Behind us are two or three dozen country people from the outlying towns. With them are cages of chickens and goats, sheep, even cattle. That’s where we fit on market day. Between the executions and the livestock sales.
Gradually, Watchers begin filtering down the left side of the stage towards us. They’re dragging the still-warm bodies of the deceased. All the girls look away. Even me. It is too much to stand.
“Over here, ladies!” calls the Governess. The Watcher shoves me with the group towards her. “That’s it, that’s it. Now you all look beautiful, I must say. Just elegant!” She sounds so pleased with herself. “Now remember, this day may dictate the rest of your life. Your will to succeed will win you those bids!”
At least the Governess has stolen some of my fear. Now I’m annoyed, too.
“I will be at the auctioneers table where we’ll be recording your scores and tallying your bids. Potential buyers will set up your private sessions there. Good luck, ladies! Good luck!” She finishes with a crazed smile. It doesn’t look like she’s slept in a week.
We are being lined up. I count those before me. Twenty-three. I am the twenty-fourth girl to go. Just like my twenty-four days in solitary.
I hear the announcer make the call for auction.
The first girl takes the stage.
I run through my possibilities. I can’t bolt. The Watcher still has one hand on my shoulder. I can’t rip my dress or mess up my hair because of these stupid silky gloves. I can’t even tear them off because they’re glued to my hand with a skin adhesive. I think of the Red Right standing in front of our path on our ride in, but they’d fled when the Watchers approached. They won’t do me any good now.
I take a step forward. Number one is finished. She’s gotten only mild applause.
The crow of a rooster catches my attention. I look over all the farm animals again and feel sorry for them. Even the goats aren’t safe.
Number two gets several boos. I wonder what she’s done. My heart beats faster. I wish I could have seen her so that I can do the same.
Number three gets resounding applause. Several encouraging shouts from the audience.
And then someone runs right into me, knocking me away from the Watcher. It’s a tall man, holding a horse. A Driver. He must be trying to sell his animal during the livestock sales. But the horse has gotten out of control and is whinnying and spinning in a small circle around his owner.
The man crashes into me again, and I catch myself just before falling. His chest bumps against mine, and the large, calloused hand not holding his animal’s lead rope grasps just below my rib cage for support.
Then I see his clean red handkerchief. And the dark eyes, flecked with copper.
Kiran.
CHAPTER 9
MY MOUTH FALLS OPEN. I nearly cry Kiran’s name, but before I can, he is whipped away by the chestnut mare I recognize from the barn. Four girls around me are screaming. One seems to be afraid of the horse, the rest of its owner.
I wonder for a split second if Kiran is my salvation. If he’s somehow going to throw me up on that crazed animal so we might escape, right through the city walls. But even with the blood pumping through my temples I know that this is the stuff stories are made of, not real life.
Kiran is trying to contain the horse, but I’ve never seen him, or any Driver for that matter, lose control of an animal. It occurs to me that maybe he’s making the mare spook and buck. If this is right, he’s a fine actor. Kiran looks like he’s about to be trampled.
“No!” I shout as the horse rears back. Kiran’s fallen right beneath where the front hooves will land.
She shies away from my waving hands, and the lead, still attached to her halter, jerks Kiran to a stand. But now he’s fumbling, and falling again. Right into my Watcher.
The impact is enough to knock the Watcher back a few steps. Kiran collapses into him and they both scramble to stand. The Watcher rises faster, and before Kiran is up, the Watcher kicks him, his black boot connecting to Kiran’s middle with superhuman strength. Kiran’s mouth flies open as the air is forced from his body and flops to the side, still silent.
Our eyes meet. Mine wide with horror, his pinched tight with determination. I hear his voice in my head.
“Run!”
This was Kiran’s plan. He’s picked a fight to give me an out. There’s no time to thank him. To help, even. That throbbing, stabbing pain is back, right between my ribs and my stomach.
I turn and I run.
