Lord of Dust

by Erme Lander

  “My name’s Daniel. What do you mean?”

  “We need to go somewhere safe.” She strides off and I glance around, no one else to be seen. The lights leave trails, smearing my vision. Now my eyes have adjusted and I have the chance to look around, I see tall brick buildings, grey with dust and mould. I shiver, remembering the pile of dust in the lane at home. Everything is decaying here, this place looks like it has been abandoned for years. Gaps and piles of rubble show where buildings used to be, the street has puddles where cobbles have been taken out. Rats dart through the piles of rubbish. Mist completes the dismal scene and I feel stupid. How the hell did I get myself into this?

  “Are you coming?” A mocking voice in the dark. What choice do I have? A tramp trying to kill me several streets back or this skinny girl who saved me. With little other option, I follow.

  Lights show at the crossroads otherwise there’s nothing. I’m cold and tired, my head swings as I try and keep the girl in sight by her silhouette against the infrequent lights. I stumble against walls and trip over unseen rubble. She waits impatiently and snorts her disdain at my clumsiness.

  Another set of lights, I’ve lost track of the way back. I worry about concussion and can only remember that you shouldn’t sleep. “Where are we going?”

  “Shush.” A movement of her hand warns me to stay back. My attacker? I freeze, glancing about, trying to work out how he’s managed to circle us. I’m tense, ready to run again. She slows and I try to see by peering over her shoulder. A flash and a squeak. A dead rat with a knife in it. She picks it up and stows her knife somewhere. I feel sick.

  “Here,” The rat is waved at me. I stare at her, not understanding. “Aren’t you hungry nob?”

  She thrusts it into my shrinking palm and I take it, the weight swinging from its tail. The rat is warm and heavy, blood drips from its limp body. She turns around in the light, her face concentrating. The knife snaps out several times, misses once to a muttered swear word. Each time I’m given the dead rat to carry, her eyes flick to mine in a native contempt.

  The girl raises her arm again and then freezes in the act of throwing. Scaly tails rub my palm and I open my mouth to ask what the matter is. A flash of wide eyes is enough to halt any questions. She grabs my arm and points, her nails digging into my flesh. In the shadows in the street ahead are a pair of men. One is a bulky figure, the other is greyer and harder to see. Before I even focus, I somehow recognise the slimmer of the two and the inevitability of what will happen. A lethargy hits me and this too is part of it. I sway, stepping back and lean against the wall. The girl watches, breathing lightly as though not daring to catch their attention. A muffled cry and the larger of the two figures collapses into a heap. My eyes sharpen to peer through the gloom and I watch the grey man straighten and disappear into the shadows.

  The lethargy dissipates. The girl hesitates then runs up to the fallen body and I follow to see if I can help. She’s crouched over the body of an older man, rummaging through his pockets. I begin to protest and stop at the sight of the face on the pavement. The face is shrivelled, the skin taut across the skull. I’ve seen a dead body before in the morgue but nothing like this. The man’s skin is like parchment. Without thinking I reach down to touch and it crumbles into dust, exposing bone. Dead, nothing left.

  “Why…?”

  She ignores me, her breathing harsh. The body collapses further as she rummages, a pile of clothes left on the floor, rags of skin and bones. I’m reminded of the chalk marks the police draw around bodies in crime scenes – a man once lay here. Even the skull, peering out from it’s earthly covering is looking stained and old. I stare at the smudges of dust on my fingers, touching them together in the dim light and hurriedly wipe them on my trousers. This isn’t real. It must be a dream, people don’t just disintegrate. I can’t understand this, I stand shivering in the cold, my head aching. The bundle of rats swing forgotten from my hand and the gloom turns darker.

  “Come on.” The girl has finished going through the man’s pockets, hiding the items she’s stolen in a small bag hanging from her shoulder. I cringe back as she grabs for my hand, not wanting to touch a looter of the dead. Uncaring of my feelings, she takes my arm instead and drags me away as other shadows hunch by on business of their own.

