His head tilts to the side.
“What do you want from me?” My fists are shaking now. My wrists are warm from where he grasped them and my cheek is still tingling from his touch.
It doesn’t make sense. I didn’t ask for his kindness, if that’s what this is. And if he thinks he’s going to try to make me break the purity rule he’s got another thing coming.
My ma taught me one thing from the beginning: My body is mine. My own. No one else’s. Just because someone thinks they have rights to it, doesn’t make it true. I thought I understood that before, but here, in this place, it’s become more clear than ever how right she was. My flesh and blood—it’s the only thing I own, and I’ll defend it until I can’t fight anymore.
After a minute the boy stands upright and swallows a deep breath. He takes a step towards me, now just an arm’s length away. I grip the knife. He points a finger at me, then he points at the Watcher’s office. And then he shakes his head and slices both hands through the air as if to say no.
“What?” I say, trying to figure out what he’s getting at. “You think I started it?”
He completes the same series of gestures, this time bigger and faster.
“Well what am I supposed to do?” I ask, throwing my hands up. I’ve forgotten about the weapons I’m holding. “I can’t stay here forever. I’ve got to do something.”
He leans closer, but I’m no longer afraid of what he’ll do. Maybe that’s unwise of me, but I don’t care. I’m too frustrated.
He’s closing in on me slowly, like I’m a fallen bird with a broken wing, and that irritates me even more because if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s fragile. When he’s close enough he raises his hand as though he’s going to touch my face again, but I jerk away. Instead, he points at my cheek, and then he mimics a choke hold on himself, and then he taps his nose, right where I know mine is still bruised from my run-in with Sweetpea. He slices another no through the air with his arms.
It’s as if he’s telling me not to fight anymore.
“It’s the only way,” I explain, not knowing why I feel the need to explain anything to him. “I need the key.” I tap my bracelet, and point to the office, which has become our sign for Watcher. “So I can get out of here. Go home. Home.” I point beyond the city walls to my mountains, and the worry sinks its claws into me again. Are Tam and Nina safe? Is Salma taking care of them?
He repeats the same series of gestures, now adding a point outside the city. I can almost hear a voice, his voice, in a clear, steady tone, telling me, “Your freedom’s not worth your life.” I’m probably making it up—I know he doesn’t use my words—but I can’t help feeling like we’re getting through to each other.
“You know what they’ll do. I’ll be auctioned off, and some rich Magnate will lock me up in his fancy house and…” I can’t say it. “I’ll be his broodmare, you understand that? I’ll be made to make him babies. And if they’re girls, they’ll just be sent to auction like me, and if they’re boys, they’ll be just like him, buying people like property! And me, I’ll just keep coming back here again and again, till I’m all used up and no one wants me, and then I’ll be shunned.” I’m so worked up I’m almost shouting. I drop the rock and jab him hard in the chest with my finger, making the links of the heavy chain weighing down my arm clink together.
It can’t happen. I’ve got Nina and Tam and Salma to look out for. I don’t even know if they’ve gotten food or shelter for the winter. I don’t know if they’ve been captured. I don’t know what’s happened to them.
My chest is so tight I drop the knife handle too and begin to rub a trembling fist across my collar. My skin is damp, and I’m surprised by the tears streaming down my face. Suddenly realizing what I’ve just said, I wipe my eyes on my sleeve and try my hardest to will the heat in my cheeks to cool off. At least the Watcher hasn’t heard; the office door has yet to open.
I’ve never confessed so much to anyone, not even Metea. Thanks be to Mother Hawk that the Driver doesn’t know what I’m saying, and even if he gets some of it, can’t repeat it. Still, I wish I could shove all those words back inside my mouth.
He straightens so that I have to lift my chin to see his face. He pushes his hands down his hips, like he’s trying to stick them in pockets, but his pants don’t have pockets, so instead he weaves his fingers behind his neck. His jaw is twitching, as though he’s chewing on anger.
And his eyes are gleaming. River silt and copper.
