The Strange

by Masha du Toit

  Barb appeared at last, carrying a paper bag.

  “You took long enough,” Tau said as she dumped the bag next to the fire. She shot him a grumpy look and went to sit next to Nehi. “Had to wait longer to get more, didn’t I.”

  The bag, it turned out, contained a stack of bisc, and nothing else. Elke thought at first that the bisc was stale, but it was just a different, thick and soft, and with an oily texture like a Kaapstadt roti.

  The rat-things made good eating once they’d been thoroughly scorched. The soft pieces of bisc came in handy as a sort of plate to catch the juices; a plate that could be eaten afterwards. The only drink was water, although Barb and Tau passed a bottle between the two of them that had the look of something stronger.

  “That’s better,” Betina said, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “My stomach is full, and my clothes sort of dry. I must say, this slavery thing is not as bad as I’d been told. I mean”—she yawned, and settled herself into a more comfortable position—“ in our world, slaves are treated like animals. Worse than animals. Shoved into cargo holds, nobody cares if they live or die.”

  “You came in through Babylon Eye?” Tau said. “Then you got the civilised route. You should see the Bifrost lot. You just got lucky.”

  Betina took a swig from the water bottle. “What’s going to happen to us now? You lot don’t seem to have too bad a life. What’s this place for?”

  “You mean the Carsera?” said Barb. “This is where slaves get processed. Sorted, medicated, cleaned, sent out to whatever mine or farm or whatever. Or like us, we get stashed here between jobs.”

  “Anyone ever break out?” Mell had her jacket draped over her knees, close enough to the fire that it steamed. “I mean, you know.” She lowered her voice. “Anyone ever gets back home again.”

  Barb looked at her in surprise, then gave a harsh laugh. “Asking the wrong people, aren’t you, sweetheart.”

  She said something to Nehi, who laughed too, but with more humour.

  Tau grinned at Mell. “What Barb means is we’re guards. Not of this lot in the Carsera, but we ride out with the slave convoys. That’s what pugio means. We guard the slaves, keep them from breaking out on the route, or from being stolen.”

  Mell coloured a little. “Oh. But I thought—” she touched her chin. “I thought that you were slaves too. You have the mark.”

  “Oh, aye, sure we do,” said Barb. “We’re slaves. What’s that got to do with it?”

  Betina gave Mell a look that silenced her. “Ignore us,” she said to Barb. “All of this is so new to us, we don’t know anything. But what will happen to us now?”

  Barb shrugged. “Who knows? That depends on what you told them at the sorting. You have any weapon skills? Then you might be sorted as pugio. Or maybe gladiatori, to fight for the crowd. That’s not a bad life, if you survive the first few rounds.”

  “And our friends?” Elke kept her voice as casual as she could. “We had some people who came in with us, but we got separated.”

  Barb and Tau exchanged a glance.

  “They must not have made it through the sorting,” Barb said. “But you never know.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Kiran.

  Barb gave shrug. “They only keep the credita. The useful ones. The rest—depends, really. Some, they brain-bolt them, and they get to do the muscle-work. Or for breeding, maybe. Some they keep alive to harvest them. Body parts. Organs. Some they just render down to juices and powders. Fertiliser, medicines—every bit of you is useful in some way, even it’s just teeth for some rich lady’s mosaic project.”

  Elke closed her eyes and tried to shut out the horrific images Barb’s words conjured.

  “I heard rumours about that.” Kiran stared into the fire. “I didn’t really believe it.”

  “Believe it. Barb had her dagger out and was polishing it, turning it this way and that in the firelight.

  “So!” Betina said into the awkward silence that followed. “You guys realsiders, or what? I mean, you speak the language awfully well.”

  Barb gave her a look, but Tau didn’t seem to mind. “Not realside, exactly,” he said. “We’re both born Strangeside, me and Barb, but we grew up in the Bifrost Eye. Cleaning pipes and fixing wires, you know? Nehi found us there, taught us to be more than sewer rats.”

