Inti’s Watcher

  Marie made herself tea, waiting for everyone else to come out for breakfast. By the time she had a filled cup they still hadn't appeared. This wasn’t ideal.

  “Nop, where is everyone?” she called.

  A portion of the wall moved up, and Nop stepped onto the counter. “Peter is with Grace. Sophie and Razan are in Razan’s room.”

  Marie felt her eyebrows go up. That was a few days earlier than she’d expected. She wondered if Razan had argued with Innoka.

  “Where’s Louis?” she asked, making a mental note to talk to Razan later.

  “In Ebba’s room.”

  Sighing, Marie resigned herself to the act of cooking. She thanked Nop, getting a pot from the cupboard.

  She filled it with water, set it on the stove, and waited for it to boil before dropping two whole eggs in. The eggs hit the bottom of the pot and cracked, immediately starting to leak. Marie watched strands of egg white slowly turn the water into soup. After about a minute she turned the stove off and fished the eggs out, putting them in a bowl.

  Cracking the eggs fully open showed they were half-filled with water and only half-cooked.

  Marie frowned down at them for a while, wondering if hot sauce would at least render them edible. Deciding she preferred to starve, she threw everything away.

  “Nop, please let me know when Grace leaves her group’s area,” she said.

  Nop hopped out of the wall again. “She is already out; she’s heading to the weights area.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perfect.”

  She left, going over everything she wanted to say to the girl. Ebba had mentioned some things, but there were other details Marie had noticed that weren't readily explainable.

  When she got to the room, Grace was setting something up on a bench. She saw Marie and stopped, alarm flashing on her face. Marie quietly asked for the door to be locked, strolling over.

  “Why do I feel like I'm about to be told off by Peter’s mum?” Grace asked with a nervous laugh.

  “That’s not entirely inaccurate,” Marie said.

  “Hell.”

  Marie smiled, leaning against the wall next to her. “The ravens can transport anyone anywhere on the ship, for a fee and with proper permission. Peter is still a part of my group, and I'd appreciate if he continued having breakfast with us each morning.”

  Grace smirked, sitting on the bench. “You just want him to make you food.”

  “I just want him to make food for me, yes,” Marie nodded. “I'm a terrible cook, and in my nearly six decades of life I’ve only made breakfast for myself a dozen times. I'll be damned if I start now.”

  That made Grace pause. “You’ve never made yourself breakfast?”

  “Most of my adult life was spent on a ship, where there was a cook, or in prison, where no one was daft enough to let me near a knife or a source of fire.”

  “What were you in- Sorry, I shouldn't-”

  “Murder, piracy, arson, basic thievery, kidnapping, and forgery,” Marie answered easily. She smiled. “Not all at the same time, mind. And the forgery charge was dropped, as the bastard whose name I was using couldn't believe a black woman was capable of writing. Everyone else knew it was me, which did wonders for my reputation. What were you arrested for?”

  Grace hesitated, hands curling around the edge of the bench. She tried to not answer, but the words forced themselves out in a whisper. “Drunkenness and public indecency, and then a warrant was put out for failure to pay debts, but I died before… Yeah.”

  Marie watched her for a moment, then shook her head. “No, that’s not it. If you claimed to be from Australia in general I’d accept it, but Tasmania is a different matter entirely.”

  The girl’s eyes went wide as her face paled. She stared at the floor, her jaw clamped tight.

  “Granted, I haven't asked, but I can't figure out the timeline of your life,” Marie added. “My best guess is that your parents were Irish, and died when you were under the age of about eight. Being an Irish orphan may as well be a crime in England, and I can see a landlord shipping you off, but after that I’m not sure.”

  “Five,” Grace admitted, glancing at Marie. “They died when I was five. When the ship got to Melbourne… One of the wardens has a daughter my age, and she needed a…”

  Marie let the silence stretch for a few moments before suggesting, “A slave?”

  Grace shrugged helplessly. “In all but name.”

  “Another guess, then. That warden also has a son.”

