The Bottle Stopper (5 page)

The interior was packed with more smoking men. In the far corner, a small curtain half-covered a doorway. They could hear the metallic buzz of the tattoo machine beyond.

A small woman wearing over-sized glasses emerged from the mass of male bodies. She smiled quickly at Maeve and Topley, before turning her attention back to the crowd of increasing testosterone.

“Out,” she ordered. For someone so short, she commanded an impressive air of authority. After a second, the men filed out onto the street.

She turned back to the girls. “They're harmless, but I'm not having them annoy our customers.” She sniffed as she pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Show me, show me.” She held out her hand.

Topley glanced at Maeve before extending her left arm, to expose her inner wrist.

The woman examined it, tutted, nodded, and pushed it away. “No problem. He's just finishing off, and he'll be with you in no time at all. Cash or credits?”

“I have cash,” Topley said.

“Sit.” The woman gestured to a small bench behind them.

As they sat down, the uneven legs swayed, and they grabbed each other to stay upright.

“Is this going to hurt?” asked Topley.

“Yes. But it's not for long. And while it heals, it itches like crazy.” Maeve instinctively scratched her own tattoo. “But it's bearable.”

“Why am I doing this then?”

Maeve slipped her hand into Topley's. “Because it will be fun.”

“I cannot believe you let me get tattooed by a guy with half his fingers missing.” Topley dropped onto her bed and gently blew on her wrist.

“And half his teeth,” said Maeve.

“This won't stop bleeding.”

“It will after a while. Just wash it.”

“And my skin's bright red. Won't they take one look at it and know what it is?”

“Well, I'm not planning on getting that close to any officers.” Maeve grinned. “Plus, you're going to have to wear a dress.”

Topley sighed. “I was afraid you might say that.”

“When in Rome.”

“Pick one out for me, I'll be in the bathroom washing this. Or throwing up. If I'm not back in thirty minutes, come and revive me.”

Maeve pulled Topley's wardrobe open. “You'll live.”

In one half of the wardrobe hung a line of dresses. They were neatly pressed, and ordered by colour. It was obvious that they'd never been worn. The other half was sectioned into cubbyholes where trousers, jumpers, and t-shirts had been haphazardly stacked. In the bottom of the wardrobe was a pair of trainers, and two pairs of chunky sandals. They would have to suffice.

Maeve browsed through the dresses, rejecting the floral and frilled ones. She opted for  a plain, teal dress, and a thin, black cardigan.

When Maeve had first cleared out Lou's storage room, she had discovered a stack of old fashion magazines. The pages had become yellow and brittle, but most of the pictures were still visible. Women in trousers, shorts, tops that showed their stomachs. It had been a long time since women had dressed like that.

As the female population had diminished, they had turned to the state for protection from a desperate male populace. That protection came with conditions, and as their duties and roles became more rigid, as their freedom became more restricted, so did their behaviour, and their dress code.

Maeve had hidden the magazines under her bed. Not because she pined for the world as it was, she had never known a world like that. But because she needed to know that maybe, someday, it could be like that again. Topley had fuelled that hope in her, with her cropped hair and jeans. The hope that women could be free to choose.

Topley wandered back into the room, gently dabbing her wet wrist with a towel. “I think it's stopped. What am I wearing then?”

Maeve handed her the dress, and Topley scowled at it. She changed quickly, and dipped into an exaggerated curtsey.

“You look beautiful,” Maeve said, fighting back a giggle.

“This better be worth it.”

Hand in hand, the girls ran down the stairs, through the bakery, and out onto the street below.

“Mum and dad are going to ask what I was doing in a dress,” Topley said as they slowed.

“They'll be too overjoyed to question it.” Maeve laughed. “Come on.”

They dodged their way down the busy street, skipping between the wooden walkways. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they stopped.

The stairs were carved straight into the rock, in places there was space for three people to walk abreast, in others, it was single file only. There were places where the rock overhung the steps, and people were forced to stoop. The uneven steps had been roughly carved by hand, and the millions of feet using them had worn them unevenly smooth. Some tilted towards the cliff, others towards the drop. Many were hollowed out, like basins, where the rainwater collected to go stagnant. Several people had fallen to their deaths from these steps, commonly from trying to push their way through, foolishly thinking that their journey was more important than anyone else's. An ingrained knowledge of Falside's social order was necessary to survive the climb.

