The Boy I Am

by K. L. Kettle

  Cheers shake the clouds in the sky. I look up at the endless dark. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen. I could touch it.

  “You’re not stupid. Saints, of course I don’t think that. I think you’re so kind and smart,” she says. “Maybe it’d be better if you weren’t, maybe you’d be happy, but you know life in there isn’t right. We go back, we lose and she takes your mind, or worse she actually kills you and it’s all wasted. And why? For a boy who could be long dead. Jude, you don’t owe him anything!”

  “Course I do!” I try to explain about the kitchens and the dogs and how you got hurt, but my brain is all hooch and heat and I can’t put it into the right words. “She promised she’d let him go.”

  “My entire life I’ve never known the Chancellor to make good on a deal unless it suited her. Look, I feel bad about what happened, I do, but … he could be out here now, with us—”

  “You tried to get him out?”

  “The night of Reserves, Vor had learned about Walker’s plan. The Chancellor likes… She played this game with men who tried to get her attention. She’d invite them up to her floor, let them flirt, then get them to run. Then she’d send the police after them. Most of them ended up decorating the atrium the next day. Vor sent Cora and Haz to help last year, but … your friend, Vik … he wanted to stay.”

  It takes all my brain to follow. “Why?”

  Ro rolls her eyes and throws up her arms. “Beats me! Boys make NO sense.”

  “You’re lying!” I shake my head. It feels weird, like my skull isn’t attached to my face. I’m going to be sick.

  “I promised I wouldn’t!”

  “Maybe he knew about her plan, didn’t want to run away like a coward.”

  Her eyes shine in the firelight, her lips pressed tighter. “I … I thought this is what you wanted?”

  “Hiding in old buildings? Running away?”

  “I’m not running away! I’m running to something, to see the world. To Mum—”

  “So where is she?”

  “She’s alive. The stories are all lies, I told you—”

  “If she cares so much, why did she leave?”

  Ro stiffens, her neck straight, her mouth twisted tight. Her whole body shaking with anger. I need to take it back, the second I say it, but I can’t.

  Say sorry, tell her you’re sorry, you didn’t mean it. My mouth opens to speak.

  “Don’t,” she says.

  “But—”

  “Don’t, Jude. Please.”

  People are still dancing round us, smiling, trying to get us to join in.

  “You said we’re friends,” Ro says. “Maybe we shouldn’t be.” She turns into the crowd and I don’t follow.

  The morning after and the world smells like the bottom of a pickle barrel. I’m not sure where I am; another building full of ghosts.

  Lifting my hand to my head, to prise it from between the slabs of stone it seems wedged between, I find the stones aren’t stone but piles of old clothes. I scratch at clumps of my hair, which also somehow hurt. My eyes are thumping! Thumping, thumping. There’s a full-sized person inside, beating on my eyelids, trying to get out.

  Even the idea of moving my head makes me ill. My mouth aches with thirst as if I spent the night sucking on old gym slippers. I crawl through the ache of my brain, past the throbbing and the thudding, to try and find some place to sleep.

  It’s an hour, maybe two, before the patter of water above is too much for my head. Another roll shakes the sky.

  Ro coughs, shuffles her feet. Her hair’s wet, the red of it as dark as mahogany. She’s carrying a cup of brown-looking water. There’s a dance in my chest when she hands it to me like maybe we’re OK.

  “Heard you moving from downstairs,” she says. “Fog’s clearing. We’re moving out.” They need to keep changing location, Ro said before, to avoid Lice raids. Why do I feel like the Lice are Outside right now, waiting?

  “Thanks.” I try to smile like this-is-totally-normal-and-not-awkward-and-weird-is-it? What number am I up to now on the new list? All that training from Walker – those instructions he gave me, to smile, to put on a show, anything to make a lady feel better – it doesn’t seem to be working.

  She shrugs.

  “I’m coming,” I say.

  I expect her to be angry, or upset, something, anything. But I can’t read her at all. She’s switched off. Outside, the sky rumbles again.

