After the Fall (Raud Grima Book 2)

by Sophia Martin

  “We’ll take her home now,” Amma told the konas. “You’ve all earned our gratitude, course.”

  The konas tittered and clucked, “No trouble.” “Glad to help.” “Like our’n daughter.” And such like. But they’d not forget they were owed a favor by my Amma, and make no mistake.

  ~~~

  It took longer’n you’d imagine, getting all the way back home to our shanty. Now that I didn’t look such a fright everyone’d come up with a question in the guise of a kind word, and Mum weren’t no good at hurrying on past, but had to talk to each one.

  “The poor dearling,” said Dag’s mum. “She never got stabbed, did she?”

  “No, no,” Mum replied. “She was in a fight, sure enough, but she took no injury herself.”

  “You must’ve been ripping worried,” said Ingirún Rekk, who’d no call to act so concerned when she weren’t more’n five years older’n me. She’d gotten in her fair share of trouble over the years. “How long was she missing?”

  “Oh, we’d not seen her for days!” Mum exclaimed, flapping a hand at her breast. I wanted to smack her. Like always, I had to remind myself that she was my mum, and she’d kept us from the brokers, and she weren’t as useless as she seemed. Though she seemed useless enough, right then.

  “Luka’s Chains,” bellowed Ríkhard Úlfarr, who’s sweet on Mum and takes any opportunity to use his voice to make everyone notice him, for he’s got a voice like a palace bugle. “The little witch’s no sense at all, driving her mother to pieces with her trouble! Do you not see the cares you’ve given her?” He directed the last shout at me.

  I rolled my eyes but didn’t answer—better to not give the man any encouragement. But Mum had no such tact.

  “Oh, Ríkhard,” she said, clasping her hands together at her breast in such a way as I knew she weren’t such a fool as she pretended. A few doors down, I spotted my sister Kisla, come out to see what the fuss was about as well. I almost waved, but the frown on her face stayed my hand. Mum carried on, “There’s only me now, you know, the children’ve no father to set a straight course for them—”

  Amma snorted so loud Mum jumped. “That’s enough nattering on,” she growled, and after that the going was quicker.

  Rokja met us at the door of the shanty, and soon as she seen me started peppering me with questions, and by the nature of them it seemed the gossip’d gotten there ahead of us.

  “Is it true you killed two slashers and they didn’t give you a scratch? Is it true, Ginna? They said you’d gone mad, did you go mad for a time? Did you really not recognize Amma when she come over? And Mum, did you not recognize Mum?”

  “Don’t be listening to such nonsense,” I said, but I was fair worn out and couldn’t put much force behind the words.

  As we made our way into the kitchen I seen Ótti in the doorway to the bedroom. She gave me a little smile and for a moment my heart jumped. But then I remembered about the laudanum and it sank just as fast.

  I turned to Amma and gave her a nod by way of thanks, then pushed past Rokja who was still pelting away with the questions. I followed Ótti into the bedroom and gave Rokja a glare to keep her away from the curtain, much good as that might do.

  “We were fair worried,” Ótti said, still smiling, as she come over close and run her fingers over my shoulders, which were bare save for the straps of my shift and the sack, on account of the konas took all my clothes but the shift.

  “Ótti…” I said, but I couldn’t find the words.

  She kissed the edge of my jaw and I closed my eyes. “I was fair worried,” she murmured.

  Her hands started moving to the best places and I had to stop her, my own fingers clutching hers. I opened my eyes to see her face darkening into a frown, and then she took a step back.

  “I don’t have it,” I said, low.

  I couldn’t meet her eyes no more, and looked down at my shift instead.

  “Don’t have it?” she echoed like she didn’t understand what I meant.

  “No,” I said. “I did have it, for a time. But I had to use it.”

  “What?” she whispered. “But you don’t ever use it none…”

  “Not for me,” I clarified. And then in a whisper, I told her about the woman. All of it, every hideous detail, and by the end I was crying like a child.

  But she stayed where she was, near enough so’s I could keep hold of her hands, but too far to make it easy for me to move closer, to rest my head on her shoulder as I wished I could. What I wanted more’n anything was to hold her and just cry for a time, but she didn’t move.