  With a flinch, Grace nodded.

  “And another guess; you were booted from the household when he got you pregnant.”

  Grace pulled her feet up and hid her face in her knees. “I didn't know,” she breathed.

  “At the age of… sixteen?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Marie sat down next to Grace, careful to avoid looking at her. “Things like that is why I murdered.”

  “Will- Are you going to tell Peter?”

  “Hell no. What could that possibly accomplish?”

  Grace gave a tiny shrug.

  “Child, I admit you have no reason to tell me what happened next, but I would like to know,” Marie said gently. “I can't imagine it was easy.”

  “Lived on the streets two months, starved myself into a miscarriage, then finally got a job playing piano in a pub,” Grace muttered. “I knew nothing, so I accepted anything anyone offered. My- Well, I was underage, so my boss stopped anything from happening that would have landed him in trouble. But that ended the day I turned sixteen, and I was already addicted to a handful of things, so-” She stopped, finally looking at Marie. “You won't tell anyone?”

  The fear in this girl’s eyes sparked an old, familiar rage in Marie. The word was a cruel, unjust place, where people were punished for the crime of existing and then told to be ashamed of themselves for it. Marie had fought against that her whole life, refusing shame.

  Grace apparently misunderstood the silence. “All my group knows is that I worked in a pub. Fael didn't even like that much; he hates that I’ve been spending time alone with Peter, if he found out-”

  Marie put a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “Girl, no, I won't say anything. Nothing that happened was your fault. You aren't to blame for any of it, so what would I tell?”

  “But I am,” Grace said, leaning into the touch. “I let it happen. I knew what I was doing, so it’s my fault-”

  “Bullshit,” Marie interrupted, moving closer to pull her into a hug. “You were abused and manipulated to the point you would have died if you hadn't been brought here. None of it was your choice.”

  Grace made no move to back away. “But-”

  “Hush, child, trust that at my age I know what I’m talking about.”

  She whimpered, still not moving, so Marie held her tighter.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Grace shifted, but didn't move away. “Do… you want me to keep going? With what happened next?” Her voice was as much pleading as it was afraid.

  Marie was sure she could guess a good part of it, but she also knew Grace needed to release everything. “Tell me, child. I’ll take your words to my grave.”

  Sophie made it to the climbing room halfway through the morning. She didn't want to move much, but she and Rani were close to getting the rope jumps right, and it was dangerous to practice that sort of thing alone. For Rani, she had to be there.

  Rani was climbing on the wall when Sophie walked in, and immediately dropped to the ground.

  “I’d given up on you,” Rani teased. “Where’ve you been?”

  “I had a late start this morning,” Sophie answered, hating that her cheeks were starting to burn.

  Rani’s dark eyes narrowed. “Why are you wearing a shirt with long sleeves?”

  “No reason whatsoever,” Sophie lied, feeling her cheeks get brighter.

  “Sure, right, I definitely believe that,” her friend said flatly.

  “As you should,” Sophie said primly, walking to the wall. She reached up to the first handhold, ignoring several complaining bruises.

  “You should stretch first,” Rani suggested innocently. “Your movements are stiff. Did you do something yesterday that could have made you sore?”

  Before she realized what she was saying, Sophie answered, “Yes, last night I got into a fight with a wild animal.”

  Rani snickered. “Oh my, how terrifying. Are you covering your skin because it bit you?”

  Sophie wondered if stabbing herself to death with a spoon would be less mortifying than this conversation. “...Yes.”

  “Damn, Innoka barely left an hour ago, and you’ve already made your move on Razan.” She shook her head, smirking. “Horrible.”

  “I didn't mean to,” Sophie said quickly. “I wasn't even expecting him to be alone, but he was, which is really Innoka’s fault, and really all I wanted was to play a game of cards or something and then he kissed me and-” She stopped, glaring at Rani’s grin. “How did you you know I was with Razan?”

