The Fire Sermon Page 14

  The woman with the pipe entered without knocking while we were putting on our shoes. She looked us over. “That’s more like it. Now come along to the kitchen. Leave your dirty clothes here. We’ll get them washed. Best get rid of all that horse hair, for one thing, before anybody starts asking questions.”

  Kip and I shot each other a look as we followed her out of the room, down the long corridor, and into a room noisy with the sounds of cooking. Suspended above a huge fire, two pots steamed. Another fire, beneath a metal grill, kept a number of smaller pots bubbling, and the girl in the red headscarf was cutting carrots, her knife rapping a speedy beat on the chopping board.

  The woman surveyed us unabashedly. “Looks like between the two of you I’ll get one good day’s work. And you won’t be good for that, I’m thinking, until you’ve eaten something. That’s if you can remember how.” She seemed to view our thin state as a personal affront. As she spoke, she grabbed a cloth, lifted the lid of one of the larger pots, ladling the stew into two bowls, and jabbing a spoon into each. “And when you’re done with those,” she said, thrusting the bowls at us, “you can wash those potatoes. Though there’s not one of them as dirty as the two of you when you wandered in here.”

  She left. Sitting on a low bench by the wall, we ate as fast as the scalding food would allow. Even though my stomach hurt at the onslaught of food, I devoured the chunks of vegetables and scraped the bowl clean at the end. Next to me, bowl wedged between his knees, Kip did the same.

  The young woman took our bowls. Below her red scarf she had a single eye, in the center of her forehead. Her skin was dusky brown and she was plumper than the older woman. She introduced herself as Nina. Kip introduced himself, too, and I gave my name as Alice. It didn’t feel as unnatural as I’d thought it might. In the first month or two at the settlement I’d become used to hearing myself referred to as “Alice’s niece,” and even at the end of my years there, everyone still called my home “Alice’s place.”

  Nina showed us the potatoes, two bags half as big as me, slumped against the wall. Kneeling over the bucket of water, I was frustratingly clumsy with my left arm strapped tight against my stomach. I couldn’t scrub the potatoes one-handed, so Kip and I ended up sharing the work: I’d hold each potato, turning it while Kip scrubbed with the small brush, then rinsing it in the bucket. We worked steadily, the pile of clean, white potatoes growing. The food, and the heat from the fires, made me sleepy, but I enjoyed the simplicity of the task, and the sense of working in tandem with Kip, as if we were two halves of a single body.

  Nina got on with her work without chatter, so we were spared the questions we’d been dreading. The noises of the kitchen prevented the lack of conversation from seeming awkward.

  It was Kip who finally asked what sort of place this was.

  Nina raised an eyebrow. “Do you not know?”

  We shook our heads.

  “You never thought all this food was for me and the boss?” Nina laughed.

  Kip shook his head again. “But there’s nobody else around—it doesn’t seem to be an inn.”

  “Not a paying inn, no.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “You’d better come and have a look.”

  We followed her out of the kitchen and into a courtyard in the rear. As we crossed the yard, the night sounds of the city drifted in from above. At the side wall, Nina turned back to us and pressed her finger to her lips, before opening the door. At least three times as large as the kitchen, the room ran the whole length of the courtyard. Most of the candles in the brackets had burned down, but two were still giving off the last of their light. All along one wall, neatly lined up, were beds and cots. With Kip beside me, I walked along the row of beds. All the sleepers were children, the oldest perhaps twelve, the younger ones only babies, all of them exposed in the absolute vulnerability of sleep. Some lay on their backs, mouths open like baby birds. In the bed closest to me, a small girl had kicked off her sheets and was curled tightly on her side, sucking her thumb. On every visible face I could see the brand.

  chapter 14

  A door at the far end of the dormitory opened and the older woman entered, a sleeping child in her arms. She placed the child in a cot by the door, carefully tucking the blankets over the sleeping form. Then she joined Nina by the other door, indicating with a jerk of her head that we should follow. In the courtyard, she whispered some instructions to Nina, who returned to the dormitory, while the bowlegged woman led us back to the kitchen.

