by J. S. Morin
When the train stopped at the Grengraw station, Ordy shackled Rynn once more. Her kuduk keeper had taken the time to run through the laws that applied to her, so she wouldn’t get herself in further troubles by accident. As a designated “dangerous slave” she had to be shackled any time she was out in public. She was to be chained to someone or something at all times, with a few exceptions (such as bathing). She wasn’t to speak to anyone in public unless spoken to, and never to another human; her owner or keeper would answer on her behalf, and could ask her anything that needed to be conveyed. At six month intervals, Delliah could submit forms requesting that the designation be downgraded to “distrusted slave,” which would relax the requirement on her being shackled. After five years, and at yearly intervals thereafter, similar forms could be sent to Central Enforcement to certify her as “docile.”
Rynn filed all the information away, but had no plans to stay in Delliah’s possession long enough for any of those forms to be filed. Cynically, she suspected that Central Enforcement wasn’t going to be in a lenient mood when her name came up for approvals. They liked their knockers, and killing them was one of the ways to draw their permanent ire.
The thunderail station was a shanty by Eversall standards, left out under the sky and soot. All the surfaces were dusted with dark grime, though the cobbles were kept somewhat cleaner by foot traffic and occasional sweeping. There were fewer people wandering about as well— all kuduks, save for herself and Naul. A few other kuduks had gotten off at the Grengraw Sky stop along with them, but most of the thunderail’s passengers were bound for destinations under the Great Picketts.
Rynn coughed after taking in her first lungful of the local air. “Shouldn’t we be wearing breather cloths, mistress?”
“Oh a bit of soot’ll do you some good. It sops up the gunk in your lungs. You’re already coughing it up. Breathe deep.” Delliah followed her own example, sucking in a huge breath and letting it out without any ill effect.
I haven’t got a chimney flue for a nose, you kuduk freak. Rynn suspected there were key bits of biology that kept Delliah’s advice from being practical for her. Kuduk’s cooked with soot; it was in their blood. Turning, she saw that Naul was having no trouble breathing.
He saw her looking while she was still struggling to control her cough. “It’s not so bad. I don’t know how you breathe in that thin stuff in Eversall Deep.”
The cobbles were smooth beneath Rynn’s feet, but hard and irregular. They dug at the soft flesh of her soles and hid bits of rubbish that cut her toes. “Is it possible for me to get some shoes, mistress?”
Delliah turned, not pausing her pace. “You’ll toughen up. Humans walk these streets daily without any nonsense over shoes.” Naul wore flimsy slippers, which was all Rynn would have hoped for. He seemed to be having no trouble with the ill-kempt streets. He strolled with his hands in his pockets, pipe in his mouth, puffing at her side. If he had wanted to get on her good side, he’d have offered up his own footwear. But he never made the offer, and Rynn wasn’t about to ask.
Her feet were bruised and bleeding by the time they arrived at a two-story building of stacked stone. Rynn could tell it was kuduk construction by the lack of mortar in the joints. Human masonry used mortar; daruu masonry didn’t leave joints at all. The finest kuduk work hid the joints well, but this was not the best work of Korr’s dominant race.
Rynn looked up at the sign over the entrance: SLATEMOR RUNE SERVICES, CO. She wondered whether that was Delliah’s surname, or just the name of the company.
“What, you a slow reader or something?” Ordy asked with a tug on Rynn’s leash. “Get inside.”
Delliah held open the door. Rynn stepped carefully over the rusted threshold and went in behind Naul. What she saw inside made her homesick.
The building was a workshop, similar to the smaller ones on Tinker’s Island. There were metalworking machines of several sorts, as well as tall canisters of gasses for welding, chests of tools, and racks filled with raw metals: steel, brightsteel, brass, copper, iron, lightsteel, and a few she would have to examine more closely to put a name to. There were kuduk artisans at work, forming those raw metals into things Rynn could only guess at. The smell of machine oils and burning steel comforted her, and for a brief moment let her forget the inhuman treatment she had been suffering.
“Should I show her around?” Ordy asked.
