Gia lowered herself with shaking knees onto what felt like a perfectly ordinary sofa. She leaned back and closed her eyes.
How much longer was this going to go on?
Gradually she became aware of more sounds. An airconditioner humming. An occasional rattle that might be a door stirring in a draft. Soft voices murmuring somewhere, probably in the next room. Her companions had either left, or were standing perfectly still. Gia could not even hear them breathe.
It would be easy to start imagining things.
There might be somebody sitting next to her. Or a whole room full of people all staring at her. She tried not to think what might happen next. The blindfold was getting more and more uncomfortable. She could breathe, but her breath got trapped inside the fabric, hot and unpleasant.
At last she heard a door open, and somebody said something in a language Gia did not understand. The woman replied, and Gia felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Come.”
Once again, someone guided her forward. She guessed she must be walking through a door into another room. There was the noise of a chair scraping on the ground, and a door closed behind her.
“Blindfold off.” An old woman’s voice.
Gia guessed the speaker was sitting down, by the direction of the sound.
Somebody— Gia thought it must be the woman who’d been leading her— did something to the back of her neck, and then pulled the cloth away, pinching the hair at her neck.
Gia blinked at the scene before her.
The room was small and badly lit. A table lamp stood on a desk piled high with stacks of paper. A man and a woman sat on either side of the table, their faces glowing in the light of the lamp.
It was the woman that caught Gia’s attention.
For an instant, she was reminded of her mother. The black eyes, the dead-straight, ink-black hair. The long, white neck, the way she held herself. But then the impression faded. Saraswati was warm and alive. This woman looked as if she’d been carved out of ivory, all her edges sharp as bones.
The man was utterly unremarkable. He wore a suit and tie, and the light gleamed off his glasses so that his eyes were hidden.
Gia glanced aside at the woman who’d brought her in, and found, to her surprise, that she recognised her.
This was the white-haired girl she’d seen at The Playground, that evening she’d been out dancing with Ben and Fatima. For some reason, she found this fact gave her courage and she was able to turn back and meet the ivory woman’s gaze without flinching.
“Gianetta Grobbelaar,” said the man. “Sister of Niccolo Grobbelaar, who is our lawful property, according to agreement.”
He tapped a piece of paper on the table in front of him.
“According to this contract, signed by you in ink and blood. Why are you here, and not your brother?”
Gia swallowed. She could feel her legs beginning to shake with nerves. “I have a counter offer.”
The woman’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “And what can this be?”
“Take me instead. I will be much more use to you than Nico.”
“How so?”
Gia had to take a deep breath before she could answer. “Nico is just a little boy. He cannot— he has problems. He can’t really speak properly, and—”
The woman’s voice cut across hers. “Of course. He is Saraswati’s son, is he not? That is what happens, when blood is mixed.”
Gia stared at her. “I’m sorry?”
“Saraswati is his mother, so? Your mother too. The only surprise, is that you are so—” The woman’s eyes measured her. “So remarkably normal.”
Seeing Gia’s surprise, the woman continued. “Our blood does not mix well with the humans.” Her lips curled. “Crooks and straights as they say. Their children don’t often come out so uncomplicated.”
Gia stared into the cold, black eyes. Her heart drummed in her ears. “I’m adopted.”
“Ah.” The woman inclined her head. “That explains. You are quite straight then. What use for us? The boy would be of interest. He has his mother’s blood.”
This was her chance. Gia spoke quickly. “That’s exactly the thing. You can no longer have your people working in Special Branch, can you? Special Branch are getting rid of all the crooks. And you need spies, especially now that the Purists are getting so strong.”
The man turned his head toward her, his glasses flashing, and Gia felt the woman’s eyes were boring into her.
“I have a certificate of purity. And I‘ve just signed up for the Special Branch Youth Brigade.”
She stopped for breath, looking from one of them to the other. Neither moved, or gave any sign.
“I can work for you.”
Was it her imagination, or had the woman’s expression changed, ever so slightly?
“An interesting offer,” the woman said and glanced at the man.
“What are your skills?” he said.
“I’m sorry?”
“What can you do? What are you good at?”
Gia felt blank. What could she do?
“I can draw,” she blurted, then felt instantly mortified. What use was that?
Then it came to her.
“Can I have some paper, and a pen or pencil?”
The man drew a pen out of his pocket and held it out to her.
Gia stepped forward to take it. “Thanks. Can I use this?” She pointed at a notepad that lay between them.
He nodded, so she pulled it closer to her.
“These are some of the people I saw while I was there, at Special Branch,” she said, drawing quickly.
She’d always been good at this, capturing the rough likeness of anyone that had caught her interest. First, Nurse Lucy appeared in a few quick lines. Then she drew Cadet Lee, spending a bit more time on her. Cadet Lee had a fascinating face, and deserved a little more care. As she drew, she could feel their attention on her.
Her confidence grew, and she drew a quick sketch of Captain Witbooi, head and shoulders, and then Mrs Solomon’s face.
There, she told herself. That’s enough.
