[story] beat

[ib_archive]

author: pei yi
email: dreamsmoke [at] gmail.com



El was halfway through her second grilled bread when Oran finally came out of the gambling grounds. She'd perched herself on top of the low wall across the entrance, where the guard could see her glower at him (Yu always let her in, but he must have changed shifts) but far enough away that he couldn't actually do anything other than glare back.

"You're still not done?" he said, amazed. "Hey, gimme some."

"It was my coin," El groused, but tore the remains into half and tossed him one; cramming the last piece of spiced grease into her mouth, she chewed so fast she almost choked and slid off the wall. "I got another," she said, mouth half-full. "So what'd Koyanda want?"

Oran flicked a glance at the street. It was late enough in the night that most of the city would be beginning to settle, but the warrens in Sangre's west quarter never really slept, and a crowd always lingered outside the gambling grounds whatever the hour. A steady stream of people were trickling in and out of the gates; a burly man carrying a pair of screaming red and purple fighting cocks jabbed El hard in the ribs with a bamboo cage as he jostled past, and she yelped.

"Got a job," he said.

Still rubbing her ribs, El nodded and they ducked into the next alley to climb a rickety flight of wooden steps up three stories to a roof, where another two stories of planking and corrugated tin stood held together by wire and hope. That one they didn't climb, only made their way around it, crossed a swaying rope bridge across another street, threw themselves up a rusting iron ladder. A family of four huddled around a large black cooking pot and ignored them as they made their way across the roof, and El gave them a lingering, jealous stare at the simmering smell of curried vegetables.

Oran smacked the back of her head lightly. "Stop that, you look like I starve you or something," he said, and laughed. El stuck her tongue out at him.

They came to a stop on one of the higher rooftops in the west quarter. Sitting on the edge, El looked across the small dense sea of life and noise bustling far below her sandalled feet. Far in the distance, if she searched, she could just make out the gaudy green-tiled tower that was the Nursery.

"So what is it?" she asked.

Oran named an address. She frowned. "We haven't done that bit before. Isn't it sort of rich?" They'd been slowly working their way up the housebreaking ranks, and they'd done some tougher jobs before, but this one wasn't in Old Ma's territory.

"Koyanda says it's an easy job. Owner's out of the city, no guards, not much help, got it all scoped out. Just needs us to do an in and out and get the goods he wants."

"Why'd he ask us? Doesn't he have other gangs working the area?"

"Says they're too expensive. We're taking a smaller cut, but it's still higher than what we usually get. And we've done our dues for the week, we won't have to hand this over to Old Ma."

El nodded slowly. "Tonight?"

"His sources say the coast is clear until Bayday* at least, so we have three nights."

"So what's the cut?"

"Three bac* if we get the full list," Oran said, and fished a scrap of paper out of his pocket and waved it at her.

El nearly fell off the roof. "Three bac?"

Oran grimaced. "That's if we get everything, it's a long list. I don't think we'll get more than a third."

Scanning the list, El made a disbelieving noise. "Why doesn't he just ask for the whole house? We can't carry all this!"

"Yeah, see? I told him we'd go for the smaller things, but no promises." He stopped for a moment and looked thoughtful. "Hell, if we have three nights, maybe we could do some of the bigger things. Or get some help."

El shifted and looked uneasy. "You mean go back more than once? We're not supposed to, Old Ma--"

He shrugged. "I know, I know. We'll see, ok?" Swinging to his feet, he stood on the roof's edge for a moment, hands on hips as he studied the city below. El was starting to see the distant, calculating edge in his eyes more, now that he'd started thinking (talking) about buying his way out of Old Ma's service. Paying their final dues. El knew he wasn't going to leave her behind, but sometimes, she wondered...

Maybe she really was still a kid, though El would have kicked anyone who'd tried to say so.

"Are you dreaming? You'll fall off," she said, and swiped a punch at the back of his legs. Oran jumped back out of reach and rolled his eyes.

"Come on, let's go scope it out. Hey, if we can finish it tonight, we'll be good for a while. Even one bac could even see us through next week!"

The address led them out of the familiar, claustrophobic confines of the closed streets into the merchant's district.

