Of Metal and Wishes (22 page)

He keeps his eyes on me as he strokes the insides of my wrists, lighting a flame low in my belly. “Some things.”

I pull my hands back and wrap my arms around me. I don’t know what he is doing to me, but I know we shouldn’t be doing it here. It’s too much, meant for a dark room and a slow-burning fire, and I should not want that right now. “But Mugo was also right when he said that, here, if a girl is free with her affections, any man will think he has the right to touch her.”

The sound that comes from him is perilously close to a growl. “I know that now. And even if I didn’t before, your friend Jima took care of that.”

“You saw her?”

He nods, his expression somber. “The workers’ group has pooled some money to make sure she has a safe place to live and enough food to eat. It is not a good life, but she won’t be on the streets.” He sighs. “But one of the men teased me about you tonight, and she overheard. She gave me an earful. She doesn’t want her fate to become yours.”

I stare at the stone walkway that leads to the factory gates. I do not deserve Jima’s concern. Melik touches my hand, drawing it back into the warmth of his. “I felt so powerless this afternoon. I didn’t know how to save you, but I wanted to so badly. And this is why I owe a thank-you to the Ghost.”

I don’t tell him that I think the Ghost would like to touch me too, but maybe he understands that, because he says, “You were gone for hours. You were with him?” He reads my expression and his own turns grim. “He must be more than air and smoke if he can make all these things happen.”

“He is more than air and smoke.”

“Can you tell me what happened to Ugur?” I can tell he’s trying to keep his voice level and calm. “Did he anger your Ghost?”

“No, the Ghost didn’t want him to die, and neither did I.” I shiver. “There are . . . things . . . below the factory. Security devices. Ugur triggered one of them, and they attacked. I tried to keep him safe, but I couldn’t.”

“Security devices . . . this factory is full of secrets, and so are you.”

“I’m not the only one,” I say, raising my head.

“You saw us tonight, didn’t you?”

I nod.

“Many of us, and not just the Noor, are angry at how the workers are treated. I met with a group of them right after Tercan died.”

“At the pink-light salon.”

He gives me a rueful look. “I was told that is the only place in town where men can slip in and out without others watching too closely. Well. Without
most
others watching.”

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble.” It bursts out of me before I can snap my mouth shut.

The sound that comes from him is all exasperation. “Wen, we’re already in trouble. If we fall further into debt, Mugo has the right to sell us to the labor camps. Did you know that?”

My throat goes very dry. They are called labor camps, but they are really death camps. That is where criminals are sent, but now that I think about it, being unable to pay a debt
is
a crime, should the person you owe choose to report it. Is that what my father is facing too?

Melik scoots a little closer to me on the bench. “It was part of the contract we signed. Every worker here has. If you can’t pay your debts but you can still work, Mugo can either keep you here or sell you. He owns us, Wen. He owns you, too.”

My stomach turns. “The transfers.” This is what those mysterious orders are, the ones for the older workers and those who displease him. No wonder they are so terrified. Mugo isn’t moving them to another factory. He’s selling them. Like slaves.

Melik must see that I believe him. “Mugo plans to sell us after the feasting season is over,” he tells me. “Hazzi—who is being transferred in a week—warned me, and one of the others had heard Mugo talking about it. He has no intention of letting us go home.”

“Run,” I say. “There is a path through the Western Hills. You can follow it all the way to where you come from.” Melik could never be a slave. He should never be broken.

“No,” he says, and leans closer still. “I will stay here, and I will fight for what is mine.”

I am caught by the fire in his words, by the sheer beauty of his face, by the silent power he seems to wield so effortlessly. I am afraid for him and amazed by him at the same time. He shames me, this boy who does not know his place—he is facing slavery and he will not run, while all
I
want to do is run, with little regard for whom I leave behind. “I will stay too,” I say, “but I am scared.”

He laughs quietly. “There’s nothing wrong with being scared. It only means something important is at stake.”

