We pause in front of a sagging building. I recognize it from the film: Zula’s Tavern. Saskia and Matthew took Rose there after she released the thistle-bomb to celebrate her first successful mission, and to give her some courage before meeting Thorn. At least, I think it’s the same tavern; it looks dirtier and ready to collapse – the door is riddled with woodworm, and a sap-like substance oozes from the brickwork. It actually looks more like I imagined when I read the book, before it got the old Hollywood makeover. I notice the poster of President Stoneback hangs from the wall, softened by rainwater and torn by the wind, same as the film. But this President has horns drawn on his head and a noose scribbled around his throat; detail which didn’t make it into the book, or the film, or my own mental image. Detail which makes it all seem scarily real.
‘Zula will fix up that arm of yours,’ Saskia says to Matthew.
This confirms my suspicion, and I realize I stand exactly where Rose stood, just left of the door. I get this creepy feeling like I’m retracing the footsteps of a ghost.
Matthew nods at Alice. ‘You think it’s wise, flaunting a Gem-lookalike under their noses? There’s a bad crowd in there some days, and even in them overalls, I don’t think she was fooling anyone out on the street.’
‘You got any better ideas?’ Saskia replies. ‘You’re not going to make it across the city bleeding like that.’ She looks Alice up and down. ‘He’s right though. You still look like a Gem.’
‘Not with this thing on, surely.’ Alice scans the overalls, her nose wrinkling with disgust.
‘We could knock a couple of your teeth out,’ Saskia says.
Alice’s hand flies to her mouth, partly from shock, partly to protect it.
‘That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?’ I say.
Saskia grins. ‘You won’t be saying that if the Imps think she’s a Gem. You’ll be wishing I’d knocked her teeth out.’
‘Steady, Saskia,’ Matthew says. ‘If you bloody up her mouth now she’ll attract more attention.’ He places his hands on Alice’s shoulders. ‘You can slouch, yeah?’
Alice adjusts her posture so she’s an inch or so shorter.
Saskia laughs. ‘Well that did a lot of bloody good.’ She sidesteps Matthew so she can inspect Alice more closely. ‘That hair’s gotta go, tucking it into your overalls like that . . . it just looks like you’re hiding summit.’
I think Alice may whimper. ‘Not my hair.’
‘Blondes are unusual in the city, hair dye’s pretty low down the list of necessities, but we can hack it off.’ She pulls a knife from her belt and begins to wipe it on her shirt-tail.
All the colour drains from Alice’s face, leaving only two streaks of blusher that stare from her cheeks like war paint. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘It’s only hair,’ Katie says. ‘It’s better than the alternative.’
‘Yeah, come on, Barbie,’ Nate says. ‘Let’s see you work a basin cut.’ But even he sounds a little afraid.
Saskia approaches Alice with the knife, and this time Matthew doesn’t intervene, obviously considering this a sensible idea.
I see Alice’s coral lips quiver, her whole body fold in on itself. And suddenly I’m seven years old, sitting behind her braiding her hair, the scent of cherry blossom and lemongrass, the strands slipping through my fingers and catching the sun like threads of gold. I want to grab that knife and throw it into the mud, but something stops me. Fear, I think – the way those Imps looked at her on the street. The hate in their eyes.
‘Hold still.’ Saskia bundles up the ends of Alice’s hair and pulls her head back.
Alice starts to struggle, pawing at the air before her. ‘No, no, please.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Saskia says. ‘Grab her will you, Matthew, and make her shut it.’
But before Matthew can move, I’ve clasped Alice’s arm and begun whispering into her ear. ‘You always wanted short hair, remember? Like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face. It will show off your bone structure and that lovely long neck of yours. And when we get home, I’ll take you to Toni & Guy and get it tidied up. You’ll look amazing, I promise.’ I feel her body relax a little. ‘It’s for the best – you need to blend in right now.’
Tears sparkle in her inky eyes, but she stops struggling and squeezes my hand. ‘OK, OK, I get it. I’m just too beautiful for this dump.’ She kneels, demonstrating her cooperation.
Saskia pulls the sheet of gold taut and begins to lop off great chunks. They float towards the ground like yellow feathers. When Saskia’s done, Alice runs her fingers through her cropped hair, her face rigid. She then puts her hands over her face and begins to weep.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Saskia says, tucking the knife back into her belt. ‘You keep crying like that and you’ll wash away the dirt. Then I’ll have to rub your face in the mud.’