I shove through the other girls. My eyes see only flashes of their brightly colored gowns as I tear back towards Main Street into the crowds of townsfolk with their livestock. I search for a hiding place, even one of the painted faces of the Red Right, but come up short. My legs are shaking, and my ankle twists as one of my stupid pointy heels gets caught between the bricks. In the background, another round of cheers roars from the stage.
I kick off my shoes, hating that the Pip has scrubbed away my calluses again. The tiny bits of trash and pebbles cut into my feet. The tight dress is constricting my legs from running full out.
The crowd thickens. I can barely move. The momentum is pushing me back towards the stage and I’m struggling like a fish swimming upstream. Suddenly there are hands around me, grabbing me, feeling me in the hidden places of my body. I nearly scream. The man touching me smells sharply of liquor and sweat. I catch a glimpse of an unbalanced X on his right cheek.
“Gotcha,” he slurs.
I fight with everything I can to get free from his hold. I try to kick him, but my legs are bound by my costume. One of my fists connects to the side of his head, but slides right off on account of the silk glove. I bite down, tasting the sweat and filth of his neck and swallow the bile shooting up my throat. He curses loudly, but lets me go.
Then other hands are behind me, pulling me back. These hands are familiar. Heavy. Unforgiving.
The Watcher.
I have no time to think about what to do next; the metal wire is already whipping out in the Watcher’s grasp. He doesn’t use it; he simply holds it, and it’s enough to carve a space in the crowd around us and raise screams from those closest. The man who had me squeezes through the crowd and disappears. I’ve ducked, arms wrapped around my body, as if flesh and bone will stop a wire.
The Watcher lifts me with one arm, carrying me on his side like I’m a struggling child. I try to fight him, but my body now feels heavy and sluggish.
Before I know it, he has placed me back in line. I search for Kiran because I want to see if he’s all right, but he’s nowhere to be found. I’m secretly relieved. I don’t want him to see that I couldn’t escape after all he tried to do for me.
Thirteen girls are left before me. Kiran’s beating, and the running, and the handsy Virulent man all fade from my mind. The nerves are back, and I glance around, looking for any last exits before it is too late.
Right then I know it’s safer to be sold to Mercer than to a Magnate. I can escape the Black Lanes—I don’t know how, but I will. But once I’m in the heart of Glasscaster the security will be so thick I’ll never get out.
I must make sure no one bids on me.
In the final part of the line before the stage is an area where the girls must remain single file, crammed between the partitions and a candy shop. There are only two exits here, back the way I came, or onto the stage. As I enter this final gauntlet, my heart sinks. At least the Watcher is gone; if he stays in line he will be forced to walk across the stage with me.
The line pauses. More cheers. The line moves forward.
Pause. Cheer. Move.
My hands are trembling. I wish I could throw up now, just to soil my dress. At least I don’t have on my hideous spiked heels anymore.
I turn to look at the candy shop. The door is open, and there’s a boy inside wearing a heavy fur cape that’s much too warm for the weather. It reeks of wealth and status. I think for a moment that I could probably push him down and run through the shop to the side exi
t, but that’s just delaying the inevitable; looking past him, I can see at least one other Watcher standing by the register.
The boy is reaching for a high shelf just inside the door as I approach. I look up and see that he wants one of the large colorful suckers that are in a basket up there. One more step and I get a clearer look at the boy’s face. He’s nine or ten, with short brown hair and pale skin.
“I want one though!” he’s shouting back into the store. A closer look reveals a sharp nose, blunted front teeth, and beady little eyes.
“Your father said no,” replies a firm but annoyed male voice. Probably a Pip. I can’t see him behind the racks of colorful chewy tabs and little decorated cakes. All things I’ve never sampled.
“You don’t have to tell him,” whines the boy.
Though there’s no resemblance, his age reminds me of Tam. I wonder how tall Tam is now. If he’s lost any of his baby teeth. I wonder if he still cries when Nina gets to do things before him.
I’m filled with a burst of resolve. Do something, I tell myself. For Tam.
