by J. K. Holt
In the evenings, after she ate whatever dinner Gowan brought or made for her, Tess scoured the shelves of the shop for anything that would add to her scant knowledge of Alitura. She’d always been a keen reader, and while none of the books she was now reading were the fast-paced fiction she was used to, they did contain the knowledge she was now most hungry for. She devoured any and all information about the history and culture of this world, finding much to appease her curiosity.
Most of the information she found through books, though some she gleaned through careful questions of Gowan. She was cautious in this aspect. Surely, even his respect for her privacy could be overwhelmed by curiosity. She did not want to cross the line by mistake.
Alitura was a large island, appearing to span a little more than three hundred miles from the northern to southern tip. Besides the large mountain ranges, known as the Andules, that split the southern and northern areas, it appeared to consist mainly of forests and grasslands, a temperate climate that, far as she could tell from the gossip of the customers and her own observation of the current weather, was heading into winter. A few large rivers ran across the island like the splayed fingers of a spindly hand, originating from the mountains before meeting the sea, or in one case, a large land-locked lake located about halfway between Wharfton and the ranges. It was on the southern edge of this lake, halfway between here and the mountains, that Merktown, her pretend home of origin, sat, some eighty miles northwest of here. She’d do well to remember its details.
The government was a modern version of a monarchy, with a relatively ordinary line of royals who held court in a city on the northwestern tip of the country in a city called Turand. The reigning king, Edmund IV, had been in power for over thirty years, inheriting his kingdom following the death of the previous king, his father. Edmund IV had done his due diligence by producing a veritable cornucopia of offspring, through several different women, over the span of the last forty years. While there was a clear-enough successor to the throne, Edmund’s oldest son, there were at least a dozen more understudies who might be inclined to compete for the title and their chance for time in the sun. With Edmund’s health waning with the casual insidiousness of age, the drama might be acted out soon enough.
Here, however, the monarchy seemed diminutive in power when compared to the local sectors of government, overseen by a parliamentary style government, its nerve center also located in Turand, which appeared to be the heavy lifter in the actual running of the country. This branch, known as the Court of Commons, oversaw the instillation of all new laws and enforced their regulation and the compliance of the people through a tight leash across the land. It was the constables, acting on the authority of the court, who enforced the collection of taxes and the punishments for those who broke the law. In general, the punishments seemed harsher to Tess than their counterparts from her world- she shuddered to think what would have happened if she’d been caught for theft of those clothes on her first morning.
The histories all only went back a few hundred years before petering out on the details. Tess might have found this information more curious if she’d had more experience on the subject matter, but she gave it little thought at the moment.
She discovered a magic hour in the early morning, after the fishermen had left but before many others had begun to rise. The sun would just be cresting the water, casting cheerful beams of yellow across the town, subduing the dirt and grime and giving the place a temporary fresh face. It was then that Tessa would explore, making her way outwards in concentric semi-circles from the Muddy Gull, attempting to learn and discover as much as she could about her new foster-world. She memorized street names, identified places of interest, and avoided the nerve centers of town, in which she’d be most likely to run into others.
One morning, after Gowan had given her a couple new changes of clothes, she retraced her steps from the day she’d arrived, sticking to a street one back from the boardwalk until she found the outskirts and rediscovered the rowhouses. She counted two houses in, discovering the familiar grey clothesline empty, and pinned the clothes she’d stolen back where she’d found them. She imagined the surprise of the housewife who’d soon find them, and hoped that her return of the items would set the act right. She hated to be in the red with mother karma.
Though the sun was now fully up and she feared being discovered, Tess took the time to walk back over the dune, searching until she found the conch that marked the spot of her buried treasure. She dug up the pink sneakers, hugging them to her chest with a sudden urge of nostalgia before she shoved them in the sack she’d brought (initially filled with the stolen clothes) and smuggled them all the way back to the Muddy Gull, hiding them beneath her clothes in the small chest the Gowan had given her for her things, slid securely under her cot.
Late at night, if she couldn’t sleep, Tess would venture out once more. She found a spot on a pier just above where the waves broke, and on nights that weren’t too cold, she would lie on her back, feet hanging over the side, and look up at the milky haze of stars scattered across the darkness. It was then, when she felt the spray of the ocean tickle her feet and the seaweed from the dock mingled with strands of her hair, that she would breathe, in, out, and spend time in quiet contemplation. At first, she talked to Maggie, working through her own acceptance of the curious oddity that had become her life, practicing, always practicing, the new lilts in her voice that came with the accent she was desperate to master.
She cried a lot. Cried in the way you can only cry when you are properly free, for the first time, to grieve. She wrestled with a hundred competing, contradicting emotions that nestled in the back of her throat, often putting words to them to reduce their power, to ease the sense that they might overcome her, suffocate her, if ignored for any longer. Anger- this was easy to give a name to. Sorrow, also, had become a close friend in recent times, as had the deep sense of isolation.
But freedom- this one was new. Freedom from the prying, pitying eyes of others, from the knowing stares of teachers and students, from the arbitrary rules of foster families who could not give Tess the only thing she longed to have back. Freedom to breathe, to explore, to reinvent who she might become. To shrug off the shell of the damaged girl she’d feared she’d become and might remain.
