by Erme Lander
My self pity session is interrupted by the door banging open. A thread of self preservation kicks in and I haul myself onto my elbows, wincing at my back pulling. Several more lamps are lit as men come in. They are hard and bearded with grime wiped to the corners of their faces. A few meet my gaze briefly and walk by to their own beds, ignoring me. It’s a large room and yet it’s filled by them.
One opens the shuttered window, leans out and whistles, another rushes over and they catcall abuse at a person walking in the street outside. Insults are passed between them, casual comments flung across the room. A splattering in the corner and someone yells about not filling the bucket too soon – they’re going to have to empty it. The smell pervading the room becomes stronger. Sweat and urine dominate, I try and breathe through my mouth.
I pull myself up carefully to sit on the side of the bed and nearly fall through the gaps in the straps. I’m chained to the bed frame by my ankle, enough length to stand or lie down, no more. Reassured by the lack of interest in me, I twist, trying to see what’s been done to my shoulder. It’s too far around, I can’t see anything.
“Not much on your back is there darling?” I jump and look up. My questioner has a single eyebrow topping off a body that easily weighs twice mine.
“I just wanted to know what they’ve done.” I sound inane and flush.
“Don’t worry, it’s still nice and smooth.” The comment is loaded and I freeze. The eyebrow wiggles at another man, nearly as big.
“What you doing here nob? Been exploring in the wrong places?”
“Get lots of excitement here...”
The comments come thick and fast, they’ve decided I’m interesting in the same way a small boy would torment a bug. Hard eyes, hard bodies, I feel small and insignificant, my replies are lost in the banter. The man with the eyebrow is the worst, every comment is laden with innuendo. Part of me is saying this man is a sadist, he’s enjoying me being terrified. It doesn’t make any difference. He’s here and I’m penned in for the night with him. I look at the others and they meet my pleading gaze uninterested in my fear.
Eventually one stops the torture by saying, “So, you’re the replacement.” Not a question. I nod, not quite sure what or who I’m replacing and note the dismissal in his eyes. A clattering bell rings through the corridor and they turn their backs on me to get into their own beds.
“Night night sweet cheeks.” A laughing comment in the dark as the lamps are blown out.
I’ll never sleep. It’s cold and I’ve got no shirt. My shoulder aches from where Talia threw that rock at me. My other shoulder pulses with every beat of my heart, the painkilling ointment has worn off and the brand is now a mass of hurt. How am I going to explain this to my family? The straw mattress scratches and tears leak out. I’m in a pen with a bunch of human animals. I’m sure I’m going to be raped at some unknown point in the future. I begin to shake, my teeth chattering. Something coarse is flung over me and I jump, a squeal bursting from me.
“Calm it kid. Now shut up and sleep.”
The man in the bed next to me has thrown a blanket over me. It smells and is covered in something that’s made it stiff. A tiny gift in the stinking night, I whimper and bite my tongue.
My dreams are full of dark streets with unknown danger around every corner. I run, dodging the people with blind eyes and outstretched arms who are trying to catch me – a macabre game of blind man’s buff where I am the only one who can see. I have to find a way out, a place of safety... My thoughts dim and focus into a room with a child playing with a toy train on the floor while dust swirls about him. I know that boy and I shout, trying to warn him of an unidentified peril. He plays on, unconcerned. The train loop around, first down one set of tracks, then at a flick of his finger, down another. I watch as the dust gathers behind him, swirling in the unmoving air and looms over his head to block out the light. Dominic flicks a finger to change the points and smiles.
Chapter 7
“Go on, wiggle your arse at him, tell him you’re gagging for it. That’ll put a stop to him.” One of my room mates speaks to me while I’m stood in the breakfast queue waiting to find out what slops I’m going to be fed. I don’t have high hopes.
“You mean he won’t…?” Desperation fills me, I can’t finish off the sentence.
His tone is careless, “Oh he will, but he won’t enjoy it as much and he might leave you alone afterwards.” I gape, my brain struggling to understand the concept of casual rape.
