The Smudger Read online

  “That’s a risky assumption.”

  “What other choice do we have? If we all run, they will catch us. We can’t outrun their bikes on foot. But I lead them away, you can get somewhere safe.”

  I reached out and grabbed hold of his hand. “And we’ll never see each other again.”

  He squeezed my hand in reply. “I’ll find you. Come on, we’re out of time. Take the scratch.”

  I grabbed my bag and dug through it, pulling out my bowl, my rabbit pelt—

  “What are you doing? There’s no time for messing about, just do it.” He pushed the pelt and bowl back into my bag.

  He lay down and I placed one hand on his forehead, and the other on his stomach. My hands were sweaty, my heart hammered, and I could barely focus. I pushed into his head, and I felt the sharp edges of the scratch as he pushed it forward. I took hold of it and withdrew, pulling it out into my own head.

  “Now go,” he whispered.

  “Please don’t die,” I whispered back. I grabbed Malia’s hand and pulled her to standing. I snatched up my bed roll and we set off at a run, the bed roll trailing behind us like a banner. My head was full of my own heartbeat, the heavy sound of my breathing. My legs carried me forward without me even having to think about them.

  Because all I could think was that that might have been the last time I ever saw Tian, and that the last stupid words I said were ‘please don’t die’.

  26

  SENETSU

  When we walked in through the gates of the Kumonayo colony, the city’s high rises stretching up behind it, the first few people to see us started running, ahead of us, aiming to be the first to tell people that we had arrived. Keen to be the herald.

  Within minutes, the brood mother, Tokai, approached us, surrounded by an eager crowd. Without a word, she embraced us each in turn, covering us in kisses. She took hold of Omori’s head, pulling her hair back from her face, inspecting her.

  She straightened up, and stepped back. Then she placed her hand on her heart and bowed her head. Everyone else around them imitated the motion. It was grotesque. A full cast performance of heartache, a recital of affinity. I almost expected them to take a bow afterwards and wait for our applause.

  Omori looked up at me with questions in her eyes.

  “Welcome to Kumonayo,” Tokai said. “We’re so glad to have you here, and thankful that you have arrived safely with us. Come, come, let’s get you something to eat.”

  I glanced at Saji. “Actually, we’re more tired than hungry. If you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, of course. We already have a house set aside for you. It’’s small, but it’s private. Set aside from the others. I thought you might find it easier to settle if you weren’t in the centre of everything.”

  “That’s very thoughtful,” Saji said. “Thank you.”

  “Want to go and see our new home?” I asked Omori, squeezing her hand.

  She grinned and nodded. “Do I get my own bedroom?”

  “Let’s go and see shall we?”

  In Okaporo, Omori and Kioto had had separate rooms, but they’d asked Saji to take down the wall between them. They had separate beds, but always chose to sleep cuddled together in one.

  It hurt that she was so keen for a space by herself, and it hurt even more that we had done that to her. That her sister could be so easily erased and replaced by a desire to be alone. I’d almost expected, or hoped at least, that Omori would have an inexplicable feeling that something was missing, that she’d lost one half of herself. But she appeared to be relishing the detachment. Excited by the freedom. I had to remind myself that it wasn’t conscious, or intentional. As far as she knew, she was an only child, and she always had been.

  The houses in Kumonayo were nothing like the makeshift, scavenged dwellings of Okaporo. They were professionally built, fully hooked up to electricity, water, sewage. Several of them reflected the sky in solar panels, and at one edge of the colony, a pair of turbines rotated lazily.

  Our new house was a small, two bedroom property, laid out over a single storey. It offered a double bedroom for Saji and myself, and a generous single room for Omori. It had a separate living room, and a kitchen large enough to include a dining area. It was fully furnished, and ready for us to move in.

  “This is more than generous,” I said to Tokai.

  “You’re special guests. Narata was a dear friend of mine, and this is my last promise to her. You’ll be safe here in Kumonayo, I promise you that.”

  I looked up at Saji. It was clear that he’d also noticed the use of Narata’s name in the past tense. Our last hopes faded; no one survived the massacre in Okaporo.

  Tokai backed up towards the door. “I’ll leave you to get some rest and settle in. The kitchen’s fully stocked for you, so you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll drop by late morning tomorrow and see if there’s anything you need. Get some rest for now, though.”

  “Thank you,” Saji said again.

  “Can I see my bedroom?” Omori asked, dancing from foot to foot.

  “Of course you can. I’ll unpack your things and you can decide exactly where you want everything to be.”

  We found everyone in Kumonayo to be more than helpful, and warm hearted, and kind. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that, like the hands on heart gesture, it was nothing more than a performance. And I couldn’t forget what Hama had said after Omori’s memory extraction; that you couldn’t trust a Kumonayo trader. I felt it too, but was it just because I was looking for it?

  I sat outside our house in the early morning sunshine, watching the colony waking up and starting its day. Several people looked over and waved, but they didn’t approach. We were being kept at arm’s length. Or maybe we were keeping ourselves there.

