I clasp the girl’s arm, no thicker than a bird’s leg. ‘Follow me.’
We dash downstairs, scanning the empty rooms – furniture tipped over, carpets glittering with glass fragments, bedsheets stained with blood. No signs of life – Imp or Gem. We stumble into the display room. Again, only ghosts remain.
‘Go home,’ I say to the girl.
She nods, tears gathering in her eyes. ‘Thank you.’ She scuttles from the room.
Ash and I stand alone, listening to the music and the sound of our own breath. His hands tremble and the gun knocks rhythmically against his thigh.
‘Where have they gone?’ I finally ask. In canon, the rebels freed the concubines and left the Gems behind – battered and humiliated and unlikely to open another Imp brothel for a very long time.
‘The Coliseum,’ Ash says. ‘Thorn told us to take the Gems to the Coliseum.’
I don’t bother asking why, I already know the answer – I’m the clumsy twat of a butterfly that put the idea in Thorn’s head after all. A convulsion grows at the base of my spine threatening to empty my stomach as I remember my earlier words: They deserve to dance on the gallows and know how it feels.
The Coliseum. I have to go back to the Coliseum. It’s like the canon’s beckoning, keeping me on track. I just can’t seem to escape those gallows. The city gates come into view. I see two squaddies drooping in their podiums, bowing to the gallows with blood in their hair. We approach with caution. The closer we get, the more the floodlights sting my eyes.
‘They must have looped the security feed,’ Ash says.
‘Quickly,’ I say, grabbing his hand. ‘We have to stop Thorn hanging the Gems.’
‘Sorry, what? Why would we do that?’
‘Do you remember what you said to me in the orchard?’
He looks at me blankly. ‘Don’t shag the demigod, shag me?’
I smile. ‘No, you said that only the Gem people can rise up and stop the barbarity against the Imps.’
‘I said that? Sounds clever.’
‘Well the whole point of this mission was to show the Gems that they are the ruthless animals, not the Imps. If we simply kill them, they’ll never think of us as humans. They’ll never rise up.’
He studies my face. ‘You never did fancy the demigod, did you?’
‘Hell yeah! Did you see those abs?’
Ash laughs and kisses me on the lips.
We slip into the Coliseum, using the same wooden door I stumbled from a week or so ago, still dressed in my cosplay outfit, confused and scared. It all looks so different beneath the stark beacons, all peaks and dips, angles and shadows, more like the vision from my mind blend with Baba. And I feel so different, so full of purpose. When I think of the canon, of Rose and Willow running through the sewers, just skulking away to the river, I feel a sense of pride that I chose to help the Imps. Hope starts as a little flower, I think to myself.
In the distance, I see rebels guarding the various entrances. Backs stooped, guns tipped skywards, alert and ready to shoot. At the other end of the Coliseum looms the rickety stage, topped with a broad beam and dangling ropes. The tiny hairs on my body awaken, a ripple of nervousness passing beneath my skin. A line forms before the gallows. I can tell they’re Gems from the breadth of their chests, the length of their legs. The rebels wave their guns, forcing the line to climb awkwardly on to the stage. Imps crawl across the top of the beam like insects.
I’m about to move, when a familiar voice pulls me back.
‘Wait up.’ Nate stands at the door, looking smaller than ever.
I run to him. ‘You’re supposed to wait with Saskia and Matthew.’
He grins, his face all teeth and dimples. ‘I gave them the slip, ooh they’ll be pissed.’
‘Jesus, Nate, this is too dangerous.’
‘This affects me too.’ He puffs out his chest, trying to seem older.
Ash takes him gently by the shoulders. ‘You’re a kid. You need to leave.’
Nate shakes his head. ‘And you haven’t got a clue, Squirrel.’ He ducks to one side and breaks into a run, streaming across the Coliseum towards the gallows. We follow, stopping only when we reach the stage. This close, I can make out Darren perching on the beam, checking the lashings one by one. Thorn stands beneath, his forearms tensing as he fastens a series of slipknots.
I shove past the terrified Gems and vault on to the stage. ‘Thorn, wait.’
He sees me. ‘You want to help?’
‘You can’t hang them,’ I say.
‘Why the hell not? They hang us every Saturday.’
‘And it’s wrong. You know it’s wrong.’
He grabs a nearby Gem and positions him above a trapdoor. The blond hair twinkles in the stark lights. Howard Stoneback – his eyes still glassy from the draught. A gag muffles his words, but I can tell from the whimpering that he’s attempting to plead with me.
Thorn ploughs his fist into Howard’s ear. ‘Shut it.’ He turns to me. ‘The condemned Imps are innocent. These Gems are rapists, sadists, some are paedophiles. If you don’t like it, then look away.’
The violence still shocks me. I can’t help but look at Nate – hovering at the base of the stage, face drawn in horror. I should have forced him to leave, carried him kicking and screaming back to Saskia.
‘This is murder,’ I say.
‘It’s the price of freedom.’ Thorn shoves a rope over Howard’s crown, pushing the knot into the base of his neck. ‘Half of these Gems are politicians. Do you realize the publicity we’ll get, the stand we’ll make, when their bodies are found hanging from the gallows?’ He crushes Howard’s cheeks so that his lips stick out around his gag. ‘This bastard here is Howard Stoneback. Howard bloody Stoneback.’
The rebels begin to follow suit, pushing the Gems on to trapdoors, fumbling with lengths of cord. Only Ash stands motionless, his hand resting on my shoulder.
I grip Thorn’s hand, the one which encircles a length of rope. ‘If we behave like animals, they will never think us human.’
‘They deserve to dance on the gallows and know how it feels,’ Thorn says. ‘Your own words, Little Flower. If you were a true rebel, you would make them dance.’
A few Gems begin to weep. A puddle of urine stretches across the floor, nudging up against my boots.
Ash steps forward. ‘What if we could still get the publicity – still make a stand?’
‘Go on,’ Thorn says.
‘We sit them on the stage, nooses around their necks, and then we write across their chests, telling the world of their crimes. Then we alert the Gem media. Even the government couldn’t spin a story like that.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ I say. ‘We take the moral high ground.’
Thorn glances from my face to the trapdoors, gouges both hands into his eyes and makes a strange noise like a balloon deflating. ‘But they deserve to die. They have to be punished.’