Strikers (36 page)

Just off the piers, a town almost immediately begins. There are no outskirts, no gradual increase in the number of buildings. It just begins, full and crowded. Houses with tiny yards crowd around narrow streets.

The streets are laid out in imprecise lines, following the contours of the land rather than barreling through it, but I can see the distinct lines of a typical town center at the end of the street we’re hurrying down.

My inclination is to hug the sides and try to remain out of sight, but Jovan whispers that we should be casual and walk like we’re just another group of sailors with a destination in mind. It’s a surprisingly difficult task, but I think we do a passing job.

The house we come to is a little larger than the others, but not so much that it stands out. Green shutters, tall windows and a fresh-looking coat of paint give it a friendly air, but it’s still just a regular house. For some reason, the notion that Marcus was wealthy because his family owns boats had taken root in my head. Compared to the citizen housing in Bailar, it does seem that way, but most of the houses we’ve passed are in the same neat and well-tended state.

We’ve no chance to knock. The door swings open even as we come up the walkway. A small woman, plump in every way, smiles out at us and welcomes us inside. Marcus stands behind her and his grin widens when he sees Cassi in her chubby boy disguise.

“Well, this is going to be interesting,” I say, smiling.

Jovan must realize I’m talking about Cassi meeting Marcus’s family because he grins back and says, “Oh yeah, and I’m going to enjoy watching it.”

After showering and changing into clothes provided by Marcus’ mother, Susanna, we look more ourselves again. Or, perhaps I should say, Cassi looks more herself. I don’t look anything like my regular self in the dress Susanna left hanging for me on the back of the door.

There’s a full-length mirror in the room and I almost cringe to see myself. I’ve lost weight, which I couldn’t afford to do in the first place, but seeing myself like this really makes it hard to ignore. Cassi sees my discomfort and gives me a swift peck on the cheek before leaving me alone to finish dressing.

I’ve never had a great deal of extra weight on my body, but I’ve done well enough gardening to avoid looking scrawny. And no matter the source, Connor and I have always managed to provide ourselves with enough protein to grow straight and decently muscled. That is not the case now. I’ve descended past scrawny into skinny territory and I look malnourished, with hollows under my eyes and cheeks. My ribs stand out as do my hip and collar bones. When I put on the dress, much of that fades away and I wonder if she chose the color to counter my pallor on purpose.

The dress is simple and pretty, made of cotton in a pattern of tiny white flowers against a pale blue background. Hints of yellow in the flowers brighten the fabric even further. I’ve had very few dresses in my life, mostly when I was small and my mother was still making an effort. I’ve not seen myself in one since, and the difference is striking. I look almost pretty.

I take some effort with my hair, combing out each tangle until it gleams then braiding two small sections away from my face to keep it neat. Aside from my boots, I have no shoes. I guess it would be too much to hope for that anyone else in the family is my size and wouldn’t mind me wearing theirs, but Susanna left me a strange pair of slippers. They almost look like they are made of rubber, with two thin straps that come to a point. It takes me a few tries to figure out the joined strap is meant to go between my toes and the loud slapping noise they make against my heels brings out a laugh.

I hesitate when I near the bottom of the stairs and the noise of laughter and conversation grows. I feel a bit naked with my legs showing, especially given their current thin and scarred up state. There’s no help for it and I’d prefer not to look timid and give a bad first impression. I lift my chin and make sure there’s just the right curve on my lips when I enter the main room where everyone is gathered.

The smell of cooking food is almost overwhelming. I’ve been smelling a hint of it—meat, something sauce-like and more—since Cassi opened the door to walk out, but now it’s almost like a fog enveloping me. My stomach makes such a loud noise it sounds like my guts are twisting around on themselves. For all I know they might be doing just that. Either way, it’s loud enough for Susanna to hear as I pass into the room and near her chair.

“Well, if that isn’t a call for dinner, I don’t know what is,” she says brightly.

