Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Dahlia
The House has a small stony frontage boxed with a wooden fence, and beside the single grey door, a tall, scantily dressed woman with black hair is leaning against the wall, scrutinising her long nails.
Jewellery hangs from her wrists and neck, some glistening with beads and some solid metals. An immodest symbol that she is, in fact, a House Girl. Only her kind flaunt jewels in such a way.
I clear my throat as I approach. “Excuse me?”
Moving only her blue eyes, she peers up from her hand, taking a full sweep of my body and mumbling, “Yes?”
That’s all I get.
I continue toward her, stopping a few paces from the entrance on the pretty cobbled path bordered by plant pots they obviously care enough about to maintain.
“I don’t do girls,” she says.
“Oh.” I cough with shock. “No. I’m just looking for water.” My sentence dwindles to a pause as I consider offering her stamps but stop myself, not wanting her suspicion piqued further.
She stares at the bundle hidden beneath my jacket, her brow rising. She nods with faux indifference toward a metal spout fastened to the outside of the stone building, waterdrops pattering the ground.
“Help yourself.”
“Thank you,” I say, walking straight to it, squatting, and getting to work. Despite the woman’s perceived disinterest, she still glances intermittently from her nails to watch me squat by the faucet.
After cleaning the bottle the best I can, I mix the water with some formula and tuck it into my beibao . I need to find somewhere quiet to feed Spero.
Back on the path, I pass a few Common women and men as they go about their lives without so much as a peep in my direction. Before I walk too far, I check the docks. The boat that brought me here is still at the jetty, and Tomar is loading something onto it.
A few hours…
Is he taking me to the Common Community like the Endigo man said? Or am I getting there some other way? Spero cries louder, reminding me I have to feed him first—decipher the details of what happens next after.
I walk along the path between small houses and cabins, searching for a secluded spot to tend to Spero, the small whimpering bundle cradled against my chest.
Although it's dim, small gaps in the cave ceiling, along with the glowworms and lanterns outside each cabin, offer enough light to see.
The alleyways are quiet, yet the air is thick with whispers and transactions.
I thought I would stand out, but everyone else seems just as intent on blending in as I do.
The Bite seems to be a place for living ghosts to gather and converse; their secrets trail to echoes and hide in the rocky quarries.
As I approach a cavity in the hard cave wall, I hesitate. Through the narrow slit in the rock, I see steps that lead downward. I peer into the rocky burrow, where the glowworms illuminate the passage, revealing a glimmering spot of clear blue water at the end. It ripples softly, yet… It feels too isolated.
A wave of unease washes over me, and I glance over my shoulder.
Don’t go into a tunnel alone. Don’t walk too far from the docks, from Tomar.
Maple and I would explore the Half-tower when our Wards went to their Purpose, but I would never go alone. I am five-foot-two and built small, not equipped to fight or defend myself. Luckily for me—besides my too-many freckles—I am plain. I’ve been told by many people, my Ward included, that I am pretty but easily forgotten. I never cared. Being overlooked in the Half-tower is a powerful survival trait.
Spero is suddenly quiet, worrying me more with his fatigue and detachment than his demanding cries. Then, a naked woman crosses the small view I have of the water, appearing to be bathing in the cove. A little comfort settles into my wary stomach, so I head down the steep steps that drop me deeper and deeper into the earth.
At the foot of the stone steps, I enter a small, isolated bay shaped like a jagged quarter-moon, walled with encroaching gravelly forms.
If I reach up, I can touch the cool, moist ceiling. It’s unlike anything I have seen before, the air isn’t like the Redwind or the smoke-drenched tower fort. It is crisp, like the first bite into an apple.
With only the other woman down here, I sit on the concave of a rock, spilling everything out of my beibao onto the smooth stone surface. Laying Spero on his back, I unwrap him and check him over. He is still painted pink and red from Maple’s blood, and black poo is smeared and caked between his chubby thighs.
I’ll clean him after I feed him.
Ripping the linen from one of my shirts, I poke my finger into it to create a nipple shape and loosen the fibres before covering the top of the bottle. This has to work. I don’t have another plan. I tip it over and hold my breath. Slowly, the cloth nipple fills with formula and drips through the fabric.
Spero mewls as I pick him up, cradle him in my lap and put the cloth between his lips. He mouths it immediately, much to my relief. I exhale and lean backward against the rock as he softly sucks. His enthusiasm is weak, but so is he.
So am I.
As Spero drinks, I can almost taste the formula on my tongue, my hunger gnawing at my stomach and hazing my mind.
It's not long before he seems to fall asleep. I understand the ‘sleep like a baby’ saying as he appears almost comatose. I glance up and see another woman has replaced the previous woman in the cove. My eyes scan the small, intimate cavern. There doesn’t appear to be anyone else, though there are tunnels and cavities. I don’t want to leave my beibao exposed to possible thieves, but I need to bathe Spero. And… I will be in the Deep Sleep soon, so I need to wash myself, too.
Right.
With that, I strip off my clothes, scoop my sleeping burden to my chest, and wade into the cool, clear water until my bellybutton meets the surface.
