by Sophie Davis
“Mr. Atlic represents himself,” Navine said carefully. “And I do not know what he is looking for. He has attended Calling Day once or twice in the past, but he is not a regular. It seems he only comes when he has a specific vacancy to fill, though he never shares what the position entails. I truly am sorry, Stassi. I wish I could tell you more that might help with your interview.”
Before I could ask anything else, we arrived at the clearing in front of the blocks. To the right were the Dorm Blocks and the Cafeteria Block and to the left were the Admin Blocks. I’d only gone left at the split one time. I had gone to the main office to request that my locket’s chain be kept in my safe box, for when I left the camp. I’d realized early on that keeping the locket on the delicate, gold chain was just asking for another camp girl to snatch it off of my neck. I’d slipped a short, sturdy scrap of pleather through the locket’s loop and asked that the chain be stowed away. Even then, I’d only gone inside of the concrete structure marked with a “2”, where the admins who oversaw the day-to-day activities of the camp worked.
This time, we entered Admin Block 1, home to Head Matron. It was my first visit to her quarters and stepping inside was like journeying through a portal to a land rife with opulence. Plush rugs with detailed patterns covered the floor, sparkling light fixtures hung from the ceiling, and furnishings made of real wood—a precious commodity in our time—were scattered throughout. Navine must have understood the culture shock and taken pity, because she allowed me time to simply stand and stare at my new surroundings. I’d heard of such lavishness but thought it no longer existed outside of the stories the older generations told. In the world outside of the camps, even the upper echelons of society valued utility over beauty. A commodity’s price tag was directly proportional to how functional it was to the user, not whether it was shinier and more aesthetically pleasing than its competitor.
“This is Head Matron’s reception room,” Navine explained quietly.
“Is your residence like this?” I asked. The matrons had their own Dorm Blocks, separate from ours, and we were strictly forbidden from entering them.
“I wish,” Navine replied dryly. “Come on, this way.”
Still gaping at the reception area, I followed Navine through a set of painted glass doors on the far side of the room. From there, we navigated our way through two more rooms filled with plush leather loveseats, brocaded sofas, china cabinets, crystal and gold chandeliers, and a chaise lounge beside a fireplace that looked utterly perfect for reading on a chilly evening. Finally, just when my senses couldn’t take any more, we entered a room lined with dark wooden shelves. The deep green carpet sank beneath my feet and made me feel as though I was walking on pillows—a stark contrast to the hard, pressed dirt and concrete floors I was accustomed to. In the middle of the large space, Trista and Andaline were sitting at a table made of the largest piece of wood I’d ever seen.
“Wait here,” Navine directed, pointing to a vacant chair at the table. “They will call you soon.” With that, she turned and left.
“Oh, they asked for you, too?” Trista whispered, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Evidently, I was no longer a pseudo-friend but direct competition. “I thought Mr. Atlic had already narrowed it down.”
“What do you mean?” I whispered back, though my attention wasn’t on Trista. Gazing around the room, checking out the oddities on the shelves, my eyes landed on the mantle above the fireplace. Lined atop the main focal point in the room, like the precious treasure they were, were four leather-bound books. I longed to leap up and examine them more closely, to hold a part of history in my hands and feel the cracked leather beneath my fingers. Unfortunately, I knew better than to give in to that longing. If I was caught touching Head Matron’s belongings, especially something as valuable as a book, she might go historic on me and cut off my hands. Or, more likely, she’d make me unemployable and the remainder of my time at the work camp would feel even more like hell on earth. Both scenarios were ones I wanted to avoid.
Balling my hands tightly in my lap, I stared wistfully at the books. One day, I promised myself. One day I will own at least one real, paper book.
“—she was really crying, it was so sad,” Trista was saying. “Stassi, are you even listening?”
“Huh?” I asked dumbly, drawing my eyes away from the battered leather covers.
“Joselyn,” Trista repeated. “She was dismissed immediately after her interview. I felt so bad for her.”
