by Anna Day
“Why’s it so quiet?” Nate whispers.
He’s right. It’s eerily silent. In the film there was this hustle and bustle, malnourished Imps exchanging greetings and insults. I look around and see that all the Imps stand still, glowering at us. More specifically, at Alice.
“Tuck your hair in your overalls,” I whisper to her.
She does it quickly and without argument, her eyes locked on her bare feet as they slap the tarmac, like she can’t bring herself to look up and acknowledge the danger. Nate, Katie, and I walk around her, surrounding her so the Imps have to see through us to get a proper look. Gradually, the noise picks up and the Imps lose interest. We watch Saskia and Matthew walking in front of us.
“What’s going on?” Katie says. “Where the hell are we?”
“We’re in The Gallows Dance,” I say.
“Well, I kind of figured that out, eventually. What I mean is, how are we in a film or a book or whatever the hell it is?”
Nate snorts. “There must have been some sort of temporal shift in reality when the set collapsed at Comic-Con. We’ve entered an alternate universe, The Gallows Dance universe.”
“In English?” Katie replies.
“I don’t bloody know, do I?” Nate replies. He laughs a little manically.
I rest a hand on his arm. “I think you’re right. It’s some sort of alternate universe—if we were in the film things wouldn’t look so different.” I realize just how ridiculous it sounds saying it out loud, yet here we are, surrounded by Imps and broken-down buildings, breathing in eau de rotting bird.
“I think I’m dreaming,” Alice mumbles to her feet. “It’s just a bad dream, and when I wake up I’ll be in bed in my pajamas.”
“You’re so self-obsessed,” Nate says. “This could be my dream. It’s not all about you.”
“This isn’t helping,” I say. “Let’s just keep quiet and try not to get killed.”
“I don’t think it’s a dream,” Katie says, her voice a little hollow.
Alice sighs. “Me neither. My feet hurt too much for it to be a dream.”
“How’s Thorn going to help?” I ask Nate. “I know he’s your hero, but in case you’ve forgotten, he’s kind of a psycho.”
He smiles. “Thorn isn’t going to help.”
“Stop talking in bloody riddles,” Alice says.
Katie nods. “Yeah, seriously, if you’ve got a plan, you need to tell us.”
“Not Thorn,” Nate says. “Baba. She’ll tell us how to get home.”
“Nate! That’s brilliant,” I say.
“Er, I’m almost afraid to ask,” Katie says, “but who’s Baba?”
Nate glances at Saskia and Matthew to make sure they aren’t listening, but they’re too engrossed in their own conversation. They’re unaware of Baba’s existence—I know this from canon—and I guess Nate wants to keep it that way. Baba’s precognitive powers are Thorn’s greatest weapon in the fight against the Gems—the fewer people who know about her the better. And Thorn would be beyond pissed off if Nate spilled the beans.
Nate turns to Katie, his voice dipped but his face animated. “She’s a total gross-out. She looks like a granny-turned-zombie with all this long gray hair, and her skin covers up her eyes and nostrils, and she has a slit for a mouth and no teeth, and she’s all hunched over like this …” He stoops and screws up his face in an attempt to look like Baba.
“Yes, but who is she?” Katie whispers, a little impatient.
I can’t help butting in. I love Baba, she’s one of my favorite characters; she looks terrifying, but she’s always so enigmatic. “She was one of the first-ever Gems to exist, and the only Gem to survive the first wave of experiments, back when humans were refining the art of genetic enhancement. They over-enhanced her empathy and her immortality, so she can read minds and see the future and she’s survived for centuries. She remembers the world before all the city walls were built and the Gems dropped their bombs.”
Nate grins. “She does this really cool thing called a mind blend, where she places her hands on your head and sucks your thoughts from your brain, like a Slushee.”
“And this psychic zombie is at Rebel Headquarters?” Katie asks.
I nod. “Thorn keeps her hidden in an underground chamber.”
“But she’s a Gem,” Katie says. “Is she a prisoner or something?”
Alice scoffs. “Keep up. She’s on Team Imp. They created her, they looked after her—she hates the Gems.”
