Bad Seed

The Black Guardsmen always left their mark on Market Day.

“Witness the punishment given to those who choose a life of wickedness and deceit! Watch how the Black Guardsmen bring justice to the Darkzone!”

Elsa joined the line for the ferry, unable to escape the enforcer’s piercing voice. Raised on a podium, the guard and his victims were visible to everyone in the waiting crowd. The line shuffled forward, the narrow entrance to the jetty hampering its speed.

She drew level with the enforcer’s most recent example of justice. The Smoker wept, his tears streaming across the fresh ‘L’ seared into his gaunt cheek. The red scorch mark repulsed Elsa and she thanked the light that she’d missed the act, even if the sickening scent of singed flesh still lingered in the air.

The enforcer waved the used poker over the heads of the crowd. He pushed the crying man off the podium and pointed in the direction of the Alley.

“Go back to your wretched life, Smoker, and never forget the price for lying to the Black Guards!”

He tossed the cooling brand into the blazing fire barrel and turned to his next victim, a sinewy man in his late thirties. Two cadets held the Smoker in place, though neither seemed comfortable in their role.

“This Smoker is a traitor to his kind!” The enforcer began. “He was found in the caves near the surface. He wanted to leave and try his chances living above.”

The guard’s tone and gestures grew more exuberant.

“What a nerve this selfish, cowardly miscreant has! Imagine if he’d succeeded in his quest. Imagine if his unworthy body had reached the surface, polluting it, rotting it like a canker, spoiling it for future generations. Because, make no mistake, such is the damage one undeserving man can do.”

The enforcer selected a poker from the coals and raised it so the crowd could see the glowing red ‘O’ at its tip.

“For this crime, the Black Guardsmen mark him as an outsider. His face will forever serve as a reminder—no one in or out of the underground without the Keeper’s permission!”

The guard advanced toward his victim. The Smoker fought against the cadets’ hold and managed to break away. They captured him before he could leave the podium and wrestled him back to centre stage. All the while the Smoker screamed at the crowd. “Don’t listen to him! We’re all prisoners, you hear. Yes, the outside holds terror, but at least we would be free. Why should the Keeper decide who is worthy? Don’t look away. Rise up and—”

The enforcer grabbed the Smoker’s chin and squeezed his mouth shut. “Such-lies-you-tell. I think I’ll take your tongue after your branding, so you may never utter your thoughtless words again.”

Elsa reached the front of the line. A guard manned the gateway to the main jetty. Two red painted crosses flanked him, like bodies stretched to their limits. The guard held out his hand for the fee. In her haste to escape the events unfolding behind her, she threw her two lumieres at him.

“For me and my cart,” Elsa rushed.

The smoker’s screamed out a horrible, torturous song.

“Please, let me through.”

He stepped out of her way and Elsa pushed her heavy load through the boarded gateway, sickened to her stomach. Her cart built up momentum, and Elsa kept moving along the jetty until she could go no further without falling off the edge. She engaged the brake and took a deep, shuddering breath.

Elsa didn’t understand why such things still affected her. For the past ten years, she’d witness cruelty on an almost daily basis. She should be immune to it now. The other Smokers moving through the gateway seemed able to filter out the violence, so why couldn’t she? Often, it was only her rituals that kept her from breaking down. Rama had told her to mentally push the things that distressed her from her mind.

“Imagine a white porcelain cup,” the older woman had said, “invaded by a black bug. Each time it tried to cross the rim, flick it out. Keep doing it until it gets the message and fails to return.”

Her uncle had taught her to count. He’d encouraged her to take comfort in the order of numbers and the precision of time. Earlier still, a friend from her childhood had taught her to draw symbols and shapes. These were Elsa’s go-to strategies, her methods for banishing the darkness and her fear. Sometimes one alone succeeded, sometimes she needed all three, and sometimes nothing worked at all and Elsa felt filthy, tainted and afraid for days after an incident.

“A white cup invaded by a black bug… white cup, black bug…”

Elsa imagined the cup, over and over, until her breathing was under control.

Around her, the jetty filled with Smokers carrying baskets or towing handmade trolleys. They talked in hushed voices that quietened further each time a guard marched by, but it was clear they were excited to be leaving the Darkzone.

