by H M Sealey
Alaia folded her arms tightly. “Terrorists do that. We don’t. If the stupid Far Right hadn’t got so much power in the mid 30’s in Europe it wouldn’t have been half as bad -”
“The blasted Far Right got in because the idiotic Progressive Left had been welcoming the bloody terrorists in for decades! The people got mad!”
“I know that.” She stared at him. “Are you blasted Far Right Daichi, or idiotic Progressive Left?”
Daichi paused, surprised she should ask. “Neither.”
“Right. Because not all Europeans are the same. Why do you think all Muslims are the same?”
There was silence between them for a few moments before Dai shook his head. “You’re absolutely right.”
Alaia accepted this with a slight smile. “The Far Right turned on them all Daichi. When the Islamic State came from Turkey the Muslim populations were already living in terror. It made no difference to them who was holding the flags or the guns.”
As she spoke, Alaia realised her eyes had met his and stayed there, fierce and unrelenting, It was Daichi who looked away first.
“You really know your stuff.” He said with admiration. Alaia, surprised by how much this compliment pleased her, looked away again.
“My Father says I shouldn’t argue politics too much.”
“You argue politics very well indeed.”
Alaia blushed. “My father’s concerned I’ll say too much to the wrong person.”
“Would that be very bad?”
“Education for girls was something the Traditionalists wanted an end to. The government keeps saying they intend to establish proper schools for girls, but the ones that do exist are targets.”
Daichi leaned forwards. “Are you saying you don’t go to school?”
Alaia didn’t answer that. “Girls aren’t meant to, no. Hopefully that’ll change in the future.”
“Alaia! Asim!” Fadia’s voice sounded more nervous than usual. Both children, who were now seated on the bare floorboards, turned to see their mother’s head emerge through the hatch.
“Both of you, come downstairs now.” She turned her eyes on Daichi and gave him a worried smile. “Please, stay absolutely silent up here. We have the sort of visitor who would be pleased to give us all away.”
~
Missy
In her head Missy was eight years old again, racing through the wood that stretched off from the edge of Kingsheath. Miles and miles of it, emerald green and peat brown in the summer and fire-bright with red and orange in the autumn.
Missy loved the autumn when the world became golden and the nights drew in. Her summer sandals crunched through the fallen leaves and the spindly fingers of the trees reached up into the evening sky. Elsie never came out to play in the evening, Elsie was a baby, scared of her own shadow.
Missy pressed on further into the woods, hunting for some adventure. The woods became dense about half a mile in and the world became nothing but trees and foliage. The wild beauty of the woods made life seem unpredictable and dangerous, and Missy liked danger. She liked the dark places.
The woman was lying in the roots of a fallen tree when Missy found her. Missy wondered whether or not she was dead. She looks as though she might be, but Missy had never seen a dead body before and so had nothing with which to compare it.
Intrigued, Missy pushed forwards until the woman managed to turn her head and look at her.
“Help me?” She whispered, her body remained splayed out in the leaves. The leaves, Missy thought, made a sort of blanket for her. “Please?”
The woman was bone thin, like a living skeleton, her red hair was feathery and seemed to have fallen out in places and she had freckles, a bit like Elsie. Missy crept forwards and crouched in the leaves, not the least bit frightened.
“I’m looking for my daughter.” Her voice was soft, stretched somehow, like her vocal cords were too tight. “Her name’s Rachael.”
“I don’t know anybody called Rachael.” Kingsheath was a small town, Missy knew most of the other children. Rachael was a very old fashioned name.
The woman’s thin face creased up. “You’re sure? She’d be about your age. I – I found out she was living here.”
Missy shook her head. Her thick, ink-black hair was still in plaits but the ribbons had come loose.
“I’ve come such a long way.”
“Where are you from?” Her clothing was funny, like old sacks and her feet were bare and filthy.
“I ….I escaped. I’ve walked for a very long time.”
“Escaped?” Missy brightened. “From where?”
“Prison.”
