by Lisa Jade
“Excuse me.”
Someone steps in front of me, and I stumble to a stop. The girl in front of me is around my age, her body swathed in a white summer dress. I find myself wondering how well the garment would hold up against mud, but I shake the thought away.
“Yes?”
She bats her lashes at me, reaching back to toy with a strand of straw-coloured hair. I notice that her eyes are blue, like mine, but somehow completely different. Hers are bright, piercing, a little unnerving. When she smiles, there’s a gap between her front teeth.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you’re not from around here. I thought I’d come over and see if I can help.”
I pause. In truth, I would love to ask directions. It would help to know that I’m at least headed the right way. But then I remember what Eagen said, that look in his eye as he warned me not to trust anyone in the streets.
“Thank you, but I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” she asks in a singsong voice, “I’d be more than happy to help.”
I bite back a scowl. This is exactly what Eagen warned me about. Since I’ve got here, I’ve been looked at in much the same way that a hunter looks at its prey. Mildly threatening, suspicious. It’s alarming that this girl should suddenly be so friendly.
“I’m fine,” I say, more firmly this time, “I know where I’m going. I’ve been here before.”
Somehow, despite my smile as I speak, the words still come out sounding like a lie. Still, she seems to accept it as she steps out of the way.
“Well if you’re sure. Please, go ahead.”
There’s definitely something wrong. Her voice is just that bit too high, her smile a tad too broad. There’s something sickeningly sweet about her that doesn’t suit anyone else here. Still, there’s nothing I can do, so I simply smile and walk past her, taking care to match her sweetness when I speak.
“Have a great day.”
Have a great day. Ugh. I’m such an idiot.
I stop in my tracks and stare down at the floor, my breathing shallow. I’ve been walking for hours in what I had assumed was the right direction. I yank the map out of my pocket and examine it, once again staring at the arrow Rian marked on the paper.
I don’t get it. I’m exactly where I should be. I’ve followed every cue, tracked every turn. I should at least be close by now. But the streets all look the same to me, and as I glance overhead I can see the sky growing dark. I’ve been here all day. My stomach grumbles and I let out a frustrated growl.
At this rate, I’ll be here all night, too.
Oddly, I find myself thinking about Nel. Night is falling, so she’s probably wrapping up right now. Is she on dinner duty tonight? Am I? I can barely remember. What has realistically been only a few days feels like a lifetime, like I’ve been away from home for years. I’m starting to miss it.
I miss falling asleep and waking up in a room full of people. The familiar breathing, the warmth of their bodies. I miss serving up dinner, sneaking the older guys a little extra food out of respect. I especially miss staying up at night, or hanging back in the morning to spend a minute or two with Nel before another day’s work.
I wonder if she misses me. This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been apart, but how much does she know? Knowing Nel, she’s got mixed feelings about it. She’s probably angry at me for not helping Kane. She’s probably also mad at Kane. I feel my hands clench at the thought of her wrath. I wish I could speak to her.
The streets are quieter now, nearly abandoned, and I find myself on edge. This is precisely what I was warned about. This isn’t me. I’m not the type to wander in the dark, confused and afraid. Frustration flares in me and I turn, heading down an alleyway.
Eagen’s voice rings in my head as I pull the cart down the narrow, winding alley. I still remember the way his eyes had widened as he warned me, the hush in his voice when he told me about those who would want to hurt me. It’s enough to make me quicken my pace a little.
It’s not me. I don’t cower and hide, and I certainly don’t allow myself to be beaten back by fear. I have no reason to be afraid. I’m bigger and stronger than anything I’ll meet in these parts.
“There you are.”
I freeze. Someone steps out from the shadows just ahead of me, and immediately I recognise the form. The slow movement, the way one hand lifts to twirl a lock of hair.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I tense at the sound of that sickly sweet voice.
“Y-you know, a girl like you shouldn’t be out here alone in the dark,” I reply, “who knows what could happen.”
