In the warehouse, we go down some broken stairs and Trigger uses a key to open a rusty metal door. He locks the door behind us and we enter a small, dank room lit by a single wall sconce. If I stretch my arms out, I could touch the walls on either side. I can feel a sort of deep, fast beat throbbing through the soles of my shoes. It moves through my feet into my bones, thumps in my chest.
I look at Trigger. "What is that? That beat?"
He smiles as he pushes a button set into the far wall. There is a door there, I realize, one that has been painted the exact same color as the wall so it blends in. There is no knob on our side.
"The music," he replies.
A small square panel set high up in the door slides open, and the sounds of the music intensify.
"Starlight sixty-seven," Trigger says into the open slot.
There is a click, and the door opens just a notch. The thudding is louder now, and I can distinguish deeper sounds from lighter ones that skim over my eardrums. When Trigger pulls the door open, the sheer swell and stature of the beat stagger me. I glance at Shale; he looks as I feel, wide-eyed and disoriented.
"Come on." Trigger motions to the dark ahead of us. It is broken up only by the dim lights of wall sconces and oil lanterns. A light haze hangs thick and motionless in the hall. Farther ahead, the hallway opens up to the warehouse proper.
Shale walks in and I follow, the last into the yez. I'm absolutely stunned by the assault on my senses. The thumping is loud, so loud I feel an ache deep in my ears. There are no words, just deep, thumping sounds that are vibrations more than they are musical notes.
The center of the yez is filled with masked people writhing and gyrating wildly to the music. They dance as if they want to tear each other’s clothes off, their hands grasping, their hips grinding on each other. In the smoky light, I see that they are dripping sweat, absolutely shining with it. But yet they dance as if their lives depend on how fast they can move.
The absolute number of people in here is stunning. The outside of the warehouse belied the volume of bodies it could hold—if I were to disappear into the crowd, Shale wouldn’t be able to find me if I didn’t want him to. The tangy scent on the air is fraught with human emotion: fear, lust, anger, abandon.
Masked men and women mill about, their lips pulled back to reveal the bright smiles of the intoxicated. There are velvet sofas scattered around the edges of the yez and tables piled high with every kind of ingestible vice. A hundred different kinds of wines and liquors, candy glass, and other powders I can’t even name. On the sofa nearest me, a Chinese woman in a short silver dress—but curiously, no mask—straddles a man, both of their heads thrown back in ecstasy. I gasp and look away. Trigger wasn’t exaggerating.
A quick glance around the room answers the question of why she isn’t wearing a mask. The women and men whose bodies are for sale aren’t masked, perhaps so the clients know whom to approach. As I watch, men and women hand baggies to the unmasked people. Then, with hands entwined, they melt away to dark corners. I look away from the prostitutes quickly, my cheeks growing hot.
I turn to Trigger, who is watching my reaction with interest. "Where do we find Elara?" I ask, Shale leaning down to listen.
"No names!" Trigger shouts to be heard above the thundering bass. Chastised, I apologize, but he waves me off and beckons us forward as he begins to walk. We pass near a squirming clot of people. One of the men reaches out to grab me, his mouth beneath his mask open wide. I step on his foot, intending to break a toe or two, but whatever drug he's on makes him impervious to pain. Shale turns, and in one fluid motion, pushes the man to the floor. We keep walking as the man sits there, looking around as if he doesn't understand what just happened.
In the very back, Trigger pushes aside a green velvet curtain to reveal a door. He pounds on it in a series of knocks, and it swings open. We enter.
◊ ◊ ◊
The door leads to a small, lit corridor, dotted with rooms down both sides.
The man who opened the door for us smiles at Trigger, then turns to peer at Shale and me. "Who you got here?"
"They're okay," Trigger replies. "Kalliope Palmer and Coal Pearson. Come to speak to Elara Miller; she should be expecting them."
The man nods and leads us down the corridor. This side of the thick wooden door, I can’t hear the music flowing through the yez. The man stops at a door on the left and raps his knuckles on it smartly. A woman’s voice says, “Enter.”
We step into a large room lined with bookcases on one wall—filled with pamphlets about New Amanian and Chinese laws and policy—and a curtain on the other wall. The air is scented with leather and an undercurrent of something soft and sweet. Behind a large, polished desk sits a New Amanian woman, diligently studying a map. Her shiny black hair is pulled back to the nape of her neck in a bun, and the fringe on her forehead has ends that are pointed like weapons. She is slender, clad in a dark blue beaded dress and a black mask with white feathers coming off the sides.
She looks up and nods slightly. The man leaves.
Trigger takes off his mask. "Elara," he says, and I hear the deference in his voice. "These are the people Ananke told you about."
The woman continues to stare at us, but I notice her eyes are on me, not Shale or Trigger. "Take off your masks.” It is not a request.
Shale and I hesitate; Trigger turns to us. "It's all right."
Elara’s deep brown eyes are sharp and intelligent behind her mask."If you want my help, you'll need to trust me and I you."
Slowly, carefully, I take the mask off my face and Shale does the same. When we are completely bared to her, Elara smiles. "You're Vika," she says to me. "I've heard about you and your sister." Her eyes cut to Shale, her smile slipping a degree. "And Ananke sings your praises, Shale."