“Oooh. Are you bad? Did you kill someone?”
“No….no. Nothing like that. I just…..I don’t do as I’m told.”
Missy sat back on her heels.
“My mother says I never do as I’m told either.” Even now she was wearing shorts and a tee-shirt despite being near the Border. The Wolves will take you if you dress like a slut, everyone said that. But everyone knew it was only English sluts who were taken.
The woman smiled. “I escaped them the best way I could.” She gave a sudden, sharp cough and Missy noticed a little blood on her lips. “I stopped...taking my medication. They….they wouldn’t let me die. They let anyone who asks die, but not people like me…...we can’t leave like that.”
She coughed again and the blood ran down her chin. Missy guessed she didn’t have the strength to wipe it away. “But I didn’t take it the pills that would have given me another ten years. Then I ran. I just…..just want to see Rachael.”
“I really don’t know anyone called Rachael.” Missy was sorry about that, she would have liked to meet this woman’s daughter. She wondered if Rachael was as brave as her mother.
“My…..my pocket.”
“What?”
“Look in my pocket. Please.”
Missy leaned forwards and slid her hand gently into the woman’s pocket. Now she was even closer, Missy could feel the bones poking through thin skin and thin cloth. It was rare to meet someone so thin who wasn’t an actress or a model. Ordinary people tended to be quite fat.
She withdrew her hand clutching a silver locket on a chain.
“Did you want this?” She dangled it over the woman’s face.”
“No…..it’s for Rachael. Take it. Maybe….maybe you’ll meet her one day. If you do, tell her….tell her that Family Matters.” She coughed again and more blood spattered, several drops hitting Missy’s bare leg. “Tell her the locket…….important. Inside. She can trust the people inside.”
And then she closed her eyes and didn’t say anything else again. Missy pushed the locket into her own pocket and stood up and stared at the body. At least her face didn’t look like she was in pain any more, although she was very pale, like all the colour had been washed out of her. Her pallor stood out in a strange contrast to the vibrancy of the leaves. It was very sad, Missy thought, to die with none of her family around her. She hadn’t even had her lips moistened with the water of the last moment like Missy’s mother had done when her grandmother was dying. Who would lay this poor lady to rest with her ancestors? Missy wondered to which otherworld her soul would go, and wished she’d paid more attention to her family’s Shinto beliefs.
Driven by a desire to offer this unknown woman peace, Missy scooped up the coloured leaves and began to cover the body, whispering a little prayer to whatever Kami, the deities of the forest, might reside here.
Then Missy left, she walked away in such a respectful manner she surprised herself, suddenly disliking the dark places to which her feet had brought her. For months after this Missy had nightmares in which the unknown woman slowly rotted away, worms eating her flesh, never found, never mourned by her family. Alone in both life and death.
“I’m not a minority!” Missy screamed the words in sudden, uncharacteristic panic. She could not be that unknown woman! She could not lie, undiscovered in the trees, slowly rotting, forgotten, alone. “I’m
not! I’m British! I don’t even speak Japanese! My family have lived in this country for three generations! I don’t know anything about any council for ethnic minorities. I’m British!”
Missy pulled on the handcuff until her wrist bled. At least her body would show signs of restraint when it was found. If it was found. Not even Elsie knew about Missy’s waking nightmares, the fear of a lonely death.
“Please!” What was she doing? Arguing for her own continued incarceration? Arguing that they should sell her as a slave because it was so much less abhorrent than the other option? So much for the bravery of those who would sooner die than be enslaved. Missy didn’t feel very brave right now, she just felt frightened. This dark place was too dark and she wanted to see the light of her brother’s face.
She collapsed back onto the bed, sobbing. The image of the unknown woman burned onto her mind, the pale corpse stark against the autumn leaves as clear today as the day she had first stumbled upon her. Her own ghost, her own nightmare.
“Now that’s quite enough shouting ducks. You don’t want Zeb to gag you, do you?”
