Page 4 of A Slipper in the Smoke
She leant against the railing during the descent, trying to snatch something like a break. She felt wobbly, from the confrontation, the order, or the need for food and sleep, she wasn’t sure. It was not the first time the Baroness had denied her these things, but it didn’t happen so often, not any more. Partly because Elena had stopped resisting, but partly because the Baroness had realised Elena worked better when she was fed and rested.
She still made sure she had less than the rest of the family, that she was sustained by scraps and leftovers, the parts no one wanted.
Like me,she realised.I am the part that no one wants. The scraps. You are what you eat…
She tried not to fixate on that dark thought, tried to ignore it completely. You could lose yourself to that, when you realised there was no one in the world who wanted you. Connections were what bound people to the earth. Without any at all, she sometimes wondered what stopped her from evaporating like water.
Hope, she supposed. Hope that it wouldn’t always be like this, that things would be better, that home was a place she could return to if she worked a little harder, survived a little longer.
But hope was a fickle thing, and hard to grasp onto when starvation gnawed at her belly.
I just need to do the job,she told herself.Do the job. Go home. Eat. Sleep. You’ll feel better then. Everything’s brighter in the morning…
The crowds were dispersing by the time she made it to the outer ring, the place swarming with guards, stomping through the streets in their dark green uniforms and polished pistols and sabres.
“You, girl!” said one. “Halt!”
Elena stilled in an instant, barely even turning when she caught the muzzle of a pistol trained in her direction. Her heart trembled.
The guard was part of a pair, but standing behind them was a dread doctor, one of the elite palace guards that patrolled the streets for those suffering from the black death. He was monstrously tall, wearing dark green robes that draped to the floor, and a portable filter that fitted to his face in the form of a beaked mask. Blackened goggles obscured his eyes, making his gaze dark and soulless, impossible to read.
“Identify yourself,” snapped one of the guards, while the dread doctor stared sightlessly through her.
“Elena Hernandez,” she rushed.
“Place of address?”
“42 Sunrise Terrace, Apartment 28.”
Another soldier beside him scribbled something down. “I’ve seen you around here before, haven’t I?”
“It’s possible,” she said. “I’ve got a workshop nearby.”
“You’re a…” His eyes swept down her clothing. “Mechanic?”
“Yes.”
He nodded to his partner. “She’s not the one we’re looking for.”
“You’re sure?”
“Certain.”
The soldier dropped his weapon, and tipped his cap at her. “A pleasant night to you then, young lady. Take care on the streets.”
They vanished without another word.
By the time Elena got back to the garage, she was already tired enough to roll under her workbench and sleep. She pulled up the door, ducked under it, and clicked on the light.
A tiny automaton shaped like a winged cat shot out of the door, whizzing against her ankles in a whir of bronze and gears.
“What—”
Elena didn’t have time to think about where it came from. Before the thought crossed her mind, a pistol clicked behind her.
“Don’t scream,” said a voice, weak and trembling.
Elena turned just as the intruder slumped, pistol falling to the floor, and found herself face-to-face with a bloody, black-haired girl.