  During the storm the Hysterics move out in groups of six, taking different routes through the Melts to reach the hospital. Ro’s in one of the first waves to leave. I’m to go with the last group, with Eli and some of the more vicious-looking Hysterics.

  Eli asks me about the Tower. He says he tried to get into the House of Boys when he was younger than me, but didn’t have my looks. He remembers Stink, he says; glad he got in, despite the teeth.

  “They’re not that bad actually,” I say.

  As we clamber through the dusty old buildings, he tells me stories about the mines, shows me the scars on his body from all the work, the tattooed lumps he marked on his body for every man they lost. He tried to get more men out but they weren’t strong enough to make it. Boys too, he says, but I don’t want to hear about that.

  “Mr Grant?” Madam Vor is waiting in the next room we reach. “Might I have a word?” She waves Eli and the Hysterics past but I don’t want them to leave. Why didn’t Eli warn me? I’m not ready to be alone with a woman like Vor.

  “Romali told me last night that you wanted some of the ladies out here to try to help your friends?”

  I was right, she did ask! “I … well, I thought—”

  “Friends like those boys who, from what I heard, tried to snap your neck?”

  “It was a trick, to scare me. They wouldn’t have—”

  “Mr Grant, they’ve put dozens of boys in the infirmary.”

  “So that made it OK to pinhead them?” The words fall out before I can catch them.

  “I didn’t see them pinheaded and no law stands to do such a thing to boys. Do you have proof?” Her long fingers dust a ledge to perch on. “Romali tells me you think the Chancellor plans a vote? Convince me.”

  Is she playing with me? She must know! It’s a test – it has to be.

  I’ve heard of the Mind Absolution Act, the one Madam Hyde put in place, but that was for women. It doesn’t cover the boys yet. Is that what the vote is about?

  Or maybe I’m wrong…

  What did I see? Needles. Doctors. Blood. But did I really see any of them pinheaded? Am I even sure I saw what happened to Aye-Aye?

  My memories scrape through the night with the Gardener, the ‘one vote’ the Chancellor wanted from her. Walker’s lecture to the boys at Swims. What if this was the last-ever auction – wasn’t that what he said? Then Aspiner, how she said boys like me wouldn’t fight after ‘the vote’. I try to explain it all to Madam Vor.

  She nods, sighs. “Holding the threat of pinheading her rival’s wards, or the boys they favour, would make sense. I heard her talk of applying the treatment to the House of Boys… We’ve been able to get more men out, to the House of Exploration outpost – an old airport where Diani … where she was last seen alive. Repopulation, Mr Grant, outside the walls of that Tower requires a few more of your kind. My wife hoped one day to prove that every man and woman could leave High House.”

  “Are you sure the Chancellor wouldn’t rather pinhead every man in High House than let them leave?” I ask.

  Madam Vor stands and watches out of the window a while. There’s a prickle at my neck – fog’s coming in. The daylight has started to darken.

  “I’ll lead a few women back to extract those they can. Men, women, your brothers, Walker.” She leads the way to the door into what I guess is our destination.

  “There’s a boy, at the infirmary,” I say.

  “Pinheads can’t survive in the desert.”

  “Viktor Perrault, he’s called. Vik. He’s there because of me.”

&nbs
p; Madam Vor’s eyes narrow as she remembers. “The boy Walker sent after the Chancellor last year?”

  “Can you get him out?”

  “If he’s there. If he’s able, willing,” she says. “But as soon as it’s safe tonight you’re to leave with Romali. She refuses to go to the outpost without you and it’s not safe for her to stay here. The Chancellor will send my officers after us. If they follow their training, they’ll wait until the best moment. I won’t let Romali venture to the House of Exploration alone and, of all the places in the city, the Chancellor knows the hospital is the best staging post to make it into the desert.”

  Ro wanted to come to the hospital. Is that where we are? The shadows seem to make the ancient green-blue paint flake and curl. There are wide stairs beyond the door and ancient paintings rotted in their frames. Above, the crooked remains of a chandelier. It must have been a grand entrance to the building once, like the Saints’ palaces from old fairy tales.

