Dark Metropolis (5 page)

“
I
’m impressed.” Gerik lit a cigarette. “Where in the world did you learn to flirt?”

“Well.” Freddy shrugged. If it took everything he had, he wouldn’t let Gerik know his interest in Thea was anything beyond flirting. “I’ve had a good instructor over the years.”

“I haven’t instructed you. You never let me.”

“I meant novels, not you.”

Gerik snorted. “This girl—Thea? I like her spunk, but I wonder if there is something too earnest about her.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re already too serious. What were you talking about over there with her?”

“Nothing much. Her family, work…”

“We’re not trying to find you a wife here. Just someone who will bear you a child. Did you see that little blond waitress? She seemed more up for anything, if you ask me.”

“I’m just not sure why you and Uncle are in such a hurry. When has my magic not been enough?”

“Insurance policy, Freddy,” Gerik said. “If, god forbid, we lost you, who would help the dead? And wouldn’t you like a vacation yourself?”

“Not really.”

Gerik sighed. “You ought to be begging me for a vacation. And I’m even
telling
you to rush into things with a pretty girl. Most boys have to do that on the sly.”

From the moment Gerik first presented this plan, he had made it sound like a privilege and not something Freddy was being forced into. It was so simple, he had said. They could surely find a girl at the clubs. The girls were all pretty and respectable enough to hold a job, but they wouldn’t be working there if they didn’t need money.

“Nothing about this plan is respectable,” Freddy had pointed out, but Gerik had waved him off and said he worried too much.

“It’s very uncomfortable talking to a girl, thinking all the while that you have to ask her if she’d like children, especially when
I
really don’t want children,” Freddy said.

“She doesn’t have to like children,” Gerik said. “And neither do you. She just has to like money. I told you, we’ve already got a foster family lined up. I’m sure Thea needs money.”

“But—not like that.”

Gerik sighed. “Maybe falling in love would be good for you. And she seemed a little sad. A girl like that would give you something to protect.”

“Please,” Freddy said sharply. “Don’t talk about her that way. For that matter, don’t talk about me that way. You’re making this sound like a game of courtly love.”

“All life might as well be a game of courtly love.” Gerik gave his hand a pat. “I only speak from experience. That was how I felt about the Countess of Ordzy. May she rest in peace. I truly loved that woman. Sometimes you take me so seriously that you remind me of Rory.”

“I’m nothing like him.” Freddy knew comparing him to Uncle was only a distraction from the real topic. “But I don’t think Thea will like this plan any more than I do, no matter how much she needs money.”

“We’ll offer her enough for a brand-new row house with electric lights. She’d never have to work again. I bet she’ll see the wisdom of this plan for that. Just as your parents like the money we give them, eh?”

“Money is nice,” Freddy said. “But it isn’t everything.”
It isn’t family.
He felt bad lying to Thea and saying he was an orphan, but it hardly felt like a lie to him. He rarely saw them, and he didn’t know them.

Gerik had been bringing up his parents more lately, reminding Freddy of the favors they received in exchange for his service to the government. It made Freddy wonder if he could really trust Gerik, the man who had raised him, the man who had once insisted to Uncle that Freddy must keep his beloved cat and who had gotten on the floor with him to play with trains. Gerik always used to seem like he had Freddy’s best interests at heart, but lately Freddy wondered if there wasn’t something else going on.

“Gerik, you know that girl the other day, the one who attacked me?”

“How could I forget! Sometimes these suicide cases, you wonder if there’s much hope for them.”

“She was wearing a uniform just like Thea’s. She worked at the club. But she never went back to work.”

“Yes?” Gerik spoke as if he had no idea what Freddy was getting at.

“Well…why wouldn’t she go back to work after I revived her?”

“Oh, lad, you know she killed herself. When we give someone a second chance, we encourage them to start a new life, so that whatever happened to bring them to that point doesn’t happen again. That often means placement in a new job.”

“But her old coworkers don’t even know what happened?”

“Mr. Benson handles work placement. You’ve met him, haven’t you, at one of those terrible gatherings Rory calls parties? Maybe not. I’ll ask him, in any case, if he knows what became of her.”

“Thank you, I’d appreciate that,” Freddy said. Maybe he was overreacting, but whenever he thought of that girl, he felt her tie around his neck. He couldn’t imagine why she would try to strangle him.

