by Ash Gray
***
Rigg remembered the day Hari came home with the jellybeans. It was some weeks after Pirayo’s attack, when she was still a mess, walking around with one boot on and a haunted, crazed look in her eyes. One day she went out into the rain and didn’t return for hours, and because Morganith was too drunk to go looking for her, Rigg had taken it upon herself to do so. Rigg was at the door, however, when Hari returned, looking like a vagabond as she clutched a glass jar of jellybeans to her breasts. The candy was so vibrantly bright in its myriad of color, Rigg often remembered it as being the only thing of color in the house during that gray time. Hari told Rigg the candy held the lost mana of the ancestors and that in eating it, she would become a mage. It was in that moment that Rigg realized Hari had lost her mind, and because she feared Hari would never come back, she made an attempt to dispose of the jellybeans, in the hope that Hari would snap back to reality. But Rigg was soon to learn that being forced to “snap outta it” was not a real solution for a broken mind. Trying to be rid of the candy only made things worse, for Hari cried, screamed, and wept bitterly each time Rigg attempted to. Dismally resigned, Rigg placed the jellybeans on a shelf, and seeing their color everyday seemed to keep Hari calm. The jellybeans remained uneaten for months as Hari slowly recuperated, sitting on the shelf in their jar, winking in all their colorful innocence. When her mind was stable and clear again, Hari poured every last jellybean down the toilet, and Rigg knew she was trying to forget what Pirayo had done to her and her moment of madness, in which she had been so helpless and confused.
Morganith often referred to Hari’s “jellybean incident” with bitterness, not because she was angry with Hari, but because she was angry with Pirayo and what he had done to her.
When Hari seemed well enough, the group set out into the rain and the darkness, taking back alleys and deserted roads and declining the rusty taxis that slowed to offer them rides. Rigg followed the others closely, her baggy coat buttoned to the chin as Hari had so forcefully insisted, her face molded into something that resembled a pig with a stomachache.
The Keymasters headed north until they found themselves at the edge of the city, where the great wall sprouted weeds from its monolithic bricks and where grim-faced statues – relics of a demon nation -- stared across the horizon unseeing. Under normal circumstances, they would have taken the front gate out of Hardsmith, but their status as wanted criminals required them to make use of other exits. In the past they would book passage on an airship that was willing to smuggle them, or else make use of the fire exits in the city’s underground boilers, but Morganith and Hari were so paranoid, they decided to take the most filthy and inconvenient route imaginable: a sewage pipe leading through the city wall.
The Keymasters paused to rest beneath the wall, as Hari frowned at her wristwatch, which was actually a very impressive compass of her own making. The device could not only mark the time but could also track any major landmarks, indicating them with a fan of small golden arrows that whizzed around, pointing to nearby places of interest. If Hari was looking for a specific landmark, she had to but to ask the device to point her toward it.
Holding the wristwatch near her face, Hari frowned at the shivering arrows with her tongue in her teeth. “Somewhere . . . just near the statue of Ahmil, I think,” she muttered tapping the compass glass. “Yeah. One of the arrows is pointing at the statue . . .”
“Hurry up, Harilo,” Morganith complained. “I’m ready ta catch some winks.” She dragged her hand back through her hair, and her pointed ears were momentarily visible.
“Just siddown and be quiet ah minute,” Hari said irritably. “I can only see by the moon,” she complained, patting her pockets. “Can’t find my flash – ah, thank you, Rivie,” she said when the tiny robot scuttled out of her coat collar and helpfully shined its bright pinlight eyes on the device. Rivet clicked cheerfully in response.
Morganith sat against the wall, pulled up her knees, and bowed her head. Her shadow drooped alongside her, a black duplicate of its forlorn caster.
“There!” Hari cried. Rigg saw her point along the wall. The sewage pipe was – thankfully – not very far away. The three of them jogged in the direction Hari had indicated and were somewhere between relieved and disgusted to find their exit from Hardsmith. It was an enormous enough pipe that one could walk through standing upright, and it was the only pipe along the great wall, its open mouth indifferently spewing the compiled brown butt-bile of an entire city.
