Metaltown (13 page)

Shima grabbed her wrists and held them down. “Ty, be still.” She purposefully adjusted to Ty's good side, showing the feathers of black hair and a sturdy, calm gaze. Her amber eyes were lined with crow's-feet, the only hint of her age.

“What'd you do to my hands?” Ty slurred. She felt dizzy.

“You were scratching.” Shima untied the bindings. “You need to see a doctor. At least when McNulty ran these streets you could go to the damn doctor.”

Ty couldn't remember a time before the Brotherhood. It was hard to imagine a Metaltown that Jed Schultz didn't rule.

A hazy memory slid into place. A white office. A
doctor's
office. Strange devices that let you hear a person's heartbeat. Someone must have told her about it; she'd never been to a clinic before.

“How do you feel?” Shima asked.

“Doped up,” said Ty, shaking off the image. “You gave me something.” She hated feeling woozy and tired. Out of control.

“Corn whiskey,” said Shima. “Little Benny's dad pays me in the stuff. Knocked you right out.” There were more children around her now, all blinking at her with their mouths open. None of them were older than five.

Ty inhaled sharply. “I've got to get back to work. Where are my clothes?”

“I'm washing them. Though maybe I should have just lit them on fire.” Her voice took on a tone of reprimand. Ty suspected her clothes weren't the only things that had been washed. She smelled like lye soap. The panic rose within her. She was practically naked.

“My clothes, Shima. I need my clothes.”

“You'll get them,” assured the woman. “Your shift's over. Ida covered for you. She told Small Parts that you were staying at the Stamping Mill through the afternoon.”

Ty felt a little relief, but was reluctant to believe Minnick would grant her a second pass after missing so much work.

“Here,” said a little girl, placing something in one of her hands. “For your owee.” It was a little rope doll—the kind Shima made from mops for the kids she watched. Ty had never been given a doll before, and didn't really see the point in one. Still, she took it with a curt “thanks.”

A knock came at the door. “Shima, it's me.”

Ty recognized Colin's voice and jolted up. Head still muddled, she grabbed for the blanket. Shima stood, but Ty stopped her. Having him see her like this—without her clothes, without her pride—it was too much.

“Ty, are you in there? Let me in, okay?”

“Sounds worried,” commented Shima, quirking an eyebrow.

“Tell him I'm sleeping,” Ty said. “Tell him I'm not here. Tell him whatever you want, just get him out of here, okay?”

After a moment, Shima nodded. Ty stumbled into the tiny bathroom, and pressed her ear gently against the door. She could hear Colin telling Shima that his ma had filled him in. Shima was right, he did sound worried, and that made her buzz even stronger.

A few minutes later, the room fell silent. He was gone, and she was glad, but part of her wished he had stayed, too. That was the crazy corn whiskey talking, she told herself.

There was a little aluminum mirror above the sink, and Ty startled when she caught her reflection in the low light. The bandages had been wrapped at a diagonal across her head, and her cropped hair stuck out through it like a patch of grass.

Gently, she unwound the dressing, shuddering when the vision on her left side stayed bright and unseeing. Through her good eye she saw herself in the mirror. Saw purple skin and hideous welts and yellow-tipped blisters. Her stomach turned, and she dry heaved into the sink. She looked like a monster. Like someone half-human, half-dead.

Good,
she thought.
No one will ever want to look at me again.

Then she melted into the floor, and covered her mouth with her hands, and wept.

 

12

LENA

For three days Lena locked herself in Otto's office at the Hamptons' estate. He made no attempt to stop her, but instead gave her free rein of his case files, stating that he could care less how she wasted her free time. So, while he was gallivanting around the River District with precious Ms. Dwyer, Lena read his reports.

Or rather, his lack of reports.

Otto paid shoddy attention to the details of the business. There were discrepancies, errors, missing income. And some months, there was more money reported than there should have been. A lot more.

“How is it possible to double your profit without doubling your workforce?” she asked herself, glowering out the window at the blue river.

