I roll on to my bunk. The sun is rising and I need to sleep. I only hope my dreams allow me to escape the glassy, dead eyes of the Duplicates.
Tonight is a big night. The turning point, the midway twist. Willow must declare his love to me, and I must tell him that I love him but I’m returning to the city – the mercy-dump, as Alice put it. I’m just about to let my eyes close when Matthew and Saskia duck under the mangy cotton divider, leaning on the end of my bunk and destroying any hope of privacy or rest.
‘Come on, sleepyhead, we’ve got a job for you,’ Matthew says.
I sit up, blinking heavily. ‘What?’ This wasn’t in canon. Rose slept today, I’m sure of it. I think I may cry, I’m so tired.
Saskia smiles at my discomfort. ‘While you were out canoodling with Gem boy, I’ve had me ear to the ground. Word is, he’s got another date with that pretty bit of fluff from the ball.’
I don’t tell her the pretty bit of fluff is Alice. They obviously haven’t communicated with Thorn since we left headquarters, and I’m just too ashamed to admit my best friend might still sabotage the mission, intentionally or otherwise.
‘He’s taking her into town for a bit of shopping,’ Matthew says.
This definitely wasn’t in canon. The anger from my argument with Alice returns. She’s risking everything just so she can live out her fanfic fantasies, taking us further and further from the story. Further from home. I get this sick feeling in my stomach because deep down, I know I’m partly to blame – I should never have gone to the bunker with Ash, I should never have let that butterfly flap its bastard wings.
Saskia looks a little smug. ‘If you want to convince that Gem-brat to give up Daddy’s secrets, you better be the only girl he wants to . . .’ She makes an obscene gesture with her hands. Matthew bursts out laughing.
‘So what do you want me to do?’ I ask.
‘You can work at the market today,’ Saskia replies. ‘You and Nate.’
Matthew nods. ‘The Gems love to visit the market, makes ’em feel all superior, watching us Imps toil. Just make sure you remind him who he really wants.’
We travel on an Imp-bus through the market town. This set wasn’t in canon, so I see the sleek lines of the Gem town – forged from glass and steel – for the first time. They look like an artist’s impression of the future; all airbrushed and clean. Already, scents of garlic and caramel weave towards us as the restaurants prepare for lunch. I see Gems through the smeared panes of the bus, strolling by, making small talk, or stopping to absorb the window displays, tilting their chins and revealing their CGI-perfect profiles.
Without permission, my eyes dart up and down the boulevard, seeking a glimpse of Alice, her hand wrapped in Willow’s. But I can only see the signs which adorn every shop window, every restaurant door. A picture of an ape trapped behind a diagonal red line. No Imps allowed. My tongue sticks to my teeth as a stream of anger passes through me. They’re the animals, not us. They’re the ones that chop up their siblings, their children, all in the name of perfection.
We follow the curve of the boulevard, which eventually leads into a market square. This must be the old part of town, where the glass and steel is yet to reach. The stone facades of the modernized Imp buildings surround us, and fixed to a nearby wall, I see a large sign boasting a picture of an ape. I’m guessing it’s a warning that we’ve entered a mixed zone. My muscles tighten and I feel a bit like a jack-in-the-box.
Nate sighs. ‘It’s no fun being the ape, is it?’
I consider telling him about the Duplicates from last night, but I promised Ash I wouldn’t tell a soul, and I don’t want to burden Nate with it. So instead, I just say, ‘No fun at all.’
We file off the bus and join the throng. Imps move gracelessly between the stone pillars which demarcate the individual stalls, buying and selling goods for their Gem masters. There’s this wonderful smell of cooked meats and spices, and bright splashes of colour as spools of yarn turn in the breeze. The Gems stand out immediately. Tall, lean and self-important. Mostly soldiers, their rifles on display, but the occasional Gem civilian glides past, chin raised like a bad smell fills their nostrils, like we’re nothing more than animals. I twist my fingers together as though I can wring the anger from my body.
‘You can help me on the bread store,’ Saskia says, gathering her streaked hair into a loose plait.