Rigg entered the pipe at once, pulling out her flashlight and holding it aloft. She hitched up her skirt in one hand as she waded through the water, her pointed ears twitching curiously as she glanced left and right. The sewage pipe smelled so badly, she pulled her gasmask from her coat and strapped it over her face. The long nose and fogged lenses of the mask made her look like a fly as she continued through the muck, wheezing in disgust through the mouthpiece. The others didn’t follow. Hari hung back to fumble in her satchel, and Morganith approached her. Sensing Morganith’s anger, Rivet disappeared inside Hari’s coat.
“Tell me the truth, Hari. . . . You gotta bun in that oven?” Morganith said without preamble. She waited, her black eyes narrowing on Hari’s tight face.
Hari looked at Morganith indignantly.
“You let this happen to you,” Morganith hissed. “You wanted this pregnancy. Why!”
“Morganith --” Hari began wearily.
“It’s an unauthorized pregnancy,” Morganith said over her. “Soon as the Hand notices your big belly, they’ll drag you off for ah nice abortion, hang the fetus on display to teach other demon women what it means to spread their legs without permission. Is that what you want?”
Hari laughed dryly. “Right. Because this is all about what I want.”
“And after they’re done doin’ whatever they want to your body,” went on Morganith, “they’ll torture you for our whereabouts.” She tossed her hands. “Why not get all the Keymasters while they’re at it!”
“I do not need permission to do what I want with my body, Morganith,” Hari said calmly. “Not your permission. And not the Hand’s permission.”
“It’s not what you did to your body; it’s what Pirayo did,” Morganith returned bitterly.
Listening down in the darkness of the sewage pipe, Rigg swallowed angrily. Why did Morganith have to do this now?
Hari’s voice was an indignant hiss, “We are not gonna have this discussion here!”
“The hell we aren’t!” Morganith snarled. “I’m the one who has to help feed the thing, and I’ll be damned if I live under the same roof with the bastard child of the sonova bitch who --!” Morganith choked on her words as the sound of a slap rang down the sewage pipe.
Rigg miserably glanced back and saw the two were facing each other. Hari glared at Morganith and her entire body was tense. Morganith bowed her head and muttered an apology. Hari touched Morganith’s face. With sad eyes, she took Morganith’s hand and placed it on her womb. Morganith gasped. Her eyes were distant, and Rigg knew Hari was sharing a vision with her.
“So it’s true,” Morganith said darkly. “You’re pregnant.”
Rigg understood Morganith’s fear. The Keymasters lived lives of constant danger, where they were always on the run from the Hand, and after the catastrophe that was their last job, they could not venture outside without risk of being recognized. The other two depended entirely on Rigg to shoplift food from the market, and even that was getting too risky, the more zealous the Hand’s search for them. It seemed irresponsible to bring a child into all that.
“Morganith . . .” Hari began miserably. Her sad voice shattered Rigg’s thoughts as it echoed down the pipe.
Morganith had turned and was marching away, but she reeled dramatically and pointed a black nail at Hari. “No! Do not ask me to go along with this! Do not ask me to accept that monster’s child into our family --”
“It’s my child too!” Hari roared with the guttural voice of a beast, and her expres
sion silenced Morganith: in her sudden anger, Hari’s face had contorted into a fearsome scowl, and her teeth had elongated into fangs. She took a shuddering breath, and as she calmed herself, her fangs retracted and her face smoothed of creases. She swallowed and said softly, “It’s my child too.”
“Your child is gonna be half-human,” Morganith insisted, though Rigg could see she was finally calming down. “Half-human and half-demon, Hari! You know how they treat halflings. The child will never be happy.”
“You’re ah halfling, Morganith,” Hari calmly pointed out.
Morganith snorted a humorless laugh, holding her arms open wide. “And do I look happy ta you?” she demanded, leaning forward.
Hari frowned. “You’ve led a better life than most demons. Hell, even the president is ah halfling.”
Morganith’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You say that like bein’ half-human is some kinda advantage. Is that what I’m hearin’, Hari?”