  I dropped her hands, hoping that might prompt her, but she let them fall to her sides, and still she never moved.

  Finally, I raised my eyes to see her face. She was staring at me, her mouth in a line, her eyes hard and shining.

  “You gave it all away?” she said through her teeth.

  I flinched. I knew she’d be angry, but that’s why I’d told her everything. I thought she’d understand. I thought she’d have agreed to give me another chance to get it, then, and she’d not be so angry, if she knew. I was wrong.

  “I had to,” I said.

  “What about me?” she said.

  “I’ll go back out in a bit. I just need to sleep, and have a bite to eat. Then I can go back out.”

  “I need it now.”

  “No, you don’t,” I said. It weren’t night anyhow, so she needn’t sleep, and I was home if she wanted to. Ótti couldn’t sleep without the laudanum when I weren’t home, I knew that, but here I was.

  “Yes, I do!” she cried, and her hand smacked my cheek ’fore I seen her raise her arm. I about hit the floor with the force of the slap, and on account of how weak I felt. I stayed frozen, too shocked to move, bent over with my hand on my stinging cheek, and heard her sob, then leave.

  The curtain flapped with the force of her passing. I straightened, slowly, and turned to look at it. Ótti never left, I thought stupidly. I didn’t understand, but she was gone.

  Part 2: Ginna’s Wrath

  Ótti never come back.

  It didn’t take long for me to recover, at least in my body, but I took to my bed just as Mum had so many years ago when the ship Da left in never come back. Kisla come by for a visit, only I never wanted to see her. Rokja stopped trying to rouse me, and only Amma kept at me to get up after a few days. I was waiting for Ótti, though I knew she’d not return. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave the bed even though I knew it, more’s the pity.

  Finally Dag come visiting, maybe on account of Amma, I suspect so, anyhow. He walked right past the curtain to the bedroom, though it would have made a scandal if anyone’d heard about it. Amma was tutting in the kitchen beyond, and she’d have stopped him right quick-like if it weren’t her idea to begin with.

  “Hey there, Ginna,” Dag said, sitting on the floor beside the bed, on account of the bed’s not very high up off the floor itself. “You’ve got about a hundred tongues wagging these days.”

  Dag’s my age. We’ve been friends a long time, but I’d no wish to see him. I covered my face with the blanket.

  “There’s no sense pretending you can’t hear me,” he said. “First the way you come home the other day, and near dying on Lauga Ótryggr’s floor—” which told me her name, after all, which I’d forgot—“and then Ótti storming out and taking up with Halla Hundrbeinn, and now you’ve not come outta the shanty in near a week.”

  I pulled the blanket down and looked at him. “She’s never taken up with Halla Hundrbeinn, Dag! You can’t mean it.”

  “I’m afraid it’s so.”

  Halla Hundrbeinn’s a broker and a mean hag with ambitions to become an boss. She’d been fighting with Ekkill to try and wrest control of the lower Sudbattir for going on four months. Course, she’d have all the laudanum Ótti could want, no doubt.

  “Ótti’s not whoring, is she?” I asked, my fingers bunching the blanket.

  He shook his head, blond curls catching what little light shone
from the oil lamp that guttered by my bed. “They’re saying she’s Halla’s girl, now.”

  Halla’s girl. My stomach turned over and then kept at it ’til it was in a right messy twist.

  “There now, Ginna Alvör, you’ve better things to do’n grieve that little twit,” Dag said.

  “Do I now, Dagvidr Kárr? And I suppose you’re here to tell me what them things might be?”

  “Sure enough. Styrlakker’s asking after you. You’ve not been to a meeting in over a week, you know.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And what could Styrlakker possibly want with me?” I cast my gaze on a point behind Dag’s right hip and fixed on it, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m nowt but a whore.”

  Dag made a scoffing noise. “Word has it you killed a slasher. No one expected that, did they? Styrlakker wants to know about it, Ginna. He was waiting for you to come on your own, but seeing as how you’re taking root in your bed, he told me next time I seen you to tell you he wants to talk.”

