Kaitlyn Patterson - The Diminished

See if I don’t , I thought petulantly to Pru.

By the time I made my way to the railing on the third-class deck, the tugboats had begun to chug us out toward the open ocean, where the sunship’s sails would unfurl. The folks around me wept and laughed and talked in nervous whispers about the lives they had to look forward to in Ilor. They talked like they’d never heard about the way folks treated their contract workers. No one mentioned the temple’s demands on the folks they hired to manage contract workers like these folks, and the length those managers would go to to see those obligations fulfilled.

It was like the news hawkers on the streets of Penby never once hollered a story about rebel groups destroying crops or workers so mistreated they ran away, only to be hauled back, the terms of their contracts doubled. The world we were chugging toward wasn’t any better than the one we were leaving behind, but I understood the impulse to escape. Sawny and Lily weren’t the only folks who’d had trouble finding work in Penby. Outside fishing and shipbuilding, jobs were hard to come by. At least in Ilor there was a chance, albeit a vanishingly small one, for a person to make something of themselves. To change their station.

That chance existed for some people, anyway. But not for dimmys. Not for me.

I raised a hand to my brow to protect my eyes from the icy drizzle and watched the capital of the Alskad Empire disappear into the fog of the early summer morning.

Good riddance , I thought.

I took one last look across the frigid gray waves and spat into the water. Hoisting my bag over my shoulder, I elbowed my way through the folks peering over the railing as if they could still see their kin on the docks. I wanted to claim a bunk in the cabin where I’d sleep for the next two weeks. I didn’t plan to do much more than sleep there, though. The ship was filled with so many things I wanted to see, so many rooms and luxuries I’d only ever imagined, and I planned to savor every moment of freedom I had left. I never thought I’d get the chance to explore a sunship, much less live on one for any length of time.

Free of the crowd, I rested my bag on an empty bench, blew on my numb fingertips and tried to get my bearings. It’d gotten colder on the deck as the ship picked up speed, even in my sweaters and scarves, and I wished that I had thicker leggings and another pair of woolen socks on under my worn knee-high boots.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, miss.” The deep voice still held the nasal vowels of the End, though softened and disguised. Anyone who got out of that poor, shabby neighborhood always tried to leave it as far behind them as they could.

I assumed my most polite expression before turning around. “Yes, sir?” I asked, gray eyes wide and innocent. That look worked on all the anchorites, even Bethea, unless she was in a particularly foul mood.

“See your ticket?”

My face masked in a feigned, sweet smile, I fished the slip of paper out of my pocket and handed it over to the bald, pinch-faced man, his chapped skin red and peeling. His eyes lingered on the scratches Curlin had left on my cheek.

He scanned my ticket and his mouth twisted in a cruel smirk. “Temple worker, are you? Miss Obedience Violette Abernathy. Cabin 687. You’ll need to find E deck with the rest of the trash. Walk down there a ways, and take the staircase on the left down six flights. Follow the signs in the corridor from there.” His rough words grated on my nerves.

“Thank you, sir,” I said as politely as I could manage, heaving my bag over my shoulder.

“Where’s your twin, girl? Ought not get separated, even on the ship. It’s an easy place to get lost.” There was a dangerous glint in his pale eyes.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

I started walking toward the staircase he’d pointed out. I knew where this conversation led.

“Where’s your twin, Obedience? Mayhap you need some help finding her?” His thin screech carried over the din of the ship and the ocean beneath us.

I continued striding across the deck and fled down the stairs as soon as I reached them. I’d have to be more careful. Some people could smell dimmys from a mile away and took special pleasure in torturing us. The scratches on my face didn’t make me any less conspicuous, either.

I shuddered, remembering Gil, a little towheaded boy who’d been left on the temple doorstep when he was maybe five years old. There was a note pinned to his sweater, explaining that his twin sister had died, and his parents couldn’t be burdened with a dimmy. It wasn’t unusual; dimmys were left on the temple steps all the time. Curlin and I used to take them under our wings a bit. Us being the dimmys who’d lived in the temple longest, we knew how to skirt the rules. Make things more comfortable.

Gil’d been practically silent during the day, but every night he’d shown up in our room, asking for a story before bed. One day, early in the spring, Gil hadn’t come back from an errand. The anchorites fussed for a night or two, but after that it was like they’d forgotten him. Sawny, Curlin and I had combed the streets for days, driven by some invisible force. None of us wanted to give up on him. He was too little to fend for himself, and too sweet. I’d finally found him, shivering in an alley, covered in burns and blisters, his arms and scalp cut to ribbons.

He’d never spoken another word, and soon after, he’d tried to set the temple ablaze. The Suzerain had forced all of us temple brats to watch his execution. Curlin, Sawny, Lily and I had stood there, shivering in the first snow of the fall, our tears cutting icy paths down our cheeks, as the Shriven hauled Gil onto the platform. One of the anchorites stood behind me, hands on either side of my head, so that I wouldn’t be able to look away when the Shriven hangman tightened the noose around his slim neck. That was the day we’d sworn, on our lives, that none of us would ever become one of them. We promised not to join the Shriven, and three of us kept that promise.

The people who’d targeted Gil hadn’t been dimmys, just cruel folks who knew a lot more about hate than love.

I followed the signs through a maze of corridors, looking for my cabin. Turning on to the final hall, 680–690, I saw a young man with dark brown skin that glowed under the hall’s sunlamps leaning against the doorjamb outside what looked to be my cabin. His shoulders were broad beneath his deep purple livery. Another of the ship’s crewmen, and likely as not, this one’d hold the same prejudices as the other. I stepped quickly back around the corner, hoping he’d not spotted me.

I didn’t know if I could manage to hide myself from the ship’s entire crew for the whole of the journey. It didn’t seem possible. I gritted my teeth and tried to push down the fear, anger and exhaustion that brought tears to my eyes. I’d hardly slept the night before, and the idea of dealing with another ignorant, aggressive idiot was almost too much.

Steady me , I thought, reaching out for Pru, and strode down the hall with every bit of confidence I could muster. The young sailor straightened when he saw me, drew his hands out of his pockets for a brief bow and watched me with clear, golden brown eyes.

“May I see your ticket, please?” he asked pleasantly. His voice was warm and carried a faint lilt I didn’t recognize.

“It’s already been checked,” I said. “And you’re blocking my way. Excuse me.” I tried to shoulder past him, but the young man was all lean, hard muscle, and my head barely came to his chest.

He very gently placed his hand on my shoulder and nudged me out of the door frame, which he now fully occupied. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m required to check the tickets of everyone who’s been assigned to this room.”