El never liked it here, even if they got better pickings. There were no rooftop roads, no tottering shacks built on shacks built on top of other shacks, no skyline that laid the foundations for entire towns and camps in the air. The streets were too wide, the houses and buildings too exposed, the alleys empty. The landscape felt stripped without the layers, the clutter, that the closed streets had illegally acquired through months and years and decades.

Even on the deserted, dimly lit street, she felt watched. They passed the houses on silent feet, diving back into the shadow of the back alleys with relief. Oran counted doors until they found the mark, and they stopped to examine what they could see of it with practiced eyes. The house had no garden, only a black-painted door and a small window overlooking the back. The brickwork could have used a new coat, El noted, but then, most back alleys were like that. No one cared what they looked like from the back, only the front.

The lock and bolt on the door were strong and looked new. The window was barred in iron.

Well, it wasn't like they'd expected an easy job.

Oran hissed from down the alley. When El found him, he'd scrambled up a gutter pipe to the low, tin roof that covered a backyard three houses away. El followed him and between windows, ledges and pipes, they made their way to the rooftop of the house next door. Oran narrowly missed a pot of white blooming jasmine and El threw a thin arm around it to steady it. A branch nearly poked her in the eye, and a sharp, sweet scent filled her nose.

"Ouch," she muttered, and pushed it back to safety. Who kept jasmine bushes on their window ledges anyway?

"Sorry," Oran mouthed.

They crossed the rooftops and finally found a small skylight, covered in wire mesh. Sawing through the mesh with a cutter, Oran pulled the window open and nodded at El. She wrapped her scarf around her nose and mouth, then crouched, listening, for a long moment, before dropping through into the room below.

The moonlight falling through the skylight was just bright enough to look around, and El didn't bother lighting her lantern. It looked like an unused servant's room - a bare bed frame stood in the corner, piled in boxes and stacks of folded cloth. Clouds of dust shifted under her feet. She tried the door and looked out into the narrow corridor. The upper floor here was empty. If she listened - hard - she thought there might be people below. Maybe the servants, she thought, like Koyanda had said.

She gestured and felt, rather than heard, Oran's landing behind her. Creeping down the corridor, she stopped at the stairs leading down into the house below. Silence. The first step gave the faint beginnings of a squeak when she tested it, and she grimaced, stretched for the next. Oran close behind her, they made their way to the second floor. The stairs ended in the middle of a hall, doors opening from either side of it. El counted two doors on one side, and three on the other. Listening again, she thought - two people, perhaps, sleeping, in one of the rooms at the very end. At Oran's nod, she opened the closest door and peered in.

It looked like a study or office of some sort - the walls were lined in shelves, messily crammed with books and papers. In the midst of the mess, the low desk itself was strangely bare. The drawers were locked when Oran tried them. Lighting his lantern and kneeling, he gave El the signal to try the next room and she left.

El found another study, neater and dustier, the walls covered in more paintings and sketches than shelves. The desk was unlocked and mostly empty. She glanced at the few folders and papers piled on the shelf in a corner, but fortunately for them, paperwork hadn't been on Koyanda's list. Two more bedrooms, both unoccupied and in varying states of neatness, and then that left the last, occupied room. Oran finished the rounds, and stopped beside her at the last door. The pouch at his waist hung a little heavier than when they'd started the night, she saw from the corner of her eye. He jerked his chin at the door and El took a deep breath and listened again, hard.

Two people, hearts beating slow and even, meaning they were most likely asleep. As clear as they were likely to get. She nodded and pushed the door open.

The room beyond was a bedroom, like the others she'd seen before - but even through the shroud of white mosquito netting, El could see the bed was empty. Something was wrong and she froze.

"El!"

She heard Oran's shout one heart's beat before she saw the two black-clad figures hidden by the door rise in a fluid movement - not asleep, only still and quiet enough to fool her - and reach out. She scrambled back, and Oran's hand caught her arm, but it was too late. The first man struck her on the side of the head and she yelled, as much from startled fear and anger as from the pain, and then a heavy, muscled arm wrapped itself around her throat from the back and a cloth wet with the sickly sweet stink of poppy juice clamped over her face.

Darkness.

"... can't need the boy...."

