“People around here don’t see anything. I know a couple of good places that we can go.”
I’m sceptical, but I don’t want us to spend our remaining time together arguing, so I agree. Lake doesn’t even bother to lock the room when we leave — we don’t own anything anyway. I climb carefully down the ladder, which is more difficult than climbing up, before arriving back in the bar. It’s empty except for the publican, who’s sleeping in a hammock hung from one end of the bar to a hook in the wall, snoring loudly.
Outside, Lake takes my hand and leads me through a labyrinth of interconnecting alleyways lined with bags of rubbish spilling out into the street. His touch feels like it recharges my body and empties my mind. The next alley that we turn down is filled with people sitting on tiny stools, gathered around miniature white plastic tables weighed down by bowls of food. He points towards two empty stools, so I follow his gesture and sit down to survey my surroundings. It seems counterintuitive that he’s brought me to such a busy place, as it would only take one person to notify the officials for us to get into big trouble, fast.
With my peripheral vision I scan the restaurant, but nobody appears to have noticed our arrival. On the table next to me, four young children gather around a woman in her early twenties. They stare at the spoon in her hand, which she gently blows before spooning the contents into one of the hungry mouths; like a mother bird feeding her young. My heart contracts at the thought of my mother, but I smile to myself. Even if we are rotten, we aren’t rotten to the core just yet. Somehow I feel like the responsibility for the future of the compound has fallen to me, and I’ll do everything within my power to ensure that the youngest generation have a life that’s worth living.
Lake saunters up to a red-faced woman standing behind two large metal vats. They chat as she lifts the lids in turn, letting the steam billow out into the cold morning air, and ladles out a bowl from each. Carefully he carries the overfilled bowls to where I’m sitting.
“Which one do you want, lentil broth,” Lake says, raising the bowl in his left hand. “Or chicken noodle soup?”
“I’m fine with either, but given the choice I’d prefer the noodles.”
“Fine by me,” he replies, handing me the bowl from his right hand.
Lake takes grabs the other stool and begins spooning the thick brown broth into his mouth. I move the noodles back and forth, peering into the clear liquid, before finally taking a mouthful. It actually tastes better than I’d expected and I surprise myself with the amount that I’m able to eat.
When we’ve finished eating a young boy collects our bowls before returning with two small glasses of a pale yellow/brownish liquid. Lake takes a glass, so I mimic his actions and take the other.
“OUCH,” I yell, slamming the glass down on the table. “That’s hot!”
“It’s tea. It’s really common down this end to have a glass of sweetened tea to round off a meal.”
“Oh,” I say, nodding. “Are second degree burns included in the price or are they extra?”
He grins widely. “They’re free, like the tea. Hold the glass by the rim at the top, where there’s no tea, it’s cooler.”
I sip my tea slowly to delay returning to the dingy room above the bar where we’ll wait for darkness to fall. I watch an old lady sat on a stool a short distance away, sipping her tea in much the same way. Perhaps she feels death’s icy breath down her neck too and like me she’s trying to study everything in minute detail in case it’s the last time she sees it.
As if I’ve been speaking out aloud, Lake says, “I’m gonna walk you back now. I need to go on a recce to the irrigation tower so we know the layout beforehand.”
“Well then shouldn’t I go too?”
Lake shakes his head apologetically. “Sorry, it would just be too risky.”
The walk back to the room seems as unfamiliar as the walk to the street cafe. In the short time since we passed, the streets have changed and are now lined with street sellers busy touting for custom. People thrust bags of hot food in our direction as we pass, the contents of which are turning the paper bags clear in places. A small girl with a grubby face and matted hair make a beeline for Lake with a box of matches in her outstretched hand. He shakes his head, telling her that he’s not buying today, but I catch a flash of silver as he slips her a coin as we pass. Around the next corner an open fire has been started in the middle of the road and people jostle for position, holding their skewered meat in the golden flames.
