Doll

by Fred Warren

“There’s another one!”

“I’ve got her, Cecile. You take the old gent with the suspenders.”

Charlie threaded his way through the crowded market, his eyes fixed on the spider brooch that identified his next mark, a tall woman in a green dress and broad-brimmed hat. Her white-bleached hair cascaded across her shoulders in a network of complicated braids threaded with colorful beads.

Two more packages to go. His worry over the parcels he’d squashed in the corridor was a faint memory now. This was so easy it was almost fun. No fear of getting caught stealing when he was giving items to the marks, no need to continually check the exits, and no nagging from Smith afterwards about his technique.

He felt more grown-up without Smith and Kate watching him like a pair of sentry beetles. They still treated him like a baby, and he was one of the oldest. It wasn’t fair. Maybe I’ll get a little more respect now, he thought, as he drew up behind the woman and slipped the chilly package into her shopping bag with a grin. By the time she noticed the extra weight, he’d be off to the next mark.

As he turned to dart away, something tugged at the corner of his vision, and he paused for an instant to look. The woman in the hat wasn’t alone. Her other hand was clasped by a girl about Charlie’s age, dressed in a frilly green frock that matched the woman’s in miniature. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite…

The memory came into focus. “Sophie? Sophie Wander?”  She was from one of the other orphan gangs, and they’d bumped shoulders more than once in the marketplace. Charlie’s excitement overcame his caution. “I can’t believe it…you’re an Oliver!” Smith was always talking about the lucky few that caught the fancy of a rich family and got themselves adopted, like in the story, but to actually meet one, and somebody he knew—it was like a window into heaven.

The girl stared back at him without a glimmer of recognition, or emotion.

“Sophie? It’s me, Charlie Lone! We were nicking pretties together in this very spot not long ago, remember?”

No twitch of a smile, no widening of her eyes. It was as if she was looking right through him. Then, he noticed the faint line of stitch-scarring at her hairline, and the barely-perceptible spiderweb of slender wires beneath the skin of her neck and on the backs of her arms and hands. He was suddenly cold all over.

She’s a Frankie doll.

Another story come to life. The orphans told this one to each other in whispers as they shivered beneath their shredded blankets at night. This is what happens if you’re not careful, if you don’t follow the rules, if you’re bad. This is what they’ll make you.

The tall woman noticed him now, and her mouth twisted in disgust. “You’ve run your errand, little guttersnipe. Get out of my sight.” She tugged on Sophie’s arm. “Charlotte, dear, come along. Pay him no mind.”

“Yes, mummy.” Her voice was as lifeless as her eyes.

He stumbled away in the opposite direction, trying to make sense of what he’d just seen. He delivered his final package in a daze, not even trying to make the delivery smooth and silent. The mark shoved him away with a curse, and Charlie staggered toward the nearest exit, pushing back against an overwhelming urge to run, run, run to someplace dark and silent and safe where he could hide.

A pair of rough hands seized his shoulders and flung him into the iron grasp of a burly man wearing an Enforcer’s uniform. A damp cloth muffled his screams and metal buttons pressed painfully into Charlie’s face as he struggled in vain to free himself. The pungent, syrupy odor of whatever was soaking the cloth drained his strength, and his legs sagged beneath him. His ears began to buzz, but he could still hear voices, harsh and gravelly, from far, far away.

“This is the last one?”

“Yessir. Delivery of all packages, plus ten expendables for the lab or dollworks, as appropriate. I’ll take my payment now, if you please.”

“You’ll be paid once delivery is confirmed by the clients and the expendables are re-purposed. Not before.”

“That wasn’t the deal I made with…”

“Shut up! Don’t speak his name here. It’s the deal you’re getting. Be grateful you have your freedom. He doesn’t like loose ends.”

“If I’m not paid, boyo, he’ll have a lot more than loose ends to worry about.”

There was more, but the buzzing was so loud now, Charlie couldn’t make out the words.

Sorry, Smith.

Wasn’t careful.

Rules.

Too late.

Bad.

Doll.

Contraband

by Fred Warren

“Y’say we’re supposed to light-finger these onto the marks?”  Charlie Lone favored Smith with the incredulous glare of a child who might have just been told that gravity makes things fall upward. The other orphans in Smith’s gaggle remained silent, but they looked on with keen curiosity. Un-picking pockets was a novel concept, indeed.

“That’s right. Think of it as lifting in reverse. Each mark will be wearing a golden pin or brooch shaped like a spider. Slip the parcels into their shopping bags, one per customer, but take care you’re not seen doing it, the same as you would when conducting business the usual way.”

