Tempered

by Britt Ringel

  When she reached the cart’s front, she spied four hairbrushes carefully laid out near the old woman’s chair. Each brush was made of wood with plastic bristles. The wooden handles were whittled and sanded smooth, the back of each carved with a simple bird in flight. The bristles fit snugly into the base and their tips had been meticulously melted into tiny balls to prevent gouging the scalp. She picked up a brush and hefted it. Its sturdy and professional construction made Kat wonder if it was handmade by the vendor or manufactured by a real industry. She ran the pad of her thumb over the bristles again. They were stiff but pliant enough to offer some comfort. “How much?”

  The vendor pointed a gnarled finger at Kat before answering, “For you, two large.”

  Kat’s eyes bulged at the price. Her red dress had cost “only” six large pieces of silver. Not long ago earning even a single large coin had seemed impossible. Brown eyes evaluated the brush in her hands. It’s a real brush with soft bristles. Her free hand ran to the tangles in her hair. It’s an investment, Kat. Tabitha said that you need to improve your appearance. “One large and two smalls,” she countered.

  The woman shook her head slowly. Her grey hair styled into a tight bun shone as testament to her craftsmanship. “I make each one myself and they always sell out.” She held up knotted hands ravaged by time. “They’re getting harder to make so I can’t let them go cheaper than two large.”

  Kat opened her satchel reluctantly. She wanted to dicker more but felt guilty and relented. She walked away from the cart while brushing her damp hair into ebony waves.

  Chapter 10

  By the time Kat reached Reynolds’ shack, her smooth hair felt its silkiest since her first date with Sadler. She dropped the brush into her satchel and waved to the doctor at the open service window.

  Reynolds rested in her worn chair, a tattered medical journal in her hand. “Kat? I didn’t think you’d be around until tomorrow. Don’t tell me something else has gone wrong at the mine?” The woman rocked her heft forward and pulled herself upright. She joined Kat at the counter and looked out at the cul-de-sac.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I have my follow-up appointment at Waytown Standard in a couple hours.”

  Reynolds gestured to the side entrance. “Well, come on in and let me have a look at you.” She leaned over the counter and waved to a market guard in a yellow shirt. “She’s good to come around, Owen.”

  Kat skipped through the side door. Reynolds’ decrepit chair and an examination table dominated the front room of the clinic. The heavy wooden table bore permanent stains of past patients. Shelves and a bookcase lined the perimeter of the room along with a single, fastidiously polished metal sheet that both reflected light to the table and served as a mirror. A long curtain blocked the only other doorway in the clinic and concealed the back room Reynolds used as a bedroom and office.

  Kat sprung gracefully on top of the table.

  “You’re certainly moving easier,” Reynolds commented as she began to press fingers into Kat’s sides. Her manual inspection lasted less than a minute. “Any pain while I was doing that?”

  Kat lifted the left side of her shirt. Despite her recent increase in diet, her ribs were still visible. She pointed to one of the sleek lines beneath a gruesome green and purple bruise. “This one is still sore.”

  “Problems breathing? Any sharp pain when you move or inhale?”

  “No, just an annoying ache is all.”

  The doctor gestured to Kat’s head. “How’s your concussion? Headaches? Any light-headedness or dizziness?”

  “No.”

  Reynolds arched an eyebrow skyward. “Have you recovered any more of your memories?”

  Her patient chewed her lip in consideration. “It’s been strange, Maggie. I’ve had two dreams now that I know really happened. Other than that, I haven’t remembered anything specifically but I’m getting more and more impressions. Like last night, my first night in my new tenement, I knew I’ve lived in a communal bunkroom before.” Her eyes dropped to the surface of the examination table and she ran a hand over the rough, discolored wood. Similar to her memories, it offered vague suggestions and hints of a brutal, bloody history without revealing the details. “I sat alone in the cafeteria this morning and it brought back feelings of isolation.”

