Feed the Machine (26 page)

There was no escape, no gaps, nothing. She worked all night, slept all day and had a few scant groggy hours between waking and going to work again. When she was awake, her family was away. Dia cleaning, Ash working in the mines, Silver in some repair lab. She hadn’t spoken to Ash since her first night here. Gardner concocted extra jobs for them to do so they worked past sunrise. It seemed deliberate.

The first three nights were the worst. Even though it was a different bar, the scents and sounds were the same. The door would swing open and she’d expect to see Hefnan come wandering in like he always did—as though he’d been out for a stroll and just so happened to walk through a mysterious door and oh my, there was a bar!

Exhausted as she was, she dreamed of him being torn apart by silver bugs. She dreamed of a metal skeleton thrashing. She saw that small boy being broken, screaming and then revived.

Days on and Cago was still unsettled. The old generator and water pump were back in place but worries floated on the breeze they might break down. Hefnan and his shining skeleton came up over and again in the bar, drunken hypotheses being traded. The box of bugs was all anyone talked about for the last two nights since travelers came back from Char and reported their Machine had also failed to provide new electrical equipment and had instead only produced a mysterious white box filled with bugs.

The door swung open and for a moment she thought it was Garrick. He had the same build, the same dumbness behind the eyes. But it wasn’t him.

“It’s not your boyfriend,” Gardner said.

“No boss.”

“Who am I talking about?”

“Not sure boss.”

Like the rest of her family, she possessed the ability to ignore any number of things. Danton dead with the Wire Pub knife in his heart was one of these things. The other thug, Carter, gulping air like a pet fish, his blood washing out of him.

She’d looked for Garrick but hadn’t seen him since the night the power went out. She wanted to ask about Danton and Carter but it was too suspicious to speak to anyone other than Garrick until they were under her spell. Why would some random girl care about them? Why do you ask?

A cool hand gripped her neck just above her collar. Gardner.

“I think you’d make a better whore than a bartender,” she whispered in her ear.

“No boss.”

“No? The men love your ass and your tits, they’d love to fuck you in any of your warm holes.”

“I’m better as a bartender boss. I attract the men to come in so the other girls can take them next door. If I go then there will be a lot of broken hearts boss.”

“Not good for business?”

“No boss.”

Nola’s heart was thudding—she was sure Gardner could feel her pulse—and she was fighting down panic that came with a strong dose of rage. There was a knife under the bar to slice lemons. Grab that, turn and slash, open her throat.

Gardner let go of her neck.

“Get back to work,” she whispered and walked back to her spot.

“Yes boss,” Nola replied.

After they were free of Fat Man there would be a reckoning. Somewhere silent, somewhere dark, somewhere the law would never know about. Tirrel, Gardner, hell, maybe even Fat Man if some mob hadn’t torn him apart.

She hoped Ash and Silver were having more success at gathering materials than she was.

“Hey baby,” Tirrel said, sliding into an empty seat at the bar.

“Hey yourself.”

She winked and vamped and pushed away the rising red mist that whispered vicious things.

Chapter 43

Ash

He staggered in through Fat Man’s gate dead on his feet. He didn’t see Kin until he nearly stepped on him.

“Come to the house so we can talk,” Kin hissed, walking alongside him, away from the guards.

“Run before they see you.”

Fat Man had a strict no pets rule. They were technically in a public street at the moment but no one except for Fat Man’s family ever went there.

“Come to the house before I scratch you!”

Ash blinked his eyes, trying to push away the fatigue but there was no moving it.

“Too far. I’ll meet you out of his area.”

“Fine,” Kin hissed. He vanished into the falling darkness.

Ash trudged with the rest of the family into the compounds. No one said anything about Kin—they were so tired it was doubtful they’d noticed. They walked past the mess hall, the scent of delicious food tormenting them. They weren’t allowed to eat until they’d showered. Another of Fat Man’s rules designed to keep them in debt.

Ash followed the line into the showers and stepped under the hot soapy spray, fully dressed. After twelve hours in the pile digging and hauling the hot water was some kind of miracle. He mechanically stripped off his dirty clothes and stepped out of them, leaving them on the floor. Cleaners stood to the side to grab the wet clothes and shoes to take them away. Now naked he let the water run over his body. The heat hauled exhaustion and sleep behind it. He washed the dirt off his arms and legs and walked out of the showers. Another slave handed him a fluffy white towel. He dried himself, received a new uniform and new boots.

More debt every day. Everything had a cost and there were rules making you spend. You had to be clean to eat. Anyone who tried to clean themselves at home was rejected as being still dirty. Those who showered in the compound were let in. You had to take your clothes off in the showers. You were then offered a towel. You were not allowed to bring in your own. Every step was a cost added to your debt.

Ash dressed in the clean uniform. He sat down to tie his boots.

“All family members must wear assigned boots or shoes unless otherwise directed,” he whispered to himself.

After the medbeating of the little boy they were given the rules. Fat Man said there was only one rule but that wasn’t true. They were all
family
not slaves. After all, they had joined voluntarily hadn’t they? The word
slave
was on the list of proscribed words. So was
Fat Man
.

Family members were to be courteous and obey all instructions given.

Family members were to maintain good hygiene.

Family members were to work in the best interests of the family at all times.

They were given paper—actual paper—with these rules and a hundred more printed on them. Ash had run his fingers over the perfect machine-printed lettering. Fat Man must have a printing press hidden away he had whispered to Nola.

