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Ninallia dressed in the dark, careful not to disturb her mother, Vicori. In the next room, she found her aunt sitting at the table, head bowed, with tears on her cheeks. Aunt Rese’s tall, graceful figure was slumped with grief, and her fine-boned, handsome features were puffy from crying. Her once elegant hands were now rough and scarred from the harsh chemicals she used on the cleaning crew. A cup of tea shook in her unsteady grasp. Ninallia understood the tears—there wasn’t enough money for rent, food, and medicine for Vicori. She wrapped her arms around her aunt.
Rese was leasing a two-room apartment in a poor neighborhood when she took in her young, widowed sister and child. It was supposed to be temporary, but that was ten years ago.
“I’ll find work, Rese. I can quit school. I will join a work crew. I’m almost grown, and I’m a strong girl.”
Rese freed herself from Ninallia’s embrace and stood. Her gaze darted toward the room where her sister lay. “No child, you have to be seventeen to apply for work on the cleaning crew. I promised your mother you would finish school. It would kill her to see you on a work crew.”
“Will our creditors wait two years?”
Taking Ninallia’s face in her hand, Rese straightened to her full height and looked down into her eyes. “Enough! I will deal with the creditors. Have some porridge. I need you to go to the market for me.” She reached for a bowl, her eyes red and heavy with tears.
“I’m not hungry,” Ninallia lied. She regretted the sharp tone and touched her aunt’s shoulder. “There are always samples at the market. I can eat those.”
Rese lowered her eyes and handed Ninallia a meager list and a few coins.
As Ninallia walked along Market Street, familiar sounds and smells lifted her spirits. A well-dressed woman with a large basket of fruits and vegetables crossed the street ahead of her. A boy jostled the woman as he ran by, and two large figs fell from the basket onto the dusty street. The woman didn’t notice, nor did she turn back to pick them up.
Ninallia hurried toward the figs, anxious to reach them before some careless person stepped on them and they became useless. She made it and added them to her basket. Aunt Rese loved figs. These would make her a fine treat.
“Thief!” The woman’s shrill voice sounded an alarm.
Ninallia took the figs from her basket and held them out. “They fell in the street, lady,” she stammered. Tears stung her eyes. True, but also true, she intended to keep the figs for herself.
The woman looked down her nose at Ninallia’s shabby clothes. She grabbed the figs. Her lips curled disdainfully. Dirt from the ground covered part of the smooth skin. “I don’t eat dirt.” She turned and threw them into the gutter. “Give me your basket, girl. What else have you stolen? We don’t need your kind here. You eat samples and steal produce without a thought for the merchants.”
Other shoppers began to stop and watch the scene. Mento, the baker, hurried from his shop. He placed his large frame in front of Ninallia. “Leave the girl alone; she’s an honorable child. Don’t blame her for your carelessness.”
The woman stalked away, and Ninallia covered her face in shame. The story of her dishonorable action was sure to reach Aunt Rese before she arrived home. Mento patted her shoulder, then laughed as he dusted off the flour. He was a kind man and one of the best bakers in the Imperial City. His cakes and pastries drew customers from all over the city.
“Come into my shop. I have fresh pastry.” Mento coaxed her away from the curious crowd.
The aroma of baking tickled her nose and made her mouth water. Bread, fresh and golden brown from the oven, cluttered the shelves. Pastries, flakey and filled with luscious fruit and decadent chocolate, were displayed on silver and glass plates along the counter. Mento nodded toward the pastries. There was never a shortage of samples in his shop. She bowed in thanks and selected a small piece of chocolate pastry, popping it into her mouth and holding it there with her tongue to savor the sweet, velvety chocolate oozing from the flakey crust. It was bliss.
“Try the fruitcake; it’s a new recipe,” he suggested, holding out a large sample.
He waited expectantly as she tasted the cake and clapped her approval. It was delicious. The blend of fruit and nuts in a buttery cake was sure to become a favorite throughout the city.
“How are Vicori and Rese?” Mento emphasized Rese’s name, his round cheeks brightening with pink.
“Mother is sick, but Rese is well and sends her thanks for your generosity,” she answered.
This made Mento’s large face beam with happiness. He was sweet on Aunt Rese and often gave them day-old bread and cakes. Ninallia gazed around the prosperous shop. Why doesn’t Aunt Rese marry Mento? That would solve our problems. The house above the bakery was snug and warm. A worrisome thought crossed her mind. Would Mento welcome his wife’s ill sister and her niece into his home? Was this why Aunt Rese hesitated?
It was time to bid him goodbye. He placed gifts of bread and pastry into her basket. She nodded her thanks again, unable to find the words to thank him enough. Outside, the street was quiet. People returned to their shopping and so must she. Ninallia shook her head. If she were not poor and hungry, she would not have dishonored herself by trying to pick up those figs. She must convince her aunt and her mother she was old enough to go on a work crew, at least until her mother recovered. Perhaps the best way was to find a position and take it.
