《The Loyal Ones [Dark Biopunk Fantasy]》


 Ch. 1: Champion

    They weren¡¯t here for him, though. Across the ring, a far louder cheer rattled the windows as it cascaded through the stands. The light panned across the cage, dropping Dally into darkness along with the crowd.


    The other fighter wasn''t scary looking, for a four-year champion. Like Dally, he didn¡¯t have too much of the devil in this form. A sweetly human face was ruined only by grooves, to account for the snake-like stretch of his jaw, and yellow eyes. Those eyes were big, though, like a cow¡¯s, and almost looked innocent. He was as clean-shaven and trim as the thralls on the war bond posters. Dally would have shaved like that, maybe, if someone spared him the blades.


    The phonocast screeched the name Seth Greenlees; reigning champion of the western counties for the last five years. By now the crowd was standing. Even the magi in front, their seal earrings glittering as they craned their necks.


    Seth was who they came to see. That was okay. Dally was looking at the champ too, trying to hide his awe behind gritted teeth. It was faker than usual, his dumb-mad-fighter expression. There was no way Dally could actually beat this guy, but getting ruined by him was an opportunity in itself; a leap above the small ring he¡¯d come up from. If Dally looked good in the fight, he¡¯d get better training and food, a chance to make something of himself. Maybe Seth would actually say something to him, like ¡®that sucked less than I thought¡¯.


    He shook himself out of the fantasy - it was time to change. A shiver rippled the skin on Dally¡¯s back, he stretched his neck forward to pop the spines loose. The nearest men in the poor seats were leaning away from him, staring up as bone and muscle crunched above them. These urmage labourer types probably thought a thrall would rip their heads off. That was part of their fun - sitting where he could reach and grab them. Dally fixed his eyes carefully on the cage. Looking at them was asking for trouble. They were scared enough with him standing there breathing steam, shaking the squirrelly feeling out of his limbs.


    In the other corner, Seth was also done putting himself back together, already glowing with sweat. It was hot under the lights.


    Dally had never seen him except in pictures. Now, he had to stare, because it was like looking at a better, more dangerous version of himself. Same razor-edged tail, a little too long and heavy. Both of them hunched slightly, with clawed hands hanging past their knees. Even with that hunch, Seth had a half-foot on him. His crest spines brushed the wire ceiling of the cage. He looked heavier than Dally too - maybe another fifty pounds of muscle, sliding under shark-slick skin. Thin, silvery scars glowed under the lights, criss-crossed by shadows from the chain-link cage. He had no real deformities, though, which made Dally briefly cross his arms over the mound of scar tissue under his ribs. Baby Seth hadn¡¯t needed fixing, he came out just perfect.


    The one thing Dally had on him was teeth. The champ¡¯s were scarlet, but it was a lacquer, and chipped on the points from gnawing. Dally¡¯s sprouted naturally red right from the black pits of his muzzle. They were lucky teeth.


    Dally had held his hands out to be taped as he thought, but when he looked down, they were still bare. Yaral¡¯s assistant trainer had a look on his face like Dally was stupid and snorted as he swung out of the corner. When Dally glanced at the other corner, he saw no-one was taping Seth either, hands or feet. With his feet unbound the ends of his scythe-claws arced just above the floor.


    Dally stooped to speak to Yaral. His own voice sounded rough to him, too quiet.


    ¡°Am I missing something?¡±


    ¡°Dally¡­ you thought you could stay out of blood matches forever?¡± Yaral clapped a fatherly hand on his back, avoiding the spines. ¡°You just play the game best you can, alright? You¡¯re a good boy. Good fighter. Okay?¡±


    Dally¡¯s breath rushed into his lungs. He couldn¡¯t stop his eyes from blinking too fast. The lights were swelling above the cage, burning brighter and brighter. This was why it was a large crowd ¡ª the biggest show was on. They got to see the returning champ gut a second-tier nobody. Yaral was looking at Dally, waiting.


    ¡°Sure, boss,¡± Dally said.


    Seth was pacing his corner like a caged tiger, moving in and out of shadow. Scythe claws tapped on concrete, and he grinned so the crowd could see a second row of teeth.


    ¡°You need a written invitation?¡±


    ¡°As if you can write,¡± Dally yelled back, automatic.


    The crowd cackled at their bullshit, but Dally barely heard it through the roar of his own pulse in his ears. He drifted to his own corner, bouncing on his feet as the gate rattled shut behind him. Whenever his claws touched concrete, they flinched back to safety up by his ankles.


    On the phonocast they were now talking Dally up like he was something to watch; rising contender and favourite from the dry rings; fourteen feet tall and thirteen hundred pounds. Seth¡¯s introduction was longer. Much longer. It was a slow blur, right up until the siren. Dally caught a flash of painted teeth before Seth smashed into him, and the world spun.


    Dally landed on the bottom and writhed, hissing as claws raked down his side. He blindly clamped his teeth on the nearest flesh, rewarded with a hot rush of blood in his mouth. Things happened that he didn¡¯t understand. There was an arm around his neck, another twisting his shoulder until he could feel something like cords snapping. Seconds passed, of being shredded and biting again and trying to twist away.


    When the siren rang at the end of the round, he was still underneath. Seth bounced up with his arms raised, howling into the wave of cheers. Dally stayed flat and panting on the concrete. He lashed his tail out to roll, but once he was on his stomach he just lay there, mouth spilling blood on the floor. There were sharp lines of pain down his back and sides where the Seth had clawed him, and his shoulder leaked blood from a deep bite.


    Dally remembered that he¡¯d bit, too. When he squinted up into the light he saw there was a red wash the whole way down Seth¡¯s back, trailing from the curve between neck and shoulder.


    ¡°Hey,¡± someone said, ¡°get up.¡±


    Dally snarled, faint, as he pushed himself off the concrete. He swayed as he stood, squinting through a whorl of black.


    The referee put a silk-gloved hand on Dally¡¯s chest, shoving until he staggered towards his corner. ¡°Atta boy.¡±


    Dally didn¡¯t notice Yaral had come up behind him until a bucketload of water crashed over his head. He yelped, shocked, and watched it drain red into the cage gutters. An assistant smeared styptic powder into his wounds and Dally tipped his head back, panting.


    Okay. He was alive, for some reason. Seth hadn¡¯t touched him with his scythe claws, and he easily could have; Dally had spent the whole round on his back, his stomach wide open. That meant the champ¡¯s job was to drag this out, make it a real show. And Dally, if he was being honest, had forgotten that his own un-taped claws existed. Maybe Seth had been counting on that, too.


    When the siren blared again Dally screeched, but stepped aside to let Seth rush. The chain link rattled as he bounced off, and then they were circling, wary. Dally¡¯s hands felt awkward, somehow, and he realised that he was making fists. Stupid. This was a grappling game. He tightened the fists, lips parting in a red-toothed grin.


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    ¡°You think you¡¯re hot shit, huh?¡±


    Seth snorted. ¡°I¡¯m gonna eat that tongue first-¡±


    Dally got a punch in before Seth caught his arm, and then another one before they crashed together. Down and rolling, it was uglier than before, sweaty and jagged with broken spines. Dally wound up on the bottom again, and stayed there.


    When the bell sounded this time, Seth didn¡¯t let go. He snarled into Dally¡¯s arm, sinking his teeth deeper. From under him, Dally had a good view as a trainer stood over them with a piece of copper pipe and casually snapped it against the side of Seth¡¯s skull. Seth yelped, his jaw going slack. He left Dally behind, glaring as he backed into his corner.


    Three more rounds passed like this. Dally was getting slower, leaking from gashes all down the front of his body. In between bouts he slumped against the wire, trying to remember what he was doing here.


    He was losing. On purpose, but also because he couldn¡¯t do anything else. Each round Seth got more smug, and less wary of this dumb-shit dry ring fighter who didn¡¯t use his claws. Dally figured the champ would string this along for at least eight rounds ¨C a good length. This meant Dally had another three rounds of beating to get through. Then he¡¯d do¡­ something.


    Next round Seth put a hole below his rib cage. He dug in with a scythe claw and used it like a hook to pin him down. While Dally writhed Seth grinned by his ear.


    ¡°You done yet, smartass?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Dally said. ¡°Please-¡±


    Seth¡¯s claw slid deeper until Dally howled. His own frantic scratching felt pathetic, even when Seth¡¯s skin was collecting under his nails. Panicking, he finally kicked up with a scythe claw and felt a brief jolt of relief as the tip snagged flesh. Seth twisted, eel-like, so that the claw slid harmless down the side of his body. The champ snarled and clamped his jaws on Dally¡¯s throat. Dally stopped breathing.


    The bell rang, and this time Dally needed a nudge from the ref¡¯s boot to get him up. He did get up though, gasping, and limped back to the corner with fingers pressed to his side. While he had been worrying about being gutted or choked, Seth had torn a long line down his thigh with the other claw. Dally hadn¡¯t even felt it. The new gash leaked in dull, red pulses.


    Dally spent the break on the ground with his back against the fence, heaving air in. He had about two more rounds before Seth wanted to end this, but what if he couldn¡¯t move by then? Dally''s tail struck the fence once, and he hunched forward to rub hard at his face. Red spots danced behind his eyelids.


    The next round Seth circled him, cheerful, tapping his claws. His smile crumpled as Dally¡¯s leg buckled.


    Dally¡¯s fall was as ugly and real as he could make it. Claws and spines snagged on the fence in a metallic jangle. Dally sprawled out, and Seth appeared over him, a yellow-eyed shadow with bright teeth.


    ¡°Get up.¡±


    Dally only blinked up at him, bleary-eyed. The floor was comfortable, cold against the hot scrapes on his back. He fake-coughed once, which turned into a real coughing fit, burning his throat. Blood slowly warmed the concrete underneath him.


    A kick thumped against his wounded side, making him hiss.


    ¡°Bitch, I know you can stand,¡± Seth said, ¡°saf bitch, come on.¡± Another kick. And again. Dally made a lazy attempt to drag himself up the fence, then let himself sprawl boneless on the floor.


    By now the crowd had pitched up into one, long scream. ¡®Blood!¡¯ Someone yelled, starting a chant that rippled through the stands. Seth¡¯s eyes flickered back to his own corner, lip twisted in a snarl. His trainer was watching in silence, a hand in his pocket. This wasn¡¯t enough for them; they barely went six rounds.


    Seth tried picking him up and snarled when Dally crumpled to the floor. He tried hooking a claw in a hole and yanking. Nothing. Eventually Seth stood stiff, lost, looking back to the humans in his corner. He didn¡¯t shrug, but there was a visible hunch in his shoulders that read ¡®what the hell do you want?¡¯


    That was when Dally wrapped his tail around Seth¡¯s leg. It was easy. He dragged him down, flailing, and gutted him.


    Dally had never sunk a scythe claw into something alive before. It peeled open the flesh of Seth¡¯s belly, causing Dally to pause in confusion as the body beneath him dissolved into hot, wet stickiness. Seth was screeching now; a high pitched, raw sound Dally had never heard come out of a thrall¡¯s mouth. He himself was grinning for some reason, lips stretched back around red teeth. Eventually, Seth stopped thrashing. With all the power drained from his muscles he was heavy and liquid-soft. Dally hissed blood, suddenly alone. The champ¡¯s eyes were still wide open, surprised, staring at nothing. This was what a dead body looked like.


    Bile rose in Dally¡¯s throat, along with a giddy rush ¨C he wasn¡¯t dead.


    Distracted by his thoughts, Dally had kneeled over the body, maybe wanting to get a closer look. He tore into Seth¡¯s shoulder with his teeth, ripping away a chunk of meat.


    ¡ª--


    In the tunnel, Dally changed form with one bloody hand braced against the wall, adding to the stains already on the plaster. His human body was colder, shakier. Seth¡¯s blood looked worse on his smooth human skin, turning sticky between his fingers as it dried. He scraped at it with his nails, but barely any came off.


    Yaral watched and waited with hooded eyes, leaning on the same wall. He¡¯d taken out a rune pen, the glass chamber sloshing blue as he tapped it restlessly on his hand. Dally could only watch out of the corner of his eye, as the last of his spines sank under his skin. It was a relief when Yaral drew back a hand and snapped it hard across his jaw. Dally staggered on his bad leg, panting as he caught himself.


    Yaral straightened the gold rings on his fingers, his face frozen somewhere between rage and confusion.


    ¡°You killed him.¡±


    Dally swallowed, the taste of blood and fat lingered. ¡°Sorry, boss-¡±


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    It was easy to see why he was pissed. The champ had been worth a hell of a lot more than Dally, and whatever deal Yaral had made for the fight was ruined. A long second passed while Dally stared dully at the ground in front of his feet. The pen hovered in the edge of his vision, a promise.


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re sorry, huh.¡± Yaral said, eventually. ¡°Next time use your head.¡±


    He turned to stalk away, expecting that Dally would follow. Which he did, limping to catch up. The hole in his thigh dripped steadily, but he could walk okay. Okay was a lot better than expected. He had killed Seth Greenlees, and when he blinked, he could still see the empty eyes, the wet gleam of spilled intestines. Dally hadn¡¯t thought he would eat him, but he had done that too. Now in this weaker form his gut ached. He had managed to tear off most of the meat before Yaral got him off the corpse ¨C hot, bloody gulps that he barely chewed.


    After a minute, Yaral stopped tapping the pen and slid it back into the breast pocket of his overcoat. Dally let out a low breath. As they walked, he found the boss still staring at him. Slow, up and down.


    ¡°Make sure Ingham cleans you up when we get back,¡± Yaral said. ¡°You¡¯ve got an inspection tomorrow. Clean, alright?¡±


    Dally blinked, remembering the smiling mage by the ring, the family crest in gold thread on his sleeve. Yaral¡¯s mercy made more sense now - he didn¡¯t want to mark the stock. Dally was up for sale.

 Ch 2: Return

    Finally the ward declared the gashes would close on their own, and gave Dally more disinfectant powder to throw in them when he was clean. That was good - stitches would mean staying awake longer.


    The baths were still lukewarm when Dally got there, but he couldn¡¯t make himself get in. No one wanted a red bath. Instead he scooped up buckets of water to tip over his head, and scraped his hair and skin with his fingernails. The soap stung a little, catching in scrapes he didn''t know he had. When the water ran mostly clear Dally asked the night ward if this was good enough.


    ¡°You look like hell,¡± the man said.


    Dally just stared back at him, blank.


    ¡°Fine.¡± The ward sighed. ¡°Come on, then.¡±


    The dorm was singing when they came up outside, but fell awkwardly silent at the rattle of the door. Inside it was pitch black, rows of bunks with limbs spilling lazily out. The night ward steered him through the room by wyrlight, cupping a few glowing worms naked in his palm. Anise glanced up at him with large eyes flashing in the dark. Dally found himself passing their bunk, though, and the ward didn¡¯t stop. Dally opened his mouth to say something, then rubbed his face instead.


    It made sense a second later, as he was nudged into the lock-stall off to the side of the main room. No one could damage him in here, in case this was one of those nights where thralls acted like thralls. Greenlees had really been something, a hero, and by now every everyone here knew he was dead.


    Dally almost snarled at the clang of the gate, but that was just instinct. He was too tired to hate the lock-box right now. He was listless as he crawled under the blanket and pressed his back into the corner. Since the box was meant as a kind of punishment there was no bunk, but right now the floor felt oka.


    Pip started the song again in her high clear voice, quiet but fast. It had one of those soft, lovey choruses where your heart swelled up, but Pip made it harsh somehow, like a whipcrack. Dally didn¡¯t try to join. The music floated in the dark around him, not quite drowning out the hushed gossip. A voice whispered, loudly, that that bitch Dally Harper must be proud of himself. It must be nice to fight like a little bitch and kill Seth Greenlees. Whoever it was said it a couple more times, but amazingly none of the others joined in. Dally had nothing smart to say back, and after a while the voice rasped to bored silence. In the lull he could hear his own breath, too fast. Eventually he squeezed his eyes shut.


    He lurched out of sleep at the sound of familiar voices, then blinked at his own blindness - it was still the middle of the night. Anise and Rose asked through the dark how he was doing. Their soft voices were right by his head where it rest against the bars. They got out of bed for this?


    Dally considered the question, taking slow inventory of his body. Then he said he was good, which was true. The smaller scrapes were closing up already, and the holes in his side and thigh had a paper-thin crust of blood and powder. They still hurt like hell, but they¡¯d be small scars.


    ¡°Are you coming back tomorrow?¡± Rose asked him. ¡°The boss gave you a lot of soap. Maybe he likes the deal.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Dally said. With his eyes shut he slid an arm through the bars, reaching in the dark until his fingertips brushed a warm cheek. Rose took his hand, and held it for a long time.


    ¡ª--


    The bath had been pointless - Dally woke up drenched in sweat, tangled in the blanket. The wounds must have broken open while he rolled around on the floor, because thin lines of blood were dried up across his skin. Yaral took one look at him and ordered him back to the baths. And yelled at the wards, too. This time they ¡®helped¡¯, scrubbing Dally with the horse-hair brush he hadn¡¯t wanted to use last night. It worked, that was for sure.


    His hair was still damp and the fresh shirt stuck to his back when a ward came to pick him up. They led him out of the loading docks into the basement, then up the service stairs. Many, many stairs, all lit by caged blue worms. Dally¡¯s bare feet crossed from concrete to tile to carpet, and hackles started to rise on the back of his neck. Like when he was a kid sneaking around places he didn¡¯t belong. The feeling peaked when the ward unlocked a door and led him into the offices.


    Warmth and light washed over them. Lots of light, so he squinted for a few seconds. There was a glow from real gas lights, a warm orange drenching everything. But, mostly it was the windows. Floor to ceiling, with the gentle blur of crystal. It was mid morning, and he could see across most of the city. Stained brick buildings stretched against a grey sky, shiny with rainwater. A heavy smoke bank hovered over the Heirodrome, where Dally had killed Seth last night. It veiled the arched iron dome in blue, and as he watched a flash of silent lightning lit up the underside.


    No one was looking at that view. The half dozen humans he could see wore wool suits or sash dresses, poised over wood desks. A secretary crossed their path with an armful of files. She barely glanced up, then froze as she met Dally¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°He¡¯s alright, miss,¡± the ward said.


    ¡°Oh. Oh I¡¯m sure-¡± The secretary took a hesitant step to go around them, skirting as far away as the corridor would let her. It took Dally backing up against the wall before she would actually pass, though. She clipped around him on high heels, hugging the files to her chest.


    Yaral met them a second later, waved them over in distraction. He was talking to another man in a suit, something about a meeting with Alter Technical, a merger. Normally Dally would listen, but he couldn¡¯t concentrate. He was still too busy staring around himself like a startled cat.


    As they walked Yaral put a hand on his shoulder, yanking his attention. ¡°The man coming to see you is Tannis Lyle, he¡¯s Governor of Wesend. You know what a governor is?"


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    It was a kind of elected lordship, Dally figured, because the company staff voted for Governor of Ulster every four years, and it was always members of the mage houses that got in. Probably this governor had power over a large slice of the west counties. That was where Wesend was.


    "Not really," Dally said.


    Yaral¡¯s mouth twitched in annoyance. "It just means he''s important."


    The meeting room took up a good portion of the floor, shiny with mirrors and polished cherry wood. Yaral stood Dally in the center of it, on a silk rug that probably cost more than he did. There were little thralls embroidered on it; running around picking fruits off of trees, hunting rabbits and deers. He thought they were deers, anyway - Dally only knew what those looked like from songs. His gut hurt.


    ¡°Take your shirt off.¡± Yaral was saying. ¡°You just let him look, hear me? Let him look and don¡¯t say anything. I will not be happy if I have to take you back downstairs. Okay?¡±


    Dally peeled the shirt off, crossed and uncrossed his arms. The cold was in his head, but he still shivered once. Even standing there, he wasn¡¯t sure how he was going to act. Being sold was... a dice-roll. He¡¯d lose his friends, and have to learn a new set of rules - that could be painful. Maybe this would be good, though? Right? Some governor mage with a cage hobby would probably be more hands-off than a production boss like Yaral. There¡¯d be less thralls, too, and more money to keep them. Maybe this was okay?


    ¡°Of course he¡¯s late,¡± Yaral said, to no one. He thumped down in one of the chairs, idly fishing a cigarette from his pocket. Silence stretched while he sucked it down, slowly filling the air with smoke.


    He had just crushed out the third cigarette when the door opened.


    A tall man straightened his suit jacket as he entered, ran a hand back over trim hair. Silver spectacles flashed as he looked around, as bored as a lizard with the shiny room. Dally thought this was the governor, but the next man wore twice as much jewellery. Heavy gold chain gleamed at his throat, and gold edge on the rim of an enamel house earring. His body was heavy, too. Under thinning brown hair his face was soft and pink from the cold outside. Next to the two of them, Yarral looked modest in his suit and cuff links.


    Dally looked like a thrall. Without a shirt the hair on his arms rose in goosebumps, and the scrapes from last night stood out on pale skin.


    "Well.¡± Governor Lyle clapped his hands together, grinning. ¡°This is exciting. He had a very good showing last night. Didn''t he?" the question was for his man. Maybe he was an aide.


    The aide agreed that Dally fought as well as possible against Greenlees, who was a real monster.


    "Almost a shame he killed him, but that''s the game. Isn''t that right, Dally?"


    Dally blinked. "Sure, boss. That was a real shame. ¡±


    Shit - he was meant to agree with the ¡®it¡¯s a game¡¯ part, wasn¡¯t he?


    But Lyle was still just smiling at him, indulgent. "Well,¡± he said, ¡°that''s very sporting of you. Thralls can be honourable kinds of creatures when they''re raised right."


    The governor strolled toward him, looking him up and down. A pace away he leaned in close, slowly examining the lines of his face. When he breathed out, Dally felt it faint on his cheek.


    ¡°This is some breeding,¡± Lyle said. ¡°He really does look almost human.¡±


    That was the cue for Yaral to hard-sell. Something about Dally¡¯s champion grandfather and the many perfect babies fanning out from that, four centuries of totally pure bloodlines.


    Lyle was barely listening, just continuing the long, long look at Dally¡¯s face.


    ¡°Open your mouth,¡± he said.


    Dally must have hesitated too long, because Yaral¡¯s stare turned hard. So Dallly opened his mouth. Not wide enough - Lyle clasped Dally¡¯s chin with one soft hand, dragging his jaw lower. The mild expression twisted in faint disgust, fascination.


    ¡°All his teeth are sharp.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not uncommon,¡± Yaral said, ¡°but your guests won¡¯t see his teeth.¡±


    ¡°And this.¡± The hand fell from Dally¡¯s jaw, to slide down his chest. Dally tensed as the fingertips ran over the lump of scar, rest there. He couldn¡¯t feel it - the scar was numb - but something about the quirk of Lyle¡¯s mouth made him want to twitch away.


    Lyle¡¯s thumb ran slow over the ridges. ¡°What is this? A tumour?¡±


    Dally decided, suddenly, that he didn¡¯t want to be sold.


    ¡°That¡¯s where the extra arm was,¡± he blurted.


    ¡°Extra arm,¡± Lyle echoed.


    ¡°Sure, boss. It was a bad one too, all scaly with a bunch of fingers. No one would want me if they hadn¡¯t took that off-¡±


    ¡°Dally.¡± Yaral was smiling, but there was ice under his voice. ¡°He can be a little¡­ talkative,¡± he explained to the governor, ¡°but he can keep his mouth shut when he¡¯s told. Right?¡±


    Dally breathed in, but froze as Yaral¡¯s smile widened.


    Yaral turned back to the governor. ¡°These minor defects are easy to deal with, if you use professionals. Do it young and the thrall grows up totally normal.¡±


    Lyle was barely listening, his palm still sliding over the thick sheet of scar. Dally¡¯s jaw tensed, but he didn¡¯t move.


    ¡°Do you miss it?¡± Lyle asked.


    The direct question lingered in the air. Finally Dally had to answer, glancing at Yaral. ¡°Can¡¯t miss what you can¡¯t remember,¡± he tried.


    ¡°Huh.¡± Lyle¡¯s hand fell away. Silence stretched, as he stood back, rubbing at his mouth. Finally he made a faint noise in the back of his throat, like this was all painful. ¡°I¡¯ll take him.¡±


    Before he finished the sentence the aide had stepped forward, letting the ledger fall on the table with a thump. He leafed through it, talking in dry tones. There should be a three month return clause, for the full price of four thousand, eight hundred eid. They wanted all Dally¡¯s records back to his birth.


    Yaral was trying to say something chummy about the start of their business relationship, but Lyle had already turned, waving him away. As he wandered towards the door he stopped, turning to Dally.


    ¡°Well? Come along.¡±

 Ch 3: Lyle

    It was a relief to get out into the street, and walk straight into a blast of rain. Dally trailed along far back as he could, and when he thought the boss wasn¡¯t looking tipped his head back to catch some water in his mouth. The cold helped, knocking some sense back into him.


    Lyle had the biggest canticar Dally had ever seen. Crouched at the side of the road it took up two full spaces, even with all it¡¯s feelers and legs folded in. Under a sheen of water its shell glowed blue and green, the same colours on the boss¡¯s earring. Even the door handles on the sides of it¡¯s ribcage were gilded, and embossed with fleur de lis. That was really something - bespoke chimery. As they got closer the car blinked up at them, with ink-blue eyes the size of trash can lids. It shuddered once and sprung the doors open.


    Lyle clambered in, huffing, and sprawled out on one of the plush benches. Dally peered around the car¡¯s bulk, hesitant. On a fancy one like this he was expecting rungs on the carapace, where a servant could hang on. There was nothing, though, except the narrow door to the driver¡¯s cabin. On each of the car¡¯s flanks there was one narrow platform, but both were taken already by matching homunculi. Their blank clay faces turned to look back as he stared. Rain had turned them sticky, softened their edges.


    A soft sigh came from inside the car. ¡°In here,¡± Lyle said, patted his thigh. ¡°Come on.¡±


    In there? Dally shook water off as much as he could, then hunched uncomfortably to clamber inside. The car sucked in it¡¯s breath, sealing him in to a swampy heat. Lyle¡¯s eyes followed Dally as he hesitated, then perched himself on the edge of the opposite seat. Maybe this was okay? It must have been; after a second, Lyle still hadn¡¯t told him to get off and sit on the floor.


    Still, Dally didn¡¯t want to touch more of the leather. Or anything else. He crossed his arms across his still-bare chest, hunching over his knees. The inside of the car glittered worse than the office, and everything he looked at had a weird, sparkling intensity. The gold frames on the windows made the wet street outside look like a painting. The car¡¯s ribs were carved in patterns where they crossed the ceiling, flexing with each gasping breath.


    The floor bucked, as the car found it¡¯s feet. While its many legs thrummed into action under them, Lyle rubbed at a smile on his mouth. ¡°I¡¯ve over-indulged this time, haven¡¯t I?¡±


    Dally glanced around, but there was no human to offer an opinion. To be safe he said nothing.


    ¡°Gita will be furious,¡± Lyle went on. ¡°That¡¯s your mistress, Gita. Lucky she¡¯s an orphan, now, eh? No real point worrying what she thinks. It¡¯s bizarre, how much you look like a man.¡±


    A long pause, where Lyle just looked at him, expectant. Dally coughed. ¡°Thanks, boss.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t call me boss. You call me master.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, master.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome. Pour me a Fearne, the bottle¡¯s just there.¡±


    Master. Dally hitched up the cabinet door Lyle was pointing at, hesitated at a row of bottles inside. There were a lot of them, clinking softly at the thunder of the car¡¯s legs. Welp. Fearne was brandy, he thought, but there were a couple of brandy-looking ones. That left him staring dumbly at the labels, trying to remember what the Fearne County flag looked like.


    Eventually Lyle sighed. ¡°The one on the left. Of course you can¡¯t read, can you?¡±


    Dally took the bottle, not looking up. The back of his neck was heating up. ¡°No, b- Master.¡±


    ¡°I suppose it¡¯s hard to teach a thrall.¡± Lyle licked his lips. ¡°What can you do?¡±


    ¡°Brick work,¡± he said, ¡°some welding, pour concrete. Fight.¡¯¡¯ The glass was half full now. It¡¯s smell filled the cabin, warm and biting at the same time. ¡°This enough?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a lot, actually.¡±


    But Lyle seemed pleased as he took it, and smiled behind the rim of the glass as he leaned back. Like Dally¡¯s dumb way of pouring liquor was cute.


    ¡°Get yourself one,¡± he said, suddenly. ¡°Why not? You earned it last night.¡±


    Dally¡¯s fingers tightened on the neck of the bottle, half way through putting it back. He forced a smile, took another glass from the cabinet. Because it was cute he made it bigger than Lyle¡¯s - screw it. After the first gulp his eyes watered, and he choked back a cough. Sugar and smoke seemed to bubble behind his eyeballs.


    Lyle beamed. ¡°It¡¯s good stuff, do you like it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dally said, ¡°yes.¡±


    He tipped it back as fast as possible. The warm buzz helped - Dally could stare out the window, mostly ignore the eyes on him. Things got better when Lyle took a large file from a locker overhead. Soon he was reading and scribbling in it, distracted. A lot of times he looked up, though, watching Dally across the cabin. Sometimes he asked for another drink, mostly he just chewed on the end of his pencil, letting his eyes crawl all over.


    An hour later, they were further than Dally had ever been from Ulster Proper. The day refused to break properly - just got darker and hazier under the storm, as major buildings were replaced by warehouse and factories. Soon they rubbed up against the river, and the car bounded north, towards the bridge.


    The dim made Eyvald Bridge into a black iron skeleton braced against the clouds. There was muddy grass underneath as well as the river, but the field was almost full - heaped with city trash. The mounds of scrap cratered around small fires, and thrall silhouettes passed in and out of the light. Most shapes hunched like they were old, or branched with defect limbs. ¡®Stray camp¡¯ the wards called it.


    In front of that dark mass of rubble the local county had thrown a twenty-foot fence topped with razor wire. Dally never knew there was a fence - when the wards talked about the camp it was always like the thralls in there were roaming around raping women, stealing babies from cradles. As they passed a female near the wire stopped picking trash and rose to watch the massive car. Her six eyes flashed in the lamp light, before she turned away.


    Lyle¡¯s weight landing next to him jolted Dally back into the cabin. Then Lyle¡¯s arm snaked around his shoulders, heavy and sweaty under his damp wool coat. Dally stopped himself from moving, but couldn¡¯t help the way his eyes snapped to his face.


    ¡°Easy,¡± Lyle said. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about them.¡± He was leaning closer, breathing sour whisky. His fingers trailed along the back of Dally¡¯s neck. ¡°I¡¯m going to look after you, your whole life.¡±


    --


    Homesteads replaced tenement houses outside, which eventually gave way to real woods. Dally stared to see so many trees, their shadows stretching away like clawed hands. The rain had turned to sleet.