Nearly imperceptibly, with each new nightfall, the time dedicated to the where and how of her situation waned, and with it came a slow but serene acceptance of the now. She spoke less with Maggie and more to the stars, whispering against the wind, turning over her fears and examining them. She felt more attuned to herself, more aligned with her own will and the force of her own assertions, than she had in all of the past year. In this place, she was growing, somehow, back into herself. It was like discovering a favorite outfit from years previous that, miraculously, still slid over your shoulders and fit like a second skin.
She hoped it would last.
∞ ∞ ∞
A few weeks into her new routine, Tessa awoke with a warm weight settled across her legs. She shifted, and the bundle stretched and mewed. Tess winced as claws found their way across her calf before detaching. She sat up slowly to greet the cat, laughing at the sight- a dark gray tabby with a smushed nose, it was missing one ear, giving it a continuous lop-sided look, and large chunks of its fluffy tail were missing. It looked up at her plaintively before accepting a scratching beneath the chin, rubbing itself against Tess’s knee before settling in for a washing.
“Well, buddy,” Tess murmured. “Here you are. But just who are you?”
She asked when Gowan came down for breakfast.
“That’s Tinker. He’s an ugly thing, but he’s scrappy,” Gowan said as he handed Tess a muffin and tossed the cat some leftover bread.
Tinker sniffed the bread and then looked up, mewing indignantly.
“Sorry, chap, no meat this morning,” Gowan replied. “You’ll have to rely on those superior mousing skills of yours.”
“Is he your cat?” Tess asked.
&
nbsp; “My cat? Girl, have you not met cats before? They don’t belong to anyone. He just comes by for a warm bed and a meal from time to time.”
Tinker jumped onto Tess’s lap and turned several times before settling down and kneading her leg with his paws, claws mercifully retracted.
“Ach, look at him,” Gowan said. “He’s a lover, not a fighter. Which is, of course, his difficulty. Never knowns how to manage fights and annoys too many Toms with his rakish ways. I’d imagine half the mangy cats sneaking around this town have been fathered by this character here.”
Tess grinned. “I’m surprised any of the ladies let him get near them, looking like he does.”
“Aye, they’re famously short-sighted, the lot of them.”
Tess threw her head back and laughed, startling Tinker. She apologized by petting him.
Gowan was studying her, she realized. She met his gaze, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”
She was used to this with him by now. He’d often size her up before speaking, as if taking measure of whether she could handle whatever he was about to say.
He nodded. “You’ve done well here. And I think I know the answer, but I’ll ask- are you content with this job and… well, I suppose, living here?”
She knew he meant it genuinely. “Yes, very much. I’m- well, you know I’m very grateful.”
He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “I don’t need gratitude. You’ve worked hard, earned your place here. That’s enough for me. I’m happy to keep you on, if it’s what you want.”
“It is! Very much. I like it here- I think this place suits me.”
“I think so too,” he replied. “And, given how hard you’ve worked at mastering that voice of yours, I think you can start working with the customers as well. I know you leave the shop now, quiet-like, but I don’t think you need the stealth anymore, as long as you don’t become complacent with your accent. You’re passable now, most of the time at least.”
Tess beamed. “You really think so?”
“Aye, and you know I’ll tell you otherwise if that changes.”
“Right, of course. Thank you.”
“Now,” Gowan said, pointing his bread knife at her. “Remember who you are.”
The double-meaning wasn’t lost on Tess, but she knew what he’d meant to say. “I’m your niece, from Merktown, your sister’s girl. Wait, should I start calling you Uncle in front of customers, then?”
Gowan scoffed.
“Uncle G. Ooo, I like that.”
“Child,” Gowan replied. “I know all the deep parts of this bay, and I’ve plenty of rope and weight in the back room. Do you catch my meaning?”
“Yes,” Tess sighed, dropping her chin in her hands. “You’re no fun.”
“Not one bit,” he agreed. “Best to keep calling me Gowan, no one will question it.”
Tinker stretched and jumped down off of Tess’s lap, slinking to the door. He sat and looked up at it, waiting for an obedient human to fix the immediate problem he’d encountered.
“Best let him out, before he pisses in here,” Gowan muttered. “And while you’re at it, go out yourself. Bring back some fresh fish for dinner tonight.”
He retrieved change from the till. “Here’s last week’s wages, and a bit extra for the fish.”
Tess dropped the money in her pocket. “How soon would you like me back?”
“Doesn’t matter, take your time if you’d like.”
Tess paused, hand on the handle of the door. “I should be back soon. Unless I feel like walking. Which, I mean, I might. But I’ll probably be back soon.”
Gowan chuckled. “Just go, you daft girl. No more putting it off, out with you.”
Tess yanked open the boulder of a door, allowing Tinker out before she followed. “Ta, then, Uncle G!” she called over her shoulder.
She heard, rather than saw, the rest of the loaf of bread hit the door behind her.
