The Reformation

by Garggie Talukdar

  Finding money to provide for the medication was the priority in the small family of theirs. Stel worked odd jobs at odd hours, and with paying the Swatlikars for allowing Fallon to stay in the little wooden shed by their house, she just couldn’t get enough money for Fallon.

  Charity wasn’t an option. Stel wouldn’t dare think of charity as a resort, even as her last one. Well, maybe. That just showed how desperate she was getting.

  And now, with Maixon’s Medicines kicking her out, there was no place within a reasonable distance away from her temporary home that could offer her the medicine. Maixon’s itself was quite a distance, it took 2 hours to walk there, and now she would have to go back empty-handed, wasting more than 4 hours to get kicked out of the only place that could help her, instead of possibly getting the venz that she needed.

  God, she hated being helpless.

  And so Stel walked back home dejectedly, hastily wiping away the tears that spilled over, trying to look so much tougher and bigger than she felt. Than she knew she was. The more she acted like trouble, the more trouble would stay away from her; that’s how it worked. The story of how she realized that was the tragic part.

  Before she knew it, she made it back to the wooden shack, which was falling apart. Patch up holes in the side, Stel added to the never-ending list of things she had to do. Stel herself swore that she would be fine with the cold seeping into the shed and chilling her body to ice when she slept; after all, she had done it for almost forever. But Fallon, in her current state, could use every possible protection.

  Well, at least these 57 venz are going somewhere useful.

  “Stel?” The latter looked up at her name, to see doe-eyes belonging to a weak looking 10-year-old. She looked good- today must have been a good day. She was sitting up, and her cheeks looked a little fuller, and her eyes shone a bit more luminously.

  “Hey, Fal. How you feeling?”

  “Goo-” a cough racked her body before she could finish, the spray of blood glaring up from the floor as if to say I’m just as horrible as I was for the past year, thanks. “Sorry.”

  Stel shook her head, scuffing the blood underneath the sole of her worn-out boots. She didn’t get how her sister could be so meek and apologetic, and how she was so loud and stubborn. “Don’t be. Many would love to have your compassion, but don’t you dare apologize for something that isn’t your fault. Okay, Fal?”

  The younger girl managed a weak nod. “Okay, Stel. Where did you go?”

  “Oh, nowhere,” she lied. She knew that Fallon was getting suspicious, however, so she pulled out the small loaf of bread, still warm. “But look what I found.”

  Stel saw Fallon’s eyes widen, and for a second, her old, healthier self, seemed to flicker across her face. “How-”

  “Eat.” Fallon took it without a protest, but when she raised the bread to her lips, she realized that her sister didn’t have a loaf in her hands.

  “What about you?”

  “I already had some on the way here,” Stel lied again, and almost kicked herself for it. Uncertainty played at Fallon’s frozen smile.

  “No, you didn’t.” She held out the bread, still untouched. “Here, have some.”

  Stel almost smiled when she saw Fallon’s eyes. Fierce with a fire worthy of Stel Hathaway, she took back her earlier argument of Fallon’s timidness. “Fine. I’ll take some.”

  She delicately ripped an eighth of the bread off, showing it to her sister. After the look of approval from Fallon, she bit into it, and she had to restrain a moan.

  It was the first time in a few days that she was eating, and with the grueling day of rejection, it tasted so good.

  Before long, they both finished the bread down to the last crumb, and Fallon managed a weak smile, before heading to the small cramped corner of the shed that they considered Fallon’s room.

  “Night,” Stel called out, and even she cringed at the falsely happy voice that wasn’t hers. A weak night was all that Stel heard from Fallon, before the gentle snores of her sister lulled her to sleep.

  But despite having food in her stomach, there was a gnawing feeling at the bottom of her gut. The bread felt like lead, and Stel had a feeling it and something to do with the fact that the baker’s voice was echoing in her head, echoing the only alternative she had to get the 53 venz.

  Thief! Stop her!

  She only hoped that Fallon wouldn’t look at her sister differently when she realized that Stel was anything but a hero.