If only he could have asked Thea what kind of girl Nan was. Prone to violence? Involved in questionable activities?

Of course, then Thea would wonder why he was asking those questions.

And he wanted to see Thea again. He’d been dreading going to the clubs, imagining how fake and stupid all the girls would be, but she was easy to talk to.

“Anyway, about Thea,” Freddy said. “She is a rustic. And aren’t rustics more likely to have magic? Couldn’t hurt to have magic running on both sides. But how am I supposed to get anywhere when you insist on chaperoning?”

“She likes the chaperone,” Gerik said. “It makes her feel safer. And it also makes her think about how she’d like to get you alone.”

“But still, I certainly can’t ask her to—do what you want me to do—with you sitting a table away.”

Gerik grunted thoughtfully. “Well, Freddy, I trust you, but Rory doesn’t think I ought to let you out alone.”

“You’re the one who always says you never tell him anything if you can help it. Why start now?”

Gerik’s eyes crinkled as a mischievous smile spread on his face. “Fair enough, lad. Fair enough. But you’d better work your charms quickly. People at those clubs like to gossip. I don’t want them to start wondering just who you are and what you’re doing there. Try to get her somewhere private and tell her the story we discussed, and we’ll take care of things from there.”

N
an woke in an unfamiliar place, with an unknown panic racing through her. Her head hurt, and her right shoulder, too, as though she’d wrenched something, but she couldn’t move. She was strapped down, under bright, sterile lights. It looked like a hospital.

A sign was posted on the ceiling, obviously intended for the occupant of this bed. It said,
INDUSTRY IS THE BACKBONE OF CIVILIZATION; WORK, THE JOY OF MANKIND
.

What had happened? Where had she been?

The more she struggled to think, the more confused she felt. She remembered commonplace things: words and numbers and streetcar schedules and how to bake a loaf of bread. But she couldn’t remember where she lived or whom she lived with. She remembered the world but not her place within it, which made it all seem hollow.

When she looked at herself, she saw only a white sheet, but underneath it, straps restrained her to the bed. She didn’t seem to be wearing much, maybe a hospital gown. Something papery. A glance around revealed bare walls with lights shaped like triangles pointing downward to linoleum floors. Rows of cabinets and a sink. No clues.

She started tugging her arms from her bonds by inches. The straps scraped her skin, but she hardly noticed any pain. She was bony enough to work her way free, and strong enough to keep trying as long as it took, which felt like a long time. Once her arms were free, she flung the sheet onto the floor—just as the door opened.

“Don’t do that, please.” The woman marched across the room, picked up the sheet, and spread it over Nan once more. “Please relax.”

“Where am I?”

The woman smiled in an automatic way. “You’re in a safe place now. Can I ask you a few questions?” She started asking them without waiting for permission. “What is your name?”

“Nan Davies.”

“And where are you from?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Where do you live?”

“I don’t remember that, either.”

“Do you remember anything?” Her tone was so blank Nan couldn’t tell if the woman expected her to remember anything or not.

“My name, clearly.”

“Anything else?”

“No,” Nan said. At least, she didn’t remember anything that seemed to matter.

“Count to ten for me, please.”

Nan did.

“Very good.” The woman turned back the sheet—Nan wondered why she’d bothered to replace it just for a brief line of questioning—and unfastened the straps from Nan’s waist and legs.

“I’m going to give you some medicine.” The nurse poured a little liquid into a cup and handed it to her.

“Where am I?” Nan asked before drinking.

“You’re in recovery at the hospital here. You tried to kill yourself, Miss Davies.”

“I did?” Was that something she would do? No. Surely it wasn’t.

“You’ve been here for twenty-four hours, but don’t worry. You’re fine. Drink your medicine, please.”

Nan looked at the medicine a moment. It smelled like something sweet beginning to ferment. She didn’t want to take it. “What does it do?”

“It will calm you down and ease your aches and pains.”

“I don’t think I need it. I feel all right.”

“Doctor’s orders. You won’t leave my care until you’ve taken your medicine.”

Nan gave it another suspicious sniff. The woman looked impatient and quite ready to force the liquid down her throat. If it was that important, she could have done it while Nan was still strapped down. Nan drank it in one swig under the woman’s waiting eyes.

“Good. Now you can get dressed.” The woman opened a drawer and took out a pile of clothes and some work boots. “In a moment, someone will come to show you to the dormitories.”