  “Who else would it be?” Rani asked with a shrug. “In Medical they have patches that make bruises vanish in a day. I suggest you buy a pack or two.”

  A part of Sophie wanted to run out and buy them immediately, but another part… didn't. Somehow she’d liked seeing his fingerprints on her arm as she got dressed for the day. She didn't want anyone else to see them, in case they thought he’d put them there in anger, but she didn't want to erase them.

  “Hello? Sophie? Are you here? Is your brain all right?”

  “Yes, sorry, I’m here,” Sophie said, bringing her mind back to the present. “I’ll get the patches later; thank you for the tip.”

  “That’s what friends are for,” Rani told her. “Do you just want to hold the rope for me today?”

  “Yes,” Sophie sighed. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. If you’re no better tomorrow, then we might need to have a talk,” Rani said, jumping up the rope. She quickly moved to the ceiling. “Ready?”

  Sophie stretched before walking over to anchor the rope to the ground. “Ready.”

  It took until Wednesday for Razan and Sophie to agree on what to paint the walls. Any time they were together during the day was spent in incredibly entertaining arguments about the merits of one plant or another. Marie always watched when she was around, but absolutely refused to take part. Peter tried to help, but he clearly didn’t understand paint or trees. On one occasion Grace tried to offer a suggestion to stop the fighting, but it resulted in her being dragged into the argument as well. After that she wisely avoided taking part.

  In the end, they decided that Razan would paint a flowering cherry tree on his wall, and Sophie would put a fruit-laden apple tree on hers. They’d failed to come up with a good design entirely in their two group colors, and so had included silver and gold as accents. There was shiny metallic paint available which would add, in Razan’s opinion, an air of luxury to the murals.

  They put their designs on paper first, trading drawings every ten minutes so the end result would look cohesive. Finally they were ready, and took their art to Marie for approval.

  “Looks good,” was all she had to say.

  “Thank you,” Razan said with a bow.

  “Anything else?” Sophie asked, slightly deflated.

  Marie patted her shoulder. “I’m no artist. I trust you two completely. How long will it take?”

  “At least three days of painting,” Razan answered. “We will paint the base colors tomorrow, so it can fully dry on Friday during the contest.”

  “Then on Saturday we’ll paint the trees, and spend Monday adding in all the details,” Sophie continued. “We should finish Monday or Tuesday, if we don’t get distracted.”

  “I’ll expect you to be done next Sunday, then,” Marie said.

  Razan frowned with mock formality. “Captain, when I have a mission, nothing can distract me from it.”

  “Same,” Sophie said, crossing her arms. “Now that we have an approved plan, we will work with quick efficiency.”

  Marie grinned. “Of course, children. Forgive me for doubting you.” She handed the papers back to Razan.

  He knew that was a challenge. And he knew they were going to fail.

  Peter held Grace’s hand, walking to his group’s area for lunch. After Peter made sandwiches, Grace was going to bake something special for dessert. He couldn’t wait.

  Just before they got to the door, Marie came out, an amused smirk on her face. She saw them and stepped over, shaking her head. “Be careful. It’s a war zone in there.”

  “It is?” Grace asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Razan and Sophie were going to paint the walls today,” Peter said. “Did something happen?”

  “Something happened, aye,” Marie said. “I wish you luck.” With that and a nod, she continued on her way.

  Shrugging to Grace, Peter went to the door and walked through. Grace came in behind him, stopping with a laugh.

  A breeze was making its way through the room, pulling out a strong paint smell. Razan was on the left, painting his wall blue-green with straight, measured strokes. He was about a third done. Sophie was on the right, about halfway done painting her wall red-orange. On her side there were a few blue-green smudges, but there was a bucket’s worth of paint in both colors dripped and smeared all over the tarp they’d put on the floor.

  Most importantly, however, was that Sophie was covered in blue-green paint and Razan was covered in red-orange paint.

  “What…” Peter stopped, shaking his head. “Don't want to know.”

  Razan glanced over, looking absurd with dry paint holding his hair straight up. “She started it.”