Katie and I help Alice up. It’s as though she’s wounded on the inside, as though she’s Samson from the Bible. Even Nate must understand how hard this is for her, cos he smiles and says, ‘You look great, Alice, honest.’ Though he can’t resist adding, ‘And if the career in writing fails, you can always get a part in the next Lego movie.’
‘It suits you,’ Matthew says.
Saskia frowns and plonks her hands on her hips. ‘Right, keep quiet, all of you, if you make a break for it, you know what I’ll do, yeah?’ She knots her long, streaked hair into a loose bun like she’s getting ready for business. She did this in the film, and it strikes me as odd that in spite of the changes caused by our arrival – Rose’s death, the hanging of the nine Imps – we still seem to be in sync with canon. My thoughts topple like dominoes: in canon, a controller lurked behind that tavern door. I know the passage from the novel backwards. Controllers – self-appointed enforcers of Imp-city law. Of course there is no law, only their greed and their twisted desires. They took a shine to Rose, got a little too friendly, and she had to use her last thistle-bomb as a decoy so she, Saskia and Matthew could make their escape. They ended up hiding in a bricked-up doorway down some alley to avoid being lynched. At least Rose isn’t here to catch the controller’s eye – only Alice. My heart sinks.
Saskia’s about to lean into the door.
‘Wait,’ I say.
Nate’s eyes widen and I can tell he’s connected the dots too.
‘What now?’ Saskia pauses, half in, half out.
‘We don’t know who’s inside . . . they may be dangerous,’ I say.
Saskia’s scowl deepens, causing her stain to halve in size. ‘Stop talking crap, or I’ll chop more than just your locks off.’
Before I can object, Matthew’s hustled us through the door.
A wall of stench hits me – that smell Dad gets when he’s drank the night before. Stale beer. But mingled with other odours: cabbage and onions and something else, I think it might be urine. Certainly, the room looks like it should smell of urine. The sawdust on the floor, the mildew on the walls, the tattered cushions, all discoloured and mustard yellow. It looks like an older, jaded version of the film set.
Several Imps stare at us from their stools. Most of them wear grey overalls to signify their slave status, but some wear plain clothes – faded jeans and threadbare shirts. Their chatter drops as we follow Matthew and Saskia to the bar. I’ve been in a few pubs before, clutching my fake ID, but the anxiety I felt when illegally ordering vodka and Coke was nothing compared to this – my heart feels like it’s going to hammer a hole in my chest.
I search for the controller, but I see no sign of him. My muscles begin to loosen.
The Imp behind the bar wrings out a cloth with nicotine-stained fingers. Zula. She has skin so lined it swallows up her expression so I can’t tell if she smiles or frowns. I swear she was never that wrinkled in the film.
‘What happened to you?’ she asks Matthew.
‘War wound,’ he replies.
She nods and leans forward on the bar, allowing the tops of her breasts to sag over her corset. ‘And who are your friends?’
I open my mouth to reply, but Saskia cuts over me, her voice deceptively light.
‘They’re just some new Night-Imps, Zula. They work in the Pastures with me and Matthew.’
Zula studies our faces. ‘Oh yeah?’
I fidget with my hair. ‘Yeah.’
She looks at Alice and narrows her eyes. ‘I don’t want no trouble, yeah?’
‘We’ve had a long shift,’ Saskia says. ‘We just need to get Matthew bandaged up, then we’ll be on our way.’
Zula smiles, a matrix of wrinkles swamps her eyes. ‘You wanna pop round the back, honey? I can sort that out for you.’
Matthew grins like it had never occurred to him. ‘Thanks, you’re the best.’
‘I ain’t doing it for you . . . you’re dripping on my floor.’
He lifts his hand so the blood leaches into the front of his shirt, and follows her into a back room.
Saskia leads us to a counter at the rear of the bar, putting as much distance between us and the other Imps as possible. She leans in. ‘When Matthew’s fixed up, we leave – we’ve got quite a hike to headquarters.’
I recall the bombed-out church from the film. Home to Thorn and Baba, general meeting place for the rebels. I feel this pull in my stomach as I swing between excitement and fear. I can’t believe we’re going to the actual, real-life headquarters, that we’re going to meet the actual, real-life Thorn and Baba. It’s like finding out dragons are real. You run outside and watch them circling the sky – awe-inspiring, mind-blowing – until they set you on fire and swallow you whole.