He is close enough for me to lean into, and I do, even though I shouldn’t. I want to be like one of those Noor women, who can touch whom they please. Because right now I need to touch Melik so badly that I’m willing to risk everything to do it. I duck my head into the crook of his neck and press my forehead against his throat. I curl my hands into his shirt, careful of the long wound that lies beneath the fabric. For this moment it is only us, and the world is the size of this bench. He wraps his arms around me, cradling the back of my head in his palm. He murmurs in Noor, quiet words meant only for us.

“Are you scared?” I whisper against his skin.

He kisses my forehead and holds me so tight that I think I will never be cold again. “Wen, what is at stake is more important to me than anything in this world. I am terrified.”

“That’s good, Noor,” says a hard voice from behind us. “Because you should be.”

MELIK’S ARMS TURN
to steel around me. The pulse in his neck kicks hard against my cheek. Slowly we turn to see Iyzu standing behind our bench, and Lati next to him.

Melik takes my hand as he rises. “It’s very late,” he says. “Wen was just going inside.” He pulls me to my feet and gives me a gentle push toward the main entrance of the factory.

I am too horrified to speak. With my cheeks burning and my head down, I begin to move toward the door, but Iyzu steps into my path.

Lati snorts. “If you’re done with her, maybe she’d like to entertain us for a while. It will save us from having to pay for it.”

“That will never happen,” Melik says calmly.

Iyzu and Lati close the distance between us, exchanging the same kind of teasing, cruel look they shared the night they tried to take Melik’s medicine. “You don’t have all your Noor friends to protect you and your little slut tonight,” Iyzu says to Melik, his voice silky and poisonous, “so how will you stop us?”

Melik smiles and holds his hands out at his sides. “That’s right. I’m all alone.” There is a brightness in his tone and expression that catches me, something eager yet cold.

Lati, stupid as he is, does not sense it. He grabs for my arm. But he doesn’t even get close, because Melik buries his fist in Lati’s soft middle, doubling him over. Melik hisses something to him in Noor and knees him in the face before he can straighten up. Lati crumples, moaning like a dying cow, blood gushing from his nose.

Iyzu charges Melik before his friend hits the ground, plowing into him with the full force of his body. My hands flutter at my sides and tears start in my eyes. Melik nearly died two days ago. His wounds aren’t yet healed. He loses his balance and falls, with Iyzu on top of him. Iyzu punches at him furiously, raining blows on his face and body. But then I catch a glimpse of Melik’s expression.

He does not look scared. Or hurt. He looks . . . satisfied. His mask has dropped away again, and there is fire in his eyes. Iyzu and Lati have given him the opportunity to hit back.

And he is very good at it.

He catches Iyzu around the neck and drives his elbow into Iyzu’s shoulder. Iyzu grunts and attempts to roll away. But Melik grabs him by the hair and rises to his knees before shooting a vicious punch to Iyzu’s throat. Iyzu’s eyes go round as saucers as he tries and fails to draw breath. Melik leans down so that his face is close to Iyzu’s, his eyes alight with the flames of hatred.

“Call her a slut again,” he invites in a deadly whisper. “Threaten her again.”

“Melik,” I say. “You’re going to get in trouble. You need to go back to your dorm.”

He ignores me. He is staring intently at Iyzu, waiting for the boy’s response. “Come now,” he croons. “I am all alone, so how will I stop you?”

Iyzu lets out a choked whimper. Melik releases his hair and lets him collapse onto the stones while he turns his attention to Lati, who is trying to crawl away. Unhurried, loose limbed, like one of those big cats in the forest, Melik stalks over to him. There is blood on his hands.

“Please stop,” I say, but my voice is so small, and it is dwarfed by his rage. I can’t let him do this, though. If Lati and Iyzu tell, Melik will be arrested. It won’t matter who started it.

I stumble forward right as Melik reaches Lati and blocks his escape route. He nudges Lati’s shoulder with his boot. “A moment ago you were looking for entertainment,” he says. “Is that still the case?”

Lati shakes his head desperately and Melik’s brittle, frightening smile disappears. His jaw goes rigid. “Stand up,” he orders.