"She's much too kind," he replies, but his voice is cool.
Elara motions to the chair in front of her. "Please, sit. You’ll want to know, firstly, about the cell that was captured. Yes?"
Once all three of us are seated, Shale and I nod but she surveys us—me more than Shale—silently. I don’t know what she’s looking for. Something hidden and seething glints in her eyes, something almost feverish. But it’s hard to judge the expression on her face when half of it is masked. Still, it is as if she is holding back something important, as if she’s trying to hide what she’s really thinking. The moment stretches on and on until I consider opening her mouth and extracting the words physically.
Finally, abruptly, Elara speaks again. "They were privy to information about the fugitives on Captain Jerome's ship." Elara studies my face carefully. When a small sigh escapes my lips at her words, her gaze drops to my mouth and then travels back up to my eyes. My intuition prickles, my mind trying to tell me something. But the feeling dissipates and fear at what she’s said takes its place.
Shale's hand presses into my upper back, as if he's trying to infuse me with strength or comfort. "We can't sit around waiting for them to come after us,” he says. “We have to plan for the worst case."
It is as if he took the words from my brain and said them out loud. I lean forward, my heart racing. "We have to move. I was told there was a compound with less Chinese oversight and more freedom for New Amanians." Elara has to give us what we want. "We can't afford to stay on our current compound any longer."
"Au contraire.” Elara sits back, and the sleek material of her mask gleams under the lights. "I think it might be best if you stayed for now, just until we know more. It will only raise suspicion if the new people pick up and move. Your sudden absence would raise too many questions." She turns her chair to one side and crosses her long, shapely legs. "Give me a few days, and my contacts will have more information." Elara looks at me for a long moment. “And one more thing, Vika. With your pregnancy getting more and more visible as time goes by, you may as well have a target on your back. It’s only a matter of time before the captured fugitives describe your group to the Chinese. You can’t do anything about Ceres’s distinctive appearance, or the fact that she’s your sister, but the pregnancy is another matter.”
“What are you saying?” Shale asks, sitting up straighter. A tendon in his neck stands out, his anger evident though he’s controlling his tone. In spite of my own fear, some small part of me takes comfort in this show of emotion on my and Ceres’s behalf.
“Get rid of it.” There is no hint of apology in Elara’s face as she regards him for a fleeting moment before looking back at me. Her eyes are careful now, whatever she was trying to tell me put away neatly. “Trigger will send you to a woman at your compound.” She stands and smiles again, but it is more a showing of teeth than an expression of goodwill. “Good luck. I’ll see you on Monday.”
We have been dismissed.
◊ ◊ ◊
We walk back out to the small cement room in silence; the weight of the beat presses down on me once more. Neither man says anything, as if they sense that I'm deflated, run down. We came all this way and risked so much simply for Elara to tell us that she couldn't help us yet. And still, the thought niggles at the back of my mind. Why was Elara so intent on me?
As for the abortion she’s ordered—I know it’s the right thing. The New Amanian officials know to look for a pregnant fugitive on the run with her sister; it’s only a matter of time before either they or the captured fugitives pass on this information to the Chinese. In a few weeks, my belly will be rounded and visible for everyone to see. It won’t be hard at all for them to piece the two bits of information together.
But in spite of that, in spite of the utter logicality of Elara’s way of thinking, I can’t but help feel angry, protective, defensive. I dare not think why. Because I can’t afford to. I have to get rid of this baby. There’s no other way to keep all of us safe.
"What was the point?" I ask Shale and Trigger, trying to control the anger in my voice. "Why did we come today if she can’t tell us anything yet?"
Trigger sighs. "Try not to be upset. Elara is always suspicious of newcomers. She has to be; she has much to lose. She wanted to speak with the two of you, to make sure you're trustworthy before she put in any effort to help you."
"Or rather, she wanted to see our faces so she had something to hold over us," Shale says grimly. "Just in case we decide to divulge her identity."
That makes more sense. I wonder if she trusts us now, or if the abortion will be the way to win it—a test of sorts.
When Ananke comes to pick us up, I notice the way her shining eyes rove over Shale. "How was the meeting?"
"We're to come back on Monday, and she'll tell us more then. In the meantime, she thinks we should...take care of the pregnancy." Shale turns to me, and I keep my expression stoic.
"I see." Ananke looks at me, and the pity on her face grates on my nerves. "I did wonder if that would be something she'd say...pregnancy is such an obvious condition, isn't it?"
An obvious condition. Is that all she thinks of it? I'm surprised that Ananke isn't one of those bleeding hearts who'd do anything to keep a child safe, even at the risk of obliterating herself. In any case, I do not like the way she looks at me with a sharp edge to her pity, as if I'm a risk to them all. I climb into the back of the truck and Shale and Trigger follow. Ananke closes us in.
When we have picked up speed, I look over at Trigger. “You’re sure Elara can be trusted?”
He nods, unfastening the top button of his shirt. “She’s been here long before we have—she was one of the first to emigrate. The New Amanian government trusts her implicitly. She has an uncanny knack for staying one step ahead of them, for sidestepping any landmine. I would trust her plan if I were you, Vika. Just do as she asks and she’ll make sure to keep your family safe.”