Fire Lines

by Cara Thurlbourn

  “There are?”

  “Of course. The tenements are overrun with cockroaches, and the shacks by the canal…” I stop because Tsam has reached into his tunic and is handing me back my black sketchbook.

  “What do you want to do with this?” he asks. “Burn it?”

  I take it from him and stroke its cover. “It’s not mine,” I whisper, so quietly Tsam has to ask me to repeat myself. “It’s… it was my father’s.”

  “I’ll keep it safe.”

  “Tsam, you can’t. If they find it…”

  “No one will find it. Trust me, Émi.”

  I hug my knees a little tighter.

  “You do, don’t you? You do trust me?”

  I tuck a stray curl of hair behind my ear and watch him for a moment. “Yes. I do.”

  It’s getting late, so I suggest that we try and get some sleep. Tsam lets me have the sofa and we use the back cushions to create him a makeshift bed on the floor. For a while we both lay perfectly still, but as the hours creep by and the stifling heat of the Red Quarter festers and intensifies, we both start shuffling about, unable to find a comfortable position. Eventually, I light the lamp and dim it to a flickering orange glow.

  Tsam looks up at me, “Is it always this hot?”

  “Always,” I reply.

  He sits up and stretches out his legs, scratching between his shoulder blades. “Ém.” He called me that when we were youngsters. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “After your father… I wrote you a letter…”

  I wheel my mind back – I don’t remember a letter.

  “But I never sent it. Nothing I wrote seemed… appropriate.”

  “It’s alright,” I tell him. “I probably wouldn’t have read it even if you had. Things were too…”

  Tsam shuffles closer to me. “Did he do what they said he did?”

  Indignation flickers in my gut. Usually, when people ask about my father it is through morbid, salivating curiosity. But Tsam’s face shows nothing but gentle concern so I quell my anger. “Yes, he did it. Ma said he was ill – not in his right mind.”

  “Was he?”

  I pick at the tear on the cushion made by the Cadet’s knife. “No, he wasn’t mad. He knew exactly what he was doing.” I gesture to Tsam’s pocket, where the sketchbook lies dormant. “He always told me stories about Abilene, the Watchers, the Fire Stone. That’s probably why I have the dreams… he filled my head with it. After dark, he’d bring a lantern to my room and we’d huddle together. He’d describe it all, and draw the most beautiful pictures. Of forests, lakes, the elephant riders in Tarynne, the sorcerers in Esyllt, all of it. He made it sound so exciting… so different from Nhatu… places with no rules, or Quarters, or horrid old walls.”

  “So he went looking for them? The other Cities?”

  I blink at the ceiling, trying not to let me eyes tear up. “A few months before, he told me the Council had been lying to us…” I look at Tsam to see if he is finding this absurd, or treacherous, but he is listening intently. His sleeves are rolled up, his tunic open casually at the neck, and his gold sash is crumpled on the floor. He is not like the other Golds. I should never have assumed he would be.

  “Did you ask him what he meant?”

  “At first, he wouldn’t tell me. Then as the weeks went on, he became more and more distant. The day before he left, he told me what he was planning.”

  “You knew?”

  “I should have tried to stop him, but he was adamant.” I dip my voice into a whisper. “He said the Council lied about what happened beyond the wall. That they made it all up. He said the other three Cities were still out there, that Mahg never destroyed them. And he said he had to find out the truth.”

  “So he tried to scale the wall?”

  I rub my forefingers against my temples. “Maybe Ma’s right. Maybe he was crazy.”

  “You really believe that?”

  I think for a moment, trying to mould my words into something intelligible. I laugh a little, even though it’s not funny. “Tsam, he tried to climb over the city wall in broad daylight. If it were true... If Abilene still exists… If the Watchers weren’t all killed by Mahg…”

  Tsam is so close that I can almost sense his heart beating. “Émi?”

  “If all that were true, how could they abandon us here?”

  Tsam sits back and cocks his head at me.

  I tug at the red sash that constricts my arm. “Surely, if they were still out there, they’d rescue us from all this?”

  Tsam reaches out and puts his hand on mine. His eyes are brimming with sincerity. “Maybe one day they will.”

