The Boy I Am

by K. L. Kettle

  Hearing something, she stops, a number sixteen wait-for-it grin, and puts her fingers to her lips. Screeches and wails carry on the wind through the narrow streets. Taking my hand, she moves at a run towards the sound before I can argue. And I have some solid arguments.

  First: not wanting to be eaten by whatever monster is making that noise.

  Second: really not wanting to be eaten by whatever monster is making that noise.

  It’s coming from a few streets over, behind what’s left of an old building with tall stone columns. The door is armoured and thick, its metal weathered to a soft green. On the wall there are those painted marks to say it’s fog-safe. Across the door are scratches, deep, high, angry letters.

  “We are all your lies,” says one of the women, leaning on the door. The two guardswomen look almost the same. I’ve never seen twins before. She can see me staring. “That’s what it says, in case you’re wondering.” She raises a bottle of something in salute. “Hey, Ro. Heard you’ve been getting into trouble.”

  They know her?

  “Cora, Haz!” Ro greets them with an embrace. “You pulled the short straw?”

  Both guards have that familiar white stripe of paint pasted across their eyes. I saw women like that at the ball. Had they infiltrated before the attack? They’re clutching vicious handmade weapons. Their clothes are patched leather, patchwork armour, lashed together with belts and pins. Their muscular stomachs are hardly covered – thick red scars spread in smiles below their belly buttons. Smile forty-nine: the-empty-ragged-kind-that-makes-you-uneasy.

  The stories say that High House banishes women to the desert for serious crimes against survival. The N-dorm collectors are obsessed with the Hysterics. They told a boy in our dorm that the House doesn’t only banish the women, it takes their most precious thing.

  “Whatcha staring at?” Cora snaps. She’s taller than any of the boys I know, even Vinnie.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “So … who’s your gawping friend?” says the skin-headed twin on the right. She leans forwards, her hand reaching out for my hair, but I dodge away.

  “Seriously, Haz, you going to let us through, or be a letch?” Ro says.

  “Last of Eli’s finest honey wine, totally worth guard duty,” says Haz, grabbing the bottle from her sister. Sloshing the amber liquid back before holding out the bottle to me.

  “You want some, my little cutie?”

  I shake my head. “No thanks.”

  I remind myself that the stories I’ve heard are lies. I still have to check: neither of the guardswomen seem as if they’ve eaten humans recently, but then again I’m not sure I could really tell. What do I expect: limbs lying at their feet, clothes made of scalps?

  “She’s out the back,” Cora tells Ro. “Fog-watchers say we’ve a few clear hours but you’d still better hurry or there’ll be no scoff left. We’re moving on in the morning.”

  “Where to?” Ro asks but the women both tap their noses. “For fog’s sake, fine. Let us in then.”

  She’s out the back? They must mean the woman in charge, right? I can smell fire from somewhere, charring meat. I’m sure the screams were the sounds of dinner fighting back.

  Catching up with Ro as they let us through the doors, I hear the guardswomen laugh and whisper behind me. I follow Ro through the old building, wide-eyed and pointing up at the collapsing ceilings, where painted men in robes look down. No time to ask questions, as soon the stone steps lead out into the desert night.

  “Welcome to Hysteria,” Ro says.

  The sky above the ancient courtyard is an endless darkness, crossed by multicoloured lanterns strung up between melted walls and bricked-up windows. The sound of jagged fiddles cuts through my ears.

  “You’ve been before?”

  “She let me come once or twice.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t drink anything. Eli’s stuff is literally lethal.”

  I think she’s changing the subject.

  Is Eli their leader? I imagine a huge woman, the size of a tree. Except I thought Eli was a boy’s name. Wasn’t that the name of the man Stink knew from the Agro tunnels, Eli Han, the one that he said Madam Bocharov had scarecrowed?

  The lights swing in the cold night wind, making the dust dance.

  “And when the fog-watchers shout you get inside fast, unless you want a gut full of poison.”

  Ahead, round a fire almost as high as the rooftops, a crowd of silhouettes dances in the shade of the spitting embers. “They scavenge stuff to burn from the Melts,” Ro says.