Hairs prickle along my naked body as I squat, the buoyant fluid holding me while I dip Spero until clear ripples outline his face. The water has a scent, cracked salts and moist stone, and I inhale it dreamily. It’s real—organic.
Washing him with gentle hands, I smile. He coos in sweet slumber, seeming to enjoy the water’s soothing touch. I know I should hurry, but my heart fills with warmth as moments sluggishly roll by.
“Perfect,” I say to him. That is what he is, a perfect blank slate.
I think about Maple, wishing she could see him, feel the cool ocean and breathe this crisp, briny air.
That’s when my stomach knots. And my breath catches. I snap my gaze up inadvertently. Someone is watching me; I just know it.
Pausing under the feverish lick of attention, I search the rocky quarry and scan the stone steps, finding no one but… My gaze snaps back, freezing on a dark crevice vast and shadowed enough to harbour and mask a large form.
I can’t see the person who stands in the pitch-black hollow, but I know they are there, feeling them acutely. Their presence seizes me with tangible hands while my heart pumps for my muscles to move, to escape, but I can’t.
I squint into the black void, my eyes creating shapes that are not there, trying to see what I feel so powerfully.
Who I feel…
Lagos.
His name comes unbidden.
I don’t know why it does or why him and I don’t know how, but I know Lagos is standing in the shadowed hollow, staring at me.
Is Spero in danger?
His attention feels… wrong, as he watches me bathe from the depths of the impenetrable black hollow. I don’t like it. Don’t like my shortness of breath, or my hardening nipples, or the way my thighs press together… No—I’m not… not attracted to that brutish male, am I?
I can’t be.
I refuse to be.
Straightening with Spero in my arms, I stride from the pool.
The heavy gaze stalks me until the tether of his attention snaps, releases me, and I inhale a deep breath.
* * *
I have made very few decisions in my life, and none of importance. The Trade and my Ward took that burden from me. So… being utterly alone in my decision to return to the Exchange Hub makes anxious nerves play inside me. Every step I take toward the entrance is full of effort.
I push open the door.
The Endigo man is trading with a short lady with a hunched back. She is Common, like me. Perhaps if I spoke to her… She could help me. Women are less threatening than men.
I step closer to the woman. She offers the man what looks like herbs, and he trades her a fish with pretty pink scales.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be back,” he says as I slowly approach, my boots dragging along the floor, my hesitation weighing me down. The Endigo man is uncomfortable to look at, but that is an unkind thought.
But he is…
The lady disappears through the door before I can talk to her.
Ahead of me is the small fruit crate. I stare at the apples, my mouth filling with saliva instantly. I swallow it down.
“I accepted. Didn’t I?” I stand strong. “I need an apple.” I reach for it, but he catches my hand, holding it mid-motion.
I gasp.
“One apple,” he states, squeezing my hand. “Eat it quick.”
My heart hammers. “Okay.”
His eyes run a lap of my body before he releases my hand. I take the apple and bite into it, replacing his bile-producing gaze with sweet tannins.
“You got enough serum to make your tea?” he asks. “It’s not a skill I ‘ave. I ‘ave never been given a Lace Girl. I ain’t offered such prize assets here at The Bite.”
“Serum?” I force the apple chunks down my dry throat, never having heard it referred to as a serum . What a strange thing to call it. “I have a little of each ingredient to make the tea. I can make a small amount.”
His needled smile skitters along my skin, so I add, “Just enough for an hour.”
That’s a lie.
But an hour isn’t enough time to skin me with those teeth, right? Not enough time to hide my body… the parts left?
He lifts another apple. “Have another.”
I reach for it, but he doesn’t let go, holding my hand and the apple. “For later,” he grinds out.
I stare into his one good eye, and his gaze pushes through mine. “Thank you,” I say.
“Go in the back. There is a small kettle by the sink. A cup, too. Make yourself comfortable, Lace Girl.” He releases the apple, snapping the tension.
Ignoring the screams of my inner voice, ‘Don’t go. Don’t go.’ I walk through a door behind him and out of view.
He probably knows nothing about Companion Nights but that is fine. I am well-trained and can prepare myself.
In the back of his Exchange Hub, I see a small cup already waiting on a crate, which appears to be his bedside table.
Just breathe.
Watching myself more than actually being present, I make a nest in the corner with my jacket and tuck Spero into it. Thankfully, he is fast asleep.
I grab the ingredients hidden in the back sleeve of my beibao for my Lace Tea: La Mu leaf and seed, Opi Lava, and clove. The Opi is bitter. Usually I indulge in a spoonful of raw sugar, a rare item that my Ward trades whiskey stamps for… I don’t have any today.
I walk to the bed. The floor beneath my boots is the natural rock, jagged in parts, smooth in others, all stained in different colours I care little to analyse further.
I sit on his tiny single mattress and slide my boots off, setting them neatly on the floor like soldiers. Orderliness is a virtue.
My pulse is in my neck; I imagine anyone who cares to look at my throat will see my heart beating erratically. See my nerves jumping beneath the skin like scared little creatures.