“Why should anybody care that we’re giving them something they want?”

“Some people might be upset there aren’t enough for everyone.”

“It still sounds screwy to me. What are we getting out of this?”

“Enough credits to keep your stomach full for a good long time, Charlie m’boy, and the Enforcers off our backs. Just do as I’ve told you, and all will be well.”

Charlie frowned, then lifted one of the palm-sized cubes to his ear and gave it a shake.

“Stop that!”

“It doesn’t feel like there’s anything inside. What is it?”

“None of your business. It’s…delicate. If you break it, we won’t get paid.” Smith took the parcel and stuffed it into the stained cloth satchel slung over the boy’s shoulder. “Right. Take the long way back once you’ve delivered all your parcels. If you’ve not found all the marks in an hour, drop whatever’s left at the fishmonger’s stall. Everybody clear?”

“Yes, Smith,” they chorused.

“Brilliant. Off to the marketplace with you, ones and twos, and keep a cheery look about you. Kate’ll have something special waiting when you return.”

Kate nodded. “Something sweet.”

They all paused for a moment, mouths agape, then scrambled away down the corridor en masse, pushing, shoving, and chattering gleefully.

“Ones and twos!” Smith called halfheartedly after them. “And have a care with those parcels!” He looked over at Kate and shrugged. “What’s the use?”

“She tugged her tattered coat tighter around her body. “I don’t like this. We should be going with them.”

“Wallace didn’t leave me any choice.”

“We all could have bolted. Found another hiding place.”

“He knows the nether corridors as well as I do. He’d be onto us before we settled the first wee one in her cradle. And he’s got a Peacekeeper backing him up now. You know what will happen to the children if we’re taken. We have to do things his way, for now.”

“No good can come of working with Wallace Beadle. What’s in those boxes, anyhow?” Her eyes narrowed. “Snowdrift? Lightshow?”

“Wallace wouldn’t say. I don’t think it’s drugs. They’re cold to the touch and far too light to be packed with anything heavier than aerogel.  I’m thinking it’s egg sacs or dormant larvae. Exotic treats for the upper decks, as if they haven’t enough to eat already.”

“Smuggling is smuggling. If the children are caught, there’s no hope of even the orphanage. They’d be better off dead.”

“They won’t be caught, I promise. Like Charlie said, even if someone notices, they won’t care about our lot giving rather than taking, and the marks want these parcels badly. This’ll be the easiest run we’ve ever had.”

Smith stared into the dark corridor that had already swallowed the children. The easiest run ever. He almost believed it himself.

#

A leg shot out and hooked Charlie’s foot, sending him sprawling. He pushed himself upright and dusted off his hands and knees, wincing at a scraped palm but heedless of one more rip in his trousers among a dozen others. He reached into his satchel to ensure all six of his assigned parcels were still there. One, two, three, four…uh, oh. Two were leaking something cold and sticky. He pulled them out and tried to smooth the crumpled cubes into shape, but there was no way to hide the tears or the ooze staining their brown paper wrapping. The marks would be angry to find them this way.

He looked up and down the corridor. He was alone. He pushed the damaged parcels beneath a bag of rubbish leaning against the corridor wall and sprinted after his fellows.

Anthem

by Fred Warren -

“Let’s review. Little ones, what’s your job?”

Three hands shot up. “Begging!”

“But we have to be polite,” said Jeremy.

Molly nodded. “No grabbing or screaming.”

“Tears and sniffles are okay,” Pip chimed in.

Smith clapped his hands. “Excellent. Stay where you can see Kate, and do not leave the marketplace with any of the marks, even if they promise to take you home and adopt you. If they tell you that, bring them to me, and say I’m your guardian, understand?”

“Yes, Smith.”

“That’s my clever poppets. Now, Charlie and Cecile. Your turn.”

Charlie shoved his hands in his pockets, looking bored with the whole affair. “I take the near side and Cecile takes the far side. We stroll around and stay casual. Look for the big’uns.”

Cecile fiddled with a lock of blonde hair and recited her part: “When we find a mark, we lift one thing and take a roundabout path to drop it in Kate’s bag.” She scowled at Charlie. “One thing. Last time, you got greedy and nearly got us all caught by the Enforcers.”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

Smith waved them down. “All right, that’s enough, you two. Charlie, she’s right. The marks are smarter these days, and some of them are just waiting for us to dip a finger in their pocket. Make sure they’re distracted, then in, out, and away. As for you, Cecile, I need you to concentrate. Sometimes it seems like you’re really shopping, not just pretending to.”