Hari stood in cold silence.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m hearin’,” Morganith said bitterly. “You pure bloods are all the same. You think because I’m half-human my life has been some cakewalk? You know damn-well I toiled in those boilers for years, just like every demon in Nottica! Bein’ halfling ain’t done nothin’ for me but draw rejection from both sides: too demon for humans, too human for demons.”
“The humans accept the president. So do some demons,” Hari said coolly, but Rigg could tell she didn’t believe her own lies.
“As if the president gives a crap about demons and what they go through just because her father’s got horns?” Morganith returned. “She never opens her coward mouth about the quiet oppression the demons -- your people -- face every single day --!”
“Our people,” Hari calmly corrected.
“No,” said Morganith at once. “Halflings have never been anyone’s people.” She turned and marched into the sewage pipe, her leather coat flaring behind her.
Hoping the argument was over, Rigg turned in the darkness, tripped over something, and fell on her chin. “Owww,” she moaned, rubbing her cut face. “Hope that’s not gonna be another scar . . .” Her flashlight clacked through the smelly water and its beam flickered twice across a bloody face. Heart pounding, Rigg fumbled for the flashlight, turned it toward the face again, and gasped.
It was the girl who’d delivered the note.
Chapter 4
Nanny Mech No. 916
Rigg shoved her gasmask back on her forehead and scrambled to her feet, pointing her flashlight at the girl in shock. She would have recognized the girl anywhere. Her golden eyes had an almost ethereal glow, as if they were lit from within like bulbs, and her black hair was loose of its bun and flowing long and thick around her shoulders. Her hair was filled with twigs and leaves, as if she’d run through a forest, and her clothing was torn. She shivered against the wall, looking at the group in terror as they gathered near. With clumsy, scrambling movements, she quickly pulled up her knees and held them.
Morganith squatted down and frowned at the girl. “Hey, kid – what happened to ya? Why are you covered in blood?”
“Get away from her, you frighten her,” scolded Hari, nudging Morganith with her knee. Morganith moved back, and Hari squatted in front of the girl instead. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said good-naturedly, “what’s the matter? Whose blood is this?”
“You mean it’s not hers?” Morganith said in alarm and pulled her shotgun at once, glancing around for unseen enemies.
The girl’s lips parted in confusion. “I . . . was a-attacked.” A tear gathered in her eye, and to Rigg’s horror, it was black. “I-I have never been away from the castle before.”
“It’s okay,” said Hari gently. She shook out a kerchief and dabbed the girl’s tear away. She frowned at the stain: it was oil. “Are you an automaton, sweety?”
The girl blinked as if she’d never heard the word before.
“A robot,” supplied Morganith in disgust. “A gearhead? Metal tits?”
The girl dragged her fist under her eye, smearing black oil across her cheek. “M-My designation is Nanny Mech No. 916,” she said, as factually as if she believed it was expected of her to say so. She sniffled, staring at the Keymasters with the large, frightened eyes of a bunny rabbit. Rigg thought her voice was soothing and monotone, like the recordings that declared floors in elevators.
“I’m Rigg, that’s Morganith, she’s Harilotecca,” Rigg said, jerking her head at Hari. “But we call ‘er Hari.”
The girl looked at Rigg with wide, fascinated eyes, hiccoughing quietly through trembling lips. Rigg offered her hand, and the girl allowed the Aonji demon to help her stand. She backed immediately against the wall and eyed the Keymasters from behind loose strands of hair. Long black streaks of oil still leaked from her eyes. When she spoke again, her words were cautious, “I . . . know who you are. There used to be four of you.”
Morganith tensed. “What are you doin’ here?” she demanded roughly. “Spyin’ on us?”
“Mor!” Rigg begged.
“The gov’nor send you to tail us, is that it?” Morganith demanded.
“Morganith,” Hari warned, and Morganith bitterly fell silent. Hari looked at the girl. “We mean you no harm. It’s just . . . findin’ you here covered in blood . . . .”
“Mean her no harm?” repeated Morganith contemptuously. “She belongs to that smug-faced bastard, and for all we know, she’s covered in blood because she’s just murdered six people --”
“Mor!” Rigg burst, suddenly fed up. “Stop bein’ an ass --!”
