Emmi Itäranta - The City of Woven Streets

‘May I have a look?’

I roll the trouser bottoms up. Alva studies my ankles through the magnifying glass.

‘Did many in the House of the Tainted have rash?’ she asks.

‘Everyone,’ I say.

‘Where did the water used for washing come from?’

‘We didn’t wash often,’ I say. ‘But we spent a lot of time in the sea. The prisoners are used for collecting blood coral.’

Alva lowers the magnifying glass and pushes it back into her pocket. I can almost see her shaping sentences in her mind to write them in her notebook.

‘Did you see anything unusual in the sea?’

‘Mud. A few dead fish.’ Then I remember. ‘A rust-coloured sediment floated around the coral reefs. Not everywhere, but especially in the shallows where we would dive.’

Alva’s expression turns more alert.

‘How far from the island?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know exactly,’ I say. I try to tell apart the days that have blurred and faded into one in my memory. ‘Sometimes hours away. Why?’

Dark worry visits Alva’s face. Yet she pushes it away and grabs the ointment jar again.

‘Let’s talk about that later,’ she says. ‘Now you must rest.’

She is right; sleep is already brushing my eyes, and my thoughts are drifting apart like mist over the sea.

‘Do Dreamers have someone working in the House of the Tainted?’ I ask.

Alva looks at me, surprised.

‘I don’t think so,’ she says. ‘The security is too tight. We know very little about what happens in there. That’s why Askari and Tirra wish to speak to you.’ She begins to rub the ointment on my forehead. It soothes the hot stinging on my skin. ‘Why do you ask?’

I remember Moth pressing the key into my hand, showing me the way. Telling me Valeria was not imprisoned in the House of the Tainted. The stare, the sincerity of which I did not dare to be certain.

‘I simply wondered,’ I say.

Alva closes the ointment jar and hands it to me.

‘Use this for a few days,’ she says. ‘There may be others who need it, but your brow is currently in a worse state than anyone else’s tattoos.’

I accept the jar gratefully and push it into the pocket of the too-large jacket. We sit in silence for a while, I on the stool, Alva on the floor leaning her back against the wall.

‘I still mean to find her,’ I say quietly.

Alva’s mouth tightens, as if to seal something within, and softens again. She does not seem to have noticed the shift in her expression, but it remains as a ghost in my mind.

‘I’ve arranged a hammock for you in the women’s dormitory,’ she says. ‘There is also a spare blanket. I’ll come and show you.’

As I press my head down on the pillow and wrap the blankets around me, I wonder if there is something they are not telling me, but sleep comes soft like warm water and all thoughts drift away.

The round room is lit by dim glow-glasses, and four tattoos stare at me from chairs arranged in a circle. Above them I watch the shifts on the faces of Alva, Janos, Askari and the woman with the birthmark, who introduced herself as Tirra. I tell them about the day I left the House of Webs, about Weaver and Lazaro and Biros. I say nothing about Spinner, or the underground grotto where her ancestors sleep in their amber shells, because that cannot be of importance to them, and I wish to keep it as mine alone. I tell them about the House of the Tainted: the tattoos, the guards, the ships and the coral. I can see that only some of it is news to them. As I speak, I begin to feel as if my words are rain against a glass wall. They shatter and pour down to the floor without making a mark.

When I have finished, they are all silent.

‘You’ve been through a lot,’ Tirra says eventually. ‘Thank you.’

‘Is there,’ I begin, and stop. This room is strange to me, and there is something behind their silence that is tall and wide and heavy. ‘I mean to say, could I ask what has happened while I was away?’

Alva’s eyes move. She does not quite give a quick sideways glance at Janos, and Janos does not quite respond to it.

‘Is there anything else I can do or help with?’ I continue.

‘Not for the time being,’ Askari says. ‘But I think it would be fair to give you an update.’ He pauses and looks at Tirra, whose mouth grows taut, then softens. She gives a slow nod.

Askari turns back to me.

‘Dreamers working in the Ink Quarters have begun to alter the composition of the tattoo ink according to directions from Alva and Irena.’

I notice Janos looking at Alva. He is probably unaware of the smile that lifts his face for a moment. There is admiration in it, and more.

‘But it will probably still be months until enough people will begin to get their dreams back,’ Askari continues.

I remember the original plans we had for the timing when we first began to talk about the possibilities with Janos, Valeria and Irena.

‘Are you aiming for the next Word-incineration?’ I ask.

‘We were,’ Janos says, ‘but we are getting worried about how much longer we can wait. Yesterday’s flood caused a lot of damage on the island.’

Their faces are serious and weary. I have thought about the same thing. The island may not be able to take another flood.

‘We still wish to use the contents of the codex to convince people to leave,’ Askari says. ‘But we may have to proceed faster than intended.’

‘Leave, you say,’ I reply. ‘It would take a lot of ships to carry everyone. How would you do that?’

‘There are enough ships on the island,’ Askari says. ‘It’s a matter of getting people on those ships, and getting the ships’ crews to work for us. We are almost ready. Our work didn’t begin three months ago, or even a year ago.’

Tirra places her hand on Askari’s, and he quiets. I wait until I am certain he will not say more.

It is a strange realization, and one that brings a faint wave of shame with the understanding. Valeria, Janos and I may have come across the codex, but we are pebbles on a wide and far-stretching shore, not the moon that will turn the tide. Without us and the codex, Dreamers would have found another way to proceed. They may have been dreaming of a new future for the island when we were not even babies in our cots yet. And they have known me for less than a day; there is no reason why they should trust me with their most important plans.

‘I understand,’ I say. ‘But I want to continue looking for Valeria. How long do I have?’

‘It is time,’ Tirra says, not to anyone in particular.

Askari turns to look at Alva and Janos. Janos shifts on his seat and I see two lines appear on his brow. Alva takes a deep breath.

‘Time for what?’ I ask. A tight knot is forming inside me, pressing at me like a fist from within.

‘Eliana, after you disappeared, we looked for both of you everywhere,’ Alva says. ‘Dreamers all over the island, in the City Guard, in places where they would hear things. Nobody knew anything.’ She pauses to take another deep breath and glances at Janos, who places his hand on her arm. ‘Then, three weeks ago, a woman was found in Halfway Canal. She had been in the water for some time.’

The fist inside me clenches tighter. Its knuckles are sharp, like broken glass. I cannot hear this.

Janos gives Alva’s arm a quick squeeze.

‘She was Valeria’s age and size. She had red hair and pale skin.’

‘There are other red-haired women her age on the island,’ I say. My voice is hollow, made of shards that will fall apart at any moment.

Alva looks at me and there are tears in her eyes.

‘I went to see her. It was her.’

‘How can you be certain?’ I ask. The words break, they fall into the wind and are swept into the sea with everything else.