by Britt Ringel
Reynolds barked a short guffaw. “Not with those yellow buckets, young lady. Yellow things in the market stay in the market. If you try to leave a gate with those buckets, the guards will be pounding you faster than you can say, ‘I need another doctor.’” She gestured to a box with Kat’s old bandage laying on top of its contents. “And your old dressing is worth more than what I’ve done to you so far even including that small.” She waved with a faint smile. “So go and run off if you want. I still come out ahead.”
Kat cocked her head slightly and with an upturned smile wordlessly started the direction Reynolds had pointed, to find Jacob.
He wasn’t hard to locate. Once back to the main street of the market, Jacob’s “shop” was just two blocks north. In the center of an intersection, a ramshackle hut had been built over a stone well. Two yellow-shirted guards protected the site while a rail-thin man with an umbrella oversaw water services to a long line of customers. Judging by the sun’s position, Kat believed it to be pushing midafternoon. The heat of the day, while tolerable under shade, became brutal in the sun’s direct rays. Kat could feel her skin burning as she waited in line. Her upper thighs and arms, once pale, seemed to fare the worst and were turning red quickly.
After ten minutes in the queue, Kat stepped forward. She placed the tiny, stamped coin into the thin man’s hand and said, “This is from Doctor Reynolds. She says this will cover most of the week.”
Jacob merely nodded with a smile that attempted charming but settled on lascivious. The skeleton’s grin only grew wider as Kat struggled to turn the crank that retrieved the well’s bucket while trying to keep her gown from riding too high up her thighs. To her dismay, she had to repeat the process to fill her second bucket. Finally able to cover her backside, she held her body upright and bent at the knees, straining to lift a bucket in each hand. With tentative steps at first, she carefully began the walk to the clinic mindful not to spill a drop.
The trip back was torturous, not only for Kat’s arms and shoulders but also for her will. Her fingers felt puffy and her head ached tremendously. Worse still, she seemed to have stopped sweating. You’re very dehydrated. Just take a drink, Kat, she urged herself. Every time she stopped to rest, she fought the temptation to dunk her head in the clear, inviting water. Almost as a warning against the considered theft, vectored thrust blew over her, obscuring the street with dust devils as a corporate security aircar slowly glided above. The representation of authority sent shivers down her spine despite the day’s blistering heat. She shook her head resolutely while looking back to the buckets. No, I won’t steal from the only person who has been nice to me. When I get back, I’ll ask her if I can have a small sip. She slogged onward.
When Kat finally returned to the clinic, Reynolds was standing at the service window talking to a customer. She was holding a stick skewering several strips of cooked meat in one hand. A biscuit rested on the counter next to a folded paper packet. The doctor waved Kat around to the side but continued instructing the man before her on how much of the herbs in the packet to add into each cup of water. After she was finished and collected two smalls, she turned behind her and eyed Kat curiously. The doctor popped the second to last strip of meat into her mouth as her blue eyes focused on Kat’s cracked lips. Her normally stoic face betrayed surprise.
“You really didn’t take a drink, did you?”
Kat gently lowered both buckets onto the dirt floor. The effort involved in hauling the water had left her breathless. “No, that’s stealing,” she replied, pausing to take in more air. “But I have to be honest; it’s all I thought about.” She took unsteady steps to the examination table and leaned heavily against it while huffing.
Reynolds disappeared into the back room but returned quickly with a small teacup. She dipped the ceramic cup into one of the buckets and offered it to Kat. “When you’re done, that bucket’s for washing; the other one is for sterilizing the dirty bandages.”
Kat gratefully accepted the cup and drank greedily. The cool water over her lips, running down her throat, produced a bliss that made her eyes close. As her body soaked the water up like a sponge, she thought to herself, This is the single best moment in my life. When she finally opened her eyes, she was rewarded with the final fragment of meat from the doctor’s skewer.
