Thandeka stared at her for a moment. “You didn’t get—” Her lips thinned. “That little— I paid one of the other cleaners. She promised that she had a contact. She must have just thrown them away. You never got any letters from me?”
Noor shook her head.
“So, you never knew—” Thandeka’s eyebrows went up. “I’m sorry, Noor.”
Noor nodded quietly, not trusting her voice.
“Well. Anyway.” Thandeka continued. “I was living day to day, expecting to be discovered, and then a job opportunity came up. Me and some of the other cleaning people were told to meet at this place in Long Storage. Which is where they grabbed us, of course. Next thing we were in that train and going through the strangeside portal.”
“And they brought you here.”
“Most of the realsiders come here.” Thandeka stroked the sheet where it lay over Noor’s knees. “When they found out that I’m a midwife, and that I have years of experience working with the minimum of equipment, they knew I was worth more to them alive. I became one of the helpers here. A medic, of sorts.” She looked up and met Noor’s gaze. “It was a way that I could do some good. I worked myself into a position of trust. By now, I’ve saved the lives of— Oh, hundreds of people. Children, most of them.”
Her hands were busy at the sheet again, smoothing out an invisible crease. “I re-classify the slave children. Not all of them, that would attract too much attention. I find a child that’s got the right kind of report, something I can add to or change a little, to make it look as if they have some skill worth having. Send them to be trained, instead of— Or even send them to the farms. The farms are bad, but they at least still have a chance.”
And what about all the others, all the ones you didn’t help? Noor stared at her mother. Do you just make a note on your clipboard and let them to be harvested like plants? But every line in her mother’s body stopped Noor from speaking those words out loud.
“Is that what happened with me?” she said instead.
Thandeka nodded. “I had to do a bit of alteration to your paperwork.” A smile twitched her lips. “For once, I wasn’t lying. Anyone with skills as a midwife is desperately needed around here, and you certainly have those.” She gave Noor a stern look. “Didn’t they ask you about that? If you’d let them know—”
“No, Mom, they did not happen to ask me what skills I have before they sent me to be shot, or whatever it is they do. One look at my ankle was enough to convince them that I was damaged goods.”
Thandeka took Noor’s hand in hers, wrapping her strong fingers around her daughter’s. “I’m sorry.” She let out a long, tired breath. “I had to call in a lot of favours, but you shouldn’t have any more problems with your ankle once they’ve done the surgery.” She pushed herself off the bed and to her feet.
“But—” Noor looked at her blankly. “What happens now?”
“Now, you rest and get better. I’ve organised for you to be my assistant—”
“But we need to get back to the Eye! How are we going to do that? And what about my friends, Elke, and Kiran, what about them?”
“Let’s take that one step at a time.” Thandeka took hold of the trolley and pushed it aside so she could open the gate.
Noor struggled upright. “Mom! No— Mom, no listen. Okay, I won’t get up. Listen.” Noor took hold of her mother’s sleeve. “Mom. I can’t just forget about my friends. Their names are Elke Veraart and Kiran—I don’t know Kiran’s other name. You have to help them.” She stared desperately up at Thandeka.
“I wasn’t going to suggest just leaving them, and I have a pretty good idea what might be happening to them.” Thandeka looked sternly down at Noor. “You’ve given me their names. I’ll see what I can find out. In the meantime, we can’t risk drawing more attention to you than we already have. Which means you need to stay quietly in that bed. We’ll work out something, okay? It’s just going to take a bit of time.”
“You’ll look for them?” Noor sank back. “For Elke and Kiran?”
“I’ll try my best,” Thandeka said as she wheeled the trolley through the gate. “You get some sleep.”
The gate clanged shut behind her.
Drowning
The next morning Elke and Kiran ate a rushed breakfast of stale bisc as they climbed down the ladder to the lowest level of the can-stack. Kiran had time for the briefest of dips in the water trough to let the skritti do their work. She was noticeably favouring her left arm again.