Trista’s excited expression didn’t match her tone or her words. The field was being narrowed, but she was still in the race. Then again, so was I.
“Have you spoken to Mr. Atlic yet?” I asked quietly.
“I did,” Trista said triumphantly. “He was very interested in my culinary abilities, and I was asked to stay.”
Well, crap.
If Mr. Atlic was looking for a cook, I was totally screwed. Why hadn’t I simply listed off all those weird culinary phrases from Trista’s books—why yes, Mr. Atlic, I can “mise en place” with the best of them, and just wait until you taste my “a la carte”!—instead of telling him I could barely boil water? Yep, I was definitely screwed.
“What about you?” I whispered to Andaline. “Have you been in there yet?”
“I have,” Andaline replied proudly. She was a known suck-up, so I wasn’t surprised she was still a prospective hire for Mr. Atlic. “We had a very nice chat and then they asked me to wait here.”
Interesting, I thought, eyeing the other girl.
Andaline had never worked in the Cafeteria Block, so I couldn’t imagine she was capable of doing much more than burning toast. What did she and Trista have in common that made them both contenders for the mystery job?
“What did he ask you about?” I hedged, hoping to figure out what I should highlight during my interview.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Andaline sang, offering me a haughty smirk.
“Yes, I would. That’s why I asked,” I replied dryly.
Trista snorted. She might not have been over the moon about my late addition to the roster, but at least we were still allies when it came to girls like Andaline.
“Stacy? Mr. Atlic is ready for you,” Head Matron announced, poking her head out through a heavy oak door with strange symbols carved into the wood.
“It’s Stassi,” I corrected automatically, nearly swallowing my tongue when Head Matron’s beady eyes blazed at my audacity.
Thankfully, Mena pushed past Head Matron at that moment, head down as heaving sobs wracked her petite frame. Mena was one of the girls at camp I avoided at all costs; she had a mean-streak a mile wide. Her favorite pastime was torturing the other girls to the point of tears and screams, then swearing to the matrons that she was the tormented party. It was impossible to enumerate the number of times girls got in trouble just because Mena was bored. And yet, I still felt badly for her as she sprinted for the exit. I’d seen Mena’s faux crying enough to know that these tears were real.
Head Matron glared as she gestured me inside the room, which turned out to be her office. Mr. Atlic sat in one of two armchairs in the corner, a glass-topped table arranged between the seats. His associates leaned against the wall by the door, speaking in hushed tones. They stopped talking as I walked past.
“Stassi, please have a seat.” Mr. Atlic gestured to the empty chair across from him.
Head Matron quietly retreated behind her desk to an obscenely large, throne-like seat where she rested her generous derriere.
“You wanted to see me again, Mr. Atlic?” I asked as I lowered myself into the leather chair. I took a moment to appreciate how it molded perfectly to my body—heaven in chair-form.
“It’s Cyrus,” he reminded me kindly. “And yes, I did. I just have a few questions for you, Stassi.” His gaze traveled south briefly, from my eyes to just below my chin. Since my tunic covered everything from the neck down, I knew he was studying my locket.
“It was a gift from my mother,” I vo
lunteered, cupping the precious item in my hand.
“Your mother?” Mr. Atlic asked, arching an eyebrow. “Is she still alive?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. Police found me wandering the streets when I was a child. When no one came to claim me, they brought me here. This locket is all I have from my life before the camp. I have only the faintest memory of my mother, but I figure it must have come from her.”
This was more information than I’d shared with another person in years. Inside the work camps, knowledge was power; the more the mean girls knew about you, the more they could hurt you.
“I see,” Mr. Atlic replied carefully. “Well, it is a very beautiful piece.”
“Thank you,” I quietly answered.
Mr. Atlic cleared his throat. “Are you an adventurous girl, Stassi?”
In the reflection of a mirror behind Mr. Atlic’s head, I saw one of his associates elbow the other one. Neither man had been paying attention to our conversation previously, but they’d both just tuned in.
