Alise Page 2

  Jutting out into the ocean to the south was Duo Uisage. That region was powered by a hydro engine that lit the tall, sparkling towers of the oremancers, where the wizards fused metal and flesh. They created the Castors to clean the city and fashioned automaton limbs for people stricken by accidents or illness. Their region held the university and was the seat of knowledge. No one trusted anything that came from Duo Uisage, where you were regarded as potential spare parts. Ira once played on the streets until the wasting sickness struck him down, shrank his body, and took his legs.

  Lastly, Ephraim was a lowly guard from Tres Grian, which gathered its energy from the power of the sun. His people laboured in the flush fields, tending the harvests that fed the city. They grew tall and lean and the sun kissed their skin with a honeyed hue. Their hearing was extra sensitive and their eyesight keen from working in the wild open plains.

  His mind turned from the different landscapes surrounding the city to the blackness coating the walls and the heart of their mistress. The implications of Thaddeus’s words spun in his head.

  Something heals Alise’s wounds.

  Assuming he participated in this suicide mission and they found the source of her resurrections, what then? What hero remained to slaughter that particular dragon and rescue Mecha City, and all of Darjee? Once, over a hundred years ago, they had been ruled by a kind lord. The children laughed and played on the streets, and there was no need to ply the gutters looking for scraps of food. For too long, the lord’s daughter had wrapped her hand tight around their throats, squeezing the life from her people.

  She spent the wealth of the city gilding the inside of the castle while children starved on the street, their parents unable to pay the escalating taxes. She gave the strange mineral found in the earth to her alchemists to produce Sunshine. The drug kept many people floating in ignorant bliss and unable to see the dark that gathered on the horizon, ready to steal their lives.

  In deep shadows, people whispered that Alise created and spread the wasting disease so she had fresh children to deliver to the oremancers. The wizards created her pets and her human tools. In her throne room, she kept one Castor girl suspended in a golden cage. With no limbs, the torso-girl sang to entertain the lady. If her song was not pleasing, Alise batted her cage with a stick.

  Ephraim tapped the point of his pen on the cover of his journal to keep a beat to his thoughts. If his friends learned Alise’s secret, who could they turn to for help?

  No one came to mind. There was no hero in waiting.

  The three friends were alone in their mission—a Castor, a mole, and a coward.

  2

  Indi let Myra lead her away and down the street. The coins Ephraim gave her were hot in her palm, as though she clutched a handful of embers. The tall plainsman imparted the warmth of his homeland whenever he touched her.

  “I like Ephraim,” she said to Myra.

  “We know, Indi. He’s a good man.” Myra steered Indi through the crowded street.

  People were finished with their workday and headed for a few hours of entertainment and relaxation before they had to scurry home to bed. Indi smiled at the sparkling people they passed; their skin scattered with tiny diamonds that glittered in the soft yellow glow that emanated from all around them.

  “It’s such a lovely, warm evening,” she said and pulled the shawl away from her shoulders. A gentle breeze kissed her skin, and Indi closed her eyes and held out her arms.

  “No, it’s not. It’s damn cold. That horrid drug is tricking your brain again.” Myra hauled the shawl back up and knotted it around Indi’s middle.

  “But everybody is so happy.” Indi stared at a building with metal walls that shone as if they were decorated with rare gems waiting to be plucked out.

  Rail tracks for Castors ran from roofs to pavement, and the metal gleamed as though the buildings were draped in golden necklaces. High above their heads, more rail tracks were supported on thick steel tree trunks. The trams carried citizens to their homes on the outlying edges of the city. The mechanical vehicles dropped sprays of stars as they whizzed past and Indi held out her arms, letting the sparks absorb into her skin.

  Myra snorted and tugged Indi to one side to avoid a Castor that zoomed past picking up rubbish. “Everybody here is miserable.”

  They reached a tiny coffee shop wedged in between two taller buildings. The original metal structure of the city had been summoned from the ground by the oremancers. Towering buildings made of brass, steel, and glass were crafted by magic for the middle classes to inhabit. Then the poorer citizens built their homes from whatever they could find in the available space that remained. The coffee shop was one such cobbled-together structure, wedged in between two behemoths on either side.

  The little shop was narrow but tall. One window was round, the other square, and they made mismatched eyes on either side of the door. Pieces of wood were nailed together in a haphazard way that created a patchwork face.

  Indi patted the little shopfront. “Even the coffee shop is smiling.”

  Myra snorted and pushed Indi inside. She ordered two hot ciders and handed over Ephraim’s coins. Then the older woman pulled the younger one towards a tiny table pushed against the wall. The ground floor had only two small tables and a counter facing the windows. In one corner was a tiny spiral staircase that wound up to another floor with more seats.

  The shop was empty apart from them and Indigo felt embraced by the peace and quiet. The walls pulsed as though they breathed and were covered in a fine fur like a seal pelt. As she sat, she reached out and stroked the wall. It shivered under her touch. Swirls of yellow, red, and purple rippled over the surface.

  “The walls like it when you pet them. Can’t you see it, Myra? Such beautiful colours.” Indi rested her cheek against the soft pelt as it darkened from yellow to a deep red.