  A heavy dread rolled over me—not out of fear or owt like that, just the notion of having to relate the whole thing to Styrlakker. I didn’t want to talk to him on the best of days, and I really didn’t want to talk to anyone about the slasher.

  Styrlakker could get a room to listen to him, and that’s a fact. He had charisma, like I read old General Lidsvaldr had, who led an army of four hundred against two thousand and won, a couple of hundred years ago. Styrlakker was like that; I could see him leading the underlings to take over the city, if he only had the guns for it. They sure followed him during the Great Rising, no doubt about it. But though I admired him for his charisma, it also made me cautious of him. It’s a lot of power for one person to have.

  “What difference does it make to Styrlakker if I killed a slasher or not?”

  Dag shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him.”

  With a sigh I closed my eyes and pretended for just a moment that I’d never heard nowt about Styrlakker, that I never killed no slasher, that Ótti was just in the next room, and Halla Hundrbeinn was never born. But even as I did I knew it weren’t no good. Pigeons have come home to roost, Ginna-my-girl, I heard Amma’s voice say in my head. It’s like I’d always known this was coming, even though I couldn’t have possibly. Like Ótti leaving me for Halla Hundrbeinn had been coming for a year, though when Ótti’d had a moment to even meet Halla was a mystery to me. Like killing a slasher’d been on my list of things to do and I’d finally done it, though before I’d heard them kill that woman, I’d only ever thought to avoid them best as I could. And I didn’t feel no pleasure over the killing anymore, wouldn’t you know. It made me sick every time I thought of it, but worse’n that, I was dead scared. Scared of that part of me that had liked it. Liked it so much I’d been blood-drunk for hours. That part of me wanted to do it again.

  And now I had to go and talk to Styrlakker, on account of Styrlakker was the next thing to a boss Mosstown and some other settlements in the Undergrunnsby had, and what he said was like law. If Styrlakker got mad enough at me, I’d not be safe in the Undergrunnsby. I don’t know why he’d bother with me, but then again, Styrlakker weren’t no fool, and some whore with no broker and no temple affiliation ignoring him’d not make him look good. Get it over with, Ginna-girl. Get it done, my Amma-voice said.

  So I opened my eyes and shooed Dag out of the room. I took a bath in the icy water and even washed my hair. I dressed presentable-like, though the colours of my clothes were drab, as most were in the Undergrunnsby. Just a clean shift under a simple wool frock and a hip-length, thick-knit cardie. I left the shanty and found Dag waiting for me just out the door.

  “You mean to escort me, then?” I asked. I’d no idea he’d become so tight with Styrlakker.

  He gave me a nod and we started walking.

  “You’d do well to have a care with him, Dag,” I said in a quiet voice. “Styrlakker’s ideas aren’t always… safe.”

  “This from the girl what spent two days off doing Frigga-knows-what and wound up killing a slasher.”

  I rubbed my fingertips over the rough yarn covering my elbows as we made our way. “It’s not the same. Styrlakker’s brand of dangerous is likely to get more’n himself killed.”

  “I never seen you complain at any of the meetings.”

  “No, I suppose not. It strikes me no one’s keen on hearing what I’ve got to say at them things.” I thought to leave it at that, but I just couldn’t. Dag belonged in a park halfway up a tree, culling mistletoe like he loved to do, not running errands for the Undergrunnsby’s chief revolutionary. “I want to see the city rebuilt and a new rule and all of it. But you’ve got to keep your distance from Styrlakker, Dag. He’s got fire where his brains should be.”

  “Don’t talk about what you don’t know,” Dag said, sharp-like.

  I blinked at his tone, but still couldn’t stop. “What’s he offering you, Dag? What’s the good in getting all tangled up in his schemes?”

  “The parks, for one.”

  “What?”

  Dag kept his eyes straight ahead as we left Mosstown behind and headed through some of the undamaged tunnels what led to Styrlakker’s place. Styrlakker’d made a kind of settlement of his own, a smaller shantytown a bit like our’n, with just about twenty people living there. I wondered, all of a sudden, if Dag was living there now, and what Dag and his mum had been arguing about when I come home a week before.