He wants them to face him like men, but they are only boys. They are almost as big as he is, and they think they are tough only because no one has ever challenged them. They believe Melik is weak because he and the Noor keep their heads down and have done their best to stay out of trouble. But Iyzu and Lati did not grow up with sickles and threshers in their hands. They are soft boys who, even though they work in this factory, have been given the easy jobs. They are future foremen, like Ebian.

They are nothing compared with Melik.

Fierce pride sparks in my chest, but it is immediately extinguished by my fear. Iyzu has gotten to his feet. And now he is holding a knife.

“Melik!” I cry as Iyzu charges.

Melik’s boot connects with Lati’s side, kicking him into Iyzu’s path. Iyzu tries to jump over his thickset friend, but he doesn’t quite manage it, and as he falls, Melik’s hand whips out and grabs Iyzu’s wrist. He strips the knife from Iyzu and deftly flips it in his palm. And I can see it in his eyes: He wants to kill. He wants to flay Iyzu and Lati like the beef carcasses that pass by his carving station. He wants payment for all the humiliation he and his Noor have suffered. His knuckles turn white as he grips the knife’s bone handle, and the blade glints under the moonlight. He looks like he’s considering which one of them to gut first.

My terror—for him . . .
of
him—renders me mute.

“Stop. All of you.”

My father is standing in the doorway to the factory, and his posture is stiff with fury. It shakes his voice as he says, “Melik, step back.”

Melik freezes, the knife still in his hand. He raises his head and his eyes find mine. The fire has faded, banked by uncertainty.

My father marches down the path. He is wearing his dressing gown. He must have woken up and saw that I was gone. “Are you hurt?” he asks, eyeing Melik’s chest.

Melik blinks and looks down at himself. He is breathing hard, but apart from his hands, which are smeared with Lati’s blood, he appears whole and strong. He touches his shoulder. “Not really, but I—”

“Go back to your dorm,” my father snaps. “I will come check your wound within the hour.”

Melik nods. His gaze shifts to me again, but my father steps between us. “Go
now
,” he says in a voice that tells me he’s trying not to yell but wants to in the worst way.

Melik spares Iyzu and Lati one last, cold glance, and then he heads back to his dorm, his shoulders straight and his head high, the bone-handled knife clutched in his fist.

Iyzu pushes himself to his feet. “The Noor assaulted us,” he says in a wheezy voice. “We will be filing charges in the morning.”

A rustling laugh comes from Father. “I witnessed the entire incident, including your attempt to attack an unarmed man with a knife. I may not have authority around here, but people know me to be an honest man.”

“Look what he did to Lati!” Iyzu rasps, jabbing his finger at the round-shouldered boy who is sobbing wetly and has his hands cupped around his nose.

“I see that,” my father says coldly. “I would hate for word to spread that the two of you cannot handle a single, injured Noor.”

Iyzu’s mouth snaps shut.

“Help Lati back to your dorm,” Father instructs. “I will be there shortly to tend to his nose. Come, Wen.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and guides me to the entrance of the factory.

“How could you?” he asks as soon as we reach the administrative hallway. “Do you have any idea what they will say about you?” His voice trembles with anger and shame.

“I didn’t go out to meet Melik. I swear.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he barks. “Almost nothing you do matters now. You kissed a man in public, for all to see. A Noor, no less. And now you have been out at night with him, unchaperoned.”

The disgust in his voice strikes a match of defiance within me. “We did nothing improper!” I shriek. “I care about him, Father! And he cares about me!”

“He obviously doesn’t care very much for your reputation!” he roars, shoving me through the doorway of the clinic.

“And you do?” The fire of disobedience is not hot, as it turns out. It is as cold as the wind from the north. I imagine each of my words is a shard of ice, shooting from my mouth to stab at his skin, at his heart. “Or are you only saving me for Underboss Mugo?”

My father steps back like he’s felt the sting of every frigid splinter. He covers his mouth and bows his head. Without looking at me again, he walks up the stairs.

I spend an hour sweeping the clinic floor and scrubbing the exam table, unwilling to look at him again tonight. When I finally go upstairs, my father is snoring softly in his alcove.