She straightened, then had to stop herself from flinching as the woman reached out to take the paper.
The eyebrows went up again. “You saw these people only once?”
“Well, no,” admitted Gia. “Most of those I saw more than once. But that doesn’t really matter. I can remember faces quite well, if I need to.”
Drawing had calmed her, and she was pleased at how confident she sounded.
The woman put the drawing on the table and tapped it with a long finger. She glanced at the man.
“Give me your hand,” said the man. He held out his hand. His fingers closed around hers.
“Look here.” He was taking off his glasses. Gia braced herself for whatever would be revealed, but found herself looking into a perfectly ordinary face. He was not young or particularly handsome. His eyes, now revealed, were mild.
Gia was just starting to wonder what she was supposed to do, when she became aware that she could no longer look away. She could not turn her head, nor even blink.
She could still see, but somehow she did not know what she was seeing.
His attention became a searchlight, blasting her vision into a blind white haze.
Her thoughts shrank, then steamed away like ants under the focused beam of a magnifying glass. Their little deaths left scorch marks on the white sheet of her mind, and these were considered with slow care. There was nowhere to hide from the unrelenting focus of his gaze.
Abruptly, the sensation ceased and Gia found that she was on her knees, retching. She gasped, and fought down the urge to vomit, desperately swallowing the saliva pooling in her mouth. Her head ached and she put her hands up to her face, half expecting to find some terrible wound or absence.
Nothing was wrong. Or at least, nothing she could feel with her fingers.
“What—” She struggled to control her voice. “What did you do?”
“Ju
st checking,” said the man. He had his glasses on again, and Gia got to her feet, backing away almost to the door.
“Straight as a die,” he said to the woman.
“Good. As I thought, then,” she replied.
She looked at Gia. “We accept your offer.”
Silk
The headache woke her.
She struggled up through the tangle of dreams, relieved to find herself safe, in her own bed.
The night had been full of nightmares, of running, and hiding, dodging from shadow to shadow in an effort to evade the unrelenting searchlight of the hunter.
She blinked in the bright sunlight pouring through the window.
The events of the previous night were confused in her memory and at first she was not sure what had been a dream, and what had been real. But the envelope under her pillow was evidence that some of it at least, had really happened.
The revised contract, resigned, and resealed.
Proof.
That thought brought her upright, to stare out the window then relaxed as she saw that it was still early. She had not overslept after all.
The first part of her plan had gone better than she’d expected, but her mother was still not home. Saraswati would not come home until she knew the danger was past, and Nico was safe. Getting her back was all that mattered. Then things could return to the way they should be.
Her mind skittered away from the thought that it might already be too late for that. She’d made her bargain, after all.
Soon enough, she’d be leaving for Special Branch and nothing would ever be the same again.
That doesn’t matter, she told herself. It won't be forever. As long as everyone here at home is together, nothing else really matters.
There was no one in the kitchen, apart from Pouf, who sat waiting hopefully in front of the fridge. He followed her to Nico’s room.
Nico’s shoes were still lying all over the floor. They looked like dead things. Gia picked them up and put them back into his cupboard. As she moved around the room, she heard a rustle of bedding from Poepie’s cage and saw him watching her, his little pointed rat face emerging from between the bars.
Pouf, seeing the movement, jumped onto the bed and started ducking his head up and down, preparing to jump.
“No, Pouf!”
Pouf looked up at her with huge, innocent eyes, then ducked to wash his shoulder.
Gia checked to see that the rat’s water bottle was full, and put some new pellets into the empty food tray. He sniffed at them and picked one up, rotating it in his paws.
There was a rattle from the lid of the fish tank. Something was stuck under there.
Looking closer, she saw that the skeekers had grown considerably since she’d last checked. All of them had developed legs, and quite a few were clinging to the plants or the side of the tank, just above water level, their long, frilly tails spreading out behind them. Some even had wings and she knew now what was causing the scratchy, ticking sounds from under the lid. Some of them must have completed the metamorphosis from skeekers into crimpers. How long had they been stuck under the lid, trying to fly? She’d have to let them out, otherwise they’d fall back into the water and drown.
She leaned back as far as she could, and lifted the lid.
Nothing happened.
Expecting to feel the tickle of crimper feet on her hands and arm, she fought back the urge to drop the lid, and lifted it higher. For a moment she saw them clinging there, their newly dry wings gleaming, and then with a buzzing hum they lifted, one after the other and flew up into the room.
Damn! The window!
Gia put the lid back and rushed to open the window, where several of the crimpers were already flinging themselves at the glass with loud tocks. Before she could get there, Pouf was on the windowsill, tail lashing. He jumped up, batting a crimper down onto the sill.
“Leave it, Pouf!”
Gia swept him off the windowsill.
The crimper was up and against the glass again, scrabbling with its thorny legs.
“No, stop! You’ll hurt yourself. Wait—”
The window was stiff, but she got it open at last and then watched with relief as the little rainbow-coloured creatures flitted out into the early morning air, tails fluttering. Pouf gave a disgusted miaow and stalked out of the room, his tail lashing.