The water gargled and hissed as Darcy poured another cup of hot peppermint tea. Lena knew the extract was meant to soothe her, but this was no time to relax. Otto had made an unintelligible mess of things.

“Why don't you take a break, Miss Hampton? You've been at it all day.”

“We spend money on raw products, supplies, power, and staffing,” Lena ticked off, ignoring her. “Our expenditures don't change month to month, so unless the employees are working in the dark…” Lena blew out a long breath, feeling as though she could sink into the floorboards.

Darcy's face went grave. “Some tea?”

“He's not paying the workers,” Lena realized. “My brother's not paying the employees.” It was the only way the figures made sense. The only way they could increase their income without making any other changes.

Darcy gave a shrill, forced laugh. “Now, Miss Hampton, that's your brother we're talking about. The Hamptons are fair, honest employers. The whole of Metaltown would starve to death otherwise.”

“Have you seen them lately? They
are
starving.” She remembered the people working in her brother's factory. The rashes from the cold, the prominent lines in their necks and their jaws, the way they barely filled their clothing.

The hungry way they looked at you through those piercing blue eyes.

The way they'd give you the clothes off their backs just to keep you warm.

She shook her head quickly, noticing how her hand had gripped the scarf she'd folded on her lap. She'd washed it, of course; who knew what kind of germs he carried. But regardless, she found herself stroking the soft fabric through her glove, reminding herself how it had lain against his neck.
Colin's
neck.

When she'd seen him working she'd been surprised. In hindsight she didn't know why; of course he was a laborer. He dressed like one, acted like one: hard and rude and arrogant. Even if he was handsome in a way that made her brother's
refined
friends seem as two-dimensional as bad art, he'd done nothing but ogle and annoy her in their short time together. But seeing him there, sweating, worn out, had put her on edge.

She didn't know why she felt sorry for him. Honest work was a point of pride.

Which was why she was here, digging through these files.

Brows drawn together, she looked again at the spreadsheet for last month. Six workers laid off and six new hires. And double the net income from the previous month. She was sure she was right; Otto wasn't paying them.

“Why would these workers continue to show up if they weren't getting a paycheck?” This wasn't the Eastern Federation, where workers' wages went to support the masses. If someone worked for a living, they should be compensated. Anger boiled inside of her. Her brother would ruin their family name.

Darcy fidgeted uncomfortably, her elbows pointed out like wings. “Miss Hampton…”

“If you're not going to say anything substantive, simply don't speak,” snapped Lena. “I don't want any more of that damn tea, either.”

Darcy frowned, and placed the cup and saucer on the table. As she retreated toward the exit, Lena felt the prickling of shame.

“Darcy, wait. I didn't mean to be rude. I just…”

Darcy paused at the study door.

I just want to show them there is more to me than songs and dresses. That I have a brain. That Otto isn't better, just because he's a man.

That I can do this.

“Be careful,” Darcy whispered, refusing to look back. “No one crosses a Hampton, not even you.”

“But…”

“Just be careful.”

*   *   *

Lena was still considering Darcy's warning when her father walked in. She stood, slyly leaving the scarf on the chair behind her, and straightened her blouse.

“Where's Otto?” he asked, his face as telling as marble.

“Out, I suspect,” she said.

Her father narrowed his eyes, and she swallowed. “I have some business I need to discuss with him,” he said. “When will he return?”

He was already annoyed, which meant Otto was in trouble, which in turn meant she was in trouble.

“He said he had a meeting. With the foreman, I think,” she lied, hurrying around the desk. “You can tell me.” A slight grimace crossed his face, making her feel like a too-eager puppy. “I've been reviewing the books since I went to the factory earlier this week. I've noticed several things I wanted to discuss with you—”

“You can ask your tutor or your brother if you have any questions.”

Lena frowned. “
You
could teach me. About the business, I mean.”

Her father's brows lifted in genuine surprise. He took a step forward, placing a hand under her chin. “Had a good time in Metaltown, did you?”