  Myra rolled her eyes and slid the cider across the table to Indi. “At least you’re not angry like a drunkard. But we all worry about you, Indi, when you go off to that fantasy world. It’s not real, love, the wall is painted an ordinary brown and what you see is all inside your head.”

  Indi continued stroking the wall as though it were a cat. Vibrations tingled through her hand. “If you took Sunshine, you’d understand. Why live in a dreary place when there is a marvellous world simmering just beneath the surface waiting to be discovered?”

  Myra pursed her lips and shook her head. “Because it’s not real, Indi. That stuff is killing you from the inside.”

  Indi closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. As she counted seconds, the warm pelt melted away under her cheek until she felt only cool wood. When she opened her eyes, the magical colour had drained from the walls and they reverted to boring, painted panels. She met Myra’s weathered gaze. “This world is killing us all. At least Sunshine makes impending death more bearable.”

  Myra reached out and took Indi’s hand. “One day, it will change, and the world will be a brighter place again. Besides, you have a good man who would brighten your world, if you would let him.”

  “What man?” Indi frowned at her drink. Sunshine lifted her worries like a summer breeze and painted the world in magical hues. But the drug made it hard to concentrate, since the Sunshine world was one for fun and laughter, not serious thoughts. People used the drug to escape reality, not remember it.

  Myra cackled. “And that is why you need to stop taking that poison. Ephraim loves you, but you’re too high on a fluffy cloud to even notice.”

  Indi held the cider beneath her nose and sniffed the spices. Orange and cardamom drifted from the hot drink as the drug-induced fantasy world receded, and cold reality seeped back into her bones. “Of course we love each other. Ephraim has been my closest friend for ten years.”

  “Friend? That young man doesn’t want to be your friend.” Myra sniggered. “Why don’t you give him what he deserves since you love him? None of us know what will happen tomorrow—you two should be seizing every day you have together.”
br />   Myra’s questions probed Indi’s conscience and chased away the last of the warm buzz from the drug. In its place, it left a wake of melancholy and bone-numbing chill as though her very soul shivered through a harsh winter. She loved Ephraim. He was the one good thing about her life, but if they put two miserable lives together, surely they would only make a bigger mess.

  “Better he stay as my friend. I have nothing to offer a man who wants more from me than I possess,” Indi whispered into her drink. If she took Sunshine, she could at least dream of a world where Ephraim was more than her friend. She had tried once and offered him her heart, but they had gone their separate ways in the morning and an unmovable chill took up residence inside Indi.

  Sadness drifted behind Myra’s eyes. “You’re a pair of idiots. I should bang your heads together. You don’t need anything else when you have each other.”

  The women passed a quiet half hour as they drank their cider and talked of inconsequential things. Then they headed back to the boarding house where they both kept rooms. At five storeys high, it was the tallest on their block and occupied a corner on a busy street. Once it had been a grand home, but the neighbourhood declined and now the building stooped like a neglected old woman. Children played on the wide steps, waiting for parents to return from their days in the factories, businesses, and homes of the wealthy.

  “Oma!” a girl with long dark plaits and sparkling eyes called out as she rushed to hug Myra.

  Myra kissed the top of the girl’s head. “Did you have a good day, Tilly?”

  The young girl took her grandmother’s hand. “Yes, Oma. We played hopscotch, did some reading, and then we found a cat that had kittens in a basement! We tried to lure them out to play.”

  Tilly waved goodbye to her friends and the three of them walked into the dim foyer. They took the stairs to the first floor where Myra lived. Each floor had three rooms that would have once been called suites. Now that the paint peeled and the wallpaper detached from the walls, they were simply rooms.

  Indi said her goodnights to Myra and Tilly and kept climbing the stairs. The treads were worn and the wood scuffed from hundreds of feet heading up to bed or down to work. As she climbed higher, the stairs became less worn.

  By the time she reached the last narrow stairwell, Indi wondered if her feet were the only ones to have ever touched the boards. The imprint of her boot sole in the thin layer of dust remained undisturbed each day until her return in the evening. Higher she climbed until she reached the tiny landing with just one door to the attic room tucked under the roof.

  She unlocked the door and pushed into her sanctuary. A touch of whimsy from some old-style architect had seen a large, round window installed that took up all of one eave. On a clear day, Indi could see out over Mecha City and the trams that raced along their rails to the ominous castle and the mountains beyond. Airships glided by so close she felt if she just reached far enough, she could touch their undersides as they passed.

  The room was one large space—only the small bathroom was enclosed in one corner. Indi’s bed was pushed up against the wall on the other side. A table and four chairs sat in the middle of the room, and a worn sofa looked out the huge window. The kitchen was located at the opposite end of the room.

  A small metal table held Indi’s treadle sewing machine. Black metal painted with a flowering vine that twirled up the sides. The table underneath was supported by ornate wrought-iron vines that held aloft the wooden top and machine. The metal footplate sat on the floor below. Rocking the pedal turned the flywheel that made the needle go up and down. Indi rested a hand on the machine and sighed. It was old but reliable.