  “What do you mean, the parks?” I prompted him.

  A muscle jumped in Dag’s cheek ’fore he answered my question. “Styrlakker says once the city’s our’n we’ll need someone to fix them up. The parks. And the cemeteries. Why not me?”

  “He’s not promising to make you warden?”

  “Sure enough.”

  I blew air out of my mouth in a stream. Not much I could say to that. There probably weren’t a thing in the world Dag’d want more’n becoming warden of Helésey’s parks. I seen how he wept when the planes bombed the city and the trees burned and broke. Styrlakker’d found just the way to get Dag’s loyalty, promising him the right to fix them all up again.

  What did Styrlakker want with poor Dag, though? What did he want with me?

  It weren’t too long ’fore we’d found our way to his place, and I thought maybe I’d figure out the answer somehow when we were there. What I didn’t expect was for Styrlakker to plain out tell it to me.

  “Ginna Alvör,” Styrlakker said when one of his toadies—they weren’t called that official-like, but that’s what they were—showed me and Dag in to see him.

  Joar Styrlakker was older’n me by about ten years, I reckon. He had shaggy gold hair and thickening stubble, and gray eyes like storm clouds. He was a large man, big like Gram Bani, but nothing else like him, not kind or quiet. He wore a suit filched out of the closet of some courtier or other, black and made of fine wool or maybe even silk, and a waist-coat with designs on it like vines or flowers or some such, but the clothes looked wrong on him on account of his size and the hair and whiskers. Probably given the choice he’d slick his hair and have a shave, but what with how hard to come by niceties like tonic and shaving lotion were, he’d not the choice. Even soap that weren’t the rough kind for washing clothes was right hard to find.

  “Dag says you wanted to see me,” I said by way of answering him.

  We were standing in a shanty what was a bit larger’n my family’s, with more rooms in it, and not separated by curtains but by walls of wood and rock probably collected from bombing ruins. Someone’d made the effort of covering most of them with blankets and such at least on the inside of this room, and the place was lit with oil lamps what cast a golden glow, so it would have been cozy but for Styrlakker’s presence. He sat on a large chair what had probably belonged to some merchant or other. It weren’t nice enough for the palace and he’d have had to fight Atli for it if it’d come from there. But it was nicer’n owt we had in Mosstown, sure enough, with dark red velvet covering the seat and back and part of the arms. There wer
e a few other chairs around, all simple wooden types, but neither Dag nor I sat down.

  “I’ve been hearing some things, Ginna Alvör, about you and some poor slasher what come to a bad end.”

  I felt a sigh build up in my chest then, and I smothered it, though it made itself known in a shrug of my shoulders all the same.

  “Is it true?” Styrlakker asked.

  “I suppose so.”

  Styrlakker raised his eyebrows then and sat back into his chair, pressing his fingertips together in front of his face and peering over them at me. “I’m impressed,” he said from behind them.

  “Begging your pardon,” I said, and hesitated ’cause I didn’t know quite what to call him. He weren’t officially a boss, but he might as well be, and on the other hand I didn’t want to give him no authority over me that I could help. I pressed on. “It’s just that I never killed him to impress anyone, don’t you know.”

  “No?” Styrlakker said. “So why did you, then? Kill him, I mean.”

  It seemed likely that he could tell how unhappy I was about it, ’cause he had a glint in his eyes what said he was enjoying prodding me into telling him more. I ground my teeth together and then decided to just get it all out at once and at least then maybe I’d rob him of his fun.

  “You see, it happened I was in a tunnel when some slashers come round dragging a woman they’d caught. I hid but I had to listen to all of it. And then they left and I held her while she died. And after that I figured I’d kill as many slashers as I could, given a chance. So when the one I ended up killing and his mate come after me, I weren’t in the sort of mood they was hoping for, I reckon. Thought they’d have a go at me, have a laugh or two. Only I had my knives and I’ve been in a fight more’n once, and they didn’t know that. So I killed the first fast as you please. And I’d have killed the second only he run off.”