    Inside, things stayed exactly the same; gold, shiny and too hot. Lyle stared over the top of his files, lips moist from one glass of bourbon after another. He¡¯d stopped offering any to Dally after the first, which was good and bad. There was nothing to take the edge off, now, but at least Lyle couldn¡¯t watch him drink like it was a cute trick.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Finally the car leapt off the main road, skittered onto a long gravel drive. Behind a screen of pines there was a glimmer of light through crystal windows. This turned out to be a white stone manor, sprawling in the center of a vast lawn. As they pulled up the creepers on the facade writhed, stretching towards them. Honeysuckles and roses opened, their soft tendrils nosing in the rain. It was barely noon - was this place really far enough to be in Wesend?


    Dally didn¡¯t care. He lurched out of the car, snarling at a homunculus in his path. Wet ice settled on his arms and back, mercifully scouring away the heat of the cab. He was still trapped here, though. His toes curled on the wet gravel, as he rocked uncertainly in place.


    More claymen gathered armfuls of the governor¡¯s files and bags. Another took the arm of the man himself, lifting him flushed and swaying out of the car. The car curled up a little, brushing the door with it¡¯s feelers. Then it sealed with a wet thunk and skittered off down the drive.


    More flunkies were waiting at the front of the house. At the back were two thralls, blank¡ªfaced in and uniformed. Their braid-trimmed navy coats were slowly going black in the rain. In front of them a secretary-type huddled under a huge umbrella. Seeing Lyle she smoothed her blonde curls back into place, clicked down the last few stairs. Her powder was cracking around her worry lines.


    ¡°Governor,¡± she started, ¡°Lyric corporate are here. Kellen Mayworth, and the other is Butler, I think he¡¯s the head of Accounts? They say you asked for a meeting-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m busy.¡± Lyle was drifting to where Dally had paused, and waved a hand over his shoulder.


    She hesitated, fingers twisting on the umbrella handle. ¡°They¡¯ve been waiting three hours.¡±


    Lyle made a sound in his throat like he was going to spit on the drive. Instead he lunged towards Dally, gripped him by both shoulders. While Dally stood, rigid, Lyle stared up into his face. He blinked against the rain, mournful. ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon.¡± He gave Dally a little shake, that was probably meant to be reassuring. The motion shook Lyle more than Dally, though, so the governor had to lean on him to catch his balance.


    When he was steady again he turned to the thralls at the door. ¡°You two take him along to quarters,¡± he said, ¡°and find him a uniform. A new one, mind you. Take good care of him.¡±


    The female tipped her head. ¡°Yes master.¡±


    Lyle thumped Dally on the back before swerving away towards the house. As soon as he was gone Dally let out a breath, running a hand back through his hair.


    As the two thralls lead him to a side door the male looked him up and down, measuring. Dally tried the same thing, and didn¡¯t like what he saw. The other guy was maybe ten years older, but bulky and tall under the uniform. A row of needle spines down the back of his neck meant he was probably an extra-spiky son of a bitch when he changed form. Even as Dally watched, more barbs pressed up under the skin, making little tents on the back of his neck.


    Before Dally could ask what the problem was, the spiney one leaned in to talk to the female, baring the edges of sharp teeth. ¡°You take him,¡± he said. ¡°And keep him the hell away from me.¡±


    Dally watched him stalk away, crossed his arms against the cold. ¡°What, is he a Seth Greenlees fan?¡±


    ¡°Nah,¡± the female said.


    He waited, but nothing else came out. She was frowning, and eventually beckoned him down a narrow service corridor. ¡°You really are that Harper guy, huh?¡± she said, ¡°I saw your picture on the cover of Cage Report.¡±


    ¡°No kidding?¡±


    ¡°Everyone says you faked being messed up. Like a trick, to get closer.¡±


    Dally scratched at the back of his neck, looking everywhere but her. ¡°I didn¡¯t have to fake it, believe me.¡± Now it was his turn to go quiet.


    Finally the female reached over and thumped him hard on the shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t even like the cage, okay?¡± She grinned. ¡°Let¡¯s get you some real clothes. And a razor¡­¡±


    The concrete tunnel had no lights, no windows. The female strolled along, chattering loudly into Dally¡¯s silence. Her name was Red, she told him, and this weather was super crappy. The humans weren¡¯t going out, so they didn¡¯t get to do anything but wait around the house. Everyone was pissed off. Probably Dally would be okay, though, being a fighter and all. What was it like in the car?


    ¡°Expensive,¡± Dally said.


    She sounded younger, the more she talked. Maybe not even twenty. He saw now that she had no real scars, just a nick in one black eyebrow. Her skin was darker, like a northerner, so probably she was ¡®exotic¡¯ by the standards of this place. If it wasn¡¯t for her defect, she would almost pass for human. Her hair didn¡¯t cover it up enough; a scarlet disc in the center of her forehead. It was blank, except for a faint horizontal crease. An eyelid.


    In a store room she started rummaging through cabinets, barely looking as she flung things back at him. Pretty soon she¡¯d piled a bundle of cloth in his arms, all dark wool and gold braid. When he let it fall open he saw it was the same as hers, kind of military-looking, but it didn¡¯t have numbers or any kind of company marks. It was just a replica, a monkey suit. The final touch was a fresh-mint saber, in a black enamel scabbard. When Dally buckled it on it thumped awkwardly against his leg. He had never touched a sword in his life.


    ¡°The hell am I meant to do with this?¡±


    ¡°Just wear it, try not to cut anyone.¡±


    Red looked comfortable enough in the uniform, though. She sprawled lazy on the bench across from him, watching him dress. While he struggled with the clothes she yawned, sharp-toothed. Her clear inner eyelids narrowed to slits.


    ¡°You got the cuffs wrong, here-¡°


    She turned the fabric over with her thumbs, careful, and after a second watching her he tried the other himself. For some reason his cheeks were hot. Probably the tie trapping blood in his head.


    ¡°Seems like a lot of trouble,¡± he muttered, ¡°dressing me up. He really wants me to stand around the house between fights?¡±


    ¡°Fights.¡± She watched him sidelong, like she was trying to decide if this was a joke. ¡°Ysa, he wants you to stand around permanently. You¡¯re not gonna see the inside of a cage so long as he owns you.¡±


    Now his fingers paused on the buttons, while he stared at nothing. ¡°I¡¯m not?¡± Dally struggled, yanked the cuff straight.


    ¡°The Gov bought you because he likes the look of you,¡± she said, hesitant. ¡°He¡¯ll want you to stay like that.¡±


    It stopped him, while he thought about it. Dally already knew all that, yeah. He got it. But having her say it out loud was worse, somehow. Red reached to put a hand on his arm, but drew back when Dally looked at her.


    She frowned. ¡°You¡¯ll be treated better here than some production house, alright? We have it good.¡± A pause, while she pretended to focus on his tie. ¡°Anyway, he might not do more than look at you. He¡¯s mostly loyal to Mistress Gita when he¡¯s sober-¡±


    Dally pulled away to straighten the tie himself. ¡°Thanks for the help. You want to show me where to stand?¡±


    ¡°¡­Sure. Hey, Harper?¡±


    He was already turning away. His hands ran down the sides of his jacket to try and shove in his pockets, which was how he found out they were fake. They were just flaps sewn on, like a costume.

 Ch 4: Lane

    Dally stood still until his leg started bouncing. It could have been a couple of minutes, or an hour. The uniform lay stiff on his shoulders, snapping taut whenever he tried moving. It was silent. His own breathing felt loud, and when he shifted, the creak of his boots echoed. How big was this house? Weren¡¯t there people?


    Dally spared a glance for the door, then opened the nearest cabinet and started rifling through it. It was packed to the teeth with glittery objects. He knocked silver and glassware aside, until his fingers brushed something searing hot. Dally yelped, flinched back. When he looked, the burning object was a small figure of a woman, shoved way at the back. Aurum thrummed in the core of the nude statue, burning so hot that the points of the tiny breasts glowed. It was a casual fortune in magic.


    Ceramic clinked on tile behind him, and Dally spun to see a homunculus in the door. It looked at him, bland, before crossing the room to the hearth. Glowing coals spilled from between it¡¯s fingers, until it shoved them deep under the unlit pile of logs. Smoke curled up from tinder, twisted in the grate.


    Dally heard sometimes there was a soul in the homunculus, a dead man trapped in there to move the clay.


    ¡°Can you talk?¡± he asked. ¡°Is someone coming?¡±


    The clayman turned towards him, slow. After a long time it forced it¡¯s stiff shoulders up in a shrug.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Dally said, ¡°thanks.¡±


    It left. The fire swelled, pouring uncomfortable heat into the room. Outside in the echoing hall, there was a clatter like something being knocked over. Drunk laughter followed, getting louder and closer. Dally already knew Lyle¡¯s voice, he realised.


    The other two turned out to be the Lyric execs. At least, they looked corporate. All three men were smiling, but the two execs were faking. Lyle was out of his mind - beaming, with his arm around the younger one¡¯s shoulders. Dally guessed the poor bastard was the lower ranking one, Butler, because he doubted Lyle would drape himself all over Vice President Mayworth. Lyle steered them by force towards the lounges.


    Mayworth lagged behind, leaning on the back of a chair instead of sitting properly. ¡°Maybe we¡¯ve taken enough of your time,¡± he said.


    ¡°No,¡± Lyle said, ¡°after I made you wait? You¡¯ll have another drink I hope. I have something to show-¡± he seemed to see Dally for the first time. ¡°There! Come here, come-¡±


    He was pointing at a spot on the floor in front of them, and Dally made himself walk there. When he stopped he was right in front of them, rocking on his heels in the stiff new clothes.


    The two Lyric men considered him, while Lyle waited expectantly.


    ¡°You¡¯ll need to tell us,¡± Mayworth said.¡°I¡¯m not much for thralls.¡±


    Lyle¡¯s mouth twisted. ¡°It¡¯s the new champion of Wesend, since last night.¡±


    ¡°Is it.¡±


    ¡°Come here Dally.¡± When Dally took an uncertain step closer, Lyle tugged him in by the sleeve. ¡®You see?¡± he told the execs, ¡°Anvil says they don¡¯t sell display. You need to know how to talk to these people. Doesn¡¯t he look good?¡±


    ¡°Very human,¡± Butler said, dutiful. He looked like Lyle¡¯s arm was getting heavy. ¡°Did you still want the contract to start in August?¡±


    ¡°We said six months?¡±


    And then they were talking business, with Dally just standing there, painfully close. It seemed like Lyric wanted to move aramite and war cars through the west counties to the front. They had a federal supply contract. Lyle would receive campaign donations and in exchange he¡¯d organise to finish the abandoned west rail-link to Naibor.


    At least, that was what the execs wanted. Lyle wanted more drinks. It was hard to follow, the way he was rambling. While Dally struggled to keep still, the conversation skid over a cliff, and suddenly they were arguing over how many days exactly were in six months.


    Without warning, Lyle looked up at Dally, and pat the edge of the lounge. ¡°Sit.¡±


    He was serious. The two other men saw at the same time, and he felt the insult choke the air. Dally looked at them, then at the floor until Lyle pat the lounge again. As Dally sat the older man abruptly stood. Mayworth¡¯s face was calm, but he shook his sleeves straight a little too hard.


    ¡°I think we¡¯ve gone as far as we can, for tonight.¡± A homunculus appeared from the shadows with his coat. ¡°We¡¯ll draft the timeline and have it sent over. And a contract.¡±


    Butler glanced sideways at Dally sitting next to him. He was struggling out from under Lyle¡¯s arm. ¡°It was a pleasure,¡± he said, ¡°a real pleasure, as always.¡±


    They were gone in seconds, shaking off Lyle¡¯s half-hearted protest. As soon as the door shut, he edged towards Dally, looking him up and down. He was flushed, eyes glittering wet. ¡°You like the uniform, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Sure, boss.¡±


    ¡°Master.¡± Lyle reached with one sweaty hand, clutched the lapel of Dally¡¯s new jacket. He dragged him closer, into a dank fog of whisky breath. His grin suddenly took up all of Dally¡¯s ¡°You¡¯re so shy.¡± His fingers pried open the top of the uniform shirt. ¡°I just want to see.¡±


    Dally waited, listless, while Lyle struggled with his jacket, then with his shirt. When both were gone, he shivered, until the governor¡¯s hand slid down the front of his body. It froze him. The touch crawled over his chest, then faded out of sensation as it paused on the lump of scar tissue.


    By now Lyle was leaning into him, breath stirring the hair on Dally¡¯s neck. ¡°I can grow it back,¡± he whispered, ¡°wouldn¡¯t that be good?¡±


    Dally¡¯s head was full of white noise, like a train rattling down an endless tunnel. ¡°Can I get you another drink?¡±


    The groping hands didn¡¯t pause. ¡°Yes, yes.¡±


    Even after agreeing, Lyle whined when Dally pulled away, like it surprised him. Dally ignored it, walking a little too fast to a table in the corner. There were glasses there, and an ice-box, and he aimlessly moved things around for a second. The white noise wasn¡¯t clearing up, which made it hard to concentrate. He picked up a bottle of dark glass, and felt liquor slosh around at the bottom.


    Lyle was looking at him.


    ¡°It¡¯s empty,¡± Dally said. ¡°I¡¯ll go to the kitchen.¡±


    A flash of confusion crossed Lyle¡¯s flushed face. ¡°Mm.¡±


    Whatever that meant, Dally was gone. In the corridor he started shivering again, instantly and violently. Was it this cold before? He uncapped the bottle still in his hand, and took a too-long gulp of the mystery stuff. Then he coughed, ended up spitting a jet of liquor on the tile. His nostrils burned as he started walking.


    Was there even a kitchen? Big mansions had kitchens, right? He turned down a corridor at random, moving sticky-slow. Drinking slower, too, because he wanted to keep it down. Maybe Lyle would pass out if Dally took long enough to come back. Or, maybe he¡¯d be waiting with a rune pen.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    That was a bad thought, but it didn¡¯t hurry Dally up any. He thumped his boot against the plinth of a bust, and trailed his fingers over a painting as he passed. Every room was the same silk and jade and wood, with glints of gold in the dark. It made it feel like going in circles. Dally would have thought he was dreaming, except he was never in a house like this before. A homunculus silently scrubbed the floor in a corridor, and didn¡¯t look up when he passed.


    In another drawing room he stopped, seeing a cabinet in the corner. Before he even opened the door, though, there was a voice behind him.


    "The hell?¡±


    A silhouette in the door bristled with spines. It was the thrall from the gate; ¡®Lane¡¯, Red had called him.


    ¡°One day here,¡± Lane said, ¡°and you¡¯re walking around like that. Where¡¯s your shirt¡±


    Dally watched him for a long second, waiting to get angry. Instead, the cold feeling was turning nauseous in his gut. He took another pull from the bottle, went back to rummaging the cabinet. There were bottles in there.


    ¡°What,¡± Lane said, ¡°are you drunk?"


    "I''m working on it.¡±


    A hand landed on his shoulder, spun him around. Dally found himself staring at two rows of needle teeth, the stranger¡¯s face rippling and stretching.


    Maybe Dally was drunk, already - he laughed before he could stop himself. When the laugh faded he didn¡¯t smile, just looked up and down. Lane was slightly shorter, slightly older.


    ¡°I killed a guy yesterday,¡± Dally said. ¡°I¡¯m a killer.¡±


    The hands fell off of him, as Lane took a step back. Dally went back to the cabinet and snatched the nearest bottle. When he¡¯d taken a gulp, he paused for a long time, waiting for this whole thing to make sense.


    ¡°I, uh. The boss has my shirt.¡± Why was he explaining? Dally shook himself, closed the cabinet with a soft click. ¡°I gotta... I gotta go back, now. We can fight tomorrow."


    Lane let him pass. The spines in his hair had flattened, and he was watching Dally in a different way, unreadable. Dally brushed past him without looking, made for the door.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Lane said. Then, as Dally didn¡¯t pause; ¡°I said wait.¡±


    Dally stopped long enough for Lane pushed in front of him. Dally swayed, uneasy, watching the strange look cross his face again.


    ¡°Give me that,¡± Lane said.


    Dally glanced down at the bottle in his hand, confused, and back up.


    ¡°Yes, that,¡± Lane said. ¡°Give it to me.¡±


    For some reason Dally did hold it out, slowly, and hesitated until Lane snatched it from his hand.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Lane said, tipped his head. ¡°Go on to bed now. I¡¯ll handle this.¡±


    When Dally just looked at him, he pointed at a servants exit. ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°¡­Are you sure?¡±


    ¡±Just go.¡±


    The jolt of relief was painful, laced with booze and cold. Dally let out a harsh breath, ran a hand back through his hair. He still wasn¡¯t sure what Lane was offering. To take his place? Could he do that?


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Dally said, instead of asking.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you talk to me again.¡±


    --


    Dally had finally stopped rocking by the time he found the thrall quarters. He had the numbing heat of booze instead, and the inside of his head was empty. It made it hard to understand where he was, which looked like no thrall house he¡¯d ever been in.


    It was clean, for starters, smelling faintly of sweat and block feed. The plank floors were lathed flat and polished. There were even windows, blurred and covered with wrought iron bars; they were above ground. Outside was a thin gap between buildings, the stone blue in the moonlight.


    It was also the smallest barrack he¡¯d ever seen. The bunk rows went back only to twenty or so, and they were only two high. The wooden posts were carved with roses, and scoured from years of clawing. There was even some room between the rows, so your arms could fall out of bed without hitting the next thrall in the face. It was all alien, like Lyle himself. At least nothing had gilt on it.


    Only half the bunks were taken - there must be a night shift.


    Red was awake, humming loud and tuneless. Seeing Dally she jumped down from her bunk, squinted at his face. ¡°Okay, Harper?¡±


    Dally faked a smile for her. ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± She looked relieved. ¡°Lane didn¡¯t find you.¡±


    ¡°Oh he found me alright.¡± Dally muttered, then when Red looked sideways at him; ¡°We didn¡¯t fight.¡±


    She stared a bit longer, waiting. When Dally didn¡¯t say anything more she pointed to the bunk under hers. ¡°This one¡¯s empty.¡±


    A female in the back row cackled. Another whistled part of a song; An empty bed stays cold all night.


    ¡°You could both fit in the top if she lies underneath,¡± someone drawled.


    Red snarled at the room in general, and kicked the nearest bunk. The guy in it yelped, confused.


    Dally had already flopped down, and the bullshit became background noise behind his closed eyes. That was, until someone gently prod his shoulder. He cracked an eyelid, to find the one Red had kicked at staring at him with wide blue eyes. He was even younger than Red, with a snub nose crooked from breaking and healing.


    ¡°Hey,¡± the thrall asked, ¡°you know any songs?¡±


    Red hissed. ¡°Leave him alone, he¡¯s tired.¡±


    ¡°S¡¯okay. Fine.¡± Dally rubbed his eyes, willing his body to fall through the bed. ¡°Just pay attention, you¡¯re only getting them once.¡±


    By the time they got through all the songs he really was tired. He sang without lifting his head, in the dry, off-key rasp that was his best singing voice. They were just work songs, and some ones that had come back from the front. The sad ones he kept to himself - he didn¡¯t feel like sobbing tonight. The Wesend thralls knew most of them already, and whenever they knew one someone would yell ¡®next¡¯. Some were new to them, though, and then Dally had to pour out out the whole damn thing, stumbling through the words.


    When they had heard everything he let them sing on on their own, listening to his songs come back. The words were already mutated - no one here had one of those perfect memories. Some voices were good, though, and now his throat ached in that good way from listening.


    Though he couldn¡¯t see her, above him Red was just mumbling the words or humming. Her hand on the edge of the bunk scratched at the frame. When she lapsed into silence, Dally reached, gently poked the bottom of her bed.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he swallowed - even the whisper was hoarse. ¡°is Lane jealous? Of me?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Red whispered. ¡°I mean, no.¡±


    Her voice wavered, and even in the dark Dally thought he heard her blushing. She was probably the worst liar he had ever heard.


    ¡°No,¡± she muttered, eventually. ¡°It¡¯s not simple like that. At the start Lane didn¡¯t like the master, but then he got to liking him? And now he¡¯s not the favourite any more, so he gets all cut up-¡± She was actually angry - her foot rattled the bunk frame. ¡°It¡¯s embarrassing.¡±


    Dally was quiet for a while. Finally he rolled over, watching silhouettes move in the dark.

 Ch 5: Gita

    ¡°Nf,¡± he croaked, remembering.


    Red was shoving at his shoulder, rolling his head side-to-side. Dally realised, bleary, that she¡¯d been there poking him for a long while.


    ¡°Time to go, champ,¡± she said. ¡°Okay? Harper?¡±


    Dally got up. He splashed icy water on his his face from a trough in the wall and staggered around until he found his pants. Red wordlessly shoved a fresh shirt at him. In ten minutes they both stood in a corridor by a door, squinting into grey morning light. Their breath fogged the air and he thought he could feel the cold from the marble tile through the soles of his boots.


    They were guarding a door, a massive, curlicued slab of iron. When no-one was passing he turned to look at it, trying to figure out the swirls and arcs in the metal. No good. Near the handle, a membrane lock pulsed wetly, the surface gleaming with faint frost.


    Lyle probably wasn¡¯t in there, Red said - that was the office. Mostly he wasn¡¯t in there. This was a good spot. She had to trade for this shift, so she could look out for Dally. How was it being so drunk?


    ¡°I¡¯m not drunk,¡± Dally said, ¡°I¡¯m hung-over.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure? You look drunk.¡±


    They were only stood there a few minutes when they heard a fast clip of heels, and a woman burst out of a side door. Seeing the two thralls she stopped, and shrugged a mink stole back up around her shoulders. She was flushed and glaring, with dark hair slipping from under a pearled net. As she stalked towards Dally she carefully swept the stray hair back, her lips pressing in a hard line. Her earring flashed blue and green - Lyle¡¯s river-serpent.


    ¡°Mistress Gita,¡± Dally guessed. He stared past her at the wall.


    It didn¡¯t help - Gita stopped in front of him. ¡°Mistress? Did he tell you to say that?¡°


    ¡°I- yes, mistress.¡± It sounded like Dally was meant to apologise for something, but he wasn¡¯t sure what. He just stood there instead, awkwardly steadying the hilt of his saber with one hand. A long, long moment passed, while she looked him up and down.


    ¡°This makes perfect sense now,¡± she said, eventually. The acid note of disgust wasn¡¯t hidden too well by her accent. ¡°What was your name? Darry?"


    ¡°Dally Harper.¡±


    She made a faint noise and turned, beckoning as she started away. ¡°Come along, Dally.¡±


    Red was watching him with wide eyes, but when Dally glanced at her she just shrugged; ¡®she¡¯s the boss¡¯.


    Gita stopped at the door, and glared at him until he figured out he was meant to open it for her. In the next hall she led him away at a fast clip. He could still feel her eyes on him, measuring.


    ¡°This is how he spends Jona¡¯s inheritance,¡± she said, ¡°on toys.¡±


    Dally¡¯s mouth twitched, before he got back to blank. ¡°Something you need, mistress?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    But she didn¡¯t say anything else, not until they¡¯d gone through a side door and under a veil of silk. It could have been a different house, past that veil. Choking incense wrapped around him, spiked with the smell of fresh sage. After one more silk hanging it was tropical warm, and he was treading on a floor softened by cushions and furs. Amber wormlight took the place of sun - there were no windows.


    The hair rose on the back of his neck, reacting to a new, scary idea. Dally should not be here; these were Gita¡¯s chambers. A shadow behind one last curtain had the shape of a four-poster bed.


    Gita moved away from it, to stare into a dresser mirror. With rage-fueled efficiency she snapped open a silver case, took a cigarette from inside and lit it. Smoke coiled slow between them, turning the incense smell dirty.


    ¡°I have a job for you,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s very important.¡±


    Here it came. ¡°Alright,¡± Dally said, faint.


    ¡°My husband is a busy man, and he¡¯s become very¡­ private,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯ll look after him for me, and report what you hear. So that I can better manage the house.¡±


    Relief hit him so fast he almost laughed. ¡°You want me to spy on him?¡±


    ¡°Monitor him.¡± Her eyes narrowed, like she couldn¡¯t tell if she was being mocked. ¡°I¡¯m his wife. It¡¯s not right, there being secrets between us.¡±


    ¡°Monitor.¡±


    ¡°Yes. For the good of the house.¡±


    Maybe it was Gita¡¯s smoke, or her calling him a toy, but the world around Dally seemed to be coming into focus. Everything since the fight with Greenlees had felt like a fever-dream, like something not-quite-real. He kept thinking he would wake up tomorrow back in a corporate bunk.


    Now suddenly he got it; This place wasn¡¯t different, under the layers of gold lacquer. It was just another Anvil Capital, with a core of graft and bullshit. He understood this.


    Dally¡¯s fingers drummed restlessly on his thigh as he listened; not a good sign. He stared past Gita at the glittering room, taking it in. Maybe Red was right; maybe he was still drunk.


    Gita sighed smoke. ¡°There will be opportunities to collect information when he takes you into the office. You¡¯ll only have to listen, and try to remember the exact words. Of course, you¡¯ll tell no one. Just come to me in the small hours once or twice a week-¡±


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    ¡°Why should I?¡± Dally asked. Shit¡ª ¡°I mean, what do I get out of it?¡±


    Gita blinked at him. ¡°Did you say something?¡±


    His head shook a little, but his mouth was already running. ¡°I said ¡®what do I get out of it¡¯.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Dally waited, while she slowly absorbed that, while his heart started hammering.


    She was straightening in her chair, a snake slowly bracing it¡¯s coils. ¡°You get protection,¡± she said, ¡°from me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need that though.¡± He forced a smile.


    She didn¡¯t say anything for a while, filling the silence with smoke. In that quiet Dally could hear his boot heels squeek on the floor as he rocked. Finally she carefully brushed past him, eyes blazing, and went to a dresser in the corner. While Dally tried not to move she rummaged through the drawers, sifting through half-full perfume bottles, letters, bits of silk. Eventually she found an old pen in the back, a carved ivory tube bound with tarnished silver. Ink crusted the nib, turned black from years of drying. It was his imagination, of course, but Dally instantly smelled burning hair.


    ¡°Come here,¡± she said. ¡°Roll up your sleeve.¡± There was a snick of metal as she uncapped the nib.


    The sound made Dally¡¯s teeth itch, turned his fake smile even more brittle. ¡°Mistress, you don¡¯t want to do that.¡±


    ¡°Come here.¡±


    Somehow he didn¡¯t take a step, just swayed in place. ¡°I- He¡¯ll see the burn on me.¡±


    Gita paused.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dally said, and swallowed the crackle in his voice. ¡°Yeah, he¡¯ll see it, and ask me, and I¡¯ll tell him. You know? ¡®Your wife tried to get me monitoring, and I said no thanks. Actually, maybe I should go tell him right now?¡±


    Once, on a job, Dally had watched a fresh-built scaffold collapse as the struts buckled. All sixteen stories, banging right into each other like a deck of cards, letting off claps of dust. Bang bang bang. Gita looked like how Dally had felt, watching that. Her cheeks were going slowly red. Ash fell from her forgotten cigarette. She glanced at it, confused, then took a long, deliberate pull.


    Eventually she breathed out. ¡°You belong to me,¡± she said.


    ¡°It¡¯s his name on my contract. Maybe I¡¯m loyal?¡±


    Gita laughed, a little too high and sharp. When she fell silent Dally was still just staring at her.


    ¡®I- well.¡± she said. ¡°Alright.¡±


    ¡°Alright...?¡±


    ¡°What is it you want?¡±


    Dally grinned, panicking. What the hell did he want? He hadn¡¯t thought that far ahead. ¡°I want you to keep him off of me when he¡¯s drunk,¡± he tried. ¡°And¡­ and in three months I want to be sold on out of here.¡±


    ¡°Keep him away?¡± Her laugh had a note of hysteria. ¡°And how exactly should I make him sell you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. You¡¯re a smart lady, you¡¯ll figure it out.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t sell thralls,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s impossible. Even if he did, three months is hardly any information at all for me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my demand.¡±


    Dally heard Yaral say that once, demand, and it worked the same now.


    Gita stared, more quiet. ¡°I tell you, it¡¯s not possible.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Dally said. ¡°In that case I should, just, uh-¡± He glanced around the room, and turned to stroll back towards the door.


    A yank on his arm stopped him - Gita had lunged, catching his sleeve. ¡°One year,¡± she said, ¡°one year, and that¡¯s the best I can do.¡±


    He looked down at the hand, considering. Her fingers were very tight. ¡°Three months,¡± he said.


    ¡°¡­Nine months.¡±


    ¡°Three? Months?¡±


    ¡°You-¡° Gita licked her lips and swallowed whatever she was about to say. ¡°Six. Six months and you¡¯ll have a case of cigarettes. Alright? I¡¯ll keep Tannis away as much as I can, but there are limits to what I can do for you.¡±


    Six months? That was a whole lot shorter than forever. Dally¡¯s throat ached - he wasn¡¯t actually breathing, from standing so close to her. The pen was still tight in her other hand, an outline under her gloved fingers. He only stared for another second, before slowly nodding. ¡°Okay,¡± he said, and coughed. ¡°Yeah. I want the cigarettes up front, though.¡±


    ¡°Of course you do.¡± She¡¯d got her bearings enough to glare at him, although the fading blush kind of ruined it. ¡°Come to the kitchens at third bell. And-¡°


    She reached for his head, fast enough that Dally couldn¡¯t flinch away in time. She careful tousled his hair and leant back to examine him again, before letting him go.


    ¡°I want the maids to think we¡¯re sleeping together,¡± she said, acid, ¡°you should act... satisfied.¡±


    Then she was gone, thrashing a silk screen out of the way. When the sound of her heels had faded Dally forced a breath, staring up at the filigreed ceiling. His chest hurt, and his throat, like his heart was trying to climb up his neck and strangle him.


    By the time he got back to the office door, he was feeling a lot better, though. Grinning, actually, like an idiot.


    Red, seeing him, gave a sidelong look at his mussed hair. ¡°You okay?¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± he said. ¡±Yeah. Hey, do you smoke?¡±

 Ch 6: Cigarettes

    Red didn¡¯t smoke, it turned out. Didn¡¯t even know how.


    Dally gave her one to try, and while she was choking it down he went to the night ward¡¯s desk carrying the bundle under his arm. It was past four. The man was nursing a tin mug of rum, his hat tipped down over his eyes.