Despite living in such a small compound for sixteen years, this world is alien to me. I wonder whether my mother even knew that it existed, or if she’d knowingly kept me from it. A short time ago I’d have known the answer to that question for sure, but now I’m less convinced. She clearly did know things that she didn’t tell me about, something that she lost her life trying to conceal from the officials, but I don’t know how deep this runs.
I see a large reddish-brown stain on the cobbled street as we approach the entrance of the alehouse, and a trail of spots leading down the street and around the corner. I look to Lake for reassurance, but he walks past without even noticing the blood. I suppose that he’s used to it. I’m reminded that Narrowmarsh is a high energy and vibrant place, volatile and explosive in equal measures.
“I want you to go up to the room and wait for me. I should only be about an hour,” Lake says in a quiet voice and pushes the key into my palm. He waits for me to push the door open before marching deeper into Narrowmarsh.
I pass swiftly through the bar and begin climbing the ladder without looking back. Rushing down the corridor, I count the numbers on the doors, 16... 17... 18. I try to insert the key into the lock but the door swings open when I touch it, and I remember that it wasn’t locked. Once inside I lock the door behind myself and sprint over the window. I scan the street below looking for Lake, but the maze of streets has already swallowed him up. Suddenly, an official with greasy slicked back hair emerges from a narrow alleyway, followed by others. The leader looks up and down the street and for a moment I’m hopeful that he’s lost track of Lake, before he surges in the direction of the irrigation tower.
NO! I scream silently, covering my mouth with my hand and pressing my face against the window to follow them. I need to warn him.
Looking at the key in my hand, I can almost hear Lake’s voice in my head telling me to stay in the room. I don’t know my way around Narrowmarsh or anyone in it, I say to myself, willing my feet to stay put. Looking for Lake would be a suicide mission. I stare in the direction that the officials went, praying to whoever’s listening that news travels fast in Narrowmarsh, especially when officials are concerned.
A clatter outside startles me and I leap over to the door as the door handle turns, but something makes me pause.
“Hello?” I ask, as the handle rattles again.
“It’s me, Zia.” Lake’s voice calls from the other side of the door, and I feel my shoulders sag in relief. “Open up.”
He made it.
I have to use both hands to turn the key before I hear the mechanism clunk and feel Lake’s pressure on the door as he pushes it open. When he’s barely across the threshold I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him softly on the lips.
“I’ve only been gone an hour” he says with a laugh. “Miss me already?”
“Didn’t you see them?”
“Who?”
“The gang of officials that went after you.”
“No,” he replies, looking confused.
“They came out of one of the alleyways. I thought they might have been waiting for you.”
“Well if they were, they’re not fast enough. Unfortunately the irrigation tower is out on a bit of a limb so I ran a quick lap around it, but luckily it backs onto the tail end of Narrowmarsh. This is too far away for me to hide in whilst you meet Grant, but it will provide an effective escape if we get into trouble.”
Well, that answers one of my questions. He thinks that it’s better if I go alone, but predic
tably wants to be close by in case Grant has been compromised by the officials. “So where are you going to hide when I meet Grant?”
“There are some shrubs growing in a shallow ditch about four meters from the tower on the right-hand side. Meet him at either the front or the back of the tower, not the other side or I won’t be able to see you.”
“But how are you going to hide in there without them seeing you? And what if they notice you?” I ask, feeling increasingly apprehensive about his plan.
“I’ll leave here after supper tonight, under the cover of the evening rush, and make my way through Narrowmarsh to the irrigation tower. There I’ll conceal myself in the ditch to wait for night to fall and Grant to arrive. I want you to leave half an hour later than the arranged meeting time so that if Grant doesn’t show up or the setup strikes me as suspicious, I’ve got time to get back and tell you before you leave.”
He touches my cheek tenderly as I mull the plan over in my mind. I agree that it’s a well thought-out plan, but it seems dependent on so many factors that I can’t see how it’s going to work. Again I’m haunted by Redd’s words resonating in my mind, like an echo or a ghost, ‘You’ll both probably be dead by morning.’