“Gia? Is that you?”
“Yes, Dad.” She closed the window, thinking that she’d better check on the tank again tomorrow.
Her father was in the kitchen. He had been asleep when she got back late last night, and as far as she could tell, had not noticed that she’d been gone.
“Morning, Gia.”
He stood, leaning against the kitchen table. She studied his face but although he looked tired and sad, there was no sign that he’d been aware of her absence last night.
“Morning, Dad.”
“Up early,” he said. “Going for a run?”
“Maybe.” She’d already decided that she would not tell him anything yet. There were too many uncertainties. What if she could not find a way to get a message to Saraswati? What if Saraswati did not return after all?
Better not to raise any false hope.
“I finished unpicking the toile last night,” she said.
“Really? That’s great. You can lay it out on the fabric today. Mandy can help you.”
“It’s Sunday, Dad. Mandy’s not coming in today.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Oh, yes. Well, then I’ll have to give you a hand. Just to start you off. I have to go out again. I want to go round to the hospitals this morning.”
She blinked at him a moment before she understood. “I’m sure nothing like that’s happened, Dad.”
“Then why hasn’t she sent a message?” His voice cracked with anger and frustration. Then he looked away. “Sorry.” He took a shaky breath, and let it out.
“It’s just so hard not knowing.”
-oOo-
Gia left her father in the kitchen, having persuaded him to eat some breakfast. Outside, the neighbourhood was just starting to wake. It was still very early, and Gia wondered if she was wasting her time, but to her relief she saw Granny rolling up the grid that protected her shop at night.
“Good morning,” she said when she saw Gia. “Help me pull.”
Gia helped her tug the grid all the way up, then watched as Granny secured it with a chain.
“Granny, could you give a message to Mom?”
The old woman finished tying up the end of the chain, then got a bunch of keys out of her pocket and unlocked the shop door.
“You don’t have to tell me where she is or anything like that. It’s just that—”
“Shush,” said Granny. “Ears out here. Tell me inside.”
Gia fell silent and waited while Granny propped open the door.
“Take this, and put it right against the door so it doesn’t swing closed.”
Granny pointed at a bucket of garish plastic flowers. Gia did as she was told, then followed Granny into the shop.
“Right,” said Granny, levering herself up into her chair behind the counter. “Talk now.”
Gia got the envelope out of her pocket and gave it to Granny.
“What’s this?” said Granny, fishing a pair of reading glasses from among the strings of beads around her neck. When she had the glasses balanced on her nose, she took the contract out of the envelope and squinted down at it.
Her face remained expressionless as she read it through.
Then she looked at Gia over her glasses.
“You did this— when?”
“Last night.”
Granny gave a nod as she folded the contract.
“You did right to show me this,” she said, handing it back to Gia. “But don’t show it to anybody else. Nobody, you hear?”
“Don’t you want to keep it? I thought you’d need to show Mom—”
Granny was shaking her head. “No, I don’t need that. I’ll take th
e message.”
“Are they— are they all right?”
“They're fine. Don’t worry.”
Granny took off her glasses and looked at Gia again, her eyes intent. “You did well, girl.”
-oOo-
Gia paced the studio.
She was not sure what to do. She was supposed to lay out the pattern of Kavitha’s wedding gown on the silk, ready to be cut. Her father had promised to help her with this, but he was still out.
At first, she’d decided that she’d wait for him.
She tidied away the pieces of the toile, and swept up all the little scraps and threads left behind from the unpicking. The cutting table looked clean enough, but she cleaned it all the same, wiping it with a clean, dry cloth. As she worked, she wondered how long it would be before her mother and Nico came back. Granny had promised to pass on the message, but how long would that take? Her body ached with the lack of sleep. At last there was no more tidying to be done, and she realised that she would have to start without Karel’s help.
The silk was still folded in the bag, along with another piece that had to be the lining fabric. That gave her pause. She’d forgotten all about the lining. Usually, the lining would have its own pattern, simpler than the outer gown. Had Saraswati made one?
She set the lining aside, and took the silk out of the bag.
After a last look to see if the cutting table was spotless, she spread the silk over the table. Tired as she was, she could not help responding to the beauty of the fabric. She thought of white feathers, pearls, shells, polished ivory. A scent like newly cut grass breathed up from the folds.
It was also longer than the cutting table. Should she fold it in half? The dress was symmetrical, after all. She could lay out half the pattern— or should she spread the silk flat and place each piece of the toile separately?
More doubts assailed her. How would she secure the pattern to the silk? Should she use pins? Wouldn’t pins make holes? Was the pattern supposed to lie with the grain of the silk, or on the bias? She’d have to check the toile to see. The longer she stood there, the less sure she became.
Was this even the right fabric? It was Shantung silk, and the colour seemed right, but what if she’d misunderstood somehow? Even if it was the right fabric, what if her father stayed away? What if she had to do all of it herself?
Crooks and Straights Page 27