    Dally smiled at him. ¡°Got a light, boss?¡±


    The ward¡¯s eyes went instantly to the bundle. A spark of pure longing flickered, then suspicion. Nessom County had produced all the tobacco for the whole country, and a year ago the Briari had razed it. This poor bastard was looking at more cigarettes than he¡¯d seen in months.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you come by that?¡± the ward asked.


    ¡°Gift from the master.¡±


    Dally saw the wheels turning, while the ward tried to decide if he could confiscate them without Lyle finding out. Eventually the man opened his jacket instead, taking a matchbook from the inside pocket. ¡°I¡¯ll have one too, then.¡±


    Dally smiled around the unlit cigarette, holding it with his lips while he opened a roll. Careful, he handed one to the ward. Then he set three more down on the desk. One by one, in a neat row.


    ¡°I¡¯m not much of a smoker,¡± Dally confessed.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re welcome to donate the whole lot, then.¡±


    When Dally only hugged the bundle tighter, the ward chuckled.


    ¡°Red told me you¡¯re a good one,¡± he said, ¡°that you¡¯re not any trouble.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right, boss.¡±


    The match flickered alight, and Dally was surprised when the ward actually stood, holding the flame out to him. When both of their cigarettes were lit, the ward leaned back, sighing smoke. ¡°Then why don¡¯t you ask what you¡¯re looking to ask?¡±


    This place got more familiar all the time. ¡°Mistress Gita, she¡¯s not so happy about me being here.¡±


    The ward snorted. ¡°That¡¯s not what I heard.¡±


    Dally remembered his mussed hair, and the click of her bedchamber lock behind him.


    ¡°...Right.¡± He glanced away, let out a slow stream of smoke through his nose. ¡°I uh. I don¡¯t kiss and tell, but that was not such a great time for me.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Mm. So, I just want to know some things about her. You know, what she¡¯s like?¡± He smiled, careful not to bare his teeth. ¡°So I can stay out of trouble.¡±


    The ward reached, scooped up the cigarettes on the desk. ¡°What kinds of things?¡±


    Things went pretty good from there, Dally thought. The ward¡¯s name was Hannock, and he had been working in this house going on ten years. By the time he was done, he was halfway through a second smoke. He had a lot to say.


    Gita was a complicated lady, turned out. She had been married to Lyle almost twenty years, which made her about sixteen when they were betrothed. The ward didn¡¯t say so, but Dally heard in his voice that the couple hated each other. They had had two kids during that long marriage. The older boy, Mariel, died in the Siege of Suret leading a thrall company. This changed Gita - ¡®got her blood up¡¯, as Hannock put it. She hated the war, and she wanted nothing to do with it. The governor, on the other hand, was all about vengeance for Mariel.


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    ¡°You should hear them go at it,¡± Hannock said. ¡°Don¡¯t talk about the war in this house.¡±


    Their only other child was Dascha, a boy of thirteen. From the tone of Hannock¡¯s voice, the kid was a little shit.


    ¡°Boss said she¡¯s an orphan, though?¡± Dally asked. ¡°What, is it so rare her parents are dead?¡±


    Hannock snorted; stupid thrall.


    ¡°Her house is dead, boy.¡± Rum sloshed into the bottom of his cup, as he poured again. ¡°Any Moreau worth anything was at Iles when it was razed. The Briars took her parents, and all the cousins and such. I¡¯d say their bones are chipped into lance-heads by now. They emptied the treasury, too. She has one brother still alive, but he only made it through because he was locked up in a Nirite monastery. Not an ounce of magic in his whole body.¡±


    ¡°I get it,¡± Dally said.


    ¡°Do you, now?¡±


    ¡°Mistress only her boy now,¡± he said, ¡°it must be hard for her.¡±


    Hannock stumped out the cigarette, a little slower than before. He was watching Dally from under the peak of his hat, considering. ¡°I don¡¯t know that I like you devils like this. All¡­ curious.¡±


    Dally blinked. ¡°I would never hurt a kid, boss.¡±


    ¡°Not that kid,¡± Hannock said, ¡°not if you want to stay pretty.¡±


    But he must not have been too worried, since he went straight back to the rum. In the end Dally set one last cigarette on the edge of his desk, and saw a flicker of approval from under the peak of Hannock¡¯s hat.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let you know, then,¡± the ward said, ¡°if I think of something else.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d sure appreciate it, boss.¡±


    They didn¡¯t shake hands - there was no way was Dally going to try touching him. Hannock smiled at him, though, carefully sliding the cigarette into his breast pocket.


    When Dally got back, he leaned on his new bunk to talk to Red. She was almost asleep, watching him through her eyelashes. Wyrlight through the window bars drew lines of shadow across her face. A half-cigarette was carefully tucked up under the edge of her matt, with the end rolled to keep the tobacco in.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t like it?¡± Dally asked.


    ¡°Not really,¡± she admitted. ¡°They taste like how the house smells.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡± The case was still under his arm, and he raised it up onto her bunk, carefully set it by her feet. When she stared back he finally grinned. ¡°Would you hold onto them for me? I think I could like smoking.¡±

 Ch 7: Spy

    The next day Dally tried following Red again, as she went to claim the office post. Before they got halfway there Hannock stepped into their path. The ward was much more awake, and cheerful if not actually smiling. He smelled of smoke under the reek of damp wool.


    ¡°Not you, Dally,¡± he said, ¡°you¡¯re off to the parlour.¡±


    Dally blinked. ¡°I don¡¯t, uh-¡±


    ¡°Red will show you.¡± As they both stared at him his face went flat. ¡°Well? On your way.¡±


    Red did show him, trailing a hand along the bare concrete of the servant passages. The longer they walked the more sideways looks she shot at Dally, like he had something on his face. Or, like she was trying to think of something to say.


    ¡°It¡¯s a nice day,¡± Dally said.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s sunny. You know, outside?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Maybe it was, but winter had seeped into the house, coating all the windows with fog. His toes had gone numb, and everything smelled like burning wyr oil.


    They stopped at an anonymous door, and she gave him a too-hard thump on the shoulder. By the time Dally figured out she was leaving him she was already gone, anxiously rubbing her neck as she stalked away.


    Dally lingered at the parlour door, listening to her footsteps fade. Fire glow slipped through the cracks in the wood, and there was the faint tink of china on the other side. Who knew what mood the boss was in? Lane hadn¡¯t talked to Dally since the night before, and Dally sure as hell wasn¡¯t going to ask what happened.


    Dally couldn¡¯t stand here all day, though - you couldn¡¯t get around your owner. At least he was a spy now, right?


    He ducked through the door, and closed it soft behind him. When he turned around Lyle was beaming at him, leaning forward in his seat at the breakfast table. The governor was still in slippers and a house coat, cheeks red from the cold.


    ¡°See?¡± he asked Gita.


    She glanced up from reading a novel, her eyes narrowing behind a veil of smoke. There was ten feet of table between the two humans, weighed down with piles of food on gilt china. Black coffee sent off a plume of steam, and the scent mixed with the smell of melting butter. Gita had a delicately arranged plate in front of her, fruit and quail eggs drenched in syrup. As she watched Dally, she carefully peeled the crust off of a pastry and ate it. Otherwise, her food was untouched.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting to get a look at you,¡± she said, ¡°the great prize. But, maybe you¡¯re slower outside the ring? Where were you?


    Lyle¡¯s mouth twitched as he looked at her. ¡°Dally, this is Gita,¡± he said, before completely ignoring her. ¡°You¡¯re settled? I thought you¡¯d like it here. You do, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master.¡± That wasn¡¯t enough, though - the governor¡¯s stare was still on him. ¡°Everyone¡¯s been real sweet.¡±


    Gita gave him a lizard¡¯s smile, without even taking the cigarette from her lips.


    Lyle liked the answer, though. ¡°Of course they are,¡± he said, pleased. He settled back into his chair, folded his hands. ¡°Well. Go get the paper for me, there¡¯s a good lad.¡±


    And that was it.


    When he came back with the paper, Gita abandoned her food almost instantly, bullshitting about a headache. That left Dally stood there, stiff and awkward, while Lyle scraped at his plate. Everything was slow. After that they went to Lyle¡¯s rooms so he could dress, and it took what felt like two hours. Claymen showed him one shirt then another identical shirt. Ties, sash, handkerchief. Lyle looked at the ties, then looked at Dally, to make sure he was watching, before choosing.


    After a while the secretary told Lyle through the door that the campaign directors were waiting. Dally, standing with a coat over his arm, blinked at her. There was an election on?


    Let them wait, Lyle said.


    When they finally got out, the campaign team glanced up with dull eyes before going back to their papers. They were used to it. A couple of them closed novels they¡¯d been reading and stood, like they had been sitting on a train and this was finally their stop. Then Lyle made them all look at Dally, and admire him. Then, finally, the politics started.


    Pretty soon Dally figured out why Gita picked him; the humans forgot he was there. It only took about three seconds. Dally¡¯s face was blank, because that was important, but no one looked at him anyway. Even Lyle only stared at him in the lulls, bored and wistful. One time a junior-whatever put a cup of tea in Dally¡¯s hand, and took it back off him five minutes later. Like he was an end table.


    It wasn¡¯t like the spying was easy, though. By the time they were done his head was spinning, trying to keep all the names straight. His leg wanted to bounce from so much standing still.


    He must have looked dazed, after, because Lyle pet his back. That woke him right up, made him stand rigid until the touch drifted away.


    ¡°It¡¯s all new for you, isn¡¯t it?¡± Lyle said. ¡°But it¡¯s an improvement, I think, living with me. I think you don¡¯t mind?¡±


    ¡°No, Master.¡±


    Dally had answered this question probably a fifty times that day already, but Lyle¡¯s searching look drifted over him again. Maybe he needed more grovelling?


    Wasn¡¯t Dally a spy, now?


    ¡°You¡¯ve been good to me,¡± he tried. ¡°I hope I do right by you.¡±


    Lyle bit his lip. ¡°I think you will.¡±


    Dally couldn¡¯t even force a smile, just stood there blinking too fast. Lyle eventually turned away, leaving Dally frozen behind him. At least Red was right - Dally was safer when Lyle was sober.


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    When Dally finally left, there was screaming echoing through the servants corridors. Faint, raw screams, like the throat was already worn out. Dally slowed down, listening to them get louder as he crept back to the thralls quarters. The sound peaked as Hannock let him back in, but Dally still couldn¡¯t see who it was. At the far end of the dorm was a blank wood door, that Dally hadn¡¯t been through yet. The screaming came from behind it, along with the faint clink of chain.


    In the dorm the others were mostly lying flat on bunks, blank faced. A couple were determinedly playing serbat in the corner, muttering their guesses through grit teeth. There was one empty bunk.


    Dally, quiet, leant up on the side of Red¡¯s bunk. ¡°Is that Sansi?¡± He asked. ¡°What¡¯d he do?¡±


    ¡°Sansi,¡± she said. She rolled to face him better, but then wouldn¡¯t actually look at him. ¡°Yeah. Mistress, she said he was staring.¡±


    She didn¡¯t say what they all thought: she wished he would stop screaming.


    Dally ran a hand back through his hair. He¡¯d gone cold, and wasn¡¯t sure where to look. Gita had figured out a way to punish him after all. At least she hadn¡¯t figured out yet which thralls were his friends. That would be next.


    It was black outside the windows when the creams faded to a rasping sob. A while after that the gate squealed, and a ward let Sansi fall through.


    Whoever did the work had ugly writing - swollen red lines swarmed over his chest, criss-crossed like graffiti on an alley wall. The burns were still at the ¡®okay looking¡¯ stage. The puffy, split flesh wasn¡¯t dying yet.


    Only a human could come up with this, Dally always thought. Who else could take a rune meant to protect against demons, and write it on the demon?


    Seeing the door open, Dally had jumped up like a dumb idiot, and he hovered there with his hands up; all ready to help. That was pointless. One of the females had got there first. She got a careful hold of Sansi¡¯s slack arm, and started dragging him over to his bunk. When she had got him in he curled up, turning into a shivering hulk under the blanket.


    Sansi stayed like that until all the others were asleep. Dally didn¡¯t fall asleep. In the grey, freezing dawn he slunk up to the gate and draped his arms through. ¡°Mistress asked for me,¡± he told Hannock. ¡°You know how it is.¡±


    ¡°Lucky boy,¡± Hannock muttered, annoyed, but he let him pass.


    Gita was awake too. Wide awake, and poised delicate on a chaise longue. An crystal ash tray on her side table had five butts in it, and she was picking at a dish of candied cherries. Waiting for him. The tropical, florid heat in her rooms was stronger than ever.


    Seeing him she smiled. ¡°You can¡¯t have much to report, yet.¡±


    ¡°He looked at you wrong? Mistress?¡± Dally asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that,¡± Gita said, ¡°It was only because you put me in a bad mood. And you¡¯re doing it again now. It was only a warning.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m warned,¡± he said, hurried, ¡°I¡¯ve been doing what you wanted.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t take it out on them.¡±


    She laughed, a high and fake sound. ¡°You¡¯re telling me what to do?¡±


    Dally twitched. He must have looked how he felt, because she smiled, letting out a stream of smoke through her nose.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t look so sore. Give me what you have.¡±


    Fine. Dally glanced at the ceiling to take a deep breath, watching Gita¡¯s silk hangings drift in the hazy air. Gita could do what she wanted. With Sansi, Red, anyone. That was her right.


    When he started talking the edge had gone out of his voice. ¡°Ansel thinks the governor can get re-elected if he keeps Farham and Tol.¡±


    Ansel was Lyle¡¯s Vice Governor. At least, Dally thought so. No one told him these things. Farham and Tol sounded like counties, from what he¡¯d heard.


    ¡°Farham has a construction problem: there¡¯s a uh, a union? Of steelworkers and chimer-men. They won¡¯t go to work. They don¡¯t like that most of the labour building the Dome went to Anvil Corporation. And the Farham people they don¡¯t like all the uh, the ¡®damned thralls¡¯ being bussed in.¡±


    If he was hoping Gita would explain what a union was, that hope was gone now. She hummed, and ate another cherry.


    ¡°Boss-¡° Dally sighed through his nose. ¡°Mistress, you know that your man bought me off of Anvil. The thing is, I wasn¡¯t for sale. Anvil must want something from him, and it¡¯s probably those Farham contracts. The eastern rail link needs done, sure, but Anvil can¡¯t move thralls that far.¡±


    Gita¡¯s chewing slowed, as she considered him. Eventually she frowned, covered her lips as she swallowed. ¡°He¡¯s a daft man,¡± she said, ¡°isn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°He... got what he wanted.¡±


    ¡°They always do.¡± She pouted faintly as she tapped her ash into the crystal tray. ¡°Go on, there¡¯s more, isn¡¯t there?¡±


    Spelling it all out took another hour, maybe, with all the questions she was asking. Most of Dally¡¯s answers were ¡®I don¡¯t know, mistress.¡± He didn¡¯t know the places he was talking about, and a couple times she had to stop to correct him on a name, or check something he was saying. When she finally let him go she was pleased, though; lounging like a well-fed cat. Dally slunk out with a hollow feel in his gut, and his shirt unbuttoned. In the corridor it was so ice cold that his breath steamed. A maid closed the door behind him, with a look on her face like she¡¯d just seen a rat.

 Ch 8: Real Politics

    Three months passed. Dally was a good spy, and waited.


    He¡¯d wait for Lyle at the office, or in the corner of the room as he dressed. Maybe they would go somewhere on the campaign. Those were the better days, because no one had time to drink or sit around. He saw the mine towns, with their slow-pulsing organs rooting into the ground, and a herd of cows being packed like thralls into a train car.


    Once, they toured a factory, where cars and other machines came out hot and wet from their eggs. Dally had never seen something like that. The poor pillbug babies rolled steaming on the floor, smelling of solder and birthing fluid. Men had to scoop them up, and press their limbs straight before their shells could harden too much.


    Gita seemed alright with his reports, maybe even happy. She answered her door, and she leaned in to listen. Sansi wasn¡¯t wrote on again, or any of the others. Dally and Gita said a lot of true things to each other, which felt weird, and wrong. Talking to a human all honest. Still, she didn¡¯t tell him to stop.


    Maybe he was honest because he wasn¡¯t sleeping much. The feel of Lyle¡¯s hands lingered like grease, and not Gita or anyone else could really scrape him off.


    When Dally did sleep he still saw Seth Greenlees, and woke up flinching, drenched in sweat. In his dreams the poor bastard died over and over, and then came back alive as Dally ate him. Sometimes Seth asked quiet questions, mostly he screamed. When Dally woke up he could never remember the questions. It nagged him. What did Seth want to ask?


    It was fine. Dally just had to wait; eventually the dreams would fade, like the other times something stuck in his head. It would be better when he got sold.


    Until then, though, his eyes were dry and red, and he looked pale when he saw himself in reflections. When people asked if he was okay he answered real slow, or not at all. He coughed. And he did take some of his cigarettes back from Red, one by one, until she moved the bundle somewhere and wouldn¡¯t tell him where.


    Winter closed around the house like a crushing fist. One morning Dally woke up in the dark, and saw the windows were blacked out with snow.


    He brought Lyle the paper, and in return was given a slice of bread from the table. Dally was finally getting used to that - scraps of human food. He only hesitated for a second before taking it, retreated to a spot by the door to eat. The bread was warm from the oven, steaming, and smelled fresh and good. Lyle¡¯s food was all like that.


    Gita made a sound of faint disgust.


    ¡°Why do you sigh like that?¡± Lyle asked her.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sighing.¡±


    ¡°Well, you have something to say, then, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Gita tapped ash from her cigarette, eyes narrowing. ¡°It¡¯s... ridiculous to give him food from the table,¡± she said, finally. ¡°He has his own food. You¡¯ll only make him fat.¡±


    ¡°Fat?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll spoil him. I hope you won¡¯t act like this in front of Jona.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll feed him whatever I like,¡± Lyle said. ¡°Besides, he likes it, don¡¯t you Dally?¡±


    "Ye-¡± Dally had already crammed most of the slice of bread in his mouth, had to pause to chew. ¡°Master.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a thrall,¡± Gita said, ¡°he¡¯d like garbage just as well, or a rotting corpse.¡±


    In answer Lyle just held out another slice to Dally. ¡°Here.¡±


    Dally snatched it, and didn¡¯t look to see what Gita thought. Bread was easily better than garbage, so she was wrong there. It wasn¡¯t as good as meat, but you couldn¡¯t have everything.


    Gita sniffed. ¡°Will you meet those Anvil men again today?¡± she asked Lyle.


    Shit, that was not something she should know. Dally kept his eyes down, chewing.


    Lyle¡¯s cheeks was slowly going red. ¡°Who says I¡¯ve met with them at all?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you know,¡± she said, ¡°ladies talk.¡±


    ¡°Ladies.¡± Lyle sniffed. ¡°Well, you need not worry yourself.¡±


    ¡°I just think you could do better, with this Farham business-¡±


    The governor¡¯s chair squealed as he stood. ¡°It¡¯s none off your concern.¡±


    As they left Dally shot a blank look over his shoulder at Gita. She glared back, like this was somehow his fault.


    His heart pounded, as he trailed after Lyle toward the cars. Gita shouldn¡¯t have known any of that. There weren¡¯t many people in on these meetings they¡¯d been having, and sure as hell no ¡®ladies¡¯. Dally was in all of them, though. Every single one. Was Lyle thinking that, too?


    Lyle chewed his lip, not even looking at him. ¡°Do your females nag so much?¡±


    Dally blinked, struggled to switch gears. ¡°No, Master,¡± he guessed, at random.


    That must have been what Lyle wanted, because he gave Dally a bitter smirk. ¡°I thought not,¡± he said. ¡°Much more simple, your kind.¡±


    They were going to Parliament. Outside the snow was blinding, but the sky was dee blue. Lyle had Dally ride on the flank, so the whole campaign team could fit in the cab. Pretty soon they were skittering through the fresh snow, down the slope from the manor. The car¡¯s legs clawed at the buried road, kicking up white clouds. From his perch Dally could see the escort car, with Red and a few others hanging off the sides.


    Okay? she gestured at him.


    He returned it. Okay.


    The others tried yelling something at him, but he couldn¡¯t hear anything under the roaring wind. After a while he could tell they were singing, but he couldn¡¯t hear that either.


    Dally turned to the homunculus, clinging to the other side of the cabin. ¡°You sing?¡± he yelled.


    It stared, for a long time. Then it raised one thick hand to point.


    ¡°Me?¡± Dally asked. ¡°You want me to?¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°I¡¯m not much to listen to.¡±


    The stare continued.


    ¡°Well,¡± Dally said, ¡°you just say when you want me to stop. ¡±


    Singing alone felt strange but good, even though the wind shredded the sound right out of his mouth. The damn clay man didn¡¯t tell him to stop at all, not before they were galloping between city tower blocks. Dally¡¯s throat hurt by then, anyway. His arms ached from clinging and it felt like he breathed more air in the last two hours than all of the three months before. He was smiling.


    His grin lasted until they reached the crowd. It was just a couple of humans, at first, blocking the road as they stared. Then there were fifty, a hundred, hundreds, getting closer and packed and loud. The snow under the car¡¯s claws was already stamped to grey slush, and their wild gallop slowed to a crawl.


    As they pushed into the crowd Dally flattened himself to the armored flank, cringing to avoid bumping any humans. The whole crowd was staring at the car¡¯s fogged windows. A few pointed at Dally, and he picked out dirty tones; ¡®Anvil corporation¡¯ and something about Seth Greenlees. Mostly they yelled, though, and chanted; ¡®Human hands built this city¡¯.


    It was a protest, Dally realised, feeling stupid. He found himself wide eyed, the way he was first seeing Seth. This was real live politics. Beyond the crowd the Parliament building glowed in the late sun, with all it¡¯s spires and grooves casting long shadows. A bronze disk for Amn shone mirror-bright over the door, so big the nearest people were squinting. And shivering. Were they okay? It was cold already - their breath steamed in the frozen air. Not all of them had coats.


    Lyle burst into the crowd, and the chants disintegrated into screamed insults. A second later he disappeared, surrounded by the pack of flunkies from his car. Around them the thralls from the escort formed a kind of lazy wedge shape, shepherding the humans towards the parliament. Dally attached himself to the group, and watched the crowd melt away from around them. The humans had a hard time backing up fast enough. They yelped, tripping over each other.


    Lyle¡¯s group forced their way easy enough to the steps, where the crowd was broken off by a police line. They were waved through, and the membrane seal around the door rippled before parting.


    Dally was about to follow them inside, when a hand snatched his arm. ¡°We don¡¯t go in,¡± Red yelled, over the noise.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t we his security?¡±


    ¡°Only out here. Capital Sec has their own guys in there, you know? Vets. Real scary.¡± She looked a little wistful. ¡°They get better outfits than us, too.¡±


    Now it was just them and the cops, the howling from the crowd was fading. The chants started up again, rhythmic and already hoarse. Red hummed, watching them. ¡°Wonder what they want?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re Farham and Dunham workers unions.¡± Dally mumbled, he was already rocking in place, leaning to try and peer through the windows. ¡°They want the Gov to stop throwing all the state construction contracts to thrall corporations, so they can get a little work for a change. Dunham¡¯s a safe seat, though. They won¡¯t get shit from him.¡±


    Red was looking at him like he¡¯d grown a second head. ¡°What¡¯s a union?¡±


    It took a while to explain that. He had to talk about why unions came up in the factories and spread to construction, and how this winter was colder than normal, how the wyr oil subsidy ended last year and how the Brairi took and razed the Green Dish and all the barley and wheat in it. Now a guy like Hannock could maybe afford heat for his kids, or food, but not both.


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    By the time he was done she was frowning at the crowd, biting her lip. ¡°It¡¯s hard to be human, huh?¡±


    Lyle was gone for hours, while Dally paced and tapped the hilt of his saber. The shadow of the gold tower grew longer, stretching over the crowd. Their chants faded into bitter mumbles, rising and falling in waves. Lyle¡¯s cars were surrounded now by people leaning on their warm flanks.


    Still, most of the protestors stayed. The ones that didn¡¯t were replaced, and then some, with more joining from the back as their shifts ended. They started fires, and passed around dark glass bottles without labels. As the sun set the calls got rougher, slurring together: ¡®Lyle must have trouble talking with Anvil¡¯s cock in his mouth.¡¯ ¡®Lyle should fuck a thrall, if he loved them so much.¡®


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about this,¡± Dally said. Without pockets he¡¯d stuck his freezing hands inside the thin front of the uniform jacket.


    Red was drawing in the sleet with her toe, and didn¡¯t look up. ¡°Like you said, they¡¯re real mad.¡±


    They were. When the Parliament doors finally opened again the crowd seemed to take a deep breath, before letting out an animal howl. The front of the protest marched closer to the police line, screaming, then were shoved from behind, staggered, and crashed into it. First one, then dozens of men fell through. The cops turned around to hit them, kick them, pull them back. Dally watched a baton clip a man¡¯s shaved head, and vivid blood spilled down his face. Of course human blood was the same red as thralls, but he¡¯d never thought about it before.


    He only realised he was frozen when Red shook him.


    ¡°Would you look at that,¡± Lyle was saying to an aide, ¡°ridiculous, isn¡¯t it? But we¡¯ll get through them.¡± He had a soft little smile on, like things were going well.


    The thrall escort formed up again. Kit was the biggest, so she took the point and started punching her way into the crowd. The others shoved after, and Dally made himself follow.


    They got about ten feet. This time the crowd couldn¡¯t make a path for them. Inside the crush of bodies it was hot, somehow and slick under-foot with mud. The humans around them flinched, struggled, but couldn¡¯t back away. A wall of bodies crushed them forwards in a tangle of bodies. Dally, wide-eyed, caught a shrieking woman as she was shoved into him. He set her back on her feet, but not before she scrambled, tearing at his cheek with her nails. The humans shuddered as they brushed up against him. Dally shrank, putting his hand gingerly on their shoulders or backs to squeeze past.


    ¡°They can¡¯t move,¡± Red yelled in his ear. To prove it she bared sharp teeth at the nearest human, shoved him hard in the chest.


    Dally¡¯s heart lurched. He almost grabbed her, but the guy had already got back up, and was screaming uselessly at their backs. Right - they were security. This was fine.


    The bubble they made for Lyle was somehow calm, and the governor was taking his time. He skirted the slush puddles, still muttering to the aide. The crowd surge didn¡¯t reach him, and he didn¡¯t see the brick coming.


    It glanced off the side of Dally¡¯s head, before skidding through the slush Lyle¡¯s feet. Everything blurred, as Dally tried to shake his head clear. A rock whisked past, then more until they were coming down like rain - wet gravel, bigger stones. Dally caught the next brick in clawed fingers, just reached up and plucked it out of the air, ten feet up. The people closest to him shrieked, and turned, trying to claw through the crowd to get away. They were a lot shorter than Dally, now, and his breath steamed in a cloud as he snarled at them.


    Numbly he realised he¡¯d torn his uniform, changing shape when he shouldn¡¯t. This was very bad, and wrong.


    It was a lot better above the crowd, though, where the air was cold and he could breath again. People tangled with his legs and tail, but he just shook them off. The rocks bounced off his sides, rattled through spines down the back of his neck. One man hacked at his knee with a length of copper pipe, and Dally yelped, kicking reflexively. The man staggered, then disappeared under the boots of the crowd


    At least Lyle had finally seemed to notice what was going on. He jogged with agonising slowness towards the cars, snapping his fingers like Dally should catch up. He did, but by the time he got there they were already pulling away. In this form he could keep up - barely - and the others watched wide-eyed as he sprint after them.


    A while later the car slowed, and Dally did too, taking huge hacking breaths. He¡¯d been running on his clawed hands and feet, scrabbling at snow and concrete just to keep up. His fingers had gone numb. They were still in the city, which was now glowing with wyrlight in the dark. It was starting to snow again, but Dally¡¯s sweating body seemed to burn a hole in the cold. Snowflakes settled on him and melted instantly. In one of the tenement windows above them a bare-chested human boy was staring at him with huge eyes.


    Lyle¡¯s car door opened, spilling gold light. An aide carefully stepped out, his shoulders stiff with rage. The man looked up at Dally, and Dally figured this was it - he pushed Lyle too far. He¡¯d be sent to that back room where sansi went, and Gita would abandon him -


    ¡°Get in,¡± the aide said, and flung a blanket at him, before stalking back towards the escort car.


    He got in. Lyle waved him over immediately, and made him squeeze next to him, actually crushed against the side of a PR flack. There was a half inch of whisky in the bottom of Lyle¡¯s glass. He touched the wet patch in Dally¡¯s hair, rubbed the blood between his fingers. ¡°You-¡± he turned to the nearest flunky. ¡°Didn¡¯t you see what he did?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Governor.¡± These men all had a trained blankness, but it was never actually hard to read them. They were seething.


    Lyle¡¯s mouth trembled. ¡°He saved my life.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s as may be, my lord, but he should be told how to act-¡±


    ¡°He did what he had to. Didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Dally curled his fingers into his scraped palms, swallowed. He was still panting. ¡°Of course, master.¡±


    The aide turned that bland look on him, and licked his teeth. They both knew Dally was lying: some guy threw a brick, and Dally had to change form for that? Really?


    Lyle¡¯s face was getting all soft, his mouth drooping with too much feeling. ¡°Maybe you should all get out,¡± he said, suddenly, ¡°I think you all need to go. Not you, Dally.¡±


    The cabin still felt crowded when they were gone. Lyle leaned into him, as if they still had to squeeze in. He put a hand on his cheek, forcing Dally to look right at him.


    ¡°I hope you know how fond I am of you.¡±


    Was Dally meant to say that too? I love you? A good spy would say it. The damp heat of Lyle¡¯s hand was cutting through the thin shield of melted snow. Finally Dally nodded, feeling stupid.


    Lyle didn¡¯t even notice. He made a soft noise, dragging him closer.


    That night, Gita¡¯s rooms had a thicker than normal fog of smoke. She was wrapped in it like a veil, looking cooly from under her eyelashes. For a while she looked him up and down.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you lucky,¡± she said. ¡°He should have had you writ on. Acting like an animal in front of the press.¡±


    Dally had wiped the blood off his face, but hadn¡¯t gone to the baths yet. Sweat had gone cold all over him. He couldn¡¯t feel anything, couldn¡¯t even focus enough to fake an expression for her.


    ¡°It was bad.¡± he said.


    ¡°Of course it was bad, stupid thrall.¡±


    ¡°They hated him.¡±


    ¡°So you decided to make it worse? Do you know, I had started to think you you had a little cunning, a little subtlety-¡±


    ¡°You find me a buyer, yet?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d asked, not by a long shot. Usually she looked annoyed, and this time he thought she might actually hit him. Instead she smiled, her eyes narrowing to blue slits.