***
For the rest of the day neither of us mention the impending meeting, probably because there isn’t much to talk about since we don’t know what to expect, but it hangs over me like heavy smog, clouding everything that I do or think about. Lake ducks out of the room and reappears a few minutes later carrying a rough looking acoustic guitar with only five strings. He plucks the strings one by one, adjusting their tightness, and then strums some chords the best he can without the top E string. Then he begins to sing.
“Hey little girl I know you stole that ring inside your hand,
But little girl where did you find that twinkle in your eye?
Officials are one street behind you so you’d better run,
But come this way tomorrow and I’ll make you an offer.”
His skilful fingers press down the strings with his left hand and rhythmically strum them with his right. His voice is deep but soft and resonates around the empty room. He teaches me some old traditional Narrowmarsh songs that are sung in alehouses, usually about outsmarting the officials or a blissful night spent with a scarlet lady. For a short amount of time I almost forget why we’re here, but not quite.
Around four o’clock in the afternoon Lake goes downstairs to have a word with the publican, and twenty minutes later his wife arrives at our room with a tray of food and two mugs of ale. I don’t feel hungry and I can’t force myself to eat more than a few mouthfuls. We sit in silence. I know why he’s ordered food at this unorthodox time; it’s because he intends to leave soon after we’ve finished eating. I rack my brain for some parting words to say when he leaves, but they all just sound like a eulogy of our short tumultuous relationship. At least I think we’re in a relationship. There’s a heavy feeling in my stomach as he drains the dregs from his mug and replaces it back on the tray.
Lake stands by the window and peers down into the streets below. “It’s starting to get busier. We need to go over the plan once more time, then I’ll get moving.”
His voice sounds oddly serene, but I notice that the hair on the back of his neck clings to his skin, which shines with perspiration. I nod, despite knowing that he isn’t looking, because I don’t trust my voice enough to try and speak.
Lake turns back to look at me, and for a brief moment I think that I see my fear reflected in his hazel eyes before it’s concealed. “I’ll walk through Narrowmarsh and hide close to the tower. Then you’re going to leave half an hour late to meet Grant there.”
“Wait, how will I know what the time is, I don’t have a watch?” Anymore.
Lake pauses for a moment. “I can punch the landlord in the face and get your watch back, or you can sit down in the bar when it’s dark because there’s a clock on the wall.” His face becomes serious again, “If I haven’t returned or sent word back, walk to the irrigation tower. Take your time and keep your wits about you. If anything seems odd or goes wrong I want you to run deep into Narrowmarsh. Head into any public house or brothel and give them this money and my name in return for your concealment.” Lake reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and hands me a gold crown.
“Can’t I just go back to your apartment? Surely your gang will help if they know you’re in trouble.”
“No,” he snaps and then softens. “I fear I’ve been superseded and no help will come. Just run and I’ll find you.” Lake offers me a weak smile but makes no attempt to hide his concern.
I lean forward and kiss him on the lips. I feel them part and his hand cradle the back of my head before he kisses me on the forehead and rises to his feet. He takes the sharp knife off the tray and slides it into his belt, then exits the room in silence. He looks me dead in the eyes one last time before pulling the door closed behind him. I stare at the door for long moments after he leaves, thinking that I should have said something, but it all happened so suddenly and I hadn’t known what to say. I love you. Be safe.
I jump to my feet and rush over to the window just in time to see Lake disappearing into the crowd. “This is the beginning,” I cry out but he doesn’t hear me. “Not the end,” I whisper to myself.
Chapter Fourteen
I pace the width of the room impatiently, propelled by restless energy. Every time I pass the window I glance out at the sky, watching it get duller as dusk falls. When the room becomes dark enough to warrant flicking the ceiling light on, I head down to the bar so that I can watch the time. The music grows louder as I descend the ladder and I can smell tobacco being smoked.