“Rigg, she belongs to Evrard! Which means she belongs to the Hand,” Morganith insisted. She looked at the girl derisively. “You’re travelin’ with us now, bolt neck. So wipe your oily nose and get movin’.”
“Morganith,” Hari said through her teeth, “stop. Though . . . though she is right, Rigg,” she added. “We can’t trust her blindly. We really don’t know what Evrard wants yet. For all we know, it could be a trap, some plot for revenge.”
“Bucket heads are used all the time by the Hand to spy on people. I say we destroy the thing and read its data files,” said Morganith at once and cocked her shotgun.
“My name is Lisa,” said the girl bitterly. Her pouting eyes were fixed on Morganith, who was resolutely aiming the shotgun at her face.
“It has a name,” Morganith muttered and laughed dryly. “So the gov’nor likes his metal pets enough to name ‘em. Maybe we should keep you tickin’, use you as leverage.”
“Mor, please put it away!” Rigg cried wearily.
Unblinking as she aimed, Morganith ignored Rigg.
“Lisa,” said Hari gently, “you could get hurt travelin’ on your own. Are you sure you don’t wanna travel with us?”
The girl’s lip trembled and she darted a glare at Morganith. “Sure, why not?” she said sarcastically. “I travel with people who threaten my life all the time!”
“That’s right, darlin’, keep your chin up,” said Morganith in a low voice and laughed. “You’re ah nanny? Evrard doesn’t even have kids. What do you really do? Clean his clock?”
Lisa glared.
“What happened?” Rigg asked the automaton, drawing her bright gaze. “Why are you covered in blood?”
“We need to know if there’s someone lurkin’ around here,” added Hari and pulled her welding goggles down over her eyes in silent preparation for a fight.
The girl laughed dryly. “The only danger is me.”
Morganith made a derisive noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Well, at least the machine agrees with me.”
Lisa ignored Morganith and defiantly began emptying her apron pockets. They watched as several oddities plopped in the murky water and tumbled over the girl’s ankle boots. A pewter teacup. A broken comb. A collection of mouse skulls. Two colored pencils, one red, one blue. A cracked pocket watch that was still ticking. A small tattered book of macabre poems. A dead butterfly – likely stolen from a private collect
ion, for butterflies were extinct. A bracelet made of glass beads. A toy fireman with its head bitten off. And . . . a carrot.
“Do you spy a weapon among this worthlessness, Morganith?” Hari scolded. “She’s notta combat model.”
“Obviously,” Morganith muttered. “Doesn’t make her any less dangerous, Hari.” She addressed the girl, “Mind tellin’ us what you’re doin’ wanderin’ around after dark? Any bots out after curfew are scrap. Evrard woulda had you put onna private airship to protect you, somethin’.”
Lisa’s lip trembled. “I-I . . .” She looked with frightened eyes from face to face.
“It’s okay,” Hari said soothingly. “What is it?”
The girl dropped her eyes. “I was running away.”
Chapter 5
The Forest Pussy
Since the creation of the first automaton, it had long been debated whether or not the machines were actually sentient. While some machines were little more than mindless drones, many more expressed fears, desires, and individual personalities, which were all the traits of sentient creatures. Not wanting to lose the free manual labor their entire society was built upon, the people of Nottica continued mass producing automatons and resorted to simply dismantling those automatons that showed sentience. The machines were a convenient replacement for the demon races who’d been enslaved before them, and because the demons had no qualms about no longer cleaning human toilets, most agreed with the arrangement.
Over time, the automatons became so humanlike in structure and appearance, “companion” models were released that replaced prostitutes – and even husbands. This curtailed the spread of diseases and dropped the population by twofold, which only meant greater resources for all of Nottica. In the mind of most Notticans, human and demon alike, the only downside to the usage of automatons was their incredible strength and near invincibility: an automaton’s synthetic skin was as hard as a bulletproof vest. As a precaution, each automaton had a code stamped on the back of their neck that would shut them down when spoken aloud, and they were required to keep their hair away from their neck so that the number was always on display. As Rigg and her companions traveled through the sewage pipe, Rigg realized for the first time that Lisa had let her hair down with the purpose of covering her factory number.
