Bad Seed

Uncontrolled shivers rattled the boy. He tossed and turned. He moved in and out of delirium. Amos sat beside him. He wiped the boy’s brow and torso with a cool, wet cloth, just as he’d done for his niece when she’d been ill. With Elsa it had been a labour of love, but with this boy it was a chore. Amos looked down at the thin body and saw nothing but a mangy dog.

The fever broke after several hours of waiting. Amos rose to stretch his legs and to fetch something to eat. When he returned, he brought with him a stool and a table on wheels. He took out a junked wristwatch, its strap torn and rotten. He inspected the object, noting the quality of the make beneath the grime, and rolled out his special toolkit—the one from his life before the Chaos.

Amos lowered his stool until his chest was level with the broad table. His practiced hands removed the watch from its casing. That done, he fitted an eyeglass to his left eye and began dismantling the magnified movement. He used fine tweezers to examine the condition of each individual piece before placing it on a sectioned tray, a time-consuming process.

In the workshop beyond, his clocks chimed the hour. Amos removed his eyeglass and let the bells wash over him in a beautiful song. The music faded. Amos squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his lids to fight against his fatigue.

A small cough pulled his attention back to the bed. Amos found pale, grey eyes staring back at him. The boy’s small white fingers clutched at the blanket and Amos found himself saying, “Alright, lad?”

The boy’s eyes darted around the room. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my workshop. You’re safe.”

“How did I get here?”

“Well, that’s a long story.” Amos put down the eyeglass. “The short of it is, my niece brought you here after an encounter with your young leader in the Guardhouse.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “My young leader…oh, you mean Noak?”

“Hmm.”

The boy shifted and licked his lips.

“Here, I’ll get you some water.”

Amos left his stool and poured the boy a glass. When the child couldn’t support its weight, Amos slid his hand beneath his thin shoulders and tipped it for him. The boy drank with great gulps.

“Careful,” he said. “Go slow. You’ll get hiccups guzzling like that.”

The boy collapsed back onto the pillow. “Thank you.”

Amos returned to his stool and waited for the boy’s breathing to calm.

“Is Noak here?” He asked a moment later.

Amos shook his head. “He’s probably out assaulting some innocent bystander in the Darkzone.”

The boy lifted the blanket and looked down at his bony torso with its neat rows of stitching.

“Did you sew me up?”

“Some of it’s my handiwork, but my niece did most of that unpleasant job.”

The child let the blanket drop. “Why?”

“Because she has a steadier hand.”

“No, why are you helping me? Aren’t you angry? We stole your things and…hurt you.”

Amos sighed. “Yeah, I’m angry. But I’d like to think I’m not vindictive.”

The boy seemed to have no answer to this. Amos lowered his stool again.

“What are you doing?”

Amos cleaned the lens of his eyeglass with a soft cloth piece. “I’m repairing a wristwatch.”

“To sell?”

“Yes, eventually,” Amos said. “But I also find the task relaxing. It clears my mind.”

“Noak does the same thing with his weapons. He said it sharpens his focus as well as his blade.”

The reference to the older Blood Wolf’s skills reminded Amos he was not dealing with an ordinary child.

“How long will it take?” The boy asked.

“Hours,” Amos answered. “Longer if a certain young man keeps on with his inquisition.”

Amos fixed the eyeglass in place and tried to concentrate on the tiny metal wheels and gears.

“How do you know what to do?”

“Hard years of training.” Amos threaded a cog the size of a small button onto a thin piece of wire.

“Were you trained here, underground?”

Amos halted his task. “Are there going to be a lot of these questions?”

The boy nodded. Amos sighed and started polishing between the teeth. “I was apprenticed to a watchmaker as a young man,” he said. “He ran a family-owned business, none of that fancy large-scale production line stuff. He was all about the tradition. He taught me how to look at a watch and see more than its mechanics. He showed me how to feel the pieces working in harmony, and how to let both experience and intuition guide me. He was a master of his art and after many hard years of application, so was I. Does that answer your question?”

“Kind of,” the boy said. “Is it hard, remembering where everything goes?”

“Reassembling a mechanical clock is like performing a dance with more than a hundred and fifty steps. Each step must be done in the correct order and flow to the one after it. Once you’ve learned the dance you cannot forget it, you only ever perfect it further.”

“Sounds hard.”

“Yes.” Amos used a fine brush to lubricate an oiling point on his tiny wheel. “But there’s always pleasure in a task well done.”

He turned to the next piece of his clockwork puzzle.

“What about the other jobs?” The boy asked.