"...useful... cooperation..."

"There are plenty of ways--"

"Why make an enemy when... weapon..."

Voices, drifting in and out of her dreams.

For a long time, El seemed to hover on the edge between sleep and waking. She was so tired, if she could just sleep - but she couldn't, there was still something she had to--

Then with a start, she remembered. Panic woke her more surely than any alarm, and in a moment, her senses had flooded her mind with shrill protests. Her head hurt, she ached all over, and even her eyelids felt like they were weighed in lead.

She clawed her way back into consciousness but didn't (couldn't) move. She could hear the voices clearly now, four heartbeats drumming slow and steady in the room. One, sluggish yet somehow irregular, she thought had to be Oran. They must have drugged him too, but at least he was still alive.

Had she made some kind of noise? Suddenly, footsteps, too close.

"Is she waking?"

A cool hand brushed her forehead and she had to force herself not to flinch.

"It might be wearing off, should I dose her again?"

"Let her wake. We need to question her anyway."

Then a second set of footsteps, the sense of someone moving beside her. A large, rough hand gripped her chin and turned her face to the side, as if she was being examined, and then another hand struck her across the face. Hard.

Strange how quickly pain could clear your head.

El yelled and opened her eyes, and winced in the sudden light. Her eyes were wet - whether from the pain or the temporary blindness, she didn't know. When she could finally see again, she glared at the two men squatting over her. They wore the same dark, loose shirts and trousers, elaborate beaded belts slung around their waists. Not merchant class, but not poor either, El thought.

One of them, clean-shaven and dark-skinned like Oran, wore a faint frown as his eyes flickered between El and the man beside him. His companion, fairer-skinned and heavily bearded, ignored him, only studied El with an expression made of equal parts boredom and malice.

"Awake now?" he said.

"What do you want?" she said, sitting up and pressing her back against the wall behind her fast. "Who are you?"

Nothing about this felt right. They'd walked right into a trap, but who would want to trap two young thieves with less than a handful of thiec to their name?

The bearded man leaned over her. "You're not here to ask questions, brat. We're here because my employer's been hearing rumours. Something about a guttersnipe on the streets with an interesting Change." He took her by the chin again, forced her face to the lamplight again. "Can't say you look like much to me."

El felt her blood run cold. Rumours. A Changed. They were looking for - but how had they known? Who was talking? El never even--

"I don't know what you're talking about! We're not Changed, they could have meant anyone, street's full of kids like us--"

Her questioner managed, somehow, to look even more bored. "Well, only one way to find out, then," he said to the man beside him. The other man grimaced, his distaste clear and undisguised.

"Not all interrogation methods require the breaking of fingers, Voi."

"The ones that work do. Funny, I didn't think you were soft on kids."

"It could be the boy. Rumours aren't exactly the most accurate source of information."

"True, but you won't know till you've tried it. Don't worry, I'm sure our little innocent's seen worse in her time."

He'd drawn a kris from his belt, and now he traced the vicious, curved blade down her cheek in a thin, cold line. El flinched back and knocked the knife away, but with the wall at her back, she was cornered. Two men - or three, if she'd heard right - and Oran still unconscious. Bad odds, however you looked at it, and El didn't know if she could--

"Don't hurt her. I'm the one you want."

She looked up. "Oran!" In her panic, she'd missed hearing him wake. Somehow, he'd managed to push himself to his feet, and was standing, dagger drawn.

Voi considered him for a moment, then laughed. "So how are you going to stop us?"

Oran's eye flicked between the two men, slid past them to El. He looked away, even as his left hand clenched twice, then slowly opened.

Decoy, run.

"If you let her go, I'll go with you. No fighting. You don't need her anyway." El twitched, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She couldn't run and leave Oran to them; this wasn't just a decoy, they'd kill him for sure.

Strong fingers caught her wrist and twisted. She stiffened and found the other man studying her with cool, carefully expressionless eyes. "I wouldn't, if I were you," he murmured. He didn't let go either.

The bearded man sneered. "Well, there's a sweet deal if ever I heard one. And how do we know you're telling the truth? We're going to need a practical demonstration, boy."

Oran swallowed. He tried for a cocky smirk, but it wavered and slipped right off. "Fine. What do you want to see?"

