream of desperation, hopelessness and human misery and as it echoes in my head, it mirrors my own emotions perfectly. Inside I’m making a sound just like that. I wonder how many of these girls are too? Zeb just looks irritated. He gestures towards the house with his thumb.
“Lock her up. Have her cut tomorrow.”
Nicky looks visibly upset. “Cut? That narrows down your clientèle a bit. No brothel’s gonna want a girl screaming in pain every time she’s touched.”
Zeb addresses us all as the girl is dragged away, still screaming although her voice is starting to fade into a raw, hoarse sob.
“Listen to me. You’re all intact right now, and that’s how we want to keep you. But I don’t know if you realise there’s a nasty practise sometimes used by our friends over the boarder on their girls. They call it circumcision. We call it mutilation. It requires cutting a whole portion of your genitals off and sewing you up good and tight. You’ll never enjoy being fucked again. You understand? Now I’d prefer not to do it to any of you. Generally you girls don’t need it, it’s only their wives and daughters they want to keep pure. But just now and again I have to make an example of someone. So she gets cut.”
His eyes alight on each of us in turn. We’re suddenly very, very quiet. Zeb looks at Missy. “What about you? You want to be cut too?”
Even Missy looks whiter than I’ve ever seen her. She shakes her head and Zeb smiles.
“That’s smart. You won’t even piss in comfort for a long time afterwards.”
Nicky comes close to Zeb and speaks quietly to him. “Zeb, I’ve seen that girl’s records. She was seriously ill before she tried to kill herself. I mean, up here.” She touches her forehead. “Kid was traumatised, flashbacks, psychosis. The whole caboodle.”
“So?”
“So, give her a break. You know a lot of the girls we get are screwed up mentally.”
Zeb shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. “I don’t care how they feel or what they think. They can learn obedience like any other dumb animal.” He tosses his head towards the truck. “Load them up.”
“I want to kill him.” Missy hisses under her breath as we squeeze into the back. “I swear I do.”
I stare out into the afternoon sunlight and close my eyes. Where’s Kit? He’s the only hope I have right now. Where is he? Is he coming to save me? Is he bringing the police? I hope he brings the whole weight of the law down on Zeb’s horrible, slave-trading head.
~
Josh
“Your mum seems nice.” I say to River once we’ve showered and changed into fresh clothing. River’s hair is beginning to grow back now and I note it’s far darker than I first thought. I peer into the mirror in River’s room and notice my own is starting to grow too, and I’m beginning to get a beard. I rub my face, I need to shave. Still, freedom agrees with me.
“She seems nice yes.”
“She obviously loves you.”
River stops staring at the white package Baraq gave her and looks at nothing at all.
“Yes.” She agrees. “She does.”
“My mum loved me.”
“I expect she did.”
“So what now? We’re here and safe.”
River doesn’t answer. The afternoon sun has almost set outside and the evening rays are colouring the whole world golden-red. I never saw the sunsets in the Rainbow Centre. Walks, fresh air, none of that was important. We played a lot of computer games in the evening. There was even a league and competitions. I never particularly liked murdering virtual people. I do like the sunset though, and I can’t stop watching it.
“Miss? Sir?” Sophie taps on the door. I quite like Sophie, and what she’s told us corroborates Diana’s story. Sophie was kidnapped by the Wolves and somehow ended up here, in the Border. I had no idea slavery was still legal anywhere, although I’d heard the rumours concerning the BSI. It seems most of it’s focused here though. Sophie was sold at an auction and Diana bought her. She has nowhere else to go and so stays with Diana where she feels safe. She says she’s happy, and that Diana Lamont is a great lady whom she loves deeply.
“Hi?” I say, smiling at her.
“Ms. Lamont asks will you
come down to supper.”
River nods absent-mindedly and runs a hand through her newly-growing hair.
“River?” I ask before we leave the room.
“What?”
“Why does your mother have a house here? How can she afford it? Do MP’s get paid that much?” One of NuTru’s pledges was to cap the cabinet’s salary at three times minimum wage. There’s no way she could afford a home here.
“Mum has business interests here Josh. Keep up. I already told you that.”