We approach a wooden stall boasting an array of loaves. That warm, yeasty aroma reminds me of a family holiday in Brittany. Dad was always dragging us into the boulangeries, and Nate would laugh every time he tried to say it, pronouncing it with a hard ‘g’. I get this spearing pain just thinking of Dad, baguette crumbs lodged in his stubble.
Saskia hands us some pristine white gloves. I inch my fingers into them and begin straightening the loaves, so fresh their crusts fracture beneath my touch. Nate picks up a French stick and grins, and I suspect he remembers the hard ‘g’ too.
I’m wrapping a loaf in a sheet of waxed paper when I spot Ash on a nearby apple cart. He sees me and raises a dark eyebrow. He walks over, his limbs fluid and natural, and presents me with an apple, scarlet against the white of his gloves.
‘Push off, Squirrel,’ Saskia says.
‘I just wanted to talk to Violet. I’ll keep it brief, promise.’
A guard loiters nearby and Saskia obviously doesn’t want a scene, so she returns to counting out the coins and mutters, ‘Five minutes.’
He helps me wrap another loaf, but remains silent.
‘I thought you’d be back with your ma,’ I finally say.
‘I wanted to check you were OK after . . . you know.’ He lowers his voice so Nate and Saskia can’t hear. ‘I think I made a mistake showing you those things.’
‘I wanted to know the truth,’ I whisper back.
Our fingers connect momentarily as we reach for the same loaf, the material of our gloves bunching together. He glances up and smiles.
A voice cuts through the air. ‘Where are your gloves, Imp?’
The guard looks straight at us. My heart leaps into my mouth. I glance down and see the white cotton of our hands. Which means he’s either talking to Saskia . . . or Nate.
I spin around, my worst fear confirmed, the peach of Nate’s uncovered hands peering through a light dusting of flour.
I watch the terror cross his face as he realizes the guard is addressing him.
‘I – I—’ His words knot together. ‘My hands were . . . hot.’
The guard narrows his emerald eyes. ‘Your hands were . . . hot?’
Nate’s body seems to shut down – chest stops rising, eyes stop blinking, fingers dig into the edge of the counter. I feel an overwhelming urge to rush to him, to scoop him up and protect him. But Ash whispers, ‘Don’t’, and the fear of making things worse stills me.
The guard tightens his grip on his rifle. ‘Have you been putting your grubby Imp hands all over our Gem food?’
Nate tries to shake his head, but instead just moves his eyes from side to side.
The guard scowls, his face pinched, like he’s just yanked a drawstring which connects all his features together. ‘Cat got your tongue and your gloves?’
Saskia steps forward, eyes lowered, palms up like she’s surrendering. ‘I’m so sorry, officer. I will see that he’s suitably punished. I will cane him myself when we return to our estate.’
I’ve never heard her sound so obliging. I guess she’s trying to save him from a worse fate than caning. Sweat pricks the back of my neck and I can feel my thighs beginning to shake.
The guard dismisses her with a wave of the hand. ‘Shut it, slave. Unless you want to lose your hands too.’
‘NO!’ It bursts from my mouth without permission.
The guard swivels. ‘Who said that?’
I open my mouth to reply, but the world looks kind of fuzzy and I forget where I am for a second.
‘I did,’ Ash says.
The guard laughs. ‘That’s a remarkably feminine voice you’ve got there, Imp.’ He glares at him. ‘Seems like we could do with a good amputation, just to keep you all in line.’
He hauls Nate from behind the stall.
The reality of the situation smashes into me and it feels like my body plunges into a vat of lava. Hot and brimming with outrage. ‘NO!’ I scream again. I lunge forwards, but Ash and Saskia hold me back. I kick and punch, trying to break free, but they’re too strong and I bounce between them like a pinball. Several guards arrive, pointing and laughing at my outburst.
‘They’re going to chop off his hands,’ I scream, trying to fish the sense from the words. The image of that Duplicate appears in my consciousness – half-formed, half-dead. Not Nate, not Nate. They can’t do that to Nate.
Ash smothers my mouth. ‘Violet, they’ll kill him if you carry on like this.’
But I can’t stop thrashing, just hoping that if I can somehow get to Nate, they’ll let me take his place.