It strikes me that they look just like the stones my ma and I would gather to make jewelry. Kiran, we called them, for the copper streaks that reflect the light. We found them in the streambeds, worn smooth by water and sand. Silent Lorcan always traded more for any piece with a kiran stone because they were so rare.
This Driver’s eyes are like kiran, and once again, I’m missing home so badly the pain feels like a living thing inside of me.
He raises his hands and mimes pushing down slowly on something very heavy. I again hear his made-up voice inside my head.
Calm down. Don’t bait him.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I snap. “You don’t own me. Nobody owns me.”
One of his eyebrows cocks up, and I can’t tell if he’s surprised by my tone or that I seem to be answering his gestures as though we’re really speaking. Fine. Let him think I’m cracked, just like all the others here. I don’t care what he thinks.
The sliding whoosh of the automatic door breaks my concentration, and a moment later I hear the Watcher’s heavy boot crunch into the gravel right outside the office.
My breath catches. He’s back.
At the sound, the Driver sinks an inch or two, bending his knees as though the ground’s shaking. All the long, lean muscles in his arms and chest contract, and I notice for the first time that he’s not just tall, but strong as well.
For some reason, the same shredding fear I feel when I think Brax might be caught rips through me.
“Go!” I hiss, jerking my arm towards the barn. I kick dirt over the knife handle I’ve dropped by my feet.
The Driver gives me one last warning look which I meet with a hard glare, and then darts back over the runoff stream. But he doesn’t make it all the way back to the barn before the Watcher comes around the corner.
The Driver knows he’s too late. He stops, spins, halfway up the bank. He’s facing me. The Watcher’s mouth pulls into a straight line—the most emotion I’ve seen him show yet. And then he reaches below his new messagebox to the silver handle of the wire, strapped on his chest.
The Driver drops to the ground, grabs a handful of pebbles, and throws them at me. I avoid getting hit just barely by jumping sideways. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me with a smug grin. His teeth shine in contrast to his dirty face.
My mouth drops open. Then snaps shut. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to make it look like he’s taking the Watcher’s advice not to kill me and has decided just to torture me instead.
I play along. Whimpering, I cower against the office wall. I hide my face, fearing the Watcher will see the truth there.
The Watcher buys it. He releases the handle of the wire and stalks away, back to his chair in his nice cool office. I can hardly believe he’s left until I hear the silence following the close of the automatic door.
I whip my head around towards the Driver and see that the smugness has turned to awe; he’s just as surprised that this worked as I am. And then one of his hands presses against his lips, and I can see in his kiranlike eyes and by his bouncing shoulders that he’s laughing, though he doesn’t make a single sound.
I feel a strange sensation brewing inside me. It tickles my throat and forces my lips into a grin. Before I can stifle it, I giggle. And then I laugh. We are both staring across the poisoned stream laughing at how we’ve managed to outwit the Watcher.
The feeling takes me over. My arms begin to tingle. My legs too, right down to my bare feet. I can’t stop laughing. I have to bite my hand to quiet
myself so that the Watcher doesn’t come back to check on me. I haven’t laughed like that since … since before they got Bian.
We both hear a noise coming from the opposite side of the barn. The low rumbling of a city car. Someone’s here to rent a horse. Probably a Merchant. Most of the Magnates are too snooty to use that kind of old-fashioned transportation. They want something classier—a fine horse or a carriage.
Either way, the Driver’s got to go.
He smiles at me once more before turning and jogging into the back door of the barn. He’s got to change before the customer arrives.
When he disappears, I’m hit by a sudden sensation of loss. It’s like all the happiness is sucked from my body.
I remember where I am and why I’m here. And that the only plan I had worth anything is ruined.
* * *
THE DRIVER IS GONE for most of the afternoon. His business must be keeping him busy, because he’s not out throwing hay or cleaning stalls as usual. That or he’s realized, like I have, that he shouldn’t come back. It’s too dangerous, for both of us.