Chapter Five
She’d acted nonchalant about leaving and had done so easily enough, distracted by her banter with Gowan, but now that she was outside, Tess’s breath caught. She’d been outside so many times, but never in the full light of day, not since her first day here in Wharfton. Instinctively, Tess moved closer to the shadows of the building, attempting to blend in, and caught herself doing it, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all.
Tinker stopped to look back at her, expecting her to follow, but at her reluctance he turned and continued up the narrow street, as if to say suit yourself.
“Get a grip,” Tess muttered to herself. “You can do this. You know the town well enough, you can do the accent, and no one has noticed you don’t glow. So. Chill. The. Heck. Out.” She rocked back and forth on her feet for a few moments, as if to gain momentum, and then pushed herself forward.
The fishermen sold their catch every day in the square, but it was early yet, so Tess meandered. A few vendors were setting up in the square, one being the same man she’d bought her shoes from- she still wore them every day, and had come to admire their sturdiness, the way the leather had molded to her feet over time. She’d go back to him when she needed new shoes.
Tess realized that she was thinking about the future more now, a future here, as if she planned to continue existing in this place. It felt odd to miss so little about all the things she was now without, luxuries of her previously modern world. But the people make the place- she knew that- and perhaps this was why she felt so little longing for her old life. Maggie was gone now, and there was nothing left there to fill that void for Tess.
And though she still couldn’t explain how she’d ended up here, sometimes when she was sitting on the dock at night, listening to the waves, she thought she could feel it, maybe grasp around the periphery of the truth- though it was itself something so intangible, so massive, that she accepted she might never fully understand it. Instead, she thought perhaps she was not meant to understand, that it existed just the same, and that in the planes of space that we understood, there were more we didn’t that were just as real.
Maggie often liked to quote to Tess: “believe those who are seeking the truth; doubt those who find it.” That seemed to sum up this place. There was a truth here, to discover, about this place, about its people, but would she find it, or recognize it if she did? Tess wasn’t sure.
She found herself sitting below her favorite mermaid. The spray from her mouth pushed a mist out onto the surrounding fountain stone, and Tess craned her neck to let it cover her face. She looked up at the maiden through dewy lashes. “Have you got a name, I wonder?”
The mermaid’s eyes were closed, as if in some throes of ecstasy, and Tess shook her head and chuckled at the overt sexuality of it all. “I think we can be fairly certain you were chiseled by a man, which means he probably named you Adora or Roxy Foxy or some other garbage name. But I’m going to come up with something much more sensible for you. How does Peggy sound?”
Peggy agreed to the new name with a stoic lack of enthusiasm, but for a moment the water spewing from her mouth faltered, a large pocket of air pushing through the pipe and causing an almost human-like burping sound to escape before the normal flow resumed.
“You like it. I knew you would.” Tess closed her eyes again. “Now Peggy, just between us, I think you need some more clothes. You can’t possibly be warm enough out here dressed in a shell-bra.”
“Hello.”
The unexpected human voice so close caused Tess to start, falling backwards and only just saving herself from a fountain swim by waving her arms to right her momentum. “Oh, holy geez!” She gasped, realizing a moment too late that she’d lost the accent in her moment of surprise. She took a breath, composing herself as best she could, and then looked up to find the owner of the voice.
It was the girl from the bakery stall, and then later the table at the Spilling Inn. Emmie- that had been her name. She looked horrified. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Ugh, it’s fine.” T
ess shook her head at the apology, embarrassed. “It’s not your fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”
The girl looked only slightly convinced. She had large blue eyes, and the edges crinkled as she smiled warily. “I just… you looked familiar? I’m not sure how I know you though.”
“Ah, yeah,” Tess replied. “I think I met you at the market a month or so back? I couldn’t pay for anything, though, and…”
Recognition crossed the girl’s face. “Ah! Right, yes. Well, hello again.”
“Hi. Oh, I’m Tess.”
“Emmalie Fiske. Emmie, really. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Formally, that is.” She smiled again, this time with conviction. It was contagious- Tess smiled back.
“So, erm, I apologize for… interrupting-” Emmie began.
“You mean the conversation I was having with the mermaid? Yeah, no problem- it was pretty one-sided anyways.”
Emmie giggled, and then sat down next to Tess. “If I recall correctly, you were new here, right?”
Tess nodded. “Yep.”
“How are you getting along, then?”
“Quite well, actually. I’ve got a job. I work at the Muddy Gull- do you know it?”
Emmie’s eyes widened. “Really? What do you do there? How long have you been there for?”
Tess was hard pressed to understand Emmie’s interest. “Umm, I help run the shop? Stock, keep inventory, assist the odd customer. Gowan, well, he’s my uncle, so he gave me the job.”
“Rot, I didn’t know he had a niece. Well, I’m glad you’re there now. His last assistant, Loren-” she shuddered. “I didn’t like him. He was a bit… slimy. Sorry- I shouldn’t have said that.” Emmie looked abashed.
Tess shrugged. “It’s fine- I never knew him.”
The conversation lulled for a moment, not uncomfortably. They sat as a few small children ran by, bags clutched- on their way to school, maybe. A few alley cats slinked across the square towards the piers, likely intent on scraps. Tess wondered passingly if Tinker was hiding out nearby as well, or off trying his luck with the girls.