Elke picked up the jacket Kiran had discarded and felt in the pocket for the vials of medication. “Take it.” She held out one of the vials as Kiran surfaced.
Kiran blinked water from her eyes. “Don’t nag. I was going to take it a bit later.”
“Take it now.” Elke tucked the vial in Kiran’s hand. “I know it’s just a painkiller, but the way you are now, nobody can help but see there’s something wrong.”
“Bloody hell.” Kiran snapped the vial, downed its contents, and nearly gagged. “Agh,” she groaned. “Ugh.” She scooped up a handful of water and rinsed her mouth even as she stepped out of the trough.
Elke handed her the jacket, just as a bell rang out in the courtyard.
“Go.” Still grimacing, Kiran waved Elke off. “You’re going to be late.”
Elke hesitated and Kiran waved her off again. “Go! You can’t be late. I’ll be fine. Go.”
Out in the courtyard, Elke saw that the slug-thing still had its tendril-vanes extended. It seemed to be having some effect, as the air bore only a tinge of smoke despite the many breakfast fires.
This time, Elke found her assigned group without any difficulty, and they didn’t wait too long before setting off.
As far as Elke could tell, they went the same route as before. She was starting to make some sense of the tangle of corridors, but she still felt far from secure in her grasp of the Carsera’s layout.
The guards led them to the harbour and the same overseer came out with his bucket of choke-fish.
While Elke waited for the choke-fish to be applied, she looked curiously at the harbour. Fewer menha were about, and none of them lounged on the pier, as they’d done the day before. Some were visible out on the sea-wall, and the rest were busy with a group of narrow, delicate-looking boats separated from the other harbour craft.
Elke tried to think of a way she might attract their attention. She wished she’d had more time with Kiran this morning, to figure out a way to make contact with the menha. Whatever happened, Kiran would be the one to speak to them, as she was more likely to understand their language.
Once she had a choke-fish coiled around her throat, Elke was led back to the sump room and set to work at the tangle of pipes again.
The work was worse this time, as all the easily accessible pipes had been cleared the day before. Now, Elke and the others had to fumble under the surface of the dark fluid into which the pipes were suspended.
It was horrible work. Hard as she tried, the mouths of the pipes were impossible to reach without submerging completely. Elke screwed shut her eyes and tried to wipe the stuff from her face as soon as she surfaced, but it still got into her eyes and nose.
She looked around for Tiptin, but she couldn’t spot her anywhere. The other slaves worked with blank efficiency, keeping their faces above the fluid for as long as they could, and submerging themselves as briefly as possible.
More than once Elke found herself leaning on the rough concrete edge of the tank, choking and spitting, and desperately trying to calm herself as the choke-fish pulsed warningly around her throat. Whenever she took too long to recover, an overseer would cuff her hard enough to make her ears ring.
Once, one of the overseers, a woman like a pile of bricks, took hold of Elke’s hair and pushed her face into the fluid. She didn’t pin Elke’s arms, or trap her hands, just held her by the hair, as if it never occurred to her that Elke might fight back.
Because she couldn’t fight back.
Elke had time onl
y to reach for the guard before the choke-fish, sensing her anger, drew its noose around her throat so fast she nearly passed out. The overseer had to haul her out and dump her on the floor.
Elke lay, blood pounding in her head, unable to breathe until, at last, the choke-fish loosened its hold. After that, her world narrowed to the rhythm of her work.
Calculating which valves to open or close so that the huurpat would travel along the correct pipe. Feeling for the pipe’s mouth with her toes, and then lowering herself into the murky fluid, hand grasped firmly around the huurpat’s throat, to feed the creature into the pipe.
The tricky thing was knowing just when to let the huurpat go. Working under the surface meant that she was never sure whether the creature would go into the pipe, or flex around, looking for something else to bite.
The only respite came when the huurpat was eating its way along the pipe. Then Elke had the chance to haul herself out, get her breath and let her trembling arms and legs rest before she had to retrieve the huurpat again.