  “Well, that’s sad to hear but these are good signs, Kat, and it’s good to hear you’ve got a roof over your head. Your memories are beginning to assert themselves.” Reynolds backed up to the service counter and rested against it. She crossed her thick arms. “These impressions will grow stronger, then specifics will emerge and hopefully, the floodgates might open.”

  Kat’s heartbeat spiked at the prediction. After weeks of uncertainty, the thought of remembering all of her past both frightened and thrilled her. She hopped down from the table. “Can I pay you for the exam, Doc?”

  Reynolds snorted. “You know I only charge if I actually perform a procedure or use supplies.”

  Kat reached inside her satchel and extracted several coins anyway. “I still owe you the money you bribed Stew with the night you were abducted.” She placed the coins onto the table and lifted the satchel back to her shoulder. “I came to the market to pay you back, say hello and shop. Is it still okay if I come by tomorrow to be your assistant?” Reynolds paid her a nominal fee for the help. When the arrangement was originally made, the money had been vital, even lifesaving, but now Kat merely wanted to help her aging friend. The doctor had become a lighthouse in the uncharted waters she traveled.

  “Of course it is.” Reynolds moved to Kat and embraced her. “Come by anytime you want.” She whispered in her ear, “Maybe you can do your unusual trick for me again in my office. I’d like to see it now that I know what to expect.”

  Kat hugged her back, reveling in the sanctuary provided by unconditional friendship.

  After leaving the cul-de-sac, she spent the next hour shopping for a bathroom towel. She wandered the market, letting herself drift from cart to cart, shack to shack. In a narrow side street, she stumbled upon a tin hut with a dedicated yellow-clad guard inside. Like Reynolds’ clinic, a large portion of one side had been cut away to create a service window for customers. Kat wondered what merchandise could be so valuable to warrant its own guard.

  She approached the window and peeked inside. Two large chairs sat in the center of the room. A long counter ran along the back and held several small instruments ranging from crudely made gadgets to a device connected to a large battery underneath the counter. Countless drawings showcasing precise and imaginative artwork hung proudly above the workspace. Animals, both real and mythical, were a central theme but other subjects including religious to diabolic iconography covered every available space. Kat recognized the shop for what it was.

  “Looking for something in particular?”

  A heavily tattooed woman stepped forward. Colorful art sleeved both of her arms. More ink rose from under the collar of her shirt to cover her neck. The artist’s thin hand, tattooed as though skeletal, swept across the walls. “If you have something specific in mind and you can draw it or even just describe it, I can do it.”

  Kat’s brown eyes followed the woman’s hand to the back wall. They came to rest on a sketch of a powerful phoenix hovering in flight. Reds, oranges and yellows all merged to form feathers of flame on broad wings. Kat’s thoughts skipped to the phoenix fountain in The Lucky Gun’s lobby. She had met Sadler there for their first date. She would meet him there later tonight. Her new life had taken flight at that fountain. She considered commemorating her rebirth with a tattoo, casually resting a hand on her hip before feeling the horrid scar underneath her shirt. Her stomach turned and her expression soured. The phoenix tattoo would not be her first marking. “No, I’m just looking.”

  “If ink isn’t your thing, we also deal jewelry.” The vendor walked to the left side of the shack. Dozens of hooks held finely made bracelets, necklaces and rings. Kat noticed mirthlessly that the display was well out of arm’s length
from the service window. She scanned the trinkets with disinterest knowing she could never afford such an extravagance. Her eyes flittered from hook to hook. Displaying any of the exquisite pieces in Shantytown would scream for trouble. Kat began to shake her head automatically but then saw it.

  A pendant hung closest to the back wall, midway down. Its chain was silver, highly polished and nearly gleaming. A beautiful, red stone hung from the chain, nestled in a spiral of silver wire. Kat felt drawn to the necklace like a moth to a flame. You can’t afford that! “Can I see the red one in back?”