I take my time in the washroom. I stare at my face in the dented, chipped mirror, wondering if I will look different when Mugo is done with me. Will my eyes be shadowed with dark circles? Will my cheeks be sunken like Jima’s? When I am used up, will decent men pool their money to keep me off the streets, or will they turn their backs on me?

I clench my teeth to hold the sobs inside. My hands become fists. I—

“Some of the workers are planning to strike.”

I gasp at the tinny sound of Bo’s voice and step into the parlor. “How do you know that?” I whisper.

“Wen, you should learn not to underestimate me,” Bo says. The words are spoken gently enough, but I feel the warning in them.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to be safe.”

“Is a strike dangerous?”

His laugh echoes through the pipes. “This one will be.”

I sink to my pallet and pull my blanket tight around me. “Remember your promise,” I say.

“Remember yours,” he replies.

The killing floor is closed for three full days for repairs. The factory is quiet, but it is not peaceful. It is thick with tension and unhappiness. I keep to the clinic, mostly, cleaning already-clean things, keeping my eye out for metal shavings to tell me if Bo is checking up on me. He talks to me through the vent at night, whispering that something is coming . . . something is coming . . . that I should be careful . . . and that I should keep my promise to come see him. Sometimes I cover my head with my pillow so I can’t hear him.

I see Melik only in the cafeteria. He does not try to approach me or speak to me. And he is never alone. The Noor surround him like a personal guard. Iyzu and Lati watch them with absolute loathing. Their faces are bruised, and their cheeks darken with rage whenever Melik comes near. Many of the other Itanyai watch him with suspicion too, like he might attack with the slightest provocation. I can only imagine the lies Iyzu and Lati have woven to protect their own reputations.

The entire compound feels like a tinderbox, stuffed tight and ready to burn.

The day before the floor is set to open again, I return to work to help Mugo set the office suite straight. The underboss is in a terrible mood, and he takes it out on me.

“Haven’t you found those balance sheets and contracts yet, stupid girl?”

I peek over the pile of rubble in which I’ve been digging. My brown work dress is already tan with ash. “No, sir, I’m still trying to find them.”

The explosion wreaked havoc with his organizational system. The enormous file cabinets were blown over by the blast, and they spilled their guts all over the floor. I’ve been rummaging through ceiling tiles and plaster to get to them, and I swear I’ve inhaled a bucketful of dust since breakfast.

He paces next to the rubble pile, occasionally tossing a chunk of ceiling tile my way just to be spiteful. I barely care. It’s better than him putting his mushroomy fingers on me. “Well, tell me as soon as you do.”

He walks back to his office, mumbling about quotas and ridiculous worker demands. Between the holiday, the flu, and this latest accident, it’s not a good feasting season at Gochan One, and it’s going to fall squarely on his shoulders. Worse than any of that, this morning a group of workers, including the Noor, delivered a list of demands—and it came with the threat of a strike. The deadline has been set—tonight at midnight, when the factory is scheduled to reopen. Mugo is seething. He has been on the phone all morning, talking to bosses from other factories and to the local police. He caught me listening earlier and slammed the door.

At lunch I eat in silence with Onya and Vie, but only because there is nowhere else to sit. They tolerate me, but neither of them is sympathetic. In fact, I think they believe I am partially to blame for what’s happened. The men have segregated themselves into camps—on one side sit Ebian, Lati, Iyzu, and those I assume are allied with Mugo. They are mostly the career workers, the ones from the more privileged families who are hoping to be foremen and underbosses someday, as well as the ones who hope to seek favor from them. On the other side sit the Noor, along with many of the older Itanyai workers like Hazzi, the ones most likely to be transferred, the ones most likely to be crushed by this factory. They are a skinny, gnarled, slumped bunch, apart from the Noor, who are younger and sit straight, staring across the cafeteria at their adversaries. It is understood that they are truly enemies now, even though no one has said anything out loud. But it has gotten worse, and now I know that something is going to happen tonight when the strike deadline comes. It scares me to death.