She hated the way he played it off as if she'd gone there on some shopping trip. “It was very enlightening.”

“Good. I find a little time there is all I need.”

Lena stepped back. “For what?”

He opened his arms. “To remind me how grateful I should be for all I have.”

“Oh.” She hung her head, feeling worse than when she'd yelled at Darcy. She was grateful. Every day her meals were prepared for her, and sampled by an employee for her safety. She was driven where she needed to go, had her clothes tailored to fit her shape. And every night she fell asleep in a big, soft bed.

“Lesson learned?” The superiority in her father's tone made her cringe.

“Yes. Sir,” she added.

“Good. Then tell Otto I need to speak to him. The winds are changing, it appears. The Advocates attacked another supply train heading for the front lines.”

“One of ours?” The last rebel attack had been detrimental, wounding their efforts to keep back the Eastern Federation. She'd seen a report that nearly two thousand soldiers had died, which was substantial in a war that had already claimed nearly thirty thousand lives since the fighting had sparked, almost forty years ago.

“That's right,” he said. “The war's crossed onto Northern soil again, and our men need more ammo to push those bastards back across Eastern Federation lines. We'll need to increase our shipments by a quarter. Business, dear daughter, is good.” His eyes sparkled like ice.

“Business is good,” she repeated. “Has anyone found the Advocates?”

“No.” He gave a short, confused laugh, as if surprised she had taken interest. “Tell Otto the news, will you?”

She forced herself to smile, though her insides withered.

“I'll tell Otto.”

“That's a good girl.”

*   *   *

Otto was nowhere to be found. Lena even called on Ms. Dwyer, but was told she was out shopping with
Mr. Hampton.
The maid seemed pleased with the social match.

When it was clear Otto had no intentions of coming back soon, Lena made her decision. Maybe her brother didn't care about the family business, but she did. And if she just could take care of some of the problems he'd let slide, her father would see her competence. He'd know she was grateful. He'd be proud of her.

Darcy's words echoed in her mind.
No one crosses a Hampton, not even you.
The woman was out of line, making statements like that. Lena would talk to her about it first thing tomorrow. Maybe the men in her family didn't see her as an asset yet, but they would. They just needed proof.

She would give them proof.

While Aja drove the electric car across the beltway, Lena practiced what she would say to the foreman. They needed to increase their output, and if that meant dedicating more resources to overtime pay, then so be it. There was a war going on, and the Northern Federation's military depended on Hampton Industries.

He'd agree, of course. He was paid to take orders from a Hampton; it didn't matter which one.

Maybe she'd even see Colin.

The scarf he'd loaned her was in her bag—she'd return it if they had a moment alone. But that was foolish; of course they wouldn't be alone. Technically, he was her employee. They would never again talk to each other as freely as they had in the alley, when neither had known the other's station. The thought distressed her, and she plucked at the black pin-striped skirt and suit jacket she'd chosen to wear. She'd changed three times before picking the right outfit, a fact that made her feel ridiculous. This was a factory; no one was going to notice the way she looked.

Aja parked on the curb, activated the car's security device, and walked her through the front doors of the factory. The checkered tiles on the floor stopped abruptly as she passed through the staff entry and gave way to peeling yellow linoleum. She walked briskly to the foreman's office. Through the windows, she could see the floor below, and the bodies grouped around each station on the snaking belt.

The thought of those workers, most of them her age and younger, going without pay made her insides twist. She was glad they'd stayed loyal to the company. Hampton Industries wouldn't survive without them.

“Mr. Minnick?” She knocked twice on the door, fixing her black leather gloves while she waited. When no sound came from inside, she pushed through, frowning at the mess of papers on the man's desk and several half-empty mugs scattered around the room. The noise was louder here, but still muted by the glass walls overlooking the floor. She sidestepped through the office to the walkway, where the volume increased, and moved to the railing. There, she spotted the foreman near the center of the belt.