Her words come out sounding as round as her cheeks look. The vowels are drawn out and the words almost luxurious in the way she speaks them. Marcus has the same sort of accent, but his is less pronounced. As the others—several of Marcus’s brothers, their wives and two small girls—file past me into the dining room, I hear more of the same. Most were introduced to us before we went up to shower, but I’m pretty sure more have arrived and I can’t remember anyone’s name anyway.

Their kitchen is large and inviting, full of homey touches. A long table crowded with chairs and benches beckons. Mismatched cloth napkins lay across equally mis-matched plates. A waft of cool air kisses my bare legs from behind and I turn to see Susanna in front of a huge metal cabinet taller than I am. Tendrils of frost curl out and I realize it’s like the giant cool-room in the school, except smaller. I don’t remember what those are called, but I’ve never seen anything like it.

Before I can think twice, I step in front of it and reach in, feeling the cold air and touching a pitcher so cold there’s ice bobbing in the liquid.

Susanna gives me a curious look and asks, “Have you not seen a refrigerator before, child?”

Of course, that’s the name of it. I feel like a fool when I answer, “Only one that’s like a room. They have one at our school.”

Her brows draw together and I can see the pity in her expression, but she says, “Well, I imagine not everyone really needs one, but it gets so hot and humid here that milk sours coming out of the udder! Go on and take a seat. Marcus, get out of that chair. Let the ladies have the padded ones.” She ends by tsking and muttering about bad manners as she shuttles hot food and cold pitchers to the table.

After much shuffling of chairs and re-introductions, and my immediate forgetting of names yet again, we set to. The dinner is remarkable and nothing like I have ever eaten before. Spaghetti with sausage made of alligator and pork—an alligator sounds awful and I hope I never meet one—salad, fresh hot bread dripping with butter and spices and endless glasses of iced tea are devoured with equal fervor by all. I’m confused by the pasta until Susanna demonstrates how to twirl it onto my fork and tells me not to worry about the stragglers. Marcus then demonstrates by sucking up a long noodle, spattering sauce in the doing.

Conversation is easy and they are kind enough to avoid the topic of our flight while we eat. I can see everyone, not just Susanna, evaluating Cassi. But like everything else they’ve done so far, they do it kindly.

It’s quite clear that Marcus has no intention of hiding his interest in her, and equally clear that the family is interested in this choice of his. But it’s not the kind of judging that I would expect in Bailar, where individual considerations are the least important ones. There, family worth and earning potential are the more prominent issues. Families care if two people get along, of course, but love is rarely the primary motive in a match where one or both have anything worth owning. I suppose in that way, at least, the poor have it better than the wealthy.

I feel nothing like that at this table and the interest is on her as a person. She doesn’t disappoint. Her bright and bubbly personality is perfectly suited to this place. By the time we’re all stuffed and plates are being pushed back with satiated groans, she is perfectly comfortable hopping up to help clear the plates with Susanna. It seems entirely natural and in no way forced.

Once cups of rich black coffee are served, the mood shifts and I don’t need anyone to tell me what’s coming. We’re going to turn to the topic these welcoming people must have been intensely curious about since we appeared. Susanna studies her cup for a moment and the children are shooed off to play in another room. It feels strange to tell our story to a room full of people, but they are offering us aid instead of taking the gold for turning us in, so it only seems fair.

Jovan tells our story, with Cassi and me adding bits as needed. The people around the table are rapt, coffee forgotten and cold in their cups or else absently sipped. It’s so strong that I feel jittery and switch to water, also cold and sweet-tasting, after politely emptying my cup.

He’s kind enough to leave out the conditions under which I lived and I don’t offer those details up, but Cassi is quite frank about her own prospects had she stayed in Bailar, and the reasons she welcomed escape with us when the opportunity arose.

There is utter silence around the table when we’re done. Not so much as a breath can be heard. For one unreasonable moment, I think we made a mistake by telling them about the fish Jovan stole and then Susanna breaks the spell.

Her voice is full of compassion when she says, “You poor children.”

My defenses go up immediately. We didn’t tell them our story to gain pity or so that anyone would feel sorry for us. The way she says it, like we’re small and defenseless, just doesn’t sit well with me.

