Isabeau waited till she could no longer hear the retreating clip clop of Dolly’s heels before she went to the door. Nobody was in sight, except for Danger, who got to his feet as she stepped outside.
“Come, boy,” said Isabeau. “Let’s go.”
Scent
Meisje trotted across Zero level, weaving through the crowd. She reached the stairs to Gardens and climbed, going at a steady pace that wouldn’t attract too much attention. At the top of the stairs, she hesitated.
Elke’s order to stay with Isabeau was like a hook tugging her back to her duty, but she was driven by the bone-deep knowledge that her mistress was in danger. From the moment she’d realised that Elke wasn’t coming back, the need to know, to check, to follow had gnawed at her like hunger. Only Elke’s words had kept her at Isabeau’s side.
Look after her, Meisje.
Meisje slowed again, yawning uneasily. Elke was in danger. Isabeau was safe, for the moment. Dolly and Sparks would make sure she was safe, and Danger too, young and inexperienced as he was.
Meisje dipped her head to sniff the top step, but the scent-trail was long gone. The morning after Elke had disappeared, she’d followed her scent all the way to the closed doors and alcohol stench of the club. The trail had been strong then, but now it had been brushed away by hundreds of feet, blurred and layered over by myriad new scents.
That was no surprise, out in the corridors where so many people passed every moment. If she could get inside that club, however, she might pick up the trail again.
Meisje trotted on, casting about for the slightest trace of scent. With a last glance behind her, she stepped into the branching corridors of Gardens level. Here, at last, she found some traces, up against the wall where elbows or hands might brush, faint scents of Elke and the others, Noor, and the new woman, Kiran.
Meisje snuffed floor and wall, taking her time, testing with the tip of her tongue. There were other scents here, scents that made her hackles twitch.
The woman with the cold eyes, Jinan. And Jinan’s man, Argent, the one who always smelled of fear.
Elke treated Jinan with wary respect, but Meisje knew just how much her mistress disliked and distrusted Argent. And here was his scent again, strong and fresh. Meisje growled softly in her throat. Argent had been along this corridor less than an hour ago. What was he doing here, so close to the place where Elke had disappeared?
She set off again. The scent trail led her, as before, to the club, but this time the doors were open and people moved in and out, carrying brooms and buckets. Meisje settled down in a shadowed place where she could watch unseen, an alcove across the way. She scanned everyone who passed with her enhanced senses, but nothing caught her attention, none of them had a weapon more serious than a belt knife.
Twenty minutes later, a tall man emerged from the club.
Argent.
Meisje tensed, but Argent’s gaze passed over her hiding place, and he kept walking until he was out of sight.
A few minutes later, a gap opened in the flow of people through the club’s front door. With a glance to either side, Meisje slipped across the corridor and through the doors.
A storm of scent engulfed her—the adrenaline-spiked sweat of the club’s patrons, their oiled hair, their damp palms, their sour saliva, their perfume. The floor was sticky with spilled alcohol and stale food. The interior of the club was dark enough that she could slip through unseen, eyes wide, nose up, every sense alert as she passed under low tables and behind chairs.
Two men came barging through, buckets rattling, spilling soapy water, never knowing how close they passed to the gardag that hid beneath a table near the bar.
Again, Meisje waited, allowing her nose to adjust, to identify the dominant scents and eliminate them. Subtler airs were teasing at her now. Musk, cloth, dust. She tracked methodically around the edge of the room until she came to a door.
Something here.
Meisje breathed in through her nose, letting the scent-laden air move over her nasal sensors, tasting it, separating out the strands.
There it was. Faint but definite—Elke’s scent.
Meisje pawed at the door, and it yielded to her, swinging a little open. The room beyond was dark, but this did not hamper her enhanced vision. She moved into the room, following her nose.
Elke had been here, and Kiran, and Noor, and that other one too, Jinan. Some new traces too—people she didn't know. Their scent was especially strong behind a stack of boxes near the door. Two of them had waited there, sweating in anticipation.
Young men.
And more men, three more, had come in by the door just after Elke had crossed the threshold.
Ambush.
Meisje’s hackles lifted as she sniffed the floor, checking and rechecking. The men had not stayed here long, and there had been some kind of struggle. Scuff marks. A discarded rag that still reeked of the drug that soaked it.
She moved deeper into the room, so intent on the scents and the story they told that she did not heed the faint sounds behind her.
The door opening, and the shifting of a shoe on the tiled floor.
All of her attention was on the fact that Elke had been here, had encountered violence, although there was no scent of blood or death. Elke had been taken from this room, and now Meisje had a new trail to follow. These young men would lead her to her mistress.
The door clicked shut and Meisje was momentarily dazzled as light flooded the room. She whirled but the door was blocked by a tall man.
Argent.
Meisje took in every detail—Argent’s widened eyes, his shallow breathing, the rapid pulse that showed in his throat. His fear sparked her nerves, pushing her into a state of high alert.
Fear was unpredictable. Fear led to violence.
“Stay.” Argent stared down at her. His throat convulsed as he swallowed. “Don’t move.” One big white hand came up, palm flat, as if to ward her off as he glanced quickly around the room. “What’s going on here?”