Across the street a section of the wall was designated for memos and job openings. It was covered with posters and fliers. Wouldn’t hurt to see what was there. She started across the street to read the postings, only to find herself in the path of a transport speeding above the street. The driver blared a warning, and she jumped back. The air streaming from the sleek metal transport bus almost ripped the basket from her hands. Several passengers laughed at her carelessness. Ninallia shook her fist at the transport. One day I will ride the transport from the north to the south or east to west in the Imperial City whenever I want.
She perused the job offerings posted on the wall. Very few papers giving details on how to apply for the jobs remained. A notice for the position of dumas caught her attention—the need for paid surrogate mothers was great. After the war and chemical plagues of the past, many women were barren. She gasped at the figures offered for this service. The pay was many times higher than any work crew would offer.
The notice stated requirements for the dumas position: “A woman must be eighteen years or older, fertile, and genetically free of abnormalities.”
She almost screamed her disappointment. I cannot wait three years. These are lean times, and many in the Imperial City need work and housing. We will be living on the street.
There was a harsh laugh beside her. An old woman’s voice said, “A fertile body and a clean scan are a valuable commodity, no? Keep yourself pure, child.”
Ninallia blushed, grabbed a slip attached to the notice then jammed it into her pocket.
~ * ~
The morning sun began to burn away the dense fog that shrouded the Imperial City of Obantu, revealing in the distance the towers of the Golden Palace. This brought both a blessing and a curse to a fugitive from the classroom. Ninallia might be seen and reported, then a conference between her esteemed teachers and aunt would follow. However, the light did make her journey less dangerous. She quickened her pace, navigating the intricate spider web of streets and alleys in the ancient capital with care. One wrong turn could take her from streets lined with posh shops and eateries to dangerous streets where no lone female was safe, even during the daytime.
Ninallia rubbed the advertisement torn from the public notice wall. It crinkled in her pocket. She tried to squelch the hope building inside her. There was little chance she, a girl in her early teens, would be chosen by a wealthy couple to be their surrogate, but she was determined to try. She experienced her monthly woman’s flow, her scans were clean, and there were family legends of nobility in her heritage. Many nights she listened to her mother and aunt talk of royal blood in her family’s history. Being a dumas offered them hope, a chance to escape poverty. She might even restore her family honor. Her family was once prosperous, though not wealthy. Aunt Rese’s closet held a few reminders from that better life. Sadly, she was forced to sell most of them in recent years.
Without credits for transport, it would take hours of walking to reach the address on the slip. Ninallia’s left eye began to itch, but she forced herself to ignore it to keep from smearing her makeup. She tugged at the simple gown that came from Aunt Rese’s closet. The gown was more appropriate for an interview than her well-worn school tunic, though truth be told, it hung off her narrow shoulders.
Ninallia ignored the blisters on her feet and continued walking. She considered taking off the ill-fitting shoes but realized this would ruin her hose. She felt foolish. Why did didn’t I wear my own shoes? At a large intersection she paused and reread the directions, smiling to herself when she saw the final street come into view. After taking the left, she stood before her destination to adjust the sagging dress and smooth the braids in her dark hair. She climbed the steps, took in a deep breath, and then knocked.
The door swung open, and a large square-faced woman stared at her. The woman’s broad shoulders and full skirts blocked the view inside. “Can I help you?”
“I am here to interview for a dumas position. I have a clean scan.” Ninallia’s voice trailed off under the woman’s frown.
“Dumas applicants must be eighteen. Come back when you are older.” The woman began to close the door.
“I have royal ancestry on my mother’s side.” Ninallia felt her future slip away as the woman shook her head. The door shut before she could say anything else.
Dejected, she turned to begin the journey to her aunt’s small home across town. Without the credit for transport, another long walk lay ahead.
“Come here, child,” a gentle voice called from the door.
Ninallia whirled and raced back to the door. A woman stood there dressed in an elegant silver and blue silk gown. Was this woman noble or upper class? Ninallia could not tell. To be safe she greeted her by saying, “My Lady?”
The woman studied Ninallia. There was a sharp intelligent mind behind her gentle eyes. She patted Ninallia’s shoulder. “You say you have royal blood?”
She fumbled in her pocket and found the disk with her medical records. “Both my mother and aunt say it is far back in our line. I am clean and fertile.”
“You know a dumas must be eighteen.”
Too embarrassed to explain, Ninallia hung her head. If I wait three years, mother will be dead. Before then, we will be living on the streets and begging for food. There isn’t much left to sell. With mother ill and not working, Aunt Rese’s can’t pay rent and buy food much longer. There are too many creditors to pay. Ninallia tried to hold back tears as she turned to leave.
“I serve high-born clients. The purity of their dumas is more important than her age. One prefers royal blood.”
Ninallia lifted her chin as hope coursed through her. She dared a smile at this woman.