Milking the sludge out of the huurpat’s body was more difficult each time she did it. It took both hands, one to keep the thing’s head confined, and the other to work down the creature’s body. Her fingers ached with the strain of it.
Once that was done, the whole process had to start all over again.
Every now and then an overseer would come to check her progress. Elke had no doubt they would beat her if they thought that she was slacking, and that drove her on. She was not afraid of the pain, but of the humiliation.
She hated knowing just how helpless she was. Wet, barefoot, and trembling, unable to defend herself even with words. The choke-fish pulsed gently at her throat, a reminder what would happen if she lost control again.
The inadequate food, the lack of sleep, the constant fear and stress she’d been under since her capture was beginning to tell.
She began losing time.
Sitting on the edge of the tank, mesmerised by her wobbling reflection, or staring blankly at a valve, trying to remember which one she’d opened last, and which she’d closed.
It was only a matter of time before an overseer caught her in this state.
He seized her, one hand in her hair the other in the back of her shirt and plunged her into the fluid. Her mouth opened to gasp and breathed the fluid.
Cold invaded her chest.
The last thing she knew was the pain in her fingers as she scrabbled on the concrete side of the tank, vainly trying to force her way to the surface again.
Going Outside
“What’s she doing now?”
Ndlela didn’t respond, so Isabeau gave him a nudge. “What—”
“Shh!” Ndlela kept his voice as quiet as he could, but his irritation still came through. “Can you be quiet?”
“But—”
“She’s just standing there.”
“At the door?”
“Yes.”
“And she hasn’t spotted Danger, you’re sure?”
“She hasn’t. Now can you be quiet? I promise I’ll tell you as soon as she does anything.”
Isabeau subsided. It was stuffy and cramped in the wall cavity. They’d been hiding there for what felt like hours, hoping that their plan would pay off, but now that it had she was just as much in the dark as ever.
She frowned grumpily. After all, it had all been her idea. She’d thought of the perfect way to spy on Missy without putting anyone at risk.
First, they’d piled some cardboard boxes and a few broken palettes near, but not suspiciously close, to the door of the airlock room. It had taken some persuasion to get Danger to hide behind the boxes, but Isabeau had finally managed to make him understand what they wanted. With Danger in place, Isabeau and Ndlela could hide nearby and see anything that went on through Danger’s eyes, via the diadem.
While they were waiting for Missy to show up, Isabeau had at last voiced the doubts that had been growing in her for the last few hours.
“I’m worried about Tomas.”
“I know,” Ndlela said. “I think we need to get him back to the lazaretto. He won’t admit it, but I think he’s pretty miserable.”
“He’s not— You’re not worried, are you? He’s not really sick?”
“Oh, no,” Ndlela assured her. “He doesn’t have a fever, and he can walk okay. I think he just feels crap.”
“We’ll take him back when we’re finished here,” Isabeau decided.
The decision made, she settled down to wait for Missy.
What Isabeau had forgotten was that it would be Ndlela who wore the diadem, and not herself. She couldn’t very well deprive him of that, since he still insisted that it was too early to remove the bandage from his eyes.
At first it had been exciting, sitting there together in their hiding place, sharing bits of food and sipping from their water bottle. And when Missy had done just as they’d expected, come creeping down the corridor, the thrill of it had nearly made Isabeau squeak. But now—nothing.
According to Ndlela, Missy was just standing there.
“I think she’s making sure there’s no one else around,” Ndlela whispered. “She’s holding this big bag. Hang on. There’s something wrong with her face—” Ndlela sounded puzzled.
Isabeau balled her fists and made herself be patient.
Maybe he’d let me use the diadem, just for a little bit. She wanted to see so badly.
“Here.” Ndlela sounded more worried than ever. Isabeau could hardly believe it when he slipped the diadem from his head. “You have a look.”
Isabeau fumbled the diadem into place and closed her eyes. She pushed through the usual moment of disorientation before Danger’s input became clear. The corridor came into view, a low viewpoint, since Danger was flat on the ground.