He pushes at me companionably and grins, “Get your breakfast, you need to keep your strength up.”
I’d been bounced out of sleep as a large clanging had echoed through the corridor. Sandy eyed, I was surprised I’d slept. My shoulder was bruised on the one side and I winced as I felt something tear on the other. Everything ached from the rough handling I’d had the day before.
The others were standing, docilely waiting for the door to be unlocked. My tormentor had winked at me and turned his back, I felt lucky to have survived the night unscathed. I no longer smelt the room, the night had inured my nose to the bucket in the corner. I stood by my bed, still chained to it and watched the others waiting.
The men filed out as the door opened and a guard came to prod at my shoulder. He waved impatiently, turned me around and slapped something on the leaking scab.
I asked, “Aren’t you going to put something on it? Stop it getting dirty?”
“Air’s the best thing for it. You want me peeling the bandage off after it’s stuck to you? Keep breaking the scab and it’ll get infected. Don’t pick at it.” He smacked at my wrist as he undid my chain. My protests that I hadn’t, went on deaf ears and I was shoved into line with my room mates.
Back in the breakfast queue, the other man chuckles at my reaction to his comments and pushes an empty bowl at me. “Come on Gullible.” Smarting, I follow him and have something slopped in. It smells surprisingly good. He laughs again, “Why do you think people come back when they’re let out?” He nods at the bowl, “It’s a damn sight better than what the freebies get. Now eat, you’ve a hard day ahead.”
I tuck in. A vegetable, maybe seaweed was most of it, with slivers of fish and bread to mop up the juices. Comments are passed around with the jug. I gulp some down, and choke on the sour drink with my first gulp.
“Beer.” The Eyebrow leers at me. “It’ll put hairs where you need ‘em.” I feel myself flushing to the rest of the table’s laughter.
After breakfast I’m taken through the mill. It’s enormous, I hadn’t realised how far it stretched past the plaza. The dormitories are on the top floor I’m told, the weaving on the bottom and preparation on the middle. Sheets of material roll high above me, flapping as they dry in the warmer air. A haze of dust hangs and I feel the rumblings of a cough beginning.
The men peel off, used to the routine. I stop, waiting to be told what to do and stare at a vision of Dante’s hell, wondering if I can make it to the front door or if there’s a back way out. The thumping of large hammers, the rattle of looms and shouts, shriller cries from the women and children. How can this be a life for anyone? I wonder where the wool comes from to make all this material, I’ve seen nothing but city so far.
Loops of electric lights hang from the ceiling giving a shaky glow, smaller oil lamps throw brighter patches in darker corners. Levers and pistons thrust through the floor, moving smaller cogs to turn different machines. Everything is crude and yet it works – just. I’m fascinated how they’ve planned all this, all these different machines. I guess they must use the tide for powering both lights and looms, the difference between high and low must be huge. I move closer to an iron bound piston punching to peer down through the hole in the floor, wondering if my guess is right. A crack in the air next to my ear nearly makes me fall into the gap.
“Boy!”
Yet another large man, I’m mesmerised by the whip he’s waving. Even the small men, the ones my size, have muscles and an air of competency I lack. He looks me up
and down with a disgusted expression. “You’re helping Vihaan. Although I’m not sure what help you’ll be...” He jerks his head and I slink after.
We walk through the mill to an upstairs room. Square cloth wrapped bundles are being winched through the large double doors in the side of the building. A number of men pull them in and untie them, spilling fleeces out onto the floor. The outer wrappings and ropes are thrown down to shouts below.
“Vihaan.” My guide bellows and walks to the next room. I freeze as the Eyebrow appears, several fleece slung over his shoulder like an extra from Jason and the Argonauts.
“This one here’s to help you.” The foreman disappears and I stand rooted to the spot, alone with my tormentor. He grunts and slings a fleece in my direction. I raise my arms to catch it and am nearly knocked to the ground.