Delliah looked over at Rynn, who stood quietly hoping very much that she could look around a workshop rather than whatever the alternative might be. “Very well. I’ve got things to take care of upstairs. Be ready to take her to the seamstress in an hour. I’m going to need her presentable.”
“Come on, teaspoon,” Ordy said as Delliah went up a stairway and out of earshot. Naul hung about, having been given no other instruction.
“Why do you call me that?” Rynn asked. She remembered Ordy’s assurance that she could talk more freely once Delliah was gone.
Ordy chuckled. “How ‘bout this: you plump up a bit, maybe I’ll stop.”
Rynn pursed her lips and remained silent. You’re making a size joke? I’ve known twelve-year-olds with better insults.
Ordy gave her leash a tug. “Let’s get this over with. This is home now, so you should know your way around. I’d turn you loose, but Delliah ain’t said to. When she does, just know this: I catch you out that door by yourself, I’ll break your legs.”
He towed Rynn around the workshop, showing her equipment that she could take apart and reassemble, but explaining the workings to her as if she were child. “You see this here? It spins, and cuts the metal pieces smaller. This thing heats metal up so you can stick two parts together.” The inspection of the workshop itself was an interesting diversion, but Ordy’s schoolteacher demeanor grated on her. Several times she came close to saying something that would have gotten her muzzled.
The workshop occupied the whole ground floor. While Ordy escorted her around, she noticed that the artisans were shifting about the room to avoid her. Ordy didn’t let it persist indefinitely though. He brought her over to one of the kuduk workers and introduced her.
“Korburn, this is Rynn. Delliah picked her up while we were in Eversall. She’s going to be our new rune-tender.”
“Probably your mechanic, too, once she sees what I can do down here,” Rynn added.
Korburn’s beard was grey and close-cropped—the sign of a kuduk who worked with machinery. He wore spectacles with additional magnifying lenses that could be rotated into place, much like the ones Cadmus used. He squinted at Rynn through those spectacles and looked her up and down. “Bit of a mouth on this one. Scrawny. You fancy yourself a mechanic?”
“Tinker, actually. But I can get my hands greasy with the best of them.” Rynn wiggled her fingers and smiled.
“Careful Korburn,” Ordy warned. “You ain’t heard the half of the mouth on this one. Had to muzzle her twice on the way here.”
Rynn was intrigued to note that Korburn’s face twisted in a sneer at the mention of the muzzle. Is this one who’s sympathetic? She made a note to get to know him better.
“So, a second rune-human,” Korburn said. “This mean we can up production again? And what’s this about new parts to make? I got Mrs. Slatemor’s wire and bought the materials she wanted. What’s it all for?”
Ordy hooked a thumb in Rynn’s direction. “This one here rigged up some new sorta pistol. They were making a big deal of it in Eversall; guess she and some rebels managed to use one to put a hole through the offies’ bullet shield—and three offies too.”
Korburn squinted at her. “This one? Don’t look like she could pull a trigger, let alone kill anyone.”
“No joke,” Ordy replied. “Watch yourself around this one. Until she’s aboard the same ship as us, she’s dangerous.”
“What was wrong with just keeping the piper on?”Korburn asked. “No harm in that one; couldn’t be bothered.”
“That’s the problem, he doesn’t get enough done. This one’
ll replace ten of him.”
The mechanic looked at Ordy and crossed his arms. “Ten, huh?”
“Piss off, I’m guessing!” Ordy snapped. “You better get used to her. She’s going to be showing you how to make those pistols she invented.”
“I thought you made goggles,” Rynn commented.
“Not as of tomorrow. Tomorrow we start making some real coin.”
Rynn hobbled as she favored a cut on the big toe of her left foot. She hadn’t seen what she cut it on, but she noticed the pain creep up on her as she walked. They had left for the seamstress’ shop as soon as Delliah came back down from her office, cutting short Rynn’s tour. She hadn’t been surprised to find Ordy along on such a womanly errand. After all, the only alternative would have been for Delliah to take her leash, and Rynn somehow couldn’t picture that. Naul’s inclusion on the trip had been more puzzling. When she made a quiet inquiry to Ordy, he had responded: “Why not? Boy’s been on his best all day.”