Missy Cloete stood just a few metres away.
Something was wrong with her, that much was clear. The Missy Cloete Isabeau remembered from the Muara had held herself with confidence. This woman was hunched over, listing to one side as if unsure of her balance.
She turned, and Isabeau drew a quick breath as Missy’s face came into view. Even in the dim light of the corridor, the black tears were clear to see. Missy’s hand went up and rubbed at her eyes, and her knuckles came away as black as if they’d been stained with ink.
“Her eyes—” whispered Isabeau.
“You saw that?” Ndlela sounded scared.
Isabeau slipped the diadem back into his hands.
“She’s sick, isn’t she?” Ndlela just held the diadem, making no effort to put it on.
Isabeau nodded, and then realised he couldn’t see the gesture. “Yes. She’s sick. She looks pretty bad.”
Ndlela put the diadem back on, and immediately tensed.
“What is it?” said Isabeau.
“She’s gone in through the door.” Ndlela sat perfectly still for a moment. “Yes. She closed it behind her.”
“Okay!” Isabeau rose to her knees. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Into the airlock-room, of course.” Isabeau tugged impatiently at Ndlela’s restraining hands.
“Are you nuts? We can’t go now. She’s in there right now!”
“No, she’s not. She’ll use the airlock and go out into the void.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Let go of me!” Isabeau tugged at Ndlela’s fingers.
“Not unless you promise not to go—”
“Okay, okay. I guess we need to give her a chance to use the airlock and get outside. But she’s going to, I know she is.”
After a few seconds Isabeau nudged him again. “It’s been long enough now. Let’s go.”
“But what do you want to do?”
“Go out through the airlock to see what she’s doing, of course!” Isabeau stared at her brother in disbelief.
“We can’t do that!”
“Why not?” Isabeau edged towards the panel they’d loosened to get into the wall, and only stopped when Nd
lela grabbed her sleeve.
“Isabeau, are you nuts? Let’s say she you’re right, and she has gone out through the airlock. Let’s say she has. How can we follow her? We don’t know anything about how to go out into the void. We could be— We could—” He let go of Isabeau’s sleeve to sweep both hands in a gesture to encompass the scope of calamity he could not express.
“I do so know how to do it,” Isabeau said indignantly. “Balthazar showed me.” She bumped the panel open a crack and peered out into the corridor. “Come on, if we go now, we’ll see what she’s up to. I can show you how to suit up and use the airlock—”
“No way. No, Isabeau, we simply can’t.”
“But why not!”
“Keep your voice down!”
“Okay, okay sorry. But we have to go. She might be doing anything.” Isabeau glared at her brother. Somehow it was even more frustrating, knowing that he could not see her expression. “She could be doing anything. Flying that pod-ship—” And as the thought came to Isabeau, her blood ran cold. “Maybe she wants to crash it in through the view-ports.”
She could see it in her mind’s eye, all too vividly. A space ship—how big? She didn’t know—shattering one of the view-ports that looked out on undersea vistas of the Real world or the Strange. She never understood how the view-ports worked, or where they even were in relation to the Eye, but what would happen if they broke? Nothing good, she was sure of that.
“Why would she do that?” Ndlela had started crawling along at last.
“I don’t know. She’s nuts. You saw her.” Isabeau shuddered at the memory. “She’s sick, isn’t she? Maybe she’s hallucinating.”
Ndlela gave a snort. “Yes, but that’s not the same thing as being nuts. What we should do is get Sparks or Dolly or somebody here so they can see that the airlock has been used, and a space-suit is missing. Then they’d believe us.”
“But could we do it in time?” Isabeau tried to sound reasonable. She wanted to shout, grab Ndlela and drag him out into the corridor, but she knew that wouldn’t work. “They’d never listen to us. They’d be more interested in shutting us in some ‘safe’ place. And by the time they got ’round to looking in the airlock—what? What is it?”
The Strange Page 33
