Dark Company (17 page)

“I read it in the paper …”

“It’s the Company men. They left bodies where they knew they would be found. It was a threat to anyone who would bear the mark. They know we’re recruiting so they’re trying to dissuade those who would join the Dreamers by chopping off the left arm of their victims where the mark would be. The media created the whole One-Armed Bandit thing. It’s a catchy name and I’m sure it’s selling lots of papers. They haven’t got a clue who the real perpetrators are.”

“Oh.” She felt stupid for mentioning it.

“The threat is real,” he said. “The Company uses the paper to
do their work because they know the Dreamers eschew technology to limit detection.”

It would certainly explain her father’s bizarre devotion to the newspaper. She was learning more about her own life every minute. “My father reads the paper. I thought he was being old-fashioned.”

Poe smiled again, though this time he wasn’t making fun of her. “Mine too. They read it for information. It’s one of our communication streams, a way to send hidden messages. We post fake ads. You have to know what to look for, like clues. We don’t do it very often because we don’t want the Company to figure it out. They know we read the paper and sometimes they use it to spread fear.”

“Do they always take the arms of the Dreamers they kill?”

“No one knows. They don’t normally leave the bodies.”

The idea was gruesome, either way. Caddy looked at her sneakers. The blood had dried to a dark patch. You couldn’t really tell what it was, but she would never forget how it got there. If she didn’t need her shoes she would kick them off and leave them in the woods.

The path took an upward turn, curving through the trees. She was so tired. And her legs ached. But how could she complain? Most of the Dreamers were more than twice her age and they seemed to be managing okay. She looked for the girl. She was ten people ahead, marching with her head down. Caddy wished she could speak to her. Maybe later, she thought. She was wondering if they would stop soon when the leader announced they’d reached their destination.

The log cabin squatted in a clearing among the trees. It had one small window beside a door pieced together from boards of various widths. The cabin was rustic and low, a strange mushroom, with a mossy roof and a tilted stone chimney. It looked damp and dark. Still, it had to be better than the cellar they’d occupied the night before.

The leader raised his hand. “This is it,” he said. “We have proper facilities this time—an outhouse and a stream with running water.” He gave a weak smile. “The stream is behind the cabin. If you wish to wash up, please do so now. Keep it brief and don’t leave anything behind. We want to get inside as soon as possible. There’s food to prepare and watch to keep. I need some volunteers.”

Half a dozen hands were raised. Four people were chosen and the rest dismissed.

Caddy stayed beside Poe as the group walked to the stream. They wound down a rock-studded slope, stepping over the polished bones of tree roots. At the river, the men drifted off on their own, moving toward a cluster of smooth grey stones that reclined like seals at the base of a low waterfall. Poe leaned toward her.

“Stay with the women and watch the trees for movement,” he said.

Caddy followed the women farther downstream. They searched for a quiet pool and found one in a wide curve of the river. It looked so deceptively peaceful, she could almost convince herself that nothing was wrong. The women mutely shed their clothes, as though it were the most natural thing to do. Caddy peeked shyly at their naked bodies. They were as varied as the coloured pebbles in the stream. Yet each one bore the mark on their arm, even the girl who had helped her. They stepped into the pool, undergarments in hand, and sank up to their necks. Dunking their heads, they scrubbed their hair. Some pulled water methodically up their arms and over their shoulders. No one talked.

Removing her jacket, Caddy folded it neatly and placed it on the riverbank. She did the same with her shirt and pants. Everything else she left on—her bra, her underwear, even her sneakers and socks, because she wanted to wash the dirt and blood from
her shoes. Folding her arms across her chest, she slipped into the water. The cold energized her skin. She navigated over the slippery stones to a flat spot. When she was in over her hips, she inhaled and dunked below the surface. The river burbled in her ears. The water felt so good, she wanted to stay under forever. Bobbing up for air, Caddy blinked the stream from her eyes and worked off her undergarments. She scrubbed them together and pulled them back on, floating lightly on her toes. Next, she rubbed her sneakers with a handful of small stones until they were clean—as clean as she could get them. No matter how hard she scrubbed, the blood left a faint stain on the fabric.

The women eventually emerged from the water and Caddy did the same. When everyone was dressed, they walked together up the slope. Caddy trailed behind the girl, sneakers squeaking with wet, hoping to speak to her. The right opportunity never presented itself because the women remained silent, so she did too.

Inside the cabin, the smell of fried onions and bread dough tugged at Caddy’s appetite. The men were already there, sitting on the floor. The girl took a seat between two older women. Poe was reclining against the wall on the far side of the room. There was no space beside him so Caddy took a spot on the edge of the group.

The cabin was dark, the one small window providing little light for the cooks to prepare food. They worked, stacking strips of fried bread into a small teepee on a wooden board. A woman offered them around the room along with a pitcher of water and a single glass. No one took more than one piece of bread, Caddy noticed, though they must have been as hungry she was. When the bread came her way, she did the same, taking only one piece. The woman beside her took two and gave the second to her. The last thing Caddy wanted was preferential treatment. She accepted the bread out of politeness and looked around to see if anyone had noticed what the woman had done. They were all focused on
the bread in their own hands. She felt too guilty to eat two pieces, so she pushed one into her jacket pocket for later.

After the bread, the group relaxed. Small circles were formed with people speaking in soft voices. Caddy looked at Poe. He was resting against the cabin wall, his eyes closed, the diffuse light from the window highlighting his cheekbones. He covered his face with his hands and shuddered, and Caddy realized he was crying. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him and tell him it wasn’t his fault—no matter what he thought—he wasn’t responsible for Meg’s death. As if reading her mind, he dropped his hands to his sides and his eyes locked on hers. The door to the cabin opened and everyone turned. It was Hex and Red.