She flips her hair and lets out a high-pitched giggle. I briefly consider running; but the alley is too small to turn the cart. I would have to reverse out. I take a moment to remind myself of her size. She’s about my height, but seems to suffer from that common city issue of being slim and frail-looking. Unless she has a gun, I’ve nothing to fear.
“Please don’t worry for my sake,” she smiles, “I have my friends.”
As if on cue, multiple somethings shift around me. Several shuffle forward, and suddenly I’m surrounded on all sides.
These people don’t seem like they belong. They’re big and tough, all scowling, all wearing dark colours. The girl stands out like a sore thumb, and suddenly I realise that’s the point. If, earlier on, I had accepted her help, she’d probably have led me here. Perhaps reading my mind, she tilts her head and bats her lashes at me.
“I should have known,” I sigh, “So what do you want?”
“Whatever you have in that cart.”
That’s it. No nonsense, no quibbles. The time for phony politeness and falsehoods is gone. Good. It was making me sick.
I cross my arms in front of me, flexing as I do so. I’m not stupid. I know I won’t be able to beat them all. I don’t have a violent bone in my body. But the fact remains that I cut an intimidating form. In all seriousness, I’m the one you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.
“Sorry. Not doing it.”
She smirks again, and now I can see beyond the wide eyes and helpless expression. Now I can see the cruelty in her smile, that ruthlessness that separates her from civilised society. I feel my body tense. I’m not the type to fight. But if I return home without having made this delivery, I can look forward to another stint in the Mines. I remember the heat in my skin, the pain throughout my body. I remember seeing fire and darkness, and watching my own skin grow pale and paper-thin from lack of sun. If I have to choose, then I choose to fight.
One of the men lurches forward and my body moves instinctively. I tense and swing hard, feeling my knuckles collide with the side of his jaw. He’s floored by the blow, but now the alley is filled with yells. They come at me from all sides and I lash out again, more confident this time. Years of hard labour have worked in my favour; as I strike, I can feel all of my strength coiling in my arm. Their blows may hurt – but mine send them sprawling.
In the midst of the fight, I find myself panicking. There are too many – and even if I could fight them, I don’t want to. My chest swirls with the same horror I felt when Kane hit Wirrow. It’s too similar. The starting blow, the overwhelming numbers.
The inevitable end.
In only a minute or so I find myself pinned to the ground, staring at the cobblestones. Several of the men nurse bruises – and with a hint of pleasure, I realise that one figure is still motionless. My face is sore and swollen, and I can feel the familiar sensation of a developing bruise across one eye. I can vaguely taste blood.
I hate this. I hate where I am and what I’m doing, and I hate that it’s come to this. I don’t know these people. I don’t care about them. I feel no sense of loyalty towards Rian. I’m just reacting out of fear. I remember the look in Kane’s eye just before he snapped, that ferocity and strength. I don’t have that. I don’t have a reason to fight.
“Let’s move this out of the way,” says the girl, striding past without a word. She d
oesn’t even look my way. As far as she’s concerned, I’m one of many victims. Suddenly, a part of me looks forward to being dumped here. Maybe I’ll scrape a few hours of uneasy sleep before I have to face the shameful walk home.
I hear a scuffle, and dismiss it. They’re probably having trouble moving the cart. I find that funny; they can pin me without too much trouble, and then can’t shift what I’ve spent three days carrying. I resist the urge to scoff.
But the sound seems to get louder, and suddenly it’s punctuated by yelps. Another fight. I close my eyes a little, desperate to block out the sound. I don’t want to see or hear this. I’ll just sit here, pinned against the cobbles, and wait until it’s over.
The two men holding me shift away and I gasp for air, taking advantage of the brief reprieve before sitting up and shuffling back against the wall. I make an effort to sink into the shadows.