    ¡°I told you I would,¡± she said.


    Dally coughed, choking on a sudden tight feel in his throat. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°First, apologise.¡±


    ¡°Mistress, please-¡±


    ¡°Apologise.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said. ¡°I- I don¡¯t know why I did it. It won¡¯t happen again.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a stunning example of how thralls act without discipline,¡± she said, and took a deliberately slow drag. Dally waited, silent.


    ¡°Honor Wately,¡± she said, eventually.


    ¡°The senator?¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡± It had taken a while, but Gita had finally stopped acting surprised when Dally knew something.


    ¡°What does he want me for?¡±


    ¡°How should I know?¡± She frowned, stamping her cigarette out. ¡°You¡¯re just lucky I found someone with currency Tannis will take. He very much needs the Occupancy bill to go through, you see, and Wately will cross the floor...¡±


    She kept going, but Dally couldn¡¯t pay attention to the details, couldn¡¯t even care that he was getting traded in some weird backroom deal. It didn¡¯t matter. He was almost smiling, and rubbed his mouth to hide it. Two months left and he¡¯d be gone.

 Ch 9 : Fish

    Dally sang a lot louder, for the next few days, with his rough voice and off key. It got bad enough that Red asked why he was so happy, and then he looked at her and got quiet. There was no way the senator would buy her too. Or Lane, or any of the others.


    ¡°How long now?¡± he asked Gita, at their next meeting.


    ¡°Three months,¡± she said. Then, a couple of days later; ¡°Three months, and you best not ask again. What¡¯s the name of that female, the one with the eye?¡±


    Dally stopped asking. After a while he stopped singing, too, going back to quietly humming along.


    Back when Dally was a dumb kid, always running and touching, his mother had threatened him with stories about the great mage houses. ¡°You quit that,¡¯ she told him, ¡®or I¡¯ll send you to the magi.¡± Maybe she would pinch his arm; ¡°You¡¯re a skinny boy, but young meat¡¯s the best. They eat thrall every day, those men.¡±


    Now Dally saw it was all true. This place was eating him; eating his brain right out of his skull. Boredom. Whenever he stood around outside Lyle¡¯s office he would whisper conversation with whoever else was posted there, until they got tired of him. Then he picked at the hem of his jacket, and tapped the hilt of the stupid saber. Maybe he tried playing the perfect round of serbat against himself, swapping rhymes back and forth in his head.


    More and more, though, he stared at the walls. It got so he knew every vine in the floral wallpaper, every hairline crack in the tiles. His boot heels were getting thin on the back edge, from how much he rocked in place. He stared at the walls and waited for Lyle, with hair rising on the back of his neck. In a way that was like waiting for a fight; the sick nerves were there, and the buzz too. Lyle was the only thing that ever happened in this place. Lyle pushed drinks and good human food on him, and looked at him, and took him places.


    Was this how Lane got all screwed up?


    On one cloudy afternoon, Lyle came out of his office and put a hand around the back of Dally¡¯s neck, the way you would to make a dog look at something. As if Dally wasn¡¯t already looking. The other thrall - Tol - stared past them at the wall.


    ¡°Now,¡± Lyle said, quiet, ¡°I hope you know Jona will be home today. Come and we¡¯ll have a talk.¡±


    Dally could only blink, and follow him. Jona was not someone Lyle talked about.


    In a dark, gilded lounge, the governor made him sit. ¡°He¡¯s a fine young man,¡± he said, ¡°my son. I¡¯ve told you about him.¡±


    Not true. ¡°Yes, master.¡±


    ¡°You know he¡¯s a fine boy. Fine boy. Well, but he¡¯s been troubled. It¡¯s ah, it¡¯s this problem with Mariel - that¡¯s my other son. They were very close.¡±


    Dally glanced away. ¡°I see.¡±


    The ¡®problem¡¯ with Mariel that he got killed in the war. Dally shouldn¡¯t know that, though. He bought that information with Gita¡¯s cigarettes.


    ¡°You could say,¡± Lyle went on, ¡°that Jona he idolised him. Do you know what that means? He thought he was a shining knight, you see, a mythic kind of hero. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I think so, Master.¡±


    ¡°Good, so. Of course he sees me the same way, you know. The way boys see their fathers. Dally - There¡¯s whisky there, pour some for us-¡±


    Dally did, grateful - he needed the distraction.


    Lyle kept talking. ¡°I think he needs a young, brave sort of idol, though. His mother has her claws in him - that¡¯s why I sent him to that school. But they only teach him books, there, not character. I fear she¡¯s already ruined him, but not beyond hope.¡± As soon as the drink was in his hand he gulped, winced. ¡°That¡¯s why I brought you here.¡±


    Dally froze, with his glass halfway to his mouth. Lyle was just watching him, like this conversation was normal and made sense.


    ¡°Thank you, Master,¡± Dally guessed.


    Lyle smiled. ¡°I knew you¡¯d understand. So. I¡¯ll have him take you hunting, things like that. Of course I¡¯d go, but my back-¡± he sighed, and reached to lay a hand on Dally¡¯s arm. Lyle¡¯s back was a national tragedy. ¡°In any case a young man should learn to handle thralls. He¡¯ll love you, of course. You¡¯re loyal, and you have a good temperement.¡±


    Loyal? Loyal. Damn.


    This was it; this was what Dally got for ¡®saving¡¯ Lyle at that protest. Now Dally was a good thrall, like on the posters. Now he could easily replace Jona¡¯s dead brother; being his pet and his hero at the same time. Perfect. And while Dally played out this flawless plan, he wouldn¡¯t be getting the information he needed to keep Gita happy. This would all end with him in that back room, screaming.


    Dally had kept his face blank, but his arm had tensed under Lyle¡¯s hand. The governor frowned at him. ¡°You¡¯re not worried, are you?¡±


    ¡°I- maybe, Master. I mean, I want to do right by your boy but-¡± He glanced around the room, desperate. ¡°Who¡¯s going to protect you?¡±


    Lyle¡¯s mouth twitched. He squeezed Dally¡¯s arm. ¡°It¡¯s just for a little while, I¡¯ll be alright.¡±


    The boy came that afternoon. His car had run hard to get there from the school in Savos, and you could tell. It¡¯s armoured sides were heaving when it pulled up, and it sank on it¡¯s belly before the doors even open. In the frozen night Dally was the only one waiting, silent, with dusk snow settling on his shoulders. He was holding a coat for Jona, one Lyle had plucked at random from the boy¡¯s room.


    Steam poured from the doors as they opened, like a breath into the freezing air. Dally crept closer, and stopped as a young human clambered out of the cabin.


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    Jona face was narrow but familiar, as if Lyle was whittled down to nothing. He was tall for his age and pale even for a southerner, so pale you could almost see through him. He had Gita¡¯s green cat eyes, though, which looked strange surrounded by such soft features. Dally hadn¡¯t been around human children, but if Jona was a thrall he would have been about fourteen.


    The boy snatched the coat, like he was worried Dally would try to put it on him. ¡°Mother told me he bought another one,¡± he said, acid.


    Shit.


    ¡°Can¡¯t have too many, young master.¡± Dally swayed awkwardly in place. ¡°Your parents are waiting inside.¡±


    Jona was staring at him, slow, up and down. His cat¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You don¡¯t look like a human at all.¡±


    Before Dally could blink Jona swerved past him. Inside the house the boy marched straight towards Gita¡¯s rooms, with Dally jogging to catch up. Then he turned, and shut the door in Dally¡¯s face.


    Left alone in the corridor, Dally scratched at the hilt of his saber, and moved himself awkwardly into a corner. Homunculi passed him, back and forth. Maybe Dally imagined it, but their smooth faces had a pitying kind of stare. Why? At least he wasn¡¯t with Lyle, right?


    It was dark when the humans finally came out, and Dally was slumped against the doorframe. He stumbled to attention, with Gita staring at him. She looked looked surprised to see him, Jona disgusted.


    ¡°Come along,¡± the boy said.


    Dally turned a blank look on Gita, but she had nothing to say about that. Both of them followed.


    As they walked she drifted closer, leaning to murmur under her breath; ¡°I hope you¡¯re not following my son around.¡±


    Dally didn¡¯t look at her. If he did he might let out the helpless laugh building in his throat. ¡°It¡¯s your husband¡¯s idea,¡± he said. ¡°You know, to make him a man? Something like that.¡±


    ¡°Make him a man.¡± It felt like her glare was burning into his cheek.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Dally muttered, ¡°he¡¯ll give up when he sees how great it¡¯s working.¡±


    They reached the dining room, where the table was set and Lyle was waiting with a half-full cup of wine. He didn¡¯t stand, just waved Jona over to him. The sullen boy sat with him, and accepted a cup of his own from a servant. While Lyle made awkward hellos Jona drained the cup, and stuck his arm out for a refill.


    ¡°Is that girl of yours still there?¡± Lyle asked his son, ¡°The Unwin girl? Her father and I-¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know,¡± Jona said, ¡°I stopped talking to her years ago. Besides she¡¯s a skip, you know? Couldn¡¯t light a candle. Dull girl.¡±


    ¡®Skip¡¯? Dally had to search his head for that one; Jona probably meant the aurum-rich blood skipped a generation with this girl. Lyle laughed like it was a dirty joke, which fit. For people who never did any magic, they cared a lot about their magic blood.


    Gita was barely listening- she didn¡¯t care about any of this. She ate behind a veil of smoke, watching her boy with a soft kind of smile. It was only when Lyle called Dally to the table that she remembered they existed.


    Her smile disappeared. ¡°Now? Tonight?¡±


    Lyle had a hunk pork speared on a knife. He threw it down on his plate again, a clatter that rang in the sudden silence.


    ¡°Alright,¡± he said, ¡°let¡¯s have it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re feeding your pet in front of your son. It¡¯s disgusting-¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not a pet-¡±


    They were talking over each other already. Dally let a low breath and rocked on his heels, until he remembered where he was. Lyle and Gita¡¯s fights got boring fast, and this was already old. Because he hadn¡¯t been dismissed he had to stay by Lyle¡¯s elbow, staring at the food he wouldn¡¯t get. His own rations tasted worse these days, less filling. Maybe with the shortages the feed company really was cutting it with sawdust, like the wards said. Or, maybe Dally really was getting spoiled-


    ¡°Here,¡± Jona said, sugary sweet. ¡°Here, Dally.¡±


    The fight slowed. As Jona¡¯s parents watched, the boy took a carving fork and speared one of the big river trout from the center of the table. It dangled, dripping juice, until he flung it whole on the floor.


    ¡°There you go.¡±


    Dally glanced at the fish, still good, lying on the tile, then back up. Jona looked proud, like he had just invented this game all on his own; screw with the thrall. Dally was meant to not want the fish, now, because for humans it was humiliating to eat something that touched the floor. A whole damn fish.


    He snatched it up before they could tell him not to, and tore the tail end off with his teeth. Hot fat spillled over his tongue, bone crackled against his gums. It had some weird flavours, spice and salt, but mostly tasted of good meat. He took another bite as Jona laughed. Clear juice ran over his fingers. His eyes narrowed, blissful.


    ¡°Don¡¯t-¡° Lyle hesitated, and rubbed his mouth with a hand.


    It wasn¡¯t actually an order, so Dally kept chewing. Jona¡¯s cackling was getting thinner, now, and his smile quickly fell away. By the time Dally crammed the fish head in his mouth all the humans were silent, watching him. The skull was soft from cooking, but it still took a second to crack and swallow.


    They stared, Dally stared blandly back.


    ¡°Jona,¡± Lyle said, ¡°apologize.¡±


    ¡°Father-¡±


    ¡°You made him eat it.¡±


    Gita stood, smoothed out her skirt. ¡°We¡¯re leaving.¡± She held out an arm until Jona latched onto it. They marched out like that, while Lyle tried to call them back.


    Safely ignored, Dally licked his teeth, and used his uniform sleeve to wipe his mouth. Three months.

 Ch. 11: Rat

    They were happy, though, coughing up little bits of old songs. Most of them were on their bunks. Nan¡¯s clawed fingers drooping out of bed to trail on the concrete. Like always, the dim wyr-glow flickered - Red idly kicked the lamp cage, making it swing behind the bunks. She was talking shit to Kour about the roster being wrong, or there was too many shifts or something. A dead rat dangled limp from her hand. The smell of hot blood mixed with the sweat of too many bodies.


    Dally stopped near her, crossed his arms. Under the stupid uniform he was crawling with sweat all over, like bugs running down his back. And starting to get sober, which was not good. Everything felt really, really clear. The light flashed again, showing Red looking up at him. She was confused, half-smiling.


    ¡°Give me that,¡± he said.


    Red blinked. Her fist tightened around the small body, a slow trickle of blood creeping between her fingers.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dally said, ¡°give it to me.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    A pause, while they stared at each other. Finally Red snarled. ¡°The fuck is your problem, Harper?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m hungry.¡±


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s hungry.¡± She was rising, now, spines prickling from the back of her neck.  ¡°We all are, saf, catch your own-¡±


    Dally snatched her wrist, felt skin ripple under his hand. When he glanced back up, the eyelid in her forehead snapped open.


    Fixed on Dally, Red¡¯s third eye was impossibly wide; a flaming circle with a black vortex of a pupil in the center. Tongues of eerie light curled around the ring of the iris, before plunging into the dark.


    While Dally stared Red had got a grip on his arm, and now she casually put a shoulder in his gut. Both of them bounced off her bunk, and hit the floor in a screeching tangle.


    Fighting females was shit, he remembered too late. They had too much to prove; not actually smaller, but without spines they were twice as slippery and vicious. Red twisted out of his hands, and then she was all over him like an octopus. She screamed in his ear, right before clamping her teeth down on it. Dally howled, struggled to claw her jaws open.


    Both of them knew what kind of fight it was, though, so when Red fell on top of him there was no claw in his gut to follow up. She just curled her armored knuckles, and drove them into the side of his head. Stars burst behind Dally¡¯s eyes. He flailed, snarling, and maybe he punched her, too. It was getting hard to tell.


    ¡°You spoiled fuck,¡± she hissed, ¡°extra food not enough?¡±


    From on his back, Dally twisted until he could bite her arm.


    A shadow rose up over them, blocking the wyrlight. Hannock. He was grimacing, waving over some of the other thralls. ¡°You - damnit - get her off him.¡±


    Clawed hands clamped on both of them, forcing them up, until they were both writhing but at least on their feet. Red strained at the two holding her, snapping. The third eye still burned in the center of her forehead, with its crimson eyelid peeled all the way back. Hannock looked her over, critical, and  the baton he was holding to tap her in the chest.


    ¡°You again. How many times¡ª?¡±


    ¡°I started it,¡± Dally blurted. ¡°Boss.¡±


    ¡°But I finished it.¡± Red thrashed at the hands holding her, snarling.


    ¡°Over there,¡± Hannock told her, ¡°and shut the hell up.¡± When she had been dragged away he turned back to Dally, mouth set in a hard line. ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yeah, it¡¯s not her fault. I tried to steal her rat.¡±


    Hannock made a noise of disgust. He had crossed his arms, and Dally was still too scared to look him in the eye. Hannock crept closer, studying, until Dally had to lean back to avoid touching him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how things work in that Anvil shithole you came from,¡± he said, ¡°but I don¡¯t allow fighting in my barracks. You¡¯ll be quiet from now on, or I don¡¯t care about the Governor or your smokes I will make you sorry. You hear?¡±


    He was serious, surprisingly. Dally coughed, swallowed a mouthful of blood. ¡°Sure, boss. Not a problem.¡±


    ¡°Alright. Go. Off to your bunk.¡±


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    Dally hesitated, swaying. ¡°Can I¡­ um. Mistress asked to see me.¡±


    ¡°Now? Looking like that?¡± Hannock squinted, but Dally wasn¡¯t getting any prettier. Finally he let out an explosive sigh. ¡°Come back right away if she doesn¡¯t want you.¡±


    ¡ª-


    ¡°You lied to me.¡± Dally was in Gita¡¯s chambers again, watching her unlace her corset.


    She barely looked up, but a faint smile twitched on her lips before disappearing. ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°You told me,¡± Dally said, ¡°that I¡¯d be sold on out of here. Only you knew the Requisition Act was coming up, so no one would actually want me. Only your crazy husband is buying thralls.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that.¡± The corset came away in a single stiff piece, like an insect shell. Gita flung it onto a heap of cushions, before fluffing the thin gown underneath. ¡°If you¡¯re looking for an apology, you won¡¯t get one- Where are my¡­?¡± She found her cigarette case under a cast-off glove, snapping it open as she sprawled on one of her lounges. ¡°This arrangement was your idea, remember? If you¡¯ll recall, you were very insistent.¡±


    ¡°My idea¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re annoying tonight,¡± she said, suddenly. ¡°Do I have to call the ward?¡±


    Dally rocked in place, and bit the inside of his cheek, waiting until he couldn¡¯t feel spines under his skin any more. Gita waited too, blowing out a slow stream of smoke.


    ¡°The deal¡¯s off,¡± he said.


    Her laugh was as bright as a knife blade. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°We had a understanding.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. And you still need my protection.¡±


    ¡°Your worthless protection,¡± he said, and slammed a hand down on her nightstand. It rattled hard enough that jewellery clinked. A lipstick tube rolled off to clatter on the tile.


    That finally did it. Gita¡¯s amusement turned icy, and dead-eyed.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she said, ¡°poor Dally.¡±


    It was a look he hadn¡¯t seen before, and for the first time that night he sharply remembered she was human, and a mage. The way they¡¯d been talking recently, he had got confused about how things stood.


    "My husband might have read too many war novels,¡± she said, ¡°but I know what you really are. Do you know how they sent my son back to me? Half his cheek was ripped open, and his arm was torn clean off.¡± If she was a man, she would have spat. Instead she took another deliberate pull on the cigarette. ¡°He was beautiful, my boy, and in the end I had to beg the Corps to even see him.¡±


    Magic had a smell, like burning oil and hair. Dally¡¯s nostrils twitched as Gita stalked closer. He backed a step, then another, until the back of his legs bumped a table. Gita ran a hand up the front of his uniform, and carefully tugged his collar straight. His skin prickled with sweat under her fingers.


    "You''re not my pet,¡± she went on, quiet, ¡°and I won''t shed a single tear when Tannis throws you on the scrap heap. Until then you work for me. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell him.¡±


    ¡°Tell him you¡¯ve been spying since you got here?¡±


    Dally was silent.


    ¡°It¡¯s too late for that,¡± she said, ¡°isn¡¯t it?¡± Eventually she reached up, and carefully ruffled his hair. ¡°You don¡¯t need to think, alright? You just need to go back to work. And if I feel like you¡¯re not working hard enough, well, I¡¯ll just have to choose one of your friends from the barracks, and give them the discipline you obviously need.¡±


    That got a twitch out of him, and he finally glanced away. Lyle wouldn¡¯t care about her ¡®punishing¡¯ the other thralls, no more than if she kicked a dog. She¡¯d proved that already.


    ¡°Well?¡± she asked.


    "I''ll see you tomorrow, mistress."


    "Yes."


    Halfway back, Dally¡¯s body stopped working, and carried him up against a wall. He just slowly crashed into it, pressed his forehead against the cold stone. Behind him a homunculus slowed in its scrubbing, turned its blank face to watch him. Hollow eye sockets cast shadows across its cheeks.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dally mumbled.


    He stood there for a while, until the homunculus had scrubbed a careful circle around him. There was one month to go, he kept thinking, stupidly. One month to what? This was where he lived, now.

 Ch. 11: Rat

    They were happy, though, coughing up little bits of old songs. Most of them were on their bunks. Nan¡¯s clawed fingers drooping out of bed to trail on the concrete. Like always, the dim wyr-glow flickered - Red idly kicked the lamp cage, making it swing behind the bunks. She was talking shit to Kour about the roster being wrong, or there was too many shifts or something. A dead rat dangled limp from her hand. The smell of hot blood mixed with the sweat of too many bodies.


    Dally stopped near her, crossed his arms. Under the stupid uniform he was crawling with sweat all over, like bugs running down his back. And starting to get sober, which was not good. Everything felt really, really clear. The light flashed again, showing Red looking up at him. She was confused, half-smiling.


    ¡°Give me that,¡± he said.


    Red blinked. Her fist tightened around the small body, a slow trickle of blood creeping between her fingers.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dally said, ¡°give it to me.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    A pause, while they stared at each other. Finally Red snarled. ¡°The fuck is your problem, Harper?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m hungry.¡±


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s hungry.¡± She was rising, now, spines prickling from the back of her neck.  ¡°We all are, saf, catch your own-¡±


    Dally snatched her wrist, felt skin ripple under his hand. When he glanced back up, the eyelid in her forehead snapped open.


    Fixed on Dally, Red¡¯s third eye was impossibly wide; a flaming circle with a black vortex of a pupil in the center. Tongues of eerie light curled around the ring of the iris, before plunging into the dark.


    While Dally stared Red had got a grip on his arm, and now she casually put a shoulder in his gut. Both of them bounced off her bunk, and hit the floor in a screeching tangle.


    Fighting females was shit, he remembered too late. They had too much to prove; not actually smaller, but without spines they were twice as slippery and vicious. Red twisted out of his hands, and then she was all over him like an octopus. She screamed in his ear, right before clamping her teeth down on it. Dally howled, struggled to claw her jaws open.


    Both of them knew what kind of fight it was, though, so when Red fell on top of him there was no claw in his gut to follow up. She just curled her armored knuckles, and drove them into the side of his head. Stars burst behind Dally¡¯s eyes. He flailed, snarling, and maybe he punched her, too. It was getting hard to tell.


    ¡°You spoiled fuck,¡± she hissed, ¡°extra food not enough?¡±


    From on his back, Dally twisted until he could bite her arm.


    A shadow rose up over them, blocking the wyrlight. Hannock. He was grimacing, waving over some of the other thralls. ¡°You - damnit - get her off him.¡±


    Clawed hands clamped on both of them, forcing them up, until they were both writhing but at least on their feet. Red strained at the two holding her, snapping. The third eye still burned in the center of her forehead, with its crimson eyelid peeled all the way back. Hannock looked her over, critical, and  the baton he was holding to tap her in the chest.


    ¡°You again. How many times¡ª?¡±


    ¡°I started it,¡± Dally blurted. ¡°Boss.¡±


    ¡°But I finished it.¡± Red thrashed at the hands holding her, snarling.


    ¡°Over there,¡± Hannock told her, ¡°and shut the hell up.¡± When she had been dragged away he turned back to Dally, mouth set in a hard line. ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yeah, it¡¯s not her fault. I tried to steal her rat.¡±


    Hannock made a noise of disgust. He had crossed his arms, and Dally was still too scared to look him in the eye. Hannock crept closer, studying, until Dally had to lean back to avoid touching him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how things work in that Anvil shithole you came from,¡± he said, ¡°but I don¡¯t allow fighting in my barracks. You¡¯ll be quiet from now on, or I don¡¯t care about the Governor or your smokes I will make you sorry. You hear?¡±


    He was serious, surprisingly. Dally coughed, swallowed a mouthful of blood. ¡°Sure, boss. Not a problem.¡±


    ¡°Alright. Go. Off to your bunk.¡±


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    Dally hesitated, swaying. ¡°Can I¡­ um. Mistress asked to see me.¡±


    ¡°Now? Looking like that?¡± Hannock squinted, but Dally wasn¡¯t getting any prettier. Finally he let out an explosive sigh. ¡°Come back right away if she doesn¡¯t want you.¡±


    ¡ª-


    ¡°You lied to me.¡± Dally was in Gita¡¯s chambers again, watching her unlace her corset.


    She barely looked up, but a faint smile twitched on her lips before disappearing. ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°You told me,¡± Dally said, ¡°that I¡¯d be sold on out of here. Only you knew the Requisition Act was coming up, so no one would actually want me. Only your crazy husband is buying thralls.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that.¡± The corset came away in a single stiff piece, like an insect shell. Gita flung it onto a heap of cushions, before fluffing the thin gown underneath. ¡°If you¡¯re looking for an apology, you won¡¯t get one- Where are my¡­?¡± She found her cigarette case under a cast-off glove, snapping it open as she sprawled on one of her lounges. ¡°This arrangement was your idea, remember? If you¡¯ll recall, you were very insistent.¡±


    ¡°My idea¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re annoying tonight,¡± she said, suddenly. ¡°Do I have to call the ward?¡±


    Dally rocked in place, and bit the inside of his cheek, waiting until he couldn¡¯t feel spines under his skin any more. Gita waited too, blowing out a slow stream of smoke.


    ¡°The deal¡¯s off,¡± he said.


    Her laugh was as bright as a knife blade. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°We had a understanding.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. And you still need my protection.¡±


    ¡°Your worthless protection,¡± he said, and slammed a hand down on her nightstand. It rattled hard enough that jewellery clinked. A lipstick tube rolled off to clatter on the tile.


    That finally did it. Gita¡¯s amusement turned icy, and dead-eyed.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she said, ¡°poor Dally.¡±


    It was a look he hadn¡¯t seen before, and for the first time that night he sharply remembered she was human, and a mage. The way they¡¯d been talking recently, he had got confused about how things stood.


    "My husband might have read too many war novels,¡± she said, ¡°but I know what you really are. Do you know how they sent my son back to me? Half his cheek was ripped open, and his arm was torn clean off.¡± If she was a man, she would have spat. Instead she took another deliberate pull on the cigarette. ¡°He was beautiful, my boy, and in the end I had to beg the Corps to even see him.¡±


    Magic had a smell, like burning oil and hair. Dally¡¯s nostrils twitched as Gita stalked closer. He backed a step, then another, until the back of his legs bumped a table. Gita ran a hand up the front of his uniform, and carefully tugged his collar straight. His skin prickled with sweat under her fingers.


    "You''re not my pet,¡± she went on, quiet, ¡°and I won''t shed a single tear when Tannis throws you on the scrap heap. Until then you work for me. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell him.¡±


    ¡°Tell him you¡¯ve been spying since you got here?¡±


    Dally was silent.


    ¡°It¡¯s too late for that,¡± she said, ¡°isn¡¯t it?¡± Eventually she reached up, and carefully ruffled his hair. ¡°You don¡¯t need to think, alright? You just need to go back to work. And if I feel like you¡¯re not working hard enough, well, I¡¯ll just have to choose one of your friends from the barracks, and give them the discipline you obviously need.¡±


    That got a twitch out of him, and he finally glanced away. Lyle wouldn¡¯t care about her ¡®punishing¡¯ the other thralls, no more than if she kicked a dog. She¡¯d proved that already.


    ¡°Well?¡± she asked.


    "I''ll see you tomorrow, mistress."


    "Yes."


    Halfway back, Dally¡¯s body stopped working, and carried him up against a wall. He just slowly crashed into it, pressed his forehead against the cold stone. Behind him a homunculus slowed in its scrubbing, turned its blank face to watch him. Hollow eye sockets cast shadows across its cheeks.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dally mumbled.


    He stood there for a while, until the homunculus had scrubbed a careful circle around him. There was one month to go, he kept thinking, stupidly. One month to what? This was where he lived, now.

 Ch 12: Animals

    Finally she glared at him through the veil of smoke, choked back a cough.


    ¡°You don¡¯t even like that,¡± Dally said.


    ¡°I like it more than I like you.¡±


    Dally could only nod; fair.


    --


    Dally was still bleary eyed, licking the split in his lip, when he reported to Jona the next day. The boy was lounging in one of the drawing rooms, surrounded by pastry on silver dishes. A smeared trail of syrup led from Jona¡¯s fingers across the cushion, to a tray of rose cakes.


    No, not Jona.


    Dally blinked. The new Jona was almost identical, but finer-boned. And lighter skinned. Actually, they weren¡¯t similar at all, except for the musky reek of human boy, and the lazy slump of their mouths. Easy mistake.


    Jona was behind a bookshelf, randomly picking up ornaments, and shoving them back. He was restless, already chewing viciously on something sweet-smelling.


    This couldn¡¯t be good; Jona having a little friend. At least they were going hunting. Dally¡¯s licked the sharp edge of a tooth as he thought about it. He needed to get out of this damn house for a while.


    The beating Red had gave him was more impressive in daylight; his face was mottled with bruises, with red ridges where her scratches had healed over. Still the boys barely looked up at him, before going back to talking.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like the weather for a hunt,¡± Jona said. He waved vaguely at the window,  which was speckled with rain.


    Dally swallowed a curse. Outside, the forest seemed to breath in the damp. The bare branches swayed with each hard gusts of wind. It would be cold out there, and alive.


    ¡°Good,¡± the friend said. ¡°I¡¯m glad you were the one to say so. Now I won¡¯t have to hear my father go on about it.¡±


    Dally named the boy: Kenton. He looked like a Kenton.


    ¡°Damn right.¡± Jona snorted, sprawling back on his lounge. ¡°They¡¯ll just have to accept we don¡¯t want a soaking.¡±


    Kenton had finally noticed Dally¡¯s face; his eyes narrowed as he stared. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with your thrall?¡± he asked Jona.


    ¡°He¡¯s been fighting. You¡¯ve been fighting, haven¡¯t you, Dally?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re quite torn up.¡± Jona didn¡¯t sound worried; a smirk was forming on his lips. ¡°I wonder if you lost? I mean, do we have to punish the winner?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Dally somehow kept his face blank. ¡°I mean, that¡¯s all done with, master. It was just a - a disagreement.¡±


    ¡°See?¡± Jona said to Kenton, ¡°my father buys fighters. Their minds are so twisted they try to kill each other in the barracks.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t look so bad,¡± said the friend. Maybe the boy had heard a lot about Lyle¡¯s thralls already; he looked somewhere between bored and uncomfortable.


    ¡°They breed them like that.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    Jona smirked, leaning in to his friend. ¡°To look like men. It works, but you should see the ones with worse breeding. Really they¡¯re a kind of animal. Isn¡¯t that right, Dally?¡±


    Dally stared, just for a second. ¡°Yes, master.¡±


    ¡°Change for us.¡±


    ¡°Change?¡±


    Jona scowled, talking idiot-slow for him. ¡°Take your War form.¡±


    War-form, like they were in an adventure book. Dally glanced around himself, at the gilded room.  ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know-¡±


    ¡°Change!¡±


    Without other options, Dally carefully unslung the saber. Then his jacket, shirt, pants. He dropped everything in a heap on the floor, and kicked it to the side.


    Jona didn¡¯t actually flinch, as Dally changed, but his friend did. The boy staggered a step backwards, his wide-eyed stare moving upwards to follow Dally¡¯s head. When the spines popped loose on his shoulders even Jona cringed a little, though Dally wasn¡¯t sure what they¡¯d been expecting. He let out a steaming breath, shook the itch out of his long limbs.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take him to the hall,¡± Jona said.