I wander around in front of the glass wall for a while so that the Watcher can see me, or at least so he doesn’t feel the need to come outside and check on me. From here I’ve got a clear view of the rec yard. It’s past dinnertime and the girls who are left from Auction Day have been turned out to stretch their legs before bed. I can’t see Sweetpea anywhere. Maybe that weight shifter worked after all.
Watching them gives me the shivers. Nina can never come to a place like this. The prospect of her being prodded and groomed then sold to a wealthy bidder makes me ill. I hope Tam protects her, like I taught him. She’s worth more to these city people than he is. She’ll always be in more danger.
Daphne’s red hair stands out even across the space separating us. She and Buttercup are sitting on a bench facing the gathering crowd of workers on break. Buttercup’s legs are up on Daphne’s lap, and even from this distance, I can see Daphne lean over to kiss her. I never saw two girls kissing before this place, but Daphne says it helps raise their stock at auction. I don’t know about that—it obviously hasn’t worked for her yet—but from the hollers of the men in the crowd, I’d say she’s definitely got their attention. Even the two new Pip-raised girls are watching.
Only one girl has stayed away from the fence. Straw Hair. She’s meandering down by the pond, completely ignoring the others.
As I watch, she steps into the tepid water, kicking aside a lily pad. Daphne glances over, and soon she and Buttercup are laughing and pointing over the back of the bench. A frown pulls at my mouth. Daphne never laughed at me when I was praying. Maybe she’s just bitter because she wasn’t chosen. I’m disappointed in her. My half friend.
Straw Hair takes another step in. Then another. Her dress is soaked up to the knees. The pond isn’t much deeper than that. Then she sits, the slinky fabric fanning around her like another lily pad. She lays back, dunking her head underwater. The other girls are laughing like loons now. But I’m not laughing. Poison aside, I’m pretty sure she’s trying to drown herself.
I don’t breathe again until Straw Hair stands up. She’s soaked, and her dress is clinging to her flat little body as she sloshes out of the pond. Daphne’s laugh, which is high pitched and rises over the others, stops suddenly. She and I both realize at the same moment what’s about to happen.
“No,” I say aloud, just as Straw Hair takes off at a sprint towards the fence. The electric fence. Where I saw her meet the boy on her first night. My gaze shoots to Daphne. She sees what’s happening, but doesn’t move to intercept.
“Daphne!” I cry. “Stop her!”
I run forward, but hit the end of my chain hard and am yanked to a stop. I strain against the chain, but have no way of getting inside the rec-yard fence. Daphne is standing now; she hasn’t moved from Buttercup’s side.
“Daphne!” I shout again. I know she can hear me—I’m less than fifty paces away—but she only watches, like I’m forced to do. I’m vaguely aware that my guard has come outside to see what I’m yelling about.
Straw Hair hits the fence at a dead run.
I’m unable to tear my eyes away. There’s a flash of light, and a deafening metallic zap! Straw Hair is stuck to the fence, as though she’s a piece of cotton stuck to tree sap. And she’s shaking. Her whole body is shaking.
Her hair catches fire and her yellow head goes up in orange flames. It rolls back while the rest of her—her arms, her legs, her torso—are all still attached to the fence, dancing uncontrollably. I can smell her burning flesh in the pure white cloud of smoke that’s rising around her. I can taste the sick in the back of my mouth.
There is a loud popping sound, and I know the fence’s power has been shut down. I can’t help but think that if I were on that side, I would have taken this chance to climb over to freedom.
What’s left of Straw Hair crumples to the ground, smoking. All that is left of her hair is a charred scalp. A moment later, the fence buzzes. The power has been turned back on.
And then three Pips are scurrying towards her. They don’t run, but they walk speedily, and though I can’t see their faces, I’m sure their expressions are that of disgust. My bloody nose was nothing compared to this sickening mess.
They don’t pick up her body. They’re calling on the radio to someone within the Garden. The Governess probably. She won’t come outside, but she’ll have her Pip assistant contact someone to pick up the body. Who knows how long that will take.
I stumble back a step, turn to the side, and puke.