I think back, she did tell me that, but she also told me a lot of things and I don’t know how many of those things are true.
“I forgot.”
“She’s a hypocrite. NuTru chased the most lucrative businesses out of Old Britain with stupid taxes, but all the high-up politicians have investments somewhere. I think they did it on purpose. There’s minimum taxation here; they probably make way more than they ever made in Old Britain. It’s just the people who lose out.” She scoffs. “And what does NuTru care about the people?”
I wonder whether or not she’s being fair. Diana seems as passionate about social justice as River is about bringing her down. I think there could be far worse people in positions of power.
We walk down the big staircase together and Sophie ushers us towards the dining room. The carpet is soft beneath our feet and the walls are pale, creamy yellow, a subtle colour enhanced by flower arrangements – real flowers – in tall, white vases on every available surface. The whole house is beautifully decorated and beautifully maintained, palatial even. I didn’t know people still lived so luxuriously, except the celebrities and the drug-dealers in the magazines and on the internet. But there’s still money in entertainment and drugs.
The dining room is dominated by a large, wooden table with matching chairs carved from reclaimed wood, polished and varnished until any rustic charm has disappeared and it all looks like what it is, something very expensive and fashionable. The curtains are still swept back, allowing the last of the sunset to glow like a painting to the west, and the floor in this room is laid with old-fashioned quarry-tiles reminiscent of farmhouse kitchens in the days when farms were still viable as farms, rather than as farm-themed hotels.
There are two familiar figures already seated at the table, wine glasses balanced in their hands. I very nearly scream and run away.
Diana Lamont, finally dressed in a very low-cut blouse and tight skirt, glides around the table on her heels and beams at us both.
“Now don’t look so scared. Kathryn Summerday’s an old friend of mine. She and Mr. Scott were kind enough to accept my invitation to dinner tonight.”
She smiles at the director of the Rainbow Centre and her sadistic subordinate. “I’m so glad you could both rearrange your schedule at such short notice. We have a little bit of a mess to clear up, don’t we?”
~
Alaia
Alaia helped Dai into his niqab and adjusted it carefully. Dai was tall and skinny, his could pass as a woman provided he didn’t speak.
You have nice eyes.” Alaia told him, gazing into them. They were deep-set and almond shaped, the brown was so brown it was almost black which made it seem as though the pupils were alone in the white.
Beneath the fabric Daichi smiled.
“Are you sure about this?”
Alaia nodded, she wore a hijab only, which allowed her face to be revealed, a face so used to hiding fear or disgust or even joy. She shouldn’t have to live her life hidden and hiding.
“I’m sure.”
“You know this is dangerous.”
“Asim said the leader of the Mutaween once helped an apostate leave the country. How many more people are there like that? People who follow their own consciences instead of allowing their consciences to be dictated by an external law. Maybe everyone’s like that really. Maybe it’s just a case of the Emperor’s New Clothes.”
Dai laughed at that. It was a tale he knew well as a child, one of Missy’s favourites. “The Emperor is tricked into believing only intelligent people can see the magic clothes he’s wearing and he won’t admit he can’t see them in case he’s thought of as stupid. So he walks around the city naked, and all the people say how smart he looks, even though nobody else can see this magic clothes either.”
Alaia laughed too, a natural, happy sound that gave Dai more pleasure than he expected. He would love to hear that laugh every day for the rest of his life.
“It was on of those forbidden books.” She explained. “I always loved that story. I think it’s very real.”
“Maybe we all need to be the little boy who points out the truth.” Dai suggested, realising with some shame that the boy in the story had more courage than he had ever possessed.
“I always thought, in another version, that boy is hanged for telling the truth.”
“What is the truth Alaia?”
“That we live in a world where people are hanged or stoned or beheaded for human frailties that should be forgiven. Where nobody dares say we would all prefer a country where justice and mercy prevail, yet we lift our hands and say look at the emperor’s beautiful new clothes while inside we know he’s naked.”
Alaia helped Daichi pull on the long abaya, a black cloak that could cover his body, and she fastened it, smoothing it down over his shoulders with a critical eye.
“You’ll do I think. Now remember, your name is Ayaan. You are Uncle Baraq’s cousin and therefore can only speak to me or him. If Tariq tries to talk to you, turn away. That’s normal and modest.”