    This shape wasn¡¯t made for a fancy house. Dally caught sight of himself in the mirrors as they walked; a sharp-edged bulk towering over two human boys. When he passed in front of the lamps his long shadow threw them both in darkness. They were so small. If Dally reached out a hand, and put it down just right, he would crush one of them.


    The doors were big for a man, but he had to crawl through, claws scrabbling on marble. His tail snicked at crystal, brushed the surface of oil paintings. All this was bad, and none of it was his fault. Right? How much could he break before someone stopped him¡­?


    ¡°Careful,¡± Jona said, thumped one of his fists against Dally¡¯s side. It hurt about as much as a moth landing on him.


    In this form it was harder not to snarl, but he managed. ¡°Sorry, master.¡±


    Jona stiffened at the wry hiss in his voice, then glared to cover it. ¡°Where¡¯s the other one?¡±


    ¡°Other?¡±


    ¡°You know, the other pet. The one you replaced.¡±


    Oh. Great. ¡°¡­Lane Obera. He¡¯s probably asleep.¡±


    Hannock had set that up; opposite shifts. He had the two of them figured out.


    Kenton was doing a good job acting bored and sullen, but his eyes widened a little. ¡°You don¡¯t want to actually fight them.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± Jona said. ¡°Dally loves a fight. Don¡¯t you?¡±


    Fight? For once Dally was honest, his lips peeling back from sharp teeth. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    So they sent a maid, and waited.


    Lane was bleary-eyed when he showed up, but he caught on fast when he saw Dally crouched in the corner. Spines started to rise on the back of his neck. Clear membrane flickered over his eyes as he glanced between them.


    ¡°Now¡¯s your chance,¡± Jona told Lane, ¡°Don¡¯t you want revenge?¡±


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    Lane started, slowly, to take his jacket off. ¡°I don¡¯t think your father would like this, young master.¡±


    ¡°What,¡± Dally said, ¡°worried I can beat you now I¡¯m sober?¡±


    The disgust in his voice wasn¡¯t just for Lane. It was for the gold-framed mirrors, the marble tile, the two little princes, and himself, Dally Harper.


    ¡°I¡¯m not worried,¡± Lane said.


    ¡°Then hurry up.¡± Jona said, and turned to Kenton. ¡°See? They hate each other.¡±


    ¡°Maybe he¡¯s right,¡± Kenton said, hesitant, ¡°maybe we shouldn¡¯t.¡°


    ¡°Did they cut your balls off down at Prenfield?¡±


    ¡°I just think-¡° Kenton yelped, jumped back a step as Dally leapt past him.


    Lane caught him by the shoulders, slipped on the tile. They rolled, snarling, and crashed into an end table. The crystal setting on top spilled off and exploded on the tile. Pieces bounced off them. Dally spat out a few bright shards, before clamping his teeth on Lane¡¯s neck. One of the goddawful spines stabbed into Dally¡¯s gums - he yelped, rolled, and found himself on the floor. Lane punched him in the face. And again, and again. Dally hissed bloody bubbles through his nose, struggling.


    This was no Seth Greenlees, though. Maybe in his prime Lane would have been better than Dally, but his grip was already breaking. Eventually the sharp edge of Dally¡¯s tail clipped Lane¡¯s ear, and they rolled over. Spines cracked on the tile. Dally hit Lane until he whined, and tried to hide his face behind his arms. Blood ran between Dally¡¯s knuckles. He had thought it would feel good, but instead he was cold and breathing too fast. There was no smoke or hot lights here, just the two boys laughing in excitement. After a while Dally slowed, panting. The marble tile was smeared with blood under their writing bodies.


    ¡°Kill him,¡± Jona said, suddenly.


    Dally glanced up, freezing with his fingers still clamped around Lane¡¯s wrist.


    Jona was clutching his friends sleeve, to stop him backing away. ¡°I said kill him.¡± He turned to Kenton. ¡°My father will hate it,¡± he told him, ¡°it¡¯ll be so funny. Go on, Dally.¡±


    Dally just stared. In the stillness the sweat was going cold on his back. Lane looked up at him, breathing hard through a broken muzzle.


    ¡°Go on,¡± Jona said.


    Dally¡¯s ears were still ringing. Eventually he shook his head.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    Another head shake.


    ¡°Kill him, Dally.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°You belong to me!¡± Jona¡¯s voice rippled, and something twisted, eel-like, in Dally¡¯s gut. ¡°Father gave you to me!¡±


    Of course Jona could do magic, too. He was pure Savosi aristocrat, his blood so rich with aurum it probably glowed. Heat boiled off him now, wavering in the air. Dally let Lane go so he could back away, pointlessly holding his hands up. He tripped over the shattered end-table, and caught himself. When he looked down the broken walnut table legs were shivering, sprouting twigs. Fresh green tendrils sprang from the wood, then blackened, curled, and caught fire.


    ¡°You¡¯re thralls,¡± Jona said, ¡°you¡¯re meant to be at war, not fucking my father! Why are you so boring?¡±


    The skin down the front of Dally¡¯s body prickled hot, as bile rushed up in his throat. Beside him Lane lurched against the wall and vomited down the paper. Jona took another step towards them.


    Kenton clawed at his shoulder. ¡°Jona, don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°What is this?¡± Gita stood in the door, wide eyed. She was dressed for the city, in velvet and mink fur. She dropped a ruby-studded purse, as she rushed to her son. ¡°Oh, darling. Oh ¡ª what happened?¡±


    Jona had glanced up, guilty, before he was wrapped in her arms. Slowly the sick heat faded, and Dally, panting, tried to haul Lane back upright. He seemed worse than Dally, maybe because he¡¯d been closer, and was swaying drunkenly in place. When Dally took his arm he just looked up at him with bleary eyes.


    ¡°They started on each other,¡± Jona mumbled against his mother¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I tried to stop them but they wouldn¡¯t stop.¡±


    Gita made a soft sound, and clutched the boy tighter to her chest. Over the top of his head she stared at the two thralls. ¡°Go to the ward, tell him you¡¯re both to be punished for fighting.¡±


    In the hall they both sat on the cold floor for a minute, numb. The skin down the front of Dally¡¯s body felt wrong, and was specked with black-purple, like tiny bruises. Lane had more of them, and kept rocking like he was about to throw up again.


    So Dally wasn¡¯t ready for him to stagger upright, and didn¡¯t grab him in time. Dally cursed, scrambling to follow him. ¡°Hey, where are you ¡ª¡°


    ¡°To the ward.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Dally said. ¡°You¡¯re going to actually tell him?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be worse if we don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit-¡°


    ¡°We¡¯re in enough trouble,¡± Lane said, shaking him off. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the hell¡¯s wrong with you, kid. I don¡¯t know how you cause trouble. All you have to do is keep your head down, and enjoy the free food.¡±


    Dally didn¡¯t know what to say to that. He laughed, dizzy, and then had to jog to catch up.


    True to his word, Lane marched straight towards the ward¡¯s desk, while Dall hissed curses and clawed at his arm.


    ¡°The hell happened here?¡± Hannock said, seeing them.


    And then Lane told him, exactly as Gita had said it. And Hannock did as ordered.


    At least there were chains; one time Dally had been unchained for this, and had clawed half the skin off his chest. Hannock didn¡¯t stay to watch, of course, just left them writhing and shut the door. Dally didn¡¯t blame him. When the glow finally died both of them slumped, shivering. Slow trickles of blood crawled down Dally¡¯s arms from where his wrists had scraped on the cuffs.


    After a long time he coughed, swallowed. ¡°I¡¯m not staying here,¡± he rasped, ¡°I¡¯m getting out. This place is no good for us.¡±


    Lane didn¡¯t even raise his head to look at him.


    ¡°Only devils live here,¡± Dally said.


    ¡°Okay.¡±

 Ch 13: Escape

    Dally couldn¡¯t care. The fight was hard to sit through, ringing in his ears along with the permanent fever-ache. But, fighting didn¡¯t fix it. In a week the burn turned purple, then black, wet and soft. It hurt. Of course he knew it would, but it was somehow always still surpising how much it hurt. He tried to only cry at night, when the others were asleep. And, since he was already awake, he had plenty of time to  make plans.


    First things first, though: each night after falling in his bunk, Dally had struggle through a feverish fantasy about going stray. The forest was dark and wild, and soon Jona would send him into it again, chasing after deer. All Dally had to do was... keep running. He would eat boar and fish and wild fruit, and sing on his own, and never change back to his pathetic home form for the rest of his life. He could lie down in the snow, and let it suck the fever heat right out of him.


    It was just a dumb dream. Maybe some other thrall could do that; live in the woods, hunting the beautiful deers until spring. Then the woods would thaw, and the Department of Logistics and Assets would catch up with them. That other thrall could end up in a camp, or get sold back to one of the corporations in a reclamation lot. At least somewhere not-here.


    That wasn¡¯t what would happen to Dally, though. When the Deps caught Dally he would end up back here, because he was loved. And when Lyle got him back, Dally would never get another chance to run. His first try had to work. No more mistakes.


    What else was there, though? He could bribe Hannock, maybe. With cigarettes he didn¡¯t have. To do a job-ending, illegal favour. Okay. He could... steal a car...?


    When Dally¡¯s burn was finally turning to pink scars, twelve of the thralls were told to carry their blankets and spare uniforms to a barn across a field from the house. Dally went with them, and Red. Frost crunched under their boots as they walked, in silence. She still wasn¡¯t talking to him, and he kept choking on the apology he owed her.


    Lane wasn¡¯t in the small group, which felt weird, somehow. Then Dally thought a little more, and looked around at the near-human faces of the others. All of them were pretty, and young. If there were any extra parts cut off it wasn¡¯t obvious. Walking across a muddy field to a barn for unknown reasons didn¡¯t even bother them; they knew they were valuable.


    The Requisition was coming, Dally realised, suddenly. That was it. This group here was the keepers. He rubbed hard at his chest through his shirt, feeling a fresh ache in the burn. After everything, Lane wasn¡¯t even good enough to keep?


    ¡°We should have said goodbye,¡± he said.


    Red glanced at him, sidelong. ¡°We did? I said ¡®see you later, jerks.¡±


    ¡°I mean for real.¡±


    For a second it looked like she¡¯d ask, then she glared and kicked at a clod of frozen dirt.


    The barn was a crumbling cave of rotten oak, with stalls that were probably meant for horses. With the doors closed the only light came from holes in the roof, and fell in bright shafts full of dust. In the dark the others poked around, finding a mummified cat and a bucket they could melt snow in, and throwing clumps of dirty hay at each other. The whole time they giggled, swapping  bits of joke songs. They didn¡¯t know why they were here, but this was the most interesting thing that had happened in months. It still surprised Dally how sheltered these manor house thralls were; where Dally grew up no one could be relaxed about getting sent away to a barn. He himself was quiet, not willing to ruin it for them. There was a vague idea prickling at the back of his skull.


    The plan was so obvious he felt dumb as soon as he thought it. He was spreading the blanket on a damp mound of hay when he paused, staring at nothing. Dally didn¡¯t need to run off, he needed to get himself Requisitioned.


    He ran a hand back through his hair, swaying in place. Yeah. They would take him all the way to the South Front, where the songs came from; where there were, maybe, a few hundred thralls for every human. And Dally had already killed Seth Greenlees, right? That couldn¡¯t be un-done. It was like Jona said; Dally was a kind of animal, made for war.


    Except he was one of the keepers.


    After a while he went back to the doors, and opened them just enough to stare across at the manor house. The field in between was mostly mud and wet snow, stretching barely a mile. Okay. All he had to do was wait till the Deps rolled up, and then he could sprint right across that field and fall in their lap. No one would have time to stop him. Just run across the field.


    Dally flopped on his back to turn the plan over, feeling it swell up to fill the hollow space in his gut. It was simple enough to work. Not like the thing with Gita.


    ¡°You look happy,¡± Red said, after a while. For no reason, she had angrily piled her blankets in stall right next to his.


    Dally forced a smile, panicking. He couldn¡¯t tell her; Red couldn¡¯t lie to save her life.


    ¡°Guess crappy barns remind me of home,¡± he said.


    Hours passed in the mouldy dark. By midday Dally had paced the whole barn probably a hundred times, finding nothing but rusted tools and owl pellets. He rocked on his heels, then paced again. The others were singing louder, with only a little edge of nerves underneath. He opened the barn doors, closed them again when someone hissed at him. Right; Hannock had told them to stay here. Fine.


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    With enough digging he found a thin crack in the wall, so he wouldn¡¯t have to open the doors. If he pressed his face to the damp wood he could watch the sway of the trees around the house, and the empty driveway.


    No one came. After a while Red tore open one of the food sacks with her teeth, and they all dug out fists full of dry biscuit. There was  a bit of complaining; this batch wasn¡¯t even red anymore, more like pink-grey. For sure less meat in there than usual. By the time night fell, even the others had stopped singing.


    ¡°The hell is going on?¡± Kit finally asked. ¡°Where are the others?¡±


    ¡°Dally knows,¡± said Red, suddenly.


    ¡°What?¡± Kit said.


    Dally froze, as all eyes turned on him. ¡°I don¡¯t know for sure,¡± he stammered.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, Harper.¡±


    Shit.


    ¡°...I think it¡¯s a requisition. I think boss is hiding us.¡±


    That did it. All of them started asking questions at once, and someone kicked over the bucket of melting snow as they stood. One of the youngest, Nesette, started crying as they backed out of the puddle.


    When were the deps coming? someone asked, and why now? Was every thrall in Wesend going? How many? Where?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Dally kept saying.


    ¡°The hell? Why didn¡¯t you tell us?¡±


    Dally didn¡¯t know that either. ¡°I- I should have.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re all gone!¡±


    They weren¡¯t, though. Not yet. The gravel on the drive turned blue-gray in the dusk, still perfectly raked. After a while the group broke up into smaller huddles against the cold, pressed in nooks to whisper to each other. Dally huddled too, with his arms crossed across his chest. His stomach kept churning. He should have told them, yeah. Why hadn¡¯t he? Just because he didn¡¯t want to talk about anything. And he was the one that should go - the others all liked it here. And, though he kept looking through the crack in the wall, the Department didn¡¯t come.


    Okay. He was going to stay awake, and be ready.


    Three days later, they ran out of food. Hannock had been visiting once a day, and took this news with the same bland snort as everything else they complained about. Finally he waved that a couple of the thrall should go with him to the house. The two came back in an hour with sacks on their shoulders and wide eyes.


    ¡°They moved most of the bunks,¡± Kit said, ¡°like we never even lived there.¡±


    ¡°How are the others?¡± Dally asked, ¡°Hey, how¡¯s Lane?¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡± She glanced down in confusion at Dally¡¯s collar, where the burn rose above his shirt. Their fight hadn¡¯t exactly been a secret. ¡°Fine, I think. I only saw him from far off.¡±


    Dally mumbled his thanks, and walked away rubbing his eyes. He was too tired for more pacing, now. Maybe this was all a false alarm, anyway? Maybe Lyle had stopped them from even getting inspected. Dally leant against the wall of Nesette¡¯s stall, and after enough needling got them to start a game of serbat. At least Dally¡¯s rhymes were bad enough to make them giggle.


    At some point he must have fallen asleep, because he flailed awake with excited whispering all around him in the dark. There was a far away drag-skitter of big machines.


    ¡°Is it the Deps?¡± Red asked.


    Cursing, Dally tripped and stumbled to the crack in the wall. Outside was mist and moonlight. There were lights moving along the drive, hot lamplight gleaming on the fog and the chitin legs of haulers. They were moving away from the house. Dally was missing them.


    He had to push past the others to reach the doors, but when he got there he couldn¡¯t open them. Chain rattled on the other side as he yanked, kicked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Red hissed.


    ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± someone said.


    Dally was already changing shape. His clawed fingers gouged into the gaps in the door. As he wrenched at it he snarled, feet clawing trenches in the dirt. Something cracked, the sound a crisp echo in the dark.


    Red¡¯s hand fell on his shoulder. ¡°Stop,¡± she said, ¡°Dally, stop -¡°


    He shook her off, baring sharp teeth. ¡°I¡¯m going with them.¡± Another crunch, a long splinter came away in his hand.


    He didn¡¯t see Kit coming, until her arms locked around him. In a hard yank she dragged him off the door, long enough for Red to get a hold on his free arm. The two of them tore him away, howling and struggling. His own breath rasped in his head, drowning out the silence where there had been the sound of the haulers.


    ¡°You¡¯ll go to the back room again,¡± Kit said, harsh. ¡°You¡¯ll take us with you.¡±


    Kit was right, but it took a while for Dally¡¯s body to slow down. Finally he slumped, breathing hard against Red¡¯s arm. He squeezed his eyes shut. The two of them let him go, slowly, pushing him to sit on an upturned trough. Red thumped down next to him, the tin buckling under their weight. He could only see the others in thin shafts of moonlight, but felt them watching him.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Dally whispered, to Red¡¯s blank shadow. ¡°about the rat.¡±


    She snorted. ¡°You know I would have just given it to you, if you asked polite.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    Eventually she slid to lean against his side. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±

 Ch 14: Art

    ¡°Are you going to run off?¡± Red asked. She had finally dragged him back to ¡®his¡¯ pile of damp straw, and sat down next to him. One hand was tangled into his sleeve, so she¡¯d feel if he got up.


    ¡°Yeah. Probably.¡±


    ¡°When?¡±


    Dally tried to make out her face in the dark. When? Soon. Right now. Every muscle in his body was still tight coiled, like he was a cat bunched up to leap. As soon as they left him alone he¡¯d tear up the doors and run through the woods until dawn, sleep in a ditch all day, run some more...


    No. This was stupid. He still needed to wait until they went hunting - that was the biggest head start he could get.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you still have the eye,¡± he said, instead of answering. ¡°I thought, you know. Because you uh... never open it...?¡±


    It was a dumb thing to say; halfway through Red had gone stiff, glancing around.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, ¡°well, they don¡¯t like it. Anyway if I open it it makes my head hurt, with all the colors? So I just don¡¯t bother.¡±


    ¡°You see more colors?¡± he asked, surprised. For most people, their extra parts were just spares, not different from the regular ones.


    ¡°Mhm,¡± she said. ¡°Like you, you¡¯re all blue.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Dally thought about it. ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡±


    She shrugged in the dark. ¡°Hell if I know.¡±


    The next day they all got marched back to the house like nothing had happened. When Dally went to get the paper Lyle was on the front page, along with Lane and the others who were gone. Lyle was smiling, and shaking the hand of a man in grey Department uniform. The dep''s own thralls loitered around the edges of the group, dressed in the same grey except for the bright wyr bars on their shoulders. To Dally their blank faces looked bored and sullen. They were used to raids, not bland surrenders.


    Lane and the others looked shocked.


    Dally stared at the page for a long time before he brought it to the table, standing stiffly in the kitchen hall. When he handed it over Lyle smiled, appreciative.


    "Governor Tannis Lyle commits his household guard to the war effort," he read, to Gita. "Didn''t I tell you I¡¯d handle it?"


    Gita ground her cigarette out. "I suppose you did prove bribery works," she said, acid. Maybe she was happy she got to keep her spy, but she hadn''t even glanced at Dally.


    Lyle did, looking him up and down. "It''s good you''re back in the house," he said.


    Gita excused herself.


    With only silent homunculi, the house felt empty and cold. The few thralls left behind were too spread out to see each other during the day. Lyle didn''t seem to notice. He lead Dally around like a shadow, holding the same one - sided conversation as usual. Dally for his part forced a smile, and answered the non-questions as cheerful as he could stand. The last thing he needed was Lyle comforting him.


    The governor eventually went to his office, and Dally let out a faint breath of relief; he¡¯d never been allowed in there. Not even the staffers were. Lyle pressed his signet ring to the steaming surface of the membrane-lock, and the door opened with a wet thunk of valves.


    When he¡¯d stepped through, he turned back to Dally. ¡°Well? Come on.¡±


    Dally went stiff, glancing around at the familiar hall.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± Lyle smiled again, waving him through. When Dally had slunk across the threshold he slammed the door behind him. On this side of the door the live seals rippled over the frame, before sucking tight.


    The office felt cramped, for this house, and dirty. The ceiling was stained with soot, and all five tables were overflowing with paper. A cage built into the window flashed and whirred, full of rat-size mirrorboys. The winged bugs shoved each other off a perch, struggling to be the one sitting closest to the cage door. Dally had only seen them at a distance before. Up close they were even more confusing, and with their twitching mandibles and slashing tails - hard to tell if they were lizards, insects or dead-machines, or all three.


    There were other things he knew even less about. In abandoned corners glass jars full of murky liquid sat on shelves, surrounded by, crusts of dried powder. Metal arcs and gears curving round cores of oily-grey aurum, though the machines, whatever they were, sat still and idle. A homunculus stood in the corner under a thick coat of dust, its posture perfectly straight. There was something wrong with its skin, though, its damp clay smell. Dally didn¡¯t have to ask to know it was dead.


    ¡°Excuse the mess,¡± Lyle said, ¡°I keep forgetting to replace him. Here, sit down. You¡¯ll have a drink, won¡¯t you?¡±


    By midday Dally was half drunk, staring dazed out the window. He hadn¡¯t moved from the chair in the center of the room. There was nothing to do but watch Lyle, and Lyle was actually working. The governor didn¡¯t touch the magic-looking stuff. He just wrote down words on bits of paper, then scribbled them out.


    Finally he got up with the latest scrap, and stalked muttering to the window. In the cage all the mirrorboys suddenly scrabbled at the door. Lyle grabbed the closest one, before slamming the door on the rest. The chosen one vibrated in his fist. Lyle curled the paper into the mirrorboy¡¯s mouth, and hunched, whispering. The bug shuddered, then sprung from his palm and out the open window. Mirror wings flashed in the sun, as it shot away.


    Dally stared after it, feeling his muscles coil up again. If he jumped out after it, what would happen? Would Lyle grow wings on him, before he hit the ground?


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    He drained his glass instead, watching the remaining bugs crawl back to their feed tray. There was something weird going on in his head, like an idea. Except he was done with ideas, right?


    Except, if he could get one of the mirrorboys, he could tell people that Lyle hid thralls from the Requisition. Too bad Dally couldn¡¯t get into this office without Lyle. Too bad he couldn¡¯t write.


    The next day he took the paper to hand to Lyle at breakfast, and listened a little better than normal.


    ¡°Thrall reinforcement shortage extends into fourth month,¡± Gita read aloud. ¡°They have what they wanted, but they¡¯re still complaining.¡±


    ¡°You know the generals,¡± Lyle said, ¡°always in crisis, aren¡¯t they? How else do they get any money out of us.¡±


    Dally tore the page off, as he cleared the table. Thrall was the first word. That was convenient. The next few probably weren¡¯t useful, but he mumbled the whole phrase to himself a couple of times to make it stick. Compared to remembering a song this wasn¡¯t hard. The writing was hard, though, the tiny little curls and dots seeming to squirm as he squinted at them. Where did the words start and end?


    ¡°What¡¯s that for?¡± Red asked, as he slid the page under his mattress.


    ¡°I like the picture on it,¡± he said, pulling it back out to show her. The back of the page had an occuloscope drawing of a racehorse. Then he got distracted, looking at it. The picture was actually pretty good; clear enough to see the flying mane, and dirt flicking up from the hooves.


    ¡°Um,¡± she said, hiding a smile. ¡°Okay? Actually I got something else for you, if you want.¡±


    While he waited, swaying in place, Red stood on her bunk and stretched to feel around on top of the wyrlight cages in the ceiling. He wasn¡¯t ready when she flung the gift down at him. The bundles bounced off his chest as he scrambled to catch them; two rolls of cigarettes.


    ¡°I thought you smoked them all,¡± he said, feeling stupid.


    ¡°Yeah, well. Like you said, I don¡¯t even like them.¡±


    By the end of the week Dally had papers for ¡®thrall¡¯, ¡®requisition¡¯, ¡®Governor Tannis Lyle¡¯, and a lot more junk words. Staring at the writing in the middle of the night wasn¡¯t making it come any clearer, but he figured now that the long tails on some letters might be where the word stopped. Whatever - Dally didn¡¯t need to read. He needed to copy.


    Hannock didn¡¯t even glance up, when Dally slunk to his desk that night. It was only a couple hours before dawn. He¡¯d been flicking through a war novel, holding the book up close a dying wyr lamp.


    ¡°Off to the mistress?¡± Hannock said.


    ¡°Not tonight, boss. Listen, I figure you¡¯ve got pens and paper, for your records?¡±


    That stopped him. Hannock tilted his head back, to look at him with narrowed eyes. ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°I figure... maybe you can spare some.¡±


    ¡°Spare-?¡±


    Dally put both bundles of smokes down on the desk, carefully lining them up with the edge. ¡°That¡¯s all I got left.¡±


    Hannock stared, but didn¡¯t reach for them. ¡°What do you even want with a pens, boy?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s all those pictures, up in the house? I think I want to try that. You know, drawing.¡±


    Hannock got done laughing, eventually. He looked Dally up and down. ¡°Drawing.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Like in the house.¡± Though it was a lie, Dally was starting to get embarrassed for real. He squirmed in place, glanced back over his shoulder at the sleeping barracks. What, couldn¡¯t thralls do drawings?


    When he looked back, Hannock had reached across the desk for the cigarettes. Then Dally had to wait, teeth grit, while he lit one. Finally Hannock sighed a cloud of smoke, smiling. After rummaging in one of the desk drawers, he pulled out a few sheets of thin grey paper, and a cheap pen. It looked like a hollow bone, with ink sloshing in a thin membrane chamber.


    Even knowing it was nothing special, Dally¡¯s stomach flipped over.


    ¡°Now,¡± Hannock said, ¡°you know this isn¡¯t the dangerous kind of pen. There¡¯s no aurum in here at all.¡±


    ¡°Sure, boss. Just a pen. That¡¯s what I want.¡± Still it took him a long second to even touch it, and then he shoved it quick in his sleeve, out of sight. The skin touching it start to itch, like cold ink was leaking down his arm.


    ¡°Hide that properly on the other shifts,¡± Hannock was saying, ¡°do you hear me? If it ever comes back to me I¡¯ll say that you stole it.¡±


    ¡°No problem.¡±


    ¡°Off with you, then.¡± He snorted. ¡°Do some art, I suppose.¡±


    Dally pulled out the pen once he was huddled in his bunk, as dawn light started to creep in the windows. First he looked at it for a long time, then picked it up like something that would sting him. It didn¡¯t, and eventually the swirl in his guts slowed down enough for him to hold it properly. On one corner of a sheet of paper he scratched a tiny line.


    The line did nothing, sitting there. It was weak and blobby from the bad dry ink on the nib. Dally carefully drew another one next to it, then accidentally a small arc like a mouth. He filled the mouth with sharp teeth, and drew two eyes over it. The tiny face stared at him angrily. Dally paused, then drew a third eye in the middle, like Red¡¯s.


    ¡°Do some art,¡± he muttered.


    The little picture wasn¡¯t good, but it was definitely a drawing. Satisfied, he took out his scraps of newspaper, and started practicing.

 Ch 15: Ajdin

    Dally ¡®read¡¯ his message again, mumbling the words he thought were there.


    ¡®Gov. Tannis Lyle still keeps a thrall, -¡®


    The space at the end was long; that¡¯s where his name would go, as soon as he found his sale contract. After two weeks the words still looked like a forest of tiny scratches and dots. These marks were familiar, now, but if there was a reason these scratches went with these words he couldn¡¯t figure what it was. He read it again.


    Something in his chest clenched ¡ª he yanked the newspapers from under his mattress, and smoothed them out next to his own writing, already frantically scanning them again. His copied out words looked identical to the original, same as last time he checked. What if they weren¡¯t, though? What if thralls just couldn¡¯t tell the difference, and that¡¯s why Dally couldn¡¯t read? A human would know instantly.


    But they looked identical.


    Eventually Dally forced a breath, and shoved the newspapers away. His own message he carefully rolled up, and slid into his uniform sleeve. All he needed was a couple of minutes alone in Lyle¡¯s office. No problem.


    He was halfway to the door, when Hannock waved him over. A cigarette drooped from his lips. ¡°Go on out the front,¡± he said, ¡°you¡¯re going hunting.¡±


    ¡°I ¡ª Hunting?¡± The message pressed against Dally¡¯s wrist. ¡°Master asked for me.¡±


    ¡°Eh. He said Jona gets you when he likes.¡± Hannock squinted at him. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be happy to get out for a bit?¡±


    ¡°...Sure. I mean, thanks boss.¡±


    ¡°Go on, then.¡±


    Dally was almost there when he realised the message was still in his sleeve, and he was going to have to take off the uniform. In the alcove before the servants door he hesitated, rubbed hard at his neck. Maids and kitchen boys wandered past, staring sideways at him the whole time. Eventually Dally shrugged out of his jacket, but instead of hanging it away like he¡¯d been told before he folded it around the message, over and over. He shoved the bundle in a corner behind the boot rack.


    Outside the sun gleamed on melting snow, the wet flanks of Jona¡¯s horse. Jona was staring out over the field, already mounted. He took one bored look at Dally before kicking his horse into a gallop. Dally had to follow, of course, which meant falling to run on all fours, scrambling over the frozen dirt. They went like that for too long before slowing at the top of a ridge. Dally doubling over, coughing. He wasn¡¯t made to keep up with horses.


    ¡°How¡¯s your chest,¡± Jona asked, smiling down at him.


    ¡°Healed. Master.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good, I hope you learned something from it.¡±


    Dally looked up at him, blank. He was imagining a maid back at the house pulling out his uniform jacket. The maid shook it flat, and a scrap of paper floated out. Gov. Tannis Lyle still keeps a thrall -


    ¡°A buck.¡± Jona pointed.


    The deer turned, and crashed through a thicket into the deep woods. Dally bolted after it, but he was far behind. Ahead of him the deers shadow flickered between trees, getting smaller, until Dally lost it. The hiss and sqeak of breaking snow faded into silence. It was gone.


    Dally stopped behind a ridge, his own breath loud in his ears. The woods were silent, except for the trickle of snowmelt under his feet. He turned, slowly, seeing nothing but trees in all directions. Sometimes sun flashed on water droplets, raining down from the melting icicles.


    When Dally got back, they would send him straight to that back room with the chains. Dally¡¯s hand crept to scratch at his chest, feeling his heart pounding through the skin.


    He could still run. Right now. Probably his writing was no good anyway, right? Who did he think he was --


    ¡°Dally.¡± Jona¡¯s voice was still far away, the crackle of the horse¡¯s feet echoing.