  Forty-Two

  STEL woke up before the sun rose, a habit that she had formed throughout her entire life. The sooner you wake up, the sooner you can work. And the sooner you can work, the more money you bring in by the evening.

  The girl quickly did her daily scan to spot any signs of Scorchen. Rashes, elevated heartbeat, faintness, fever hot skin. She knew everything that she should look for and didn’t dare let out her breath until she finished and proclaimed herself clear. Being kept in close confines with Fallon, who was ill with one of the most contagious epidemics of the T.E., would probably one day affect Stel, but as her daily mantra went, let’s just get this day of karma of my bullshit luck out of the way, shall we?

  Stel hated herself for leaving Fallon all alone in the shed at this hour; her sister might need her. But she had to earn—get—more venz today. Money was a priority, and it was for Fallon anyway. Still, Stel couldn’t help but feel bad.

  Today was Wednesday, which meant that she would have to run and deliver packages. It was tiring, and at times, dangerous, but it provided the best pay out of all her odd jobs. How did Stel know that it was a risky job? Again, good pay. When people gave you 7 venz to deliver a bundle of letters with an extra venz to keep your curious hands to yourself, it was obvious that there was something much darker and deeper beneath the surface. Stel knew that there was a huge underground business; she was no stranger to the streets. She just chose to ignore it and co-exist with it.

  Black market? Slippery customers? Yeah, that was another part of Stel Hathaway’s life.

  Hurrying to the one place that she always met up with her first customer, name unknown (that was another part of the deal; be here at 5AM, and no questions.), she spotted the man who looked too well dressed for his surroundings. When she approached him, she realized that it wasn’t the usual, but most probably someone sent by Customer #1, seeing the nervous glances that he passed around. And besides, he was much too jumpy for 5 in the morning; but he had reason to. Wearing a gold watch in this neighbourhood was probably the worst decision of his life.

  This is gonna be easy.

  “He sent you?”

  The man jumped back a bit. Wait, no. The man couldn’t have been more than 18. He was no more than a mere boy is a rich man’s costume. And right now, he was a mere boy in a rich man’s costume, terrified out of his wits.

  “How did you know? —Milena,” he added, as if to verify the fact that the girl in front of him was in fact, the one he was supposed to give the brown package in his hand to. Stel almost rolled her eyes, but she kept her poker face on; this could have been a two-way act, after all. He could’ve have been a wiz with a gun- no. That was too ridiculous to even think, but she refused to relax.

  “Milena Azikiwe. Yes, it’s me. But do you have the payment?”

  “I- I do,” he stuttered out, holding out a palm of shiny coins. Ten, she counted happily. It’s either that Customer #1 pitied her for having to deal with such an unexperienced handler, or there were extra packages. Most probably the latter, but the money gave Stel enough energy to grow wings on the edge of her falling apart boots.

  Seeing the metal glitter in the early morning glow, Stel allowed herself to smile. “Perfect.” She grabbed the coins out of his hand and snatched the letters with the same amount of ease. Clearly, Rich-Boy was not used to dirty homeless girls snatching things that were in his possession.

  On the other hand, Stel really did feel bad for him. He was thrown into this without any preparation whatsoever; that
much was apparent in his scared expression. But Stel couldn’t see the threads of his shirt, peeking out of his coat, still in perfect condition. Even if he was no royalty, his clothing was in laughably better condition than the clothes that Stel owned, the clothes on her back. So what was he doing here, in the early hours of a too-cold day, with people much below what he could afford?

  Stel was just about to head into an isolated corner to make out a game plan for delivering the letters, finding the shortest route, when Rich-Boy spoke up.

  “Hey. Probably stepping over the whole customer interaction thing here; but I have no instructions of what I’m supposed to do now. If yo- sorry, that’s stupid of me. You wouldn’t know.”

  Stel slowly turned around, surprised at how un-arrogant his voice was, when he wasn’t stammering out barely coherent sentences. “It is. Stupid of you, I mean.”

