My fingers are raw, flimsy coverings for aching bones. My arms drag themselves back with the brush, then forward, heavy and mechanical. My entire world is one white, four-foot tile, my sole enemy the smudges of dirt sullying its surface. They hold out against my bristles like rioters resisting arrest, but I can't stop until I conquer them. My body rocks with the forward and backward strokes, and my knees throb against the hard floor.
I could have left hours ago, but I won't. I can't, because as much as I hate to admit it, Sean's right. Rationally, I've known he was right, but the emotional, fantastical part of my mind—the part my mother used to so condemn—dared to hope he might be wrong, that something might change. But nothing changes unless someone changes it, and I can't afford to rely on the Traders. Even assuming I could find them, they've already burned us once.
So we have to make it to Morineaux.
The way Jacin talked, they must have running water there. If they have that, they'll have other technology as well. Something more like the Valleys, maybe. Like a real civilization. Maybe I'll be able to put together some kind of home there. It won't be Erreliah, but nothing ever will be, and if I want to get there, to Morineaux, I'm going to need money. Their kind of money. I scrub harder.
Later, a pair of hands claps twice. I glance over my shoulder. The maids' manager, a rounded woman with neatly braided hair, stands in the doorway. "Alrighty, girls. Good job today. A little touching up tomorrow, and I'm sure this place'll be right good for even Lady Veradeaux's tastes. Now, let's pick up and go home."
Around me, the other maids grab their buckets and brushes, murmurs of complaint filling the room as they rise. My knees crack as I get up, and like the other girls, my tired muscles are slow to relax enough for me to stand straight.
We head to a changing room to retrieve our things, and the girls start to revive some. Tired laughs titter around me, questions about what they're each doing tonight, if they want to come over, and by the way, did they know that so-and-so was dating someone else now? My ears filter the details out, but the simple triviality of it brings a smile to my lips. I wonder how the girls in Erreliah are doing.
My chest tightens, and I clench my jaw, angry for even thinking it. They're fine. Probably doing their makeup right now, getting ready for a date or a party at the Docks. Entertaining any other idea is unacceptable. The plague can't have spread that far.
The blue skin of the Dead District corpse flashes to mind.
I slam the door to the cupboard they let me keep my clothes in. That was Karsix. Not Erreliah. They're fine.
I struggle to pull the too-small uniform off over my head. A seam pops, but the dress comes off, and I drop it to the ground. My clothes, damp this morning, are dry now, and the leather of my pants is comfortingly smooth against my skin.
After shrugging on my shirt and lacing up my boots, I grab my uniform and leave the room, the other maids still chatting behind me. In the halls, people trickle toward the exit, other employees heading home for the night. Together, we walk to the manor's gate, the chill fall air whispering at us to hurry home.
The others do, passing through the gilded bars and down the path back to their village. I lean back against the cold gate, arms wrapped around myself as I wait for Sean. I never saw the little orphan girl again after the cliff accident, and I hope to skies no one tried to take the jacket from her.
A gust sweeps through the manicured grass, and I shiver. From behind the manor, a tall figure trudges across the grounds, silhouetted against the setting sun. His head's down, shoulders hunched, posture dedicated to studying his feet.
"Sean!" My voice surprises me by cracking, and I realize that's the first word I've spoken in hours.
Sean's gaze stays on the ground. The glare of the sun against his profile disappears as he gets closer, revealing what I couldn't see before. Chin-down, he's been mottled in thick, brown... Skies, I hope that's mud. I ease forward, just enough to get a whiff of him.
The wind shifts, slamming me with the scent of manure, and I gag, caught off guard. Sean walks past me like I don't exist, following the path. We pass up the fork to the village, letting us avoid the crowd.
Neither one of us speaks as we plod our way back home through the forest. When we get to the house, Sean doesn't bother going in. Instead, he heads straight to the well, draws the bucket up, and upends it over his head. Water streams down his body, sloughing off the horse dung. He repeats the process again, and yet again. By the fourth time, every inch of him is dripping, all the excrement possible to remove this way already washed off with the last bucketful.
"Sean." He glances back to look at me, hair plastered to his forehead. "I think that's enough."
"I was just putting it up." He moves to wipe the water from his face, then pauses, staring distrustfully at his hand. His upper lip curls. Turning, he strides toward the house.
I move to cut him off. "I don't think Marcí is going to be happy if you flood her house." I look him up and down.
His jaw clenches, irritated. "How else am I supposed to get dry clothes?"
"Just," I sigh, surveying him. "Stay here." I start to head inside.
"Well, I'm not going to stand out here and drip dry!"
I look back at him over my shoulder. "Well, skies. That was my entire plan." I raise my brow. "Just wait here." Before he can find something else to argue about, I go in and hurry up the stairs, head down.