The kris gleamed unpleasantly as the man stood, crossed the room towards the boy with deliberate slowness. Oran held his ground, but El could hear the fear roaring in his veins, even as his knuckles went white around the hilt of his knife.

"This should be easy enough," Voi said, and then his arm moved so quickly it seemed to blur in motion - and Oran howled, stumbled.

"No!" El started up, only to be yanked back. A long gash ran down Oran's left arm from shoulder to elbow, and it was bleeding. Fast. He'd dropped his knife and fallen to his knees, hand clenched around the wound while blood soaked his sleeve and dripped onto the polished wood floor.

"Naga damn you," he spat. Then, slowly (but not slow enough), the trickle thinned, ran itself out. The small pool of crimson beside him burned crimson in the lamplight.

He'd stopped bleeding.

Voi smiled.

El grit her teeth and tried to shake the grip on her arm. Oran was looking at her from across the room, lips pressed thin with pain. His blood had slowed with the bleeding, but it was steady, at least. The other two men drummed steady and sure in her veins. What did they have to be afraid of, against two kids like them? Anger flared in her gut, familiar and bitter and useless.

"I see the rumours don't disappoint." The voice was new. El and Oran looked up to see the third man rise from a heavy chair in the furthest corner of the room. He looked older than the others, with streaks of grey in his dark hair, and wore a pair of delicate, gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. El stared. She'd heard of glasses, even seen people wear them before from a distance (a great distance). They cost a fortune to make - how wealthy was this employer?

Then he raised a hand, pushing his glasses up his nose, and she forgot all about the glasses because on the back of his right hand was a tattoo of three roses in black and scarlet ink, trailing long, thorny vines around a wrist.

She swallowed.

Blood.

You couldn't live in Sangre and not know the Blood. It was their city, after all: named and built and ruled by them. El knew about as much as anyone else knew, and a little less than some. MotherHu Ba De's children were strays, fallen through the cracks - they didn't pay the blood tax that the city's citizens paid from the time they were fifteen, for as long as they lived in the city. So they kept well out of the way of the law, and the Blood with it.

She knew that that there weren't many of them, though no one in the city knew their exact numbers. Only the Red Queen, who'd ruled city and people for a hundred years and counting, could be sure. Only she decided who would be turned and who would not, out of the hundreds (thousands) who dreamed of joining the ranks. In return, the Blood swore allegiance to her above all else, and wore her Mark.

El had never seen a Blood with more than two roses before. Did that make him stronger? Faster? He didn't look it - his heavier build and age and rich clothes made him look more like a merchant used to nothing more strenuous than smoking a pipe and gloating over fat ledgers. But one of the first things Mother Hu taught her children was to never judge by appearances. Especially not with the Blood.

To bear three roses, this man had to have power, so he had to be dangerous, one way or another.

He came to a stop beside Oran and knelt by him.

"I'm sorry. I needed proof to be sure, and this was the quickest way. Voi can be a little - overzealous, shall we say."

Oran glared. "What do you want from me? Us? It - it's just a Change, there are hundreds of others around. It's not like calling fire or wind--"

"Just a Change? If I understand your gift correctly, you can control blood. You slowed and stopped your own bleeding. The rumours say you can control the blood in others too. Have you ever considered your possibilities?"

El watched Oran's eyes narrow as he watched the Blood and measured his words.

"No," he said, and shrugged. "It didn't seem important. It's useful but we have other things to worry about."

Considered wouldn't have been the right word for it anyway.

There was an edge to the older man's eyes, as if he knew Oran was lying. Maybe he could smell the truth on him, along with the sweat and blood and fear. But if he could, he'd already know. His heartbeat was quiet and low, the kind that would've been easy to miss if El hadn't been fixed on it. Was this part of being a Blood too?

"Is that so? I think we could find some use for you. Blood is currency in Sangre, after all. If you can make yourself useful to me, I pay well. It'll be a better life than anything you can find on the streets."

"What do you mean useful?"

"Have you ever killed a man?"

The question was like a knife in the ribs - it left no doubts.

"Yeah. I stabbed him," Oran said pointedly.