  Ephraim had bought it for her three years ago. He saved up his pay to afford the sewing machine and surprised her with it to make a better life, he said. Whenever she sat down to sew, she thought of him.

  “Oh, Ephraim, we are both broken,” Indi said to the silent room.

  He deserved a decent and honourable woman. Not a guttersnipe who kept a roof over her head by working with her back pressed up against cold walls in darkened alleys. When the young lad arrived in Mecha City with no money and no clue, Indi had kept him alive by sharing what food she’d scavenged. For three years they had lived together in the squats—small sleeping pods stacked in the alley ways between buildings, where the poorest citizens resided. Then he went off to join the castle guard, and with the prospect of being alone, Indi had sold herself to a brothel.

  The wall next to the sewing machine was covered by built-in storage—another reason Indi loved this room. The assortment of drawers and cupboards were all different shapes and sizes and housed her fabrics, trims, and thread. Her wonderland she called it—for it contained her dreams waiting to be made real with silk, linen, and taffeta.

  She moved to stand in front of the tall, circular window. Next to her stood a decapitated dress form, its armless torso standing on a metal pillar. Its chest was cracked open and held apart by small struts with dials so Indi could adjust the frame to a customer’s exact measurements for bust, waist, and hips. Every time she did so, the body creaked and groaned as though inhabited by a ghost who complained about having to change size.

  Currently a large swatch of orange taffeta was draped from its shoulder and tumbled to the floor. Indi’s new client had approved her drawings, and now she needed to cut and sew to make the garment. What coin she earned lifting her skirts she used to buy material and buttons. If she could make a name for herself as a seamstress, she would have a steady income, but in many ways it was harder work.

  It was far easier to sell her body for a few moments than to give away a piece of her soul that was stitched into every garment. She poured her hopes and dreams into each design then held them up for judgement by the purchaser. A rude comment about her design cut deeper than any blow from a man in an alley. Scratches and bruises on her skin disappeared after a few days, but she found it far harder to heal a soul torn into pieces by a scathing critique.

  “For you, Ephraim, so we can build a better future,” she whispered as she altered the drape of taffeta. The client had been fitted with a muslin garment, and now it was time to cut the main fabric. As she picked up the scissors, she thought that perhaps, one day, she could try again with Ephraim.

  Not yet tired enough to sleep, Indi cut and pinned the fabric to bring the dress to life. As she worked, night deepened, and black rain clouds drifted down from the mountains. They merged with the smoke haze to thicken the blanket covering the city. The faint odour of smoke wormed through the smallest sliver between boards and made Indi think of standing around a brazier warming her hands. As children living on the streets, nights around the open flames meant laughter, camaraderie, and protection from the monsters that lurked in the shadows.

  Glow lamps positioned around her room provided the light by which she worked. The luminescent ore was harvested from deep in the earth. Nuggets that gave off white or yellow light were more valuable and only lit the homes of the wealthy. Working-class people could only afford the orange and amber shades, but Indi liked the soft glow it gave her room. It reminded her of those long-ago flickering flames.

  The dim light made her squint and soon a headache threatened. She put away her sewing for the night, and instead, she took up a sketchpad and pencil and curled up on the sofa. It didn’t matter that the low light wasn’t conducive to drawing as she saw the dresses in her mind and could draw with her eyes closed as her hand followed the flow of an invisible drape of silk. She imagined a grand ball and the floating dress that would swirl around her legs and cling to her form. Then, since she would not dance alone, she drew a fine suit for Ephraim. A tailed coat cut to his broad shoulders and a waistcoat embroidered to match her dress.

  Times had changed. As a girl, Indi used to make their clothes from the scraps she found in the rubbish. She rummaged for what she could use before the Castors came along and scolded her. That was how they met Ira. Like them, the young Castor was struggling to survive, but he bore a far
greater burden. Castors were melded to their wheels and mechanical parts before being sold by the oremancers. They were then expected to pay back the cost of the horrible things done to them, which added an impossible debt to bear.

  Indi sketched until her fingers cramped. The Sunshine ebbed from her body and left a bone-deep weariness in its wake. She didn’t bother to undress before climbing into bed and pulling the blanket over her. Sleep claimed her as she thought of Ephraim and the hot plains he hailed from. What would it be like, to have the sun on her skin and finally be warm?

  3

  Ephraim had a restless night broken by alcohol-fuelled nightmares. He chased faceless women down dark alleyways looking for his sister. He sought the one woman who could remove the white feather from his neck. If he found Astrid, he could finally return home. Throughout an endless night he pursued women he thought were Astrid, but they turned to reveal blank, featureless faces. Then he would head off chasing the next one. Over and over, without rest, he ran through the streets in his mind until morning broke.

  With a groan he rubbed his hands over his face. He had searched for Astrid for ten years. His little sister had been only twelve years old when the raiders took her. What would she look like now, and could he even recognise her? He struggled to recall her features and only one face came easily to his mind. One with a delicate heart shape, high cheekbones, laughing violet eyes, and a fall of purple hair. Indigo.