  I looked up as Saji placed a hand on my shoulder and handed me a steaming mug of coffee. I wrapped my hands around it gratefully.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He sat on the bench next to me. “You feel it too, huh?”

  “Feel what?”

  “That something’s not quite right here. It’s all just a little off. People are too nice and too generous.”

  “I just can’t forget what Hama said about this place,” I said.

  “Me neither. She was certainly right about the money being here, although I haven’t seen any merchants coming in or out.”

  “Maybe that’s why we’ve been put here, at the far end of the colony.”

  Saji shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “I’m glad it’s not just me being paranoid.”

  “To be fair, it might just be both of us being paranoid.”

  I took a sip of my coffee. “Have you heard the whispers?” I asked.

  Saji nodded. “I thought it was just the wind at first, tried to convince myself of that. But I swear I hear Kioto’s name on it sometimes.”

  I shivered. “Me too. There’s just something not right here. I don’t trust this place.”

  “Tokai mentioned to me yesterday that she’s already chosen a rook for Omori.”

  “What? She’s only four.”

  “Tokai said it was important to be prepared. That training Omori as a vessel needed a very special rook. I haven’t met her yet, but Tokai said she’ll come and see us soon to start discussing Omori’s education.”

  “They’re rushing things.” I shifted round to face him. “We don’t tell anyone that she’s had an extraction, ok? Those memories are safe, we know that. Let’s keep them out of her for now. Protect her from whatever Tokai’s planning. If she can’t be trained, then she’s no use to them. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “And I’ll head out to the exchange today, start looking for some jobs. We need to make sure we’ve got some money in our accounts just in case we need to get out of here in a hurry.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  I shook my head. “We’ve only just arrived, and we’re already planning on running away.”

  Saji took hold of my hand.r />
  “Is anywhere safe for us?” I asked him. He didn’t answer.

  27

  KIOTO

  The rain hammered into the ground, turning it into a quagmire. We huddled under a tree, but it offered scant protection from the weather. Huge drips of water ran down our backs, and a cold wind blew through our wet clothes, chilling them against our skin.

  I looked at Malia. She was coping well; her survival instinct overriding the shivers, and making her quite lucid and rational.

  “We need to find some proper shelter,” she said, the cold turning her sentence into a stammer.

  “You’re right. I think there’s another town up ahead, I think I saw some lights. But there’s no guarantee we’ll find anywhere to stay. These remote towns are even more backward than the cities in their attitudes towards traders, plus we’re in rogue country, we can’t trust anyone, especially someone who shows us any kindness.”

  “Maybe we could find an outbuilding.”

  “There’s a chance. Do you want to risk it?”

  Malia nodded. “If we stay here much longer we’re likely to freeze to death anyway. I don’t think our situation can really get much worse.”

  “You’re right. Let’s make a break for it.”

  The rain meant that no one in the town was out. Doors were bolted, curtains were drawn, shutters closed. The roar of water also covered any sound we made. We searched the area until we found a shed at the end of a large garden. It was far enough from the house that we wouldn’t be seen. There was some goats already resident, but I’d shared beds with far worse in the past.

  The shed boasted a number of pens, and we found an empty one to bed down in.

  Malia began to remove her wet clothes.

  “Keep them on,” I said. They’ll dry on you as you sleep, but if you take them off, they’ll still be wet in the morning.” I pulled my thick blankets from my bag and laid them on the ground. They were wet through. Looking around, I spotted a pile of goat blankets. They stank, and were covered in stuff that I didn’t want to ponder on for too long, but they were dry. I laid them out on top of our wet blankets and gestured for Malia to lie down.

  “This will dry the blankets out too. Cover yourself over with some straw. It’ll be scratchy, but it will keep you warm.”

  “You’re lucky you’re so practical.”

  “Years of experience. And not good experiences, either.”

  “My life hasn’t exactly been luxury.”

  I sat down next to her, and covered my lap with straw. “How long have you been a carrier?” I asked. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

  “I was born into it. Both my parents are slaves. Or were. I don’t even know if they’re still alive or not. Carriers don’t really have a very long life expectancy.”

  “I guess not. Do you know where your family is from, originally?”

  “My parents were both born in Kolpanga, but my ancestors, as far as I know, were from Kumini. Or, Kanaoka as it’s called now. I don’t know for certain, though.”

  “Have you ever been there?”

  “Once or twice, perhaps. When you’re travelling around in the back of a merchant’s wagon, everywhere kind of looks the same after a while.”

  My phone beeped and I pulled it from my pocket. I wiped the sheen of rainwater from the screen.

  “It’s Tian,” I said, sitting upright.

  “He made it?”

  “He’s asking if we’re alive.” I quickly sent a reply. We sat in silence waiting for him to respond. The minutes ticked by.

  “Do you think it’s really him?” Malia whispered.

  I hadn’t even thought about it. “If he asks where we are, I won’t say.” I smiled at her. “I guess we’ve both been conditioned not to trust anyone.”