“What other jobs?”

“You know. The things painted on your rainbow cart. Did your master teach you those skills too?”

“No, they were developed much later in my life, out of necessity.”

The boy shifted on the pillow again and Amos took a closer look at him, noticing his pale, clammy face.

“You should rest.”

“I can’t.”

“Are you in pain?” Amos asked.

The boy scrunched his eyelids tight. “A little. It’s not as bad as when they were cutting me. They kept me awake. That was…bad. I wasn’t very brave.”

“I don’t imagine anyone could be in that situation,” Amos said.

The boy’s small chest rose and fell. Mangy dog or not, Amos found it difficult to ignore his suffering. He scratched his chin while he thought. After a time, he got up from his chair and headed to a large chest at the foot of the bed. He rummaged through it. With a satisfied grunt, he pulled out a contraption and gave it a quick spin to check it still worked.

“What’s that?”

Amos extinguished all the lamps in the room. “You’ll see.”

He selected a match from the tin in his pocket and lit the wick inside. Amos twirled the top. The oval box spun, transforming the room. Shapes made of light and shadow formed on the cave wall. A crafted horse tossed its mane, over and over again. Amos glanced at the boy. His grey eyes were glued to the moving image.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” the boy said. “Very much. Did you make it?”

“Yes. A gift for my niece, long ago.”

The boy reached out a hand to the wall and watched the light dance on his skin. Amos spun the device again and returned to his workbench. He picked up his eyeglass.

“Best try and sleep.”

The boy yawned. “He did you a favour, you know?”

“Who?” Amos asked.

“Noak. You’re mad at him, but he did you a favour by warning you away.”

“Did he, now?”

The boy nodded. “He could have done worse to you. So much worse. I just wanted you to know that.”

With these words, the boy shifted his head back to follow the play of light on stone.

***

Guards occupied the Alley. They appeared in groups amongst the crowd and invaded the balconies overlooking the path. They enforced a strict curfew, blocking the entrances to the Night Port and driving the off-duty Smokers away.

Elsa waited in the passage between the Chimney and the Alley for the next shift change. She had company. The Smokers around her talked in hushed tones. Some discussed the attack and the escaped prisoners. Others questioned what they would do for supplies and work now the guards had closed the Night Port.

The bell rang and the mass of people moved down into the marketplace. The guards stationed on the balconies leant over the railings, their keen eyes searching the crowd. Elsa kept her head down and those near her did the same.

“There!” A guard shouted, sending men below to push into the mass of people. They shouldered Smokers out of the way, heading towards Elsa. She turned to flee, but the tight press of bodies pushed her forward again. There was nothing she could do.

A guard reached for her. Elsa closed her eyes and braced herself. A rough hand pushed her into the woman walking beside her and she stumbled. The crowd jostled her along until she found her feet.

“It wasn’t me,” a blonde man shouted behind her. “I swear. I’m not Bad Seed!”

The guards plucked two more men from the crowd. Elsa craned her neck, watching as the guards beat them until they stopped fighting and dragged them towards the Guardhouse.

This was her fault.

These men were innocent.

Elsa knew she should speak up and confess her part in the attack. Yet, when a group of guards passed her again, she lowered her head like a coward.

Elsa broke away from the crush and ran down Junker Lane. She entered the rocky courtyard. Sienna sat by the pool with a small lantern.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.

Elsa kept walking. “I’m sorry, Sienna. Can we talk later?”

Sienna looked towards the orange door to Rama’s workshop and wrung her hands together.

Elsa stopped. “What is it?”

“Um…Rama…”

Elsa smelt something burning. She left her lantern next to Sienna’s, rushed up the stairs and burst into the workshop. Smoke tinged the air. Elsa waved the curling strands away from her face and scanned the small cavern in disbelief. Even with the hazy air, she could see an extraordinary change had overcome the place. Shelves had been built to house the rolls of fabric and baskets, and a table and chairs sat where junk used to lie scattered.

“Rama?” She coughed and moved deeper into the place.

Elsa found the woman’s thin form by the fireplace, stabbing something with an iron poker. When Elsa got closer, she saw the charred remains of a yellow silk dress.

“Oh no, Rama, what have you done?”

“What’s the point?” The seamstress jabbed at a piece of gold brocade. “They take it all away so easily.”

Elsa seized the poker. “Outside, now!”

Rama threw up her hands and retreated to the door. Elsa found a jug of water and tossed it over the smouldering mass of fabric, sending more smoke and steam into the air. She hit the emergency exhaust fan and waited only until the mechanism rattled to life with a great woosh. Then, she followed Rama out of the workshop and took a seat next to the coughing woman on the top step. In the courtyard, Sienna moved toward them, but Elsa waved her back.