  “What?” Sophie demanded, spinning around to stomp across the room towards him.

  “Sophie,” Grace said urgently, running to grab her elbow. “Sophie, wait, Sophie. Paint stains light hair if it’s left on to dry.”

  Sophie froze, all the blood draining from her face. Fingers trembling, she pulled her long, blonde, paint-drenched braid around and stared at it in horror.

  “I’ll help get it out,” Grace promised, and together they ran into Sophie’s room.

  “I may have made a tactical error,” Razan decided, once the door slid closed.

  Peter looked at him. “I’ll give ya a nice funeral.”

  Razan bowed. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  Peter walked to the kitchen and pulled out the necessary things for sandwiches. Seeing that, Razan did something with his brush before joining him. He had apparently ordered something beforehand, because a piece of the wall pulled back and a bowl was pushed out.

  “Do you think they’ll be long?” Razan asked.

  “Probably,” Peter answered, wondering if Grace would prefer real bread or the potato bread he was restricted to. “I’m glad Grace knows what to do, though.”

  “As am I,” Razan said, putting his bowl on the table before going to fiddle with Sophie’s paint and brush.

  Peter watched him. “You… like it when Sophie tries to kill you, don't you?”

  Razan smiled, hid the smile, then let it show again. “I do, yes.”

  Sophie leaned over the sink as Grace rinsed out her hair again.

  “I’ve got the water running clear, but your hair’s still green,” Grace said apologetically.

  “Can you put more of the soap in?” Sophie asked.

  “That’ll dry it out too much,” Grace answered. “Then it might split and break. As it is, you’ll need to brush it through with oil twice a day.”

  “Will the oil help the color?”

  “N… I don't think so, but maybe.” Grace turned the water off. “You might have to dye it brown.”

  “Why didn't I think the paint would stain?” Sophie lamented, lifting her head.

  Her hair was streaked with teal. She sniffled, tears coming to her eyes.

  “Because most people have dark hair,” Grace said with a shrug. “Only five people here have proper blonde hair, so it doesn't come up often.” She reached for a towel but paused. “You’re… red?”

  “Doesn't matter,” Sophie muttered. “They’re all clean.”

  “But-” Grace stopped, shrugged again, and picked up a red-orange towel to dry Sophie’s hair. “Well, tomorrow we’ll be in the water for a while. That might help leech some of the green out, or the salt might bleach it.”

  “It might?” She hadn't been planning on joining the contest, but this changed things. “That would mean I’d only have to hide for an afternoon…”

  “Yeah, just wear a hat, no worries,” Grace said. She got the worst of the water out and hung the towel on a peg. “That’s about as much as I can do. You’re on your own now, Princess.”

  “Thank you,” Sophie said sincerely, debating if she wanted to look at herself in the mirror or not.

  Grace smiled, then hesitated. “Hey, if you don't mind me asking… Do you care that Peter’s with me now?”

  “No,” Sophie said. “He’s very calm and respectable and boring. He’s also tall and handsome, but that doesn't make up for how annoyingly polite and cautious he is.”

  “He’s not boring,” Grace said softly. “He’s safe.”

  “That’s the same thing.”

  “It isn’t. And being polite isn’t annoying.”

  “Whatever you call it, it doesn't interest me,” Sophie told her. “I prefer someone who doesn’t assume I’m going to die every time my heart starts racing.”

  “You prefer someone who paints your hair green?” Grace asked, lifting a teal strand.

  “He didn't know it would stain,” Sophie said. “But yes.” She finally looked at herself in the mirror, and somehow she found herself giggling. “It looks terrible.”

  “That’s… good?”

  Sophie smiled at Grace. “Yes. Since it’s Razan’s fault, I’ll be able to hold this over his head until it all washes out. Finding a way to properly retaliate will be extremely diverting.”

  “As long as you have fun, I guess,” Grace decided.

  “Absolutely.” Her smile turned to a grin. “You keep your safe person. I have someone who makes life fun.”