There is a fight going on – but it’s not one-sided. Shadowy figures seem to lurch from the darkness, and I can’t tell who’s who. But they do. There’s a general sense of chaos as a dozen people fight; and over all of it, I hear a voice. It’s bored-sounding and sarcastic, but there’s a youthful vibrancy to it that strikes me as somehow exciting.
“Oh come on! Guys, this is overboard. Just quit it.”
As if on cue, the fighting comes to an abrupt end. The tension is still there, though, so thick in the air that I can nearly taste it.
Someone hops down over the cart, and I find myself staring.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The woman in front of me is gorgeous. She’s tall, with a body the shape of an hourglass and a shock of fire-engine red hair. She has a sharp face with bright green eyes and a number of metallic piercings in her ears and nose. Her brows are thin and high, making her seem permanently surprised. She’s unlike anyone else I’ve seen – but somehow, she exudes wit and charm. Her hips wiggle as she walks, and I can see the men around her starting to weaken.
“This is ridiculous,” she continues, again in that vibrant voice, “Luse, you promised you wouldn’t mug people around here anymore.”
“I can conduct business anywhere I want,” scowls the blonde girl.
“No, you can’t. Look, we don’t agree with what you’re doing here, but we’re not going to report you to the Guard because you sympathise with the cause. But this isn’t helping anyone. It draws attention to the area, and that’s the last thing we want.”
Luse takes a pointed step back – and suddenly, all the cruelty is gone from her face. She gives a small, sad nod, and turns away.
“Fine. We’ll spread it out a little. Can you tidy up this mess for us?”
The red-haired woman smiles.
“Sure. Just go.”
She waits until the group is out of sight before moving again. When she does, she heaves a long sigh at the sight of the cart.
“Great. Look what they took this time. Where the heck’s the owner?”
“Probably long gone,” a male voice replies, “we’d better just move this out of here.”
“Hold up. I’m going to have a look round.”
She turns her head, and our eyes meet in the darkness. I find myself standing. It’s strange. The way she looks at me both unnerves and encourages me. Those shocking green eyes, that easy expression. It’s like the whole world is hers – and damn it, that doesn’t even bother me.
“Oh, damn,” she grimaces, “I take it you’re the owner of this cart?”
I can feel the bruise still blossoming over one eye, but with a quick movement I wipe away what little blood was still smeared across one cheek.
“Yes.”
She looks me up and down, curiosity in her eyes. I know what she’s thinking – who am I? What am I doing, and why here of all places? But then she seems to relax, those tadpole-like eyebrows settling into position.
“You’re from The Mill, aren’t you? What’s your name?”
“Noah.”
“Hey. Listen, I’m sorry about those idiots. They do this all the time. We’ve asked them to stay away from this area, but… ooh, you’re bleeding.”
I give a dismissive wave of the hand.
“It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”
It’s true. As I draw myself up to full height, I can barely feel it. It’s painfully familiar, the pulsing under my skin, but it doesn’t bother me. Accidents happen when chopping wood or digging holes – I’ve given myself enough black eyes in my time to not be bothered by a minor bruise or graze.
“It’s not fine. Come on, I’ll clean you up.”
“I’m okay.”
“Where are you headed?”
I shake my head.
“I shouldn’t say.”
She purses her lips, but seems to accept it.
“Fine. Well, if you’re sure. I wish you’d let me patch you up though.”
I open my mouth to refuse just as someone reaches for her shoulder.
“Pan. I don’t know if we should…”
“Pan?!”
I say it louder than I intended to; they both stare.
“Sorry. It’s just that… this delivery is for you.”
Her face breaks into a smile. It’s a strange expression. People don’t smile and laugh like this at the Mill. Not to say we can’t, just that we don’t smile so easily.
“Really? Wow, now I really am glad we recovered it! I don’t think Rian would be impressed if we had to ask for this a third time.”
I blink a little, confused that she would know Rian directly, but decide not to question it. Everything’s easier if you don’t ask questions.