"Hey there." Jacin's at the top of the steps, and I pause, mid-way up. A smile brightens his face, and he pads down to meet me. "You getting ready for the party?"
I look at him, confused. "Party?" A tangle from my failing bun spills onto my face.
He shrugs. "Yeah. Marcí is throwing one tonight. A sort of welcome for you. She did it when I showed up too, but it was smaller. She had me running invitations for hours today. I think I ended up passing them out to half the town."
"For us?"
"Well, she says it's for you. She's been complaining about people not being social enough for the last few weeks, so I think it's more of an excuse than anything. But," he adds, "it'll be lively at least. So you'll come?"
Right now, attending a party is the last thing I want to do, especially this one. Missus Marcí's version of the perfect party is probably a quiet quartet, girls wearing dresses they can't breathe in, and hours of small talk that numb any intelligent brain to mush. I'd rather curl up in bed than spend hours at an event that sounds dangerously close to the work functions my mother used to drag me to. I can imagine her in her pearls now, fluffing her hair in front of the mirror. You want to get ahead in this world, Eleaviara, you talk to the people that are already there.
Jacin's bright eyes watch me expectantly.
I bite my lip. "No."
His face falls.
"Sorry," I add quickly. "I am... I am only tired." 'Only' tired, Leavi? Get your words straight. I look away, embarrassed.
"Oh." His voice is flat. "Well, if you change your mind, your clothes are in the foot chest. They should be dry." He brushes past me.
I glance back at him, but he just disappears around the stairwell. Once in my room, I open the lid to my foot chest. Inside, my two changes of clothes are neatly folded. Clean.
Jacin must have done this, and I just blew him off.
I snap the lid shut and sit heavily on the box, dragging a hand down my face. "Idiot." How much could it really cost me to go to this stupid party? A few hours of boredom and tired feet.
You need to get your priorities straight, Eleaviara, my mother used to say. Relaxation is for fools and the dead. You want to get ahead—
"You talk to the people that are already there." I stand, mind made up. I'll need to wash, straighten my hair, change clothes—
Wait. Clothes.
"Sean."
Angry with myself for forgetting, I hurry to grab a towel and some clothes from his chest. He's pacing when I make it outside. I press the bundle into his hands. "Here."
He stares at it.
I start to head inside but pause, glancing back at him. "There's going to be a party tonight." He looks up, as if surprised I'm talking to him. "I'm going. You probably should too. Half the town's supposed to be here apparently."
He nods, strangely quiet for once.
"Okay." I edge away. "Well. I guess I'll see you there."
As the door shuts behind me, one quiet word hits my ear. "Thanks."
* * *
Music drifts from outside, a strange, upbeat twanging accompanied by the bright jangling of some sort of percussion. The living room has transformed into a lounge, couches turned away from the fireplace and toward the open area. Adults mingle, sampling food from the spread laid out on the relocated dining table. Through the window, couples dance, the girls' simple skirts swirling about their knees as they spin. I smooth out the wrinkles in my pants, suddenly self-conscious.
Oh, well. The closest thing to a dress I have here is my lab coat. I finish descending the stairs.
A couple of the women pass me odd looks, but I ignore them, opening the door and stepping out into the cool night air. Two musicians, a woman and a man, play on the porch. The man's fingers fly over an odd stringed instrument with a triangular body while the woman claps a ring of little metal pieces against her hand in time, a broad smile on her face.
"Leavi!" Jacin calls, padding up the steps to greet me. "I thought you weren't coming."
I shrug, smiling, and he takes my hand. "Dance with me?" he asks.
I hmm playfully, looking away, and he pulls me down the steps before I can refuse. We merge with the crowd, him following the steps with the rest of the group. Unfamiliar with the dance, I just laugh and do my best to keep up.
He extends his arms to push me back. I fumble to match the movement, and he chuckles. "You don't know this one, do you?"
You have no idea, I think to say. "No," I admit, my accent thick.
"That's alright. You've got good rhythm at least. And you've yet to step on my toes, so you can't be doing too badly."
Me, step on your toes? I've far too much grace and good sense for that. Half a laugh escapes my lips instead of the ridiculous words I don't know how to say.
"So where are you from?" he asks, twirling me.
I spin lightly, coming back to face him. "Very, very far away."
He tsks at me. "You can't stay mysterious forever, Leavi. Second time I've asked you this, and you dodged then too. Give me a hint, at least. East, west, or south?"
"No." I grin slyly.
"What do you mean 'no'?" He twirls me again. "How much farther north can you get than this tiny town?"
I wink. "Far enough to say 'Common' and not 'Avadelian.'"
"Oh, you think you're clever, don't you?"
I shrug.
