We’re back in the chamber, her hands still resting on my head. I look at her, almost surprised to see those waxy lids in place of the green.
She smiles, her teeth long gone. ‘Thorn’s here.’
Moments later, I hear the thud of his boots approaching.
He strides through the door. ‘Your minute’s up.’
It felt so much longer than a minute, and I suspect time passes more slowly during a mind blend.
‘Let her see the boy,’ Baba says.
‘No way.’
Baba pulls her hood over her head. ‘Will you ever learn to trust me?’
We enter the corridor, but instead of leading me back to the main body of the church, Thorn leads me deeper underground until we reach a blue, rusted door. I recognize it from the film – Thorn took Rose to see Willow in this very cell. I’m tracing Rose’s footsteps again, and it feels like the canon has started to mock me, constantly reminding me of what I should have been doing had I not cocked it all up at the manor.
Looking at that blue door, the skin on my scalp begins to crawl. That scene from canon scared the life out of me – Thorn nearly killed Willow, shoving him against the cell wall and wielding a knife right next to his cheek, Rose screaming in the background. Alice and I bawled at the telly, ‘No, no, don’t you dare damage his perfect face.’ I think Nate even threw Doritos. But Willow saved himself by telling Thorn top-secret Gem information about an underground, Gem-run brothel: the Meat House. Information Thorn used to raid the Meat House that very night. Alice and I high-fived at the point when Thorn lowered his blade. I thought it was romantic, the way Willow gave up Gem intel so he could be with Rose. Now I just think it was a bit pathetic, spilling the Gems’ secrets like that. Typical Willow.
But it isn’t Willow slumped behind that blue door, it’s Ash – my lovely, brave, honourable Ash. I think about Thorn’s knife, probably at this very moment stashed in his belt, and my heart begins to race.
Thorn opens the door. ‘One minute. That’s all.’
I step into the cell. The door clicks back into place and darkness surrounds me – darkness and the smell of wet moss. I hear the faint rhythm of someone’s breath syncopated with the drip of water.
‘Ash?’
‘Over here,’ he replies. I recognize the timbre of his voice, but not the tone – it sounds so flat. I follow the direction of his words and my eyes grow accustomed to the dimness. I begin to pick out his silhouette, hunched in the corner, knees pulled to his chest. I scoop his hands into mine. ‘Jesus, Ash. Are you OK?’ Even in the gloom, I can see how badly his face has started to swell.
‘You’re a rebel?’ he says. ‘Shit, you didn’t think to mention it?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That night, when you helped me put the rose on Willow’s windowsill . . . I thought you knew.’
‘You think I would have shown you the Dupes if I knew you were a rebel?’
‘I guess not.’ I couldn’t feel more guilty if I tried. ‘I’m so sorry, really I am. I didn’t want to put you in danger by telling you the truth.’ The truth. That unattainable thing we can never share. I brush the hair from his forehead and inspect a deep cut. In the dark – against the pallor of his skin – it looks like a black gorge. He sucks the air over his teeth as I gently nip the skin back together.
‘You need stitches,’ I say.
‘Oh well, drop me at the nearest Imp hospital.’
We lock eyes for a moment and begin to laugh.
‘Why did you follow me?’ I leave my palm pressed against his head. I no longer need to pretend I have feelings for Willow. I feel slightly giddy at this thought, like I’m back on that carousel. And I suddenly grow very aware of my own exposed skin, how my face, throat, wrists all seem to absorb Ash’s body heat.
He lets his eyelids close and turns his head into my palm. ‘I thought you were in trouble. You see, I didn’t go back to the city after you kissed me—’
‘You kissed me back,’ I say, and then blush for being so petty while he’s lying beaten in a cell.
‘I didn’t get much of a choice. You were all over me.’ He tries to wink, but his eye looks too swollen. He settles on a half-smile. ‘I went to the orchard and when I came back to talk to you, you’d gone. All the slaves were talking about how Saskia had been really angry and you’d all left in a hurry. So I caught the next bus back to the city and tracked you down. It wasn’t hard, I remembered where you were headed first time I met you. And you’ve got this really noisy way of breathing, kind of like a pig.’ He makes this snorting noise and I laugh.