  Betina, clearly fascinated, tried to get Barb and Tau to tell her more about their past, but they seemed reluctant to divulge anything else. Tau fell to making jokes, and Barb sat playing with her knife, until at last, Betina yawned.

  “I can’t stay awake anymore,” she said. “I better get down that ladder while I can still climb down it without falling.” She stood and helped Mell to her feet.

  The rest of them sat in silence, watching the fire die down. The courtyard below was bathed in the yellow glare of sodium lights, but the roof of the can-stack was relatively dark. Stars pricked the section of visible sky. Creatures flapped and chittered up there, birds, bats, or something else, it was impossible to tell. Each of the sodium lights was surrounded by a suicidal galaxy of insects, adding the soft pattering of their wings to the night’s noises.

  Barb and Nehi talked softly to one another, while Tau fed leftover scraps into the fire, coaxing it into a blaze that sent sparks flying up into the night.

  “So,” Barb said at last, looking over the fire at Elke. “You used to be a guard. Got the training, you said.”

  “A few years back,” said Elke. “Bodyguard. Funny how it stays with you. The reflexes.”

  Barb was nodding. “Tell me about it. Bodyguard, hey? Looking after rich people?”

  Soon, Barb’s prodding had first Elke, and then Kiran, sharing stories of their lives back in the Babylon Eye and the Real.

  Barb was interested in Elke’s description of the gardags, and the tech involved in creating them. Tau was more interested in what Elke and Kiran could tell him about life in the Real.

  Nehi just listened. Elke was unsure how much of the conversation he could follow, but he watched each speaker intently, occasionally grunting when somebody made a point, or laughing when the rest of them laughed.

  “So, what’s this war, then?” Kiran said at last. “This place is under a siege of some kind, isn’t it? I mean— Human gas-bombs and all that?”

  “You got that right.” Tau poked at the fire again. “There’s an army out there. Or at any rate, they’re coming. Landward side almost blocked off. They say the seaward side will soon be locked in too.”

  “Who’s fighting who?” asked Kiran.

  “Politics.” Barb wrinkled her nose. “Who cares.”

  “It’s the old guard coming to sort us out,” Tau explained. “You heard about Boqor Trench?”

  “I think we saw him,” said Elke. “He’s a glim, right? With the big moustache?”

  “That’s right.” Tau spoke eagerly. “Trench started it all. He didn’t keep his head down like a good glim should. He broke rank and rose above his station. Best bloody commander we’ve had in generations.”

  Tau’s voice was warm, and his face expressed earnest admiration.

  “He’s pretty good at getting people to do what he wants. Persuaded a couple of the top geists and eidola to work with him, made this coalition thing. Not how things are supposed to go.” Tau laughed. “Upsets the frickin hierarchy. Now the old families from other cities are scraping themselves together and trying to come put us in our place. They might do it, too. They got the numbers.”

  For a long time, nobody said anything. The fire burned low, occasionally crackling up as an unburnt twig caught and flared. With the silence, came the thoughts that Elke had been trying to suppress.

  Where was Noor, right now, and what was happening to her? And Jinan, and Samuel, and all the other people who’d been captured and brought here as slaves. She wished for something to drive out reality, some way to deaden or numb her brain. What was the use of thought, when action was impossible?

  At last, she must have dozed, because Kiran�
�s hand on her arm brought her to wakefulness.

  “What—”

  Kiran had her finger to her lips, and a listening look.

  A sound drifted down from some upper balcony. Music, achingly familiar, and utterly out of place in this strangeside world. A trombone’s brassy wail threaded through the measured lope of a bass guitar, all with a rich, scratchy tone.

  “Record player,” mouthed Kiran, and Elke found herself smiling in recognition.

  For a while they sat together, listening.

  The song ended, and another began. Elke felt Kiran tense and draw a breath, and then, softly at first, and with more confidence she sang.

  My mother she warned me

  Warned me not to go

  But I was young

  And I didn’t know

  That when you leave that road, there’s no going home

  Mack Jack had mentioned that Kiran was a singer, but Elke had forgotten. Now she closed her eyes and listened to Kiran’s voice—surprisingly low, but clear and sweet, fitting the words over and between the beats with easy confidence.