  It’s not an animal but dancers yelling and screaming. They bang drums and tear into violins, stamping the sand, standing on tables crammed with people. Aren’t they worried the Lice will find them? Even if we’re far away enough to escape detection, they’re mad enough to take on the full force of the Lice in their own home. Maybe they want to be found?

  The air tastes of burning salt. The crowd cheers. They raise clay cups above their heads. Everything out here is strange and itchy and loud. As we get closer, music bounces from every surface – the strangled warble of flutes, the jangle of bells, the chime of cymbals. Strange and shapeless songs, all fury and chaos.

  “Romali!” yells a large man. Ro groans. He looks older than me but not much. There really are men in Hysteria!

  He has one leg and speeds towards us on his crutches so fast he almost mows us down. Half his teeth are missing and there’s an ugly raised mark on his shoulder: the Mine Mistresses brand the men that work down there. The man wraps his large arm round my shoulder and ruffles my hair.

  “Eli!” He burps out an introduction, filling the air with a bubbly fug of beer and laughter. Above and below the white stripe of paint, his face is scorched red with sun and drink. The dark hair on his face hasn’t been barbered in an age.

  “Really, Eli?” Ro shouts over the noise.

  “Longest fog break ever, so the watchers say. A couple of hours. You think I’m not going to celebrate?” He hiccups and smacks his chest, introducing himself again as he drags me towards the fire. “Who’s this then? That the one you—”

  “This is Jude,” Ro interrupts, pulling me away.

  Eli scrapes his matted arm across his nose. “She’s been ’specting you,” he yells at Ro, waving in the direction of the fire.

  ‘She’ is probably some beast, huge and bruised and angry. The kind of woman that could snap a boy in half. I’ve heard stories about the woman that leads the Hysterics, stories that say she’s beautiful, magical; stories that say she’ll drive you mad. I doubt they’re true but she must be different to all the other women somehow to survive out here, to evade the Chancellor, to build an army.

  Ro keeps pulling until I yank my arm free. Eli is following behind. His hands clap my shoulders. “You need anything, you come and see me, OK?” He thumps me on the shoulder again. Looking down to catch my breath, I see he’s wearing one fat boot with the laces knotted in a tight mess.

  He could run too.

  “There they are!” A voice comes from nearby, a silhouette against the fire. It calls Ro’s name. The spindled shape shoves her way through the clutch of painted people. A cold stone of recognition drops into my gut.

  “Mr Grant!” she says.

  Madam Vor stretches her strong neck, flexes her shoulders the way Ro does as we get closer. The firelight burns my cheeks.

  “Romali, you could have warned him.” Madam Vor clocks the fear in me. She can probably smell it.

  “And miss the look on his face? Not for the world,” Ro drawls.

  “There’s no need to be snide. We taught you better than that.”

  “Did you?” Ro’s eyes could burn through bone. “I’m getting a drink,” she says, walking away.

  My legs have gone numb.

  “So glad you’re here.” Vor holds out her palm.

  “You’re leading the Hysterics?” I ask, before I can stop myself.

  Vor’s dark eyebrows lift up in amusement. A slip of h
er deadpan mask. “Really, I don’t lead anyone, not out here. I only help keep the peace. I protect them, that’s all, until they decide to leave.”

  My jaw tightens. All this time she’s been helping the Hysterics! But she had you arrested! Couldn’t she have stopped the Gardener being killed? Or helped my brothers; helped Walker? Vor nods like she understands. “My officers had orders to let Romali escape, but you? I have to say I’m surprised to see you.”

  “Thought I’d be in the infirmary with my brothers?”

  “If you’d not decided to show off your footwork like that, I’d have found a way to get you to safety. You chose a very poor moment to buck years of conditioning, Mr Grant.” I can’t tell if she’s impressed or thinks I’m some sort of freak.

  Does she know what her Lice did to me? “So it’s my fault?” My neck prickles and itches but Madam Vor’s face doesn’t change. All I can hear is her in the infirmary, her calm voice while they poked and prodded at me, as they stitched and bleached and dyed and waxed and cut.