“What about the money?”
“My father has changed it into riyal for you though the exchange rate was not good. He’s concerned it may not be enough.”
Dai hadn’t considered that possibility. “I don’t have any more. I stole that from the school where I work. Worked.”
“It’s all right. Father and Uncle Baraq are prepared to give you more, if you need it.”
Beneath the niqab Dai smiled. “They’re good men.” He didn’t care for the niqab, he could feel his own breath hot on his face, it made him sweat.
“They can see that the Emperor is naked. They’re not quite brave enough to announce it in the streets though.”
“I think they’re extremely brave. Braver than I’ll ever be.”
Alaia took a step towards him, the layers of fabric between them acted like a barrier and she wasn’t sure she liked it. “You’re brave.” She told him. “You left your job and your home to rescue your sister.”
“I don’t feel very brave, not right now.”
Alaia took the edges of his abaya in her hands, even though the garment required no adjusting.
“Being brave doesn’t mean you don’t feel frightened. It means you do what’s right despite being frightened.”
Daichi swallowed his fear down into his stomach. Alaia was the bravest of all. “What about Tariq?” He asked.
Alaia’s eyes darkened in a way Dai recognised. “I don’t want Tariq to purchase a slave for me. I can’t bear the idea of slavery.”
“What will you do?”
“Stop him somehow. Flatter him if I have to. Tell him I want to be the only one to take care of him.” She paused. “If I can say it without vomiting.”
With an impulsive movement, Dai swept her into his arms. The niqab prevented him kissing her, but he held her anyway. “You’re amazing.”
“I spend my life hiding my face, my intelligence and my thoughts. Everything I am and desire is wrong. I have to lie to everyone I know. I’m not amazing at all.”
But Alaia was wrong, Dai knew she was the most amazing person he had ever encountered.
~
Josh
“Don’t look so worried Skye. Nobody’s about to take you back.” Mr. Scott looks quite different in a shirt and tie, more civilised, even his hard face looks softer.
River’s face betrays nothing at all.
“Josh.” She says. “His name is Josh.”
Mr. Scott raises an eyebrow. �
��He chose a non-gendered name to show his respect for British culture.”
“No.” River says hotly. “He was forced to take on an identity you preferred. He never stopped being Josh inside.” River turns to me. “Did you Josh?”
All those years fighting to pretend I was changing, that I believed their philosophy, that I was a convert. The BSI takes apostasy seriously. I think Old Britain does too.
I hang my head. I don’t want to burn my bridges. What if I do end up back in the Rainbow Centre? I’ll be there for life after this.
River glares at Mr. Scott. “He’s terrified of you.”
Mr. Scott actually looks offended. “He has no need to be terrified. Skye? I thought we were friends.”
Inside I laugh wildly at the very idea. Outside I do nothing at all. I can’t.
Diana takes River by the shoulders and steers her to the place closest to her own seat. Then she pulls out a chair and gestures to me.
“Please sit down. Sophie’s a wonderful little cook.”
River glances at her mother. “Where’s Kai?”
“He has an another engagement tonight but he’ll be back later for cocktails. Now, the white wine is particularly good.”
I sit heavily and barely notice the crystal glass and the silver cutlery laid out on the smooth, white cloth. All exquisite, all expensive.
Diana fills my glass and raises her own. Mr. Scott takes a long gulp and smacks his lips in approval, I don’t touch mine, I feel sick.
“So,” Diana says, sipping a little and gazing around the table. “I’m aware that my daughter and Joshua are officially escapees. How easy will it be for you to hush that up?”
She fixes her piercing blue eyes on Director Summerday who blushes scarlet.
“Well, Ms. Lamont, we honestly had no idea that River was your daughter.”
“Ash.” Diana corrects her smoothly. “Her name is Ash.” She takes River’s hand across the table. “And yes, she is my daughter.”
“You see, she was found preaching Christianity in a refugee camp.”
Diana tuts. “Ash, you know that’s not acceptable behaviour.” Then she turns those eyes onto Director Summerday again. “But surely it doesn’t warrant time in a Rainbow Centre.”