Bad Seed

Her uncle had left his workshop door ajar. Beyond, the deep alcove smelt of tobacco smoke and tree-pulp paper. It was a place of comfort and curiosity, and Elsa knew it better than anywhere else underground. She crossed the threshold and her mood instantly changed. A sense of purpose replaced her unease and the tight ball in her stomach relaxed. Elsa felt lighter and calmer.

The workshop resonated with the sound of clocks, a strange harmony of soft ticks, light pings and chattering whirs. Junked textbooks, novels, manuals, and maps lined the walls on makeshift shelves. Two padded chairs blocked Elsa’s view of the fireplace. Rugs covered the cold stone, some were plush and fluffy, others threadbare and worn, but all were woven in deep warm reds and gold.

A large workbench took up the middle of the room, piled with junk waiting for repair. Tools hung from a ceiling bracket above, grouped by size and purpose. A theatre curtain, the colour of rich red wine, draped across an opening at the rear of the chamber. The junk cavern lay beyond it, a warehouse for all the items her uncle had collected over the last decade. His horde of rescued treasures.

Elsa could hear her uncle shaving in the small bathing recess off the main chamber, humming a cheerful tune from before her time. The melody cut out every few seconds as he paused to whisk the wash water with his shaving blade. Elsa smiled. Her uncle liked to tease her about her strange habits and rituals, but this was one of his. These ditties rose up when he was lost in thought and faded the moment his mind returned to the present.

“Pippa’s clean,” she called when the tune ended.

Another sharp splash of water. Her uncle replied, “Good. Start the fire, would you?”

Elsa placed her lantern in the alcove by the door and lit the wall lamps and the grate within the fireplace. She sat in her armchair, sinking into cushions that had moulded to her shape over time. From beneath the seat, she took out a small box holding handcrafted chess pieces whittled from a broken broom handle.

Elsa collected a faceless king from amongst his loyal subjects. Her small, sharp knife moved across the soft wood to form deep wide eyes, thick wispy eyebrows and a strong curved nose. Next came the neat beard and moustache. When she was done, she blew the gathered dust away and held the figure up to the light. The newly made king bore a striking resemblance to her uncle.

To finish the chess piece, Elsa added tiny symbols for wisdom, charity and strength to the king’s robes and base. Her uncle entered as she completed this task. His face was clean of surface grime, his beard trimmed and his clothing fresh. Elsa wondered if he’d mention the dark bruise circling his neck. She waited.

Amos shuffled about the room. He checked the run of each clock. He wound the sluggish ones and wiped their pristine glass cases. This job accomplished, he sunk down in the armchair opposite her and picked up his pipe from the side table. He raised an eyebrow at her work. “A broom handle?”

Elsa shrugged. “It’s the right thickness and the pale grain is good for the white pieces.”

He held out a rough hand and Elsa gave the king to him. Her uncle studied the familiar features.

“Good. A handsome knight.”

She snatched the small king back. “You know it’s not a knight.”

A smile ghosted across his lips. He patted her hand. “Go on then. Let’s see if you do as well with the other pieces.”

It was an odd sort of praise, but Elsa glowed from it. She returned the king to the box and pulled out the queen. Her uncle settled further into his chair and removed a pack of rare tobacco from an old biscuit tin. Smoking was his reward for making it back from the surface and Elsa loved watching how he savoured the moment. He took his time to pack his pipe, first one layer then another. Her uncle lit a match and held it over the tobacco chamber. His cheeks rounded and the cured leaves glowed as the flame spread. The smoke curled from the pipe’s bowl and the familiar tobacco scent filled the room. Her uncle shook the match to extinguish it.

“Have you been visiting the Sun Caves, while I was gone?”

She concentrated on the wood piece.

“Elsa?”

“They don’t want me up there.”

“So? It doesn’t matter what they want. I have a private agreement with the guards.”

“I feel uncomfortable.”

Amos sighed. “It’s a garden, Elsa, not the Keeper’s chambers.”

“It’s a public garden for Citizens, not Bad Seed. They know I’m not one of them.”

“You need to stop worrying about what other people think.”

Elsa shaved another piece from the wood, going deeper than she wanted. “It’s a waste of time.”