  My phone beeped and we both jumped. “He just says to play the scratch, and to do what my heart tells me to.” I looked at Malia. “What do you think that means?”

  Malia shrugged. “I guess it will make sense if you play the memory.”

  “I guess.” I lay down next to Malia and took a deep breath. She turned onto her side, putting her back towards me. It was all the privacy she could offer. I felt nervous; Tian’s message suggested that this might change my plans to go to Honporo, my plans to deliver the memory. Which meant this memory would be somehow important to me.

  I closed my eyes and pulled the scratch forward, putting the two pieces together. I’d never quite got used to the odd feeling of playing someone else’s memory. It was the same process as remembering one of your own, but it was unfamiliar. It was disorienting, confusing. Like someone telling you something about yourself that you didn’t know. That’s why I usually left them alone.

  Scratches never played properly anyway; they were incomplete memories. Sometimes they were accidentally extracted along with another, related memory. More often, though, they had been ripped; stolen from someone’s head without their permission. Such memories, known as reds, were illegal, and the punishments were severe. Just imagine the harm that could be done if traders and merchants could go around stealing memories whenever they chose to.

  The playback was jumpy. The sound wasn’t always clear, and the picture was fuzzy. But Tian thought that this was important.

  I could see the outline of two people in front of me, but they were just shadows. The view turned, and I was looking at a smaller, crouched figure, a child perhaps. And then the sound came, out of sync with the picture.

  “You’re right. I have a very grave matter to discuss. An important mission.”

  The playback crackled.

  “The rogues know that the vessel is here. And they’re coming for it.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “Now?”

  “In a matter of minutes, I’d guess.”

  “How did they find out?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The playback cut and restarted as I found the tear between the two halves. Tian’s part was more degraded.

  “I trust in it completely. So I need you both to leave, straight away—Kumonayo.”

  “Kumonayo? That’s the other side of the country. It’s not even a sister colony.”

  “It’s the only place that’s safe for you right now.”

  The picture darkened, and the sound came and went. I could barely catch any of the words at all. In the static, I thought I heard my name, but I dismissed it. We automatically looked for familiar sounds in white noise.

  “—no time.”

  “Leaving her to—death?”

  “—safely away—Okaporo will live on.”

  “—need to go.”

  “—asking us to—between our children.”

  “None of us have a choice anymore.”

  “What about the rest of you?”

  “There’s just no time—we must protect her at all cost. All cost.”

  As the view swung round back to the crouched figure, it flickered into clarity, showing me the perfect view of my little sister’s face.

  28

  KIOTO

  I lay in the darkness and looked up at the wooden ceiling above me. Outside, the rain continued relentlessly.

  We were almost halfway to Honporo and almost two weeks away from Kumonayo. If we continued to Honporo to deliver the job, collect the money, find some help for Malia, it turned a two week journey to Kumonayo into almost four. But would Malia survive a two week journey?

  I concentrated on the numbers, the distances, the times, because thinking about the memory, and the revelations it had exposed was more than I could cope with.

  I needed to get those memories out of Malia, I needed the full story. I couldn’t let those memories die with her. But the scratch I carried, if that got into the hands of rogues, then my sister—who I’d thought was dead for the past eleven years—this scratch would be her death warrant.

  This was too big. Too important. And every option I had was too risky. I needed to make a decision qui
ckly, and stick to it, no matter the consequences.

  In my heart, I knew I’d already made the choice. Tian was right: I had to follow it. We had to head for Kumonayo.

  We woke to more dark skies, but the torrential downpour had relented to a misty drizzle. Malia washed quickly under a tap of cold water, while I plotted our route. She had accepted the change of direction without question.

  I closed my eyes and quickly asked the High for a miracle. They weren’t famed for being generous with miracles, but there were a few traditional stories of them being performed. Maybe they’d be feeling generous today.

  I packed up our stuff, and, hoods up, we headed out into the morning.

  This town was a different place in daylight. Despite its modest size, the town was crammed with people. A large market had sprung up in the centre, and people were pressed in around the stalls, the air above them filled with stallholders calling out their prices, morning gossip, and the smells of bread, cakes, fish, roasting meat, blacksmiths’ furnaces, freshly sawn wood still hot from the blade.

  We made our way through the crowd, and I heard the usual words muttered under people’s breath as we passed by them.

  “Earwigs.”

  “Reds.”

  “Rippers.”

  “Colony scum.”

  It should have been nothing more than white noise to me now. Malia bowed her head and followed closely behind, her hand gripping mine tightly.

  As we broke free of the market crowd, I stopped and looked around. Three narrow streets led away in front of us. At the entrance to one, a group of girls were playing a skipping game, their legs moving quickly across two ropes.

  One of the girls looked up at me and grinned. I didn’t return the smile. Hers was neither friendly nor genuine. And then she began to sing.

  “Cross your eye,

  I hope you die,

  And pray you never trip.

  Once you’re down,

  And sleeping sound,

  They’ll rip, rip, rip!”

  It was a crude, tuneless chant, but it had the desired effect. I backed away, and Malia’s hand tensed in mine.