"Ah. But could you kill a man with this? Could you make a dead man's heart beat again, do you think?"

The boy gave him a horrified look. "No!"

The Blood looked thoughtful. "No? Well, I'm sure other uses can be found. If you can stop bleeding, that alone would save plenty of lives."

Oran's eyes flicked to El's, wordless and wary. Did they believe he would leave it at that? He had made a point; the man was Blood, and wealthy - in his service, they would have a roof over their heads, food and clothing they could only dream of owning. They would probably have to pay the Blood tax, but if that made them citizens, then it was a small inconvenience in the scales.

If they believed him.

"What about her? You'll let her go?"

The man tilted his head. "You'd rather she go back to the streets than join you in an easier life?"

Oran bared his teeth in what was not quite a smile. "Why should we trust you? At least I know she can take care of herself out there."

He smiled in return. "Clever children. But the last thing I need is your friend running arounds the streets telling everyone what's happened. I'm sure we could find a way to make her useful."

So they were going to use her as a hostage. The decoy had failed, but El would never have left him anyway. There was no way Oran could keep covering for her, and once they knew the truth, they'd kill him. And besides, what kind of life would they have, on a leash like that?

Oran said, slowly. "What if we refuse to come with you?"

"What if I ordered my men to cut your friend's throat? There are other ways for me to ensure your cooperation." He stood. "In fact, killing her now might be useful for something I'd like to test..."

El had already felt the leap in the blood of the man holding her. She hurled herself to the ground and rolled even as he drew his knife, abrupt enough that he lost his grip on her in his surprise. She saw his eyes widen.

"It's the girl!" The knife rose but El bit her lip, hard, and stopped - he seemed to stiffen all over, eyes staring and suddenly bloodshot. Then he crumpled to the ground in a boneless heap. El gasped and remembered to breathe again.

But before she could turn, a grip like iron caught the back of her shirt and lifted her from the ground. Cold steel pressed itself against her jugular, where she could feel her pulse flutter under it.

"Even cleverer than I thought. Well, the same applies to you as well. If you move, my man will kill your friend."

How had he moved so fast? she wondered and remembered - Blood. Old Ma was right, of course. It didn't matter what they looked like, the fact was that they were always faster, stronger, sharper. It was what the Change made of them, never mind who they'd been before.

El drew a shallow breath. From the corner of her eye, she could see the other man had pinned Oran face first to the floor. They'd both lost their knives. There was still a chance.

She closed her eyes and listened. Oran's heart was speeding up, and his wound was probably bleeding again - she only hoped he didn't lose enough to kill him. Voi's heart was quick and tense. She couldn't tell if she'd killed the other man. The Blood's pulse had not shifted at all. She made herself focus on it and opened her eyes.

"I could kill you," she said.

"So it was a lie, wasn't it? I thought so. Could you kill me, then? Faster than Voi can break his neck?"

"Get him, El!" Oran snarled from the ground and then hissed when the man slammed his knee into the small of his back. "You're useless if she kills him first," he sneered up at him, undeterred.

Voi hesitated, looked at Oran, and then at his master and El. Where did his duty lie first? Protector or killer?

El didn't think, couldn't, because this time she had to be even faster and she'd never done this before, and there were too many rhythms tangled in the room, Oran's on top of theirs, and if she got it wrong--

She clenched her fists and bit her lip so hard the copper salt tang of blood filled her mouth--

"Now!"

And felt his heart burst in his chest.

The blade nicked her throat as she fell and staggered to the ground, and the body slumped over her. She felt something warm and wet and sticky trickle down the back of her neck, but she couldn't think of that, only crawled into freedom and threw herself at the two struggling figures on the ground. She sank her teeth into the man's arm and he roared, an animal sound, and as they crashed into a table, something shattered.

Somehow in the confusion Oran caught her dagger from her sleeve and drove it down, hard. Then again. And slowly, too slowly, the man stopped struggling and El felt his heart go still.

Oran dragged her up, but she sank to the floor once he let go. Her knees, legs, even her arms felt bloodless and numb, as if she'd stopped her own heart. She drew a shaky, noisy breath through her teeth and bent over to press her face to the floor. Something somewhere hurt but she couldn't tell where, what, how. She didn't want to look up and see what she'd done.