She notices me stiffen and waves her hands as if to retract her words. “I didn’t mean it like that. You were very brave to do what you did and I don’t think I could have managed any of it. Please don’t misunderstand me, dears.”

For a moment she searches for words, the others watching her and waiting for her to take the lead as their mother, the woman of the house. She meets my eyes and I see the strength there, the grit that it took to raise all her children with a husband who leaves for weeks at a time for his work in a world inherently hostile to the survival of the young.

“I suppose I’m thinking more of life in Texas. One hears things, secondhand stories that pass along the river, but few Strikers come this way so who knows what’s true and what isn’t? Now, hearing from you, I have to believe that much of what I’ve heard over the years is true. Or true enough,” she says.

She looks at Cassi, reaches out to clasp her hand and says, “Such a life for a young girl to have to contemplate isn’t right. Not right at all.”

I can only assume she means the Pleasure Houses, but I’m not entirely sure. There were enough scantily clad women hanging out of windows and walking the piers we passed for me to know they must have them here. Perhaps it isn’t viewed as an acceptable profession is all I can figure.

With a final pat, she releases Cassi’s hand and nods to one of her sons, Mario. He looks like the oldest to me, but I’m not a fit judge of that.

He’s all business and gets right to the important stuff. He says, “There is a bounty out for you, Jovan. An endangered minor bounty. That’s a small, but important, distinction in terms of bounties. Those are usually laid on girls who get lured away, kidnapped kids or the like. It was a smart thing for this Creedy fellow to do. People don’t feel bad about collecting those. And gold is gold.”

I’m about to interrupt with questions, but he holds up a hand to forestall me and I clap my mouth shut, twisting my fingers in my lap to force some semblance of patience.

Mario taps his fingers on the table as if counting out his various points, “So, people have got the excuse of doing something good while really going after gold. That will work against you. Going for you is that no one knows where you are or who you’re with, though rumors are swirling that a boat like ours picked you up. Also, there are only three of you now, not five. That won’t last, though. Soon enough someone will figure out that the other two passed the gate. All it takes is a small bribe to a gate where someone is smart enough to check.” Finished, he slaps his palm onto the broad surface of the table as if everything were settled.

I’m not sure what to make of the information. It’s no more than I could have guessed but to hear it from someone else makes it real and far more difficult to figure a way out of. Jovan’s downcast expression needs addressing, and that I do know how to do.

“Jovan, snap out of it right this minute,” I say, my voice a little sharper than I intended. “Giving yourself up or whatever you’re thinking of doing isn’t an option.”

He purses his lips but says nothing. He doesn’t need to because I can read that stubborn look and it says he’ll either go on his own or do something else stupid.

“Wait, Jovan, hear me out,” I say and wave my hand in the direction of the river and the wall beyond. “We are just this close to the wall. All we have to do is get to it when someone trustworthy is there and we’re free. Running off or going back is like throwing all that we’ve done, all that we had to go through, away.”

Susanna clears her throat and says, “Getting past the wall won’t solve your problem entirely. It won’t solve it at all, really. Not here, not right now.”

My heart drops in my chest like someone just tied a stone to it.

“There are other options,” suggests Mario after another assenting nod from his mother.

“Why isn’t it finished if we get across the wall? What other options?” I ask.

I feel like running, escaping. I can feel my toes curling against the flimsy rubber of those strange sandals and I want my boots, my safe and sturdy boots. And then I want to run straight for the wall, even if I have to run over the water to do it.

I don’t feel any danger coming from these people. I genuinely think they want to help us but that just makes it worse, because I can tell they hate having to break this to us. That means they’re probably minimizing the issue, trying to make it not sound as bad as it probably is. What more will I have to do? How much further will I have to go?

“You might as well just tell us. Get it over with,” Jovan says, sensing my anxiety.

“The wall is just a border and all borders are permeable to some extent. Some traders have regular access, and at times passage to the East is allowed because they have rails that go straight through to the East Coast. There are more reasons people come and go through, but you get the idea,” explains Mario.