  My sister she told me

  Told me her pain

  But I didn’t listen

  And I left home again

  And now that way back, it’s all gone away.

  Now I know the bitter cold

  And the bitter wind

  And the lonely night that knows

  That I’m alone, again.

  But sometimes at night, I see it, I know

  That open door, the light, oh, the glow,

  Show it to me! Show me my road back home.

  On the last line, Kiran’s voice rang out into the night. Even the murmuring voices from the courtyard below fell silent and listen, so that the only sound was the faint rasp and thud of the stylus in the final groove.

  Knives

  “Now don’t open your eyes.”

  “Oh, just get on with it!” Ndlela scrunched his eyes closed even tighter. “Okay, okay, I promise, I won’t open them.”

  Isabeau slipped the bandage from his face and aimed the colltorch at his closed eyes. “What am I looking for?”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Tomas said from where he was lying, but they both ignored him.

  They’d spent the night—or really, it was the day, Isabeau supposed—in an empty can they’d found right at the back of Long Storage. Somebody had cut a door in the can’s side and camped in it, but according to Danger’s nose that had been a long time ago.

  At first, Isabeau had thought they should stay inside the shell-cavity near the entrance to the lazaretto, in case Missy returned. She couldn’t shake the idea that Missy might be on some insane quest to pick off everyone who’d been involved in the bust of the smuggling operation out on the Muara. It wouldn’t be difficult. Diesel, for one, was completely helpless, lying unconscious in the lazaretto.

  She, Tomas and Ndlela had tried to fix the loose panel that gave access to the lazaretto, but they didn’t have the right tools for the job. Also, as Tomas had pointed out, Missy could easily loosen any of the other panels.

  For a while Isabeau had insisted that they make their camp right there, on the walkway, but Ndlela wouldn’t have it.

  “What will we do if she comes?” he’d argued. “I’m blind, and you can’t fight her. Danger could, I guess, but what if she hurts him?”

  Isabeau had secretly agreed with this last point, but she found herself pointing out that Danger was a fully armoured gardag, and that it was highly unlikely that Missy would have a weapon capable of harming him. Tomas had suggested that the two of them should go to a safer spot, and leave him Danger on guard, but Isabeau would not agree to this either.

  “We need to stick together. And anyway, you’re pretty sick.”

  This last was undeniable. Isabeau had given Tomas the diadem as soon as they were out of the lazaretto, but he was clearly much weaker than Ndlela. Danger’s exuberant greeting had nearly knocked him off his feet, although he’d not seemed to mind in the least.

  Isabeau couldn’t help wondering whether Tomas and Ndlela really believed that Missy Cloete was in the Eye. After all, they hadn’t seen Missy, or heard the certainty in Elke’s voice, when she’d spoken of Missy’s escape from prison.

  In the end, it was the sheer discomfort of trying to sleep on the walkway that changed her mind about staying near the lazaretto. That, and the fact that as Tomas pointed out, it couldn’t be the only way to sneak into the lazaretto. While they were guarding this loose panel, Missy could find another one.

  “I know,” Ndlela had said. “We should warn Alexander. He’ll know what to do.”

  So, they’d retreated back to Long Storage and found the empty cargo-can. The four of them had slept there, curled against one another, and woken hungry. Isabeau’s store of food had hardly been enough for her and Danger, and now she had to worry about Ndlela and Tomas as well.

  Soon after they woke, Ndlela had asked her to check his eyes.

  “Anything like pus, or black stuff, or swelling, or anything like that.”

  Now Ndlela sat perfectly still while Isabeau inspected his eyes. “Can you not breathe on me so much?” he said at last.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Isabeau sat back. “Looks just normal to me.”

  Ndlela let out a relieved breath. “Okay, then. Put it back.”

  Isabeau tied the blindfold again, careful not to draw it too tight. “How long does it still have to stay on for?”

  “Alexander said two more days, and that was almost a day ago now.” Ndlela took over the tying of the blindfold.

