She chuckles. “Was,” she says. “Right first time.”
I think I’m going to be sick again. What have they done to her?
“Benedict,” she smiles. “We have eyes and ears everywhere. Speaking of which, what a peculiar question you asked the little Dreg tightrope walker tonight. You wish things could be different, do you?” She laughs, “You don’t know you’re born!”
“I warned you,” my father says to her. “I warned you that allowing them to go the Cirque was bad news. It’s turned his head, given him false notions.”
“There’s no point in recriminations now, Roger. Benedict, Priya has gone and that’s all you need to know. And there will be no more visits to the circus; you’ll have to find something else to do your little school project on. Now, I suggest we all go back to sleep.”
She puts her glasses back on the table and lies down. “Turn off the light on your way out, will you?”
HOSHIKO
By the time I get back to the dorms it’s obvious the news has already spread about what happened to the twins. There’s a heavy silence and everyone’s gathered in a circle. Amina stands up and comes over to hug me.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” she says. “We’ve lost the twins.”
“I know,” I say, “Silvio told me. What happened?”
She looks towards Greta, cradling her doll, and the other youngsters all sitting there, forlornly. “Sharks,” she says in a low voice. “They didn’t stand a chance, apparently.”
I join the circle, next to Greta. Emmanuel moves to the door and checks that the coast is clear. He nods gravely, and Amina goes into the san, coming back out with the candle and matches. We used to have five candles when I first started. I don’t know how Amina got hold of them; she just seems to be able to acquire things like that. We light them every time there’s a death so they’ve gradually melted away. There’s only one little stub left now. Amina lights it and places it in the middle of the room. It casts an eerie glow on the circle of solemn faces. She sits down next to me and we all cross our arms together, joining hands with the people on either side of us forming one great circular chain.
There are quite a few unfamiliar faces here tonight: new Dregs, just drafted in. They’re part of us now though, part of who we are and they sit among us, their eyes shadowed, their faces pale. If they were ever under any illusions about what sort of place they have pitched up in, they aren’t any more. Talk about a baptism of fire.
We sit in silence for a long time, united together in grief.
The mourning ceremony is one that has evolved over time. It’s not religious; the faiths in here are too diverse. Some people still cling fiercely on to their religious heritage, their Jewish, Islamic, Hindu, Christian roots. They use their belief to give them hope. I admire them for it, and envy them it sometimes. Others, far more of us, have no faith, unable and unwilling to believe in a God who maintains a steely silence at what the world has become. That’s not to say that this process is any less important to us. Saying goodbye, remembering and celebrating a life that’s been snuffed out too early, it’s a part of what makes us human. Far more human than they’ll ever be.
We feel every death. It never gets easier, and nor should it. We will never, ever become indifferent. We will never let them take away our humanity, even though theirs vanished long ago. They try to reduce us to animals, but they never will. Never. Astrid and Luna may have been nothing to them, but not to us, never to us. Their lives mattered as much as anyone else’s in this cold and cruel world.
The silence is broken by the first note of song, and then we all join in, a sombre, lyricless dirge; an outpouring of emotion and grief.
When we finally cease, Emmanuel speaks, his deep rich voice filling the room.
“Brothers and sisters, today we remember Astrid and Luna. They lived together, they died together.”
He pauses and when he speaks again his tone is no longer gentle; it is sharp, angry. “They had a terrible death. A violent death.” He raises his voice, “An unnecessary death. Astrid, Luna, we wish you peace. We mourn for you. We will give your life, and your death, meaning. We will never break. We shall be strong.”
He looks around the room as he cries out the words which draw us together.
“We shall overcome.”
We echo his words, a chorus, faltering at first but then stronger and stronger as we chant.
We shall overcome.
We shall overcome.
We shall overcome.
BEN
I don’t sleep all night; I just sit at the window, looking down at the circus far below.
Every time I close my eyes, I see those twins again in the water: the way the first girl supported her sister, breathed life into her like that, the way the water turned a terrible red.
And I see Hoshiko, again and again I see her, looking up at me, looking into me, whispering: “Yes. I do wish things could be different,” and then, in the corridor, so cold, so angry: “Leave me alone… Don’t come near me again.”
I try to put her out of my mind, try to put the Cirque out of my mind, but I can’t. It’s like the place has got hold of me, somehow.
How did my parents know about me and Priya speaking once the rest of the house was asleep? And where is she? What have they done to her?
I remember the shadowy figure the other day, in the hall. Was that one of them? Mother or Father? No, it’s not their style to be sneaky. They’d have dealt with things there and then.
Suddenly it’s obvious. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out. I know exactly who betrayed Priya and me: Francis. Mother said he’d requested a meeting with her and it’s just the kind of thing he would do.
I think about those poor twins in the shark tank, one of them dying to try and save the other one, and I think again of my own twin.
I hate him. He wouldn’t risk his life to save me, and I wouldn’t save him either, not now. I couldn’t care less if he was dead – I wish he was. I wish they all were.
HOSHIKO
Amina removes the bandages from my hands before breakfast the next day.