Meisje waited.
People often spoke to her without expecting a response, especially those who were not used to gardags. She’d scanned him and established that he had a weapon, a handgun, stuck into the pocket of his jacket. His posture, right arm tensed, hand open, suggested he might grab for the gun, but he was clearly not an experienced gunman.
Fear and inexperience were a volatile combination, but Meisje knew how to deal with nervous humans.
She sat, curled her tail neatly around her front paws, perked her ears, and allowed her mouth to fall open a little so that her expression would appear alert but softened.
Argent blinked and took a shaky breath. “Good boy.” He swallowed. “Good dog. Sit.”
Meisje cocked her head slightly, keeping her gaze soft and unchallenging. What did he want? Did he know where Elke was? She knew from the scent that he had not been in the room with her mistress, but he clearly meant to trap her here.
He certainly meant to stop her from leaving the room.
Meisje waited. Not yet. Not yet. Here it came.
Argent eyes moved as he glanced around the room again, and without an instant’s hesitation, Meisje launched herself at him.
Argent cringed and shouted, flinging up his arms as Meisje ripped into the door. For a moment she was tangled in the strips of plywood, then she was through, past the legs of the astonished cleaners.
A bucket went flying, her paws skidded on the soapy floor, and then she was out of the club, racing down the corridor, and gone.
Sorting
By late afternoon Elke and her companions had lapsed into exhausted silence. The courtyard was quiet, and nobody seemed interested in them.
They had startled into awareness every time an official appeared, or one of the guards on the surrounding balconies changed position, but after several hours they were all more than half asleep, dazed with exhaustion and delayed shock.
At first Noor had been in a state of nervous excitement bordering on anger, talkin
g rapidly, trying to get Elke and Kiran to come up with an escape plan, or to tell her what might be happening to Isabeau and Ndlela back on the Eye.
She’d speculated about the Carsera, trying to guess what might happen to them there, or how they might escape.
At last Elke convinced Noor that they simply didn’t know enough about their situation yet.
“We need to keep our wits about us, and our heads down. The main thing is to stay safe and stay together. Once we know more, we can work from there.”
“If they don’t just kill us,” Noor had said.
“Surely, they would have done that already, if that’s the plan?” Elke responded, although she was far from sure of this.
Mell and Betina sat on the edge of the trough, their feet dangling in the water. Javiero kept himself entertained by throwing little stones in the air and catching them one handed. Samuel, the man from Niger, seemed to have made friends with Jinan, and the two of them talked quietly together.
Elke stretched, rolled her shoulders, and opened her eyes extra wide in an attempt to stay awake. Even fear, it seemed, became boring after long enough.
Eventually one of the inner gates clattered open, and a group of people emerged, flanked by guards. They were all dressed alike in the creamy cloth Elke now associated with slaves, and they all had the slave-line tattooed on their chins, but that was not what sent a chill down her spine. It was something about the way they moved—too slowly, shuffling along like sleepwalkers.
Noor sat up. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Look at their eyes,” said Jinan, and it was true. Their eyes were shallow, with no hint of internal life, no spark of curiosity or recognition. Their gazes slipped over Elke and her friends as if they were looking at boulders or shrubs, instead of fellow human beings.
Like cows. Elke shuddered. But no. Cows were curious and intelligent, in their way. These people had eyes like marbles.
“What the hell’s wrong with them?” Javiero said, alarmed. “They drugged, or something?”
“They’ve all got—” Mell’s finger touched her temple, and Elke saw that she was right. Every one of the group, man or woman, had a mark on their temple, near the eye. Purple, like an old bruise.
“I can guess,” Kiran said, but then fell silent.
“Brain bolt,” said Jinan.
“What does that mean?” demanded Javiero.
“They’ve been mind-wiped.” Jinan tapped a finger to her temple. “They can follow simple orders, perform menial tasks. They’ve got enough survival-drive to eat and look after themselves without too much supervision. But mind-wiped. All personality gone.”
Javiero swore explosively, his face draining of colour. “You mean— We might be— They’re gonna—”
“Not necessarily.” Jinan looked at him calmly, her tone as neutral as if she were discussing the weather. “Slave-owners are far more likely to foster any knowledge or skill their slaves might have. Only economic sense, after all.”
“Fuck, really?” Kiran rolled her eyes. “Honestly? You still believe that?”
Before Jinan could respond, Esseret Sadh came striding through the inner gate, followed by several guards.
“Right!” he said, when he caught sight of Elke and the rest. He shook out a list, then spoke to the guards in a strangeside dialect.
The next few moments were a confusion of grabbing hands and shouted orders. Elke found herself being hauled to her feet. She caught a glimpse of Jinan Meer attempting to twist her arm out of a guard’s grasp, and Noor’s frightened face.
Elke was pushed up to Sadh, who peered at her chin, nodded, and made a mark on his list.
A guard shoved her between her shoulder blades, propelling her towards the inner gate. When she tried to look back, he poked her painfully in the ribs with his baton and shoved her again so that she went stumbling through the gate and along a stone-floored corridor.