A pause hangs between us. I notice the scraping of a rodent’s claws, the drip of water keeping time. My voice cracks. ‘After I told you I wanted Willow, I thought—’
‘I’d just give up?
‘Yeah.’
‘You know what I told you about climbing? How you always keep one limb on a branch so you don’t fall.’
I nod, realizing my fingers have begun to twine through his hair.
‘Well, I broke my own rule.’ He catches my fingers with his own. ‘And now I’ve fallen way too hard.’
My insides feel warm and I can’t help grinning, in spite of our current situation. ‘Are you comparing me to a tree?’
‘A big, old gnarly one.’ A sudden look of panic dislodges his smile. ‘What are they going to do to me?’
‘If you have no use, Thorn may kill you. It depends if Saskia can talk him round.’ I try to sound calm.
His head thumps against the wall. ‘I’m a dead man.’
‘We just need to make you useful to them – indispensable.’
Light floods into the cell. Thorn stands in the doorway. I hurriedly untangle my fingers from Ash’s hair, angry at myself for dropping my guard, desperately trying to think of a way to make him seem invaluable.
‘OK, Little Flower, time’s up.’ Thorn draws a knife from his belt, the same knife he held against Willow’s face in canon. Ash’s breath quickens against my cheek.
Thorn looks at the blade and then at Ash. ‘Now I just need to take out the rubbish.’
‘Wait.’ I stand, forming a barrier between Ash and the knife. Beneath my overalls, my legs feel like paper.
‘Violet, don’t . . .’ Ash says.
Thorn sneers at me. ‘Are you going to tell me another story about Ruth? It won’t work this time.’
My brain aches as I try desperately to think. Not Ruth, not Ruth, another part of the canon. I stare at him, speechless and floundering, my eyes drawn to that rusted, bloodstained knife. I’m reminded again of the canon, and suddenly, I know what to say. ‘It turns out Alice doesn’t know everything. Willow did tell me some of the Gems’ dirty secrets, before she got her claws into him. But I’ll only tell you if you agree to spare Ash and Katie.’
Thorn knocks me out of the way and hauls Ash to his feet, ramming him against the wall and sticking the blade into the masonry right next to his cheek. ‘Tell me,’ he shouts.
This sudden burst of aggression shocks me. Even though I half expected it, feeling the rush of air and the spray of mortar dust against my face, inhaling the tang of anxious sweat, and seeing every tendon protrude from Thorn’s wrists – it’s so much scarier than anything on the telly.
I talk fast, my gaze never leaving the blade as it bends and scrapes against the stone. ‘I know where all the rich and important Gems will be tonight. Ambassadors, generals, even President Stoneback’s nephew — Howard.’ My brain can hardly keep up with my mouth, pulling Willow’s lines directly from canon. ‘There’s a brothel known as the Meat House. It’s run by some bent squaddies, offering the Gems whatever Imp meat the customer desires – male, female, some disabled, some children. As long as the customer can pay the price, the concubine will be provided.’ I hear Ash grab a shaky breath. The point of the blade rotates against the wall, releasing dust and sand. The desperation climbs in my voice. ‘And I know where it is. I can take you there.’
Thorn looks at me, the knife still hovering millimetres from Ash’s face. ‘These brothels are disturbing, but they are not new.’
‘But the customers are not your average Gems,’ I say. ‘You storm the brothel, free the Imp concubines . . . you ruffle some very important feathers.’
‘OK, but to launch an attack the other side of the border would be suicide. We would be behind enemy lines.’
‘That’s the thing. This brothel has got an extra thrill factor. It isn’t in the Pastures, it’s in the city.’
Thorn begins to laugh, the brilliance of his smile practically illuminating the cell. ‘Well, well, not so shrinking any more, are we, Violet?’
‘You get treated like an ape, you get pissed.’
‘Pissed at whom?’ Thorn asks.
I recall the decontamination block, those prying hands on my body, the crumpling paper chain, the dead eyes of the Dupes, Nate’s arms stretched before him in the market place. This anger flares in my stomach and I begin to shake. And when I finally speak, I speak not as Violet, avid fan of The Gallows Dance, but as Violet the Imp. ‘Those bastard Gems deserve everything they get. They deserve to dance on the gallows and know how it feels.’