  More dark streets. Images flicker across my eyes, the orchard, the smell of the blossom drifting, the quiet of the morgue and the silent tick of a white plastic clock. I’m drained from the fight and my head aches in the cold. I follow passively, no longer thinking.

  She pushes me into a small street away from the lights and leads me into a building. I fumble my way around the door frame and nearly fall down a set of stairs. The girl snorts and I’m too exhausted to care.

  A snapping sound and a flame appears. She’s holding an old fashioned lighter and I stare at it, greedy for the light. It throws wavering shadows across the empty room. Black empty windows stare down on us, the lower ones have been boarded up and the floor above is missing. There’s a clearer track in the dust from the door to the stairs, the only marker that this place is inhabited.

  With my handful of dead animals I follow her down, grateful for the light. She rummages through a box, lights a single candle and drips the wax to stick it to the floor. I stand in exhaustion and watch as she bustles about, shoving me out of her way. The rats are removed from me, gutted in short order and then spiked to cook over a tiny fire in a metal container. Blue flames flicker through the holes and a rank smell of fish oozes out. It throws more light into the room, making me feel better, despite the smell.

  I edge, close as I dare and hold my hands out, trying to warm some feeling into them. “Where am I?”

  She shrugs and says, “Somewhere safe.” She wipes her hands on a rag and throws it into a corner.

  The mocking tone is still there but she now appears more amenable to conversation and I try, “I saw a girl go through the gap.”

  “What gap?”

  How do I describe what I came through – a rift? Complete incomprehension is coming from her and I’m beginning to doubt my memory. How could I have come through something like that? The blow to my head isn’t helping, everything seems a dream. “The gap I came through tonight. Didn’t you see?”

  Her face twists and with narrow eyes she says, “I’ve been away all day. Didn’t see you until you were being killed.” I wince at the reminder of my incompetence. The girl begins to cough, a deep wrenching sound that makes my own lungs ache.

  I look at her, the girl I’d seen had been dressed normally for my world, this girl’s clothes look stained and worn. Her knee pokes out of a hole in her trousers, bony in the flickering light. Stubbornly I keep trying, “You must have seen her. I chased a girl after I looked at that pile of dust she’d dumped over the footpath. It’s the same crap that’s all round here. I came through the gap she wriggled through.”

  An expression passes over her face, wiping away the contempt and it takes a minute to recognise fear. “You saw another grey man?” Grey man? What did that have to do with a pile of dust?

  “I saw a man by the orchard.”

  “Or-chard?” She pronounces the word as though she’d never heard it before.

  “Yes, by the trees where I live.” Her hair is a tangle down her back. I can’t see what colour it is in the gloom. I wonder where the other girl has ended up, if she’d been killed by the same man who’d attacked me.

  “You live with the nobs.” Her voice is now definite. “I’ll get a reward for taking you back.”

  “I want to go home. Can you take me there?” I wasn’t sure we were talking on the same wavelength but if she could get me back...

  “Can’t now. It’s too dangerous. We’ll go in the morning.” She reaches over to grab a large tin, prises the lid off and shakes a grubby looking loaf out. She saws a chunk off with her knife and offers it. The knife still has blood stains on from the rats and she hasn't washed her hands, I shake my head. She shrugs and chews off a lump. Still c
hewing, she turns the rats over.

  We sit in silence, the rats sizzling on the fire. A good smell starts to rise and without warning my stomach grumbles. She laughs and exposes teeth that have more in common with an adult smoker. She wraps a sleeve around her hand and passes a rat on it’s metal spike. Roast rat, spread out like a star, its burnt paws and tail hanging down. She takes one and eats hungrily. I sample it, more out of curiosity and politeness. It tastes like chicken. I’ve only eaten a bit by the time hers is a pile of bones. She takes another, eyeing me as though I might object. I’m reminded of those wildlife programmes, of large cats staking out kills. I nod for her to take the rest, noticing her thin arms and her elbows sticking out of her short sleeves.