  The vendor smiled and walked directly to the pendant. “You have a good eye.” She lifted the piece off its hook and returned to the counter. The market guard stepped outside the shack and stood next to Kat. After placing a small, soft cloth on the counter, the vendor delicately positioned the pendant at its center, splayed toward her customer. “Each link in the chain is hand-soldered. It took me almost a week to get the helix to wrap around the gem just right.”

  Kat could hear pride drip from the artist’s words. The gem twinkled in the morning light and she fought the urge to touch the pendant. “What’s the stone?”

  “Zircon, semi-precious and relatively abundant although red is very uncommon to find.” The woman smiled and it softened the severe look of her tattoos. “You can pick it up if you want.”

  Kat immediately plucked the necklace off the table. The stone sparkled as it turned. This would look amazing with my dress. She held the pendant to her neck as the vendor positioned a small mirror in front of her. The vibrant red complimented her tanned skin remarkably.

  “I picked this stone up from a contact in the mines,” the woman whispered and threw Kat a wink. “I know a couple of miners with sharp eyes and they bring me what they find.”

  While working as a dryman, Kat had never heard of such a thing. She chided herself for not considering that there must be hundreds of secret schemes, scams and arrangements exploiting the mining company. A beggar’s society filled every gap and left nothing to waste.

  You really can’t afford this! “How much?”

  “It’s one of my best pieces,” the woman cautioned. “It’s a rare shade of zircon and I agonized over every detail of the chain and helix. The chain itself is sterling silver, not just scrap metal. That’s why it gleams and it won’t lose its luster.”

  This is going to be bad, Kat told herself while bracing.

  “The necklace costs twenty-five large.” The vendor’s shoulder raised slightly, almost as an apology. “It’s a once in a lifetime piece.”

  Kat’s stomach dropped. But I could wear it at work too. Maybe, just maybe, I could fit in with the rest of the office. Tabitha couldn’t fire me if I showed up freshly showered and wearing something like this. She clenched her teeth against her desire to fit in.

  “It’s an investment,” the woman continued. “And it won’t lose its value. You’re basically just exchanging one form of currency for another.”

  The pendant didn’t just call to Kat. It sang to her. Sadler would be stunned at how the stone suited her perfectly. “I’ll take it,” she blurted before reason could muzzle her.

  The artist’s mouth dropped open fractionally but quickly closed to a grin. “You have that much on you? It has to be all up front.”

  Kat reached eagerly into her satchel. “Oh, wait. I’ve only got a little over six large on me right now.” She raised her hand to cut off the artist. “Let me run to an exchange to change more credits into coins, okay?”

  The vendor’s shoulders fell and the corner of her mouth quirked. “Yeah, sure. I can’t hold it though. If someone shows up with the coins and wants it, I’m selling it.”

  The odds of the artist selling the piece out from under Kat were excruciatingly small but she still felt panic rise inside her chest at the thought of losing her pendant. “I’ll run there and back. I promise I won’t be long.”

  Thirty minutes later, she was striding quickly toward the market’s exit, one eye on the pendant clutched tightly in her hand and the other interrogating every passerby with maniacal suspicion. Suddenly she realized she’d forgotten about buying a water cup to use in the canteen. Rather than returning to the market center with her treasure, she was tempted by the hooch huts at the gate instead. Not only would she have the container it came in, she reasoned, but a shot of stiff alcohol might help her sleep in the crowded bunkroom. She began to make for a hut before her better angel kept her from getting into line. Instead, she spied empty bottles in the hands of morning customers already queued at the huts and quietly bartered an acceptable price for one.

  She left the market and nearly jogged back to her tenement, only breathing a sigh of relief when the heavy front door slammed closed behind her. In the bathroom, she spent several minutes admiring the pendant in front of a mirror. An overwhelming grin took hold of her. She bounced to her footlocker, extracted her red dress and modeled the combination in the bathroom. Black locks flowed down to brush the shoulders of the red dress and the pendant sparkled on her neck. Despite feeling just a little foolish, she gleefully practiced simple gestures that might draw attention to the gem. Yes, it had cost an eighth of her bonus but the euphoria Kat rode made it seem worth it.