The hair-twisting accelerated. “I’m sorry. There are so many interesting things. It’s hard not to look. I’ll try.”

“Good girl. Kate will be at the center with the drop bag, playing crier for the fishmonger. As for me, I’ll be working the margins, the standoffish folk who can’t decide if they’re too good to mix with us rabble. If there’s any trouble…”

Five voices replied in chorus. “Bolt for the safe spot!”

“That’s right. Everyone’s on their own then. No heroes. If Kate and I can help, we will, but I want the rest of you to scuttle out of there like prime racing beetles and never look back.”

Kate plucked at his elbow. “It’s time, love.”

“Very well. Let’s keep our wits about us. Be light-fingered and pitiful. Tonight, we feast!”

#

Smith would have preferred a larger raiding party, but there’d been more Enforcer presence of late, and one of the beetle-meat vendors had missed the carcass they nicked last time. Some of the merchants, like the fishmonger, were friends and allies, but a few wouldn’t hesitate to turn Smith and his entire brood over to the authorities if there was any profit at all in it.

“Salt-Cod-Ohhh! Fifty the kilo!” Kate’s voice trilled over the market’s hubbub, bringing a smile to Smith’s lips. He could think of only one sound he liked better. Best not to dwell on that. He tugged on his cap and scanned the crowd. No Enforcers on patrol today, thank heaven. The little ones, with tearstained faces and outstretched hands, intercepted customers who’d just made purchases and were struggling with the change.

Meanwhile, Charlie and Cecile were threading their way among the shoppers crowding the aisles between stalls. Charlie paused to pull something from the pocket of a corpulent man who was arguing with a cloth merchant. Smith was relieved to see he didn’t double-dip but moved smartly along. Only a practiced eye would have noticed anything amiss. Cecile was focusing on the womenfolk, tapping a succession of purses and waist packs, twirling along like a ballerina. She had promise, that one.

Suppose I’d best earn my keep, or I’ll never hear the end of it. Smith sidled up to a well-dressed gentleman who was perusing a counter stacked with colorful insect shells. “Fine selection here, Guv’nor. Needin’ something special for the lady of the house?”

The man didn’t even look at him. “Yes, confound it. My Joanna is simply mad about these shells. It’s the latest fad. Her friends use them to serve party favors and appetizers. Rather disgusting, to my way of thinking, but she won’t be denied.”

“They do add a spot of color.” Smith leaned over to whisper in the man’s ear, simultaneously reaching for his back pocket and the wallet bulging there. “But if you’re looking for the best price, you ought to speak with Miz Whitman, four stalls down.”

“Indeed? Why, thank you. I’ll do that.”

“Happy to be of service. Enjoy your…” Smith frowned. Something had caught his sleeve. From the corner of his eye, he could see a thin, pale man standing behind his mark. The fingers that were holding onto his shirt shifted to grasp his forearm. The grip was strong. Inhumanly strong.

Gritty ash. The twit had a Frank watching his back.

The cyborg tapped the gentleman’s shoulder. “Master, this man tried to steal your wallet. I’ve sent a message to the Enforcers. Shall I restrain him until they arrive?”

“My wallet?” The man fumbled at his back pocket, then turned to glare at Smith. “Thief!” He backhanded him across the face, drawing blood. “Stinking low-deck trash! Hold him tight, Sixty-Three.”

Smith tried to bolt, but the Frank wouldn’t budge. It was like being handcuffed to a post. He hoped Kate was sending the children out of the market. She wasn’t shouting out her advertisement for fresh fish any more. No one else in the crowd seemed to have taken notice, but he knew the Enforcers would arrive in moments, and his heart sank as he writhed in the cyborg’s steely grip.

Then he heard something strange—and familiar. The market’s babble stilled. Every eye sought the ethereal music, children’s voices wafting through the air, raised in song.

A pilgrim race, we wandered long
Through endless night and barren space
’Til whale’s eye and angel’s song
Revealed you here, our resting place

Arise, Avenir Eclectia
Stand firm, Avenir Eclectia
Be strong, Avenir Eclectia
Live on, Avenir Eclectia

There, at the entrance to the marketplace, stood Ave, surrounded by a ragged choir of orphans, their faces tilted upward, eyes closed, countenances radiant.

They sang the anthem over and over again, as the crowd listened in reverent silence. A woman standing near Smith wept, her hands pressed to her face. Even the Frank was transfixed. His grip on Smith’s arm slowly relaxed, then released altogether. Smith leaped to one side, shedding his coat as the cyborg snatched at it, too late.

As he sprinted for the exit, Smith took one final, backward glance at Ave.

Their eyes met, and she smiled.