Gently I push the door open and slip into the unexpectedly busy bar. People sit in small groups around tables weighed down by mugs of different coloured liquids. The atmosphere is upbeat, the diametric opposite of when we arrived. In the far corner of the room stands a group of men in their late fifties clutching various instruments. A man with flaming red hair and bushy beard hops from foot to foot, playing furiously on the fiddle jammed under his chin.
I drum my fingers against my thigh in time with the beat as I walk around to the other side of the bar. There’s nobody serving so I take a seat on one of the stools pushed up against the bar and examine the bottles on the far wall to give me some idea of what to order. A woman with a stack of empty mugs in her hands makes her way over, following my gaze. She’s probably only a few years older than me, but she has the womanly wiles and charm of a lady that’s street smart and clever.
“What can I getcha?” she asks in a silvery voice that does nothing to disguise her Narrowmarsh accent.
“I’m not really sure,” I reply.
“Alright, I’ll come back inabit,” she replies, gathering the mugs again.
“Actually I don’t think that’s going to help.”
She pauses for a second and turns to look at me in more detail. “Oh, you must be the girl that Lake’s running around with.” I don’t know how to answer that, but fortunately I don’t think it was a question. “Where is he anyway?” she asks, scanning the room.
“He’s just nipped out, but he’ll be back soon,” I lie, in case anyone overhears our conversation.
She shrugs and turns back to look at the bottles on the wall. “We’ve ale, mead and a range of wines.”
I’ve heard my mother mention wine before and decide to try some for myself since it feels like I’ve transferred from childhood to adulthood in a single week. “What flavour wines do you have?”
“Erm, currently I think we have elderberry, apple and blackberry or orange,” she says, scanning the lower shelves.
I ponder the decision for a moment before punting for apple and blackberry. The young lady takes a glass from underneath the counter and polishes it on her skirt before placing it on the bar. She bends down, takes a bottle from the bottom shelf and removes the stopper, then pours the deep purple contents into the glass. She pushes the glas
s towards me and I fumble in my pocket for the coin that Lake gave me, but before I can produce it she waves me away with a hand and begins gathering mugs again. I suppose she doesn’t know that we won’t be returning here tonight, but I can’t explain that to her without giving too much away. I raise the glass to my lips and sip the sweet liquid like a hummingbird.
Turning around to watch the men play, I notice a clock on the wall above them. It’s half nine already. In forty minutes time I’ll walk out of the door to either get answers to my questions, or find out what it really means to be removed from the compound. I feel strangely content, almost glad that the waiting’s nearly over. I immerse myself in the music, letting it wash over me and take my troubles away with it. I even laugh out loud when one member of the jolly crew falls backwards off his chair, much to the amusement of the others, but I always keep one eye on the clock.
At ten past the hour I place my glass back on the bar for the final time. Walking towards the door I pull my hood up over my head to fight the cold autumn air and obscure my identity. Outside the streets are quieter than I’d hoped, so I hug the buildings as I make my way through the narrow streets. Everything looks different in the dark and I struggle to get my bearings until I spot the top of the irrigation tank peeking over the buildings.
The tank grows larger as I approach until I turn the last corner and the whole structure comes into view. Recalling Lake’s instructions I approach it from the right-hand side, but I can’t see Grant. I start to panic; maybe he left already, or maybe he was never here and the trap will snap closed at any moment. But I can’t see anyone.
I slow my pace to a crawl and inch my way towards the tower. Suddenly I see a figure step out of the shadows. Judging from the size, I think the person’s male. The figure has a full frame and walks with an awkward gait, lolloping heavily on one foot. As we move towards each other the light from Narrowmarsh is suddenly cast over his face and I see to my relief that it’s Grant.
Picking up my pace I rush to meet him. He outstretches his hand to mine, but I’m taken aback by his appearance and withdraw my hand from his reach. His eyes have sunken back into dark hollows and his lips are dry and cracked.