Sannah pulled her knees closer to her chest and wrapped her arm around her legs, fingers gripping the rough denim of her jeans. Her other hand was still clenched, involuntary and vice-like, around the wooden lat of the boat's perimeter bench, as it had been for the entire time since they'd returned aboard.
The wind tickled her hair, the boat bobbed quietly on the water, and the stars blinked above them in a squid-ink-dark sky. It was objectively beautiful, but Sannah wanted to be anywhere else but here.
It had been a dry-mouthed and tight-chested day's travel.
They'd reluctantly left their little woodland camp at dawn, after three days of rest and eating.
The official line had been that they were lingering to give Sannah time to "heal", but they all knew the unspoken truth. They were terrified of the water, haunted by the storm, and loathe to step back onto that rickety rocking boat and back into the sea's sucking, destructive churn.
But step back they had to.
Gaen had killed two harts, and was concerned that the animals' microchips, combined with changed behaviours in the other large predators—namely, the wolves (the thought made Sannah shiver, but she'd seen nothing)—might lead the scientists to get suspicious about their little corner of the forest.
So, at dawn on the fourth day, with shaking hands and tight lips, the boat was launched.
Blessedly, the weather held calm, bright and not too cold, the vessel barely perturbed by the rippling waves, though that didn't keep Sannah's heart from beating in her throat.
The spooked trio barely spoke. The indifferent sun had moved from their faces, over their heads to their backs, then finally slipped behind the murmur of land at the horizon, and barely ten words had passed between them.
They were all fearful, and they all knew it. There was nothing else that needed to be said.
And on top of that, there was Gaen's confession.
The boat's engine spluttered out, and Sannah looked up. It had been on so long the absence of its petrol-chug sounded like a noise in itself, filling her ears.
They drifted sideways with the current.
Gaen came out of the wheelhouse, the map in his hands. Deera looked up from her place at the other side of the boat, her hunched repose mirroring Sannah's in tension if not in organisation.
"It's there," Gaen said, standing stiffly behind Deera and pointing over the side of the boat into the darkness. "Calside."
Words eleven to fourteen in the sum total of today's conversation.
Sannah dropped her legs and stood up from the bench, her fingers cramping as she uncurled her iron grip on the lat.
She walked over to their side of the boat, stopping before she reached them, wary of standing too close to Gaen. She felt slightly sick with nerves whenever he was in her eyeline.
Over the water, a streak of clustered lights shone bright in the distance. Their symmetrical pattern was solid above its meridian and twinkled below, the only indicator of the split between reality and the sea's reflection. A haze of light pollution made a blue-green crescent above the town.
Civilisation. At last.
Sannah rubbed her arms. She was nervous about more than just Gaen now, a nameless dread fizzling through her synapses.
"What now?" she asked, her voice croaky from disuse. She cleared her threat, and repeated herself.
"We'll need to pay to leave the boat in harbour." Gaen was stiff and formal, and he looked at the distant lights rather than her. "So we need to get some money. Quick. If we sneak into dock tonight, we've probably got until morning before we have to pay up. But we'll definitely need money then. About fifty digits, I think. Something like that."
They all fell quiet. How the hell were they going to get fifty digits before morning?
"We try sell some mushroom?" Deera said eventually. She studied the lights, wrapping her coat tighter around herself.
"How?" Sannah said. "That's a lot of money. We're not going to get that off some teenager on a street corner."
Gaen frowned and shook his head. They were quiet again, the boat rocking and drifting in the breeze. There was no other noise, the seabirds that had been their constant companions now absent in the darkness.
"There's a nightclub," Gaen said, dropping his head to massage his temples, frowning. "I remember Brock saying when he worked for those people, some of the pickers would pocket some of the chang and sell it to the owner of this nightclub. We could try there."
"You know name?" Deera asked.
"No." Gaen squinted into the air above his head. "No. Not at all. I don't think Brock even said the name. It just came up in some stupid conversation about how girls dre...what people wear in Calside. Like how they don't feel the cold or something. It was licit ages ago. I don't know how I even remember it."
