Beside me, Alice rests her head on Lexs shoulder, and he rubs her arm, says something in her ear that makes her smile.
A patrolman paces the aisle after the train has begun to move, and the girl in the blue tie plays with the ring hanging from her neck as she watches him. Im sure Im imagining the snarl she gives once he has passed by. Her eyes meet mine and I look away. I watch the sky slowly turning darker blue. In the long season, the sun burns until late evening, but the short season is approaching now and the days are getting shorter.
Well have two hours to burn, Alice says. Theres a tea shop at the end of the block we could try.
I smile. Okay.
Are you feeling okay? she says. You seem a little distant.
I feel the eyes of the girl in the blue tie watching me, though I dont look in her direction to confirm. And I feel the patrolman watching me, not just here but everywhere I go. For the first time in my life, I feel unsafe and I dont know how to help it. The king has insisted that we go about our lives as normal, that the patrolmen will keep us safe, but who was there to keep Daphne Leander safe?
Im okay, I say.
Dad shouldnt have let you watch the broadcast, Lex says. All its done is cause you to worry about everything.
I needed to see it, I say. I dont need to be sheltered.
Says the girl who still sleeps with the light on after I tell her a harmless ghost story.
That was years ago, I say. Im not a baby, you know.
I am certain it was only last season, Lex says, and his voice deepens when he adds, The tale of the ghost birds that flew into the city and pecked everyone to death.
I dont recall leaving any lights on, I say, and am impressed by my cool tone.
Dont listen to him, Alice says.
Do they sell sweets at the tea shop? I say. I skipped dinner and now Im hungry.
Im sure they do.
Lex says something about my teeth rotting out of my head and how the only way to stop me from crying as a baby was to give me sugar water, and the conversation moves into the comfort of trivial things. But in the window, among the clouds, I see the reflection of the girl in the blue tie. I cant shake the idea that she looks familiar, even though I cant remember ever seeing her in the city.
The train stops and Alice and I guide Lex onto the platform, keeping him out of the way of passengers entering and exiting. I feel a tug at the back of my shirt, and when I turn around, the girl in the blue tie is holding a silver star earring in her palm. You dropped this, she says. Her eyelids are smeared with pink glitter, and it isnt until after she has walked away that I realize why she looks so familiar. Shes a younger version of the murdered girl. They could be sisters. And they probably are.
The jumper group is held behind a closed door in a recreational room of the courthouse that used to be a holding cell for criminals decades ago. Even spouses, siblings, and parents arent allowed inside.
Alice straightens the collar of Lexs shirt and kisses him. Handsome, she accuses. Ill be right outside when its time to go home.
Ill be waiting, gorgeous, he says.
Gorgeous, she says, exhaling a little laugh. For all you know, Ive colored my face green.
Then youd be gorgeous and green, he says.
She does her best not to show it, but its hard for her to relinquish her husband into the care of a fellow jumper, who ushers him to the circle of chairs. Theyve always shared everything, and this is something he never talks about. Theres a camaraderie among these group members that never leaves the room.
The girl in the blue tie slips past us into the room and finds a seat. She looks so small and out of place there among the others. Most of the jumpers are old enough to have grown cynical about our little world, discontent. Ive never heard of a child jumping. The others are disfigured and disabled from their attempts, but she looks polished and thin in her pressed uniform. Her hair, the same sweetgold blond as the murdered girls, is held back by a white band with a bow on one side. Someone hands her a paper cup and she manages a polite if despondent smile.
Okay, Alice says, putting her hand on my back and guiding me toward the door. Lets get out of here. We pass others who linger in the hall, waiting for their loved ones while reading or talking amongst one another. This is where Alice would have waited in her pretty dress, and when she went home she would have simply hung it in the closet again. I dont know that I can ever forgive Lex for squandering her. And yet she has never complained about having to care for him. She could go out more if she wanted to; if hes in the throes of a novel, he probably wont even notice. But she mostly just leaves for work in the greenhouses.
A patrolmen opens the door for us. Ladies. He nods as we pass by. Be safe out there tonight.
The orange glow of street lanterns outlines the cobblestones with shadows. Yet in the distance, the glasslands shimmer in the moonlight.
That little girl is part of the jumper group? I ask, once were beyond the earshot of the patrolmen.
Ive seen her the last few times, Alice says.
So shes jumped?