“I haven’t had much opportunity to be,” I answered truthfully. “But I would very much like the opportunity to try new things.”
“And what do you know of history?” Mr. Atlic asked.
“I’ve read many historical fiction novels of various times and a few general books on the subject. It is an area I am keenly interested in learning about,” I replied, once again speaking honestly. “Many of history’s tales are more fantastical than anything made up.”
“I agree wholeheartedly.” Mr. Atlic smiled. “Stassi, I have a very unique position available in my company. The training is rigorous, I warn you. Though there are physical requirements to it, it is far more mentally taxing. You would be forced to learn a great deal of information in a relatively short period of time and then be responsible for applying it. Coming from the work camp, you would be severely behind your classmates in many areas. But, that being said, there is nothing that my people cannot teach you if you are willing to learn and willing to work hard to catch up.”
“What sort of company do you own?” I asked uncertainly.
“We deal in acquisitions, generally,” he replied vaguely. “I’m sorry, I cannot say more at this time. In my line of work, discretion is key. Unfortunately, I cannot explain any further until you accept my offer.”
“Are you offering me a job?” I asked disbelievingly. Surely, he’d misspoken.
Mr. Atlic nodded. “I am.”
“Just like that?” I continued incredulously, the filter between my brain and my mouth disappearing. “No more questions about my abilities? No inquiries about my health? No commentary on my appearance?” I paused, whipping around to look questioningly at his associates behind me, before returning my uncertain gaze to Mr. Atlic. “What’s the catch?”
“Stacy,” Head Matron snapped from behind her desk, her tone as hard as her heart. “Is that any way to show Mr. Atlic how grateful you are for his offer? Custodial work is very desirable for an unskilled, illiterate girl like you.”
Clearly Head Matron had not been listening to our conversation. No part of Mr. Atlic’s questions and brief explanation hinted toward making me a cleaning lady. The job he was offering was definitely more involved, more intellectually stimulating, than menial labor…right? Did Head Matron know something that I didn’t? Was Mr. Atlic looking for an adventurous janitor capable of reading and retaining information?
“I would be a custodian?” I blurted out.
“Not at all,” Mr. Atlic replied with a smirk, before turning his attention to the Head Matron. “It’s Sta-ssi,” he began, stressing the two syllables of my name. Head Matron flushed at the correction. “And Stassi has every right to question the validity of my offer. Doing so only confirms what I gleaned from our brief conversation earlier; she is a smart girl.” He locked my gaze with his emerald eyes. “I won’t lie and say this job is not without risks. In fact, it can be quite dangerous. But, if you’re the type of girl I think you are, you will find the work exhilarating, just as I did before retiring.”
I took a deep breath. “I truly am very grateful for the offer….”
Mr. Atlic’s shoulders slumped, regret flashing in his eyes.
“I really didn’t mean to sound otherwise earlier, honestly,” I continued. “It’s just, well, when you said ‘acquisitions,’ I worried you might mean that I was to be an acquisition. As much as I would like a job, I don’t want to be…um, acquired by your clients.”
Both of Mr. Atlic’s companions roared with laughter, as if this was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
“Hey boss, guess this is why we don’t hire mainlanders for running duties?” one of the men called. “You aren’t great at selling the job.”
To my utter astonishment, Cyrus Atlic chuckled. He didn’t seem to be the least bit annoyed that his subordinate was making fun of him. He didn’t tell the man to be quiet or yell at him for speaking out of turn. And in that moment, I decided I liked Mr. Atlic. He seemed like the best boss a girl could ask for.
“You’d be an acquirer if you come work for me, not an acquired,” Mr. Atlic assured me.
“Of people?” I hedged, even while worrying that my continued questioning might make him rescind his offer. Still, I didn’t want to go to work camps or labor pools to examine people the way I’d been inspected. I didn’t think I had the stomach for treating people as mere property to be bought and sold.
I was surprised again by the chuckle my question drew.
“No, not at all,” Mr. Atlic replied, then leaned forward. “What do you say, Stassi? Are you willing to take a leap of faith?”