"Well," Sannah said, her tone measured, "it's not that big a town. There can't be that many nightclubs."
She was careful not to look at Gaen as she spoke. She involuntarily thought of what he'd said to her—it wouldn't stop invading her mind—and felt herself tense.
She turned to study the back of the boat, fixing her eye on the stump of a windscreen wiper that had been knocked off the wheelhouse window in the storm.
"So we just go up to any nightclub we can find and try to sell the owner illegal drugs?" Gaen said incredulously. He was right, it was totally off kilter.
"There's not much else we can do." Sannah shrugged, still making a big effort not to look at him.
I like you.
You're beautiful.
I think I'm in love with you.
"I'll do it," Sannah offered, even though the thought licit terrified her. Someone had to, and she'd wasted enough time being afraid. Some things just had to get done.
"No," Gaen said. "It's better if I do it. Both of you have a history here. There might be...someone might recognise you. I've never been in this place in my life, except a car from the airport to the field station."
Sannah's first instinct was to refuse vehemently. She didn't want him to do anything for her. That sort of transaction had a weight to it now. She didn't want to owe him anything.
He was right, though.
God knows what she'd do if she ran into Reeta or Tooley or any of those other burned cranks from the changhouse. And Deera...
Sannah shivered, the movement sending a spasm through her spine. She saw Gaen notice, and resented him for it, even though she knew that was totally illogical.
She couldn't help it, but she was angry with him. Why did he have to say that to me? Why does he have to feel that way?
She didn't have romantic feelings for him at all.
And now things were excruciating between them.
Excruciating.
Sannah was intensely aware of his presence all the time. There was nowhere to hide in their tiny camp, on the tiny boat.
She'd never felt so on display, all her joints rigid in response to his attention, however much he tried to hide it. It was licit worse than the Metropol. At least there, it was just your body they were interested in—not your heart and soul.
Sannah knew how unfair it was to Gaen that she felt like that, but she couldn't stop it. She didn't want him to love her, and it stung like an imposition.
She was tortured with guilt. Had she led him on? Been too friendly?
She had to watch everything she said, make sure she didn't give off the wrong impression. She couldn't foster hope. But she couldn't be too cold either, because he'd be hyper-sensitive to whatever she said.
So excruciating.
Her reaction to his proclamation had been the worst.
She'd tensed up, fingers digging into the grass.
The silence was stifling. It stretched around them forever.
"That's...very kind. I...I like you too," she'd stammered eventually. "But...I'm...I have a boyfriend. I'm still...I'm...but if it wasn't for him, I'm sure...you're really nice."
Pathetic.
And excruciating.
He'd gotten up and walked away, standing with his back to her a few paces off, facing into the woods, arms crossed over his chest.
Thank God Deera came back.
It made Sannah's toes curl just thinking about it. They hadn't spoken about it again, but neither of them had been able to relax since, avoiding each other warily while trying to act like nothing had happened.
Excruciating. Sannah angled her body away from him just thinking about it.
"You remember anything else? About nightclub?" Deera asked.
"There's a bit outside, where people smoke," Gaen replied. "I remember Brock saying he saw people standing there, bare legs in mini-skirts, in the snow. When he was waiting for the guy he was with to come out, after selling the chang. That's it."
"That'll have to be enough." Sannah said, her eyes on the distant lights rather than Gaen.
***
Deera's arm snaked from her side and slipped through Sannah's. Sannah squeezed it tight.
It felt like Gaen had been gone for ages, but with no clock, it was impossible to know for certain how long it had been.
What Sannah was certain of was that being an Exotic girl, on an illegally docked boat in the darkest depths of Albia, everything in pitch blackness (lights would draw attention to them) was terrifying. She felt tiny and vulnerable.
It was obvious Deera did too.
The two sat on the floor in the wheelhouse, huddled close, holding their breaths whenever they heard a noise, terrified of being discovered.
The darkness was thick and oppressive around them, the docks deserted and empty, the creaking boats hulking and unlit.