  We don’t talk any more about my father, and Tsam doesn’t ask me about those perilous sparks of light that jumped from my fingers in the cafe. Even here, just the two of us, or perhaps especially here, they are too dangerous to talk about. I want to ask him about his life in the Gold Quarter but I don’t want to betray my ignorance. So we lay parallel to one another, me on the sofa and him on his cushions. Eventually, in the few fragile moments before the sun comes up, I drift into a restless sleep where the girl in the scarf dances a slow, sad dance on the surface of a sparkling blue lake.

  When Rygour Street strums into life, I knock on the bedroom door and slink in to gather some things from my desk. I owe the council two drawings. Most of them are tattered and creased from Falk’s angry fist, so I pick the two most presentable and slip them into the brown leather folder that Nor presented me with when I got the job.

  My mother stirs and releases a groan as she remembers the events of the night before. “Émi? You’re leaving already?”

  “I have to, Ma.” I wave the folder at her. “But, good news, Amin gave me a little bonus yesterday, so I didn’t have to pawn your rings.”

  Ma sits up on her elbows and studies my face. If she knows I’m lying, she doesn’t show it. “A bonus? Well, that’s wonderful.”

  “And with the drawings I’m taking in today we’ll have enough to last us a while.” I reach into my pocket, past the spare coins from Garvey’s, feeling for the rings. “Here, your hand doesn’t look right without them.”

  Ma takes the rings and holds them to her cheek. “Bless you, Émi. Bless you.”

  “I have to go now. You’ll need to fetch some water. I didn’t have time last night…”

  At this, she sits bolt upright. She hates leaving the flat because it forces her to acknowledge that we actually live here. Before she can argue with me, I kiss her swiftly on the cheek. “Bye, Ma.” Then I close the bedroom door and usher Tsam out into the stairwell.

  We manage to slip past Junas’s door without him noticing us, and out into the early morning maelstrom of Rygour. Tsam asks me what’s in the folder and I explain about the posters, indicating one of mine on the side of the ironmonger’s near to the ferry station. I expect him to look disappointed, that I have lowered myself to this form of work, but he just smiles and nods.

  “I need to drop these off. I’ll catch the first ferry but you should wait for the next one. I’ll meet you at The Emerald.”

  Tsam opens his mouth to disagree.

  “Golds and Reds don’t socialise, Tsam. If Falk were to see us together…”

  He tells me he understands, but he still looks a little wounded when I turn away from him and join the queue, deliberately not looking back.

  The Council’s Office for Citizen Relations is a grey building that balances neatly on the border between Green and Silver Quarters. There are two entrances, one on the Green side and one on the Silver side. I knock on the Green door and present my work permit. “Émi Fae, I’m here to hand in some artwork to Mr Gauve.”

  The Council Official who inspects my permit is the same woman who is here every week and yet it still takes her twenty minutes to scrutinise the paperwork, take it to the office upstairs, check my credentials and return to escort me down the hall.

  Gauve’s office looks out on the neat green lawn at the front of the bui
lding. His desk is empty apart from an unlit lamp, an inkwell and a quill. He doesn’t even have any writing paper. When I enter, he is staring out of the window and I find myself wondering, not for the first time, what he does here all day.

  “Mr Gauve, I have some artwork for you.” I slide the folder onto the desk and watch as he removes the drawings.

  Gauve looks at me. “These are a little dishevelled, Miss Fae?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, there was an… incident. They’re still suitable for tracing though.” To enlarge the drawings they are traced, then carved into wooden blocks that can be printed in different coloured inks. It’s a painstaking process so I won’t see these images up in the Red Quarter for at least two weeks.

  Gauve spreads the pictures out on his desk and leans forward to inspect them. He taps them, mutters mmm and very good then shoves them in his top drawer, slams my folder shut and motions for me to leave. The permit inspector has been standing in the doorway watching us. Guave gives her a nod and she takes my arm, marching me back outside where she squints into the sunlight and watches until I’m back on the pavement.

  I follow the river from the Council offices to The Emerald. The sun is already tearing through the clouds but patches of leafy shade make it bearable. The journey is so pleasant, I almost forget that I’m still wearing yesterday’s tunic and that my face and hair are unwashed. I don’t, however, forget that when I arrive Amin will ask me about the sparks. I don’t know how to explain them and, even if I do, I don’t know whether he will be able to help me.

