Siberia (14 page)

The meet was held in a natural arena, a flat space surrounded by rising ground, at the crossing of several winter roads. Our caravan arrived at night, and Baba had been ordered to keep the tailgate bolted, which was frustrating. We peered through the second-tier windows, and listened to the snarl of strange engines, the grind of big snow tires, the hubbub of a crowd; while Baba sat below with her knitting. I was excited, though I was still mourning for the kits. Beyond the glare of lights, I thought I could see the darkness of the forest.
. . .
Emerald and Satin seemed downhearted. I thought it was because Little Father had forgotten them, on this big night. I felt guilty, because I was going to desert them too.

Instinct had told me that I should not say goodbye. Easy come, easy go. I’d been collecting food stores, the kind of stuff that wouldn’t be missed, and I had my knapsack packed. I was debating with myself whether to take a pair of short skis. I didn’t want to steal from my benefactors, but they had so much.

In the morning I dressed in my warmest. Baba went to fetch our water herself, which was usually our chore, and reported that the temperature, according to the truck’s outside thermometer, was twenty below. She washed us and combed us as if we were babies, and fed us our bowls of kasha porridge with a sentimental smile. I thought it was the thrill of the big meet that made the old lady seem a little strange.

I’d brought my knapsack to breakfast, instead of leaving it in my bunk. I was thinking of an excuse for taking it to the fair with me, when there was a banging on the tailgate. Baba unbolted the small door, and Little Father himself squeezed in, followed by two of his outriders, and some other men I didn’t recognize.

“Yes,” said Little Father, “yes! Stand up, all three of you!”

We stood up. The back of the truck was full of bodies. The strange men peered at us, and one said, “Let’s see them in daylight.”

I looked at Satin. He shrugged. Emerald kept her eyes on the floor.

We got down. There was a group of children standing together; I noticed it was composed of all the caravan’s strays. I was told to walk up and down, my limp attracted comment. One of the strange men looked inside my mouth, and felt the fat on me, with hard fingers: while the winter fair proceeded merrily all around. I was so horrified, I did not notice that the same things were happening to Emerald and Satin. I thought I was being handed over to the bounty hunters after all, and didn’t understand why these other children were watching. I was desperately hoping for a chance to run for it.
. . .
The men picked me out, and Emerald and Satin, and three others. The other strays were dismissed, and that’s when the truth began to dawn on me. And I recalled, too late, little things people had said and done, that ought to have warned me.

The traders said Emerald was too young, and Satin had poor teeth. They argued even harder over the price Little Father asked for me. But he was adamant. My snow bunting, he said, she’s a college student. Skin like milk, eyes like black cherries, reads and writes like a scholar, you don’t often find this kind of girl. You should have seen the money I’ve turned down for her.

In the end the haggling was over, and everyone seemed satisfied.

Emerald and Satin had their bundles of possessions, I had my knapsack. The other three, a boy and two girls, had their belongings too. I wasn’t shocked at Little Father, I wasn’t shocked at the men who bought me. I knew it was just business. I was
disgusted
with Emerald and Satin. They’d known all along that I didn’t understand. They’d known when they offered me a ride, at the dumps, that they were trade goods, like the other bales and boxes in the back of Little Father’s truck. They’d known that if I joined them, I would one day be sold like them, as a slave.

* 8 *

Rodentia

No one paid any attention as we were walked across the fairground, roped together with our hands tied. Above the white slopes that rose all around, through the throngs of people and vehicles, I caught glimpses of the forest margin. We had reached that black line which had been the farthest limit of my world for as long as I could remember. But it looked as if I wasn’t going to get any farther.

We were taken to the slave auction ground, where we saw the grown-up slaves huddled in a fenced-off pen. Our buyers got us registered for sale while we stood shivering. We’d been allowed to bring personal belongings, but not our coats. The auctioneers’ office was a dark, shaggy-roofed hut on stilts: the kind of building the bandit tribes carried around with them, in pieces, on special trucks. I thought it looked like a big malevolent dark bird. The men who’d bought us from Little Father wanted us to be given special treatment, because we were high-class merchandise. But the auctioneers said there was only one holding pen for children. We were taken into the back room of the hut, and our hands untied.