  He paused, clearly grappling for the right words. “Your name isn’t Milena, is it?”

  “You’re curious, aren’t you?” she shot back. “You have yet a lot to learn of the streets, Rich-Boy. First of all, you’re inviting scum to gut you and then pawn that pretty watch of yours. Second, you should get out as soon as you can. You don’t want to be here.”

  And then she spun on her heel and didn’t bother to look back.

  …

  Stel was just on her last delivery for Customer #1, when she realized she was being followed.

  She had to give the guy some credit; she had no idea he was there for the better part of 17 minutes, until she realized that something was up.

  Call it a gut feeling, but Stel just knew she had seen that blond guy before, and not because he lived in this part of the city. Just to check to make sure she wasn’t just being paranoid, she swerved into an alley on her right. She knew all the routes, and she knew the quickest ways to get out of everywhere.

  Yeah, Blond Guy was most certainly following her.

  Quickly determining the 5 exit points, she ran through a list of who would send someone after her. She had most certainly not known this guy beforehand, so it couldn’t be a direct personal thing. But who was he working for? Stel stole, but never to the point that bloodhounds were released on her.

  Some stingy employer? Possibly. But it was unlikely, so instead she tried to figure out what to do. Confront him? Run away? Just hope it was all a big misunderstanding?

  Confronting it was.

  “What’s your deal?” she yelled out, and the boy looked calmly at her, much to her surprise. She had gotten the impression that this guy didn’t know that she was onto him. She turned onto many dark alleyways before this, so it wasn’t like this was unusual. Just to be clear, she yelled out her question again. “What’s your deal?”

  Okay, there was a certainly a smirk on his face. A bored, languid twitch to his lips. But why? It wasn’t like Stel was bigger than him, actually, even from a distance, Stel cold tell that he easily dwarfed her frame. But she was known for being rough-and-tough Hathaway.

  “I don’t like repeating myself.”

  “Two options,” he finally called back, and he leaned against one of the brick walls, looking as if there was nothing that he wanted to do less, than this. “You either come willingly, or we force you to.”

  “You answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”

  “Wasn’t a question, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t think that I’m moving without knowing what the hell your intentions are!”

  “Don’t think that there was an option other than coming with us. But whatever floats your boat,” he stood up, looking at her almost expectantly. “You have 5 seconds.”

  Stel was confused, and most certainly threatened. What about Fallon? “Who’s the royal we?”

  The corner of the blond’s smile seemingly pulled up, before his poker face settled in once more.

  “So you’re going for the dark, cold, intimidating vibe, huh? The blond adds personality.”

  “3 seconds now.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or you’ll find out, in 2-”

  She had to think fast. “I need to know what.”

  “-1. Oops. Out of time, aren’t we Stel?” She was shocked that Blond Guy knew her name. She took extra caution when it came to her personal information, so how did he know her name? “Turn around and try not to struggle. Hate to put a bullet through that functioning leg of yours.”

  “What?”

  “Excuse him; he hasn’t been out in a bit,” Stel jolted, caught completely off-guard when a dark-haired girl dropped down from nowhere beside Stel. “He’s forgotten his manners. I’m Agent Downcley, by the way.” Her smile was friendly and warm, but still wasn’t anywhere near real. She decided that she liked Downcley less than Blond Guy.

  “Agent? What the actual-”

  “As much as you ladies want to chat, I suggest we clear out,” Blond shouted as he closed in on the both of them.

  “You and your absence of good-nature,” she turned to Stel, seriousness in her dark eyes. “So are we taking you forcibly, or are you coming out of your free-will?”

  “Seeing as no answer is savin-” a gun was pulled out a poised at her temple within a second.

  “We’re not playing games. You coming?”

  “I’m not going any-” Agent Downcley looked apologetic as she cut Stel off.

  “Sorry. Just remember that it was your choice, ‘kay?”

  “What do you-” a stab of a syringe was her only answer, and suddenly she felt herself go muddy. Are they killing me?