“This way.” He swipes another fleece up in one meaty paw and walks through the door to stack it onto a rack. I stagger after him and drop it gratefully. I stare after him as he walks away. He stops and glances back. “This is what you do. Take a fleece from that room, bring it into this one and stack them. Think you can manage?” I nod and he turns away.
The fleeces are heavy and stink of ammonia. My face is frequently buried as I carry or more often drag them to the next room out of the way. Absently I wonder where they are getting the chemicals to clean them from and I jerk my face away as I remember – ammonia comes from urine. My guess is confirmed over the next few nights when I see the unlucky man taking the full pail out.
My arms are shaking by the time I’ve taken the second load over. The third load is worse, I end up dragging it. The floor is clean here, no dust to contaminate the washed goods. I stop for a rest, my arms and legs trembling, to be yelled at by one of the men hauling the bundles up. Vihaan sets me to undoing the bundles for a bit and then mercilessly hands me another pile when he thinks I’ve had a long enough break.
Just before the bell goes for lunch, the bales stop coming and the men on the crane lean against the walls to watch us work. The rough conversation is driven by bouts of innuendo aimed in my direction.
Vihaan sees my glances at their comments. “Just tell them where to go and they’ll stop – probably.” He has half his front teeth missing, making his grin lopsided.
The last fleece is taken by Vihaan and I relax against the open door frame in the hope of a longer break and peer over the edge to see men pulling the carts onto another track and re-fixing ropes. A bell is pulled and the carts begin to rattle away. No engine to be seen, I try to figure it out. The men move out of the way sharply as a loud rumble builds in the direction of the tracks.
Another set of trucks appear and I marvel at the simplicity of the system. A gravity fed railway, laden trucks pulling the empty ones back up the hill. This is how a civilisation claws its way back up, by using simple ideas that work. My own brain begins to work overtime, thinking of all the inventions thought up in my own world before technology took over. Steam engines, harvesters for crops, seed drills...I could help them here. Even if I couldn’t remember exactly how to make them, surely someone could take the idea and make it work.
My thoughts are interrupted by Vihaan pushing at me, nearly knocking me out of the open doorway. “Back to work.”
My thoughts turn dark. I’m here in the factory, no one wants to know my ideas or even cares that I have them. I grab a fleece and drag it viciously across the floor. At the sound of the double bell Vihaan drops his fleece and grabs mine, leaving me staggering. I join the queue and eat lunch without tasting anything, grateful for the chance to sit and mope.
The afternoon is similar, we drag small cartloads of carded wool to another room on the same floor. No time for a break here. I try and rest for a few minutes and a guard’s whip flicks out and touches my back. I dance out of the way to hoots of laughter from the other workers. When Vihaan walks me over to the carding room and gets me to load trolleys for him, I almost forgive him for last night.
By the end of the day I’m walking in a haze of exhaustion. I stand behind Vihaan with my bowl, staring through his solid back. Someone bumps me from behind. I ignore it and it happens again, less gentle this time. At the third bump, I tell the person where to go without looking.
I become aware of the silence as a large hand lands on my head, turning me around. The man it belongs to is the same size as Vihaan, his other finger is raised, ready to poke again. I glare at him from under my eyebrows, totally fed up. I’ve been dragged into this world without a way back, I’ve been branded, had bricks thrown at me, been made fun of and worked to exhaustion and now this idiot is taking the piss. I slam my bowl down. The fear and rage comes boiling up and I raise my fists, aware on a level that I look ridiculous. Not caring, I spring forwards and an arm wraps itself around my waist, lifting me to one side.
“Back off fuck wit. He’s one of ours.”
It’s Vihaan. I gape, shocked out of my anger. I swing my head and notice how the workers have crowded around, blocking the fight from view. Of a size, the two circle to the hoots of the others. Two bulls, slow and solid, eyeing each other, each waiting for a gap in the other’s defence. They’ve both got huge work scarred hands and shoulders, anything connecting is going to hurt. The other man’s nose is leaning sideways, he’s broken it at some point and had it set badly.