“And this zombie will tell us how to get home?” Katie asks.
“That’s the plan,” Nate says.
“She’s our best shot?” Katie says. “Our best shot at going home? A really, really old woman called Baby?”
I glance at Nate and Alice, who both offer stilted nods and mutter, “It’s Baba.”
Katie laughs—a sad titter. “We are so screwed.”
WE PAUSE IN front of a sagging building. I recognize it from the film: Zula’s Tavern. Saskia and Matthew took Rose there after she released the thistle-bomb to celebrate her first successful mission, and to give her some courage before meeting Thorn. At least, I think it’s the same tavern; it looks dirtier and ready to collapse—the door is riddled with woodworm, and a sap-like substance oozes from the brickwork. It actually looks more like I imagined when I read the book, before it got the old Hollywood makeover. I notice the poster of President Stoneback hangs from the wall, softened by rainwater and torn by the wind, same as the film. But this president has horns drawn on his head and a noose scribbled around his throat; detail that didn’t make it into the book, or the film, or my own mental image. Detail that makes it all seem scarily real.
“Zula will fix up that arm of yours,” Saskia says to Matthew.
This confirms my suspicion, and I realize I stand exactly where Rose stood, just left of the door. I get this creepy feeling like I’m retracing the footsteps of a ghost.
Matthew nods at Alice. “You think it’s wise, flaunting a Gem look-alike under their noses? There’s a bad crowd in there some days, and even in them overalls, I don’t think she was fooling anyone out on the street.”
“You got any better ideas?” Saskia replies. “You’re not going to make it across the city bleeding like that.” She looks Alice up and down. “He’s right, though. You still look like a Gem.”
“Not with this thing on, surely.” Alice scans the overalls, her nose wrinkling with disgust.
“We could knock a couple of your teeth out,” Saskia says.
Alice’s hand flies to her mouth, partly from shock, partly to protect it.
“That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?” I say.
Saskia grins. “You won’t be saying that if the Imps think she’s a Gem. You’ll be wishing I’d knocked her teeth out.”
“Steady, Saskia,” Matthew says. “If you bloody up her mouth now she’ll attract more attention.” He places his hands on Alice’s shoulders. “You can slouch, yeah?”
Alice adjusts her posture so she’s an inch or so shorter.
Saskia laughs. “Well, that did a lot of bloody good, she’s practically a midget now.” She sidesteps Matthew so she can inspect Alice more closely. “That hair’s gotta go, tucking it into your overalls like that … it just looks like you’re hiding summit.”
I think Alice may whimper. “Not my hair.”
“Blondes are unusual in the city, hair dye’s pretty low down the list of necessities, but we can hack it off.” She pulls a knife from her belt and begins to wipe it on her shirttail.
All the color drains from Alice’s face, leaving only two streaks of blush that stare from her cheeks like war paint. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s only hair,” Katie says. “It’s better than the alternative.”
“Yeah, come on, Barbie,” Nate says. “Let’s see you work a bowl cut.” But even he sounds a little afraid.
Saskia approaches Alice with the knife, and this time Matthew doesn’t intervene, obviously considering this a sensib
le idea.
I see Alice’s coral lips quiver, her whole body fold in on itself. And suddenly I’m seven years old, sitting behind her, braiding her hair, the scent of cherry blossom and lemongrass, the strands slipping through my fingers and catching the sun like threads of gold. I want to grab that knife and throw it into the mud, but something stops me. Fear, I think—the way those Imps looked at her on the street. The hate in their eyes.
“Hold still.” Saskia bundles up the ends of Alice’s hair and pulls her head back.
Alice starts to struggle, pawing at the air before her. “No, no, please.”
“Bloody hell,” Saskia says. “Grab her, will you, Matthew, and make her shut it.”
But before Matthew can move, I’ve clasped Alice’s arm and begun whispering into her ear. “You always wanted short hair, remember? Like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face. It will show off your bone structure and that lovely long neck of yours. And when we get home, I’ll take you to Toni & Guy and get it tidied up. You’ll look amazing, I promise.” I feel her body relax a little. “It’s for the best—you need to blend in right now.”