Just breathe.
Across from me is a large stainless-steel sink covered in blood and slices of silvery skin.
It is fish skin.
Is it?
Yes. It has to be.
A shuddered breath escapes my lips as I stare at the crimson splashes along the metal basin. Beside them, there are thin, dull, and poorly kept knives.
To fillet fish.
This room is no more than a box. Everything he needs to work and live here is crammed into one space; clothes piled in the corner, a small fibreglass shower cut into the wall, concealed by a tattered curtain, and a small, smelly bed.
Ignoring my instincts, I prepare my tea, mixing it into the small cup.
I set it down on his crude bedside table and let it brew. Then, I take a shaky breath and remove my shirt-dress and pants through a trembling exhale.
I’m going to be okay.
Just breathe.
Folding my clothes, I lay them over my shoes. I don’t have my lace gown with me—I didn’t think I would need it—so I leave my white slip-dress and knickers on. The chill of fear pinches my nipples, drawing them through the fabric.
The Endigo man enters, and I stiffen on his bed, eyes wide with alarm, back so ridged a breeze might crack me in two. The impending moments sink in as he closes the door. And the truth churns my stomach. He is vile. I can’t pretend he isn’t anymore, and I can’t pretend I’m okay with this. I’m not. I don’t want this. I want to run.
His good eye drips down my body, a hiss leaving his cracked lips as he stares at my nipples.
“I know you must be nervous,” he says. “But I won’t harm ya.” He looks at the tea. “Drink it and take your clothes off.”
I shake my head as tears simmer behind my eyes. “I don’t take my clothes off. I leave them on.”
“Not with me.”
My blood runs cold. “That’s not how it’s done. I remain innocent of everything you do. I remain modest. Tha?—"
“I don’t ‘ave long, do I?” he spits. “Take ‘em off so I can get started with ya straight away.”
My mind screams. Run.
Panic finds me too late, crawling into my veins and scratching a pattern of terror into my soul.
The Deep Sleep is meant to be peaceful, and a Lace Girl is to be cared for and considered. I am meant to be doted on and adored. Undressed while I sleep and clothed again before I wake.
This is a mistake.
The white-haired fish-man steps toward me, and I snatch the tea. Humming the soft shanty my Ward used to, I find the sound a tiny comfort as I sip— No. No sugar, no care, no clothes, get it done!
I throw the contents into my throat, rip my slip over my head, and drop backward on his bed.
Staring at the uneven stone ceiling, I place my hands on my stomach, feeling my abdomen tremble beneath my fingertips.
I grit my teeth.
I will not cry.
It'll be over soon.
And I’ll never know.
Swallowing over a ball of fear, I turn my head and rest my cheek on the rancid pillow, staring at a dull, rusty appliance on the bloody sink. It is shaped like the roof of a house with curved scales like a fish.
I blink my heavy lashes.
The tea works fast.
In the corner of my eyes, the man clumsily removes his clothes, so I train my gaze on the shiny scales that curve upward along the implement.
No, not scales.
Small blades.
It is a grater.
* * *
I come to, my mind in a fog. I can feel my chest rise and fall. Feel the dead weight in my legs. Heavy thighs. Sleep is clinging to my muscles.
I feel as though I’m in a dark dream, but it is entirely real, tactile and noisy, except for my vision which crinkles shapes and smudges detail.
I struggle to lift my eyelids. Feeling a heaviness in my limbs, I cannot reach for anything.
I hear… something.
Grunts, maybe?
And smell something… A familiar scent envelops me. What is that? Copper. Safe. Warm. Suddenly, all my weight hits my spine, my legs and arms flopping backward.
Through the slits in my heavy lashes, I make out a face lording over me. Strong features buckled in anger. Black eyes that stare directly into the heart.
Lagos.
What?
His warmth radiates from the hard chest I am pressed against, and arms… around me. Soothing. I’ve not been touched like this in my life.
My body is floating in them. No. I’m being carried. I try to speak, but my voice is trapped. Trapped deep. In the Deep Sleep.
I don’t know why, but Lagos’ presence cracks me open, spilling my strength like a burst dam. In this dream, this deep, sedated dream that can’t be real, I start to violently cry.
My lashes beat images in and out of view. I’m moving through the back room of the Exchange Hub. The fish-man’s room.
Blink.
The walls are… There is blood everywhere.
Blink.
And a body lying face down on the single bed. I was asleep there only moments ago. The body is sliced from neck to arse, the spine exposed, twisted upward like a wire.
It's a dream.
A nightmare.
My heart pounds hard while the rest of me barely clutches reality, but I find solace in the powerful arms carrying me.
Sobbing so hard my body shakes, I clutch at fabric, digging my fingers in.
Blink.
Slashes of blood web the walls as I am carried from that room.
It’s not real, so I don’t need to be strong. To pretend I’m capable and like Maple. Maple… My mind drowns in that name, a heavy weight or burden attached to it. What about Maple… Why am I here? Then it hits me in the chest, hard and brutal, beating every wisp of air from my lungs— Spero.
Where is Spero?