  “Is it an orphanage, then?” asked Kip, as the woman busied herself with stirring the large pots on the fire. But it was me who answered.

  “They’re not orphans.”

  The woman nodded. “That’s right. They’re Omega kids, those whose parents can’t find anywhere better for them. We’re a holding house.”

  “And how do they end up here?” asked Kip.

  “Used to be that Omega kids would be taken straight into an Omega settlement. Just handed over to the settlement closest to the village. Or, often, the Alphas would stay in touch with their own twins, send them their Omega child to care for when the time came. So the kids would be raised by their aunt or uncle. But these days more and more Alphas won’t go near a settlement, won’t acknowledge their twin, let alone stay in touch with them. And the settlements have been driven farther out, too, to even poorer land. With that, and all the increases in tithes, Omegas can barely feed themselves, so they can hardly take on a kid. And no Alpha family will keep their Omega child long enough for it to be able to take care of itself, as some people used to.” She looked around at the kitchen, stacks of bowls piled high on the open shelves. “So they come here.”

  “The Alphas just dump them here?”

  “It’s not as bad as all that, lad. They can’t risk any harm coming to the kids, of course, so they leave them with money, usually, enough to ensure we take care of them. It’s just that the networks people used to rely on to take their Omega children—relatives, neighbors, even friends—they’re weakening now. The drought years were the turning point—I’ve always said there’s nothing like hunger to turn people against each other. Now, with all this stuff the Council goes on about—contamination, separation—Alphas can hardly bring themselves to speak to Omegas these days, so when it’s time to hand over their Omega kids, there’s nobody but us.”

  “So the Omega children—do they stay here forever?” I asked.

  “No. A few do—you’ll see them tomorrow. Those who nobody else will take. But most, nearly all, we find a place for with an Omega family. We only do what the Alpha parents did themselves, once. Alphas have always banged on about contamination. It’s just that this new lot in the Council seem dead set on acting on it.” She looked appraisingly at us. “You’ll be from the country then, maybe out east, if all this is new to you.”

  I didn’t want to say anything about our origins, so instead I said: “I’m Alice. And this is Kip.” When the woman didn’t respond, I added: “And you? You haven’t told us your name.”

  “And I hope you’ve had the good sense not to tell me your real names. But I’m Elsa. Now, let’s get the two of you to bed. I’ll need your help in the kitchen early tomorrow.”

  She lit a candle and passed me the holder, then led us back out to the courtyard and into a small room at the rear, where four empty beds were lined against the wall. “The beds are small—they’re kids’ beds—but I reckon you’ve had worse lately.”

  Kip thanked her as I placed the candle on the floor. As Elsa was closing the door she said quietly, “The other thing about this room is that there’s only a little drop from the window to the outhouse roof, and from there a person could get clean away down the back streets. Just in case of a fire, say, or a visit from our Alpha friends.” The door was shut before we could react.

  When I asked Kip to help me unbind my arm, he asked, “What if she comes in, in the night?”

  “She won’t,” I said. “And I don’t think much would surprise her, even if she did. Anyway,
I can’t sleep trussed up like this—it’s bad enough in the daytime.”

  The knotted sleeves of the shirt, wrapped around my body, had drawn tight, and it took the two of us a minute to loosen the knot and free me. I stretched, enjoying the luxury of movement, then saw him watching me.

  “What is it?” I climbed on the bed closest to the door, pulled the blankets up.

  “Nothing.” He got into the next bed. “It’s just—your arm. Today, working in the kitchen together, it felt like we were the same. And I wouldn’t wish it on you—you know that. But seeing you untie your other arm now—it’s just a reminder, that’s all. That I can’t do the same.”

  The candlelight was enough for me to see him staring at the roof. Elsa had been right about the beds. I had to lie diagonally, and even then my feet were pressed against the bars at the end. Kip’s feet stuck clear through the bars of his bed. But the soft mattress and the clean sheets were an almost-forgotten extravagance. I licked my finger and thumb, reached down, and snuffed the candle in between our beds.