  “I can ensure the Hysterics provide cover for her, you too and as many as can make it. You understand me, I hope.”

  “They’re coming. Here?”

  She nods. “My bet is they’re waiting until there’s good reason to attack. They won’t want to return without a significant number of bodies. We embarrassed the Chancellor. She’ll retaliate tenfold.”

  “You’re willing to risk—”

  “If it gets my daughter to safety.”

  I nod. “You’ll follow, right? With Vik, the others? What if the Chancellor tries to stop you? Will you kill her?”

  “Killing her would only empower those who agree with her. She needs to be discredited. Once we get those we can out, I’ll stay.”

  “But she must know you’ve betrayed her by now.”

  Vor’s expression returns to its usual unreadable mask. “I’ll claim I was kidnapped as planned. With my sister-in-law’s and my wife’s merits to my name, if there is a vote, perhaps I can stop it. Perhaps I can even arrest her, build a case, put her on trial. I’ll assist your friend, the others, while you accompany my stubborn daughter so she gets to some form of safety?” She holds out her hand. “In the old days, the Saints would shake on it.”

  I take her palm. It’s firm. And I believe she’ll do it, I really do.

  The storm’s still raging outside the hospital walls. Knock, knock, knocking to come in. It could be my eyes but I’m sure it’s darker inside. Old lights struggling above. The walls feel strange, like being inside the Tower. Most of the windows here have been bricked up with clay; the doors are thick and locked firmly when the fog comes in. And out there, somewhere, the Lice will be planning their attack.

  Eli, the other men and I wait in a hall that has thick windows a few storeys high. I don’t take my eyes off the rainwater as it washes down the glass. We’re at the edge of the city, no more buildings, just desert and the world beyond that waterfall blur.

  Below, through the pipes, come the distant voices of the women. Vor has them working in the basement, getting the buggies started, Ro says as she sits beside me. Her face is caked in grease. She wipes her hands on her knees. The dress she wore at the ball has long been shredded into rags and now she’s wearing trousers, armour, like the rest.

  Between the sounds of the women below there’s a grinding noise, the smell of fuel. Vor said the Hysterics and the old Explorers dragged the Saints’ vehicles into the basement after digging them out from under the sand.

  “Brought you something to eat.” Ro throws me a cooling potato, sweet-smelling, its skin baked crispy black.

  “I could’ve helped, fixing the buggies,” I say. “Used to help with the generators when I was a kid.”

  Ro shrugs, still acting cold.

  There’s music in this place. The dripping of rain through pipes. Ro sighs. The scuttle of mice. The nervous tap of my foot. “Look,” I start, needing to apologize for our fight.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She gets up to leave. I don’t stop her.

  The ache from the alcohol has passed but that familiar anger is banging at my head. Being shut up like precious cargo while the Hysterics work below. It’s no better than being at the House of Boys.

  I tug at the waistcoat I kept from my outfit at the ball. The men washed my shirt while I slept last night; it doesn’t stink so badly now. I donated the suit jacket and tie to ghosts behind us.

  “You could help clean up after dinner,” Ro says, pointing to a handful of men in the corner who have been cooking for the last hour.

  “I did my stint in the kitchens, thanks.” I lay on the sarcasm, because is that all she thinks I can do? We watch Vor return with a dozen Hysterics who clap each other on the back and cluster round the men to order food. They must have left the basement but I can still hear knocking. Maybe it’s from the storm.

  “How long?” I ask.

  “Soon.” Ro shrugs. “It’s been a few months since the buggies have been started. There are always a few people here to guard them, keep them running. If the Chancellor knew about what was under here, she’d have burned the place to the ground. Vor kept her away.”

  “No.” I fold my arms. “I mean how long have you known about Vor?”

  “Really? You want to do this now?” She rolls her eyes. “You think I’d blab that to anyone, to a boy? I know you guys gossip about us.”

  The knocking wind seems to have got louder, and it sounds less and less like the wind. It’s not the storm. There’s no rain on the windows, only the water-distorted distant view of the desert.

