The Glass Arrow(38)

I turn and I run.

I shove through the other girls. My eyes see only flashes of their brightly colored gowns as I tear back towards Main Street into the crowds of townsfolk with their livestock. I search for a hiding place, even one of the painted faces of the Red Right, but come up short. My legs are shaking, and my ankle twists as one of my stupid pointy heels gets caught between the bricks. In the background, another round of cheers roars from the stage.

I kick off my shoes, hating that the Pip has scrubbed away my calluses again. The tiny bits of trash and pebbles cut into my feet. The tight dress is constricting my legs from running full out.

The crowd thickens. I can barely move. The momentum is pushing me back towards the stage and I’m struggling like a fish swimming upstream. Suddenly there are hands around me, grabbing me, feeling me in the hidden places of my body. I nearly scream. The man touching me smells sharply of liquor and sweat. I catch a glimpse of an unbalanced X on his right cheek.

“Gotcha,” he slurs.

I fight with everything I can to get free from his hold. I try to kick him, but my legs are bound by my costume. One of my fists connects to the side of his head, but slides right off on account of the silk glove. I bite down, tasting the sweat and filth of his neck and swallow the bile shooting up my throat. He curses loudly, but lets me go.

Then other hands are behind me, pulling me back. These hands are familiar. Heavy. Unforgiving.

The Watcher.

I have no time to think about what to do next; the metal wire is already whipping out in the Watcher’s grasp. He doesn’t use it; he simply holds it, and it’s enough to carve a space in the crowd around us and raise screams from those closest. The man who had me squeezes through the crowd and disappears. I’ve ducked, arms wrapped around my body, as if flesh and bone will stop a wire.

The Watcher lifts me with one arm, carrying me on his side like I’m a struggling child. I try to fight him, but my body now feels heavy and sluggish.

Before I know it, he has placed me back in line. I search for Kiran because I want to see if he’s all right, but he’s nowhere to be found. I’m secretly relieved. I don’t want him to see that I couldn’t escape after all he tried to do for me.

Thirteen girls are left before me. Kiran’s beating, and the running, and the handsy Virulent man all fade from my mind. The nerves are back, and I glance around, looking for any last exits before it is too late.

Right then I know it’s safer to be sold to Mercer than to a Magnate. I can escape the Black Lanes—I don’t know how, but I will. But once I’m in the heart of Glasscaster the security will be so thick I’ll never get out.

I must make sure no one bids on me.

In the final part of the line before the stage is an area where the girls must remain single file, crammed between the partitions and a candy shop. There are only two exits here, back the way I came, or onto the stage. As I enter this final gauntlet, my heart sinks. At least the Watcher is gone; if he stays in line he will be forced to walk across the stage with me.

The line pauses. More cheers. The line moves forward.

Pause. Cheer. Move.

My hands are trembling. I wish I could throw up now, just to soil my dress. At least I don’t have on my hideous spiked heels anymore.

I turn to look at the candy shop. The door is open, and there’s a boy inside wearing a heavy fur cape that’s much too warm for the weather. It reeks of wealth and status. I think for a moment that I could probably push him down and run through the shop to the side exit, but that’s just delaying the inevitable; looking past him, I can see at least one other Watcher standing by the register.

The boy is reaching for a high shelf just inside the door as I approach. I look up and see that he wants one of the large colorful suckers that are in a basket up there. One more step and I get a clearer look at the boy’s face. He’s nine or ten, with short brown hair and pale skin.

“I want one though!” he’s shouting back into the store. A closer look reveals a sharp nose, blunted front teeth, and beady little eyes.

“Your father said no,” replies a firm but annoyed male voice. Probably a Pip. I can’t see him behind the racks of colorful chewy tabs and little decorated cakes. All things I’ve never sampled.

“You don’t have to tell him,” whines the boy.

Though there’s no resemblance, his age reminds me of Tam. I wonder how tall Tam is now. If he’s lost any of his baby teeth. I wonder if he still cries when Nina gets to do things before him.

I’m filled with a burst of resolve. Do something, I tell myself. For Tam.

“Hey kid,” I say. He looks towards me, brows lifted.

“You’re not supposed to talk to me,” he says. I move forward another space. The girl in front of me looks back warily, but then returns to practicing her smile.

“You’re not supposed to have that candy. But I’ll get it for you if you want.”

“You … you’re not supposed to talk.”

The line moves forward another step. One more and this boy and I will be even. And I’ll have only a short time left before it’s my turn on stage.

“You have to be sneaky though,” I say. “Don’t watch me. I’m going to grab one for you.”

“Yes!” he says.

“There’s just one thing,” I add, speaking in my quietest voice, like when I’m trying to entice Tam or Nina into doing something boring that I want them to think is exciting, like cleaning the tent.