They drag Nate over to a corner in the square, their giant bodies swamping him. Quite a crowd gathers, but even from this distance, peering through the spectators, I imagine I can see the smooth, adolescent skin of each finger stretching towards his nail beds. The white of his palms. The map of veins hovering just beneath the surface of his narrow wrists. Vomit rises in my throat and I begin to cough.
They shove him to his knees and twist a plastic tourniquet around his forearms. This can’t be happening. I suddenly feel strangely disconnected from my body; I don’t even know if it still fights, or just flops like a doll. I watch his sandy head bent low, tears plopping on the ground before him. I remember us high-fiving when he wasn’t even a year old, and then, when he was two, banging our fists together and shouting, ‘Spud!’ I remember his first piano lesson, his little fingers barely able to span a fifth. I feel something wet and hot leaking down my cheeks and on to my tongue. It tastes like brine.
The crowd falls silent and the guard raises a great curved knife above his head. It hovers in the air, a glowing crescent in the midday sun.
‘GUARDS!’ A female Gem pushes through the crowd, beautiful yet clearly riled, followed closely by an equally beautiful male Gem. I recognize them even through a gauze of tears and horror: Alice and Willow.
‘WAIT.’ Alice throws herself over Nate so that the guard would have to first slice through her. But Willow hangs back, uncertainty flickering across his face.
‘I demand that this stop immediately,’ Alice shouts, her crimson dress fluttering in the breeze.
Saskia gasps. ‘Isn’t that . . .?’
The guard shifts his weight, the knife still poised. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
Alice turns her head but doesn’t budge. ‘I know this Imp, he works for my father. If he loses his hands, Papa will be furious.’
Another guard steps forward. ‘Miss, with all due respect, there are so many Imps out there. Just find another one.’
Alice smiles. ‘Oh no, this one’s irreplaceable.’
‘This is quite unorthodox, Miss . . .’ The guard with the knife searches for a surname, his suspicions clearly roused.
Willow finally steps forward. ‘Alice, her name’s Alice. And if you hadn’t noticed, she’s with me.’
The guards see him for the first time, their faces stripped of any pride. ‘Master Harper, I am so sorry.’ They tip their cloth caps.
The blood starts moving around my body again, the world slots back into place. I feel Ash loosen his grip.
Willow clears his throat, clearly a little embarrassed. ‘If Miss Alice says this Imp should be spared, then I back her unquestionably.’
The guards do this grovelling little bow, followed by a chorus of, ‘Yes, of course, Master Harper.’
Alice stands and the guards dash to release the tourniquet. Something goes off in my head like a starting pistol and I streak across the market square, Ash’s feet pounding behind me, slightly out of sync with my own. I gather Nate up in my arms and bury my head in that soft curve between his shoulder and his neck. He just kind of slumps into me, all limp and heavy. I choke back the tears and smooth his hair from his face. ‘Jonathan, Jonathan,’ I whisper, guiding him back to the stall. I use his given name, the name Mum and Dad use. I’m the closest thing to a parent he’s got right now. His body trembles and his hands are this strange blue colour.
‘Are you OK?’ Ash says, wrapping a protective arm around us both.
Nate sobs. ‘They were going to do it. They were going to cut off my hands just because I took off my gloves.’
‘They’re monsters.’ Ash shoots me a meaningful look.
The crowd disperses and the guards move back to their posts. If it weren’t for my pulse drumming in my head and the ashen look on Nate’s face, you would think nothing had just happened, like it’s completely normal for the Gems to hack off a fourteen-year-old boy’s hands.
Willow eventually clocks me – huddled around Nate and crying. A look of shock and guilt disturbs his perfect face. I stare back at him, shamelessly, refusing to look away. We both know he wouldn’t have spoken out, wouldn’t have stopped the amputation had Alice not been there. I remember his words from the orchard just the other night: It’s just the way it’s always been. I think of the nine loops of rope, that crumpled paper chain, the no-ape signs, the truncated, floating boy, and I feel anger inflate my entire body, making me twenty, thirty, forty feet tall. I don’t want to tell him I love him, I want to throttle him. And judging from his face, he can tell.
Alice gently tugs his arm. Just before they walk away, she looks over her shoulder.
‘Thank you,’ I mouth at her.
She smiles her beautiful smile and winks.