  The physical closeness that had gone unnoticed in our weeks on the run was suddenly conspicuous in these domestic surroundings. For the last fortnight we’d huddled close each night, sleeping in thickets and shallow caves and beneath fallen trees. Here in the tidy, unfamiliar room we lay staidly apart in our separate beds.

  Finally I spoke. “Can I come in with you?”

  He sighed. “Because my bed’s not small enough already?” I heard him throw back the blanket. “Come on.”

  I climbed in next to him. He was on his back, and I lay on my side, where his left arm would have been. Facing him, I wrapped one arm over him, and his hand met mine, so that our clasped hands rested on his stomach. I could smell soap on both of us. Outside, a pigeon gave a small, somnolent coo, while on my forehead I felt the warm, rhythmic breath of Kip, already half-asleep.

  The pigeons on the roof woke us, and we bound my arm quickly before heading across the courtyard to the kitchen. Nina greeted us with a distracted nod, set me to work stirring a pot of oats, and directed Kip to a pile of copper pots needing washing.

  There was an eruption of noise in the courtyard when the children emerged. We could hear Elsa’s voice, shushing and bossing, and then a rush of footsteps past the kitchen door. It took both Nina and me to carry the big porridge pot along the corridor and through to the dining room, where the children, perhaps thirty of them, were crowded on benches around two long tables, laid with spoons and tin bowls. The children were well fed and clean, but looked even younger in the daylight. Lined up on the benches, most of their legs swung well clear of the ground, and some of the bigger children held the littlest ones. A few looked barely awake. One girl sucked sleepily on her spoon as they waited for the porridge to be served.

  Elsa took Kip to help her feed the babies, waiting back in the dormitory, so Nina and I were left to serve the porridge. The children didn’t seem surprised by my appearance there—I supposed they must be used to people coming and going. They lined up in front of me, and while I ladled the thick porridge into each proffered bowl, Nina walked down the line with a hairbrush, seeing to the children one by one. I noted how each child received a kiss on the forehead or a pat on the shoulder, along with a few sweeps of the brush through their hair. They were polite, too: they thanked me, if a little sleepily. Two seemed to be mute but nodded to me as they took their bowls. One girl, without legs, sat in a small wheeled cart that was pulled along by one of the older boys, and another girl carried two bowls, one for the boy next to her who had no arms. A tall girl, without eyes, confidently navigated her way around the room by the walls. Which of these, I wondered, were the ones whom nobody would take in?

  The pot was lighter now and I carried it back to the kitchen myself. As Nina had instructed, I filled a bowl for myself and ate by the fire. The new regularity of food made me tired. When Kip returned to the kitchen I was asleep on the bench, head and shoulders leaning against the stone wall. I stirred as he joined me, feeling his warmth at my side and hearing the scrape of his spoon on his bowl while he ate, but it wasn’t until Nina entered, with a clatter of bowls, that I woke properly.

  We were kept busy in the kitchen all morning, but it was warm and Nina chatted easily with us. She didn’t ask any questions; with the constant coming and going of different children she’d probably heard enough stories. As for us, we were greedy for news of the world. Nina’s news was all linked to the children who came, and the families who’d delivered them. Babies dropped off before they’d even been weaned. A toddler left in the doorway in the night and found near-strangled by the bag of silver coins in a pouch around his neck. The growing numbers, every year. “Used to be Elsa would have ten, maybe fifteen kids here at any one time,” Nina said. “But in the three years I’ve worked here, we’re rarely under thirty. And we’re not the only holding house in New Hobart—there’s another by the western edge, not quite as big.”