“What nonsense! How do you expect to go up on the surface if you don’t take good care of your eyes? You think you’re useful to me if you’re emerging from the underground like some blind cave creature?”

“I’ll go when you next take Pippa up there,” Elsa said, hoping to mollify him.

“That you will.”

They settled into another long silence. Just when she thought she could no longer keep her questions to herself, her uncle cleared his throat.

“Though, speaking of the surface,” he said. “I know you were hoping to apply for your junking permit on your eighteenth birthday, but I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s not a good idea for you to come with me.”

Elsa paused mid-stroke and almost nicked her finger. “You can’t be serious?”

“Maybe it’s better if we focus on our repair service each Market Day, try and increase our profits that way.”

She forced herself to be calm. “Why?”

Her uncle glanced away. “It’s just a hunch.”

“It’s more than a hunch if you’re changing the plan we’ve had for years.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. He re-tamped the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe and Elsa noticed his hands shook. She waited, while he drew on a large puff of smoke and exhaled.

“There’s a new player in the Valley,” he said.

Elsa gestured to his neck. “Did this new player do that?”

Her uncle nodded.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad enough. This group is strong. They ambushed me at Dulwa and took most of the junk I collected. There was nothing I could do about it.”

“They attacked you in the village? What about the villagers? Maiya and Warrain? Why didn’t they stop it?”

“They were gone, most likely dead.”

Elsa bit her bottom lip. “Can we avoid them? Go around the village instead?”

Her uncle took another agitated puff on his pipe. “Not likely. They say they’ve taken over the valley.”

Elsa’s mouth opened and closed. “The whole valley? There must be hundreds of them.”

“I counted a dozen, though I suspect there are more.”

“But…how could even a few dozen hold so much territory?”

Her uncle rubbed his hand on his pant leg, as if his palm had suddenly turned clammy. “I’ve seen them in action. I don’t doubt their strength. These people, these Blood Wolves as they call themselves, they’re different, powerful. They aren’t going anywhere, anytime soon.”

Elsa put down her chess piece. “Well, I’m not going to let these Blood Wolves stop us. I think we should hire guards to protect the wagon.”

Amos shook his head. “We talked about this before. We can’t afford guards.”

“This is our livelihood,” Elsa said. “Your life. We’ll find the coin.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. We can cut down on essentials.”

“Like what, food? Come on Elsa, you’re already too skinny.”

Elsa wracked her brain for a solution. “Maybe I could ask Melker to lend us some of his men?”

“No,” her uncle’s tone was firm. “I’ll not have you indebted to that man.”

“Fine,” Elsa said. “At least warn the Keeper and the Council about the threat.”

Her uncle took a long puff on his pipe and shook his head. “We keep this to ourselves.”

He cut off Elsa’s protest.

“The Council has never supported our junking expeditions. We tell them now and I guarantee you they’ll get scared. At best, they might decide to permanently revoke my permit to the surface, at worst ...” He touched his neck.

“What should we do then?”

“I think we should leave it, wait another couple of months. Perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps they’ll move on and we can return to our original plan.”

Elsa’s whole being rebelled. The conversation with her mother was still fresh in her mind. “I can’t delay that long. Even another month will be too late, I have to start junking. This is my one opportunity to escape this life.”

He took her hand. “I know this is a blow, but you must trust me. It’s not the right time. All we can do is wait and see.”

Waiting. That’s all Elsa ever did! She wanted to argue with her uncle. She wanted to explain how much this goal meant to her and force the point, if necessary. Elsa knew, deep down, that to change her future she couldn’t just sit and wait, like she always did. She needed to fight and make things happen.

Elsa settled back into her chair. She would find a way. Her uncle may have relinquished the Valley, but she wasn’t giving up so easy!

***

Amos studied his niece. In looks Elsa favoured her mother, Helena, all long brown hair and clear green eyes, but in temperament she was more like her father, all stubbornness and misplaced courage. Amos read his niece’s rebellious expression as it formed on her face.

“Did I ever tell you of the time I was captured by slavers?”

Elsa released a frustrated breath. “Oh Uncle, I don’t want to hear one of your cautionary stories of the surface—”

“I was younger then, optimistic and naive. I’d just found a new settlement over the ridge. It was a strange, but prosperous—for the Chaos—and populated. The townsfolk welcomed my expertise and were eager to trade it for junk. I was confident I’d make a profit.