I drew in a deep breath. After doing my best to not appear overeager, it was a relief to let a wide smile spread across my features.
“Yes. Yes, I am,” I answered and then began gushing like a fire hose. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Mr. Atlic. I promise to do my best to learn whatever it is you need for me to know. I swear, you won’t regret this decision. You will be very glad you made it, in fact. I will work hard to live up to this opportunity, I promise. Thank you, Mr. Atlic.”
My new boss held up a hand. “Not so fast. I did forget to mention one catch.”
I held my breath. This is where the other shoe drops, I thought.
“You absolutely cannot call me Mr. Atlic another single time. That is what my clients call me, how those who want something from me address me. If you continue to call me Mr. Atlic, I will think that you want something from me. You have the job, so you no longer want that. And you may want me to pay you, but I don’t give out paychecks, employees earn them.” His tone was light and joking, though I was fairly certain he was very serious about everything he’d just said. “I know I won’t regret my decision to hire you. I just hope you don’t regret your decision to take the job. Though, if you do,” he shrugged, “I’m sure we can find you some custodial position.” He said the last part loudly for the benefit of Head Matron, making me like him even more.
“It’s a deal, Cyrus,” I replied giddily, unable to contain my excitement.
“Why don’t you pack your belongings, then? I’d like to be airborne in thirty minutes. I still have work to do back on the island today.”
I stood to leave but turned back at his words. “The island?”
“Branson Isle. That is where my organization is based and where you will live, for the most part.” Cyrus looked over my head at his two associates. “Baz, would you mind accompanying Stassi to her room? I would like to make sure she leaves the camp with all of her belongings,” Cyrus said pointedly.
“On it, boss.” The man called Bazzle waved to me. Though his commanding presence, towering height, and bristling muscles reminded me of a mercenary I’d once read about, there was also a certain kindness behind his steely gaze that made me feel instantly at ease. “Lead the way, Stassi.”
I eagerly scurried for the door without sparing a glance to the Head Matron I was happily leaving behind.
It took only twenty minutes
to find a bag—Navine procured a ratty, canvas tote, with the caveat that the price would be deducted from my final credit count at the camp—and pack my meager belongings. Bazzle and I were standing outside my dorm waiting for Trista. I prayed that this wasn’t goodbye, that she’d be going to Branson Isle, too. We might not be best friends, but I’d certainly be glad to have a familiar face around in such an unfamiliar place.
Bazzle was a chatty guy and kept baiting me into conversation by making vague and intriguing remarks about the island and my new job. Yet, when I tried to get real, concrete information out of him, he clammed up like he was cultivating a pearl. It was maddening to me, but he clearly found it highly entertaining. I was mid-question when an angry voice broke in, drowning me out.
“How dare you! That was my job that you stole!”
I turned to find Trista storming down the path towards the Dorm Blocks. Her cheeks were red with anger, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She shook one tightly clenched fist in my direction.
“How could you?” Trista demanded.
Bazzle immediately stepped in front of me, shielding me with his muscular frame.
“It’s okay,” I told him, nudging Bazzle aside with my elbow.
Trista stomped a foot in front of me, so upset that she was vibrating.
“I’m really sorry, Trista,” I said honestly. “I didn’t know there was only one position. I didn’t mean to steal it from you.”
“Well, you did. Before you came in, Mr. Atlic was ready to hire me.” The tears started to fall. “The other company men have already made their picks. I’m going to have to stay here another year and risk becoming an Undesirable. And it’s all your fault, Stassi. After all I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”
“I’m sorry, Trista,” I repeated, unsure what I could say to make the situation better.
Trista raised her hand. I closed my eyes, anticipating the slap. I had no intention of fighting her. If hitting me would make her feel better, that was fine. She deserved some consolation for another year in the camp.
But the sting never came. Cracking one eye open, I saw Bazzle holding Trista’s wrist. She was sobbing openly, no longer trying to hold it in.
