Saskia’s scowl deepens, causing her stain to halve in size. ‘Stop talking crap, or I’ll chop more than just your locks off.’
Before I can object, Matthew’s hustled us through the door.
A wall of stench hits me – that smell Dad gets when he’s drank the night before. Stale beer. But mingled with other odours: cabbage and onions and something else, I think it might be urine. Certainly, the room looks like it should smell of urine. The sawdust on the floor, the mildew on the walls, the tattered cushions, all discoloured and mustard yellow. It looks like an older, jaded version of the film set.
Several Imps stare at us from their stools. Most of them wear grey overalls to signify their slave status, but some wear plain clothes – faded jeans and threadbare shirts. Their chatter drops as we follow Matthew and Saskia to the bar. I’ve been in a few pubs before, clutching my fake ID, but the anxiety I felt when illegally ordering vodka and Coke was nothing compared to this – my heart feels like it’s going to hammer a hole in my chest.
I search for the controller, but I see no sign of him. My muscles begin to loosen.
The Imp behind the bar wrings out a cloth with nicotine-stained fingers. Zula. She has skin so lined it swallows up her expression so I can’t tell if she smiles or frowns. I swear she was never that wrinkled in the film.
‘What happened to you?’ she asks Matthew.
‘War wound,’ he replies.
She nods and leans forward on the bar, allowing the tops of her breasts to sag over her corset. ‘And who are your friends?’
I open my mouth to reply, but Saskia cuts over me, her voice deceptively light.
‘They’re just some new Night-Imps, Zula. They work in the Pastures with me and Matthew.’
Zula studies our faces. ‘Oh yeah?’
I fidget with my hair. ‘Yeah.’
She looks at Alice and narrows her eyes. ‘I don’t want no trouble, yeah?’
‘We’ve had a long shift,’ Saskia says. ‘We just need to get Matthew bandaged up, then we’ll be on our way.’
Zula smiles, a matrix of wrinkles swamps her eyes. ‘You wanna pop round the back, honey? I can sort that out for you.’
Matthew grins like it had never occurred to him. ‘Thanks, you’re the best.’
‘I ain’t doing it for you . . . you’re dripping on my floor.’
He lifts his hand so the blood leaches into the front of his shirt, and follows her into a back room.
Saskia leads us to a counter at the rear of the bar, putting as much distance between us and the other Imps as possible. She leans in. ‘When Matthew’s fixed up, we leave – we’ve got quite a hike to headquarters.’
I recall the bombed-out church from the film. Home to Thorn and Baba, general meeting place for the rebels. I feel this pull in my stomach as I swing between excitement and fear. I can’t believe we’re going to the actual, real-life headquarters, that we’re going to meet the actual, real-life Thorn and Baba. It’s like finding out dragons are real. You run outside and watch them circling the sky – awe-inspiring, mind-blowing – until they set you on fire and swallow you whole.
‘Our pretty friend is attracting a little too much attention,’ Saskia says, glancing at the other Imps. Even wearing overalls and with her newly chopped hair, Alice draws the gaze of several Imps.
‘Get used to it,’ Katie says.
I kick her under the table.
‘You was right, girl.’ Saskia’s eyes move to a figure slinking towards us. The controller from canon. Only this version of the controller has so many freckles that they can’t quite fit on his cheeks, spilling on to his forehead, his eyelids and lips. And he looks more defined, his features whittled away so only the sharp bits remain, his face filed into a weasel’s. My stomach tightens.
He stands over Alice. ‘Well, what have we got here? A pretty girl the wrong side of the city walls, always a pleasure.’
‘Give it a rest,’ Saskia says. ‘She’s just finished a long shift. We all have.’
He taps his star-shaped badge, just like in the film. ‘This demands a little more respect, woman.’ He turns his attention back to Alice. ‘So how come I haven’t seen you around before?’
Alice looks at Saskia.
The controller smiles. ‘You can talk for yourself, I reckon, pretty mouth like that.’
I begin to wish Saskia had knocked a couple of Alice’s teeth out.
‘Look, we were just going, OK?’ Saskia says.
‘You just got here.’
‘And now we’re leaving. I’ll get my friend, he’s round the back with Zula. He got shot by some Gem soldiers.’ She’s trying to win brownie points, but she just sounds desperate.
The controller laughs. I notice how pink his tongue is, like he’s been sucking on a gobstopper. ‘Well, aren’t you the heroes?’
Saskia hurries towards the bar, but the controller doesn’t leave. He drags up a chair, shoves Nate out of the way, and sits beside Alice. ‘What, she your mum or summit?’
Alice giggles nervously.
‘Aunty.’ I flatten my vowels so I sound more like him, but my voice comes out a little shaky.
‘Yeah, she’s a right pain,’ Katie says, unable to mask the lilt of her Scouse accent.
The controller drapes an arm around Alice’s shoulder. ‘Well maybe you should ditch your aunty and come sit with us.’
Alice looks rigid as a board. ‘I don’t think she’d approve.’ But she changes her voice a little, sounding more Imp, and manages to hold his eye like she isn’t bricking it. For a moment, I think she’s going to pull it off.
‘You’re shaking,’ the freckly controller says. He leans into her and I imagine how foul his breath must smell. ‘It ain’t cold in ’ere, you know? Why are you shaking?’ He sticks out his bottom lip like he’s worried about her. ‘Am I making you nervous, sweet’eart?’
She opens her mouth, I think to answer, but the controller doesn’t give her the chance. ‘’Ere, Terry.’
Another Imp sidles over, star-shaped badge pinned to his lapel. He has receding grey hair, and his stocky build suggests he has no problems finding food in the starving city.
The freckly controller smiles. ‘I got a trembling, pretty girl over ’ere. And while I would like to think it’s down to my good looks, I suspect it’s because she’s a stinking Gem.’
Everything seems to slow. Nate grabs my hand under the table, his palm slathered with sweat. I wish I had Rose’s last thistle-bomb right now. We could sure use a decoy.
Terry studies Alice’s face for a moment and looks a little perplexed. ‘She hasn’t even tried to look like an Imp. No wig, no fake scars, she’s just rubbed a bit of dirt in her face and hacked off her locks. It’s a poor show really, a tad insulting p’raps. I mean, I know we Imps are thick, but still . . .’
The freckly controller shakes his head and tuts like he’s disappointed. ‘Gem spies are really slipping.’
‘She’s not a Gem,’ I say. My voice sounds tinny and unreal.
‘Yeah, leave her alone,’ Katie says.
The freckly controller looks at me, then Nate, then Katie. ‘I guess travelling with Imps is good thinking, helps her to blend in.’