I’ve never seen anyone do anything like that in all my time here. The most desperate attempts to escape have been mine. But Straw Hair has beaten me. She has escaped. Truly escaped.
Straw Hair. I didn’t even know her name. Her Garden name. Or her given name. I feel another bout of sick coming on.
A short time later I register the Watcher’s presence. When I turn he’s holding a meal pill in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Weakly, I take them from him. And then he promptly turns away to go inside. As though there isn’t a dead body lying fifty paces away. As though a life has not just been lost in fire and smoke.
I throw the pill at him as hard as I can. I don’t care if he does come back here to knock me around. I think, in all my fury, I might be able to take him right now.
But he’s already inside, and the pill bounces harmlessly off the glass and lands in the dirt.
* * *
I’M BACK IN MY normal hiding place behind the wall when Brax comes. It’s dark now—as dark as it gets here—and the night is unusually quiet but for the traces of bass booming from the clubs in the Black Lanes.
Brax can read my moods. He always has been able to, even when he was a puppy. He crawls towards me with his jaw closed, and sniffs my face and hair before lying beside me with his head in my lap. He wiggles there, until I lift my hand to pet him. The soft feel of his fur comforts me.
But only a little.
I’d never do what Straw Hair did. I can’t, I’ve got the twins to think about. But it’s out there. Even if it’s an option I refuse to take, I know it’s out there.
A tall figure emerges from the barn. It’s the Driver, and I can see that he’s clean again, even though his clothes are a mess. He doesn’t descend the bank. He stands just outside the closest paddock fence. I can see his white teeth in the dim light.
I stand, leaving Brax lying on his side. This time, he doesn’t bother getting up to defend me. I don’t even grab my usual rock to defend myself. My hands feel empty, loose, and open like this.
The Driver’s holding something, and for a split second, I kick myself for not grabbing a weapon. But soon I see what it is. Round. Palm sized.
A ball. He’s tossing and catching it in one hand.
My jaw falls open. Surely he doesn’t want to play catch.
The Driver tosses me the ball underhand, and I catch it easily. It’s light and rubber, a little squishy in my grip. I toss i
t back, and he catches it. Then he throws a little harder. I grin, swiping it out of the air above me, muscles remembering the game Bian and I grew up playing. When I return the throw, he has to shake the sting out of his hand.
We go on this way for a while, and in that time I think of nothing but our game. Chains and auctions and girls with yellow hair all fade away.
My muscles get sore after a while, but I don’t stop until he does. Winding his arm in a large circle, he comes to the stream, preparing again to hop over. As always, he sighs just after he clears it.
When he’s walking towards me, my stomach tightens. Things weren’t so bad when he was on the other side of the barrier, but now that he’s close again I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what he wants or why he’s here, but to show him I’m not afraid, I hold my ground. When he gets within ten paces, Brax jumps up and begins to growl.
I scoff. “Nice of you to wake up.”
I pet Brax’s back, soothing his raised fur back down. The Driver is regarding Brax warily.
He gives the wolf wide berth on his way to the wall, then slides back against it. I feel my eyes narrow—this is the place where I usually sit. He pats the ground beside him.
Tentatively, I approach, coaxing Brax to follow. Just because I’m pretty sure I won’t be knifed doesn’t mean I’m about to sit beside this boy unprotected. With my eyes ever on him, I sink to the ground. Brax insists on sitting between us. He faces the Driver, giving a warning snap each time the boy jostles.
The bass from the Black Lanes changes rhythms twice while I wonder what to make of my visitor. Absently, I trace patterns in the dirt with my fingers while he tosses the ball from hand to hand. After a while he seems to notice what I’ve done and taps the ground beside him, where I’ve scribbled a picture of a four-leafed weed. He looks at me expectantly.
“It’s what they call me here,” I say in a hushed voice so that I don’t wake the Watcher up. “Clover. Eck. It’s not my real name.”
I look at him from under my lashes, waiting until he turns away so he doesn’t see my face when I whisper, “My real name’s Aiyana.”
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