  Isabeau watched him tuck in the loose ends. “Your eyes aren’t sore?”

  Ndlela shook his head. “I feel fine. Actually, I don’t really feel sick anymore at all.”

  “You still can’t come with me.”

  “I know that.”

  “Anybody seeing you with that bandage on...”

  “I know! I agreed, didn’t I? We’ll wait here.”

  “Should I leave Danger here with you?” Isabeau tried to keep the reluctance out of her voice. “Then you can keep practising with the diadem.”

  Ndlela visibly brightened. “You sure?” His hand went out to Danger, who was lying between them. “But won’t you need him? You’ll be safer with him along.”

  Isabeau picked up her bag. “Not really.” She was proud of how unconcerned she sounded. “He’ll probably just draw attention, and I’ll stick to the main corridors where there are lots of people.”

  “Well, okay.” Ndlela dug his fingers into Danger’s fur. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “Maybe you can get some medicine for Tomas as well,” Ndlela said in an undertone. “From Alex. He might be able to help.”

  “Sure. Good idea.” She glanced back at Tomas. With the bandage over his eyes, she wasn’t sure whether Tomas was asleep, but she didn’t like the way he lay, so still, hardly seeming to breathe.

  ¤¤¤

  Isabeau walked quickly and quietly past the rows of cargo-cans.

  They’d meant to sleep only for an hour or two, but time had slipped past and it was early evening now. Still, it was a good time to go to the cafeteria. It was far more likely that Alexander would be there, having his supper.

  At the junction to the main corridor, Isabeau hesitated for a moment, and then walked quickly along, ignoring the way her heart raced just a bit more than necessary. This was the most dangerous bit, out in the open and not yet surrounded by the supper-time crowds. She wished Danger was at her side but it would have been selfish to leave Ndlela and Tomas without him, blindfolded as they were.

  She hurried up the stairs to Short Storage, and then she had to slow down to a less noticeable speed as she joined the people heading for the cafeteria.

  The cafeteria was more crowded than she’d ever seen it, but she didn’t mind having to queue for the serving tables. The crush of people made her feel safely invisible. It also made it difficult to check if Alexander was around. Sh
e stood on her toes in a vain attempt to see, but there were simply too many people.

  The conversations swirling around her were mostly in languages she could not understand, but the mood seemed friendly. People were joking and laughing. The air was rich with the aroma of freshly fried cinnamon bread, as well as more pungent odours—garlic, chili, and other spices she could not place.

  When her turn came to get food, Isabeau wrapped several slabs of buttered bisc in greaseproof paper and loaded up on many little tubs of vegetables and battered fish. She felt a little self-conscious, taking so much food, but nobody challenged her as she stuffed her bag.

  Once she was out of the food queue, it was a little easier to see, although the tables were absolutely packed. She hopped onto a briefly vacated chair and balanced there for a moment, scanning the space, but it was no good. If Alexander was in the cafeteria, she couldn’t see him, and she was starting to feel nervous about being so exposed.

  Somebody touched her elbow, making her start violently.

  “You lost, girly? Looking for your parents?” One of the cleaning staff was squinting up at her.

  “Oh, no, I’m fine, really! ” She hopped down from the chair, her heart still rattling from her fright.

  The cleaner didn’t seem convinced, but Isabeau got away from him, slipping through the crowd and heading for the exit. When she glanced back, he was still watching her, looking concerned.

  Damn. Now she’d have to leave, or he’d follow her, or make a scene of some kind. The longer she hung around, the more people would notice her.

  Back outside the cafeteria Isabeau walked rapidly through the thinning crowd, trying to think what to do next. Something soft gave under her foot, and she looked down to find that she’d stepped on a dead bird, a tiny smaracht that lay, wings fanned, on the concrete floor.

  “Hey!” Somebody grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back. It was a realside woman, neatly dressed, her cheeks pink with excitement. “Don’t touch that! Get away from it.” She stared at the little bird as if she expected it to fly up and attack them.

  Isabeau shook the woman’s hand from her shoulder.