I have a sick feeling in my stomach, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sure there’ll be a punishment for fighting. Will the guards do something to stop this? I look for help and all I can see are the flashes of eyes and teeth, the people watching reduced to a pack of animals, waiting for one to be torn apart.
A few false swings as the tension mounts, I brace myself to run out and get between them. One of my room mates leans a casual arm on my shoulder. My legs buckle under the pain spreading from the brand. He pats my arm roughly and stands me upright again.
A murmur runs through the crowd, Vihaan and the other man nonchalantly turn their backs on each other. By the time the guards appear, I have been integrated back into the queue, away from my tormentor. I stand in line, almost dizzy in relief. No bloodshed, no one injured. The guards stalk down the line, flicking their whips and glaring. The mill workers studiously ignore them, whistling and tapping at their bowls, waiting for food. I try to set my face into innocence, knowing I look guilty.
We sit at our table and Vihaan lands his backside on the bench next to me with a thump. He grins, “You’re our bum boy, not theirs” His eyebrow waggles and he knocks me on the shoulder, “Nice try with the pins.” He motions with his fists imitating me. I flush, aware my fighting skills are non-existent but return the grin in relief as he picks up his bowl to eat.
Shortly afterwards, we are herded back to our dormitory. I’m exhausted and slump on my bed, fingering the blanket as I wonder if I can fall asleep in front of everyone.
Vihaan minces past, “Fancy anything to keep you warm darling?”
I freeze and then remember his approval of me standing up to the man in the queue. I clench my fists to stop them shaking. “Piss off, I’m tired.”
Catcalls from the others inform me that I’ve impressed them. Vihaan’s mouth gapes into a grin and when he takes a breath to reply, a faster man snakes his arm out to catch Vihaan in a neck lock and tells him to behave, they need to sleep.
Shaking the man off, Vihaan chuckles, “There you are darling,” and throws me an extra blanket.
I don’t know how many days I was there. All thoughts of escape fled from a mind too tired to think by the end of the day. The men teased me good naturedly and I was part of the group as they saw my efforts to keep up. The warmth surprised me, the feeling of acceptance from the uneducated workers. My previous life was another world away. Sheltered and cosseted, the barbed comments that had upset me so much meant nothing. I snapped back replies as fast as they were dished out. The rough ways I lived with no longer bothered me. Animal functions ruled – I ate, slept and defecated alongside them.
I became aware of the talk in th
e evenings before the lights went out. Grumbles about the work, the factory and the nobs on the hill that kept them down. I ask why they didn’t move elsewhere or rebel.
“Look boy, see that?” One of the men drags another’s shirt down to show the brand on his shoulder. A brief scuffle between them. “That means we’re owned by Igren. Yes, he feeds us but if we run, the first thing that happens is that your shoulder’s checked.”
“You runs, you gets caught, you gets hung.” Another agrees and there are nods from all around.
I venture, “But there’s lots of you, not so many guards.” The men are kind in their rough way as they explain that I’ve replaced a hung man. If they all rebel then no one with Igren’s brand will be employed. They will starve, simple as that.
That night I sleep very little. This world is so different, There’s nothing to stop you getting hurt, nothing to stop any other man from killing you. There’s only the fellowship of my dorm mates between me and a harsh death. My bed had been slept in by man who’d lived alongside my workmates, who’d been hung at the gallows and swung in the breeze. I shiver, seeing my own face on the dead man and realise I will never go home.
“Ten day.”
The cry of the guard is different to normal. I trot after my room mates, proud that my muscles no longer ache so badly after the long day. The men’s normal innuendos are at fever pitch and I find myself in a room with buckets of water, containers of soft soap and crude scissors for clipping beards. I strip and scrub myself with the rest. After washing, water is thrown across the room in high spirits, even the few guards watching join in. I get a face full and throw a bucket load back, laughing at the ribald comments they make about my temper.