One of the auction men said, “There, that’s not so bad, is it? Indoors, out of the cold. Bucket in the corner if you need it.” Then they left, with their lantern.

Heavy bars were shoved across the door, and a key was turned. The back room had no windows. The only light came through cracks between the rough logs of the walls. We could make out a confused mass of bodies, huddled at the far end. Someone down there whimpered, a wordless cry of misery.

“Who are you?” a cracked voice cried.

“Just children,” answered Satin. “Here to be sold, like you.”

“What have you got?”
came another voice, speaking the old bandit language.

The bodies surged toward us, out of the dark. It was like a tide of roaches with human flesh. I know I felt no pity
. . .
I think none of us did. The six of us fought the slave children off, with determined thumps and kicks. We were fresh and strong: they quickly gave up, and retreated. We got ourselves into a corner and sat on the dusty floor, with our possessions and Emerald, who was the youngest, in the middle. I wondered how long it would take for us to become like those others.

We couldn’t see the bucket, but we could smell it.

“I n-need a wee,” whispered Emerald. “Sloe, come with me?”

“You
knew,
” I hissed at Satin. “
You knew
we were going to be slaves! And you didn’t even warn me! I thought you were my friends. You
betrayed
me!”

“You’d have been out in the storm, remember?” He acted surprised at my anger. “You’d have been dead if we hadn’t taken you to Little Father. It won’t be so bad. It’s better to be worth money than to be just a stray child. Trust me, I’ve tried it.”

“
We didn’t
betray you!” cried Emerald. “It wasn’t like that! We knew Little Father might sell us, but, but he was nice to us. I was like his own little girl, and I had pretty things. It was nice. It might be n-nice again. Tell her, Satin.”

“I thought you knew,” he said. “We all thought you knew. We didn’t talk about it, because we never do. What’s the use in talking?”

I glared at him, and hoped he could see my expression. There’d been plenty of times he could have made sure I understood.
. . .
But Emerald and Satin didn’t think the way I did. They did not belong to themselves. They did not
expect
to be free.

“Let’s not fight,” said the other boy who’d been bought, whose name was Bakkial. “Let’s us stick together. We’re all mates, let’s stay that way.”

“I hope we get good masters,” said one of the girls, bravely. She was the biggest of us, a tall strong teenager. “I don’t mind working, for a good master.”

The six of us sat in silence, holding hands. Emerald and Satin weren’t royalty now: we were all the same, the refuse of the world. We had no human value. We would be lucky to end up hardworking bondservants, there were worse fates.

“Little Father doesn’t let his people keep grown-up slaves,” said Satin, in a flat voice. “He says it’s not worth it, they can never be trusted. They just pick up pretty-looking strays, treat them well, and trade them as a sideline.”

“How long d’you think those other children have been here?” I wondered.

“Maybe they’re the ones no one wanted to buy, at some other market.”

“
We’ll
be sold before the end of the fair,” said the big girl, whose name was Tanya. “We’re good quality, anyone can see. So that’s only ten days at the most.”

Ten days in here!

“I still need to have a wee,” said Emerald, unhappily.

“I do too,” said the third girl. She was younger than me, and she had long corn gold braids; I couldn’t remember her name.

I went with them, as a bodyguard. I was glad of the dark when we found the bucket, which stood in the middle of the room. It was nearly overflowing. Shadowy, dirty faces peered at us, groping hands tugged at our clothes, but we didn’t have any real trouble, and came back to the corner safely. It was very cold. It was going to be a lot colder at night. If no one gave us blankets we might have to join that squirming heap of human roaches, just to stay alive. The idea made me feel sick.