Tears sparkle in her inky eyes, but she stops struggling and squeezes my hand. “OK, OK, I get it. I’m just too beautiful for this dump.” She kneels, demonstrating her cooperation.
Saskia pulls the sheet of gold taut and begins to lop off great chunks. They float toward the ground like yellow feathers. When Saskia’s done, Alice runs her fingers through her cropped hair, her face rigid. She then puts her hands over her face and begins to weep.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Saskia says, tucking the knife back into her belt. “You keep crying like that and you’ll wash away the dirt. Then I’ll have to rub your face in the mud.”
Katie and I help Alice up. It’s as though she’s wounded on the inside, as though she’s Samson from the Bible. Even Nate must understand how hard this is for her, ’cause he smiles and says, “You look great, Alice, honest.” Though he can’t resist adding, “And if the career in writing fails, you can always get a part in the next Lego movie.”
“It suits you,” Matthew says.
Saskia frowns and plunks her hands on her hips. “Right, keep quiet, all of you. If you make a break for it, you know what I’ll do, yeah?” She knots her long, streaked hair into a loose bun like she’s getting ready for business. She did this in the film, and it strikes me as odd that in spite of the changes caused by our arrival—Rose’s death, the hanging of the nine Imps—we still seem to be in sync with canon. My thoughts topple like dominoes: In canon, a controller lurked behind that tavern door. I know the passage from the novel backwards. Controllers—self-appointed enforcers of Imp-city law. Of course there is no law, only their greed and their twisted desires. They took a shine to Rose, got a little too friendly, and she had to use her last thistle-bomb as a decoy so she, Saskia, and Matthew could make their escape. They ended up hiding in a bricked-up doorway down some alley to avoid being lynched. At least Rose isn’t here to catch the controller’s eye—only Alice. My heart sinks.
Saskia’s about to lean into the door.
“Wait,” I say.
Nate’s eyes widen and I can tell he’s connected the dots, too.
“What now?” Saskia pauses, half in, half out.
“We don’t know who’s inside … they may be dangerous,” I say.
Saskia’s scowl deepens, causing her stain to halve in size. “Stop talking crap or I’ll chop more than just your locks off.”
Before I can object, Matthew’s hustled us through the door.
A wall of stench hits me—that smell Dad gets when he drinks the night before. Stale beer. But mingled with other odors: cabbage and onions and something else, I think it might be urine. Certainly, the room looks like it should smell of urine. The sawdust on the floor, the mildew on the walls, the tattered cushions, all discolored and mustard yellow. It looks like an older, jaded version of the film set.
Several Imps stare at us from their stools. Most of them wear gray overalls to signify their slave status, but some wear plain clothes—faded jeans and threadbare shirts. Their chatter drops as we follow Matthew and Saskia to the bar. I’ve been in a few pubs before, clutching my fake ID, but the anxiety I felt when illegally ordering vodka and Coke was nothing compared to this—my heart feels like it’s going to hammer a hole in my chest.
I search for the controller, but I see no sign of him. My muscles begin to loosen.
The Imp behind the bar wrings out a cloth with nicotine-stained fingers. Zula. She has skin so lined it swallows up her expression so I can’t tell if she smiles or frowns. I swear she was never that wrinkled in the film.
“What happened to you?” she asks Matthew.
“War wound,” he replies.
She nods and leans forward on the bar, allowing the tops of her breasts to sag over her corset. “And who are your friends?”
I open my mouth to reply, but Saskia cuts over me, her voice deceptively light.
“They’re just some new Night-Imps, Zula. They work in the Pastures with me and Matthew.”
Zula studies our faces. “Oh, yeah?”
I fidget with my hair. “Yeah.”
She looks at Alice and narrows her eyes. “I don’t want no trouble, yeah?”
“We’ve had a long shift,” Saskia says. “We just need to get Matthew bandaged up, then we’ll be on our way.”
Zula smiles, a matrix of wrinkles swamping her eyes. “You wanna pop ’round the back, honey? I can sort that out for you.”
Matthew grins like it had never occurred to him. “Thanks, you’re the best.”