“I think you’re saving my life, Doctor Reynolds,” Kat said earnestly. She pulled the strip off the stick and placed it into her mouth. It was overcooked, dry and tough, but more luxurious than anything she remembered having ever eaten before. The thought made her chuckle as she eased herself to the floor to bask in the tiny meal. She savored the minuscule amounts of flavor and juices as she chewed until it was impossible to make the pieces smaller. “Oh, God. I think I just blacked out a little,” she kidded.
Reynolds barked a laugh but rapidly regained her composure. “Well, don’t go telling people I let you work off your debt. I don’t have much work outside of what you’re doing today so it’d be a losing proposition for me. You’re lucky you had that self-fusing bandage.” She ambled back to her chair and settled into it with a groan. “When you’re off your lunch break, you can get to work on those used dressings. Dunk them in that one bucket to get as much of the waste off them as possible. Wring them out and keep washing them until they’re clean. Then you’ll use a mixture I’ll make to stir into the other bucket and sterilize them.”
Kat began to rise but Reynolds stopped her with an outstretched hand. “Take five, Kat. You’ve earned it. The shop’s cleaner than it’s been in years.”
Midafternoon became late afternoon as Kat thoroughly washed and sterilized eighteen bandages. Some were easier to clean than others. The hardest were bandages at the bottom of the pile. It was disgusting, smelly work and she wondered if her task was dangerous as some of the bandages were still damp with blood and other fluids. Yet she worked with a ferocious obsession. Her ambition wasn’t only to earn this evening’s treatment but also to prove to Reynolds that she was someone worth keeping around. By the time Kat placed the dressings on a short drying line that hung from the corner of the shack to a metal rod hammered into the ground, they were nearly a pristine white. Even the worst of the stains had vanished after meticulous scrubbing and sterilizing.
When she returned to the shack, Reynolds dipped the medical journal in her hands below eye level and ordered from her chair, “Get the mortar and pestle from the back. Then grab one of those jars with leaves in them. You can work on the table out here unless I get a customer.”
Kat spent the next three hours grinding plants of all different types into dust or mush. From jar to jar, she memorized every detail about each leaf, weed and flower she placed into the mortar. Most of what she ground was dried and broke down easily. However, some of the jars were sealed and their contents still contained moisture that left her end product more of a paste. The hours of repetition took their toll on Kat’s arms and wrists. She switched the pestle to her opposite hand every ten minutes but before she was finished, the muscles in her forearms were crying out in fatigue. Yet she relentlessly worked to grind each herb to the prescribed consistency.
As the sun brushed the rooftops of the larger buildings inside the Beggar’s Market, Reynolds finally stopped her. “You’ve done good work, Kat. Put that stuff back, pull the bandages from the drying line and hop onto the table so I can dress your side.”
Ten minutes later, a moist poultice replaced the remains of the salt on Kat’s wound and her new dressing hugged her narrow waist snugly. Reynolds tied off the wrap and used a thick, gummy cream to secure the bandage instead of the metal clip. Using her shears, she trimmed her work.
After she finished, Reynolds sighed and looked at Kat. “I need to sterilize these anyway,” she said, more to the instrument in her hand than to her patient. She moved her shears to Kat’s head and trimmed away burned hair until the damaged strands were gone. She pointed Kat toward the reflective, metal sheet behind the examination table and chuckled. “I don’t know if you’re goi
ng to set any new trends but it’s better than before.”
Kat considered herself in the mirror once more. The asymmetrical look gave her a decidedly unconventional appearance but at least it looked intentional if not kempt. She smiled despite herself. “Well, it’s a little dramatic but I think I can pull it off.” She slid off the table.
“Today’s Monday, come back Friday and I’ll look at your side again,” Reynolds reminded. “Remember, itchy means it’s healing. Don’t scratch it.”
Kat moved toward the heavy woman and wrapped her arms around her. “Thank you, Doctor. I really do believe you saved my life,” she said softly as she let her go. Kat moved toward the door.