“What was that about?” Elsa wheezed. “You’re not normally one to mess with your air.”

Rama wouldn’t meet her eyes. She took a ragged breath. “I suppose you heard about the Night Port?”

Elsa nodded.

“Damn them all to Eternal Darkness.” Rama smacked the stone step. “Punish every Smoker to punish one, that’s their motto. Do those guards think Madame Selma’s going to come here and pick up these dresses in person? Ha! Payment on delivery, that’s the agreement. If I don’t deliver, I don’t eat!”

“This won’t go on for long.”

“They’re in the Alley, Elsa, looking for the escaped prisoners, looking for those who helped them. They came into the Darkzone with a curfew. They’re serious. They’re not going to stop until they get what they want.”

“They can’t stay forever.”

Rama snorted. “You’re right about that. The guards are offering food for information.”

A sick feeling rose in Elsa’s stomach. “You think it’ll work?”

Rama shrugged. “It doesn’t take much to crack a Smoker. Once Rusty runs out of his overpriced supplies, they’ll be banging down the Guardhouse door to tell the guards what they know.”

The older woman shook her grey head. “I’d be there too, if I knew anything. Serves them right, damn fools. What were they thinking, attacking the Guardhouse? What could they possibly get out if it? Another uprising? Impossible!”

Elsa’s skin turned cold and clammy. The smoky air left her feeling lightheaded and nauseous. Rama’s dark eyes narrowed. Elsa wondered if she saw her guilt.

“Oh, Elsa,” she said, suddenly. “I’m sorry. Here I am thinking about myself, when you must be just as frustrated. No Night Port, no junk stall.”

“Yes,” Elsa said, trying to hold onto her panic.

Rama glanced back into the workshop. “I guess I overreacted. I just get so angry, I…” She shook her head. “Never mind, it’s done now.”

The seamstress stood.

“Alright, girl,” Rama yelled down into the courtyard at Sienna. “Tantrum’s over. Come on back in. We’ve got to get this smoke out before it wrecks all my material.”

Sienna gave Elsa a quick smile as she dashed up the stairs into the workshop.

Elsa stood. Her surroundings seemed to sway, and she gripped the edge of the doorframe.

“Elsa?” Rama asked. “You’ve gone grey. Did you want a tea or something?”

Elsa shook her head. “No. My uncle’s waiting and…”

Rama stared at her. “You’re unwell.”

“It’s the smoke.”

“Ah, understood,” Rama said, blushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I always did have a temper.” She fanned the air in front of Elsa. “Better?”

“Yes,” Elsa lied. “I’ll not keep you. I’ll head into the junk workshop now.”

“But come by later and let me know how you are.”

Elsa went to leave, but Rama stopped her.

“I never thanked you for Sienna and her father.” She placed a hand on Elsa’s shoulder. “They’re quality and you are too.”

Never comfortable with compliments, given or received, Rama disappeared back into her workshop, leaving the door open to clear the air.

Elsa took the stairs down into the courtyard and collected her lantern. A tightness invaded her chest. Her limbs felt weak and shaky. Rama was wrong. She wasn’t quality. She was rotten and tainted.

Elsa walked to the pool, gulping down deep breaths. The tick of the watch against her chest, normally so soothing, became a burden. Elsa felt it as a heavy, dragging thump and scrambled to get it off. She clawed at her neck and bunched the chain in her hands. Elsa threw the watch across the cave, wanting to get it as far away from her as she could. It crashed against the wall and disappeared amongst the chunks of stone.

A throat cleared behind her.

Elsa froze. Lantern in hand, she turned to the dark lane leading back to the Alley and saw two figures lurking in the shadows.

“Donald?”

“No,” a man said, in a deep voice she didn’t recognise. “You don’t know us, but we need to talk to you.”

“Come back later,” Elsa said, “we’re not selling junk today.”

“Just grab her,” a hard female voice said.

Elsa was not okay with that. She glanced at Rama’s door. Ten steps and she’d make it to the workshop. The door was open, its orange glow bathing the courtyard.

Elsa bolted. She got as far as the stairs before the man seized her shoulder and jerked her back. On instinct Elsa swung her arm. The lantern connected and shattered, exploding in a burst of light. She smelt burning flesh and hair. A hand clamped across her mouth before she could scream. Elsa bit down hard and the hand released her. The next moment, an object slammed against her skull.