“Dormitories?”

“Where you will live.”

“Where did I live before?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It’s safer, in light of your suicide attempt, if you remain here. You will be well taken care of.” The woman stared at her for a moment, as if daring her to ask another question, but just as Nan opened her mouth to ask one, the nurse quickly went out the door.

Something was very wrong. But without her memories, Nan couldn’t grasp exactly what it was.

Nan saw the world in what people called black and white, like a film, and yet the sprightly contrast of dark gray flowers on the light gray background of a pretty dress was a world away from the lifeless gray of the clothes the nurse had left for her. She slipped her arms and legs into the one-piece work suit. She had never worn anything like this before. She was sure of that.

The door opened again without any warning—good thing she had changed quickly—and now a man entered. His hair was no longer than the stubble on his chin, and he had a small scar on his cheek. He didn’t look like he worked in a hospital. His outfit looked more like a police uniform, except it had no badges or insignias. “Follow me,” he said.

They walked down a hall blank of anything except the triangular lights. No windows. They passed through a door and turned a corner. Nan kept looking for landmarks, but there was nothing to go on except numbered doors: she had come from thirteen, now down this hall were the twenties….She tried to keep track of the twists and turns, aware of a slight downward slope.

The man didn’t say a word. They took another turn and went down a long hall. A steady hum grew louder, and periodically Nan heard clanging and hissing, and then some shouting.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“We are passing by one of our factories.”

“Our?”

“The city’s.” He was not a man of many words.

Nan heard an approaching rumble on the other side of the wall. It sounded like a subway car. But the subways had been shut down after the war, when she was young…hadn’t they? She knew this as a fact, like the streetcar schedules, but the knowledge was disorienting when she couldn’t remember what the war had meant to her or where she used to ride the streetcar.

The man noticed her change of expression and gave her a severe look. “Are you feeling all right, lad?”

Nan laughed. “I’m a girl.”

“I can’t tell the difference anymore,” he muttered.

“It might help if I wasn’t wearing this shapeless rag.”

His eyes turned on her again. “I’d keep comments like that to yourself from now on. They’ll decide what you are now.”

“Who are ‘they’?”

“Right now,
I’m
‘they.’ You ask too many questions.”

After another few minutes of silent marching, he finally stopped at one door in a hall full of doors. “I’ll put you here, then, since you’re a girl; there’s been a vacancy in this room. Your roommate will show you where to go and what to do. My advice is not to cause trouble, or they’ll find a
better
place for you.”

He opened the door to a room no larger than a closet, with one electric light hanging from the ceiling. Then he gave Nan’s back a small shove and shut the door behind her.

Nan’s roommate stayed huddled in the corner of the bottom bunk. She murmured a brief introduction—her name was Helma—and directions to the bathroom, and that seemed to be the extent of her interest.

“So what do you do around here?” Nan asked, trying to get something out of her.

“Work. Eat. Sleep. That’s about it.” Helma picked at her nails. “You should probably get ready for bed.”

“Bed? I just woke up.”

“Well, it’s almost bedtime, so you should try to sleep. You’ll be glad you did tomorrow when you’re working.”

Nan knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but she wasn’t sure what else to do. She changed into the pajamas that were folded on her bunk, made from cheap cotton that held sharp creases even after she put them on. Helma turned out the lights, and within moments her breathing turned deep and slow.

My name is Nan Davies.

That felt like all she had. Just a name.

But the memories weren’t gone completely. They were close enough to taste. They were hidden around a corner. If she could only find a path to them, she would understand what had happened and why she was here. Commit suicide? That couldn’t be right. Nan had never wanted to die. There must be some mistake. An accident, maybe.

Horst will worry about me. He shouldn’t, but he will.

The thought burbled to the surface as though it had slipped through a crack. Just a name. She felt as if he was the person who had raised her. He wasn’t her father; she was quite sure she didn’t have a father or a mother.

But what had Horst looked like? What did he do for a living? What sort of things did he say? She couldn’t remember.

She was breathing fast in the still of night because she needed this memory back, needed all her memories back. She felt almost as if there was something she had meant to do.

But after what seemed like a long time of struggle, all she could recall was the smell of his cigarettes.

She had to escape from this strange place. The memories would come back if she could only see the real world teasing at the edges of her mind. There must be a way. If she’d gotten in, she could get out.