    Seconds passed, with Dally pressed against the wet rock ridge. He closed his eyes. An ice-cold drop of water landed on his shoulder, slid over the bare ridges of spines down his back. He forced another shuddering breath.


    He was just scared to get burned, that was all. This was what happened, like the ink seeped into your blood and made you crazy. The note was fine. Probably. Dally only had humans to tell him thralls couldn¡¯t write, and humans lied all the time. And if they found the note, he would... survive. Again. If he ran, he would be a dumb animal in the woods just like the deer, and some other thrall would be chasing him down.


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    Dally clambered back up the ridge, shaking off snow in a rattle of spines. The horse spooked, seeing him. It jerked sideways, eyes rolling, while Jona struggled to cling on.


    ¡°I lost it,¡± Dally said. ¡°The deer.¡±


    ¡°Useless.¡± Jona yanked the horse around, and drove his heels in its flanks.


    Jona only ran the horse around for another few minutes, before turning towards home. Once they got there Dally rushed for his uniform, still bristling with spines as he pushed open the door. When he got there though he froze, suddenly nauseous. The corner where he¡¯d stashed the jacket was empty.


    After two frantic circuits of the servant passages he found it, straightened out and pristine. Someone had brushed it down and carefully hung it on a wall rail. Dally yanked it off the hanger and pawed at every inch of navy blue fabric, turned the sleeves inside out, shook it. No paper fell out. He should have run.


    He stood there for a while, with his fingers going white where they bunched up the fabric. Eventually he couldn¡¯t think what to do except make himself put the jacket on, and walk out into the house.


    Kit glanced at him as he passed, and made a small friendly sign with her hand. He echoed it, completely automatic, before turning at random down another corridor. He should be going to Lyle, or back to the ward, but it was like his body wouldn¡¯t let him. It was cold. He kept tugging at the front of his shirt, trying to make the fabric not touch his chest.


    On his fifth circuit of the house, a clay man stepped out in front of him, and set down a bucket of mop water.


    ¡°¡®Scuse me,¡± Dally mumbled, moving to walk around. He got two steps before the homunculus stepped in front of him again, arms slowly stretching out.


    Now Dally glanced up, watching it. After living here for eight months he could finally tell them apart, though all of them had the same filigree face, the same holes for eyes. Since he didn¡¯t know their names he called this one Ajdin, like the hero in the song Ash and Rain. There was a mark on one of its feet, where the porcelain was stained with kiln smoke. They had rode on the car together a few times.


    ¡°Did they send you to get me?¡± Dally asked, dull.


    A long moment passed. After a while Ajdin touched a hand to its chest, gently feeling around. The searching fingers tripped a latch, and the front of its body opened, unfurling like the petals of a clay flower.


    Inside the homuculus glowed, like it was still hot from the kiln. There was strange twisting pipes, joining onto wet clay orbs. Everything pulsed, steaming, and as Dally leaned closer a furnace heat beat on his face. If these were its guts Dally didn¡¯t understand them. Still he stared, helpless.


    Then Ajdin reached inside, and Dally swore, flinching back. ¡°Careful!¡±


    Ajdin looked up at him, then went back to feeling ¡ª carefully ¡ª around. When it pulled its hand out there was something pinched between the thick fingers, fluttering in the heat. Ajdin held out the slip of paper and dropped it into Dally¡¯s palm.


    Dally swallowed, his whole body going stiff. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The homunculus¡¯ chest was already sealing itself closed. It stood in front of him for another second, totally still, and then turned and picked up its mop. That was it. It took Dally a second before he could move again, then he curled the message back up in his sleeve.


    ¡°Are you a human?¡± Dally asked. ¡°Are you human inside there?¡±


    Ajdin mopped. After a while Dally edged closer, hesitated, and put a hand on the clay shoulder. Ajdin¡¯s shoulder was raw-fired, smooth and lukewarm. It didn¡¯t look up, but for a second Dally thought the mopping slowed.


    ¡°I think you¡¯re a person,¡± he went on. ¡°You should try to get out, too.¡±


    The homunculus sloshed more water on the floor.


    Dally carefully skirted the wet patch, walking a lot slower than before. The message must be fine, he knew now. Why else did Ajdin save it for him, and hide it in his chest? The homunculus must be able to read. Thralls must be able to write.


    All Dally had to do now was get in Lyle¡¯s office alone. All he needed for that was the ring Lyle wore all the time. Fine. He could do that.

 Ch 16: Mirror

    Stealing the ring was going to be harder than he thought. Lyle wasn¡¯t alone, and he wasn¡¯t drunk.


    Dally hadn¡¯t never wanted that combination before, but now that he needed the son of a bitch to pass out on a sofa Lyle was wide awake and surrounded by flunkies. They packed out the drawing room, spilling into the hall. Too-loud laughter filled the air, along with a choking fog of smoke. The part of Dally¡¯s brain that automatically spied for Gita listened in; they were writing Lyle¡¯s inauguration speech, planning last-minute rallies. All the hangers on were sure ¡ª dead certain ¡ª Lyle would keep the Governorship.


    There was a gap in the crowd, so Dally shoved through, feeling the men in suits shrink away from him as he passed too close.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you go hunt,¡± Lyle told him, waving him off. ¡°Go out with Jona.¡±


    The next day was worse; most of them hadn¡¯t slept, and the room reeked of boozy sweat. Instead of trying again Dally watched the edge of the crowd, standing motionless in an alcove. The mage¡¯s earrings glittered under tangled hair. Occasionally their bleary eyes met his and slid off without connecting. He was still invisible.


    After a while Dally shook his coat sleeves straight, and strolled off down the hall. This needed some kind of actual plan.


    ?


    Dally found Ajdin methodically polishing one of the dining tables. The homunculus didn¡¯t look up as he approached.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Dally said. No response. He rubbed hard at the back of his neck, rocking in place. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t ask if I didn¡¯t have to,¡± he said, ¡°but I need your help again.¡±


    Ajdin folded the polishing cloth, over and over into a perfect rectangle.


    ¡°I need you to come with me,¡± Dally said, ¡°so I can get in the office.¡±


    The motion slowed, and eventually Ajdin looked up at him, the hollow eyes empty as usual.


    ¡°I know we¡¯re not meant to be in there,¡± Dally went on. ¡°I know. I need to get in to send that note you had.¡±


    That meant something to it. There was a long pause where Ajdin shuddered slightly, like a machine with gears grinding. Then they made a sign with slow, thick fingers; open-close-open. Dally blinked, wondering if he¡¯d imagined it. That gesture was something thralls did, but he never saw anyone else use it before. It meant something like ¡®okay, but gods help us.¡¯


    The two of them edged into Lyle¡¯s conference room, stepping over piles of fliers strewn on the floor. When they were halfway to Lyle a drunk staffer bounced into Ajdin¡¯s chest, clawing for balance. ¡°Where¡¯s the coffee? We ordered coffee-¡°


    ¡°Coming, boss.¡± Dally smiled with sharp teeth, and the man pulled away.


    Lyle was hunched on one of the lounges, surrounded by flunkies. He didn¡¯t look up for a long time. His shirt was rumpled, damp hair sticking to the back of his neck.


    ¡°Dally,¡± he said, and finally seemed to notice the homunculus. ¡°What are you...?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the new one,¡± Dally said, ¡°for the office? It just got delivered.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Lyle said, confused.


    ¡°I think you ordered it last week.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡ª¡° Lyle lurched like he was going to stand up, then slowly sank back onto the lounge. ¡°I can¡¯t¡ª¡° Some flunky was trying to get his attention, and Lyle waved him off.


    He looked Dally up and down, and eventually whined in soft frustration. With one hand he tugged the signet ring off of his finger. ¡°Now, I¡¯m too busy to go with you, but do you think you know how to use the lock?¡±


    Dally pretended to think about it, then nodded, earnest.


    Lyle pat him on the arm. ¡°Good lad. Take this to the office and put it where the other one was. Bring the ring right back when you¡¯re done.¡±


    The ring lay heavy in Dally¡¯s palm, and he had to stop himself staring at it. Was it really this easy?


    No one stopped them on the way out. Dally clenched the ring in his fist, and when no one was looking flashed Ajdin a wide grin. The homunculus watched him in silence.


    ¡°Dally.¡± Gita¡¯s voice rang down the hall. Dally¡¯s face went blank again, as she stepped out from a doorway ahead of them. ¡°Where are you going with that?¡±


    ¡°Replacing the office clayman, Mistress.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t order new homunculi.¡± Gita¡¯s eyes narrowed. She was the one who actually did the household management.


    Dally froze for a long moment, feeling Ajdin judder to a halt next to him. Eventually he took a step closer to her, muttering under his breath. ¡°Look, you said you wanted to know what¡¯s in the Anvil contracts? Well this is the only way to get them. Your man doesn¡¯t even talk to Butler anymore; he just shoves the letters in a drawer.¡± That last part was actually true. No one had ever accused Lyle of facing his problems head on.


    ¡°Give the ring to me,¡± she said. When Dally hesitated she snorted. ¡°You can¡¯t read, can you? How exactly were you planning to find the files?¡±


    ¡°I know where they are.¡±


    Gita laughed, and Dally felt any last scrap of hope dissolve. He forced his fingers to unclench from the ring in his fist. As soon as he¡¯d dropped it in Gita¡¯s palm she turned on her heel, stalking off towards the office.


    Dally grit his teeth to stop a howl, and rocked in place once, hissing through his lips. Then he jogged after her. As Gitaa looked back at him he held up a hand, appeasing.


    ¡°Boss sent me. I oughta at least come with you, you know, for cover?¡±


    Gita looked him up and down, shrugging her stole up around her shoulders. But she didn¡¯t tell him to leave, and when he started following her she just kept walking. The quiet tink of Ajdin¡¯s feet faded behind them ¡ª she was going too fast. The homunculus only caught up at the door, as Gita pressed the ring to the lock¡¯s gently breathing surface. The door shuddered, clanked slowly open.


    Inside she cursed at the mounds of loose paper, the crusted-over tea cup. She started opening drawers at random, rifling, tossing pages out onto the desk.


    ¡°They¡¯re over here,¡± Dally muttered, going to an abandoned cabinet in the corner. Maybe he couldn¡¯t read, but he knew the Anvil logo. It was tattooed on the back of his mother¡¯s shoulder.


    As Gita flipped through the files he watched her sidelong, feeling his chance trickling away. Okay, okay. This was fixable. He was in the office, he just needed her out of this room.


    ¡°Actually,¡± he said, ¡°I uh. I needed to talk to you about something.¡±


    ¡°Not here,¡± she hissed,


    ¡°It¡¯s about Jona.¡±


    Gita glanced up.


    ¡°He... um. He said some things to me.¡± Dally, paused, struggling to latch onto his own fragile plan. ¡°He doesn¡¯t want to be here.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t?¡± That clearly hurt, but she covered pretty well, only blinking a little fast, brushing hair away from her face. ¡°Of course not, he loves that school. He misses his friends.¡±


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    ¡°No, I mean, um.¡± Dally glanced away. ¡°I mean he doesn¡¯t want to be in this world anymore.¡±


    Now she was really stopped, with the file hanging forgotten in her hand. ¡°He didn¡¯t say that.¡±


    Dally let her think on it. He picked up a thick wad of paper off the desk, rifled through it, slowly, and put it down again.


    ¡°Of course you hate him,¡± Gita said. ¡°Maybe you would like if he hurt himself.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t hate him.¡±


    ¡°So you liked that burn he gave you?¡±


    Dally only twitched a little. ¡°He¡¯s just a boy, Mistress. With Mariel gone, he¡¯s just... lost.¡±


    ¡°You misunderstood him.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. I hope so.¡±


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t confide in a thrall, anyway. He¡¯d talk to me.¡±


    Dally tried not to laugh. ¡°He¡¯s the wrong age for that,¡± he said, as flat as he could manage. ¡°Who are you more honest with, your servants or your mother?¡±


    It was working; Gita glanced around the room like there¡¯d be some answer in the corners. ¡°When did he say this?¡±


    ¡°Yesterday, on the hunt.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Gita went back to the files, flipping listlessly for a few seconds. Then she shoved the drawer closed. ¡°Take the ring back,¡± she said. ¡°Put these in the greenhouse under the sump hood.¡±


    She barely paused to shove the file into Dally¡¯s hands before stalking out. The door hissed shut behind her.


    ¡°Mercy,¡° Dally breathed, catching Ajdin¡¯s eye. The homunculus had stopped next to the other one; the still, lifeless statue. Ajdin had turned their back to the body, and was wiping down a benchtop.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do that,¡± Dally said, suddenly horrified. ¡°I¡¯m sure as hell not leaving you in here.¡±


    The room felt weirdly sharp and clear without humans taking up the air. There was so much clutter. Dally shoved a stack of dog-eared files aside and started digging through the cabinet they were blocking, looking for something with his name on it. Somewhere in here was his own Bill of Sale - he knew what that looked like. He knew what the word ¡®name¡¯ looked like. He didn¡¯t know what ¡®Dally Harper¡¯ looked like.


    His contract was at the bottom of a pile, half crumpled; the piece of paper that said he belonged to Tannis Lyle. The page felt light and flimsy, and he had to pause for a second just to stare at it. Then he smoothed it out on the desk, and started copying:


    ¡®Gov. Tannis Lyle still keeps a thrall,


    Dally Harper.¡®


    Could Ajdin read? Dally hesitantly held his work up to the homunculus, who was wiping dust off of a side-board. Ajdin looked at the page with black-pit eyes. After a long time they raised a hand, pointing at Dally.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dally mumbled, pleased. ¡°That¡¯s my name.¡±


    The mirrorboys rustled as he came up to them, flashing silver wings. They weren¡¯t clamoring to get to the door like they did with Lyle, but when Dally reached in they didn¡¯t back away. He took the closest one out, gingerly, feeling it vibrate in his hand. Up close the mirrorboy¡¯s ruby-red eyes had a thousand glittering facets, like a cut jewel. It looked up at him, and put an eerily human hand up to its mouth to lick.


    Dally carefully rolled up his message. The mirrorboy snatched it instantly, clasping it to its chest. A second passed, with Dally just watching it on his palm.


    ¡°Where?¡± asked the mirrorboy.


    Its voice was almost impossible to hear; a soft buzz like cicadas in summer. Dally didn¡¯t know they could talk.


    ¡°Uh.¡± Dally blinked, trying to get his bearings. ¡°The Wesend Tribune. Their office.¡±


    The Tribune was a paper Lyle complained a lot about ¡ª always reporting on his bullshit. They would like the note.


    The mirroboy¡¯s mandibles slowly opened and closed. Again it combed one of its small hand over its face, cleaning the gem-like eyes. ¡°Whe...re?¡±


    Shit.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Dally admitted. ¡°Can you find it?¡±


    The mirrorboy purred to itself. In the cage behind it the others were crowding up to the bars, wings flickering. Dally squinted against the flashes of sunlight. There was a quiet metallic sound too, like a knife on steel.


    ¡°What are they saying?¡± Dally asked, though it was just a guess. The flashing had patterns in it, very fast and complicated.


    ¡°Saying thrall not master, don¡¯t going.¡±


    Shit. ¡°Well, master sent me ¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not true.¡± The mirrorboy tilted its head.


    ¡°I, um.¡±


    Why had he ever thought that the mirrorboys were just machines? Dally saw them almost every day. Why didn¡¯t he notice? Why was his plan to just use them?


    ¡°You¡¯re right, okay?¡± he said, eventually. ¡°But, I really need to send this. I really need to.¡± Dally swallowed. ¡°Please. I can¡¯t stay here.¡±


    He never said that before, even to Red. It felt pathetic, and came out quiet and rough-sounding.


    There was more shuffling in the cage, but the one on the desk still just stood there, watching Dally instead. Finally it clicked its mandibles again. ¡°Where?¡±


    Dally let out a rushed breath. ¡°Can you uh...¡± he hadn¡¯t thought this far ahead. ¡°Can you find one of the paper boys selling it? They sell it on the street, they yell ¡®Wesend Tribune¡¯. If you go to Salnit, you¡¯ll see one on the street if you circle around.¡±


    The mirrorboy held a tiny hand in front of its face, and for some reason curled its fingers, one at a time, like it was counting. When it got to zero fingers the eerie head swivelled to look at Dally again. ¡°Yes.¡±


    Sunlight flashed off its wings as they vibrated. The mirrorboy launched off the desk and out the window, already a blur. It gained speed until it was just a bright streak against a grey sky, then it was gone. Dally watched the place where it disappeared, slowly dragging a hand back over his hair. Ajdin stood next to him, silent.


    Dally went to close the cage door, but got stuck halfway through the motion, his fingers clenched on the bars.


    ¡°You should all go,¡± he said, and swung the door wider open. ¡°Just go, right now, wherever you want.¡±


    There was a long moment when nothing happened, then another fast series of flashes rippled through the group.


    ¡°Message,¡± said one.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need one. You can do what you want.¡±


    ¡°Message.¡±


    ¡°Mess¡ª Take this,¡± Dally snatched up a random page from the desk, ¡°take anything you want. It¡¯s all bullshit.¡±


    They looked at him, their crystal eyes blank. Maybe they understood him better than he understood them.


    ¡°Message.¡±


    A heavy thump on his shoulder made him flinch. Ajdin had come up behind him and laid one thick, clay hand on Dally¡¯s shoulder. The homunculus was right ¡ª this was not something the could fix. Dally breathed out slow through his nose, and made himself shut the cage door. They walked out of the office together.

 Ch 17: Gone

    For two days, everything was normal.


    It felt like a dream, when you¡¯re just on the edge of waking up. Dally walked around in a daze, noticing things again that he hadn¡¯t in months. Snowmelt trickling off the roof made soft, musical sounds if you stood on the top levels. The kitchen smelled like the deer he caught for Jona, slowly roasting. The tile had tiny circular scratches, from all the scrubbing the homunculi did.


    Dally tried talking to Ajdin again, but the homunculus didn¡¯t stop cleaning. He beat Red at serbat for the first time. That made her score about fourteen hundred and twelve to Dally¡¯s one.


    ¡°I was thinking about food,¡± she said, furious.


    ¡°That or I learned how to rhyme.¡±


    ¡°Nope. No. We need to go again, you start.¡±


    On the third day the mirrorboy came back. Lyle waved that Dally should let it in, distracted. When Dally tried to it bumped drunkenly against the window pane before blundering through the gap, then crashed, exhausted, on Dally¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Dally whispered, wide-eyed. At least the mirrorboy¡¯s small hands were empty; maybe it made it to the Tribune office after all.


    The mirrorboy whirred softly against his ear, sinking on its belly. It curled its knife-thin wings over and over around itself. In another second it had folded them into a silver dome, completely covering its body.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Lyle said. ¡°You can put that back in the cage. Be careful, they¡¯re expensive.¡±


    Dally muttered an apology to the mirrorboy before carefully peeled it off his shoulder, feeling tiny claws snag in his jacket. It just lay in his hand, still and feather-light. Its faint breath rushed against his palm. Before Dally opened the cage he hesitantly rest a fingertip on top of the mirror dome of wings - the closest he could get to giving it a pat on the shoulder. He put the mirrorboy back in the cage.


    ¡°I need to get a new homunculus,¡± Lyle muttered to Dally, ¡°didn¡¯t I say I was going to order one?¡±


    Two days later, Dally was panting and sweating, struggling to haul the biggest stag he ever brought back. It was hotter than winter had any right to be, with the sun beating down on his back. The deer was slung around his shoulders. Its massive crown of antlers jabbed at his chest with each step. As Dally stumbled toward the butcher shed one of the sub-wards stuck his head out the kitchen door.


    ¡°Leave that,¡± the man said, ¡°come with me.¡±


    Dally dropped the deer in an ice puddle under the stoop, just grateful to put the damn thing down. Its broad antlers slowly sank into the mud as he changed shape. The ward tapped his foot as he waited, and then turned up the stairs, muttering to himself.


    It felt strange, somehow off. The feeling only got stronger, the deeper they got into the servant passages. Dally dripped sweat and bloody snowmelt on the floor, still waiting for his breathing to slow down. He¡¯d put on the rough-spun shirt and pants he¡¯d left inside the servants door, but no shoes. When the ward opened a door into the real house he stopped.


    ¡°Where are we going, boss?¡±


    ¡°Third floor drawing room,¡± the man said, annoyed, and prod him in the shoulder. ¡°Go on.¡±


    Dally hesitantly put one muddy foot down on the marble tile, then the other. He walked slow enough that the ward nudged him again, cursing.


    The house was normal, though. Everything was quiet, the gold fixtures gleaming in the afternoon sun. A homunculus passed them, examining Dally¡¯s footprints with hollow eyes.


    The ward opened the drawing room door and waved that Dally should enter. As soon as he had, the man slammed it shut behind him.


    ¡°Wait here,¡± he said, shouting over the clank of the lock.


    Dally waited until his footsteps faded, then muttered a curse, pointlessly rattling the door knob. When he¡¯d proved for sure it was locked he dragged a hand back over his hair rocking in place.


    This had to be like the barn, right? Locking Dally away somewhere so Lyle could bribe the Deps, and send them off.


    Dally was pacing the room, and finally stopped when he thought about Ajdin mopping up his footprints.


    This was the barn. Yeah. What if he was wrong, though? His chest itched, and his hand crept on its own to scratch at the scar.


    He went to the window, and yanked the plush curtains open. Outside was a three story drop, straight onto the frozen gravel at the side of the house. Beyond that were the manicured gardens, still glittering with damp snow in the shadows.


    As Dally considered the fall, though, two men crept around the side of the house.


    The two guys were wearing dark wool coats and scarves, but not good ones like Lyle¡¯s men. They had scruffy two-week beards and damp hair stuck to their foreheads. Black, chitinous live-machines were slung over their shoulders on strings. Mostly it was stuff Dally had never seen before. He knew the occuloscope, though. One of the men raised the it to his face; a gleaming gold eye with two dark pupils, encased in a wood shell bristling with levers. The lens twitched as it focused and refocused on the side of the house. When its bright gaze found Dally¡¯s window both pupils suddenly narrowed.


    The men froze. One pointed up at him, squinting through the afternoon sun. Slowly Dally raised a hand and waved at them, dazed. They didn¡¯t wave back. The occuloscope flickered dark-light-dark over and over, taking pictures.


    Maybe they weren¡¯t meant to be here: a thrall slunk around the side of the house, following, though she stopped a safe distance back from the two humans. Definitely not one Dally knew. Her home form was bad, bristling with spines and jagged teeth, but he cared more about her grey Dep uniform. That was just like in the picture; Governor Tannis Lyle commits his household guard to War Effort.


    Dally didn¡¯t think before starting to change shape. It was clumsy and too-fast, enough that he bared his teeth at the empty room. The thin shirt started to tear before he ripped it off over his head. His lashing tail snagged a lounge and flipped it over, spines tearing at velvet cushions. This was it. This was it and he wasn¡¯t going to stay in any damn barn.


    His first yank on the doorknob snapped it off. Dally snarled and flung it away before slamming his fist through the lacquered wood instead. It was easy. Gilded splinters dusted the floor as he tore the door off it¡¯s hinges. He tossed it behind him and spilled out into the hall, spines rattling against the doorframe. His bare feet skid on marble as he crashed down the first flight of stairs, fell, then caught himself with claws digging into a portrait of some Lyle ancestor. Somewhere behind him, crystal shattered in a sweet tinkle.


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    Moving through the house was a lot easier if you weren¡¯t being careful. Some distant part of him was still taking inventory; ¡®things to answer for¡¯. Painting torn, bust shattered, marble dust cloud spreading, floor clawed, window shattered ¡ª Still he couldn¡¯t stop down, and if he stuck out a hand and dragged it across a shelf for balance, that was too many broken antiques to count. He was grinning, or snarling.


    He almost smashed into Ajdin, skidding around a corner too fast. Dally yanked them back upright as he passed, staggering as his spines tangled in a chandelier. He opened his mouth to say something, and all that came out was a dumb happy noise. Instead Dally pat Ajdin¡¯s clay shoulder, as he leapt past down the hall.


    Somehow Dally made himself slow down before he reached the front rooms, shuddering as he tried to change shape again. It was never a good idea to surprise humans in major form. His mother beat that into him, and she was right. They got... nervous.


    And shit, Dally hadn¡¯t even said goodbye to the others. Could he still find Red...?


    It was dark, somehow, near the front of the house. Gradually Dally figured out that all the curtains were drawn, like it was a snowstorm and not the middle of a fine day. As retracting membranes closed over his eyes a blurry silhouette stepped in front of him. Somehow Dally knew it was Lyle before he could even see straight. More shadows surrounded them; flunkies lurking, peering through gaps in the curtains.


    The governor reached for his arm, and caught his wrist before he could back away. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he hissed, clutching at him. ¡°We just need to get you¡ª¡°


    Dally laughed. It just came out, raw and too loud, crackling through his still-warped throat. ¡°I sent them a letter,¡± he said, ¡°that¡¯s why they¡¯re here. They¡¯re here for me.¡±


    Lyle stared at him, fingertips making dents in his skin.


    ¡°And I¡¯ve been telling Gita everything,¡± Dally went on, ¡°ever since I got here.¡±


    The other humans had turned to watch him too, wide-eyed. Outside there was a faint clatter of cars, human voices. Lots of voices.


    It was easy for Dally to yank his arm away. He did it without stopping to think, and felt Lyle¡¯s nails scrape harmlessly over his skin. The governor didn¡¯t move as Dally sidestepped him. His hands hovered, grasping at nothing. Dallly shoved the door open, and stepped out into the sun.


    The front drive was covered with people. Reporters, mostly, swarming around a core of three human Dep officers. Their thralls were scattered around them, easy to spot by armbands and the wide circles of empty space around them. The sharp feet of cars and crawlies had churned up the mud in haphazhard diagonals. The machines themselves made a blockade with waving feelers.


    One of the human Deps was right at the top of the stairs, clearly about to come hammer on the door. The man froze, looking him up and down. ¡°I - Are you Dally Harper?¡±


    ¡°Yes I am. Sure am.¡±


    ¡°...Good, alright.¡± The dep made a quick sign behind him, to where a few thralls stood stiffly waiting.


    Two came up and crowded around Dally¡¯s shoulders. Dally had a brief second of relief at being handed off, but the thralls weren¡¯t too gentle either. Their blank eyes met his and slid away again without connecting. They started herding him towards the cars.


    The reporters were getting bolder, crowding in. As soon as Dally got close enough they started yelling questions, struggling to aim their occuloscopes over each other¡¯s heads.


    ¡°Were you bought after the championship fight? Do you fight in underground rings¡ª?¡°


    ¡°How long have you been dodging the Requisition ¡ª?¡°


    ¡°Do you know why the Governor hid you?¡±


    Dally stopped at that one, and found the man asking. A small pale human with a ragged beard, one of the two that had crept around the side of the house. He was looking Dally in the eye.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dally said, suddenly, then froze for a long second. ¡°Yeah, he uh, he wanted to sleep with me.¡±


    That sent a ripple through the crowd, and occuloscopes whirred crazily, like they could take pictures of what he just said. It was kind of a joke, them acting upset. Lyle wasn¡¯t meant to be lying with thralls ¡ª it was dirty ¡ª but humans did that all the damn time. They all just pretended it didn¡¯t happen. Well, shit. It was all shit. This could be Dally¡¯s thank-you gift to the Tribune, for coming to get him. Maybe if he got lucky, it would burn Lyle¡¯s campaign to the ground.


    The yelling just got louder and more desperate. Eventually the dep thralls had to actually shove through the crowd, and reporters started cringing to avoid the clawed hands. The Deps dragged Dally to a hauler car; a low, long tank of a body on stubby legs. As he climbed in they even pushed his head down for him, so he wouldn¡¯t hit it on the low roof.


    Dally let out a breath as the doors closed, sealing him in. This was the kind of car he used to ride all the time. It was basically a steel tank you could fill up with thralls, bricks, timber, whatever. Or all of those at the same time. It was dark, except for thin beams of light streaming through vents near the front. He was alone. The only sound was the muffled crowd outside, and some kind of weird, loud cackling which he finally figured out was coming from him.


    He paced the length of the hauler, grinning, brushing his fingers along the ceiling. Then again, four more times, and then he kicked a side panel. It rang like a gong, satisfying. It took a long time for his heart to slow down, and a bit longer before he hunched over to squint out of the narrow vents.


    His smile finally faded as he watched the deps swarming around the steps, into the house. By the time they nudged Kit and Nesette from one of the servant doors Dally was wide eyed, with sweat going cold on his back.

 Ch 18: Soldiers

    The uniforms belonged to Lyle, so they all had to take them off, down to their under-clothes. The others folded them, like they¡¯d been taught, while the dep thralls stared at them with blank eyes. As they pulled away Red came to sit by him, and flung her bare arm around his shoulders. Dally couldn¡¯t look her in the eye, but eventually leant into her. Together they crowded around the vent with the others, watching the house get small and disappear behind them.


    ¡°I only ever lived there,¡± she whispered, in the dark.


    Dally tried not to cringe. He was a son of a bitch. Did they all know it was him? With his dumb plan?


    ¡°I¡¯ll look out for you. I¡¯ll¡ª¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± Red shook him a little, in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring. ¡°I wanted to go, you know that? When they took the others I thought, you know, that should be me. I can fight.¡±


    Her voice had a nervous edge to it, but she was leaning forward in her seat on the floor. Spines bristling on the back of her neck under the skin. She''d said stuff like this before, a couple of times, but Dally hadn¡¯t thought she was serious. Now she bared her sharp teeth in the dark.


    ¡°This is what we¡¯re made for, right?¡±


    Dally made himself nod, trying not to stare at her. ¡°Sure,¡± he said, numb, ¡°yeah.¡±


    The hauler dropped them all in the muddy courtyard of a staging base. Dally had never been anywhere military before, but this wasn¡¯t so different from the thrall-houses where he grew up. There was the same blank, steel and brick warehouses, the same token chain-link fence. That wasn¡¯t for keeping thralls in, he knew. It was for the people living in the tenements right outside, to make them feel better. And it seemed to work; human kids were running alongside the fence, laughing and throwing fistfuls of muddy snow at each other. They didn¡¯t even look up as the thralls were unloaded.


    Dally¡¯s group had been pulled in along with what must have been the last group of requisition takings. Something like five hundred of them stood in a line across the muddy field in front of the base, waiting to be inspected and catalogued. Most of the thralls already there had registry tattoos on their biceps or shoulders: Odesia Trade Company¡¯s writhing squid, or dull, blocky logos from one of the mining outfits. Anvil must have given up their thralls long ago, since almost no one had that.


    In this crowd Dally and the others stood out for how human they looked. The mine thralls had the kinds of faces that would have made Lyle squirm.


