Free Suited by Jo Anderton Page B

could do was lie down, keep still, and dream half-dreams of blood, and debris writhing, the Hon Ji Half’s voice, and the puppet men walking, ever walking, through the darkness.
    Dim, slowly, I woke. Fitful light shone through the window beside the bed from the lamps on the street. Gingerly, I sat up. I was still dressed in the coat and the clothes I had worn to go collecting. Not trusting my legs I eased the jacket off and dropped it to the floor. I shrugged myself out of my long-sleeved, loose woollen shirt, and it fell to pieces in my hands.
    The light from the street was dim, but it was enough. My uniform was torn. Great rents, gashes, as though made with claws, ran their way over my stomach.
    Lightheaded, I hooked fingers under the edge of the material and rolled it up. My stomach was a mess of cuts and fresh, purple bruises. The cuts were already filled with silver. How deep did they go? What damage had the suit done, only to heal me? I thought of the notches in my ear and face, the new ones I had made this afternoon, and now these. With each wound I was more suit, and less me.
    As the nausea rose again I scrambled up to the top of the bed. I lay above the blankets, not feeling the cold, not feeling anything but ill and thin. Taut, and unreal.

3.
     
    Thankfully, the Keeper did not disturb us the next day. It gave Natasha a chance to drag us around in a panic of her own until we had filled all the jars we could carry. She was worried about quota. I understood that. Failure to meet our debris quota would bring nothing but veche attention, attention we did not need. Another excuse to break us up, and take Lad away from even my pathetic supervision. I knew we had to do everything in our power to make sure that didn’t happen.
    But that didn’t make it any easier, or me any less exhausted. So when I returned home that evening I was pining for Rest – so I could, well, rest – but Valya met me at the bottom of the stairs and I knew it was not meant to be.
    “Tomorrow, we will leave early.” She held a pot out in front of her, hands protected from its heat by several layers of towel. It steamed in the cold evening air, giving her a ghostly halo.
    “We will?” Or I could sleep. Actually sleep seemed like a much better idea.
    “Of course!” She looked shocked. “There is no time to waste. I thought you understood.”
    “Yes. I do.” But my legs were weak and my stomach rolling and all I wanted to do was lie down. “Tomorrow then.”
    “You must meet the others. We must begin.” She forced the heavy, lidded pot into my hands. Even through the cloth it was so hot I fought the need to drop it. “Must eat.” She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Can’t fight if you don’t eat.”
    The pot was full of a thick vegetable soup. I managed a few spoonfuls, fought the need to be sick, lay on the bed, ate a few more. It became the evening’s unsettling routine.
    Dawnbell, Rest morning, and Valya dragged me from my warm blankets with her knocking. She would not leave until I had returned the pot – empty, and she made a point of checking – then promised to dress. We were outside and walking down the bare, icy streets before breakbell had even sounded.
    The old woman did not speak, which was good, because I didn’t feel alert enough to hold a conversation. I did, however, slowly realise where we were going.
    “Are we going to Kichlan’s house?” I asked, slurping the words with frozen, half-awake lips.
    She made a sour-taste face. “Eugeny’s house, you mean. Your team members merely board there.”
    I rubbed gloved fingers together, breathed hot air into my palms and cupped them against my cheeks. “So, you know Eugeny.” I supposed I wasn’t that surprised. Eugeny had sent us to Yicor, when I needed kopacks and somewhere to live. Yicor had sent us to Valya. Eugeny and Valya were similar in some ways. They both seemed to believe soup could cure anything. They both watched and understood from their quiet