  I arrive on time, but Amin has opened early. The shutters are tied back and the unmistakable scent of his coffee is wafting out of the windows. As I draw nearer, a sense of foreboding grabs hold of my ankles and I stop just outside the door. I shake my head and tell myself not to be ridiculous, then force my feet to carry me inside. Amin is behind the counter, pouring coffee into six large mugs. He meets my eyes and I’m sure I see him flicker his gaze towards the cushions by the door. I turn and have to steady myself as I come face to face with Falk and the same band of Cadets who raided the flat. My treacherous mind reels back to the sketchbook Tsam offered to watch for me. I see him slipping it into his pocket. I see his gold sash winking at me. But then I hear him say, “Trust me, Émi,” and I shake the visions loose. He wouldn’t hand it over, he just wouldn’t.

  Falk is leaning back against the wall with a lazy grin on his face. “Morning, Émi. I’m glad you made it to work on time after your after-dark pursuits. Does the old man know this isn’t your only line of work?” Falk tips his head at Amin as he says ‘old man’.

  I smile politely and say, “Good morning, sir. Can I get you anything?”

  Falk chuckles and, on cue, so do his cronies. “Your boss is already preparing our coffee, but keep the mugs topped up. We’re going to be here a while.”

  In the kitchen, I desperately want to ask Amin how long they have been here but I’m afraid even to whisper to him. Thankfully, I can’t see any signs of Tsam. If they found him here they’d know for certain that his visit to the flat wasn’t what we pretended it to be. When Amin has finished the coffees, I take them over to Falk’s table. As I lean down with the tray, he catches my arm and says, “I told you I’d be watching you.”

  Falk and the Cadets stay until late afternoon, quaffing coffee as if it’s about to be outlawed. At six thirty, they suddenly stand and, without paying Amin a cent, Falk shouts, “Sorry to leave you so soon, Émi, but we have a Punishment to prepare for.” From my spot behind the counter I narrow my eyes at him. “You remember Miss Kray? Tonight is her special night and it should be spectacular! Make sure I see you there.” Then he spins on his heels and leaves.

  Before he dares to speak, Amin goes to the door and peers outside. “They’re gone,” he says, returning to the counter. “Are you alright?”

  I tell him I’m fine but my face feels prickly and my head is swimming. “Where’s Tsam?”

  “The cellar, I thought it was best. Émi, we need to talk about your…”

  Amin stops because I am untying my apron and folding it back under the countertop. “I’m so sorry, Amin. I have to go.”

  “Émi, you can’t, we have to—”

  “The Punishment starts at eight. I have to be there.”

  Amin sighs and tugs on his beard. “Yes. Alright. Well just… stay out of trouble.”

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” I assure him and, before he can agree, I race out of the door.

  Nor is waiting in line for the seven o’clock ferry and pulls me into a tight embrace when she sees me.

  “There you are,” she says, studying my face. “Junas told me about last night – the inspection. Are you alright? When you weren’t on the ferry this morning…”

  “I caught an earlier one… I’m fine, we’re fine, really.”

  On board, no one is talking about the Punishment. Everyone has left work early, losing at least two hours’ pay, and everyone is dreading it. But we have no choice; everyone in the Red Quarter has to attend. I wonder whether Junas has knocked for my mother. I don’t have time to collect her and if she’s late…

  “Émi?” Nor is nudging me. “We’re here.”

  Punishment Square is a dusty space at the top of Rygour Street, surrounded mostly by abandoned warehouses and merchant stores. Before entering, we are corralled through a narrow gateway where our permits are examined and our names crossed off the list. Avery is examining the permits and, as usual, he leers at me as I walk past. The glint in his eye is sleazier than normal and I wonder whether Falk has already started spreading word that I’m now offering ‘night time’ services.

  The sky behind the square is mottled with grey bruise-like clouds; a rain storm is approaching. Not tonight, but perhaps tomorrow. Reds are gathering in clutches, looking at their hands or their feet, trying not to see the raised deck with its sinister stocks. The length of a person’s Punishment depends on the severity of their crimes, so Nor says Jennyfer will be up there at least three days before they haul her off to jail. My father was in the stocks for two whole weeks, although he wasn’t lucky enough to go to jail – he went straight to the camps.