I watch Thorn’s blade lower, just as it did in canon. He’s going to let Ash live. The relief washes over me.
Thorn turns, a dark expression clouding his face. ‘But I’m afraid only Katherine wins the reprieve.’ He spins back to Ash, blade drawn back and ready to strike. In that awful sliver of a second, I realize Ash is going to die.
‘Wait!’ I cry. The blade hovers. ‘I know more, I know more . . .’ The canon can’t save Ash now. I need to take a risk, I need to stop relying on the script like Baba said. The last time I took that leap, I was holding Ash’s hand. It was when he took me to see . . . ‘The Duplicates!’ My words trip over each other. ‘Ash, tell him about the Duplicates.’
Ash looks at me, his face a muddle of swellings and abrasions, all pinks and blues against the white. But his eyes look sharp, alert, his gaze intense. I nod softly to him and the understanding spreads between us like something concrete and real.
He begins to talk, his voice surprisingly clear. ‘I found a cloaking device in the Harper estate, deep in the woods where nobody goes, not even the other Imps. I disabled it, and this strange bunker appeared. Inside, there were eight Duplicates. Three Willows, two Mr Harpers and three Mrs Harpers. One of the Duplicates has no legs, and I think one has no heart.’
Thorn blinks long and slow. ‘You found Duplicates?’
‘Yeah, suspended in tanks of fluid.’
‘Duplicates are real?’ Thorn gasps.
Ash nods. ‘I’ve seen them with my own eyes.’
‘Me too,’ I add.
Thorn releases Ash, his disbelief morphing into excitement. ‘This is . . . huge. I thought Dupes were just some sick rumour the Imps made up to turn the average Gem against the government.’ He pushes his hands through his hair, the knife sandwiched between his thumb and forefinger. ‘This is beyond huge.’ He turns to me. ‘How many Gems know about this?’
‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘Just the really wealthy ones, I think. Alice said most of the Dupes are stored in secret warehouses, the Harpers moved theirs because some of the guards were . . . you know . . . doing disgusting things.’
‘To the Dupes?’ Thorn says
I nod.
Thorn exhales. ‘So it’s widespread amongst the Gem rich and elite, but a very well-kept secret. The average Gem obviously hasn’t got a clue, otherwise I would already know about it. If this gets out, well, it would really shake things up. Turn the average Gem against the government.’ A smile spreads across his face and he turns to Ash. ‘And you said you found this bunker?’
‘Yeah.’
‘With no help?’
Ash shakes his head. ‘No help at all.’
‘When?’
‘A few months ago, I guess.’
Thorn laughs. ‘And you figured out there was a cloaking device, and then you didn’t tell a soul until you met young Violet here?’
Ash nods. ‘I kind of like being alive.’
Thorn tucks his knife into his belt. ‘Enterprising and secretive. Maybe you aren’t rubbish after all.’ He turns to face me. ‘The Meat House, Duplicates. You’ve excelled yourself.’ He pauses in the doorway, the smile still stuck to his face. ‘I’ll send Darren to get you in five minutes. Consider it part of your reward, Little Flower.’
Ash and I slump against the wall, our arms and hips pressed together.
‘He is one scary guy,’ Ash says.
I rest my hand on his. ‘Seeing him with that knife—’
Ash silences me with a kiss and I feel the anxiety gradually begin to lift.
He pulls away, a thoughtful look on his face. ‘Little Flower.’
‘Thorn always calls me that. I hate it.’
‘It’s just strange, you know. Ash and Little Flower. I never thought about it until now.’
I shake my head, confused.
‘I guess I never told you the last bit of that skipping rhyme,’ he says.
‘No.’
He begins to speak, just out of time with the constant drip of water.
‘Count the thistles, one, two, three,
Soon the Imps will all be free.
Count the thistles, four, five, six,
Take up your guns, your stones and sticks.
The ash trees turn from green to red,
Spring has gone, the summer’s dead.
Count the minutes, not the hours,
Cos hope starts as a little flower.’