The woman returned the smile as she took a small card from her pocket and held it out. “I am Madama Ector. I own a private dumas hostel and procure surrogates for the highest clientele in the Empire. Everything at my hostel is very proper, and my women receive the best treatment. Come to this address tomorrow. If you carry royal blood, I may be able to use you.”
“Yes, Madama.” Ninallia grasped the card. “I will be there.”
Madama Ector turned toward the door. Ninallia almost missed her final admonition. “A dumas must be neat and clean. However, you do not need to wear makeup.”
Ninallia watched her benefactress, the card clasped in her hand. She almost missed the small credit chip on the corner. She opened her mouth to ask Madama Ector about the chip. The door closed before she could. Ninallia stroked the chip and slipped the card into her pocket.
On the way home, she swiped the card at a public access terminal and gasped at the amount on the chip. One hundred credits were a huge sum for her family. Doesn’t Madama know the card’s value? Why would she extend me such a generous amount? Ninallia pressed the cash button. She scanned the area to make sure no one watched as five, twenty-credit coins were dispensed.
Even in a safe neighborhood, it wasn’t wise to carry a large amount. Ducking into a public toilet, she placed each credit coin into a separate location in her clothes and shoes. What if Madama Ector wants the money back or demands I do something dishonorable to earn it? She decided not to spend the credits until after tomorrow’s interview. The coins hidden, Ninallia stepped back outside and headed home at a brisk pace.
At home, where the sour smell of illness filled the cramped apartment, she heard Vicori’s raspy breathing come from the next room. Aunt Rese sat at her table nursing a cup of weak tea. Her face was lined with worry and weariness, but she raised a hand in greeting and managed a smile.
“How is she?” Ninallia asked.
Aunt Rese’s hands trembled. She dabbed at tears. “No medicine.”
The hidden credits weighed heavy on Ninallia, and her determination failed. If she was rejected, she would find a way to repay Madama Ector. Taking out forty credits she said, “This should be enough for both the healer and the medicine.”
“Where did you get this money?” Aunt Rese was dubious. “Have you shamed us?”
Ninallia shook her head. “I have applied for an honorable job and have been paid in advance.” She dared not tell her aunt about the job for fear Rese would forbid her from performing the duty of dumas.
Aunt Rese studied her face for a long time before taking the money. She relaxed and filled Ninallia’s bowl with leftover stew before going for the healer.
~ * ~
About an hour later, Rese returned to their tiny apartment with Healer Taborn from the neighborhood clinic. His skills were excellent, and he was well-known and admired in the poor community. His services were cheaper than most, and he was the only healer who made calls to the southern slums of the Imperial City. He could have grown wealthy as a private healer but chose to provide care to those who could pay less. He looked around and nodded at the scrubbed floors and clean counters. He would shake his head but not condemn them for waiting so long to seek his help.
The fabric of his long green healer’s robes rustled as he passed Ninallia. He closed the door to the smaller chamber while he examined her mother. Ninallia listened to his quiet voice and the much weaker voice of her mother answering his questions.
The healer’s face was grave when he returned to the front room. He accepted Rese’s offer of tea, making a slight grimace probably at the weak flavor. “She has the wasting lung disease. The medicine will help her, but to get well she needs to be in a sanitarium for treatment.”
Ninallia gasped. A sanitarium will cost much more than one hundred credits.
They thanked him and paid for his visit. Rese took some of the stew to Vicori, while Ninallia put on her cloak and went to find an apothecary. It was several blocks away, almost to Market Street. When she returned home, she placed the medicine along with fresh milk and fruit onto their small table. Fewer than half her credits remained. She set them in a small cloth bag under her mattress.
For the first time in weeks, Ninallia slept through the night without waking to the sound of her mother’s labored breathing. The medicine was working. Aunt Rese helped her sister to the main room in the morning, and the three shared a small breakfast of hot mush and fruit.
Ninallia tried to decide how to explain her upcoming pregnancy. She could hide it for a short time but Aunt Rese and her mother would notice in a few months. Being a dumas was an honorable thing. If she was older, they would no doubt be proud, but for now it must be secret. “I have to go to my employer today. If I keep this job, I can help pay for food and medicine.”
Concern darkened her mother’s face. Aunt Rese stroked her sister’s hair. “It is okay, Vicori, Ninallia is a good girl. This will be an honorable position.”
“But she must finish school,” protested her mother.
Ninallia took her mother’s hand. “If I keep this job, it will be a good thing for our family because I can finish school at night and send you credits. I promise to write you often.”
This seemed to satisfy Vicori. She motioned for Ninallia to come close. Taking her daughter’s hands in hers, she kissed them. She whispered a prayer, “May the Spirits guide your path, protect you from all harm, and return you to my heart.”
It was an ancient blessing. Aunt Rese placed her hands on Ninallia’s head as she added her own silent prayer. Ninallia brushed away tears. She hugged them tightly before she left for her appointment with Madama Ector.