Legend (11 page)

 

I’m in the Lake sector, watching the strengthening daylight paint the churning waterwheels and turbines gold. A layer of smoke hovers perpetually over the water’s edge. Farther across the lake I can see downtown Los Angeles sitting right next to the shore. A street policeman approaches and tells me to stop loitering, to keep moving. I nod wordlessly and continue along the shore.

From a distance, I blend in completely with those walking around me. My half-sleeve collared shirt came from a thrift emporium at the border between Lake and Winter. My trousers are torn and smeared with dirt—my boots’ leather is flaking off. I’m very careful about the type of knot I use to tie my shoelaces. It’s a simple Rose knot, something any worker would use. I’ve pulled my hair back into a tight, high ponytail. I wear a newsboy cap over it.

Day’s pendant necklace sits snugly in my pocket.

I can’t believe how filthy the streets are here. Probably even worse than the dilapidated outskirts of Los Angeles. The ground sits low against the water (not unlike the other poor sectors, which all seem to look the same), so that whenever there’s a storm, the lake probably floods all the streets lining the shore with dirty, sewage-contaminated water. Every building is faded, crumbling, and pockmarked—except, of course, the police headquarters. People walk around trash piled against the walls as if it isn’t even there. Flies and stray dogs linger near the garbage—as do some people. I crinkle my nose at the smell (smoky lanterns, grease, sewage). Then I stop, realizing that if I’m to pass as a Lake citizen, I should pretend to be used to the stench.

Several men grin at me as I pass by. One even calls out to me. I ignore them and keep going. What a bunch of cons, men who had barely passed their Trials. I wonder if I can catch the plague from these people, even though I’m vaccinated. Who knows where they’ve been.

Then I stop myself. Metias had told me never to judge the poor like that.
Well, he’s a better person than I am,
I think bitterly.

The tiny microphone inside my cheek vibrates a little. Then a faint sound comes from my earpiece. “Ms. Iparis.” Thomas’s voice comes out as a tiny hum that only I can hear. “Everything working?”

“Yup,” I murmur. The little microphone picks up my throat’s vibrations. “In central Lake now. I’m going dark for a bit.”

“Got it,” Thomas says, and his side falls silent.

I make a clicking sound with my tongue to turn off my microphone.

I spend most of this first morning pretending to dig around in the garbage bins. From the other beggars I hear stories about plague victims, which areas the police seem most nervous about, and which have started to recover. They talk about the best places to find food, the best places to find fresh water. The best places to hide during hurricanes. Some of the beggars look too young to have even taken the Trial. The youngest ones talk about their parents or how to pickpocket a soldier.

But no one talks about Day.

The hours drag on into evening, then night. When I find a quiet alley to rest in, with a few other beggars already asleep in the garbage bins, I curl into a dark corner and click my microphone on. Then I take out Day’s pendant necklace from my pocket, holding it up slightly so I can study its smooth bumps.

“Calling it a night,” I murmur. My throat barely vibrates.

My hearing piece crackles faintly with static. “Ms. Iparis?” Thomas says. “Any luck today?”

“Nope, no luck. I’ll try some public places tomorrow.”

“Okay. We’ll have people over here twenty-four seven.”

By “people over here twenty-four seven,” I know Thomas means he’s the only one there, listening for me. “Thanks,” I whisper. “Going dark.” I click my microphone off. My stomach rumbles. I pull out a slice of chicken I found in the back of a café’s kitchen and force myself to munch on it, ignoring the slime of cold grease. If I need to live like a Lake citizen, I’ll have to eat like one.
Maybe I should get a job,
I think. The idea makes me snort a little.

When I finally fall asleep, I have a bad dream, and Metias is in it.

I find nothing substantial the next day, or the day after that. My hair grows tangled and dull in the heat and smoke, and dirt has started to coat my face. When I look at my reflection in the lake, I realize that I look exactly like a street beggar now. Everything feels dirty. On the fourth day, I make my way to the rim of Lake and Blueridge and decide to spend my time wandering through the bars.

That’s when something happens. I stumble into a Skiz fight.

I’m more worried that I’ll accidentally kill my opponent.

If I run right now, though, I’m a dead girl.

I silently scold myself—what a game to involve myself in. When I first saw this crowd of gamblers, I’d wanted to leave it alone. I’d wanted nothing to do with brawls. Not a good place to get caught by street police and taken downtown for questioning. But then I’d thought that maybe I could pick up some valuable information from a group like this—so many locals, some who might even know Day personally. Surely Day isn’t a complete stranger to
everyone
in Lake, and if anyone knows who he is, it’s the crowd that watches illegal Skiz fights.

But I should not have said anything about the skinny girl they shoved into the ring. I should have let her fend for herself.

It’s too late now.

The girl named Kaede tilts her head at me and grins as we face each other in the ring. I take a deep breath. Already she has started to circle me, stalking me like prey. I study her stance. She steps forward with her right foot. She’s left-handed. Usually this would work to her advantage and throw off her opponents, but I’ve trained for this. I shift the way I walk. My ears are drowning in the noise.

I let her strike first. She bares her teeth at me and lunges forward at full speed, her fist raised. But I can see her preparing to kick. I sidestep. Her kick whooshes past me. I use her momentum against her and strike her hard when her back’s turned. She loses her balance and nearly falls. The crowd cheers.

Kaede whirls around to face me again. This time her smile is gone—I’ve succeeded in angering her. She lunges at me again. I block her first two punches, but her third punch catches me across the jaw and makes my head spin.

Every muscle in my body wants to end this now. But I force my temper down. If I fight too well, people might get suspicious. My style is too precise for a simple street beggar.

I let Kaede hit me one last time. The crowd roars. She starts smiling again, her confidence returning. I wait until she’s ready to charge. Then I dart forward, duck down, and trip her. She doesn’t see it coming—she falls heavily on her back. The crowd screams in approval.