“Hey kid,” I say. He looks towards me, brows lifted.
“You’re not supposed to talk to me,” he says. I move forward another space. The girl in front of me looks back warily, but then returns to practicing her smile.
“You’re not supposed to have that candy. But I’ll get it for you if you want.”
“You … you’re not supposed to talk.”
The line moves forward another step. One more and this boy and I will be even. And I’ll have only a short time left before it’s my turn on stage.
“You have to be sneaky though,” I say. “Don’t watch me. I’m going to grab one for you.”
“Yes!” he says.
“There’s just one thing,” I add, speaking in my quietest voice, like when I’m trying to entice Tam or Nina into doing something boring that I want them to think is exciting, like cleaning the tent.
“What?” he asks, beady eyes now full of interest.
“I’m freezing. I need that fur you’re wearing.”
He feels it between two fingers. “Okay, sure. I don’t like it anyway. My dad makes me wear it.”
“Give it here, then,” I say. My voice is a bit higher. If we don’t do this soon, I’ll miss my window.
“I want the sucker first.”
I scowl. “Fine,” I say, and pick it stealthily out of the basket. Then I hold it tightly against my side. No one responds. No one has seen what I’ve done.
“Look at the ground. Like you’re not doing anything,” I command as he reaches for it. “Then take off the fur.”
He follows my directions. I’m a step ahead of him now. There is only one final girl before me. She’s checking herself in the mirror and smiling for the cameraman, who waits just before the stage. My heart is thrumming.
He tosses me the cape, I pass him the sucker, and I’m up.
The frowning cameraman waits to take my picture, but I don’t let him, because I’m too busy wrapping the fur around my shoulders. I hold my breath. It’s wolf hide I’m wearing.
“Sorry, Brax,” I mutter. I take one quick glance in the mirror. Curse those Pips and their everlasting makeup. Only a special scrub will remove it. It’s not damaged in the least from my sweaty escape attempt. Neither is my hair, which is still swept gracefully behind my head.
And then it’s one step up. Then the other. And I’m walking across the wooden stage, the splinters prickling my bare feet, just like in my dream.
The lights are nearly blinding, but below, I can see two hundred men and even a few women cheering. They’ve all got miniature texters in their hands so that they can submit their votes to the Governess’s counting box, which is dead center before me, back about thirty paces. I see her hand slap her forehead as she sees the modifications I’ve made to her outfit, and almost smile.
On either side of her booth are two arching rows of grandstands. There, the Magnates sit in their expensive business suits with their associates and servants. Almost every seat is filled for me, and it’s no question why. Everyone wants to see the wild girl. Everyone wants to tame her. Everyone wants that healthy boy child they know I can make.
She’s not worth the credits, Sweetpea had said. I must make that true, be so undesirable that they overlook my golden insides and realize I’m more trouble than they care to take on.
I’m supposed to walk to the center of the stage and do a slow circle. Instead, I face the back of the stage, looking at the high screens that showcase my statistics. One screen shows a live feed of my picture—the back of my head right now. The next screen shows the black outline of a female body, with lit-up stars next to the different parts. My scores today will be averaged with my past scores. It looks as though my legs have earned seven and a half stars. My breasts are a four—nowhere near the size of Sweetpea’s. My waist is an eight. My face is an eight and a half. My outfit has been awarded a dismal two, which I regard with some pride. I’m probably one of the highest scoring girls to not yet have been Promised.
The final board is blank. Typically this would show my breeding credentials.
I turn back towards the crowd now, regarding the booths on either side without much interest. That’s where the outlying townspeople sell their wares. Where Silent Lorcan would have sold my jewelry before.
I look out into the crowd, and my heart stutters. I stand tall. I must not show my fear.
I focus on two people directly across from my position on the stage. In the grandstands, in the front row, leaning over the railing, is the boy from the candy store. Next to him is a man in a suit, with a scarf covering the bottom half of his face. His keeper, I imagine, though I don’t know why he’s wearing the wrapping. If there’s something wrong with his face, his Magnate boss should have had it removed with surgery.