A more cautious glance established that at least some of her companions were still with her. Mell and Betina were close on her heels, with Kiran and Javiero behind them. Esseret Sadh brought up the rear, ambling along with an air of sardonic competence.
Where’s Noor? Elke tried her best to look back without slowing down, but the corridor was narrow. She managed to catch Kiran’s eye just long enough to share a worried look.
The guard just ahead of Elke grunted and came to a stop. They’d come to the junction of several corridors and a staircase. A group of people were descending the stairs. Adults, young, and stylishly dressed, the first people they’d seen in the Carsera who were not in uniform. Elke could not interpret their tattoos, but they held themselves with the unquestioning arrogance that spoke of high status.
The guards, with shoves and shouts, made the prisoners flatten themselves against the wall. Elke noticed that Esseret Sadh stood back with the rest, eyes lowered. She’d forgotten that he, too, was a slave.
Now that they were all lined up, it was easy to see that both Noor and Jinan were missing. It took an effort for Elke to stay in line, to keep her expression neutral, her breathing steady.
One of the young people, a lanky man with a prominent Adam’s apple, asked the guard a question and laughed at the monosyllabic response. His eyes travelled over Elke with chillingly impersonal interest, and he only moved on when his companion, a young woman, spoke sharply.
When the group had passed, the lead guard snapped an order and the prisoners continued up the stairs. Two flights up they turned into a corridor that was loftier than the one below. It was floored with wide wooden planks, glossy with use. The walls were panelled in pale, smooth wood to elbow height, and painted white above.
Back in the Real this much high-quality hardwood would only be seen in the houses of the rich, and this was certainly no luxurious home. It had the feel of a public building—clean, but worn, and neutral. No windows pierced the walls, and the only light came from the ceiling-mounted slabs of glass similar to the ones they’d seen in the Gremium.
A little further on they came to another stop. This time, their way was barred by a flimsy barrier of struts, guarded by a soldier in a red-and-olive uniform quite unlike that of the Carsera guards. Beyond the barrier, some way down the corridor, more soldiers were cleaning up a pile of rubble. A haze hung in the air, although there was no scent of smoke. The air smelled of the sea, and something else, a pungent tinge that was somehow horribly familiar.
The guard questioned the soldier, clearly demanding to be let through, and was told with gesture and word to take an alternate route. Esseret Sadh watched the argument for a moment, then turned to the prisoners.
“Listen.” His air of amused self-mockery was gone as he glanced nervously from face to face, checking that he had their attention. “Quickly, while they’re distracted.”
He shot another glance at the guards before he continued. “I know you must be wondering what’s going on. Please.” He shook his head at Kiran, who’d opened her mouth. “No time for questions now. We’re taking you to be sorted. The officials here want to determine how useful you are, what work they can put you to. If you get sorted as oorschot you’ll be sent to the mines, or culled.”
He glanced at the guards again and lowered his voice even more.
“They’ll ask about your skills. It is of utmost, utmost importance that you tell them about any useful skills you might have. Any useful knowledge, any useful experience. If they can use you, they are less likely to send you to the mines or—” He knocked a knuckle against his temple. “Understood?”
Elke took her chance. “What’s happened to the rest of us?” she blurted. “Our friend Noor, the young girl—?”
But Sadh was already turning away.
“Careful,” Kiran breathed, and Elke saw that the guards and the soldier had come to an agreement.
The soldier moved the barrier aside so they could pass. Elke swallowed her frustration.
They made their way through heaps of rubble and sand bags, edging past a gap in the wall. Th
rough the gap another courtyard could be seen, much smaller than the one they’d left.
Elke studied the scene surreptitiously, trying to make sense of it. The wall had been violently breached, but she could see no sign of how it had been done. No shrapnel, no scorch marks, no sign of a missile of any kind. Sections of the shattered wall were covered in a web of roots, as if a monstrous vine had forced its way inside. The stench of rotten onions nearly made her gag.
She knew that smell.
Cut-gas.
Nasty stuff, and deadly. Only a trace of it remained, or none of these people would still be breathing. As it was, she held her breath, and put her hand over her mouth and nose, widening her eyes at the others to do the same.
People were clearing away the roots, handling them as if they were dangerous to touch, but before Elke could see any more, the guards hustled her and her companions past and around a corner.
Some way further on they came to a spacious hallway lit by a skylight high above. The hallway was partially filled with rows of desks and tables, and more were being carried in. Clerks were already at work at many of the desks, while workers bustled about them, erecting flimsy screens to shield them from their neighbours.
Most of the doors leading into the space had been blocked by heaps of sandbags, and soldiers were piling even more sandbags up against the walls. The air buzzed with an air of urgent industry.
The guards made the prisoners sit on one of the piles of sandbags. Esseret Sadh consulted his list, then gestured to Betina, who got up with an air of stoic resignation and followed him into the maze of tables and partitions.
“Guess we got some more waiting to do,” Kiran said to Elke in an undertone.
“Do you know what happened to Noor and Jinan?” Elke asked, but Kiran shook her head. “I didn’t notice they weren’t with us until we were well inside,” she answered.
They fell silent, watching the bustle of activity going on all around them.
The Strange Page 22