She’d tapped her finger on the page.

Theft is forbidden.

Any family member who is aware of a crime and does not report it shall be subject to the same punishment as the criminal.

If you see something, say something.

Ash shook his head. Fat Man and his thugs could demand certain words were used but the underlying meaning was the same. They were slaves and he was their owner.

Clean and dry and somewhat revived he entered the mess hall. It was filled with clean tired slaves gulping down as much food as they could fit in their bellies. Stretching the length of the room was a long table filled with trays and tubs of food that were constantly refilled by endless slaves. There were steaks, sausages, eggs, bread, pap, stew, fish, fruit, salads, desserts. Ridiculous extravagant food served in decadent sauces. As much drink as you wanted. Behind each tray stood more slaves, watching and recording everything you took. Eat as much as you wanted. Add to your debt.

Ash grabbed a tray and walked down the line, filling it as he went. A juicy steak seared on the outside, pink on the inside. Potatoes smothered in a cheesy white sauce, the faint hint of onion. Crusty bread. Fresh salad, crunchy and delicious. A pudding—a sweet custard with crisp sugar on the top served in a porcelain bowl. As much calories as he could stuff in his mouth. The mess never closed and you could eat as much as you wanted.

He found an open spot at a table and began shoveling food in his mouth.

Like everyone else who joined Fat Man’s family a week ago, he’d eaten as little as he could on the first night. Stick to pap, get out of debt one day. But then came the brutal second day, hauling junk from sunrise to sunset, hands shaking, almost fainting. That night he gulped down all the food he could grab, caring little what the slaves wrote down in their books.

At the rear of the mess was a kitchen filled with hasdees. Each had been loaded with tempcubes. Slaves printed food and delivered it.

Slaves feeding slaves counted by slaves guarded by slaves directed by slaves.

They had been told on the first day they could request their debt total whenever they wanted from the Ledger Men. But it wasn’t up to date—they only did their accounting once a week. Ash had planned to ask—now he didn’t care. If their plan worked they’d have more than enough money to free themselves. Then they’d reveal the collars and destroy Fat Man and this whole sick system.

“Hey Ash.”

A blonde girl smelling of soap sat down beside him. Her tray was filled to the brim like his.

“Hey,” Ash said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He glanced at her and then down at his food.

She’s beautiful.

“I’m Emi.”

“Nice to meet you.”

He prodded his exhausted brain to say something else but he was too tired for clever, cute, charming.

“The first week is the worst. It gets a lot better, believe me.”

She tore apart a crusty bread roll and slathered it in butter before popping a piece of it in her mouth. He glanced again.

Green eyes.

Freckles.

“Where do you, uh, work?”

“Golden Door now. I was in the Scour for two years before they moved me. Before that I was a sorter, you know, because I have small hands. Or had. When I was a kid.”

She tore off another piece of bread and ate it. He looked at her hands—small and delicate, as pale as his mother’s.

“So you’ve worked for—I mean, worked here for a long time?”

Stupid.

Emi leaned in close to him and lowered her voice. Her hair brushed against his arm and he couldn’t help but to breathe in. Soap and fabric and girl.

“It’s okay to say
slave
if you keep your voice down. But yes, I’ve been a
family member
since I was three.”

Ash thought of many dumb things to say but they were all variations on
oh, that’s a long time
and so he focused on his food instead.

“Definitely eat as much as you can,” Emi said, slicing into her steak. It was smothered in a mushroom sauce.

They ate for a few more minutes in silence, surrounded by tired slaves around them making conversation. No one talked about their work. They were more concerned with their one day off per week, which guard was sleeping with which slave, rumors and lies.

“I met your sister. She’s funny.”

“Yeah?”

Moron. Just stop talking.

“She’s cheeky.”

The silence spun out but Ash was too tired to care. He finished his meal, gulped down the pudding (which fortunately was cold rather than hot) and then walked away, a slave rushing in to clean his tray.

He saw Emi watching him as he left the mess.

Outside there was a chill in the air. Every day now would grow colder as winter approached. It was a horrible time to search in the Scour. There were gales, hailstorms and a deep aching chill that dug into your bones. The only upside was the hazels stayed close to their dens and so did the Scabs. If you could handle the cold it was a much safer time to travel and spend nights outside a fenced city. The cold felt good on his face, refreshing but he knew it wouldn’t last. The uniforms were thin and didn’t warm much.

Ash passed various guards who landed somewhere on the continuum between ignore him or glare and grit teeth. Some gave casual glances. Others looked furious, as though they might smash him down for walking past them.

As a family member he was obligated to obey any guard no matter where he was. If they told him to stop, he stopped. Thankfully none of them said a word as he passed. Most of them had their arms crossed, huddling beside buildings trying to keep warm.

Soon he crossed the unofficial line that separated Fat Man’s violent kingdom from the rest of Cago. He walked two streets away and turned the corner, getting out of sight of any guards. As soon as he was, Kin hissed at him from under a building.

Ash got down on hands and knees and crawled under. It was dry and dusty and still somewhat warm from the collected heat of the day.

“Back here,” Kin instructed, moving further into the darkness.

Ash followed, careful not to get his uniform dirty as he crawled, not letting his knees touch the ground.

Under the middle of the building it was lit by a crack in the floor above their heads. Someone had dragged a large piece of worn carpet under there at some point to use as a bed. Ash sat on it, his legs crossed.