She must have Alices voice is trailing off. She takes a deep breath and says, Look at that moon, Morgan. Its so close. As if we could just walk right up to the edge and reach out and take it. She closes one eye and holds up her hand, balancing the moon on her palm.
I hook my elbow around hers. I dont like what she has said. I dont like the thought of her crossing the tracks and chasing the moon to Internments edge. People go mad there. They see all of that sky and nothingness and they lose themselves.
Is this the tea shop? I say.
Oh! Yes, it is. Look, the sign is shaped like an actual teacup. Isnt that quaint?
It would be, if not for the patrolman standing at the entrance.
5
Every moment is a gift, from the frivolous to the dire. The taste of sweetgold, and the rough paper of our favorite books. I find a god in these thingswhich god, I cannot say, but Im grateful to it.
Intangible Gods, Daphne Leander, Year Ten
PEN FIXES THE HEM OF MY RED VELVET glove thats starting to unroll from my elbow. You look classic, she says, and then holds up her own blue gloves with a look of disdain. Arent these archaic? Theyre my mothers. She used to wear them on dates with my father. You know, back when Internment was still part of the ground.
I think youre a vision, Thomas says, coming up behind her, gripping the overhead handle as the shuttle begins to move.
Intangible Gods, Daphne Leander, Year Ten
PEN FIXES THE HEM OF MY RED VELVET glove thats starting to unroll from my elbow. You look classic, she says, and then holds up her own blue gloves with a look of disdain. Arent these archaic? Theyre my mothers. She used to wear them on dates with my father. You know, back when Internment was still part of the ground.
I think youre a vision, Thomas says, coming up behind her, gripping the overhead handle as the shuttle begins to move.
She looks over her shoulder at him, and the sunlight catches the shadows of her neck and collarbone in a way that makes her seem more woman than girl. I thought for sure youd missed the shuttle.
I caught it just as the doors were closing, he says, and looks at me. I take it your other will be joining us shortly?
Were taking the train to his section and walking from there, I say, feeling strange about the word he has used: other. He likes to talk like a period actor; hes always reading romantic classicsa woman on the cover with an elaborately floral hat, looking faint as a man in a tuxedo steadies her. Things of that nature.
When the shuttle jolts and pushes Thomas toward her, Pen swats at him, complaining that hell make her hat go crooked. Shes wearing a candlebox hat that has been dyed the same color as her gloves. Candles come in small, cylindrical stiff paper boxes that can be taken to a clothes maker to be recycled into a hat. Theyre dyed desired colors, given a brim, and affixed to a band so that the hat will sit firmly on one side of the head.
They look ridiculous on me. Few girls are bold enough to pull them off, but Pen is the sort of girl who can wear anything.
Thomas smiles at her averted face. Ill have your heart yet, Margaret Atmus.
You already have it. She holds up her hand, betrothal band gleaming in the light. Not that I had any say in the matter. And you know I hate when you call me that.
When we make it to the train, I notice that it isnt very crowded, which is strange for the weekend. Looks like a lot of people decided to walk today, Thomas says.
Pen flattens her dress against her knees, indifferent to his arm around her shoulders.
Ive been reading a peculiar little story, Thomas says, looking at me because he knows Pen wont humor him with interest.
What about? I say.
Its about the people of the ground trying to reach us. They craft a sort of machine and harness it to birds.
Birds couldnt lift something that heavy, Pen says. We dont know very much about birdstheyve never flown so high as Internment, but weve seen images of them taken with the scope. Skinny white blurs traveling alone or as beads in a necklace of Vs.
Well then, youve figured out the conflict, he says. Anyway, they dont make it. The story was really more about their trying to reach us. Some think they are, and others say were nothing more to them than a giant rock in the sky. Perhaps they think were a dusty moon.
I wonder about that all the time, I say.
Dont get Morgan started on the ground, Pen says, rising as the train rolls to a stop. Shell be lost in thought for the rest of the day, and I need someone to whisper with if this play is no good.
Basil spots us as were stepping out onto the platform. The gold trim of his jacket matches the flecks of light in his brown eyes. Pen calls it a shame that my eyes arent dominant, but I think it would be nice if my children look like Basil. He holds his arm to me, and I look at my velvet glove against his gray suit, imagining were figures in a very old image. Though I know I shouldnt, I imagine that the steps leading down off the platform will go all the way down the sky until we reach the ground.