Nicky unbolted the door, a tray of food in her fat hands, a look of slight disapproval in her eyes.
“He’s going to kill me and you’re going to let him you mad bitch!”
Nicky sighed. “My Zeb doesn’t like taking risks in business.”
“Can’t you see how wrong this is?”
She shrugged. “There now, don’t think about it. Have some soup -” She didn’t get any further, Missy’s foot collided with the tray and it flew from Nicky’s grip, showering its contents all over the floor and the nearest bed. Nicky squealed and barely escaped the scalding liquid.
“I don’t want your damn soup! I don’t want anything from you!”
“Zeb will make it really quick. Honestly love, it might be better in the long run.” She began to rub her arm where drops of soup had landed. “I’ve seen some of the girls we sell after a few months. It’s not pretty.”
“So why do you do it?”
“Because I love Zeb.”
“Why does he do it?”
“For money. Ever since the Reformists banned slavery in the BSI Zeb’s business has grown. The Shariah Courts over there haven’t got round to freeing slaves you see. Owning them’s still legal, you just can’t buy and sell them. And quite a few go to Old Britain.”
“You can’t have slaves in Old Britain.”
“That’s why Zeb charges so much. It’s the risk, see, trafficking girls there. When NuTru legalised prostitution there was an explosion in brothels. Problem was, proper working girls charge proper prices, and the brothel owners don’t really want to pay the girls.”
Missy processed this in horror. “So they buy slaves?”
“It’s just business. One major layout for a girl who can make them twenty grand a week. Business.”
“No, it’s evil, that’s what it is.”
Nicky laughed at that and sat on the edge of the bed beside Missy.
“There’s no such thing as evil. A good business man isn’t evil, he’s shrewd. Besides, Zeb pays his taxes and his employees. He’s legit.”
“Who’s in charge here, in this Border place?”
“Now that’s the question. There isn’t really anyone in charge, just the businessmen and their private police forces. It’s a good place to live – if you’re rich.”
“What if you’re not rich?”
“Then it’s not a good place to live. There’s no welfare here, no rules neither. Dog eat dog.”
“Charming.” Missy fell back on the bed and stared at the concrete ceiling. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone about this, not about Zeb or you.”
Nicky patted her leg cheerfully. “Of course you wouldn’t ducks. I wish I could believe that.”
“Then sell me. At least give me a chance.”
Nicky gazed at her with a thoughtful look in her pale, hooded eyes.
“You really consider yourself British?”
Missy nodded. “I do, so does my brother. My parents are both dead. I promise nobody will make that much fuss about me, I’m just not very important.”
“Parents are dead are they?” Nicky’s eyes took on a sympathetic light. “What happened?”
“Accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You sound really sorry.”
Nicky seemed to consider this new information. “What’s your job love?”
“I don’t have one. Nobody’ll miss me.”
Nicky stood up and gazed down at the frightened girl. “Sit up, let me look at you.”
Missy did so, not pulling away when Nicky’s hands took her face the way Zeb’s had. Nicky’s eyes passed over Missy’s clear, golden skin, her perfect, almond shaped eyes, her slim neck and thick hair.
“You’re certainly a looker. Let’s see the rest of you. Unbutton your shirt.”
Missy swallowed, but this time did as she was told, fumbling with the buttons with her free hand. Closing her eyes she let the material fall away from her body and felt the old woman’s eyes on her.
“Very nice. Very nice indeed.”
Nicky passed a hand over her breasts and Missy held herself stiffly, determined to restrain her desire to bite this invader.
Nicky rounded the bed, drew a key from her pocket and unfastened the handcuff.
“Stand up now.”
Missy, entirely naked, stood up, bearing the ache between her legs and meekly allowing Nicky’s appraising gaze to scrutinise every part of her. She squeezed her eyes shut, holding back tears of humiliation.