I can see even from this distance that the boy’s mouth is surrounded by a sticky red ring from the sucker I stole for him. Again I think of Tam. Someday I’ll get him a piece of candy. All I have to do is get out of here.
I roll my head in a slow circle and my cheeks brush against the soft wolf’s fur. And now I’m thinking about Brax. Sleeping on his neck. When he first told me his name; “Brrrrax!”
I grin at the boy. And bark.
“Ruff! Grrrr! Ruff! Ruff!” Just like a dog. Just like a wild animal. I bark and snap my jaw and bare my teeth. I fall onto my knees and crawl around growling. I bat at my face with my white silk glove. I hear the dress rip at the side seam, and when a piece of fabric falls off, I snatch it between my teeth and shake my head. I slobber. The drool oozes out of my mouth.
The boy is laughing hysterically. He’s pointing at me and clapping his hands. This makes me go at it even harder. I make myself as undesirable as possible, keeping my eyes on the boy the whole time. It’s almost fun. Almost like it’s just us two and we’re playing or something.
I hear the screens behind me clang as the power diverted to them shuts off. The Governess has done this no doubt. Though I can barely see her beneath the lights, I can tell she’s running out of the booth. The air is filled with resounding boos. The sound makes my soul sing.
My Watcher approaches from the exit side of the stage, and I begin to crawl towards him, growling and threatening to pounce. He hauls me up from the midsection, holding me away from him as I snap my jaws.
I’m brought below the stage to where the Governess is already waiting. Her face is so red it glows beneath her thick layer of makeup. Her whole body is shaking with fury.
“You,” she hisses, pointing her long painted nail at my face. “I hope you like the Black Lanes, Clover, because that’s where you’re going.”
While the Watcher binds my hands she tears the fur cape off my shoulders and throws it into a makeshift pen for several sheep. She stretches and flexes her fingers, and for a second I think she means to choke me. Instead she draws back and adjusts the hair piled atop her head.
I swallow, though my throat now feels dry. My eyes narro
w into challenging slits. Just try and hit me, I think. She shouts orders to her assistant, and he types something into his texter. A few minutes later, I’m brought back to the iron carriage, where I wait with the Watcher through the remainder of the show.
* * *
THE RIDE BACK THROUGH town is not nearly as nerve-wracking. In fact, I’m filled with cool, calm relief. I’ve done it. I’ve succeeded. There is no way that anyone is bidding on me after that performance. Maybe I’ll be sold to Mercer, but if I survived this, I can survive that.
The other girls in the carriage are somber. Now they’re the ones who are anxious. They’re wondering if they smiled enough. If they showed enough skin, or were mysterious enough to gain the crowd’s attention. One of the girls is crying because someone from another carriage ripped her dress in line. I wish some catty competitor had messed up my dress.
No matter. I’ve done a fine job by myself.
When I think of that little boy, I nearly smile. Mother Hawk sent him to me at just the right moment. He’s kept me clear of a buyer, at least for now. If Kiran comes to the solitary yard tonight—if he’s not too mad at me for messing up my escape—I’m going to tell him all about it.
We pass through the electric gates of the Garden and halt in front of the building. The buzz when the gates lock shut quickly kills my mood. I may have escaped purchase, but I am still a prisoner.
Inside, we are led back into the preparatory room, where we’re given uniform dresses to change into. These are exactly the same as our normal black slinky outfits, except they are pale pink. The Governess thinks that this softer look will add to our post-auction appeal, which is important because over the next several hours the buyers will begin rolling in to take a closer look at the merchandise.
A Pip scrubs my face clean and takes down my hair. I don’t like him touching me, but the smell of the jasmine shampoo he uses is so soothing I nearly fall asleep. I feel a little more like myself when my hair curls back up, though I don’t like this pink dress at all. In the woods, wearing something like this would attract every predator in sight. Which I suppose is the point.