“Hmm,” she says, dubiously, rubbing cream into them. “They don’t look great, if I’m honest. I told Silvio you shouldn’t rehearse at all today if he wants you up there tomorrow.”
“Don’t tell me he agreed?” I look at her. She’s biting her lip like she always does when she’s not telling me everything. Something’s up. “What does he want me to do instead?”
She winces, and gives me an apologetic smile. “He’s put you on selection.”
I stare at her. “No. Amina, I can’t.”
“I’m sorry, I did try to persuade him otherwise. He was insistent.”
He’s done this on purpose. He’s punishing me for what I said yesterday.
All the years I’ve been in this place I’ve managed, somehow, to avoid being involved in the selection process. Until now.
“I’m not doing it. How do I get out of it, Amina?”
“You can’t. You have to go along with it, Hoshi.”
I look towards Greta, perched on the edge of the bed, and she stares back at me, her huge eyes wide and haunting. Her doll, Lucy, is clutched to her side, as always. Where would she rather be? I wonder. Here, in this living hell, or out there, starving to death in the slums?
She’s not exactly spoilt for choice, whichever way you look at it, but at least out there she’d be with her mum, with her family, even if they only got a few years together. At least she wouldn’t be on the brink of embarking on an exciting new career where the promise of death loomed large, night after night.
“I’ll fail them all then,” I tell Amina. “If I say they’re inadequate, they’ll have to send them all back to where they came from, won’t they?”
Amina shakes her head. “It’s not that simple. They’re not stupid, Hoshiko, far from it.”
Why is she always right about everything?
She looks at me closely. “Don’
t do anything foolish, not now. Please.”
I stare right back at her. “So, I’m supposed to condemn a load of little kids to their deaths, am I? No. No way.”
“Be sensible. You wouldn’t be sparing them anyway. If you don’t play ball, they’ll just get someone else to do it, and God knows what they’ll do to you. You can’t afford to make any more waves, Hoshi.”
I stare at the ground. What does she want me to say?
“Promise me,” she says. “Promise me you’ll be sensible.”
Greta joins in with her pleas. “Please, Hoshi. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
I love them both so much. “Fine,” I say. “Fine. I’ll behave myself, I promise.”
I can’t cross my fingers; my hands are too sore, plus they’d both notice. Instead, I swing my feet under the bed and cross my toes. Promises don’t count if you cross your toes.
BEN
As soon as we’re in the car on the way to school the next morning, I interrogate Francis angrily. “Why did you tell them?”
His eyes widen in mock surprise. “Tell them what?”
“About me and Priya.”
His face breaks into a stupid, smug grin. He’s enjoying this. “Ben, she’s only some old Dreg servant; don’t get so worked up about it.”
“Why?” I ask again. “What could you possibly gain from it?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t like her, that’s why. I’m not blind; I used to see her giving you that special secret smile. She never bothered looking at me like that.”
“That’s because you treated her like dirt!”
“She was dirt. Muck, tramped all over our house. I’m glad she’s gone.”
I can’t even look at him. He’s vile. A vile little weasel.
The day carries on after that, time trundling ever onwards like it always does. I sit in the car, ignoring Francis, just like yesterday. I sit still and quiet during break-time, ignoring Francis, just like yesterday. I sit in modern history, hating the teacher and ignoring Francis, just like yesterday.
Rawlinson is droning on about the inferiority of Dregs as usual. I scowl at his big, bulbous nose and the beady little eyes which peer over his glasses. At the greasy, combed-over hair trying, and failing, to hide a shiny bald scalp.
Use your head, Priya said.
My head is telling me that it’s not possible that he’s biologically superior to her. To Hoshiko.
I can’t stand it here any more. I feel a panic fluttering in my chest. I want to smash something.
I look behind me at Stanley – his eyes are fixed on me as ever. I stare at the walls, the cameras with their beady eyes swivelling around, logging everything. I feel like I’m suffocating.
I make a sudden movement with my arm, and sure enough, the lens on the one nearest me immediately expands as it focuses on this unprescribed action.
The end of lesson alarm sounds and everyone stands up behind their desks. It’s lunchtime, usually my favourite part of the whole day. Time for a kick about on the field. For nearly a whole hour I’m almost free, as long as I block out the guards lining the fence and watching my every move, of course.
But I can’t do it today, can’t pretend that I’m not being followed everywhere I go. It doesn’t feel like protection; it feels like I’m being smothered. I’ve got to get away.
I push my chair back and head straight out of the door, ignoring Alex and the others as they call after me. I head off quickly down the corridor. Not quickly enough though; I can hear Stanley hurrying along behind me. I turn around and confront him.
“I’m going to the toilet. Is that OK with you?”
Stanley nods. I feel guilty immediately. It’s not his fault he has to watch me. I don’t suppose it’s very exciting for him either, trailing me about all the time.
I attempt a smile. “Sorry, Stanley. I feel a bit fed up with everything today. I know it’s not your fault.”
He nods again. “It’s perfectly fine, sir.”
I walk to the toilets. I don’t even need to go, but I suppose I’ll have to now I’ve told him that’s where I’m going. The room’s empty and I slip into a cubicle, locking the door behind me.