    ¡°You doing okay?¡± Dally asked one, a male just in front of them.


    The miner had wide, gold eyes like a hawk, surrounded by jagged bone ridges. His neck and shoulders were too thick to pass for human even at a distance, and studded with broken-off spines. Even in home form he was about eight feet tall.


    ¡°Could be worse,¡± he said, bland. ¡°Could be digging holes.¡±


    Dally snorted in agreement.¡°Do you know where we¡¯re going?¡±


    ¡°Nah. Not even the humans know. I heard Salidna, then I heard Provok.¡±


    They were towns on two totally different war fronts - South and East.


    ¡°You know the Brairs,¡± the miner went on, ¡°they take those piles of rubble and we just take em back, like playing catch. Guess it¡¯s our turn again.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± said Red, too loudly.


    Together those lined up shuffled in place, arms crossed against the cold. Their breath steamed in the dusk. Red had been curious in the car, staring all excited at the road as they sped along. Now she¡¯d gone quiet.


    ¡°What if they want it out?¡± she asked, suddenly, without looking up.


    It took Dally a second to realise she meant her eye. He stiffened, crossing his arms over the lump of scar on his chest. ¡°They won¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°No. I mean, It¡¯s useful, right? Three is better, if you can see out of all of them.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right.¡± She didn¡¯t sound like she believed him.


    He bumped against her shoulder as they walked, all the way to the front of the line. An officer waved to a building on the other side of the yard, and Red started towards it. When Dally went to follow her, the man planted a hand on his chest.


    ¡°No,¡± the officer said, slowly and clearly. ¡°Over there.¡±


    Red stumbled to a halt, staring back over her shoulder. For a second they just looked at each other.


    ¡°Over there,¡± the officer said, again.


    ¡°Where¡¯s she going¡ª?¡±


    A swift backhand caught Dally full across the face. It was faster than he could flinch back, and left his cheek stinging in the cold. Dally touched the rising welt, startled.


    ¡°Go on now,¡± the man said, with a warning stare. ¡°Next!¡±


    Red had started walking, slowly, and after a few seconds Dally did too. He watched until she disappeared into a low, windowless brick building on the other side of the yard. As soon as she was gone he ran a hand back over his hair, trying to swallow his panic.


    The flow of the line took him to a chipboard stall where a bored young private had him turn around, all while asking questions. What could he do? Had he ever used a weapon? What was the lump on his chest?


    ¡°I had a uh, saber. And that¡®s where they cut off the extra arm.¡± Dally wasn¡¯t really listening ¡ª he was too busy trying to look over the partitions, to see the others. Nesette might have been in the next booth; Dally thought he could hear their crackling teenage voice.


    Finally the officer waved him off. ¡°Down to your right, follow the line, wait in the white circle.¡±


    That was a line chalked on the damp concrete, and at the end were a few thralls were already standing in a nervous cluster.


    On his way there Dally passed the station where Nesette was being booked in. He slowed, trying to wait, but the closer he got the more obvious it was that this was not going smoothly. Nesette was crossing their arms over and over across their bare freckled chest, glancing around like there might be a way out.


    ¡°Says here you¡¯re female,¡± the officer was saying. ¡°Did you tell them that? Hey¡ª¡° another officer was walking past with an armful of files. The first one stopped him, pointing at Nessie. ¡°That¡¯s a male, right?¡±


    The new officer squinted. ¡°Is it?¡±


    This was not good. Nessie was not male or female, and no amount of questions was going to change that. But humans didn¡¯t have a word for esicts in their files - they just got listed as either ¡®defective male¡¯ or ¡®defective female¡¯. And maybe Nessie had passed for female as a kid, when the records were done. Before they hit puberty. Not anymore, though, with that long crest of spines, and sharp jaw.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Dally¡¯s heart had started hammering again, and he¡¯d slowed to a crawl. Who the hell knew what would happen, if they wrote ¡®defective¡¯ on that sheet?


    ¡°This again?¡± he muttered, just loud enough for them to hear. Then he strolled on by.


    ¡°Hey, you.¡±


    Dally stopped, feeling their eyes on the back of his neck. When he turned around they were both staring.


    ¡°You say something?¡± one asked.


    ¡°I just, uh,¡± he held up his hands, apologetic. ¡°Sorry, boss. He¡¯s male, the Department just never fixed the registry.¡±


    ¡°Not defective female.¡±


    ¡°Oh, hah, no. I wish, boss.¡±


    He knew it was working when the two men shot each other a knowing look.


    ¡°Useless Dep shitheads,¡± one of them said.


    Dally almost sighed. He gave them a close-lipped smile, instead, and made an agreeing sound in his throat. It meant something like: ¡®yeah, but I¡¯m not allowed say that¡¯. The officers actually laughed, then, and waved him along.


    A few seconds later Nessie caught up to him - he was walking slow enough he still hadn¡¯t even reached the white circle. Dally drifted closer until they were bumping shoulders.


    Nessie leaned in to whisper. ¡°I¡¯m male now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re okay,¡± Dally murmured back. ¡°Trust me, you don¡¯t want to be registered female anyway.¡±


    He sounded distracted, even to himself. He still couldn¡¯t see Red. Across the field of frosted mud, the door to the other building stayed closed.


    Kit was already in the circle. As they got closer she silently put an arm around Nessie, dragging them in for a hug.


    ¡°Have you seen Red?¡± Dally asked.


    Kit shook her head. She was staring at the others around them, scanning the unfamiliar faces. Dally saw that Nessie was, too. They kept meeting the eyes of people around them, and quickly looking away. It took a second to figure out why: If they spent their whole lives in Lyle¡¯s house, maybe they didn¡¯t know what most thralls actually looked like?


    The others in the circle were more miners, bristling with spines, some scarred in rune patterns. Plenty had short tails in home form, curled in to not hit anyone else in the crowd. They clustered together, making small signs and barely talking. In the back a small group were actually playing serbat, mumbling their rhymes barely loud enough to hear.


    They only went silent when a private marched up to them, and started herding everyone out of the circle. More and more groups, joining together. At first he thought it would just be into one of the buildings, but the private led them down a hauler track in between. The miners shuffled along wheel ruts stamped in the mud. There was a faint buzz in the air, which got louder and clearer, turning into the bone-rattling hum of rail-cars.


    The machines were stretched out on tracks behind the warehouses. Each one was an iron-gray carapace about a half-mile long. Rubbery book-lungs on the sides flared and closed, breathing out hot steam. Under the carriages muscular pistons shuddered, each straining against one braked wheel, and at the front they tasted the dirt ahead with hundreds of transparent feelers.


    Something tainted the air like blood and rotting fish. In the shadow underneath each car was a thick tube, probing down into the muck. The tube pulsed, sluggishly, swelling with orange liquid as the machine swallowed. Dally always heard railcars were like mosquitos; They sucked up their food from a long vein underground.


    He couldn¡¯t help slowing down, seeing them. The miners did too, probably knowing what it would be like inside. These things always turned into a crush of sweating bodies, like being swallowed, and Red was still behind him, somewhere --


    Abruptly Dally turned around, started pushing back through the crowd.


    ¡°Dally,¡± Nessie hissed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back¡ª¡°


    ¡°No.¡° Their hand caught his arm, slipped off as he yanked away. The officers loading the car glanced up at him.


    Dally aimed for the nearest one, and ran hard into a wall of muscle instead. The miner from before had stepped in front of him.


    ¡°Wrong way,¡± the male said, with the same grim cheerfulness as before.


    ¡°My friend¡¯s back there.¡±


    ¡°I know, I know.¡± He was shoving him backwards, towards the car. ¡°Calm down, keep walking.¡±


    Dally snarled, spines bristling on the back of his neck. He pushed back harder than before, and felt the miner stagger. At the edge of the crowd, an officer started towards them.


    Then Red stepped out of a building, about ten feet away.


    She was part of a small group who all looked around with wide eyes, confused. A trickle of blood ran down from her elbow from a small cut. When she saw Dally made a quiet noise, and sped up to join him.


    They didn¡¯t exactly hug - Dally had finally felt the human attention, like a cold bucket of water dumped over him. The two of them just bumped together and drifted back into the crowd, letting it carry them towards the cars.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he muttered, guilty, as they passed the miner.


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    Inside was how he thought; the car was already too full to sit down properly. They slumped over each other, stumbling on ribs in the floor. When the door valves shrank closed the only light was stained pink, filtering in through bloody membranes in the ceiling.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Dally muttered, finally putting an arm around Red¡¯s shoulders. She was stiff, but not shaking. Like she was ready to attack something.


    She swallowed. ¡°There was a mage in there. He, I don¡¯t know, he did this?¡± She mimed carefully peeling her third eyelid open with her fingers. ¡°And he took some blood out of my arm, and pulled some hairs out.¡±


    Dally didn¡¯t know what the hell that meant, any more than she did. ¡°You¡¯re okay though?¡± he asked, feeling stupid.


    ¡°I¡¯m okay. Like you said, right?¡±


    The railcar started in a wet hiss of hydraulics, a squeal as the brakes let up. Around them the others groaned, struggling to find a comfortable way to sit or stand on the bare floor. Somewhere on Dally¡¯s left a storm of cursing started. A dim figure was clambering over bodies, tripping, looking gangly even as a silhouette.


    Nesette fell down next to them, wedged in the tiny gap between Red and the miner. Their voice was a panicked rasp.


    ¡°Dally, did you see Kit get on? Where¡¯s Kit?¡±

 Ch 19: The Captain

    Kit wasn''t in the car.


    It took maybe an hour for the miners to start singing. It was the longest Dally had ever sat in a transport in silence. When they finally did start it was loud to be heard over the thundering pistons, like long howls into the dark.


    Apart from that, the rail car just like how they always were. Hot, loud, choking. The inside skin of the great machine was warm and damp. Its heat had built up and up until the thralls were panting, slumping over each other. Dally''s nostrils went numb to the stink of sweat.


    Nessie had been crying into Dally''s back, and started again once they heard the singing. Maybe normally they''d be happy to hear so many new songs at once, but right now it hurt. The miners slang was different, and most of the songs Dally had never heard before. When they sang in Corps it had an accent like a mouth full of gravel. Dally leaned back against Nessie, humming under his breath.


    The miner from before was politely looking away from them, staring into the dim red heat.


    "What''s your name?" Dally asked.


    The miner sniffed, rubbed sweat off his face with one thick, clawed hand. "Ansel."


    "I''m Dally."


    "Is your friend alright?"


    Dally shook his head.


    Ansel hesitated, then awkwardly snaked an arm in between them to rest a hand on Nesette''s shoulder. Nessie flinched, and then relaxed, sobbing again.


    The day passed. The only way to tell was the pink light fading above them, then slowly coming back. The teeth-rattling shake of the train never stopped, and the doors never opened. After the first few hours the singing faded, as everyone''s throats dried up.


    "They''ll give us water, right?" Red asked.


    "Maybe," said Ansel, without opening his eyes. The miner had kind of adopted them, like they were a pack of dumb puppies. Nessie was asleep with their head in his lap.


    After the second day it was obvious ¡ª there wasn''t any water or food coming. The light faded again, leaving them all in red darker than blood.


    "We''re going to have to tap the car," Dally said to Red. His voice rasped, until he swallowed, painfully.


    "Huh?"


    Ansel growled in the dark, vibrating where he was crushed up against Dally''s side. "He means cut one of those veins in the wall, drink some of the stuff in there." The miner didn''t sound happy. "Where I come from there''s consequences for that"


    "There''s consequences for not doing it," Dally said. "You think we''ll make it to Provok without water?"


    "You want to drink the car''s blood?" Red asked.


    "It''ll be okay," Dally said. "They won''t see. If they do I''ll tell them it was me."


    Ansel snorted, but he was grinding his jagged teeth in the dark. Dally could hear it - a squeak and click. After a while he rubbed his face. "You know how to do it so it heals clean?" he asked Dally. "The old ones can do it."


    That was something they''d figured out early - everyone in the car was young. Ansel wasn''t even thirty, and he was one of the oldest. Some of the miners were even younger than Nessie, thirteen or fourteen year olds.


    "No," Dally said. "Kind of. Maybe if it was lighter."


    "Psh."


    But that seemed like an understanding, so the four of them squirmed their way through the crowd until they reached the wall a few feet away.  The car''s skin was warm, vibrating with the thrum of pistons. Dally felt  around on it, and next to him the darker-dark of Ansel''s shadow was doing the same.


    "What''re doing? Ta sokv?" asked a miner, watching them.


    Sokv sounded like sakv; ''blood'' in Corps.


    "We need water," Dally said, which wasn''t an answer.


    "Idiots!"


    "Here," Ansel said, with his palm flat on the wall.


    There was a second where they considered in silence, then Ansel stepped aside. Their teeth were both sharp enough, but Ansel''s were thick as rail spikes with serrated edges. Not good for a neat little bite.


    Dally bent to run his fingers along the skin where Ansel was pointing. At first he didn''t feel anything, until a deep thump ran through the walls and vibrated along the length of the car. An instant later a pulse swelled the vein under Dally''s hand.


    As careful as he could, he pinched the car''s skin between his teeth, and gnawed until hot, oily blood spilled into his mouth. Dally gagged, flinched, started drinking. The stuff stung on the gums, sour and prickling. He knew it never got better. If he was lucky he wouldn''t throw it all up later.


    When he''d drunk as much as he could stomach he stood back and clamped a hand on the wound, until Ansel took his place. Then he crept back to his place on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut against a wave of nausea. But his throat didn''t ache anymore.


    Even if the miners thought they were idiots, they weren''t too proud to take advantage. It took probably an hour or two for the whole car to drink from the tiny bite. The last, a young female, had to sit there with her fingers pressed into the hole, waiting for it to stop bleeding.


    Red and Nessie had had some too, eventually, and maybe more than they should have. They were curled up around Dally, groaning and whimpering. All of them stuck together with sweat. He pat their backs, mumbling apologies.


    Ansel was still upright. "Us tapping the rail-cars is probably why they think we can survive without water," he said, "you know? Why else would they put us in here for three days with nothing."


    He was right, damn. Dally couldn''t help laughing, doubling up and covering his face.


    By sunset the stomach ache faded, and out of everyone only Nessie threw up. The floor started to absorb it right away, though the stink stayed. In the pitch black the miners started singing again, and Red had learned enough of their songs to start as well.


    The light overhead glowed and faded one more time, before the brakes started to squeal. All of them fell over each other, with nothing to hold on. When the doors finally opened they were lying in tangled piles of limbs.


    Although it wasn''t actually cold, everyone shuddered at the same time in the fresh breeze. They squinted into the daylight, and tried to shake numb arms and legs awake.


    There were four men outside the car, peering in at them. All of them were red-eyed and unshaved, but they wore the field version of the Savic Infantry Corps officer''s uniform; dull olive with gold bars and pips. Dally had only ever seen it in posters.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    One of them was a captain, he figured. At least, there was more bars on his shoulders. The man''s dark tan skin sagged around the eyes and mouth, though Dally didn''t know if it was age or hard living. He looked fifty, compared to the rumpled group of young men around him.


    "This is it?" The officer had Gita''s smooth Northern aristocratic accent, but no House jewellery. Just a heavy gold chain around his neck, and a ruby stud in his ear. For a second he took a pull on a thin cigarette, squinting into the dark.


    His eyes passed disinterested over the sweaty bodies of the miners, slowing a little on Dally and the others. "They look weak," he said. "How many?"


    "Around nine hundred," answered the young crewman holding the door open.


    "I was promised sixteen!"


    "There weren''t sixteen to be had, sir, once we took out the infirm."


    "More like Torsten had his claim first. The pig."


    "...I wouldn''t know, sir, but we only have the nine for you."


    "What''s in the front cars?"


    "Ah," The young man squirmed, as the captain stared at him. "Those are for Captain Dejas. They''re worse than your''s, sir. Lots of defectives."


    The captain stared for a long moment with heavy lidded eyes. For a second Dally thought he''d hit the crewman. Then he spat into the muck under the car. "Get my ones out."


    Dally nudged Red as they stood, trying to move her into the shadow between him and Ansel. Ansel blinked, but caught on fast and immediately shoved her behind him, hiding her in the crush of bodies.


    Red hissed at him. "What¡ª?"


    "Stay behind me," Ansel said.


    It was getting better, but Dally was still sometimes stunned by how Lyle''s thralls acted. Red hadn''t ever had to worry before about being pretty, female and human-looking. She''d been safe.


    And Dally had brought them all here.


    Outside was blinding, after three days in the dark. All of them stumbled on the slope outside, skittering barefoot on loose grey rock. It wasn''t warm or cold and a haze hung in the air, masking the shapes of low, crumbling buildings and small tents.


    The captain had already turned away, and as soon as he was gone small groups of thralls came out of the fog. They loitered with hands on the flanks of the car, watching the unloading.


    They were like thralls in the stray camp, Dally thought, but different. The Front thralls had even worse defects, but they seemed healthier, wary, more dangerous. Even in home form most were far too tall and heavy to pass as human, and crowned with full sets of spines. Lots of the miners had stiff, short tails, but some of these had full-length ones lashing behind them, or coiling restless around their ankles. One wasn''t even really walking properly, switching between standing on two legs and running on their knuckles.


    The officers didn''t order the thralls away, and eventually a pair of them slunk closer, to the edge of the crowd where Dally and the others were standing. One was female and the other one was probably esict. The female grinned at them with three rows of teeth: on one side her jaw split like someone had hacked into her cheek. A contorted extra jawbone jutted forward from the gap, its razor-edged teeth twisting like they were trying to escape.


    It was the kind of defect part that would have been sawn off and sanded down back in Savos Proper, but she didn''t try to cover it. Actually, she looked like someone who knew she was fine. Extra teeth were good luck, whether they were in your mouth or not.


    When she spoke Dally had to struggle to understand; this was a language he almost never heard outside of songs.


    "You speak Corps?" she asked.


    Dally and the others looked at each other, and no one volunteered. Dally swayed in place, struggling. "I ¡ª I speak...?"


    The soldier snorted at the one beside her. She muttered something too fast for Dally to catch, and switched to Savic.


    "You are thralls?" She asked, and pointed, like her friend wasn''t already looking. She pointed at Dally, Red, Nessie. "Look at them. Hey, are your fathers humans?"


    Wow. The railcar was starting to pull away behind them and Dally shook himself, glad the clatter and hum gave him a chance to think.


    "We''re just thralls," he yelled, "same as you."


    "Strange!" Membrane flickered over her eyes.


    Dally almost said that the soldier was strange, but not because of the defect; she had yellow hair like straw, and blue eyes. Even her skin was light as milk. Except maybe that wasn''t rare, here; behind her he could see a few that looked the same. They looked like the Brairi thralls in the war posters; the enemy.


    "You have a food?" asked the pale soldier. "Harpoons?"


    He shook his head. "We haven''t eaten for three days. No weapons."


    The soldiers broke into a torrent of Corps curses. Dally understood those, at least.


    "Why," she said, and it wasn''t really a question.


    "Thralls don''t need to eat, right?"


    It wasn''t funny, but her laugh was so loud and bitter he wanted to die.


    Dally was yelling louder and louder, and it took a second to work out why. Something was wrong with the rail-car.


    The machine was barely picking up speed when the front end shuddered like it had ran into a brick wall. A ripple passed through the body, and the fine tendrils lashed crazily in the air. Then muscle started to split on each piston, one at a time. The hum turned into a screech like a pig being slaughtered, and the whole of the rail-car started to peel off the track.


    The machine contorted, spiralled, segment by segment, into the air. It took what felt like an hour to fully derail. Each long piece arced against the sky, thrashing and buckling. There were sick crunches of bone as it collapsed back to earth, waves of dirt. Greasy blood pooled under the gills. One more shiver went through the monstrous body, and it went still.


    Everyone around had stopped to watch, frozen in place. The front cars were full, Dally remembered.


    The pale soldier had staggered a step closer. "Oh!" she said, clasping her hands to her head. "Oh! Fucking saf na Bailla Captain!"


    ?


    When she caught Dally looking she gave him a baleful hiss. "Welcome to Provok."

 Ch 20: Inka

    The rail-car¡¯s meat had the same sour-bile taste as its blood, but felt more like real food. They ate it raw, cutting long strips off the machine¡¯s sagging flanks.


    ¡°Eat, eat,¡± said the pale soldier, ¡°be sick later.¡± She pushed more into their hands.


    The pale soldier¡¯s name was Inka, and she wasn¡¯t actually Brairi. Just descended from them. Her father''s parents and her mother had both been captured as children. Dally had known there were a few like that, but he hadn¡¯t thought it was this many. Now that he was looking closer almost half the thralls around him looked pale for Savosi.


    When Dally and the others had reached the front of the rail-car, they finally saw what had killed it. Or at least they saw something. The car¡¯s head was lassoed in some kind of wet, red cable,  like a a web of muscular intestines. The cord had yanked the head down, down, down into the rails, crunching into the dirt under its own wheels. It¡¯s monstrous, heavy body had kept going, though. The left over speed carried it right off the rails.


    ¡°That¡¯s the food vein?¡± Dally had said, after staring at the cord for a long time. ¡°The vein strangled it.¡±


    Inka had waved her hand, and started cutting into the car¡¯s flank.  ¡°Captain gets what he wants.¡±


    All the thralls in the cars had survived, it looked like, though there were plenty of cuts and broken bones. The humans mostly weren¡¯t so lucky. Dally and the others helped pull shattered bodies from the wreck, their clothes dripping with the greasy car blood. Dally had never seen a dead human before. Their dead eyes stared at the sky, exactly like Seth Greenlees had.


    When they were laid out in a row the Captain came back. He sucked on a cigarette, glancing at the bodies in heavy lidded boredom.


    The thralls that had been trapped in the wreck were still crawling out, sliding covered in gore from holes that they¡¯d cut in the sides of the car. As they retched and shivered Captain Bailla blew hard on a tin whistle. They turned to him.


    ¡°Thanks to that enemy trap, you¡¯ll have to stay here,¡± said Bailla, standing in front them. ¡°You''re mine now, understand?¡±


    The thralls shivered, squinting at him in the sudden daylight. ¡°Yes boss.¡±


    By midnight they were all fed, and at least partly-clothed. No one had a spare jacket big enough for Ansel. He hunched near the fire with his arms crossed over his scarred chest.


    ¡°Did your Captain really wreck the car?¡± he asked the closest Front thrall, and got a vague grunt for an answer. The soldier turned away.


    This had been going on all night - the quiet. Apart from Inka, the Front thralls didn¡¯t say much, good or bad, to any of the newcomers. They sang with each other ¡ª new songs ¡ª and played a version of serbat with about ten thousand different rhyme patterns. But, whenever someone tried talking to them, they gave one-word answers.


    Meanwhile, Inka laughed loudly and constantly at Dally¡¯s fumbling Corps, but at least she talked. And she had a baby, which none of them had realised at first. As soon as they were out of sight of any humans she pulled him from the rubble; a chubby, flailing creature only a year old. He was beyond cute, and still doing couldn¡¯t sit still, or even stay in one shape for more than a couple seconds. As Dally watched he screeched, trying to reach a bug on the ground, then started started bawling when Inka wouldn¡¯t let him go.


    ¡°His father is not in this company,¡± said Inka, whimsically stretching her arm to the sky. ¡°One day, I will see him again.¡±


    There were a lot of kids in Provok. More than should have been possible. A tiny second army played in the shadows of the tents and hollow buildings. Sometimes there was a shatter and tinkle of broken crystal in the distance - one had found some slightly-intact windows, and now all of them were throwing rocks.


    ¡°I thought, uh...¡± Dally said, watching the baby. Then he rubbed his mouth to stop himself finishing.


    ¡°You thought what?¡± Inka asked.


    Red must have been thinking the same thing. ¡°How are there all these kids here?¡± she asked. ¡°Don¡¯t they take them away?¡±


    Inka laughed once, too sharply. For a second she looked like she wouldn¡¯t answer, and hugged her baby closer.  Then she sniffed. ¡°We hide them, until deps are gone.¡± She turned to her esi friend. ¡°Luin, tell about how you put Naia in ah - uh - tolnetzn?¡±


    ¡°Cook pot?¡± Nessie guessed.


    ¡°Yes pot! It was so funny.¡±


    ¡°Yes, funny,¡± said the one called Luin, and turned away. ¡°Later, okay.¡±


    A few minutes later they picked up their pack, and slunk away through the dark.


    There weren¡¯t enough tents, but anyone who¡¯d been in the cars was happy to sleep outside. Dally left Red and Nessie in a warm nest under a tarp. He caught up to Inka while she tried to make her baby stay in the tent. He was crying in rage and clawing fistfuls of the fabric, gnawing with his few sharp teeth.


    ¡°Inka,¡± Dally whispered.


    ¡°Dally,¡± she whispered back, trying his accent, and laughed.


    ¡°I have to ask you something.¡±


    ¡°Okay Dally.¡±


    ¡°The others won¡¯t talk to us because we¡¯re weak, right?¡± he said. ¡°Because they think we¡¯ll all be dead soon.¡±


    Her smile faded fast. ¡°Ah, well!¡± she said, glancing away. ¡°Ah.¡±


    ¡°Is that it?¡±


    She made a vague noise. ¡°You must try and not die, okay? Good?¡±


    Maybe he¡¯d been hoping she would deny it. Dally swayed in place, imagining Nessie and Red trying to kill other thralls. Who was he kidding?


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he mumbled. ¡°Good.¡±


    The company marched the next day, into more grey fog.


    At first Dally and the others didn¡¯t know where the hell to be, since the humans weren¡¯t actually giving orders. They just blew on tin whistles, and everyone changed shape, pulled up the tents, and started to move. By the time they were all on the road the column stretched what felt like a half mile. All four humans rode at the end of the column, on long-legged crawlers. Behind them the children ran in a loose pack, ducking in and out of hiding.


    Dally''s group drifted aimlessly, until  they found Inka near the back. Without the jaw they might not have even known it was her: in major form she had weird plates covering her shoulders, a mottled gold color on her pale skin. She was walking where she could watch the kids; back there a ten year old was carrying her baby, tied in a sling on his back.


    When she saw Red she whistled, and hitched up her massive harpoon-thrower on her shoulder.


    ¡°Look at you! I thought you all might look like big humans,¡± she said, in slowed-down Corps. ¡°But, no! Just thralls.¡± She sighed in disappointment


    No one had offered Dally or the other newcomers weapons, probably because there weren¡¯t enough. Most of the Front thralls had makeshift harpoons, made out of whittled chitin lashed to rebar. The luckier ones had aurum-infused harpoon heads, and about a third carried massive, glossy twitch-guns from the last Great Assault.


    It was amazing those were still alive; they were probably thirty years old. Each was almost as long as a man was tall. The thralls carrying them sometimes pet the gun¡¯s gleaming barrels, or  peeled back a plate to check the insides. Now Dally finally understood why the songs talked about ¡®gun hairs¡¯; there were tiny fibers all along the barrel, tentacles waving like grass in a breeze. Their job was to snatch a bullet from the chamber, hurling it along the barrel. As each hair twitched the bullet got faster and faster, till it exploded out the muzzle.


    Nobody seemed to actually have aurum bullets, though. Anyone carrying a gun stopped sometimes to pick up hefty rocks or chunks of scrap, stashing them in sacks made out of the rolled up tents.


    ¡°Stay with me,¡± Inka said. ¡°Today is a good day. There is no fighting, okay? We are far from operation.¡±


    ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°We will attack old province capital, Nal Provok. But, we are too far.¡±


    They followed a road. Kinda. It was more like a weedy dirt trail strewn with rubble, crawling along the ridges of hills. There was a drop on both sides; loose shale slopes that echoed as rocks skittered down. They passed huge chunks of hollowed-out carapace; the bones of dead vehicles. Stunted trees and brush clung to the hills around them.


    It would have been fine, if they could see. Sometimes a crumbling building loomed silently out of the fog, then disappeared behind them. The Front thralls didn¡¯t seem to want to check any of them, or even really look. They kept starting songs, and then falling silent again, watching.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Dally hadn¡¯t been in a place so empty in his whole life. It wasn¡¯t just like the snow-capped woods on Lyle¡¯s estate. That had felt like humans were waiting around the edges. This was... nothingness.


    In that quiet, the whip-crack sound of a shot rang for miles.


    The front heard it first, and thralls skid into the rubble on either side of the track. Dally dragged Nessie with him to crouch in the shadow of a boulder. Together they stared, panting, into the grey nothing around them. In between the echos the only sound was the muffled howl of a soldier who¡¯d been shot. He was sprawled out in a shallow ditch, trying to pull a railroad spike out of his thigh. Another one was quietly hissing with a hand pressed to their chest, and blood bubbling up from their lips.


    The Brairi must have twitch-guns too.


    A dark shape moved through the scrub, and another one. At Dally¡¯s side soldiers propped the muzzles of their guns up on the rubble, and fed their ammunition in through a gash in the side. As each piece of scrap moved through the machine it purred, louder and louder, until it  burst from the muzzle like a lightning crack. One of the fog shapes somersaulted into the dust,  and lay still.


    ¡°They¡¯re dead,¡± Nessie whispered, staring up over the rubble, ¡°they''re¡ª¡° they yelped, as something long and rust-dark seemed to sprout from their arm. A harpoon.


    A cable stretched from the harpoon back into the fog. It snapped tight, and Nessie staggered, while Dally grabbed with blood-slicked fingers at the shaft.  The enemy thrall on the other end of the cable looked like Inka. He yanked until Nessie fell over, and started dragging them out of cover.


    At least, right up until Red hit him from the side. Dally hadn¡¯t even seen her coming. She twisted around the Briari''s flailing body, her teeth already closing on his throat.


    Dally was halfway to helping her when a harpoon hissed past. The Brairi holding it cursed - somehow Dally knew it was a curse - before Dally leapt on him.


    This wasn¡¯t like a cage match. The Briari''s eyes were cold, and they fought in breathless silence. A scythe claw snagged against Dally¡¯s side, skittered down his ribs. Flesh parted in a long, agonising arc.


    The harpoon cable had got snared around both of them, tangled, tripping, and then they fell, rolled and kept falling, down the loose shale drop at the side of the road. Rock sliced at them, jolting them together. Somehow when they stopped Dally''s hands were on the other males throat, and he wrapped the cable around it, and pulled until skin creased. The Brairi clawed at his fingers, wide eyed. Bastard.  Dally shook him and slammed his head back against the rock.  Dally wasn''t weak.  He was a fucking champion.


    The Briari''s struggling slowed, and he didn¡¯t twist away from Dally''s claw on his chest. Dally gut him, silently.