  She doesn’t answer – her gaze is on Ro by the fire. “You’re here now, that’s what matters. It wasn’t until we spoke that I learned of Romali’s plan. Even though I planned for us to escape during the ball, I’d have rather we left without murder on her conscience. You know, I think, how stubborn she can be. She gets that from Diani, who she is also dead set on looking for without me. Wouldn’t have come to me now unless forced. If you’re the reason she’s here, you have my thanks, Mr Grant.”

  This is my moment to ask for help. But would she listen? I wait for you to call me a coward. Nothing. Maybe now you think I’m stronger than I am.

  “When did you last eat?” She points to a roasting animal on a spit by the fire. Its skin blisters and fizzes. I smack my lips, imagining the salty bite of a proper meal. “Eli will look after you.” There’s no movement in her face to tell me she can be trusted. Still as fixed as ever. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, not here. If you’re not hungry, there are places to sleep, rest. We could even find you a change of clothes.” She wrinkles her nose.

  It’s been two nights since I put on the suit – it doesn’t smell good. My hair is sweat-clogged and sandy, but I kind of like it. It’s been a long time since it’s felt OK to look real, no make-up, all my scars, all my bruises and ugly edges.

  Vor walks away.

  Ro returns with a drink, two glasses of murky-looking water for us both.

  “Maybe something stronger?” I ask Eli, at her side. A proper drink, that’ll give me the courage to ask.

  “I’ve just the thing.” Eli slaps his chest.

  Ro sighs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Beer! Now that’s my house.” Eli, the man who doesn’t seem to take orders, leads me away. He sits me down near the fire before pushing into the crowd, shouting, “Let’s put some fur on ’is lungs!”

  More jokes. More stories. More toasts to the Gardener, honouring her sacrifice. As the fire crackles and the music swells, the painted Hysterics stamp and drink and smoke and laugh. Men and women come and go, talking at me fast, asking questions. The blisters on my feet don’t hurt, I tell someone. I think I’ve eaten half the pig, I tell another. How long have you been a Hysteric? Do you really eat people? I was in the kitchens, you too? Someone tries to get me to dance and I don’t fight them away.

  “If you’re sure,” says Eli, after I rush from the crowd and ask for another drink. He tops up my cup again. “How many is that?” he asks.

  I shrug, burp. Lost count.

  “Think this should be your last.” He winks from where he’s sitting.

  When I look up, the coloured lanterns swing and sway. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the stars from moving.

  “Heard you were a sharp-stepper!” He laughs as I stand. “Let’s see those moves.”

  Eli claps a beat and I think of Walker. “Come on!”

  “No. No. No!” Waving my hands, I land heavier than I intended on the bench beside Eli and have to hold on to him so I don’t slide off.

  My brain hates me.

  He pushes me up and plants me on my feet again. “Go on,” he says and then points to his leg. The one Madam Bocharov let him keep. “You show me your moves, I’ll show you mine.”

  I shuffle around a bit. Trying to remember the steps Walker taught me.

  Eli laughs. “Tha’s not dancing. That’s just moving to music.”

  I thought they were the same thing?

  “Haz was telling me ’bout you and Ro at the ball. Now that sounds like real dancing.” He smacks my chest with his palm so hard I almost fall off the bench. “Gotta use this.” He hits my chest again. “Not this.” He flicks my forehead.

  “That’s going to bruise,” I slur.

  Eli pulls himself up on to his crutches fast. He starts to clap a beat, yelling at me to stamp my feet. Faster, he says. With passion, with drama. It’s fun. I can feel each stamp vibrate in my chest thanks to my new thick soles.

  “Romali!” he calls into the crowd as Ro appears. She’s angry, storming towards the fire away from Vor. Maybe she asked her for help? Maybe Vor said no. “Dance with this guy, will you?”

  “You OK?” she asks me, folding her arms. She’s the only person who ever asks that. My tongue’s fat, my eyelids heavy. I hang my head between my legs and realize I’m babbling again, trying to explain about the boys in the dorm, their nicknames. Stink and Rodders and the others. Maybe the Hysterics can help them too, I say.

