I don’t tell her the pretty bit of fluff is Alice. They obviously haven’t communicated with Thorn since we left headquarters, and I’m just too ashamed to admit my best friend might still sabotage the mission, intentionally or otherwise.
‘He’s taking her into town for a bit of shopping,’ Matthew says.
This definitely wasn’t in canon. The anger from my argument with Alice returns. She’s risking everything just so she can live out her fanfic fantasies, taking us further and further from the story. Further from home. I get this sick feeling in my stomach because deep down, I know I’m partly to blame – I should never have gone to the bunker with Ash, I should never have let that butterfly flap its bastard wings.
Saskia looks a little smug. ‘If you want to convince that Gem-brat to give up Daddy’s secrets, you better be the only girl he wants to . . .’ She makes an obscene gesture with her hands. Matthew bursts out laughing.
‘So what do you want me to do?’ I ask.
‘You can work at the market today,’ Saskia replies. ‘You and Nate.’
Matthew nods. ‘The Gems love to visit the market, makes ’em feel all superior, watching us Imps toil. Just make sure you remind him who he really wants.’
We travel on an Imp-bus through the market town. This set wasn’t in canon, so I see the sleek lines of the Gem town – forged from glass and steel – for the first time. They look like an artist’s impression of the future; all airbrushed and clean. Already, scents of garlic and caramel weave towards us as the restaurants prepare for lunch. I see Gems through the smeared panes of the bus, strolling by, making small talk, or stopping to absorb the window displays, tilting their chins and revealing their CGI-perfect profiles.
Without permission, my eyes dart up and down the boulevard, seeking a glimpse of Alice, her hand wrapped in Willow’s. But I can only see the signs which adorn every shop window, every restaurant door. A picture of an ape trapped behind a diagonal red line. No Imps allowed. My tongue sticks to my teeth as a stream of anger passes through me. They’re the animals, not us. They’re the ones that chop up their siblings, their children, all in the name of perfection.
We follow the curve of the boulevard, which eventually leads into a market square. This must be the old part of town, where the glass and steel is yet to reach. The stone facades of the modernized Imp buildings surround us, and fixed to a nearby wall, I see a large sign boasting a picture of an ape. I’m guessing it’s a warning that we’ve entered a mixed zone. My muscles tighten and I feel a bit like a jack-in-the-box.
Nate sighs. ‘It’s no fun being the ape, is it?’
I consider telling him about the Duplicates from last night, but I promised Ash I wouldn’t tell a soul, and I don’t want to burden Nate with it. So instead, I just say, ‘No fun at all.’
We file off the bus and join the throng. Imps move gracelessly between the stone pillars which demarcate the individual stalls, buying and selling goods for their Gem masters. There’s this wonderful smell of cooked meats and spices, and bright splashes of colour as spools of yarn turn in the breeze. The Gems stand out immediately. Tall, lean and self-important. Mostly soldiers, their rifles on display, but the occasional Gem civilian glides past, chin raised like a bad smell fills their nostrils, like we’re nothing more than animals. I twist my fingers together as though I can wring the anger from my body.
‘You can help me on the bread store,’ Saskia says, gathering her streaked hair into a loose plait.
We approach a wooden stall boasting an array of loaves. That warm, yeasty aroma reminds me of a family holiday in Brittany. Dad was always dragging us into the boulangeries, and Nate would laugh every time he tried to say it, pronouncing it with a hard ‘g’. I get this spearing pain just thinking of Dad, baguette crumbs lodged in his stubble.
Saskia hands us some pristine white gloves. I inch my fingers into them and begin straightening the loaves, so fresh their crusts fracture beneath my touch. Nate picks up a French stick and grins, and I suspect he remembers the hard ‘g’ too.
I’m wrapping a loaf in a sheet of waxed paper when I spot Ash on a nearby apple cart. He sees me and raises a dark eyebrow. He walks over, his limbs fluid and natural, and presents me with an apple, scarlet against the white of his gloves.
‘Push off, Squirrel,’ Saskia says.
‘I just wanted to talk to Violet. I’ll keep it brief, promise.’
A guard loiters nearby and Saskia obviously doesn’t want a scene, so she returns to counting out the coins and mutters, ‘Five minutes.’
He helps me wrap another loaf, but remains silent.
‘I thought you’d be back with your ma,’ I finally say.
‘I wanted to check you were OK after . . . you know.’ He lowers his voice so Nate and Saskia can’t hear. ‘I think I made a mistake showing you those things.’
‘I wanted to know the truth,’ I whisper back.
Our fingers connect momentarily as we reach for the same loaf, the material of our gloves bunching together. He glances up and smiles.
A voice cuts through the air. ‘Where are your gloves, Imp?’
The guard looks straight at us. My heart leaps into my mouth. I glance down and see the white cotton of our hands. Which means he’s either talking to Saskia . . . or Nate.
I spin around, my worst fear confirmed, the peach of Nate’s uncovered hands peering through a light dusting of flour.
I watch the terror cross his face as he realizes the guard is addressing him.
‘I – I—’ His words knot together. ‘My hands were . . . hot.’
The guard narrows his emerald eyes. ‘Your hands were . . . hot?’
Nate’s body seems to shut down – chest stops rising, eyes stop blinking, fingers dig into the edge of the counter. I feel an overwhelming urge to rush to him, to scoop him up and protect him. But Ash whispers, ‘Don’t’, and the fear of making things worse stills me.
The guard tightens his grip on his rifle. ‘Have you been putting your grubby Imp hands all over our Gem food?’
Nate tries to shake his head, but instead just moves his eyes from side to side.
The guard scowls, his face pinched, like he’s just yanked a drawstring which connects all his features together. ‘Cat got your tongue and your gloves?’
Saskia steps forward, eyes lowered, palms up like she’s surrendering. ‘I’m so sorry, officer. I will see that he’s suitably punished. I will cane him myself when we return to our estate.’
I’ve never heard her sound so obliging. I guess she’s trying to save him from a worse fate than caning. Sweat pricks the back of my neck and I can feel my thighs beginning to shake.
The guard dismisses her with a wave of the hand. ‘Shut it, slave. Unless you want to lose your hands too.’
‘NO!’ It bursts from my mouth without permission.
The guard swivels. ‘Who said that?’
I open my mouth to reply, but the world looks kind of fuzzy and I forget where I am for a second.
‘I did,’ Ash says.
The guard laughs. ‘That’s a remarkably feminine voice you’ve got there, Imp.’ He glares at him. ‘Seems like we could do with a good amputation, just to keep you all in line.’