The steps were deep, and the climb was hard in a long skirt. By the time they reached the top, Maeve's breathing was ragged, and she could hear Topley breathing hard behind her.

“Alright?” Maeve asked.

Topley nodded, catching her breath. “A bit light-headed.”

“You need to get your blood sugar levels up.” Maeve pulled a bundle of credits from her pocket. “A lot of Uncle Lou's customers pays him with credits, but he doesn't put them through the books. He uses them to pay for his extracurricular activities down at The Slip. So he never knows exactly how many he has.” She shrugged. “Want to see the screen?”

“Why not?”

Maeve led Topley up The Downs, around to Inlet Road, and into the expanse of The Hide.

The large square was bright and busy, but it had that casual air, as if everyone were on holiday. No one was hurrying, or shouting. People lounged at tables outside cafés, they gathered on benches to chat, they strolled, slowly, past the central fountain. No one here had anywhere they needed to be.

The gender disparity was obvious. Despite The Hope housing only Falside's single women, they were greatly outnumbered by men. Men came here to look over the women. To choose one. Like cattle.

The ferocity of their stares was almost physical, and Maeve felt their gaze like hands. Topley seemed oblivious to the uninvited attention, as she gawked at the screen.

Attached to the front of the buildings on the eastern side of the square, it was three storeys high, tilted towards the people below. It had always made Maeve a little nervous; she couldn't help but imagine it coming loose from its brackets, and crushing the people beneath it.

Most of the time it played advertisements, carefully chosen by the administration to remind the women of their duty to Falside. But once a month, everyone gathered here for the announcement of the wedding banns. This was the first time the bride would learn of her impending matrimony. The fountain had been installed specifically to revive women who fainted at the news.

Today it announced the birth of a baby girl; a rare event. A couple from Haverhead grinned at the camera, cradling their baby wrapped in a bright pink blanket. Another image showed them drinking champagne. It was the only time women were allowed to drink, for fear it might affect their fertility. Broad smiles to disguise their empty eyes. A manufactured image of a family who had fulfilled their ultimate duty.

And constantly reeling across the bottom of the screen, the administration's motto: 'Our duty is our purpose. Our role is our life. Obedience is our freedom.' As if anyone could forget it.

“Do you ever wish you had been born up here?” Topley asked, still staring at the screen.

“And spend my days with a baby under one arm, and a mixing bowl under the other? No thank you.”

Topley turned to Maeve. “Don't you want a family?”

“Maybe. One day. But I don't want that decided for me.”

“What credits have you got?”

Maeve pulled the bundle out again, and they sorted through them. The credits were the only currency women could use, and they could only be used for their specified purpose. At least, if you were visiting legitimate businesses that is.

“A few for groceries, some refreshments, so we can get some coffee while we're here. Oh!” She shook one of the credits at Topley. “We have a luxury.”

Women on The Hope were allocated one luxury credit a month. The further up the cliff you lived, the more you were allowed. But The Hope was full of luxury shops; those selling sweets and fancy cakes, jewellers, hat shops, fancy soaps and toiletries. It was another way the administration reminded them what they could have, if they played their part.

“What are we going to spend it on?” asked Topley.

Maeve tilted her nose upwards, and put on a snooty expression. “We shall discuss it over coffee.”

They lounged on the fancy metal chairs, their coffees balanced on the flamboyant swirls of the table top. A white parasol diluted the sunshine, and allowed them to sit for some time, watching the day pass by.

They chatted, as best friends do, of everything and nothing.

Maeve stiffened, her eyes searching the square. Something wasn't right. Looking towards Inlet Road, she spotted a group of officers. They moved through the crowd slowly, speaking to people, following their directions. Fingers were pointed, and the officers moved further into the square.

“I think it's time to go,” Maeve said, pushing her chair backwards. “Come on.”