  Tucking the dress and pendant safely into her footlocker, she thought again about her past. Donning jewelry didn’t seem foreign to her. She’d worn necklaces before. In the bathroom mirror, she’d even found telltale holes of ear piercings. She was no stranger to jewelry. However, her feelings toward her red pendant made her believe that only it held any meaning. Any past baubles were simply things she’d been provided, just like her room and board, her education and her training. They were business expenses the Society had used to shore up an investment literally labelled PCAT-2.

  Kat locked her trunk and looked at her wristwatch. She had an hour before her doctor’s appointment. Had she been in Rat’s alley, she would have had to run to make it. Now, living so close to Eastpoint, she wouldn’t have to scamper through the roughest parts of Shantytown.

  The line to enter Waytown was virtually nonexistent. Those Trodden who had purpose in the settlement were already there. Those Trodden without such purpose knew the futility of seeking admission. Kat walked under the security arch and past the suspicious eyes of two corp-sec guards dressed in the standard attire, complete with kinetic armor and rifles. Stun batons hung from their duty belts although Kat had never witnessed their use. Most of her encounters with corporate security had been with the roving aircar patrols and the officers operating those vehicles always used lethal measures. Dead Trodden had even fewer rights than live ones.

  She approached a border agent’s window. “Hello. My name is Kat Smith and there should be visa authorization in your system for me.”

  The agent’s keyboard clacked and he consulted his screen. “Your business in Waytown?”

  “Doctor’s appointment arranged through Porter Mining.” Kat watched the agent make several more inputs before leaning to his right. He deftly tugged the nearest visa stick from its plug and slid it to her under the thick, scratched window.

  “The visa is good for three hours. The hospital can extend it if necessary.”

  Kat took the small, black stick and stuck it into the sole pocket of her pants. She thanked the agent and stepped past more security officers before crossing into Waytown. She had traveled the route between the hospital and the gate before and knew the direct course would take close to forty minutes. During the walk, she again marveled at the contrast between either side of Eastpoint. Sidewalks edged each street here. The gutters were without the muck of sewage or debris caked along their edges. Streets had painted lines and patched potholes. The buildings stood instead of leaned. Not only did power run to every structure but many had flashing signs and eye-catching advertisements. Traffic signals regulated street corners. The most distinctive difference, however, was in the residents themselves.

  In Shantytown, she was an outsider, young and without the leather
y skin of a person who had spent decades under a brutal sun. She was fit and healthy with a body that had seen proper nutrition in its youth. Her teeth were embarrassingly straight and white which made her stand out immediately when she spoke.

  In Waytown, Kat was also an outsider. Her clothes marked her as Trodden. Here, being Trodden marked her as a thief at best, eager to steal a citizen’s possessions at the slightest opportunity, or a murderer at worst, driven mad by desperation and pain. Whenever she walked toward Waytown citizens, they judged her with equal parts of fear and distrust. Many crossed the street to avoid her. Even children generally shied away, afraid to look at her while parents clutched their hands and kept their eyes riveted on Kat, wary of the moment when she might make an attack.

  Kat thought these observations bothered her less than they should. She seemed to have had experience interacting with people who loathed and feared her. Instinctively, she ignored Waytown’s residents and turned her focus inward, collapsing inside herself and simply gritting her teeth against the isolation.

  She rounded the corner to Waytown Standard Hospital before she knew it. During her initial visit, her doctor had said he would conduct more tests to better diagnose her strange brain injury. Kat now knew the injury was unrelated to the mine explosion and instead was the result of the scorch device she’d used the night of her escape from the Society. Nonetheless, she was curious if it had healed more during the week as the doctor had predicted. She took a deep breath and walked up the stairs to the main entrance.

  Chapter 11

  Kat sat on a medical bed, swinging her legs nervously. After thirty minutes of examination and testing, the doctor had left to analyze the results. He had dedicated most of the exam to her brain scans, seemingly indifferent to injuries on her fingers and only slightly more concerned with her ribs.