“I have to say, you’re a lovely shape. Zeb might be making a mistake in getting rid of you.” She patted Missy’s bottom appreciatively. “I think you’d fetch a high price. I’ll have a word with him, see if I can make him see sense -”
Nicky didn’t finish that sentence. Missy reacted without even properly considering her options. She was young and fairly strong. Even injured she was a fast runner and Nicky was old. Her instincts took over as they sometimes did and every instinct drove her to try and survive.
Missy hit the old woman so hard she wondered if she’d broken her jaw. The impact certainly hurt her fist and she clutched it for a moment to relieve the pain. Nicky sagged onto the bed with barely a groan and stayed there.
Missy moved quickly, she snatched up the fallen nightshirt and pulled it back on. Then she leaned over Nicky with concern, she hoped she hadn’t hurt the old woman too badly. She never meant to hurt people but somehow she always did. Every teacher in every school she’d ever attended had pulled her up on her quick tongue and hurtful language. She’d never actually punched somebody directly in the face, although she once slapped Kyle Evans for calling Elsie a freckle-faced freak.
Leaving Nicky on the bed, Missy ran for the open door and slipped out into the deserted corridor beyond. She closed the door as quietly as possible and slid the bolt, resting her face against the cold wood for a moment, trying to regain control of her erratic emotions. At school she had been taught that emotions were good, that emotions should be followed and pandered to. That how she felt was paramount and of far more importance than any sort of reality.
And yet only some emotions, it seemed, were to be celebrated. When Missy had expressed indignation at the patronising offer of extra time in exams offered to all Minorities, the whole school behaved as though she’d killed someone. And when Missy had suggested – rather forcefully – that the rampant STD’s circulating in the school could be curtailed if people just kept their stupid legs together, she had been put in detention for a month. It didn’t matter how emotional Missy became concerning the subject. Those emotions were clearly wrong though nobody really explained why.
Which was confusing. Because when Lea Harris got mad and walked out because she was offended by whatever it was she was offended by that week, she was constantly assured her opinions and emotions were valid and she should express them – even if it meant smashing up the science lab because scie
nce is too patriarchal and white.
Right now, Missy needed to restrain her feelings like wild dogs on leads. Terror was valid, but ultimately useless to her. She said that once, in a science lesson, that feelings got in the way of examining facts. That statement was the cause of her first suspension. She couldn’t remember all the others.
Missy gazed around swiftly, the concrete corridor was broken by several locked doors on either side and, judging by the lack of natural light, probably underground. That meant no windows.
All right then. Balling her fists at her sides, Missy padded along the cold floor, turning towards the only visible flight of steps. She wouldn’t run from the dark places. Misaki Hisakawa did not fall, cowering from danger and she did not just give up. Not ever. Not even when Dai climbed the big oak tree and she couldn’t. It took three weeks before she finally scrambled to the top, skinning her knees and elbows on the bark. Every day she tried, her small arms reaching up, full of determination, clasping at the lower branches until she finally pulled herself up and carved her name beside Dai’s on the highest branch.
That mark was probably still there. A challenge accepted and defeated.
Taking the steps two at a time, Missy’s bare feet climbed soundlessly up until she reached the door. She took the handle with a cautious hand, wondering whether or not there was anyone on the other side to see.
Deciding the risk was necessary, Missy pushed the door carefully open, peering around it, her body tense enough to fight or run.
To her relief, the world beyond was normal and silent. No more concrete and pungent straw. Missy emerged into a hallway with polished floorboards and walls papered in an old-fashioned, swirly style hung with paintings of rivers and trees in wooden frames. There was a large, Chinese vase on a white pedestal, and a trailing plant on a shelf with tendrils that almost reached the floor. This was a rich house then, only the richest could afford to keep plants indoors.
She shivered, this was a rich veneer covering an ugly heart and somehow, the knowledge of what lay beneath the lovingly polished floor made everything seem ugly.
Missy slid along the hallways as swiftly as she was able, shadow like. When she and Dai were children, Dai had convinced her that their grandfather was a Ninja, able to disappear like smoke. Missy liked that story and was sorry to discover that he was only a bank clerk.