  The stories that she shared with us, however, also revealed glimpses of the wider world. Omega families were less able to take in children, she said, because of the pressure of ever-increasing tithes, and the restrictions on land, trading, and travel that made it harder for Omegas to make a living. Edicts from the Council were intruding more and more into Omega life. Some of the names I recognized from before my imprisonment: The Judge, still ruling the Council, apparently, as he had since I was a child. I’d heard of the General before, too, and Nina confirmed that she was still one of the more aggressive anti-Omega voices on the Council. The new laws to push Omegas to less fertile land, and outlawing settlements by any river or coast, she said, came from the General. “We used to think the General was as bad as things could get,” she went on. “But there are other young ones on the Council, in the last few years. The young ones are always the worst,” she said, scouring a pot viciously. “This new lot are as bad as any: the Ringmaster, the Reformer.”

  She didn’t seem to have noticed that I dropped the dishcloth when she spoke Zach’s name. Why hadn’t he abandoned that assumed name once he had me safe in the Keeping Rooms? Though I’d never heard of any Councilor going by their real name. It wasn’t just to hide their real identities; it was part of the pageantry, the fear they inspired.

  She went on, passing me another bowl to dry. “Those two, together with the General, have done more damage than the Judge ever did. It’s not just the rise in public whippings—it’s all the other stuff. Registrations now for all Omegas: not just name, place of birth, and twin, but having to notify the Council if you travel, or even move house. Every time we find a home for a child we have to go through all that with the Council office. There’s talk of curfews for Omegas in some areas, too. And there’ve been some Omega settlements sealed altogether: the Council soldiers won’t let anyone in or out, they just take over.” She paused and looked at the door, before continuing in a lowered voice. “There are other stories, too. People going missing—just taken in the night.”

  I didn’t trust myself to speak, nodding instead, but Kip dived in.

  “What happens to them?”

  Nina shook her head. “Nobody knows. Anyway, it’s only a rumor. Don’t say anything about it, whatever you do. You’ll scare the kids.” But it was she who looked frightened, and she changed the subject quickly.

  We ate the midday meal with the children, and afterward Elsa called us into the dormitory, where she was finishing bottle-feeding the youngest ones. A crying baby was hoisted on her shoulder, and she patted its back with one hand while looking us over.

  “The two of you’ll be wanting to have a rest in your room for the afternoon, I’d imagine.”

  I protested that we were happy to work, or just to play with the children, but Elsa spoke over me. “Afternoons we open up for visitors—families come, to see about taking the children, and Alphas come to drop them off. So I’m thinking the two of you will be wanting to have a rest in your room. With the courtyard shutters closed.”

  I cleared my throat. “Thank y
ou. We—we don’t want to cause you any trouble, by being here.”

  Elsa laughed loudly, setting off the baby again. “I’m a woman with crooked legs, a dead husband, thirty children under my care, and more coming each day. You think I’m not used to trouble? Now get going. I’ll call you when we’ve locked up after visitors.” She pulled a large pair of scissors from her apron pocket. “And take this with you, so you can sort out each other’s hair. I can’t have you in this house with your hair like that. It’s a lice trap. And people could mistake you for a pair of horse thieves.”

  Back in our room, my arm unbound, I sat Kip down, wrapped a towel around his neck, and stood behind him. His hair had been long in the tank, and was even longer now, reaching below his shoulders. I lifted a lock straight up, then cut it as close to his head as I could. He flinched at the tug of the scissors’ blunt blades.

  “Do you even know how to do this?”

  “I used to cut Zach’s hair, my last few years in the village.”

  “And he turned out just great.”

  I laughed, but I could still picture the fear on Nina’s face, when she’d mentioned the rumors about the Reformer. It was hard to reconcile my memories of Zach—my wary, watchful, twin—with this figure of fear. To know that he was responsible not only for what had happened to Kip in the tanks but also for so many of the awful things Nina had mentioned. Hardest of all was to know that the responsibility for the damage he caused was partly mine. I could stop him right now, I thought, looking down at the scissors. All the Council soldiers in Wyndham couldn’t help him, if I were to turn these blunted blades on my wrist. If I had the courage.

  Kip turned and looked up at me.

  “The long pause doesn’t fill me with confidence. Are you sure you’re not going to ruin my youthful good looks?”

  I laughed, reached for the next strand of hair. It was warm in my hand from where it had lain against his neck. I held it for a few seconds before I began.