‘Our pretty friend is attracting a little too much attention,’ Saskia says, glancing at the other Imps. Even wearing overalls and with her newly chopped hair, Alice draws the gaze of several Imps.
‘Get used to it,’ Katie says.
I kick her under the table.
‘You was right, girl.’ Saskia’s eyes move to a figure slinking towards us. The controller from canon. Only this version of the controller has so many freckles that they can’t quite fit on his cheeks, spilling on to his forehead, his eyelids and lips. And he looks more defined, his features whittled away so only the sharp bits remain, his face filed into a weasel’s. My stomach tightens.
He stands over Alice. ‘Well, what have we got here? A pretty girl the wrong side of the city walls, always a pleasure.’
‘Give it a rest,’ Saskia says. ‘She’s just finished a long shift. We all have.’
He taps his star-shaped badge, just like in the film. ‘This demands a little more respect, woman.’ He turns his attention back to Alice. ‘So how come I haven’t seen you around before?’
Alice looks at Saskia.
The controller smiles. ‘You can talk for yourself, I reckon, pretty mouth like that.’
I begin to wish Saskia had knocked a couple of Alice’s teeth out.
‘Look, we were just going, OK?’ Saskia says.
‘You just got here.’
‘And now we’re leaving. I’ll get my friend, he’s round the back with Zula. He got shot by some Gem soldiers.’ She’s trying to win brownie points, but she just sounds desperate.
The controller laughs. I notice how pink his tongue is, like he’s been sucking on a gobstopper. ‘Well, aren’t you the heroes?’
Saskia hurries towards the bar, but the controller doesn’t leave. He drags up a chair, shoves Nate out of the way, and sits beside Alice. ‘What, she your mum or summit?’
Alice giggles nervously.
‘Aunty.’ I flatten my vowels so I sound more like him, but my voice comes out a little shaky.
‘Yeah, she’s a right pain,’ Katie says, unable to mask the lilt of her Scouse accent.
The controller drapes an arm around Alice’s shoulder. ‘Well maybe you should ditch your aunty and come sit with us.’
Alice looks rigid as a board. ‘I don’t think she’d approve.’ But she changes her voice a little, sounding more Imp, and manages to hold his eye like she isn’t bricking it. For a moment, I think she’s going to pull it off.
‘You’re shaking,’ the freckly controller says. He leans into her and I imagine how foul his breath must smell. ‘It ain’t cold in ’ere, you know? Why are you shaking?’ He sticks out his bottom lip like he’s worried about her. ‘Am I making you nervous, sweet’eart?’
She opens her mouth, I think to answer, but the controller doesn’t give her the chance. ‘’Ere, Terry.’
Another Imp sidles over, star-shaped badge pinned to his lapel. He has receding grey hair, and his stocky build suggests he has no problems finding food in the starving city.
The freckly controller smiles. ‘I got a trembling, pretty girl over ’ere. And while I would like to think it’s down to my good looks, I suspect it’s because she’s a stinking Gem.’
Everything seems to slow. Nate grabs my hand under the table, his palm slathered with sweat. I wish I had Rose’s last thistle-bomb right now. We could sure use a decoy.
Terry studies Alice’s face for a moment and looks a little perplexed. ‘She hasn’t even tried to look like an Imp. No wig, no fake scars, she’s just rubbed a bit of dirt in her face and hacked off her locks. It’s a poor show really, a tad insulting p’raps. I mean, I know we Imps are thick, but still . . .’
The freckly controller shakes his head and tuts like he’s disappointed. ‘Gem spies are really slipping.’
‘She’s not a Gem,’ I say. My voice sounds tinny and unreal.
‘Yeah, leave her alone,’ Katie says.
The freckly controller looks at me, then Nate, then Katie. ‘I guess travelling with Imps is good thinking, helps her to blend in.’
‘She’s not a Gem,’ Nate repeats, all the strength stripped away.
‘Pipe down, young ’un. You may be an Imp, but if you’re helping a Gem, that makes you as bad as them.’
‘What about this one?’ Terry thrusts a finger into my sternum. ‘She’s verging on Gem material – she’s pretty enough.’
The freckly controller looks at me long and hard. ‘No cheekbone enhancements, her lips are too thin, they would have plumped those, and she has a mole on her cheek, they would have sliced that off.’
I don’t know whether to feel offended or relieved.