They were bruised and bleeding, in a room full of dead men. In the distance behind her, she heard Oran quietly throw up.

"We have to go," he finally said, after what felt like eternity.

His hand was warm and careful around her wrist, his pulse stuttering but real.

Somehow they left, found someone's backyard pump and drowned themselves in icy water from head to shivering foot. Limped back to their quarters, had the bare presence of mind left to change into dryer clothes, and then fell into bed.

When El woke, it was late afternoon and the sun was slanting through the window right on her face. The air was hot and muggy, and she rolled off her bamboo sleeping mats, sat up. Her clothes from the night before were still lying in a soggy bundle by her bed.

If she'd had clothes to spare, or even coin to buy them, she would have burned the lot. Instead, she prodded the bundle with a reluctant finger and wondered how badly the blood would show. Climbing into the window, she sat with her feet hanging over the ledge and looked out over the rest of the Shoe, the shacks and tents and makeshift houses sprawled over the rooftops surrounding the Nursery. Some of the other children were up and about, and she waved at a few familiar faces but didn't leave her spot.

Distantly, she knew she was hungry but for maybe the first time in her life, she didn't feel like eating.

She heard Oran wake the way he always did, with a sudden jerk, sitting up before he'd even opened his eyes. Silence, and then he swore and she turned around to see him fumbling, one-handed, with a jar of cheap ointment.

"Gimme that," she said, and he tossed it over. Wrapping up the gash used up almost all of their meagre supply of bandages. They'd have to beg for more from the Nursery, or buy their own.

When she looked up, Oran was frowning at her.

"What?" she said.

He blinked. "You... alright?" hesaid.

El thought about it, and shrugged. Her heart was still beating, and she could still hear. Nothing had changed there at least. "I don't know," she muttered, and wrapped her arms around her knees.

"What are we going to do now?" she finally whsipered into the silence. "What if they find us?"

"We killed a Blood," Oran said in a low voice. "And they heard rumours. They'll find us."

El stared at the floor, and then made herself say, "They're looking for me. Because of my Change. They don't have to find you."

He cuffed her on the side of her head, hard, and she yelped. "Ow! What was that for?"

"For being stupid," he said. "You killed one of them, think of how scared they'll be! They'll put you on some kind of leash, use you till it kills you. They're not going to find you. Or me. Us."

"But how?" she demanded.

He stared into the distance and didn't speak. Then, "We could leave Sangre," he said.

El gaped, and had to remember to close her mouth. "Leave? But how? And... and..."

It was one thing to know that a world existed beyond the city borders, but they'd never been outside the city - they'd barely left the west quarter, even. Where could they go? What could they do? Where were they going to get the coin to get out?

"And what about Old Ma? We haven't paid our dues, we're still hers--"

What would she do if she knew what had happened last night? she wondered uneasily. Turn them over to the law? Sell El to the highest bidder? Would she close an eye and let them run from the city and her six-fingered hands?

"That can't be helped. By the time we're gone, it'll be too late for her to do anything. Think about it, El! We could see the world. The sea lands, the dead sea roads, maybe even the eastern kingdoms! Outside Sangre, no one will know. The Blood never leave Sangre, we'll be free."

He stood and turned to the window, as if he could see the world stretched out before him already. "Think about it," he said, and there was a hunger to the words... El blinked. This couldn't be the first time he'd thought of this, something in the back of her mind realised.

"You're mad," El said, but she followed his gaze out the window and felt the small, icy knot of guilt and fear in her stomach ease. If they could leave the city, if they could leave the blood and death behind...

"Where could we go? We need coin," she said, and paused. "And I'm hungry," she added in plaintive tones.

Oran gave her a disbelieving look, before his face broke into a crooked grin and he started wheezing. El scowled. "Well, I am!" she said, before stopping and dissolving into a strained snigger, until she had to sit on the floor to hold her sides.

And for a long time, they sat and laughed and remembered what it felt like to still be alive.

the end

Bay - Sunday/seventh day equivalent (taken from the Vietnamese number system)
Bac - Silver
Thiec - Copper

Note: This story may be considered a prequel to The Sun Roads.