Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [21]
With the valuables she had in her pockets, she could hire a cart but questions would be asked. A street girl like herself, and a toothless old witch, would not have the money to travel. They’d be interrogated. Taken in. She couldn’t let that happen.
Maybe Rall would have an idea, or a vision. With food in her belly and a hot bath, Rall might have the energy for a glamour. She said she could still conjure one. Shaea thought it might be time to put that claim to the test.
The thought of washing with hot water made her smile. She’d always been filthy; it was her way of life. At first, there was no one to care for her enough to keep her clean, and later, when she could have done it herself, she chose not to. She stank like a latrine, her hair was infested and her body covered in scratches and scrapes. Her front tooth was chipped, her lips cracked, but her eyes were vivid, magnificent. She knew they were, because Rall said so. She didn’t lie about such things.
But Shaea and Xane had agreed to hide their looks. They’d concealed their lovely faces, their bright eyes and their lithe bodies under the armour of filth. Any appeal remained occult, and they found ways to live without using it. When Shaea looked at the girls and boys who sold their bodies on the streets—the ones who had food most days and a bed of sorts to sleep in, the ones who had water to wash with and kept their faces clean, hair untangled—she wondered if it had been the best choice. When she saw them in the morning after a bad night’s work, she knew it was.
Her grime was her best friend and it had been Xane’s too, until he got the apprenticeship. After that it shocked her to see him, fresh, neat, smelling of pine chips and newly cut hay. His hands were still calloused but they were usually clean, even the fingernails. He’d filled out too, no longer looking like a rake with rags hanging off it. She knew he tried to hide his repugnance of her condition, and his guilt, now that he lived a different life, but it showed through all that cleanliness like a beacon. It should have been me, shot in the neck. I should have died, not you, Xane. You had the potential.
Should?
Rall said there was no should. Funny, coming from such a haggard witch. She sighed, her pace slowing. Her repulsive appearance was her only companion in the world now that Xane was gone. What would replace it when she cleaned up?
By the time she reached the top of the steps, she was slick with sweat and black silt, the stink rising from her skin like the vapours off a tallow pot. She headed for the main drain, a mosaic tunnel that bore straight through the mountainside and into the city. It was dark, the tiles slimy, with only a distant glimmer of daylight at the other end to guide her. Sometimes it would be blocked with mesh to keep out the rats, but not today. Thank the goddess.
She waded through the brown water towards the heart of Corsanon. It was waist high at one point but she was lucky. It didn’t get any higher, though the water was cold, the surface oily. Goosebumps rose on her arms and the weight of her treasures slowed her down as she trudged. Her skin was blue and her limbs shivering by the time she climbed out. She slunk away, keeping to the shadows, heading for her familiar alley.
Finding Rall was easy. The woman never ventured far from her spot on the corner—her begging place, she called it. It was near the bakery and served a dual purpose. Stale bread was tossed into the bins at random times and Rall was always close to hand. She had to be. Her lameness made it difficult for her to compete for the crusts—often they were gone before she could stand. But she was a witch and that kept others from knocking her back. It also paid