Grengraw Sky held little beauty. There were no trees, no parks, no architectural curiosities, just drab, utilitarian structures, mostly industrial. Billowing clouds poured from smokestacks that topped most of the buildings, and the air hung heavy with the soot on a stagnant day. Rynn couldn’t even tell whether it was overcast above, or whether the soot blotted out the sky. A few corners bore covered stairwells going down to Grengraw Deep. The seamstress was further across town than Rynn had hoped. Her shop was tucked between a funeral home and a slaughterhouse that Rynn smelled from blocks away as they approached.
Miss Bitzi’s Professional Sewing brought back memories of Madlin’s visit to the dressmaker before leaving on her trip. She suspected that even the arm-twisting she’d been subjected to by Jamile and Ninna would compare favorably to the choices she faced in Miss Bitzi’s. A bell tinkled as the door opened, the most cheery sensation the dark, utilitarian shop promised. Bolts of fabric were stacked on steel shelves like a woodpile, and the floor was bare poured-stone, which felt gritty under Rynn’s feet. Everywhere she looked was grey, except for the fabrics.
A plump kuduk woman waddled out from the back of the shop. “Who’s the customer, ma’am, you or the collared one?”
“The human today, Bitzi,” Delliah replied. “I’m going to be trying to impress some new clients, so two dresses, slaves’ best.”
Bitzi looked Rynn over like a zoological exhibit, an occurrence that was growing all too common. She patted at the sides of Rynn’s loose dress, feeling along her ribs and waist. Rynn squirmed at the tickling sensation. “You sure it’s dresses for this one, ma’am? She’s straighter than a pin.”
Delliah sighed. “There’s no passing her off as a lad. Look at that face. The voice would give her away too, since there’s no shutting her up short of the muzzle.”
“Well, get her up on the block, then,” Bitzi said. She trundled off to the side of the shop, around display racks that showed brown dresses of different styles stretched out over wire frames.
Rynn was towed along until they reached a shin-high stone pedestal. Without a word of warning, Ordy grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up. There was a metal pole running floor to ceiling beside the pedestal with an armature clamped to it. Bitzi took the armature and swung it around; there was a set of pincers attached to the loose end, just large enough that it might fit around a large tankard.
Rynn was grabbed and spun about. She felt a jolt, and heard a clank. Suddenly her collar was held in place. She twisted around, collar rubbing against raw skin.
“No ya don’t,” Bitzi said. The kuduk seamstress took her by the shoulder and spun her back the way she’d been. “Just you hold on a moment, let me get this set juuuust...” Rynn was jerked upward, the collar jamming up under her chin. She was forced up onto her toes to keep from strangling. “There we go. Get them chains off her so I can measure.
Ordy removed her shackles and leash, which was a welcome reprieve, despite her awkward balance. The muscles in her torn feet began protesting the posture immediately.
“Let’s see what we’ve got under here,” Bitzi said, her tone matter of fact. Before Rynn could puzzle out her meaning, the seamstress had unbuckled her belt and gave a tug at her dress. The loose garment fell only to be caught on her elbows as she rubbed at her wrists. She pulled her arms in and up to pull the makeshift dress over herself, but Bitzi batted her hands away with years of practice plain in her technique. The dress fell around her toes. “Well now, a blank canvas if there ever was one.”
Rynn wanted to close her eyes and ignore everyone, but it was too late. She had already seen the silly grin on Naul’s face and Ordy’s amused smile at her embarrassment. Among small graces, Bitzi was quick and professional about her work. Rynn was stretched and pulled, told to raise her arms and lower them, to puff out her chest and suck in her stomach. Measuring tapes were pulled along and around just about every bit of her. Ten minutes, perhaps fifteen had passed in the span of three hours’ time in Rynn’s head. When it was over, Rynn was told to hold out her arms, and Bitzi pulled Rynn’s makeshift dress up around her once more. As Bitzi reached around her, Rynn felt her hand brush the opening of one of Bitzi’s pockets. She couldn’t resist reaching inside. She grabbed the first thing she could lay her fingers on and caught hold of a piece of chalk.