    This wasn¡¯t like last time; he felt too awake, and the fog sucked up the sound of screaming like a stifling blanket. In terrible clarity Dally watched himself tear off a mouthful from the Brairi¡¯s shoulder, felt his teeth snick together through gristle.


    Afterwards he staggered upright, confused, dripping hot blood. What was he doing?


    Red.


    Faceless shapes rushed past him in the murk. By the time Dally had scrambled back up to the road Red was doubled over, with a pale, limp body pinned underneath her. Nessie was standing over her, trying to yank her away.


    Red whipped around as she heard him coming, snarling through bloody teeth. The limp body was what was left of the Brairi soldier, the one who looked like Inka. He was now missing an arm and a chunk of flesh from his cheek.


    At least Red herself looked okay, under the blood. A shallow gash stretched down from chest to navel, but it wasn''t enough to stop her eating. She was still hunched over, pinned the dead body down. Nessie was staring at him with wide, desperate eyes. They were holding their arm weird, stiff, and Dally blinked to see the harpoon shaft still jutting out.


    Another shot rang out, and they both flinched. They were standing in the open.


    ¡°Red."


    If she heard, she didn¡¯t react.


    "We need to go." He shook her, this time, and got a bloody hiss back.


    Without thinking Dally snarled back, and yanked her as hard as he could. It worked, sort of. Red staggered as he dragged her, and twisted around to sink her teeth into his shoulder.


    "Fuck-"


    Somehow Dally managed to haul her, struggling, back to their piles of rubble. He flung her down into cover, then fell on her to keep her there. After what felt like a long time she stopped trying to throw him off,  and stared up at him, panting. Blood was pouring down her face from a cut over her eye, staining half her face red.


    The shots were slowing down, and the rapid whistles and commands moving up and down the column started to change.


    ¡°They¡¯re falling back,¡± someone called out.


    The call moved down the column, until finally someone repeated it in Savic for the humans.


    Bailla had ducked behind the carapace shielding on his crawler, and now he was slowly rising up again. He launched himself down, to stalk past his officers. ¡°Sons of whores -- they should run. We must have stumbled on their camp.¡±


    Dally stared into the fog, trying to see anything that looked like a camp. There was nothing except the sounds of flesh tearing, and muffled cries as wounds were bound up.


    Inka found them crouched together. Dally was gently probing around in the bloody mess of Nessie''s arm, so he could try and ease the harpoon out. It wasn''t working. The barbed head was buried all the way down in the muscle, maybe to the bone. Pulling on it made the barbs snag, tearing Nessie''s flesh even worse. So far Nessie was barely whimpering, but the skin under Dally''s hands was cold and clammy. They''d started to shiver.


    When Inka saw the arm she tsked, bending to  run a hand down Nessie''s back. ¡°Shh, shh. No problem.¡± Her eyes narrowed as she examined the shaft. Out of some instinct Dally backed up, giving her room.


    "No problem," Inka repeated, then stabbed the harpoon deeper.


    Nessie howled, trying to wrench away. The motion slammed them into Dally¡¯s chest, and he caught the flailing body automatically, trying to hold them steady. In another second Inka had forced the harpoon all the way through the meat of Nessie¡¯s arm and out the other side. Wicked steel barbs followed the point, blood beading on cold metal. Once  it was far enough through Inka snapped the shaft, so it could be dragged all the way through.


    When it was finally done Inka frantically held the blade up to the light, then shushed, running a hand over Nessie¡¯s head. ¡°You are lucky, okay? There is no aurum, just metal. Easy to heal.¡± She pressed the bloody harpoon head into Nessie¡¯s good hand. ¡°Now you have some weapon.¡±


    Nessie sobbed, and Dally thought they might throw the thing out in the fog. They didn''t, though. Just slowly sank to sit in the dirt, clasping the bloody gift to their chest.


    Red had been watching the whole thing at a safe distance, standing silently with Ansel. Seeing him was more of a relief than Dally had been expecting; where had he been, in the fight? Did it matter? Ansel was blank faced, but coated with a thin layer of sweat, dust and blood. Both of them looked how Dally felt.


    So this was a win. Maybe. Or not much of a battle in the first place? The bodies of those who hadn''t found cover fast enough made low, dark mounds in the fog. If Dally and the others had been walking further forward, they would have been in that fire.


    Instead they''d been at the back, with the humans.


    Bailla was moving his crawler up and down the line, muttering to another officer. When they stopped nearby Dally uneasily shuffled towards his little group, trying to herd them away. Red was distracted, though, wiping gravel out of a  cut on Ansel''s face. They didn''t notice  Dally''s hissed warning until it was too late, and then Bailla was walking towards them.


    By some Mercy of Nire they were still in major form - Red wasn''t any prettier than anyone else. At first Dally thought the captain wanted to talk to Inka, but his gaze slipped lazily over her. Instead he pointed at Dally, who was closest.


    ¡°You.¡±


    Dally froze. ¡°Captain.¡±


    ¡°The enemy is fleeing. Get two sections and follow them. Kill them all.¡±


    ¡°Yes, boss.


    As soon as he was gone Dally turned to Inka, hopeless. ¡°The hell is a section?¡±

 Ch 21: The Farm

    Three sections turned out to be three groups of a hundred and seventy, or five hundred and ten total thralls. Or, about a quarter of the whole unit.


    And no humans.


    ¡°They¡¯re sending us on our own?" Red asked, as they picked up their packs. "What about officers?¡±


    Inka laughed, sounding surprised. ¡°The humans stay together.¡±


    Dally had told them, and Nessie, and Ansel, to stay with the main group. It hadn''t worked. Not even a little bit.


    The whole pack followed him around, while he collected people that would look for the Brairi. At first the Front thralls looked at him with cold disbelief. Some of them were still binding up wounds or scrubbing gore off their faces. Still, they passed the word. Without Dally actually doing much, the sections formed up with packs and weapons.


    Inka had collected Sorrel again, her baby. She was bouncing him in a sling on her back. When Dally had tried hinting she should stay in the main column she laughed in his face. "Brairi don¡¯t kill babies," she¡¯d said, and then shown him the belt Sorrel had on. It was five different lucky snake skulls, strung on a leather cord. ¡®Just in case¡¯.


    ¡°So,¡± Dally said, ¡°if there''s no humans, who¡¯s in command?¡±


    "You, remember?" Inka grinned. "Random male."


    That was about the tenth time he got teased about that in the last hour. Apparently Captain picked random males a lot, but he had never managed to choose someone fresh off a railcar before.


    Dally snorted. "Fine, yes, okay. Who''s auna?"


    The Corps word didn''t exactly mean ''officer'': only humans were officers. And it wasn''t just ''oldest'', either. Maybe something more like ''respected, longest-surviving person''.


    Inka turned and pointed at a female in the middle of a pack near them. ¡°This one, Nedjel.¡± There was something fake about her bland tone, like she was actually glad he''d asked.


    The auna was very, very old. She wore mismatched parts of a uniform faded to dull grey, covered by a half-cape of balding seal hide. Scars criss-crossed her papery skin like cobweb, and she carried one of the few remaining twitch-guns over her shoulder. It''s glossy shell was stained deep reddish-black from hundreds of layers of polish. Squinting, Dally could see ancient cilia fluttered weakly at the end of the barrel. Still, each piece of her worn gear was perfectly clean, and she packed almost as fast as everyone else.


    Now that Dally was watching, he could see the people nearby turning to her for advice. They held up bits of gear for approval, and made respectful signs with their hands.


    Dally matched Inka''s pace, trying not to smile. "She looks like you."


    "She is my grandmother."


    ¡°Oh. You must be proud."


    "Proud?" Inka''s pale cheeks were going red. "I''m just born from her daughter. Listen, Sorrel is crying and goodbye-"


    Though Dally couldn¡¯t hear anything, Inka turned and strode away in a random direction.


    Ansel grinned, watching her go. Then he winced. In the battle one of the Brairi had clawed him across the mouth, and the healing gash still split his top lip unpleasantly deep.  "Look at that," he mumbled. "Imagine knowing your whole family, but you still can''t even take a compliment about them."


    "Mf," Dally agreed. They both thought about that for a second. The Front thralls had lots of ideas like that, about earning respect on your own. That kind of thing mattered if you stayed with your parents the way they did.


    "You see how old Auna is, though?" Dally went on. "Maybe she''ll keep us alive, when we catch up with the Brairi reinforcements."


    ¡°We''re still calling them reinforcements, huh?¡± Ansel asked.


    Even Nessie didn''t look so sure. ¡°Maybe they really were heading to Provok," they said, "like the Captain thought. To join the main force."


    "Or they came to bait us into what we''re doing right now."


    That was something they all got to think about. The attack had been hard and fast, but it hadn''t made a whole lot of sense. The Brairi couldn''t have thought they''d beat a whole company with a small force like that.


    Somewhere behind them, Sorrel really did let out a wail.


    ---


    After two days, Dally had new blisters from the straps of his new Brairi pack, and another where he leant the harpoon over his shoulder. It was heavy on its own, and he''d slung tent parts and food bags on the end the way Inka showed him.


    They''d crossed out of the barren flats into what Inka called ''poison forest''. It was dark, deep and nearly silent. Dally thought not much grew on the Front, but here the plants were thriving. And weird. Defective trees snaked around each other, dappled with vivid green light. It smelled strangely good; sweet and damp.


    Inka tried to show them the tracks they were following, but when Dally looked it was just a tiny scuff in the dirt.


    "This is from sickle claw, see?" Inka said, digging her own in, then lifting her foot to show the mark.  "This way. There''s not many." She hesitated."I think they''re getting further away."


    They didn''t find them that day. Or the next.


    The trackers spent longer each time they searched for the trail. "I think this is a print...?" Inka said, squatting to stare at what looked like nothing at all.


    On the fifth day, it rained. Sheets of water drummed on their backs and shoulders, soaking boots, tents, hair. Everyone stopped singing except Sathia the songwriter, who never stopped, ever. Their high, strong voice cut through the mist alone, tracing the arcs of a wordless new melody.


    The auna stopped them all. She stood in a hollow at the base of  a massive tree,  sheltered in a cave of hardened wood.


    "We lost the target," she said, in a voice that whispered like dry leaves. "We should go back and report."


    Report?


    Dally went cold, feeling eyes on the back of his neck. If anyone was getting punished for this it would be him, right? The random male.


    Inka frowned. "It would be better if we found them."


    "We won''t," Auna said. "Each wasted day just makes it worse. But, at least we can go through Small Creek on the way back."


    There was a murmur, as the Front thralls looked around at each other. Then someone whistled part of a song, and there a scattered, bitter laugh. They all turned back the way they just came.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.Gentle rain ticked down on Dally''s shoulders, trickled down his face. The faded pen scars on his chest felt wrong, like they were crawling across his skin.


    Red''s hand fell on his shoulder, and he actually twitched. He''d been frozen and staring blankly into the rain. He forced a smile for her, and hitched his harpoon back up on his shoulder.


    Inka didn''t say anything about reporting, and Dally didn''t ask.


    ¡°Seems like a long detour,¡± he said, instead, as they veered deeper into the forest.


    ¡°Our farm is near here," Inka said. "If we go we will have food.¡±


    ¡°Farm?¡±


    She wasn¡¯t kidding. The next day they skittered over the top of a shale ridge in the woods, and a valley came into view on the other side.


    It a small dish, almost like a crater nestled between the mountains. At the bottom were clearings cut in the trees, with the edges of rooftops peeking out. They were stained green from rain, and the edges were crumbling, but the buildings themselves were mostly still standing. They weren''t like any Dally had seen before.  The walls were rounded, like river-smoothed stone, but the roofs had sharp, steep peaks to shed snow.


    The scrub was thicker here, and sheltered from the wind the air was hot and smelled of  honeysuckle. Under Dally¡¯s feet the shale turned to deep, soft grass. Between the trees was an actual field, full of cattle with tails flicking. There was wheat too, growing in weedy patches scattered through the scrub. In the distance he could even see the massive, glossy shell of a crawling plow. Its dozen legs strained as it dragged its blades through the dirt.


    ¡°Where''d you even get a live machine?¡± he asked, impressed.


    Inka stopped, looking where he was.


    ¡°This is not ours,¡± she whispered, and unslung her harpoon from her shoulder.


    Some of the others had seen it as well. They made quick signs with their hands. When they moved again it was slower, with guns leveled.  Out of the corner of his eye Dally watched Inka shove her baby in Nessie''s arms, and then push Nessie behind a tree.


    When the company moved forward again it was only about thirty of them, with the rest hanging back in the woods. An ambush for the ambush, if there was one.


    Cicadas buzzed, dry grass crackled under their feet. They passed the plow. It lifted it''s feelers, nosing blindly in the sun.


    Dally''s fingers tightened on his stolen harpoon. A slow trickle of sweat was crawling down his back. He had never thrown a harpoon before. He couldn''t feel what it would be like to throw it, with his arms stiffly jutting out in front of him. What should he do?


    Inside, Inka signed, glancing at the closer farmhouse. Its sagging roof leaned out over the courtyard, shading a narrow door. Dally nodded, and crouched in the shadow to change form.  The others spread out around the other buildings.


    Once Inka and was standing on the other side, Dally took a deep breath and nudged the door open.


    Inside was a small kitchen, warm and glowing with firelight. Empty.


    Dally had to resist a dumb urge to wipe his feet on the threshold. He slunk inside, heart pounding. A pot bubbled on top of a black iron stove, letting off steam that curled in the light. The scent of spice and onions was overpowering, and despite everything his stomach growled.


    They crept forward, leaning to look into the next rooms.


    Feet scuffed in the doorway behind him. Dally turned, and threw the harpoon, and watched it fly through the air and stick into the chest of a woman. The woman had freckles and huge, watery blue eyes.  When the harpoon hit her she screamed once, a short confused sound. Then she stopped, and fell over. Blood bloomed red across the front of her tunic.


    "Human," Dally said, stupidly.


    Inka stared at the woman as she died, eyes huge. She looked like she was about to say something, when an anguished howl cut through the silence. A man had come in from the side rooms. He scrambled towards them, snatching up a kitchen knife from the bench.


    Inka caught the man''s wrist with clawed fingers. In one easy motion she swung him around, and snapped him against the door frame. It was like shaking a rat, Dally thought, to break its neck. Bone cracked, and the man slid down, limp to lie in the growing pool of blood.


    He lay there, wheezing, with fingertips vibrating against the floorboards. "T-tole," he said, and then mumbled something Dally didn''t understand. Slowly he got quieter and quieter, until his eyelids fluttered closed.


    "We can eat the soup," Inka said, after a long time.


    "He said ''tole," Dally said, "''please''. He speaks Corps--"


    "Not Corps. Brairi."


    Why the hell was it the same word in both languages?


    Dally shook it off. "You ever killed a human before?" he asked, hopeful. Maybe this was normal.


    "No." Inka turned stiffly away, already rifling through the cupboards. "Check upstairs, we need to go."


    A choked sound behind them made them both turn. Ansel was standing in the doorway, staring at the two bodies. His skin rippled, spines breaking through.


    "You too," Inka said. "Look for food."


    They went; what else could they do? Dally swept aside a curtain with the bloody end of his harpoon, his knuckles pale on the haft.


    It was almost empty. One room was stacked with broken pieces of furniture, and the crystal in the windows had spiderweb cracks. But there was no dust anywhere, and under their feet the boards were glossy from polishing. Summer sun streamed through a lace-edged curtain, making patterns on the walls.


    Dally nudged open a door, while Ansel kept on down the hall. The room inside was tiny, and piled high around the edges with torn-up boards, new shingles for the roof. There was a bed nestled in the corner; a bare wood frame with a straw mattress. The room was silent, so he wasn''t sure how he knew but there was definitely something alive underneath.


    Maybe it was a dog. They could eat a dog. Right?


    Dally bent, and put his cheek to the floor.


    A pair of huge pale eyes stared back at him, set in a small round face. A human child. She was maybe six, with tangled yellow hair. In the dark under the bed Dally could  just make out the sticky shine of snot and tears on the kid''s upper lip. A hare lip, with a notch in the middle.


    The girl looked from him to the bloody harpoon blade, where Dally had set it down on the floor.


    "What are you doing?" Ansel asked.


    Dally jumped, and looked up to find him in the door. "There''s a kid."


    They stared at each other. Ansel looked about as bad as Dally felt, like he might throw up.


    "Leave it," Ansel said.


    That was the rule, right? Everyone knew that. If you found an enemy kid, you just forgot you ever saw it. Their unit must be close; they would come pick it up. It would be fine. All you had to do was leave it.


    "She''s human," Dally said. "She''ll starve out here."


    Ansel growled, and swayed in place, but he didn''t say anything else. Eventually he thumped down down beside Dally, and joine him in lying to look under the bed. The kid hadn''t flinched too bad before, but she did from Ansel''s face. Her eyes flickered between them.


    Slowly Dally held out a hand to her, palm up. "Shh, it''s okay. Come on out."


    "Don''t," Ansel hissed.


    It didn''t look like the girl understood, anyway. Dally bit his lip, remembering the human''s - father''s - last words. He  switched to Corps.


    "Come out please?"


    Silence. The girl clutched something closer to her chest, and in the dark it took a while to figure out what it was. A lumpy person-shaped thing sewn out of sack cloth, with narrow eyes drawn on. Straw stuck out of the head for spines. A thrall doll.


    "Who is this?" Dally pointed at it.


    At first the girl looked like she hadn''t even heard him, but then she slowly looked down at the toy. "Tilly," she whispered.


    "Dally." He pointed at himself, then at her.


    "Ozana."


    "Ozana." Dally gave her a close-lipped smile. "Don''t worry, okay? We''re good thralls. If you come out we can help you."


    Ansel''s shoulder went stiff against Dally''s side.


    "Please," Dally repeated, holding out his hand again.


    The girl stared, for a long time. Then she slowly reached, and put her small hand in his.  Her hand weighed almost nothing, but was sticky from clamping on the doll''s arm. It was like one of baby Sorrel''s fists. Weaker, even.


    On the way down the stairs Dally swung the human girl up to carry her, and though she squeaked in surprise she didn''t flail around too much. She whispered something in the Brairi, it sounded a little like ''where?''.


    "Close your eyes, little sister," Dally whispered back. She didn''t, so Dally reached up to clamp a hand over them.


    Inka was throwing jars in a sack on the floor. She barely glanced up, at first, then froze as she saw the girl. "Dally."


    He gave her a hard look, and stepped over Ozana''s mother on his way towards the door.


    "Dally, no-" Inka lunged after him, following him into the open air.


    The stink of blood faded. Outside was still bright and warm, afternoon sun glowing on the fields. Confusing.


    As Dally set the girl down Inka caught his arm. "Are you crazy?"


    "We can''t leave her." He switched to Savic. "We just - I - she''s alone."


    "Someone will come," Inka said, like she was trying to convince herself.


    Ozana had taken shelter behind Dally''s leg, staring with huge eyes at Inka''s defective jaw.


    Dally forced a smile. "This is Inka," he told Ozana.


    "Fool." Inka bared another row of sharp teeth at him. She dragged both hands back through her hair. "Saf na kolje-"


    Dally didn¡¯t know all the Corps slang yet, but he knew cursing when he heard it.  While Inka swore at his back he led Ozana away, squeezing her small hand as he tugged her along through the fields.


    The main force had advanced, and the front runners were passing them now. A group had gathered around Ozana''s family''s plow, and were walking around it, gesturing skeptically. The conversation was in fast Corps, and Dally hoped Ozana couldn''t guess much of it. From what he could catch, the thralls didn''t think the plow would survive without human liveworkers. But they could eat it.


    As Dally passed a young female was already driving a harpoon blade through the nerve column in the machine¡¯s undercarriage. Another grabbed hold of one of its forelegs and wrenched it off. Ozana flinched from the crack, and Dally hurried her along.


    "It''s okay," he muttered, "plows aren''t people."


    By both gods, he hoped that was true. Behind them the plow¡¯s glossy bulk sagged into the dirt.

 Ch 22: The Adoption

    The auna had already found out somehow, before Dally even arrived back at the column. When she saw the two of them she made a switching motion with her hand, like brushing something off her coat. Her narrowed eyes almost disappeared between folds of skin.


    "It''s you." She said, in thickly accented Savic. Then she scanned Ozana''s face, quickly, maybe checking to see if she understood.


    "She only speaks Briari," Dally said.


    When Ozana didn''t react, Auna finally went on. "So. You can leave her still, at her home. It''s better." Her voice rasped, quiet and matter of fact; someone who was used to being listened to.


    Around them the Front thralls were sneaking glances up from cleaning weapons, fixing tents, and tending to their own children. Sweat crawled slow down Dally''s back, between the spines. This was the Front, not a thrall house. Would these people turn her away? Would they hurt her?


    His hand closed tighter on Ozana''s shoulder, until she squirmed, annoyed.


    "We can''t leave her here. But I''ll look after her," he said. "I -- I''ll hunt and cook for her-"


    Auna let out a sharp laugh, insulted. "I''m not care for food. I care for, is this good. Right."


    "Right?" Dally swayed uneasily in place. By now none of the other thralls were pretending to work, and their stares bored into him.


    "Yes." It sounded at least a little true. "Yes, it''s the right thing to do."


    "Even if maybe one day she will hate us?"


    Dally blinked, slowly understanding. As much as he didn''t know about the Front, these people didn''t know anything about him, or where he''d came from. "I -- I know she might hate us," he said, struggling for words. He''d never had to explain any of this out loud to anyone before - everyone just knew. "In a thrall house you can''t hide your kid and have humans forget about it. I understand what I''m doing to her." His mouth twitched in a weak attempt at a smile. "At least she''ll be alive to hate me."


    Ozana mumbled something to him in Brairi, tugging on his coat hem. Auna''s stare had unnerved her, and it was only getting more intense. Dally struggled not to lean away from her.


    Finally the old female clasped her hands together, bending to look the girl in the eyes. "Beya."


    Ozana perked up at the Corps word; ''baby''. Before she could shrink away the Auna bent and planted a kiss on the top of her head, and held her cheek with one gnarled palm. The other hand fumbled something pale tied at her hip. Auna made the girl stand still, while she dropped a loop of cord around her neck.


    When she was done the little human was standing frozen with huge eyes, her small hand clenched around a necklace of snake-bone beads.


    "She is bad luck", Auna said, peaceful. "She needs this." She shooed them away with a jerk of her chin, already turning back to her methodical packing.


    Just like that, Ozana was a field baby. An under-supplied field baby. The others saw that instantly, and for the next hour or so people kept coming up to place new things on her - a leather hat for the sun, a bindle, chunks of crystallized sugar-sap, a stick of dried mushroom. Dally sniffed that last one suspiciously before he let her take it; humans couldn''t eat half of what thralls did. Actually, it was going to be a problem. Maybe she couldn''t even eat the bricks of dry feed they got off the supply trains.


    Whether it was good for her or not, she crammed the sugar-sap in her mouth faster than they could hand it to her. Then she politely gnawed at the mushrooms, screwing up her small face. When they marched again she took turns either half-running to keep up or sitting on Dally''s shoulder''s, then Red''s shoulders, then Ansel''s.


    Through all of it the girl didn''t cry, not even one tear. Maybe she didn''t understand she was being taken away, or why, or how far they were going. Maybe it was all an adventure for her. Or maybe, Dally thought with a wild stab of hope, she didn''t like her parents, and this was her running away from home.


    He was just hoping that again, as a red summer dusk fell over the forest. Dally was crouched over a pile of kindling, blowing on a spark. Next to him the human girl watched, serious and attentive. Then she reached out a small hand to tug on one of the spines on his elbow.


    "Dally," she whispered, then mumbled a long sentence in Brairi.


    It was still a strange language to listen to - sometimes it felt almost like she was speaking Corps, and if he just listened harder he''d start to understand. A couple of words did jump out though, because they were the same in Corps: mlenke; home-unit and ama: mother.


    Dally went stiff, his camp fire slowly dying, forgotten. "Aja," he said, and hesitated. She tugged on him again.


    "I- You can''t go home," Dally said, then forced a breath. He said it again, slower. "You can''t go back home. I''m sorry."


    At first she looked confused, but slowly it sank in, and her mouth twisted. A thin, high wail eked between her teeth. Then she stood up, suddenly, looking past him at the unfamiliar forest. Before Dally could grab her she lurched away, and ran in a small circle as tears streamed down her face. At each little gap in the trees she slowed down, like she was lost and looking for a path. When she didn''t find one she wandered into the woods at random, clambering over tangled roots and trunks.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Dally should have stopped her, but when he tried to make himself move he just swayed in place, nauseous. Something was holding him down, like a cold fist closing around his whole body. Slowly he folded in on himself, crouching on his haunches with his face in his hands.


    The paralysis only lasted a second, but when he looked up again she was gone. "Ozana!"


    Silence, except for the buzz of summer cicadas. Dally lurched after her, crashing into the bushes where she''d disappeared. The mutant forest snagged at him, tripped his feet with arching roots, the snaking trunk of a creeper tree. How far could she have gone in this?


    "Ozana!"


    He turned, slowly, finding nothing but dew-slick walls of leaves. Almost random he chose a direction, started to force his way through the scrub.


    Before long the blue dusk turned black, and the canopy was dotted with the shine of mirrored eyes in the dark. Dally dropped to a crouch between trunks, staring hopelessly at the mat of moss and leaves under his feet. It didn¡¯t look like a small girl¡¯s trail. Nothing looked like a trail. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyelids, sucked in a deep breath.


    Inka. Inka could track anything. Dally scrambled back to his feet, started to run back the way he came.


    He felt the sting of a bite before he heard the hiss, stumbling and kicking reflexively. The four-snake had latched on to his calf with barbed fangs, and kicking only started it coiling around his leg. A cool, slick mass circled his flesh all the way to the hip. Four mirror-backed eyes flashed in the dark. Dally must have stepped on it blundering around, he realised, a now useless fact. It was a weapon, created for war just like him and released to multiply throughout this land. The only snake on the South Front that could kill an adult. It was surprising how much it hurt, more than a scythe claw, almost as bad as a pen.


    Without deciding to sit he was suddenly on his ass, propped against a tree. Wobbly and strangely uncaring, he plucked at the scaled head with his nails. When that didn¡¯t work he sat back, trying to think, while fuzzy calm wrapped around him. The snake gnawed its fangs deeper, mindless eyes staring up into the night; four stars in the dark.


    Dally took a long look at it, admiring. It was a blessed animal, this snake. Lucky. There were even songs about it, one of which was running through his mind right now; a soft loop in a language he barely spoke. Under his fallen hands the moss was soft and damp, growing up to cover him. He could just stay here, resting. Who would stop him? Why should he have to go back to everything out there?


    He still hadn¡¯t found Ozana, though.


    Slowly Dally clamped his hand down over the snake¡¯s head, his claws digging at the eyes and nostrils. Something wet spilled over his hand. At first the body squeezed tighter, shuddering. Then the snake whipped free, the wild strength of its body twisting in the air. Dally smashed it against the tree he was sitting on, again and again, until it was limp in his grasp. He almost flung it away into the trees, furious, but at the last second he felt the weight of it and stood, panting. Then he looped the body around the back of his neck, over his shoulders. Food.


    He was a lot slower now, which he told himself was because he didn¡¯t want another snake bite. In reality his body seemed to belong to someone else, and he wasn¡¯t totally sure where his feet were on the ground. He tripped and swerved his way along, like a stunned rat nosing blindly through the scrub.


    After a while he found himself sitting again, his breath slow and dreamy. Moss curled against his arms and then into his mouth as he sank to lie in it. The dew on it tasted how summer rain smelled. Maybe he could have stayed there, except there was an annoying orange glare ahead of him, flickering. With a protesting groan he hauled himself back to his feet.


    ¡°See?¡± Someone said, as he staggered into the clearing, ¡°There he is. Told you.¡±


    "Dally?"


    A huddle of Front thralls looked up at him, their faces lit warm. In the middle of them was Ozana, tiny in the shadow of Ansel''s bulk. A lump of campfire bread was squeezed in her hands, and Inka''s baby was gnawing on her boot.


    Dally made some kind of rasp of surprise in the back of his throat, lifting a hand.


    Before he could reach her, Inka stepped in front of him and clamped him by the shoulders. In one glance she took in the snake, his face, the puffy flesh of his leg.


    ¡°How long since this bit you?¡±


    She seemed worried, even though everything was basically fine now. The bite didn¡¯t even hurt any more. Dally mumbled something, gesturing down at it.


    ¡°Think. Before or after dark?¡±


    ¡°After,¡± Dally said, slowly, remembering eyes like stars.


    Inka sighed, rubbing her temple. "Lucky boy. Probably you keep your leg.¡± She was already pushing him to sit down, and Dally didn''t make it hard for her. He was already sinking into the dirt, staring across the fire.


    Ozana was looking seriously back at him. She seemed healthy and whole, and someone had put a babys felt coat on her to keep her warm. Under the hood her small face was round and white. She wasn''t crying anymore, but he could tell right away that it was only because she ran out of tears. Her eyes glint like wet stones.


    Inka came back with something tar-black and sludgy on her fingertips, which she held up to until he reluctantly opened his mouth. The medicine taste like honey and wild onion and vomit. Dally gagged, trying to spit it out.


    In response Inka just clamped both hands on his jaw, forcing his mouth shut. ¡°Ah-ah!¡± She bat his flailing hands away, tipping the sludge down his throat. ¡±You will be weak for two days. Maybe we carry you maybe not.¡±


    Dally tried to lick the awful taste from the inside of his mouth as she smeared more medicine into the bite itself. Then she wrapped it around and round with a piece of harness strap.


    When his flesh puffed up on either side of the wound Inka seemed satisfied, sitting back on her heels. She stared thoughtfully at her own work. "Today, you were stupid." she said, not unkindly. "Lucky and stupid."


    Then she tugged the snake down from his shoulders. Dally actually straightened a little as it came off, so maybe it had been weighing on him more than he realised.


    ¡°It''s good meat." Inka said. "She can eat this.¡±


    She left him with the snake and a skinning knife, feeling the heat of the fire beating on his face. Then he was finally allowed to settle himself next to Ozana, sandwiching the small figure between himself and Ansel''s bulk.


    "You okay?" Ansel met his eyes over her head. "She saw the fire and came back. Scared. I guess human kids aren''t that different from ours." His smile was crooked with rail-spike teeth. "I don''t know what I expected."


    "Thank you."


    "I didn''t do anything."


    The fire was extremely warm and seemed to be worming its way into him; a prickle under his skin and behind his eyeballs. Not a bad feeling, he decided. After a while someone gently removed the snake from his hands, which he had been holding quietly for a long time. They replaced it with a bowl of stew, with a layer of fat swimming on the surface. A soft weight against his side made him look down again: Ozana had sagged against him, dead asleep.