“Wait a second, young lady,” Reynolds called out. She drove her hand into a deep pocket and extracted four smalls. “You earned these today,” she muttered. “Besides, I can probably sell your old bandage for a couple large so it’s only right to pay you a little.” She eyed Kat’s gown. “This is enough for a cheap pair of pants… maybe some shoes and a little food.”
Kat accepted the coins. “Thank you, Doc. Can I come by tomorrow afternoon to fetch your water for you? I’ll only charge you a drink for it.”
“That’s fair,” Reynolds agreed but then shook her head sadly. “I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t have much work though. This is pretty much a one-woman operation. I can’t even offer you the floor for the night because only owners are allowed to stay in the market after sunset.”
“I understand,” Kat said glumly while forcing a brave smile. “I’ll find a way to manage.”
“You do that, dear, and you should consider quitting whatever drugs you’re taking at night. I didn’t find any track marks on you so it can’t be too heavy but even some of the stuff you can drink will kill you.” Reynolds waved her away. “So ends the sermon. You better get shopping if that’s your intention because you only have about an hour left of daylight. See you tomorrow, Kat. Be safe tonight.”
After a final wave, Kat left the cul-de-sac in search of the row of shacks and carts that hawked clothing. She figured that her gown could serve as a respectable, if immodest, shirt as long as she could tuck the bottom into a pair of pants. The money I save can go toward shoes, she plotted. Where I’m headed, I’ll definitely need shoes…
She passed the more expensive wares and stopped at a cart that had a modest pile of clothes randomly heaped upon it. The vendor stood nearby.
“Everything in that pile is two smalls,” the leather-faced man said around the leaves tucked behind his bottom lip. He spat brown liquid onto the street.
Kat narrowed her search to three sets of pants. Two of the pairs were adult-sized and would fit her or be a bit large but the fabrics were threadbare and each had holes in the knees and crotch. The third pair was handmade from hessian. The rough, dense fabric had holes at the knees but was otherwise in fair condition. There was even a back pocket sewn into the seat. Unfortunately, the pants also appeared to be made for a teenager. She looked at the man. “Can I try these on?” She held up the hessian trousers.
“You bought ‘em if you do,” he warned.
She threw the pants back onto the heap. “For two smalls, no way,” she answered contemptuously. “I want a pair of pants I know I can actually wear and I’m sure that vendor over there will be happy to take my money.” She took three steps toward the next closest cart with trousers on display.
“Hold up there, now,” the man called after her. “You’re skinny. They’ll fit. I’ll even give you the friends and family discount. One small.” He swept up the pants and offered them to her with one hand while holding out his other. “Just lemme hold the small while you try them on so I know you aren’t gonna run off.”
Kat smiled as she dropped a coin into his hand. “Deal.” She took the pants and stepped into them. The waist seemed manageable but the legs looked to be too short. She pulled them up as quickly as possible to avoid flashing her backside to the market. The fabric grated against her skin, especially at her hips, but she was in them. The legs extended to only a few centimeters past her knees. She slowly tested her freedom of movement, careful to listen for sounds of a ripping seam.
“Sold,” Kat said with a grin. She gingerly twisted to look at her behind. “Well, they may not leave much to the imagination but at least my ass is covered.”
“They’ll stretch a bit after a day or two,” the vendor promised as he moved back to sit on the tailgate of his cart. “Pleasure doing business with you. You’re on the loyalty program now so be sure to come straight to me when you want another pair.”
Kat chuckled but promised, “I will.” She stepped back to the middle of the street while untying the cord at her waist. After tucking her gown into her pants as a blouse, she lightly wrapped and tied the cord again. I don’t need a belt anymore, she thought, not with how tight these pants are but the rope might come in handy. She glanced up. The first hints of stars were coming out in the twilight sky.
She spent the next twenty minutes bartering for a pair of canvas shoes with laces. The tread on one of the shoes was starting to split away from the midsole but the pair fit her feet almost perfectly. After stiff negotiation, she passed two of her remaining three coins to the shoe vendor and walked away from his hut free from the sting of stones beneath her feet.