  A cap is dropped over the tin of oil and the flame goes out, dropping us back into candlelight. The girl sucks on an oily finger. “Talia.”

  “What?” I jump at her starting a conversation.

  “My name, nob.” She’s smaller than me, she looks fifteen. Her eyes say she’s worlds older in experience. I’m left feeling useless.

  “Why do you keep calling me nob?”

  “Cos you are one.”

  I fight the anger down, first my sister now this scrawny girl. Knob. Something to be laughed at. “My name’s Daniel.”

  She shakes her head, “Nob. Useless, stay on the hill, employ other people to do the dirty work. Fancied an adventure did you?”

  I remember the bloody minded state I’d been in when I’d followed the girl through the rift and shudder. I’d never been one for adventures. Getting through university had been enough of one for me. I shake my head and regret it as I try and follow her train of thought. “What hill? I’m not from the hill. I live in the valley.”

  “You smell like a nob. Dress like one too.” I look down at myself. My jeans are a mess with mud and filth, my jumper destined for a short trip to the bin when I get back. Then I compare myself with Talia and have to agree, her clothes are stiff with unspeakable substances leaving them grey.

  “What are you up at the hill?” She talks through the roast rat, her mouth open.

  I can’t get her to understand that I’m not from here. Her life is encompassed by the city and this unknown hill. I give up, “I work in the office section of the undertakers.”

  “Undertakers?” She looks confused.

  “You know, people who lay out the dead.” I mean to carry on, surely she must know this and stop when she flinches away from me.

  “You lay out the dead? I need to get you back. You don’t belong here.”

  Too right I don’t. “Can’t we go now?”

  “It’s too late, it’s not safe. Tomorrow.” Talia’s denial is emphatic. Her speculative stare makes me less comfortable. She’s all I’ve got here. She’s rescued me once, I’m going to have to trust her.

  I feel a yawn coming up and try to make myself comfortable. I shouldn’t be sleeping this close to a head injury. What are the symptoms of brain damage? Hallucinations? Seeing people dissolve in front of you?

  “Do we sleep here?” Her expression doesn’t change at my question. I wonder if the gap or rift between our worlds is still there, if anyone else has discovered or fallen through it. “Okay, I’m sleeping then.”

  I look around and move to a corner away from her. I’m too tired to stop myself from sleeping, I no longer care about any consequences. I roll over and ignore the stare. A breath and the candle is blown out. A soft rustle of movement and I presume she’s settling down somewhere.

  It’s dark and my ears strain to catch any sound. The image of the man’s skull rises and I close my eyes tightly, rubbing my fingers together, remembering the feel of the dust between them. I relive the struggle with the tramp and the fight to get through the grey nothing that brought me here. What had happened to the girl? My thoughts turn darker, what were my parents thinking? Did they think I’d had an early night?

  I’ll never sleep, it’s too cold and my feet are damp. I curl up, preserving my remaining warmth and tuck my hands into my armpits. It’s work tomorrow, will they miss me? My eyes become heavy, despite the unforgiving stone floor underneath me. A rock pokes itself into my back and I shift out of its way. I sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Out of habit she moved quietly, sure footed in the dark. If Daniel had been there, he would have said nothing could be seen. Talia’s senses went beyond his, used to the smothering blackness. She scuffed through the streets in her soft shoes, using the air movement as much as her eyes. Lights flickered at each major intersection and she averted her gaze, not wanting to spoil the little night vision she had.

  She found her thoughts going back to the nob she’d saved. She’d heard rumours about them but never seen one close up. All the way back she’d been fascinated by what she could see of his clothes not having any holes or tears and his skin clean in a way that suggested a proper wash with servants to draw the water and scrub everything away, not a wipe down with a damp cloth.

  Talia shuddered her mind away from the image. She’d been coming back from an unprofitable venture, wary of those out in the mid point between dank day and the city’s self imposed night curfew and had heard the scuffle. Drawn by the possibilities of looting, she’d intervened at the sound of his voice. She frowned, something about the tone had caught her. Used to reacting on a seconds thought, she’d kicked his attacker in the kidneys and tripped him as he’d folded over. One glance at the victim had proven her hunch right, he was worth something.