“Well, now you definitely have to come in,” Pan smiles, “You’ve come so far to bring this to us, I couldn’t possibly let you leave in that state.”
I hesitate for a moment, sucking at my lip. While it’s true that the pain is minimal, I can’t say I feel confident to walk back out into the street. I glance down; my grey jacket is stained and torn from the scuffle.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to get cleaned up a bit.”
Pan and the others lead me to an alleyway across the street. For some reason, none of the others bother to engage me in conversation, or even look my way. I can’t say I blame them – they’re city folk and I’m just a farmhand… or as they might say, a Millchild. It makes sense that they wouldn’t want to lower themselves by talking to someone so far below their station.
Still, Pan is wonderful. Even as we walk in silence, she takes care to glance my way. Her eyes glitter with a confidence and intelligence beyond her years, and when she smiles it’s like I’m a child again, watching the Guards go by. Respect fills my chest. I don’t imagine she’s more than five years older than me, if that – and yet she’s unlike anyone else I’ve ever met.
We eventually reach a metal shutter door embedded in the wall of a building. I glance up. The structure itself is unspectacular, at least compared to those around it. Tall and glass and twisting up into the clouds. But as Pan raps a strange melody on the corrugated metal, there’s a little spark in her eye. Like something exciting is about to happen.
When the shutter door opens, I find myself ushered in. Someone pulls the cart away and a firm hand finds my back in the ensuing darkness. I stagger as we reach steps, but those around me seem to float down them with ease. I suppose it’s second nature to them.
Briefly, I wonder who these people are. It seems strange that in a city full of glass and open doors, this particular group would need to have a lock, let alone a secret knock. But again, questioning it would be far more trouble than it’s worth. I’m here to clean up, unload, grab the empty cart and go. The remnants of the fight are still flickering in me. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I just wanted to get the job done and hurry home. I fight to keep my hands from shaking.
Lights flicker on overhead, and I find myself standing in a strange, metallic room. I blink in the harsh fluorescent light, gazing around at the space. Everything is metal – the floors, the walls, even the ceiling. The room is lined with com
puters that whir and beep. A large metal door blocks entrance to the rest of the place. Everything seems to be locked and protected, heavily defended for some unknown reason.
A young man stands on the other side of the room, ticking something on a clipboard. I’m surprised to see he’s not much older than me – he has a small, sharp face with close-clipped dark hair and nearly-black eyes. An advanced-looking blue Hoverbot lingers nearby, as though monitoring his every action. He nudges his glasses up his nose and gasps when he sees us enter.
“What the – Pan? Who is this?”
Pan gives an idle shrug, rolling her eyes and tugging off her jacket. The outfit she wears beneath is hardly deserving of being called clothes, and I can feel her drawing the gaze of the men who follow us into the room. Something churns uncomfortably in my stomach.
“Calm down, Jensen. This is Noah. She’s from the Mill.”
Jensen scowls, first at me and then at her. The others scuttle from the room, as if sensing the rising tension.
“You can’t just bring people in here. Do you even know who she is?”
“I just told you. Noah.”
He slaps one hand to his forehead and sighs.
“That’s not an answer. She could be a spy.”
Pan scoffs.
“Come on. Does she look like a spy to you?”
“No. That’s the point.”
Pan turns away and reaches for a small box. She pulls out a rag and dampens it with something – she pushes it against my eye and I jump back, surprised to find that it’s cold.
“She got hurt looking for us, Jensen. The least we can do is help out.”
She nudges the rag a little closer, and I’m pleasantly surprised by how nice it feels. It’s strange; we never treat these things at the Mill. I’ve had black eyes before – but they’ve been left to nearly close up from the swelling before healing on their own. This seems much more gentle.
“There,” she smiles, “is that better?”
I give a small nod. I wish I could say more, thank her for her kindness – but then Jensen catches my eye and the sides of his mouth draw down in a grimace. He regards me like someone might regard a bug or a rat, or perhaps a particularly stinking pile of manure.