I sat beside Satin and Emerald, my arms wrapped around my knapsack, trying to plan. Once I had been sold, I would find a way to escape. That much was clear. But how could I keep the Lindquists secret? I remembered being a new girl at New Dawn College. They’d taken everything I owned away from me, stripped me naked the moment I arrived. How long would I be able to hang on to my knapsack, if I was a slave? At least the kits were in their seed form. They wouldn’t be frightened or hurt, whatever happened.

The kits
. . .
An idea rose, in my desperate mind.

I heard my mama’s voice:
Strange things, marvelously
strange things happen to the Lindquists, at full expression. . . .
I remembered Nosey, the brave warrior who had rescued me at the fur farm.

“Hey. What if I could get us out of here?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Emerald. “We’ve got no outdoor clothes.”

“It would be no good,” said Tanya. “We’re money in a locked box. We’d be caught and brought back. Money can’t walk. It’s hopeless.”

“We can’t escape,” said Satin. “Calm down, Sloe. It’s not so bad.”

I didn’t know what would happen if I tried to kindle the kits. I couldn’t remember if there was a minimum time that they had to be left dormant. Maybe the process just wouldn’t work, or the kits would die. But I had nothing else. “I’ve got something in my knapsack,” I said. “It’s sort of magic. I could try to use it. But you all have to promise, whatever you see me do, you must never, never tell anyone.”

Five faces stared at me.

“Oh, that knapsack!” said Satin. “Sloe’s knapsack, that no one better touch!”

“Shut up, Satin,” said Tanya. “Everyone watches their stuff.”

“Is the magic why the bounty hunter came after you?” asked Emerald.

“Yes. But I can’t talk about it, and you mustn’t tell.”

“We won’t tell,” said Bakkial. “Never.”

They formed a half circle round me, in case the auction men came back or the slave children advanced again. I took out the lab case and opened it: put on my mask and gloves and silently prayed. There was very little light. I worked by touch and memory, as fast as I could. I kindled all the kits: I didn’t know if they would grow if they weren’t together. I wouldn’t have known which order to choose anyway.

“What will happen?” breathed Satin, when I had finished and the nutshell was sealed again. “Will a djinn come to do your bidding?”

“I don’t know what a djinn is.”

“A powerful spirit. Magicians can make them obey.”

“Is it a bomb?” demanded Tanya excitedly. “Is that round thing a
bomb
? You’re crazy!”

“I’m not allowed to talk about it,” I said.

“How long will it take to work?” asked Bakkial.

We all peered toward the huddle of slave children. They were quiet now, but they knew we had stuff. They wouldn’t leave us alone for very long.

“I think something should have happened by sunset.”

The cracks between the logs were gray knife blades: the icy air came in, and the blurred noise of the fair, but you couldn’t see out. We didn’t talk much. We all had food and water in our bundles (I had all the supplies I’d stolen for my trek); but we didn’t dare take anything out. We dozed a bit, leaning against each other: but always on the watch. Twice there was a surge from the other end, and twice we drove them back. After endless hours, there were footsteps outside the door. The lock rattled, the bars were taken down: the slave children pressed themselves against the back wall, like roaches disturbed by a light. An auction man came in with a lantern, and set a big steaming tub on the floor. “Here’s your porridge,” he said. “Come on, don’t be scared, eat up.” The children at the other end scuttled forward, scrabbling to get to the edge of the bowl, scooping up the hot porridge in their hands. There were no spoons. We stayed where we were.

“I’m not hungry,” muttered Satin.

“I am,” said Emerald, in a very small voice. “But that doesn’t look tasty.”

Another man came in and walked around with another lantern, like the ticket collector in the freight car, checking on the state we were in, making sure the bodies that didn’t move were still alive. He had a whip in his belt, but he didn’t use it. He came up to me, and lifted my chin as if he were picking up a fold of cloth from a bale. “Very nice,” he muttered. If we all got together, I thought, all of us children, we could overpower two men.
. . .
But they knew we wouldn’t try anything. We could overpower them, and then what would we do? Where would we go?