I can see Stanley’s black shoes as he waits outside. This thin bit of wood, gaping at the top and the bottom, it’s the only degree of privacy I’ve got. This is the only moment of the entire school day when someone’s not actually watching me.
I look up. Directly above the toilet, there’s a window, open. The weak autumn sunshine has momentarily overcome the grey of the morning and its rays filter through. The blue sky beckons to me.
It’s a small window, but I could wriggle through it, if I wanted to. I could go to the slums and look for Priya.
No, that’s a ridiculous idea. I’ve had it drummed into me often enough that the slums are dark, dangerous places – I’d have a knife at my throat within seconds. I could go to the Cirque, though. Maybe I could see Hoshiko, find out whether she’s OK.
Outside the door, Stanley coughs politely.
I look at my watch; it’s one o’clock. The lunch break lasts for an hour and I don’t have any more lessons today, just a double study period in the science centre. The driver’s coming for me at three. Just for me though; Francis has got chess club until late. If Stanley kept quiet then no one would notice I was even gone until then.
I pull open my bag, tear a page from my history book and scribble hastily.
Sorry. Don’t want to get you in trouble. Don’t report it. Back by three, I swear. I underline the word swear a few times and leave the note on the floor before climbing up on to the toilet seat. I throw my bag out of the window, hoist myself up and pull myself after it. I jump down. I’m on the move.
HOSHIKO
After morning head-count, I make my way outside with everyone else and stand in the courtyard, watching them all bustling busily away to their different activities and assignments. I feel a crushing sensation in my chest. I can’t do it. Not selection. Not me.
I look all around at the high metal walls which separate us from the outside world. Maybe they would work for most people, but they’d never keep me in, not if I really wanted to get out of here. I could scale them in seconds, drop down the other side and be away from here before the alarms had even gone off.
For a few moments, I actually consider doing it; picture myself running into the city, vanishing into the slums. I could go on the run, keep going until I find my family. Why not?
Because I know I’d never make it. The walls are electric, for a start – I’d be fried as soon as I touched them. And even if they weren’t, I’d be caught, mown down right outside, peppered with bullets. Silvio would probably display my body for a while, as an example to others – this is what happens if you disobey. Amina and Greta would see me. I’d rot away in front of them.
I take a few deep breaths. I need to calm down. Maybe it’ll be OK; maybe none of the kids will be good enough to be called up.
Behind me, I hear the thud, thud, thud of authoritative feet. A guard is making his way over to me, his taser out and a scowl on his face. I’ve been standing in open view doing nothing for too long. I don’t stop to make conversation.
BEN
As soon as my feet touch the ground I scoot away fast to the left, ducking down low against a line of hedges. I can see the school gates, tantalizingly close. They’re locked, of course, but it’s a safe bet that they’ll be opening soon; lunch is the time the coaches leave for away fixtures, and there are loads of lower school teams due out today.
I stay where I am. I can see a whole bunch of first-year girls in the car park; they must be waiting for a coach. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Stanley’s worried face appearing at the little window I’ve just jumped out of. He’s discovered I’m missing, then. He disappears. Will he report it? No. He’d lose his job over it. I feel a bit guilty. Not guilty enough to go back though. As long as he keeps quiet and I make sure I’m back in time for the driver it’ll be fine.
The coach finally arrives, and the girls pile on to it. After a minute or two, the engine starts up and it rolls towards the gate. As it passes me, I duck out of the hedge, positioning myself directly behind it. It’s only moving slowly and I can keep up with it by jogging. I stay central, pressing myself close to it, so that the driver can’t see me in his mirrors and I won’t be visible if anyone looks out of the back window.
It’s easy. The big gates slide open when the driver holds his pass-key up to the security post. I move forward with the coach, out of the gates.
As the coach gathers speed, I duck out away from it, behind a fence post. I look back – no one’s behind me, no one’s seen. I’m free, and it’s a feeling that’s totally exhilarating.
I feel really exposed, being out of school in the middle of the day like this. It’s the first time I’ve ever been out alone. I’ve always been safely in view of some figure of protection or other: a guard, a teacher, my parents. I don’t exactly blend into the background dressed like this. Everyone knows our school uniform; the school’s the most expensive in the country. I may as well be carrying a banner, declaring my status: “Elite schoolboy – bunking off,” maybe, or worse: “Person of Protected Status, inadequately guarded.” I pull off my tie and blazer and stuff them into my school bag.
I smile to myself at the autumn leaves which swirl around me in the wind, clustering together in rebellious gangs on the regimented, perfectly cropped lawns, brazenly defiant in their bright golds and reds. I bet it drives the people in charge mad having to make someone sweep them up every day: trying to tame the untameable.
It’s easy to navigate my way back to the Cirque; it’s visible for miles around, nestled amongst the city’s cold grey skyscrapers. From up here in the hills, you can see just how vast it is.
Dozens of round buildings, joined by all those aerial tunnels and walkways, encircle the huge main arena, where I sat that first night here. Each roof is domed and ornate, painted in bright metallic swirls and patterns and encrusted with gems. With the red, gold and silver tents underneath, they look like giant sweets, tantalizing and delicious.
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