Yellow-shirted men were beginning to usher people from the market with the warning that any non-owner still within the square in fifteen minutes would be arrested and held for public trial. Most shoppers took the hint and made way for the gates.
Kat kept a sharp lookout for her final stop as she moved with the crowd, finding what she had been searching for just a half block from a gate. The hut was a beehive of frenetic people desperate to secure goods before the market curfew. She walked to the shack and pushed her way to the corner of its counter. After slapping her last silver coin onto its surface, she grabbed an attendant passing by in a rush and shouted, “I’ll buy whatever this will get me!”
The man scooped up the coin without word but continued on his way. Kat watched panicked customers at the front of the line thrust empty glass bottles toward the rushing servers. The staff grabbed bottle after bottle, filling each from one of many spigots and returning the full bottle to the customer after taking payment. Just when Kat had begun to fear she had been bilked, the man who took her coin returned with a large bottle in one hand and a small, paperboard carton in the other. He placed the carton on the counter and pushed it toward her without acknowledgment.
Kat took the carton and quickly made her way to the gate. Without an inflow of traffic, the only lines at the gate were to exit. Kat queued in the shortest one and waited patiently. The exit procedure consisted mostly of questions about purchases and seemed overtly intended to delay the market from emptying. When combined with her wait in line, Kat thought the stall tactics might be meant to prevent thieves from leaving the market before a pursuing guard or vendor caught up to them.
Remarkably, she discovered that she left the Beggar’s Market by the same gate she had entered. Twilight had taken firm hold of the evening and her belly relentlessly protested how she had spent her money. The pangs of hunger and fading light promised to offer an uncomfortable and dangerous night.
Chapter 6
Kat strolled with steps buoyed by the day’s successes: pants on her legs, shoes on her feet, and carton in her hand. She traveled from the larger avenue onto smaller offshoots in the last vestiges of light offered from an ever-darkening horizon. Pedestrian traffic thinned with every corner she turned. The streets became narrower, the buildings more neglected, the trash piles higher.
She walked with purpose, retracing her morning’s footsteps. As she turned another street corner, she flashed a quick glance behind her as she had done at every junction since leaving the Beggar’s Market. Fellow night travelers ignored her, charting their own courses through the winding streets for their own, hidden ends. The expressions on the vagrants were all different and yet the same, telling the same story of
privation. Even children wore faces of stone. As she swept over the ebbing crowd, her eyes caught on a different type of wanderer. Dressed in rags like everyone else, his pants were a sun-bleached khaki, his shirt a soiled, dark green. The face above the clothing was the gaunt mixture of grime and scars she had come to expect but his countenance didn’t convey the despondent hopelessness so common among Shantytown’s inhabitants. His narrowed eyes, his tight, pursed lips and the singular focus of his stride bespoke of a man with a goal.
Kat’s dark eyes locked onto cold, lifeless ones. She intuitively knew that when singled out with attention, most people with guilty intentions instinctively looked away. This man merely quickened his pace toward her. The single-mindedness sent chills down Kat’s spine.
She broke into a dead run. As she raced down the garbage-strewn street, nimbly avoiding beggars and other obstacles, she realized for the first time that she was fast. Surefooted in her new shoes, Kat flew around a corner without looking back. She nearly collided with a family holding hands as they walked up the narrow street but avoided disaster with a graceful pirouette. Her lungs began to labor to meet her body’s needs as she turned a third corner, then a fourth.
Halfway down the final street, Kat realized she had missed the turn to the road that led to Rat’s small alley. She reduced her speed fractionally and glanced over her shoulder. The green-shirted man was nowhere in sight. Kat slowed further while alternating her watch forward and behind. Ahead of her was the street she had traveled last night, the one granting access to the opposite half of Rat’s alley, occupied by the crone that had threatened her with the leg of a chair. Given the events of the day, the mental image of the elder woman wielding her makeshift club was laughable.
Kat reached the opening to the alley and scanned diligently behind her for her pursuer. Nothing.