S
kylark glided alongside Kenji. He walked, one foot after the other, like a human. It looked so fun.

“Do you always move with your feet?” she asked. She was still feeling the effects of the blue drink from the bar.

“Yeah, most of the time. Why?”

“I don’t know. I just thought everyone glided or jumped around here.”

“I jump,” he said. “And sometimes I even glide. But I like walking. That’s what legs are for. Besides, I don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention.”

“What do you mean?”

“People don’t glide on earth. Whenever I’m there, I walk so I don’t stand out any more than I already do.”

“Do you go there often?” Skylark asked, trying to contain her excitement. If she were a Guide, she’d never leave the earth behind. “Often enough.”

She stopped, looked at her feet, then looked at Kenji. “I don’t think I know how to walk anymore.”

“It’s easy. Watch me.” Kenji took several steps, turned like a runway model, and walked back.

Skylark took a tentative step, wobbled dangerously, straightened herself and stopped. She was as graceful as a store mannequin come to life.

“Try again,” he said.

Lifting her chin she slowly stepped forward, placing one foot in front of the other like a geisha. “Hey … I think I’m doing it …” She flashed a huge smile just before she tipped, her arms flying up to regain her balance. When she did this, her robe popped up in place of her clothes and reverted again.

Kenji smirked. “What was that?”

“What?” she tried to deflect.

“Your clothes. What happened there?”

“Oh … uh … sometimes that happens when I try something new … It’s nothing, really.” That didn’t sound very convincing, even to herself.

“Do it again.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a neat trick.”

Was he making fun of her? He smiled back.

“Okay, fine,” she said. Closing her eyes, she loosened her particles and slipped back to her robe state.

He clapped his hands. “Very cool.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Seriously. I’m impressed. My friends are going to love you. Now, try walking again.”

Skylark reverted to her street clothes and walked, slow and deliberate. Staring at her feet, she took fifteen steps, attempted a turn, made it and walked back to Kenji. “Was that good?”

“Yeah. Now do it without looking at your feet.”

Skylark squared her shoulders. Fixing her eyes on the building in front of her, she took ten steps, turned, focused on Kenji and walked back, a big smile on her face.

“Perfect,” he said. “You’re a pro.”

“Hey, don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Honestly. I think you’re amazing. Truly.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

No one had called her amazing in a very long time, certainly not since she’d arrived here. It felt so good. Kenji was nice. Hanging out with him was fun. She hoped his friends were as enjoyable.

They continued toward their destination, Skylark biting her lip with concentration, hands held out at her sides as she walked unsteadily beside Kenji. Every once in a while she’d pitch, exclaim under her breath and right herself. She didn’t give a thought to where they were going or who they would meet.

“Walking takes a lot of effort,” she said.

He laughed. “Even more when you’ve got training wheels.”

“Are we almost there?” she asked.

He pointed to a modest red-brick building. “This is HQ.” He opened the door for her, grabbing her hand as she tripped over the threshold.

Skylark looked around. It didn’t belong with the rest of the city. It was dusty and old and cluttered with stuff—books, piles of papers, a worn couch. “Your friends live here?”

He ushered her toward an office, jangled the door open and towed her in by one hand. Behind a worn wooden desk, an old cowboy reclined, eyes closed, hands clasped across his chest, black cowboy boots crossed at the ankles on the desktop. He wore a big white hat, white T-shirt and blue jeans, his grey beard quivering as he muttered to himself. Skylark wanted to laugh when she saw him, he looked so comical.

Kenji let the door bang shut. The old man started awake with a grunt, jackknifed in his chair and crashed his boots to the
floor. “Kenji, you big—” He cut himself short when his blue eyes landed on her.

Kenji grinned, presenting her like a trophy. “Francis, I’d like you to meet Skylark.”

The old man dropped his jaw, speechless. He cupped his beard, looking at Kenji for confirmation. Kenji nodded.

Skylark felt suddenly shy. What was going on here?

“Go ahead, Skylark,” Kenji said. “Say hi to Francis.”

She waved and smiled. “Hi. You’ve got really blue eyes.”

Francis smacked his hand on the desk, sending papers flapping into the air. “Unbelievable!”

“I found her at the bar,” Kenji gloated. “She just learned how to walk.”

The old man pushed away from his desk and cowboyed over to her, the heels of his boots clomping loudly over the wooden floor. “Say something else, sweetheart.”

She looked at Kenji, who smiled encouragingly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “Are you a Guide too?”

Francis guffawed and shook his head. “What’d you tell her, hotshot?”

Kenji shrugged good-naturedly and slouched into an old red easy chair. He folded his hands lightly in front of him, one foot jiggling. She stood, monkey in the middle, looking back and forth between the two men.

“Okay, Skylark,” Kenji said. “Show him your true colours.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do that thing you showed me on the way over.”

“Walking?”

“No—that other thing—with your clothes.”

She hesitated. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to go showing her true colours to strangers. But here was Kenji, nodding her on. And they both seemed so interested in her. It was nice to have the attention. She closed her eyes and concentrated, and her real
form took shape. She held herself there, letting her robe wave around her for full effect before returning to her street clothes.

Kenji tilted his head at Francis. “Neat trick, huh?”

The old cowboy raised his eyebrows. “Does Timon know?”

“Nope. I wanted you to see first.”

Francis took her by the hand and spoke as though addressing a three-year-old. She couldn’t help smiling at the way his beard waggled when he talked, he was leaning so close.