Soon the tub was empty. The men took it away, and the door was barred and locked again. The room was much darker now.

“It’s time,” I whispered. “Keep them off.”

My friends prepared to repel an attack. I took out food (a chunk of con, and some dried berries) and the makeshift oil lamp I’d made in my mama’s hut, the night the Mafia came. I had to have light for this part. I put the lamp together and filled it from the small jar of oil I’d sneaked out of the food locker in Little Father’s truck. As soon as the light sprang up the slave children came swarming: starved faces, hollow eyes, gleams of teeth, ragged clothes, and half-naked limbs flashed out of the dark. Satin and Tanya and Bakkial drove them off: and I knelt in the circle of lamplight, my mama’s magic gift in my cupped hands. Like the girl in the fairy tale, I opened up the shell. The kits were alive. They were at the doll’s house stage: so tiny I was afraid to touch them, but perfect. They jumped toward me, pressing on the shield, and my heart welled up with love. I can’t explain that feeling: how glad it made me, in this dirty, desperate place, just to see them again.

There was no time to think. I prayed that my choice should be right, and lifted out the liveliest. Then I sealed up the rest, while I held it in one hand, feeling the tiny tickle of its whiskers as it nibbled a scrap of con. Emerald and the girl with the corn gold braids helped me to put everything away. The slave children hadn’t seen what I had in the nutshell, but they must have felt that something strange was going on. They gave up the attack and did their roach scuttle backward, making the signs that wilderness children make against evil. I could feel the kit in my hand, like a tiny beating heart. It was already growing. I opened my fingers a little, to push some slivers of dried berry between them: a minute nose sniffed my finger, and the kit
bit
me, with the tiniest of teeth. I felt its tongue licking up the drop of blood.

Nivvy?

My spine tingled. Mama had warned me Nivvy could be dangerous.

“More food,” I whispered, urgently. “Small stuff, but keep it coming.”

They didn’t ask questions. The girl with the corn braids thrust dried berries into my free hand. Emerald dug slivers of chocolate off a block with her fingernail. The others kept watch. Within a very short time, all the food I’d taken out was gone, and the Lindquist kit had grown to the size of a small apple. It sat on my palm, feeding itself industriously on the last of Emerald’s chocolate.

It wasn’t Nivvy. Its fur was brown and white, its body soft and plump, its eyes like two red berries. It had round naked ears, little pink paws, chisel teeth, and no tail.

“Will it grow into a dragon?” asked Emerald, hopefully.

I had a terrible feeling I’d let my secrets out for nothing.

“This might take a while,” I said. “The magic needs time to work.”

My lamp was dying. I snuffed it out and packed it away. The room became utterly black. I lay down, facing the corner: making my body into a barrier so I could let the Lindquist run on the floor. The others settled round me. Satin and Corn Braids took first watch, guarding the bundles and facing the twin dangers of the door and the slave children. Emerald curled up against my back: Tanya and Bakkial muttered to each other, and fell silent. I kept on feeding the kit, dipping into my food stores again and again; in a trance of cold tiredness. She kept vanishing into the blackness and coming back. Then I heard her gnawing at the logs. She’s trying to break us out of jail, I thought. But it’s going to take weeks. I reached out, and stroked her with one finger, and discovered something that made me jump. Where there’d been
one
little animal, there seemed to be several.
. . .
My Lindquist had had babies.

The gnawing went on, and became a chorus.

I groped again, and found there were
more, and more.

“
Impossible,
” I muttered.

But I had always known the kits were magic.

The black hours passed. I never truly slept, but everything ran together: the groping attacks of the slave children, the stink of that bucket, the cold: and the sound of gnawing. We hit the fumbling hands, and they went away. The Lindquists kept coming to me to be fed, and then hurrying back to their work. On and on. The touch of whiskery little noses, a scuffle behind me as the others fended off another attack; more food out of my pack, the weight of Emerald’s head on my shoulder.