Market day was also Elsa’s favourite day. It was their main source of income. Her uncle had worked her hard these past hours to fill the handcart. Her fingers ached from sewing ripped clothing, twisting wires, hammering nails and gluing tiny pieces of porcelain together. She was tired to her bones, but the effort had been worth it. Repaired junk filled every storage compartment of her cart and Elsa felt confident she would make more than a few sales.

Out on the lake, the ferry appeared. It chugged across the water, a noisy, flaking barge that seemed ready to sink at any moment. It entered the dock and added its electric lights to the torches along the pier. The ferryman checked its speed, reversing hard enough to make the dark water around the boat’s hull froth and churn. Elsa winced as the gears screeched. The barge came to a stop and its pipes belched a load of smoke into the already sooty air. A dockworker caught the rope the ferrymen threw over the side. He looped it around the mooring and helped lower the walkway directly in front of Elsa.

From the barge a group of guards exited, their easy smiles and relaxed attitude a sign they had returned from leisure time in the city. With an unpleasant drop in her stomach, Elsa noticed Melker amongst them.

While the other guards dragged their feet, the captain strode across the deck. He wore the standard black uniform of a Guardsmen, but his superior rank was clear: the dark fabric of his tunic was immaculate, every button aligned and every crease crisp and in its place; his raven hair was pulled into a short, neat ponytail; and over one shoulder he carried a rifle, the only official mark of his higher status. Melker stepped off the walkway and his dark eyes fastened on hers. There was nowhere for her to hide. He stopped, blocking Elsa’s path onto the ferry, and waited for her to speak.

“Hello, Melker.”

The captain frowned, telling her in an instant she’d failed his test. “Hello? Is that all you have to say to me?”

Smokers pushed past her on either side. They knocked against Elsa, though she noticed they gave Melker a wide berth. She tried to keep her voice pleasant.

“How are you?”

Melker’s handsome face soured. “Irritated. The Keeper summoned me to Haven to give an update of hostile sentiments in the Darkzone.”

“The Keeper suspects another uprising?”

Melker went on as if Elsa hadn’t spoken. “As if I don’t have enough to do already without attending to her each time a member of the council mistakes indigestion for a gut-feeling. They’re all a bunch of paranoid fools.”

Elsa shrank at his words. If a Smoker were to even whisper such criticisms of the Haven City Council, they would have found themselves locked up inside a Guardhouse cell before they finished their sentence. But Melker was the leader of the Black Guardsmen, and it seemed he could say what he liked, at whatever volume he liked.

“I came to see you earlier,” he said, changing the subject.

“Yes. My mother told me.”

The ferryman called for the stragglers on the pier to quicken their pace. The passengers filled the centre of the deck.

Melker ducked to capture her gaze. “I expected to find you at home.”

“I was held up on an errand,” Elsa said. “I’m sorry if you waited long.”

Melker adjusted the rifle on his shoulder. “Longer than I liked. Sitting with your mother is not how I prefer to spend my free time.”

“Of course not,” Elsa said. “Thank you for your visit, and the supplies. My mother and I were grateful.”

“I didn’t do it for her.”

Elsa wasn’t sure what to say in return. The ferry’s whistle warned that it would soon pull away. She moved around to the handle on her cart and released the brake. “I’m sorry, Melker, but I really must go.”

Melker grasped Elsa’s wrist with his gloved hand, preventing her from moving. He was too close, but she was unable to step back. “Your mother tells me you’re seeking a Junking permit.”

Elsa hesitated. The conversation with her uncle was still fresh in her mind. “Yes. That was—is the plan. On my eighteenth birthday, in fact.”

The black leather of his glove pressed against her skin. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

“I’m an apprentice,” Elsa said. “I’ll need the permit to continue my uncle’s work.”

“Your uncle’s business is one of the Keeper’s bizarre indulgences. The council has never recognised Junking as a legitimate occupation.”

“Perhaps, but it’s still my trade.”

“You’re Bad Seed.”

She tightened her grip on the handle. “There’s nothing in the Keeper’s rules to say I cannot go to the surface, as long as I can pay for the permit and get the Keeper’s permission, I’m like everyone else.”

“But the surface, Elsa? Is that really necessary?”

“If I want to be a Junker, then yes, it is.”

“It’s far too dangerous,” Melker said.

“Things have settled in the last few years,” she lied, unwilling to confide in him about the attack on her uncle. “More permanent settlements are forming…the roads are safer…and anyway, my uncle thinks I’m good at my work.”