“I ain’t doing it for you … you’re dripping on my floor.”
He lifts his hand so the blood leaches into the front of his shirt, and follows her into a back room.
Saskia leads us to a counter at the rear of the bar, putting as much distance between us and the other Imps as possible. She leans in. “When Matthew’s fixed up, we leave—we’ve got quite a hike to headquarters.”
I recall the bombed-out church from the film. Home to Thorn and Baba, general meeting place for the rebels. I feel this pull in my stomach as I swing between excitement and fear. I can’t believe we’re going to the actual, real-life headquarters, that we’re going to meet the actual, real-life Thorn and Baba. It’s like finding out dragons are real. You run outside and watch them circling the sky—awe-inspiring, mind-blowing—until they set you on fire and swallow you whole.
“Our pretty friend is attracting a little too much attention,” Saskia says, glancing at the other Imps. Even wearing overalls and with her newly chopped hair, Alice draws the gaze of several Imps.
“Get used to it,” Katie says.
I kick her under the table.
“You was right, girl.” Saskia’s eyes move to a figure slinking toward us. The controller from canon. Only this version of the controller has so many freckles that they can’t quite fit on his cheeks, spilling onto his forehead, his eyelids, and lips. And he looks more defined, his features whittled away so only the sharp bits remain, his face filed into a weasel’s. My stomach tightens.
He stands over Alice. “Well, what have we got here? A pretty girl on the wrong side of the city walls, always a pleasure.”
“Give it a rest,” Saskia says. “She’s just finished a long shift. We all have.”
He taps his star-shaped badge, just like in the film. “This demands a little more respect, woman.” He turns his attention back to Alice. “So how come I haven’t seen you around before?”
Alice looks at Saskia.
The controller smiles. “You can talk for yourself, I reckon, pretty mouth like that.”
I begin to wish Saskia had knocked a couple of Alice’s teeth out.
“Look, we were just going, OK?” Saskia says.
“You just got here.”
“And now we’re leaving. I’ll get my friend, he’s ’round the back with Zula. He got shot by some Gem soldiers.” She’s trying to win brownie points, but she jus
t sounds desperate.
The controller laughs. I notice how pink his tongue is, like he’s been sucking on a jawbreaker. “Well, aren’t you the heroes?”
Saskia hurries toward the bar, but the controller doesn’t leave. He drags up a chair, shoves Nate out of the way, and sits beside Alice. “What, she your mum or summit?”
Alice giggles nervously.
“Aunty.” I flatten my vowels so I sound more like him, but my voice comes out a little shaky.
“Yeah, she’s a real pain,” Katie says, unable to mask the lilt of her Liverpudlian accent.
The controller drapes an arm around Alice’s shoulder. “Well, maybe you should ditch your aunty and come sit with us.”
Alice looks rigid as a board. “I don’t think she’d approve.” But she changes her voice a little, sounding more Imp, and manages to hold his eye like she isn’t shitting a brick. For a moment, I think she’s going to pull it off.
“You’re shaking,” the freckly controller says. He leans into her and I imagine how foul his breath must smell. “It ain’t cold in ’ere, you know? Why are you shaking?” He sticks out his bottom lip like he’s worried about her. “Am I making you nervous, sweet’eart?”
She opens her mouth, I think to answer, but the controller doesn’t give her the chance. “’Ere, Terry.”
Another Imp sidles over, star-shaped badge pinned to his lapel. He has receding gray hair, and his stocky build suggests he has no problems finding food in the starving city.
The freckly controller smiles. “I got a trembling, pretty girl over ’ere. And while I would like to think it’s down to my good looks, I suspect it’s because she’s a stinking Gem.”
Everything seems to slow. Nate grabs my hand under the table, his palm slathered with sweat. I wish I had Rose’s last thistle-bomb right now. We could sure use a decoy.
Terry studies Alice’s face for a moment and looks a little perplexed. “She hasn’t even tried to look like an Imp. No wig, no fake scars, she’s just rubbed a bit of dirt in her face and hacked off her locks. It’s a poor show, really, a tad insulting p’raps. I mean, I know we Imps are thick, but still …”