  Is Fallon alright?

  I never asked for this.

  Darkness blurred her vision, and before she knew it, she hit the ground, barely hearing the remnants of Blond’s and Downcley’s conversation. Her brain was empty, echoing the silence. And for a second, she forgot everything other than the fact that Fallon was all alone.

  Forty-Three

  STEL hated this place.

  Gleaming lights refracted through the expertly cut jewels hanging off of the chandeliers. Spotless floors of most probably imported marble and most probably worth enough venz to supply Fallon with all of that cheap, replacement treatment for Scorchen, for the rest of her life. Stel just wanted to spit. But of course, she was too drugged up to do anything but watch as her captors circled around her, talking to each other in hushed tones.

  Okay, maybe being tied to a chair wasn’t quite encouraging positive thoughts either, but that was beside the point. How long was she out for? Who were these people, and what did they want with her? Fallon was probably scared out of her wits at home alo-

  Fallon.

  The name gave a jolt of energy throughout Stel’s body, as she suddenly felt awake, and much too constraint for her liking.

  “You guys have to let me go! I have a little sister who’s going to be sca-” she stopped midsentence, realizing two out of the three of them weren’t even paying her any attention. But one of them, a man, was looking at her.

  He had curly black hair, tanned brown skin, and dark eyes that radiated warmth. Not fake like Agent Downcley’s, but genuinely displaying concern. “Hey; you’re awake.”

  “Where am I?”

  He managed a wry grin. “The esteemed Royal Palace of the Royal Family. I’m Z, by the way,” he held out a hand, but then retracted it when he saw the pointed glare that the younger girl was giving him. “Oh, sorry. Forgot about the hands.”

  “No Agent, prefix?” she asked, pointedly refusing his invitation to friendly conversation. Z followed her gaze to see Agent Downcley, back turned while speaking to a blonde girl. Said girl’s eyes flickered up to see Z and the now awake Stel, but Z gave her a quick flash of three fingers, to which she gave a subtle nod and turned back to the brunette speaking, leaving Stel to wonder what three fingers and slight nods meant.

  “Yeah, Fey’s a bit particular,” he mused, eyes still trained on Agent Downcley. He turned to Stel again, still smiling, “Especially in this assignment. Don’t give her too much of a hard time, okay? She’s bea
ring a heavy weight on her shoulders. That blonde girl that Fey’s talking to? —she’s Celine. While Jan and Fey might be a little, uh, pressing-” The intonation of that word made Stel grow wary, “-Celine and I can vouch for you. Hopefully.”

  “You want my trust, but you tie me up to a chair?” Stel asked, somewhat unimpressed by the man in front of her.

  “Again, sorry. Can you deny the fact that you would run out of here the second that you could, though?” Stel fought the urge to look down, instead holding her head up high and trying to remain as impassive as she could, but she always knew that she was a bit of an open book. Z chuckled at the probably futile attempt, continuing on. “Yeah. We saw just how skilled of a runner you are, so we had to take the precautions,” he leaned in, and a mischievous glint glimmered in his eyes. “Between you and me, Jan was exhausted after he was done chasing you down.”

  Stel felt her eyebrow raise out of their own accord, and realizing how in vain attempting to escape would be, she blurted out: “Do you normally cause this much trouble?”

  “Depends.” The smile on his face said otherwise. “You said something about a sister?”

  “Fallon,” she quickly said. “I’m all she has. She’s only 10.”

  He let out a low whistle. “Okay. I’ll try and see what we can do, but no promises,”

  Stel was about to plead for her case a bit more, seeing that Z would probably be more lenient than Agent Downcley, when a voice broke into their conversation.

  “Z, I see you found yourself a new acquaintance.” It was the pretty blonde who Z called Celine, her voice light.

  “Ooh. Rhyming; I see you, Hollingsworth. You trying to up your game here?”

  “I try,” the blonde shot back, her gleaming smile and shining eyes adding to her beauty. “And don’t roll your eyes at us, Fey. That’s my job.”