Glass Pomegranate: Volume I

Chapter Nine: Do They Pay You Extra To Be This Cruel?

The sound of doors opening and closing woke Kismet up. The sun shone through the bedroom window. Occupants shuffled around the hostel, getting ready; coughing, clearing throats, and running showers.

Last night, Alistair had spoken to management; a round older woman named Watcher Gale, who was able to find Kismet space in the last vacant room. It was on the third story at the top of one of the turrets. The single solitary window was a large circle, split into quarters with black framing. The double bed on a white iron frame nearly took up the entire room. The springs dug into her back, then her side. It didn't seem to matter how she turned. 

The clock on the nightstand read seven a.m. Kismet burst out of bed and clamoured for her headphones. She couldn't risk losing track of things when time was of the essence. She hurried down the narrow steps, music blasting in her ears as she raced outside.

Daylight stripped the garden of its magic. It was also difficult to recognize the streets and the way she had come. Some of the grimy abandoned furniture served as place markers, and the area gradually became more familiar.

This time when she found the ferry terminal, the parking lot was much busier. The ship already waited in the dock behind the squat white building, letting vehicles board first. She ran toward the terminal, her sneakers pounding against the pavement. Cars trying to find parking spaces honked at her as she cut them off.

The inside of the building was much quieter, and Kismet risked turning her music off. She raced to the ticket booth where a bored young woman scowled at her from behind a glass panel.

She chewed her gum the way a cow ate grass. "Ticket or access card please," she drawled.

"Ah -"

The woman raised a plucked eyebrow. "If you can't produce either a ticket or an access card, you'll have to move along."

Kismet glanced over her shoulder. No one waited behind her. She patted her jeans, already knowing she wouldn't find anything in her pockets, but was merely buying time. 

"It's gotta be here somewhere." Sweat pooled under her shirt collar. "Say I lost it, where would I get a ticket or an access card?"

"Buy a ticket over there," said the lady, jerking her thumb toward a kiosk close to the glass front doors. "To get an access card you'd have to be an island resident."

"Oh, yeah -" Kismet said. "Guess I better go get a ticket then." She scurried toward the kiosk,  unsure what she was going to do. Perhaps running away had been a bad idea altogether. Her bank card was still in her wallet, but the funds were low. Already sunken into overdraft.

"There you are, you little rascal," said Alistair. He had snuck up behind Kismet, clapping her on the shoulder. He must have been seated in the lobby. She almost didn't recognize him with a shirt on. She shrunk under his hand, but he seemed to be talking to the ticket lady more than for her sake.

What is he getting at?

"She has a card, I swear," he explained to the lady. "My friend here gets a little confused sometimes and probably left it at home."

Kismet looked around at him, blinking.

What in the world is he doing?

"It's my fault. I should have reminded her."

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is," the woman said with narrowed, impatient eyes. "No ticket, no card, no ship. It's that simple."

Alistair leaned on the counter, flashing a brilliant smile. "C'mon Carol. Do they pay you extra to be this cruel?"