Melker released her hand and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared down at her. “I question whether your uncle has prepared you appropriately for the dangers of the surface, no matter how much you say it’s settled. I’d hate for something to happen to you when I’m not there, and for what? Bits of metal piping and old tyre tubes.”

She gritted her teeth. Melker loved to tell her how to feel and what to think. He studied her face and his eyes narrowed.

“You’re upset with me. I thought you’d appreciate my honesty.”

“I do.” Her second lie.

Before he could respond a guard further down the pier called his name. Melker waved his gloved hand in answer. “I have to go. Make sure you’re home next time.”

Elsa resisted the urge to retort that he wasn’t her Keeper. Melker moved off without a backwards glance and left her to wrangle the heavy cart up the ramp alone. The ferryman scowled at her the entire time, and she was barely aboard when he called for his helper to remove the plank.

She pushed her cart into the only free space at the very edge of the deck. A cargo boat pulled passed them, heading into the open water, and the ferry rose and fell on its wake. Elsa felt off-balance. She closed her eyes, but this made her unsteadiness worse. Elsa opened them again and caught her distorted reflection in the dark rolling water, a small pale figure against a backdrop of shadows.

She’d always hated this crossing to Haven. It combined two of her greatest fears: the dark and water. The ferry gave a two-whistle salute causing her to jump in fright. Elsa clung to the handle of her cart with sweaty palms and a growing feeling of dread. The shallow barge shuddered to life.

“Oh light. Here we go.” She reminded herself to breathe and focused on Rama’s black bug.

So intent was Elsa on controlling her terror, that she didn’t notice the trouble on the dock until it was almost alongside the barge. In fact, it was only when the Smokers around her began a stream of excited chatter that she looked back.

The port’s neat system had turned to mayhem. Guards raced up and down the jetties and others closed the gateways. Dogs barked and strained against their leashes. Men on the opposite pier waved their hands and pointed.

“What’s happening?” Elsa asked the nearest Smoker.

“Some tip rat was trying to sneak onto the ferry. The dogs rooted him out and now the sorry mite’s cowering beneath the pier.”

Melker returned to the jetty and inserted himself into the middle of the pandemonium, calling for calm. He followed two enormous hounds, their noses pressed hard to the splintering wood. The pair halted halfway down the pier. Lying on his belly, he leant over the side.

“I see you!”

Melker leaped to his feet and ordered several of his men to descend rusty ladders at the jetty’s side. They swung down to the metal beams to continue the chase. Melker gave a stream of commands from his position above.

On the ferry there even was more confusion. Two guards simultaneously shouted at the ferry driver to leave the port and to stay. The gears crunched as the driver alternated between the men’s orders. Water churned about the boat in violent frothy spurts and the sudden changes in direction jerked Elsa back and forth. Finally, the ferryman had enough of their contradicting directions. He accelerated hard, sending a cloud of smoke into the air.

Into this choking haze, a small figure scrambled onto the wooden platform and sprinted towards them.

“Come on, boy!” A Smoker shouted and an encouraging cheer went up amongst the men and women around her.

The boy closed in on the ferry. Melker released a dog from its restraints. It sprinted after the tip rat, gaining on him fast, and pounced. They fell together and landed hard on the wood. The hound recovered first. He clamped his fangs into the boy’s arm. The boy cried out and went for the hound with his knife. The dog yelped and let go.

More guards appeared from beneath the pier, scurrying onto the platform like glossy black cockroaches. The boy met them head on. He fought dirty, going for groins and eyes. A guard tumbled into the lake below with a great splash, causing an equally great cheer from the Smokers watching. In quick succession, two more guards followed.

“By the darkness,” a man said behind her. “He’s going to beat them.”

Elsa heard several other Smokers agree, but she held no such illusion. The boy wouldn’t win, because Melker never lost. Elsa hadn’t even finished the thought when an ear-splitting gunshot cracked across the pier. Guards and Smokers flattened themselves to the ground. Only the boy and Melker remained upright, standing opposite each other.

The scene remained unchanged for one long moment, then the boy wobbled on his feet and collapsed. The Guards and dogs surrounded him, blocking him from view—not that it mattered. The boy was as good as dead now.

The Smokers on the barge fell quiet. There wasn’t a single word, whimper or whisper. No sound, but the barge’s engine and the slap of water. Their stunned silence was a song Elsa knew by heart.

The ferry entered open water. It pushed through the darkness on its path towards the Day Port and Haven.