  Eli pulls me up, rolling with laughter. I’m not sure I was trying to be funny. “Sure, nothing like a suicide mission t’round off the evening.”

  “Eli, don’t,” Ro says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  “Yeah, humour him, tha’s great! He wants to go and get ’is head spiked? Be my guest. You think Cora and Haz wouldn’t’ve got every last kid outta that place the other night if they could? It’s not possible. Your mum got it right – get out, stay out.”

  A rush comes up from my gut and I feel like I’m going to be sick.

  “Eli! Vor told you to look after him!” Ro swears and starts shouting, but I can’t focus.

  “Kid needed to loosen up.” Eli winks. “Give the guy a dance, will you?” He shimmies his vast shoulders.

  Ro sighs. “I’m not in the mood. Besides, he’s off his fogging gourd.”

  “I thought…” I remember dancing – there was dancing. “You were good.”

  Did she smile? What number is that? I can’t tell any more. There was a list. Walker gave me a list. “Where’s Walker?” I say to Ro, to anyone. Swaying slightly where I’m sitting. No one answers. “I lost him,” I say. “He needs to know where I am.”

  I lost Walker. I lost you too. You’d know what to do.

  “He’ll be really mad.”

  You always knew what to do.

  Where are you? I can’t hear you.

  Squinting, I see Aye-Aye in the dance, between the blurred Hysterics. Vinnie and Toll too – except where their eyes should be there are great gaping holes. They’re not dancing, just standing there, expressionless. Bodies push me this way, that way. There’s a lot of stamping feet.

  Eli grabs my shoulder, hands me another glass. I tip my head, peer at the lanterns swirling above. Someone pushes past. Was that Stink? He’s here too? Did the Hysterics break out all the boys from the ball? Am I the last one to be free? The ache shakes out of my toes, my fingers as the music gets faster. Louder. I could burst, I’m so happy.

  Then there you are! Your skin laced with grey dust as you fling your arms into the night and howl at the moon and cry freedom and dance, dance, dance. Is that you? Are you real? I push through the crowd but the ghosts disappear, leaving only Ro behind. Motionless. The crowd dances round her. I’ll show her that out here I’m not a boy. I’m a free man and I can dance, and we can escape into the fog and we can slay monsters and climb mountains and fly.

  “Are you angry with me?” I ask. She’s been weird ever since that first night. “I
thought you said we were friends.”

  “I’m not angry about…” She pulls at the knots in her hair. “Look, Vik’s not here. You keep asking people for him. Stop it!” She’s about to say something but instead starts worrying at the remnants of her dress. She won’t look at me. There’s something she’s not telling me. There are bubbles in my stomach. It might be the alcohol, but it’s not. I felt this ache before I went to the Chancellor’s rooms.

  A chant begins from the blurry mass. “We are all their lies!” Over and over. “We. Are. All. Their. Eyes.” The sky shakes with it.

  “You said you’d never lie to me. In our… When you came to see me in the appointments. You promised you’d never lie. What aren’t you telling me? We’re friends.” I hiccup. “You said!”

  She tries to leave. I hold her arm, hold her still. She could pull away easily.

  “Jude, don’t.”

  “No, you’re my friend, you are. I don’t care what you say. Whatever it is. Tell me – you promised you wouldn’t lie. Vor said no, didn’t she? You don’t need to protect—”

  “Secrets aren’t the same as lies, Jude.”

  “Ro, please.”

  “You’ve got secrets too. You think you’re perfect? Maybe you don’t want to know. Maybe it’s better you don’t.”

  She’s right. So I tell her. Right there, with the Hysterics swirling round us, I tell her everything. I tell her about the appointments, about Aspiner and her grabby hands. And I’m not ashamed, I shout, because I didn’t do anything wrong. And I tell her about the fight with the Roids and Swims and even about my deal with the Chancellor.

  When I’m done, there’s a lightness, the pounding in my head gone for a moment. “So?” I say.

  She looks like she wants to hold me, but she doesn’t.

  “I can’t, Jude…”

  “You think Vik’s dead, right, that the Chancellor lied to me. That I’m stupid for falling for it.” The swirling world has started to get clearer, my heart beating fast.