Gilded Cage (Dark Gifts #1)(31)

‘It’s not me, Daisy. It’s her.’

Squirming in her father’s grasp, Libby Jardine giggled.





8



Luke



From his perch high up on the roof parapet, Luke could see right across Millmoor. No one would be charging tourists ten quid to admire the view any time soon.

What stood out wasn’t the shape or size of the slavetown, but its colour – or rather, the lack of it. Everything had a drab, drained look, especially now as dusk mildewed the sky. Partly that was because it was all built of concrete and metal. Partly it was because any sunshine simply zapped the air pollution into perma-smog. But mostly, he’d come to realize, it was inside your head.

Frankly it wasn’t the setting he would have picked for his seventeenth birthday. Nor were this evening’s activities what he would have planned for his big day either.

But as he sat there, waiting for Renie and trying to ignore the fear and excitement knotting his gut, Luke thought there was nothing he’d rather be doing than playing Doc Jackson’s game. With every day that passed, he saw more clearly the injustice of the slavedays and the resilience of those enduring them.

‘Always look at the people, not at the mass,’ Jackson had told him. ‘A face, not the crowd. Look at the world, not at the ground. Every little detail you see is a victory.’

So as he kicked his heels on the rooftop, Luke tried doing just that. He looked out over the low-rise office buildings that surrounded him, towards the residential high-rises beyond. He picked out a pot plant silhouetted on a windowsill; a towel in bright football team colours hanging over a door. In the yellow light of a dormitory stairwell, a couple were snogging up against the wall. He let his eyes move swiftly on. A girl sat by a window, reading. That made him think of his sisters – she looked about Daisy’s age, and Abi was rarely without a book in her hand.

Would he be up here on the roof now if his family were in Millmoor with him? Luke wasn’t sure. It was one thing to risk yourself, but another to endanger those you love by your actions.

And he’d seen a surprising amount of action in the month since he’d reached into the club’s fruit bowl, all of it fitted around his back-breaking work in Zone D. Luckily the guys who shared his dorm had different shift patterns, so coming and going at all hours went unremarked. When it was your turn to sleep you just pulled the thin blankets over your head, wrapped the lumpy pillow round your ears, and tried to ignore it all.

In fact, ignoring things was a talent every Millmoor resident acquired. And Luke had realized that worked to the advantage of the slavetown’s authorities. You weren’t so likely to look out for others if you felt your own survival depended on looking out for yourself.

Well, no one could ignore what he and Renie were about to do.

A low whistle startled Luke so violently he nearly fell off his perch, and he swore. Behind him, Renie let out a noise for which the word ‘cackle’ was surely invented.

‘Wotchit,’ she said. ‘Falling ten storeys ain’t the best way to celebrate, birthday boy.’

Luke swivelled to glare at her, swinging his legs back over into safety.

‘Very funny,’ he said. ‘Ha ha. I’ve got what I need – have you?’

He kicked at the bundle coiled by his feet. It was a length of rope ending in a cat’s cradle of webbing and oval metal clips. He’d nicked the rig from a shed round the back of the casting plant. The Zone D maintenance teams used them to clean inside some of the larger machines. He and Renie had a different use for it tonight.

‘I got my necessaries right here,’ said Renie, patting the bulging pocket on the front of her hoodie, which rattled. ‘Lemme have a look at that rope. You’d better remember your knots, boy scout.’

‘And you’d better remember your letters,’ retorted Luke, nettled by her need to check on him. ‘You did spend long enough at school to learn the alphabet, I presume?’

‘Yee-owch,’ said Renie, sticking her middle finger up. ‘I ain’t never been to school. But yeah, I can write three measly letters.’

‘Never been to school?’ said Luke, incredulous. ‘Is that even possible? Didn’t the council come and find you?’

‘What council?’ said the girl, holding on to Luke’s sleeve with one hand and leaning cautiously over the edge to scan the streets below. ‘Ain’t no councils in here, is there?’

‘What?’

Luke tried to puzzle through the possibilities, but none of them quite fitted.

‘Long story,’ said Renie. ‘Tell you later, if you doesn’t drop me. But now it’s time to go. This way.’

She disappeared across the roof, cat-footed and sure. Luke slung the rope over his shoulder and followed. He could barely make out where he was going, which was unnerving – though maybe it was better not to see the drop. The sky was darkening by the minute. It wasn’t that late in the afternoon, but it was early November and darkness was closing in fast.

As it was a Sunday, the administration district was deserted. Slaves weren’t trusted to work in the MADhouse – the nickname given to the headquarters of Millmoor Administration. The staff were all free employees, recruited from distant parts of the country so there’d be no risk of favouritism. They left the slavetown at the end of each day, and the offices were locked at weekends. Security patrolled, but Renie knew their movements. She and Jackson had timed this perfectly.