necks bared
“Mora! Happy Skivårnat!”
Dusk has gathered, and bags hang under Felicity Greave’s eyes. She stands near the trough of young plants outside the Lugger.
“Same to you.”
I try not to break my stride, but her outstretched arm stops me, brandishing a small case of long, slim cigarettes to match the one she’s wafting. They’re a luxury – hard to get in Portcaye outside the Mermens and the Steeps, where the wealthiest Skøl live.
“No, thank you.”
She snaps the case shut with a graceful click. “You’re quite friendly with the owners here, aren’t you?”
“They’ve been very kind,” I confess. “They’re keen on my artworks. I draw on commission.”
Her face relaxes into a warm smile. “You draw? Now that is a surprise. Though as soon as I saw you, I thought … here’s a girl with hidden depths.” She gestures expansively.
“I’ve drawn the Scarlets three luggers. And I did them a portrait.”
“That portrait was by you?” Her eyes widen. “Missus Scarlet was showing it around this morning, but I was in a rush. You’re very talented.”
“Would you like me to draw you something?” She’s rich enough to pay, I think.
“I’d love that, if I can think of a decent subject. I’ve never been one for boats. Have you eaten? I need some company for dinner.” Her smile seems embarrassed. “It’s Skivårnat and I’ve no one.”
I feel a little sorry for her. I wonder how often she has to pay people fifty krunan for company. “I wish I could, but I have to meet Ruzi and be back home before curfew.”
“Some other time, then.” She waves me off through a plume of smoke.
Last week I persuaded Ruzi to accompany me to the Mermens tonight, to see the Skivårnat lights on Rafmagis Way. The lights are elektric because it’s the fanciest shopping street in town. Silversmiths, jewellers, confectioners, haberdashers, fancy delicatessens, exotic florists.
Ruzi’s never gone to see the lantern covers. He said he wasn’t interested, even if his co-workers made them. But I wore him down.
One end of Rafmagis Way runs near the Steeps. Felicity said Valour Venor’s new town residence is there somewhere. I’m not keen on going near his neighbourhood, but I can’t let that stop me. Besides, he won’t know who I am or what I’ve done. It’s literally years since he’s seen me. I’d just be another dirty makkie to him.
I have cleaned up a bit though. Ruzi too. I’ve wrapped my hair but left a few decorative curls out. Ruzi’s blacked his boots, trimmed his beard and put on the checked shirt he wore to see Zako that first time.
The lanterns are stunning – multicoloured twirls and orbs, like great glass bouquets or tangles of tentacled underwater creatures in iron cages. They stretch off down both sides of Rafmagis Way in two glowing lines. Skøl art is usually so cold and brutal, but not these. They’re spontaneous and playful, showing off the workers’ skill and sense of wonder.
“Well, I never,” Ruzi murmurs. “Isn’t this a sight, Mora?”
The whole strip heaves with a sea of Skøl. Twice I think I see the magistrate – both false alarms.
Ruzi’s eyes are glazed over like a boy’s.
“Look at this one!” he blurts, and we stop to admire a violet lantern, speckled with dark bobbles. “Like a big sea urchin!”
“Same colour as Kit’s eyes,” I note seriously. Ruzi chuckles at me.
“Wish I could capture this,” I tell him.
“You should try drawing it.” We’re nearing the end. It’s still a good hour to curfew. “Sell it as part of the celebrations.” He glances at me. “You’re good, Mora.”
A few people have told me that recently, but for some reason it’s Ruzi’s praise that warms me.
“Shall we go through again?” I suggest.
“Definitely.”
Ruzi weaves through the crowd ahead of me. I pause to watch the Skøl he passes. They give him a little more space than they need to.
Then, with a jolt, I see him. One of the boys from that night on the river path, drifting my way.
He’s with family this time, not friends. A much younger sister, the spit of him, trots along with a smile that splits her face in half. His mother and father follow. Just another neatly turned-out family enjoying the lively beauty of the festival.
But suddenly I’m plucked from the glow of the lanterns, thrust back into the mud and the ice water and the panic.
He has everything, this boy, and still he had to make me smaller. My lungs go wild for air as anger stifles the old fear.
“Hello, again,” my voice emerges. It sounds calm.
“Hello!” The little sister turns her bright face to me. Their parents aren’t looking.
What am I doing? I almost bottle it. Ruzi hasn’t noticed me lagging. He’s still craning his neck to look at the lights.
“We don’t want anything, thanks,” the boy says. His gaze slides past me.
He has no idea who I am, I realize. That’s when the anger takes over.
“I didn’t want anything by the river, but that didn’t stop you,” I spit.
“What does she mean?” the little sister asks.
“Nothing.” The boy tries to push past, but I hold my ground, though he’s my height or taller. He’s slim, but I know exactly how strong he is. I think I’ve bitten his arm. Can’t say that about many people.
“Not so tough without your mates, are you?”
“Leave him alone!” The girl’s voice catches her mother’s attention.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She pulls her daughter away from me. “Don’t talk to my children!”
I should stop. Confronting a boy is one thing – an adult, that’s rash. But my voice is barrelling ahead of my brain now.
“Your son attacked me – a few weeks ago.”
People stop and look at the lights, pretending not to look at me.
“How ridiculous,” scoffs the mother, tossing an expensive-looking scarf over her shoulder and giving the waistcoated father a look.
“He and his friend, Bunny –” I’m committed now, though my heart is hammering – “and two others, four of them, attacked me on the river path. I can describe all of them. Threw me in the r-river in the middle of winter. I could’ve died.”
“We didn’t, Mother!” He looks so bemused I almost wonder if I’ve got the wrong boy. But no. I don’t mistake faces.
“You filthy liar!” the father explodes. I think for an impossible moment he’s talking to his son, but his cold eyes drill into me. “Your lot are a blight. Go drag yourself back to whatever hole you crawled out of, makkie scum, before I call the firebrands.”
The whole family’s gone when Ruzi reaches me. “What’s going on, Mora?” He takes my elbow. I should be grateful they’re walking away, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“I’m not lying!” I can roar as loud as any of them.
“Mora!” Ruzi shakes my arm gently until I look at him.
“He was there,” I tell him, “at the river that night.”
“Right!” Ruzi makes to go after them, but I catch the back of his shirt, finally calm enough to see sense. “It’s no good, Ruzi. We’ll only make trouble for ourselves.”
He wavers.
“We don’t need the attention, Ruzi,” I remind him in quiet Crozoni, before he relents.
Skøl all around us are staring openly now. Pale faces, almost luminescent under the lanterns, but moon-distant and cold.
I see another repayer – a Crozoni woman, Ruzi’s age, staring too. I don’t know her. She says something to the fancy Skøl man beside her. He’s richly dressed – wealthier than the family I just confronted. He follows her look and meets my gaze with open curiosity, but I’m not sticking around to gratify it.
The glowing lines of Rafmagis Way stretch out ahead and behind. Not for the likes of us.
“Come on, then,” Ruzi says.
We take the first side street, heading down it as fast as we can go. I glance over my shoulder for one last look, and all I can see is a many-tendrilled orange lantern, the crowd gathered below it with upturned faces, lips parted and necks bared.