Topley took a final gulp of her coffee, and followed closely, one hand gripping the back of Maeve's dress.

“Hurry up,” Maeve hissed. “And don't turn around. Just keep moving.” She quickened her pace, and pulled Topley into the alley beside the monastery. They pushed past the crates and boxes, finally breaking into The Downs at a run.

Maeve's face crushed against the man's chest, her breath leaving her with a groan. She fell backwards, her long skirt wrapping around her feet and tumbling her to the ground. She closed her eyes to give her brain a chance to remember which way was up.

When she opened them again, the monk was holding his hand out to her.

“I'm so sorry,” he said. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine. It was my fault. We were running.” She looked up into his grey eyes.

His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open as he stammered, failing to get any proper words out.

Maeve took his hand, and allowed him to pull her up. He stared at her. Maeve had to tug her hand free.

“No harm done,” she said hesitantly.

“Sure, sure,” he replied, his brow furrowed.

Maeve huddled against Topley as they hurried away. She glanced over her shoulder.

“He's still staring.”

“Let's get home.”

Maeve looked back again as they reached the steps, locking eyes with the monk once again.

Topley tugged on her arm. “Come on.”

10

“I hope you enjoyed your little holiday,” Lou said. He strolled into the storage room and stood over Maeve, watching her work. “You won't get another one. You're lucky I'm so kind-hearted. And what's this?” He flicked her hair. “You look ugly.”

Maeve ignored him.

“Not speaking?” He kicked her in the thigh. “I hope it's not a sore throat, wouldn't want you to get sick and die.”

He kicked her again, and Maeve bit her lip, determined not to look up at him.

He bent down to her. “Maybe you need some more medicine.”

Maeve stood up and looked Lou in the eye.

“I need more bottles,” she said. She pushed past him, fighting the urge to look back as she left.

With her jaw set, Maeve strode along The Wall, not moving out of the way for anyone. Instead of turning down towards The Squeeze, where empty bottles were in easy supply, she hitched her skirt and set off up the stairs to The Hope.

Eye Street was a dark and barren place. It cowered under the shadow of the high walls surrounding The Compound; the administration's watchtower on The Hope. Most of the houses were empty, and all of the shops were boarded up. Except one.

At the far end of the street, squeezed up against the rising cliff, was The Paper Duchess. Once a lively bar, it was now a rarely visited book shop.

Maeve pushed the heavy door open, and stepped into the dim interior. The Paper Duchess was full of dust, and the grubby windows filtered the sunlight to a filthy grey. The large, pillared room may have been grand once upon a time, but it now looked like the contents of every book shop throughout history had been tipped into it. Maeve couldn't imagine finding what she wanted in the mess. She turned to leave.

“Can I help you?” a voice said.

Maeve looked around for the speaker, but all she saw was more piles of books.

“I'm sorry,” the voice said. “Stay where you are, I'll come to you.”

There was a scrabbling noise, and a small avalanche of books falling somewhere. Then the speaker appeared, climbing over a pile of books on all fours. He was a young man, tall and thin, his skin was dark, and his features were sharp and distinctive. Even though he looked like a teenager who hadn't quite got used to his fully-grown body yet, there was something very attractive about him. Even more so when his face stretched into an awkward smile.

He slid down the pile to the floor with his arms wheeling. He righted himself and bowed slightly.

“Hello, madam, and welcome to The Paper Duchess.” He spread his arms wide, and Maeve almost expected to hear a fanfare playing. Clearly, he heard one in his own head.

“I came looking for a book, but I'm not sure you'll be able to find it.”

“Don't let the appearance of this place deceive you. This entire shop is carefully catalogued.” He tapped his temple. “I can lay my hands on any book you want.”

“I'm looking for something on plants. Herbs. Medicinal plants.”

“Medicinal plants.” He drew the words out as he thought for a moment. “Wait right here.” He disappeared behind a precarious tower of books. “What exactly were you wanting to cure?” he called.

Maeve rose onto her toes, craning her neck to spot him. “Well, I wasn't really looking to cure anything. More cause something.”