With her dress on once more, Ordy approached and reshackled her. Rynn kept both hands closed in loose fists so that she wouldn’t draw attention to her prize. When Ordy looked down to her waist before picking her up, Rynn tucked the chalk in between her collar and her neck.
“How long until you can have a pair of dresses made?” Delliah asked as Rynn was lowered to floor level.
“Measurements like this one’s, end of tomorrow. It’s little more than a tube of fabric for her.”
“Good. End of tomorrow, send someone over with them?”
“Send someone?” Bitzi looked around the shop. “Who’m I supposed to send? It’ll be six tenar apiece, five if you get someone off their arse to come get ‘em.”
“Very well, six tenar.”
Delliah turned to go, but Naul tugged at her sleeve. He bent down to whisper something in her ear.
“Ordy, check inside her collar,” Delliah ordered.
Shit! Rynn wasn’t sure she had entirely kept the sentiment from appearing on her face as her eyes widened.
There wasn’t room for Ordy’s fat fingers between the collar and Rynn’s neck, but he poked and prodded enough that the precariously concealed chalk fell loose. The little white chunk shattered to crumbs when it hit the floor.
“Master criminal, eh?” Ordy taunted her.
“What’s this now?” Bitzi demanded. “Yer human’s robbing me broke.”
“Six tenar, two gorm,” Delliah deadpanned. “Good day.”
The walk back to Delliah’s workshop was filled with sinking dread. Rynn had been caught stealing, and Delliah had yet to mete out a punishment, or even hint at what one might be. The unknown fate was possibly worse than anything they could have told her they would do. Her vivid imagination spun tales of cages and boxes, of meals denied and of painful drugs injected into her. They might cut off a finger and make her eat it, or put out one of her eyes. There were many deformities she could suffer and still perform her duties as both advisory tinker and rune-tender.
Instead of any of those, when they arrived back at the workshop, Ordy resumed giving his tour as if nothing had occurred.
As they traipsed upstairs, Rynn marveled at the wooden treads, a rarity in Korr, though they seemed to be a hundred years old by the ominous creaking beneath Ordy’s boots. Rynn tried to gauge the noise her own feet made, but couldn’t be certain of it for all the noise the burly kuduk made.
The upper floor was partitioned into several rooms off a central landing. Ordy pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked one of them.
“This here’s the office. You probably won’t need to be going in there much, least not for a good long while. If you need to find Delliah during the day, th
at’s where she’ll be.”
“How would I get there?” Rynn asked, jingling her chains.
Ordy shrugged. “Dunno. Good point, I guess. Just file that away for a couple of years from now.” He closed the door and locked it again. Rynn made a note that it wasn’t a fancy lock like the ones for her restraints that relocked when closed. The next door required no key. “This here’s the washroom. I’ll bring you in any time you need to use it, so long as you don’t abuse the privilege. Naul’s been keeping it clean, but I reckon you’ll split time at it for now. You move your pawns right and you can probably stick him on it full time. He does a good job keeping it sanitary ... maybe the only thing he’s much good at, aside from sucking on Delliah’s skirt hem.”
Rynn looked inside. There was a toilet and bathtub, as well as a sink with spigots running to hot and cold lines. The floor was tiled in white, but the walls were bare stone. There was a spark bulb hanging over the tub, and a brightsteel mirror bolted to one wall.
“This room is Naul’s,” Ordy said, but didn’t open the door. “This one’s yours.”
The room beyond that door was far cozier than she had anticipated. The walls were clean, whitewashed brick, interrupted by a single, barred window that overlooked the back alley. The bed had blankets and looked softer than anything Rynn had ever slept on. A small chest of drawers was pushed into one corner of the room, and a mirror was riveted onto the far wall from the bed by the frame. It looked like a real glass mirror.
“This is mine?” Rynn asked.
“What, not good enough for you, princess?”
“I slept on the floor in a boiler room the night before I met you.” Rynn tried to avoid using terms like ‘captured,’ ‘bought,’ or ‘enslaved.’“I had to move my blanket to use the drainage grate for a toilet.”
Ordy let out a single guffaw. “Gotta round you humans up and collar you to show you the good life, I guess.”