  At the front of the crowd, baying like jackals, the Green and Silver Cadets are eager to get started. Above them, high up on a balcony that juts out from one of the disused buildings, is a small enclave of Gold Council Officers. It is their job to initiate the proceedings. Gradually, we are hustled towards the front of the square. I bob up and down, trying to spot my mother’s face among the sea of red sashes, but it is a thankless task. Nor squeezes my elbow and says, “Don’t worry, Émi, she’ll be here somewhere. Junas will have fetched her down.” I wonder whether Nor is worried about her husband – usually Hedge meets us at the gate and files in beside us – but if she’s concerned, she doesn’t show it.

  As the sun begins to set and the last few Reds scurry into the square, one of the Gold Officers on the balcony rings a large copper bell. The bell tolls three times, then the Officer calls out, “Red Quarter citizens. Thank you for joining us on this grave occasion. As always, it is imperative we are reminded of the fate that awaits those who betray their city. So, it is with great regret that I read the following Punishment.” She unfurls a large scroll of paper and clears her throat. “Jennyfer Kray of the Red Quarter has been found guilty of a total of four crimes. One, that she did knowingly withhold information from a Cadet when directly questioned. Two, that she did strive to conceal forbidden goods. Three, that said forbidden goods were of an obvious magickal nature. And four, that she has used these magickal goods to perform spells that pose a severe threat to the safety of Nhatu and its citizens.” The Officer pauses for effect and looks out at the crowd. “Jennyfer Kray shall spend four days in the stocks. After that time, she will be transferred to the labour camp at the Western Wall, where she will spend ten years atoning for her crimes.”

  Across the whole square, Reds stifle the urge to gasp. It is rare for a woman to be sent to the camp, especially for te
n years. Beside me, a young woman whispers to her husband, “They’re getting worse, the Punishments are getting worse.” The husband tells her to shush but slides his hand into hers. Nor is shaking her head. The Officers on the balcony turn their backs and disappear into the building, which is the cue for the Cadets down at the front to start stomping their feet and banging on the platform.

  It is Falk who leads Jennyfer up to the stocks. She looks dozy, like she has been sedated. When she sees the crowd her knees buckle and she falls to the ground. Falk jerks her back to her feet and pushes her to the centre of the platform. When he fastens her into the stocks her hair falls across her face, her head and arms shoved roughly into place. I want to stick my fingers in my ears and hum and look away so I don’t have to witness this. Even from here, I can see her trembling as Falk announces that she must admit her guilt before the Punishment starts. I can’t hear what she says, I doubt anyone can, but it will be a variation of the phrase, “I admit that I conspired to perform dangerous acts of magick and I must now be punished for my crimes.”

  The Cadets delve their gloved hands into their buckets of mulch, eager to be the first to throw. Images of my father flash through my mind. I see his kind eyes and the soft brown moustache I used to tease him for when I was young. I see a scene just like this one, except in it my mother is screaming and a Cadet is holding her to the spot so she is forced to watch every second of the ceremony. I feel nauseous. My head is spinning. Falk gives the signal and the Cadets at the front jeer and holler as they throw a mixture of rotten food and excrement at Jennyfer. Beside me, Nor remains completely placid. She knows that the more upset you look, the more likely it is you will be forced to take part. My jaw is tight and my fists are clenched. I am just about managing to control myself, until Falk pulls a girl of ten or eleven up onto the stage and slops a handful of putrid brown sludge into her palm.

  “Go ahead,” he bellows, nudging the girl toward Jennyfer. The girl hesitates so Falk grabs her arm and directs her to force the odious mixture into Jennyfer’s mouth. Jennyfer coughs, choking on the putrid mess. The girl begins to cry. Nor looks at me because I’m starting to shake and whispers, “Émi, keep still. It’ll be over soon.” But I can’t. A flash of pure, burning hatred has taken hold of me. I push forwards, driving through the swathe of Reds, my eyes fixed on Falk’s face.