Sannah wondered what would happen if they were found. Would the port authorities accept their IDs, or not? Would they call the police? Would they have records of her running from Birchwood? Would–
Deera inhaled sharply, her arm tensing against Sannah's.
"Noise," she whispered breathlessly, her grip on Sannah's hand painfully tight.
Sannah strained to hear.
There was a noise. There was. Deera was right. Skit skit skit
There were footsteps by the boat, quiet and cautious, as if someone was creeping around. Trying to investigate. Skit skit skit
Deera stiffened again as there was the unmistakable sound of someone stepping onto the deck. She let out a low whimper. Sannah shrunk back into the wheelhouse wall.
The door opened.
It was Gaen.
"Oh, skit." Sannah exhaled. "You scared us."
"Sorry," he said, voice dark. His eyebrows were low over his face, lips pursed.
"How it go?" Deera said, traces of her fear still evident in her voice.
Gaen shook his head. "Not good." He looked out of the wheelhouse window into the blackness, scowling.
"Didn't you find it?" Sannah asked him.
"No. I mean yeah, I think I did. A nightclub, with a bit outside, people smoking. It doesn't seem busy—I don't know what time it is, or what day it is today—but it was open."
"That's good, right? What happened?" Sannah asked. "Did you find the guy? Wouldn't they buy it? Did they call the police?" She was suddenly scared.
"No." Gaen's scowl deepened. He crossed his arms, looking away again. "I couldn't get in."
"What do you mean?" Sannah was confused. "I thought you said it was open?"
"It was an over twenty-ones club. The doorman asked me for ID. He wouldn't let me in." He turned his whole body away from them, arms crossed, clearly embarrassed.
Deera laughed, her relief evident. Sannah elbowed her in the ribs, seeing how mortified Gaen looked. Deera promptly stopped.
"Sorry," Deera apologised. "So what we do now?"
Gaen shrugged, still scowling.
"I'll go," Sannah said. "I've got some make-up," she added quickly. "I think it's easier for girls. They often let girls in."
"Yes, always much easier for girl," Deera added, smiling reassuringly at Gaen, although Sannah was sure the Tvenaian girl had never been near a nightclub in her life.
"You try then," Gaen said defensively.
Sannah got up, her heart beating fast.
She rummaged in her bag for the old eyeliner pencil she'd been carrying around since leaving Albia. They risked the light for the minute it took her to apply it in the pitted mirror on the back of the wheelhouse door.
She was still terrible at it, but as clumsy as the kohl lines were, they made her look striking, and—more importantly—older.
She didn't have any clothes except her dirty jeans and big coat, but that couldn't be helped.
"We change shoes," Deera said, unlacing her boots. "Mine cleaner."
Sannah nodded and the girls swapped. Standing up, she pulled the elastic out of her hair and fluffed up her curls as much as she could.
She caught Gaen looking at her, and he quickly looked away.
"Okay, round two." Sannah said, nerves bubbling in her intestines. She forced confidence into her voice. "So where's this club?"
***
You couldn't miss it.
The building was tall and imposing, made of solid stone. A tower stood up one side, illuminated by cycling green and purple lights. The windows were also tall, and arched, more lights flashing with them. The door was heavy and wooden, studded with ancient-looking bolts.
The club was a church.
A green neon sign hung over the still-ecclesiastical door. A flashing neon snake curled around green neon letters:
THE VIPER ROOM
Next to that, tall, wrought iron railings cut off a sort of courtyard. The scattered smokers within it looked like they were in a cage.
Muffled frequencies of unrecognisable music snaked from the building. Sannah could feel the vibrations of the bass from the end of the street.
Pausing to steady herself, she squeezed the plastic bag of mushrooms tucked under her coat, into the waistband of her jeans.
You can do this, Sannah MaVae.
Swallowing, eyes on the flickering tongue of the neon snake, she walked towards the door.
A wolf-whistle came from the cage.
"Dirty Exotic bitch," a man's voice called loudly.
"Sit on my face," said another one, even louder.
Sannah ignored them, eyes fixed on the door.
So this is it. Welcome back to Albia.