“I’d just set up my cart when the slavers came through the settlement like a wildfire, unpredictable and furious, blasting through the men on guard, scorching everything they touched.”

Elsa usually liked his tales, but today she was in no mood to humour him. “I know how the story goes, Uncle. How your stories always go. They beat you up, took your junk. You were angry, but you learned a valuable lesson and never trusted those people again.”

“Huh! I wish. But slavers don’t care about machine cogs and copper wire. They don’t care about the potential in a thing, only in a person. So, when the attack came, I ran with the townsfolk to the safest building—an old stone church. Within minutes we were under siege. The leader of the slavers came forward. I’ve never forgotten him. His face was covered in blisters and one ear was missing. He told us he had a quota to fill, and while he’d rather negotiate our surrender he’d also be just as happy to smoke us out.”

“It was about this time those around me started discussing ways to buy the slavers off, perhaps offer up most of their supplies in the hope they would leave. I kept quiet and tried to blend into the background, but it was no use. The townsfolk had no loyalty to me, a stranger, and it didn’t take long for them to decide I would make a wonderful sacrifice. They told the slavers everything about my work and my skills, each one more eager than the next to highlight my value. They offered me up in exchange for the freedom of their kin and the leader accepted, of course. I was ejected from the stone sanctuary and tied to the back of my own cart.

“From then on, I became the slave leader’s personal servant. He told me my knowledge was the only thing keeping me alive and when he was done with that knowledge, he’d sell me off for a good life. I fixed his weapons and repaired odd bits of junk for him to barter. If I didn’t work fast enough, he beat me. If I spoke back or looked at him wrong, he beat me. Sometimes he beat me for fun.”

Amos paused to take a puff on his pipe. He had Elsa’s full attention now.

His niece turned the chess piece about in her hand. “That sounds horrible. How could the villagers abandon you like that?”

“The life of an outsider, for the lives of those you love?” Amos shrugged. “I should think it would be an easy choice.”

“Still…”

He patted Elsa’s hand. “Most people across the ridge value my services too much to do violence against me, but trusting others is one of the biggest risks I take. Sometimes that trust is betrayed. You should prepare yourself, Elsa, if you truly want to be a Junker.”

“Uncle,” Elsa said, voice pained. “I know the surface is a dangerous place.”

“No, child, you haven’t a clue what it’s like. You only have my stories…and I hope that’s all you ever have. I was only there a week before I picked the lock on my chains and escaped, but that time felt like months. The things those slavers did to me.” Amos shuddered. “What do you think they’d do to a pretty young woman like yourself?”

Elsa looked away. “I get it. You want me to be afraid of the surface. Well, I am. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m going.”

“No,” Amos said. “That’s not the point of this story. I’m not trying to talk you out of going, but I do want you to understand the reasoning behind my decision now. To this day, I have nightmares of that time. But, in my dreams you are the one in danger. The slavers are beating you, not me. Your face is the one covered in blood, your hands that are bound.”

“You’ve never spoken of these nightmares before.”

“And I’ve never tried to stop you following this path either. I’ve never tried to dissuade you or push you towards a different destiny.”

“Until today.”

Amos nodded. “If I’m telling you we need to wait, it’s for a good reason. There is something terribly wrong with these Blood Wolves, they are dangerous in a way I don’t fully understand, and I don’t want you involved. I’m asking you to trust me.”

She searched his face. “If I were a boy, would you still tell me to wait?”

Amos snorted. “Bad things happen to young men as easily as young women, Elsa. Of course I’d do the same. Do I have your agreement?”

Her gaze dropped to his neck.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

He relaxed.

Elsa watched the fire, deep in thought. “I didn’t like that tale,” she said, finally. “Don’t you have any happy ones from your travels?”

Amos experienced a flash of guilt at Elsa’s hopeful expression and acknowledged he was a selfish old man. Sure, he told his niece the gritty realities of their profession, but he also told her these other tales—ones of adventure and exploration that highlighted the strange beauty and wonder of a world she’d never experienced. These special tales kept her yearning for the surface and kept her here at his side.