He leans into me. ‘Don’t look so miserable, who’d want to be a stinking Gem?’ His breath tastes like damp wood and gin. Suddenly, he grabs my hair and yanks my head back – it feels like my scalp is going to rip away from my skull. My mouth automatically lolls open and he runs a finger over my teeth – it feels like a slug and can’t taste much better. I hear my friends shout their objections, but the controller ignores them.
He shakes his head. ‘Clean but wonky – definitely Imp.’
Terry does the same to Alice so she can move only her eyes, which swivel in their sockets, large and engorged with fear.
More Imps wander over. A couple stand behind Katie and Nate, their hands pushing down on their shoulders.
Terry cups Alice’s chin, almost tenderly. ‘Her teeth are perfect.’
They exchange a knowing nod and haul us from our chairs. I only reach the freckly controller’s chest. He bursts out laughing. ‘I think we can be confident this one’s Imp, gotta love a short-arse.’ He lets me drop to the floor. I land awkwardly, knocking my chair so it clatters across the floor. Pain shoots up my tailbone. Nate tries to help me, but a burly Imp still leans on his shoulders.
I turn to see Alice, taller than Terry even without her heels.
Terry smiles this long, sick smile, like he knows he’s won. ‘Well, well, almost six foot I’d say. Do you know how rare that is without the help of a little genetic tweaking?’
There’s an awful pause. I think Alice opens her mouth to say something, but the words never emerge, because in a sudden burst of movement the two controllers tear her overalls away from her body, revealing her slender limbs and her Comic-Con outfit. A piece of dress gets ripped and hangs from the sphere of her shoulder like a long, blue tongue.
‘Leave her alone, you bastards!’ Katie shouts.
Alice tries to lift the tongue back into position, a look of horror contorting her features.
‘The final test,’ Terry says, gripping her arms. ‘You wear overalls, you reckon you’re a slave, then you should be numbered.’
All Imps who work in the Pastures have a slave tattoo; a number on their backs which denotes their place of work. It also means only Imps who’ve been vetted for strength and health are allowed into the Pastures. And, of course, it means the Gems don’t need to use their names – what better way to deny their humanity. I hold Alice’s gaze for a second. We both know she’s in for it now. The controller lunges towards her and rips down the back of the dress, revealing the blank canvas of skin where her tattoo should rest.
I try to stand, try to reach her, but my arms knock awkwardly against the fallen chair. I hear a loud bang as a door flies open and smacks the wall. Matthew comes storming from behind the bar, a bandage criss-crossing his shoulder, blood already seeping through. ‘Get off ’em, you shits.’ He thumps and kicks his way towards us.
The Imps block his path and I just see a whir of fists and shoes. Everyone in the bar seems to wade in – an explosion of sound and movement. Hands pulling, voices shouting, knees jabbing. I feel a clap across my back, pain wraps around me like a pair of hot arms. I scrabble to my hands and knees and start to crawl towards Alice. Something hard ploughs into my ear, a boot I think. Everything goes blurry and it feels like I’m crawling through water. But I don’t stop. I reach Alice’s ankles and pull on her calves with all my might. She crouches next to me and quickly, almost desperately, rests her cheek against mine.
‘We have to get you out of here.’ I deliver the words straight into her ear.
She doesn’t reply, but we start to crawl towards the door. An Imp falls in front of me, nose caved in. He tries to shout, but I shove my hand in his face, dump my knee on his rib and just climb straight over him. And somehow, through the confusion, I clamber to my feet and blunder towards the door, Alice beside me.
‘Stop them,’ someone shouts.
‘Nate!’ I scream. ‘Katie!’
‘I’m here.’ Katie emerges from a blur of limbs and flounders towards us, her red bob now just a pile of mats stuck to her head.
I grab her hand. ‘Nate?’ I ask, pulling her towards me.
She shakes her head, her eyes wide and startled.
‘Nate,’ I scream, trying to peer through the movement. ‘Nate.’ But I see only angry faces storming towards us.
Alice grabs my shoulder. ‘We’ve got to run.’
I feel torn, straight down the middle. Nate or my friends. But something in Katie’s eyes and the rip in Alice’s dress forces me to prioritize them. We burst into daylight and run and run and run. My ear burns and my back screams, but my legs know what to do. One foot in front of the other. And all I can think – arms pumping, fists clenched, lungs stinging – is, I left Nate behind.