  Vor, at the end of the table opposite, has got to her feet.

  “What is it?” Ro asks, her forehead creasing as she stands. “Vor … Vor? Mum!”

  I’ve never heard her call Madam Vor Mum before. Vor turns – she seems surprised too.

  The knocking sounds slower this time. Vor holds up a hand. “Stay there,” she says. “Stay back.”

  The knocking comes again. The voices of the crowd settle into silence. The knock is clearer. Deep, clunking, repetitive.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Someone’s at the door.

  What if it’s me?

  That voice of yours is quieter these days, the more time I spend with Ro. It’s the Lice – it has to be.

  She’s let me go.

  At a twist of Vor’s wrist, a dozen Hysterics are on their feet. Weapons clink and clatter, pulled from hidden places, from skirts, shirts, boots, shoulder straps.

  They’re going to kill me, you say. An army wouldn’t knock. Let me in.

  The Hysterics are armed with knives, bats with nails in, long-barrelled guns handmade from pipe and hunks of metal. Vor, her breath held, waves her hand again and the mass of limbs clambers noiselessly over tables towards the main door.

  I’m on my feet, convinced I’m right. “Wait,” Ro says, and follows fast.

  “An army wouldn’t knock,” I tell her.

  Another movement of Vor’s hand brings a second wave of Hysterics to their feet around us. Behind, a third crowd of women hurry the men out of the kitchen, including Eli.

  There are nearly twenty heavily armed Hysterics by the front door. I have to fight my way to join them, not get scurried away like the rest.

  They wait. Vor rests her hand against the old metal. Everyone watches the red light above the great door. Fog’s still out. The light wavers.

  The knocking comes again.

  One.

  Two.

  “Open it,” I say.

  Three.

  Vor shakes her head. The knocking comes again. And again.

  You’re out there and you’re choking. I can feel the rope of dust and fog eating into your lungs and squeezing.

  There’s no more knocking.

  Vor takes a deep breath, searching in one of her pockets for a key. Her face sours as she slips it into the lock to override the safety. The whole building creaks as the door opens. Vor wraps a cloth round her mouth and steps out into the thick cloud. “Stay here!”

 
Cora and Haz push the door almost shut behind her but I can still smell the egg-sour stench of the fog as it begins to seep in.

  The horde of armed women fight to keep everyone back but Ro pushes forwards, shouting at the guardswomen to let her pass as she shoves through to the open door and dives into the fog.

  What if you’re out there? What if they waited too long? What if they let you die?

  In a heartbeat, Vor and Ro crash back inside, dragging something between them. The world is slow, grey, when the door slams. As the Hysterics part, knives and guns clatter on the stone. I push to see through the sinking haze.

  They’re carrying a body. A man. He’s wearing a fog mask like the Lice wear.

  My gut aches the moment I recognize his suit, the sweep of silver in his hair. Walker.

  The white tips of his shined shoes have been dragged through puddles, the legs of his trousers splashed with veins of muck and dust. There’s thick gauze wrapped round his eyes. Vor orders her army to make space, make room, give him air as she lays him down on the dirty stone floor. They unclip and remove the fog mask, messing up his always-perfect hair.

  “Move!” I tell her, not caring about the rules, what’s right, what’s proper. “Move!”

  Vor works fast, snapping free the gauze with her knife, unwrapping it. There’s a pain in my head again. It pushes right through my eye like a needle.

  “He’s alive, right?” I ask.

  My hands shake as I drop beside him. He’s half covered in dust and so wet his skin is almost see-through. He’s warm. Still warm. On the right side of his perfect face there’s a deep bruise, his eye swollen purple and black with it. Through his ballooned eyelids he stares straight ahead.

  “Get up!” I shake him, my voice cracking. “She pinheaded him!” I tell Vor.

  His perfect mouth sits in smile zero, at rest.

  A thick tear of blood leaves the corner of Walker’s eye, crawls over the bridge of his nose and drips on to the old stone.

  “Jude, please.” Ro tries to pull me away.

  There are worse things than death, Walker told me.

  “We should’ve gone back!”