"That's okay. You don't have to be modest." He dips me, and for a moment, I can see flecks of green concealed near his iris. "I think you're pretty clever too," he whispers in my ear.
Air whooshes past me as he pulls me back upright. "Oh, I almost forgot. I found something for you." I tilt my head, the last notes of the song petering off. "Perfect timing. Why don't we head inside, and I'll bring it down to you?"
I follow him in, and he hurries upstairs. While I wait, I wander around sampling food until a pleased clap catches my attention. Nearby, Marcí greets a woman in a voluminous scarlet dress. Pearl pins fasten back the lady's platinum blonde hair, and silver bracelets rest against her honeyed skin.
"I'm so glad you could make it!" Marcí gushes.
The lady smiles. "Well, it's always good to visit a fellow Morineause woman."
"With the council meeting tomorrow, I was sure you'd be swamped! It seems no one can ever get ahold of you this time of year."
"Yes, well. All work and no play make for a dull, dull girl."
Marcí titters, and the woman—Lady Veradeaux, I realize—gathers her hair over one shoulder, a ruby ring catching the light. "Besides, my steward has everything under control. I left him seeing to the accommodations for my guest of honor."
Marcí's laugh falls away, confusion flickering across her face. "Guest of honor?"
"A visitor from the east. If everything goes well, this meeting could prove very lucrative indeed." A self-satisfied smile flits across her lips.
I edge closer, curiosity piqued. Marcí opens her mouth to speak.
Someone grabs my wrist from behind. Alarmed, I spin around swinging.
Jacin catches my fist. "Whoa, there! I startle you?"
He smiles, and a shaky laugh pushes out of my lungs. "Sorry." I pull my hand back.
"No harm done. Here. This is what I wanted to give you." He hands me a large, leather-bound book, its pages yellowed with age.
My fingers brush the cover, its weighty antiquity reminding me of the night my father gave me my necklace. "What is this?"
"A book of words. Found it up in old farmer Zairren's attic. Looked like it's been there a long time; the words are a little out-of-date. But I thought it still might help you. I mean, if you're wanting to learn more Avadelian."
Pages crinkle as I turn them. Word after word meets my eyes, each accompanied by short explanations. A dictionary, then. An old dictionary with faded letters and a creaky spine, but I wouldn't trade it for another book in the world right now. I look up from it to find Jacin's anxious eyes.
"Thank you," I answer warmly. He relaxes. With a book, I can study. Anything I can study, I can learn. "This will help me."
A loose grin breaks out on his lips. "Good. I'm glad you like it."
A piece of his story sticks in my mind. "Doesn't 'old farmer Zairren' need it?"
"Oh, no. He died a few months back. Marcí sent me out to his house yesterday to clean it up because the rest of the town thinks it's haunted. Guy didn't have any family left, so his stuff's just been sitting up there."
He stole from a dead man?
But then again, Zairren's not reading it anymore, and I really do appreciate the gift. If this town is anything like the poor topside ones, he could have sold the book for a good bit of money despite its age. Instead, he gave it to me. Cheeks warm, I thank Jacin again and take the book to my room.
When I come back down, he's in conversation with a few other men. I wander around playing meet and greet with the townsfolk until I spot Sean in a corner. He's set so far back into his armchair, it's like he's trying to become part of it. The steady tap, tap, tap, tap of his presswrite is in time with the beat of the music outside. I doubt he notices, though. As always, he's focused on his work, dedicatedly ignoring the rest of society.
I suppose I can't really blame him, though. After all, I almost didn't even come.
Someone else catches my attention. I shake hands and learn names, but no matter who I'm talking to, my eyes keep drifting back to Sean.
Head down, his usually short hair dangles above his eyes. His shoulders are tense, but his fingers are in perfect time. With their unconscious dancing, I can't help but wonder how well his feet would do if he tried.
Outside, the music takes on a soft, almost haunting tone.
The crowd has thinned. Suddenly ill-at-ease, I fiddle with my necklace. A humorless smile rises unbidden. Between the presswrite's percussion and the anxious rasp of my necklace, Sean and I could almost have our own band.
Enough waiting, Leavi. The song's not going to last forever.
Against my better instinct, my feet approach his chair. His eyes stay down, typing still rhythmic.
My fingers release their grip on the chain. "Sean?"
He glances up, still tip-tapping on his keyboard.
My stomach is in a nervous flight, but my hands stay steady. I gesture out the window, where the stars glisten over the dancers, a gentle wind mixing with the wistful music. "You know, it's an awful pretty night to be stuck inside all evening."
Tapping keys and hesitant eyes are all that answer me.
My heartbeat accelerates. What is wrong with you, Leavi? It's just Sean.
I extend a hand, a smile teasing my lips. "Would you honor me with a dance, Doktor Rahkifellar?"