  Her stomach had turned at the familiar face on the floor – Corte – drunk again. He should have known better than to attack a nob or he would have done if he’d been sober. Her leg had twitched to kick him unconscious and stopped at the rolled up eyes. No point in making things worse for him. She’d grabbed the nob’s hand and run from the scene before she was recognised.

  A lifetime’s worth of walking the city led her feet to a building crowded with people. Hovering outside, she scrubbed her eyes and smothered a yawn. She had to stay on her guard, especially here. At the moment, there was no way she could turn up with the nob at the wall and expect a reward for handing him in. He was just useless junk unless she could get to the right person. He’d be taken off her and she’d be given a beating for daring to ask for anything.

  She thought about talking to Corte and wondered if she dared after this evening, even if he sobered up and didn’t remember anything. This nob had better be worth the lost business, Corte was a useful person to know, he often had the contacts she didn’t but his prices were high. She shook her head, she’d have to take the nob with her and somehow she got the feeling he’d not appreciate his worth. The look on his face when she’d handed him the first rat… she had other food but why waste it on him? He must be from high up on the hill to be that naive, maybe the top, and she wondered how he’d got down here. Helpless sod – even the people in this building would have him for breakfast.

  Her only option lay in front of her. She shifted uneasily, disliking the truce that held people honest in this area. Dodie didn’t tolerate those breaking her peace, it was bad for business. Her lungs gurgled as she took a deep breath and she plunged into the crowd, searching for Dodie.

  Noise and light assaulted her senses, attuned to the night outside. Talia flinched as a dog whined, having been kicked and she slid out of the way of its teeth as it snapped. The nob was worth something. Even with another’s cut taken out, he would still be worth several months of food and easy living. Talia pushed her way through, caught in the throng. Unable to see over people’s shoulders, she was reduced to quartering the room to find the person she wanted.

  Finally Dodie loomed in front, a large woman in every respect. She was holding court, a mug of beer in one massive hand as she entertained those seeking her favour. She turned, having caught the flicker of a sycophant’s eye. Not much got past her.

  “Talia! Darling!” Her voice was as soft as her body appeared, she reached down to pull Talia into a bear hug. As always, despite feeling like a
bundle of twigs, Talia was reassured by the presence of the big woman. Dodie had brought her up and introduced her to the underworld. She mock drew her knife and laughed as Dodie snapped out the expected swift hand to block.

  “What have you got for me?” Dodie’s eyes creased into the folds of her cheeks, almost disappearing into the fat. Talia dug into her pockets and produced a few small trinkets she’d brought. They vanished into the robes Dodie wore. “We don’t see you often enough here darling.” The endearment concealed a question.

  Talia tossed her head in pride. “Got something else. A nob.”

  “Nobs don’t come down here without protection.”

  “This one did.” Talia spat back at the man who’d dared interrupt. “He’s a nob all right. Clean as a baby he is… and about as bright.” A derisive laugh rose at her crack.

  “What do you want?” Talia had Dodie’s attention now.

  “A name from someone up top. They’ll be looking for him, be a reward.”

  “And my price?” Dodie’s voice was a lazy drawl, Talia knew it masked the razor sharp mind underneath. Dodie hadn’t risen to the top purely by the weight of her fist.

  Talia shrugged and looked at her non-existent fingernails. “Whatja think he’s worth?”

  Dodie motioned the others away, moving Talia towards a table. She waved a hand and Talia helped herself to a mug and filled it with beer from a pitcher. At a nod, someone passed over a bowl of soup and she was watched as she gulped it down. Despite Dodie preferring to do her business in public, a space surrounded them giving a sense of privacy. The others turned their backs, talking to friends while eyeing the odd couple they made over their shoulders.

  “You’re too skinny, come and work for me.”

  Talia shook her head, “I like being independent.”