4

The bells rang and the ‘busses’ came to life. Supervisors filed out of in twos and threes. They packed the cabins and side-eyed Sam as she squished in with them. The apprentice waved at her as they pulled away. Sam waved back, keenly aware that the man next to her was staring at the back of her head.

“You don’t work here,” he declared.

“She’s an apprentice, Bob,” said his friend. “Of necromancy.”

“She ain’t orange.”

“Not all of them are orange, Bob.”

“First I heard of it,” Bob declared. “Women shouldn’t be here.”

“She don’t work here Bob.”

“Then why’s she here?”

“I don’t know, Bob, why don’t you ask her?”

Bob seemed stumped by that proposal. Sam shrugged at him.

Another man spoke up. “She’s here to kill us all, mark me.”

“Not your conspiracies please, no one cares.”

“Yeah,” said Bob, though he sounded like he cared a little bit.

“They send an apprentice, then they send the alchemists, then they send in armies with…with guns. Then the necromancers come and kill us all and use us for digging.”

“That sounds made up ,” a voice said.

“I know for a fact,” the speaker insisted. “Put my wage on it.”

That caused an uproar. “She’s looking at us,” one declared. “Calm down, you dumb fuck,” declared another. “That’s a plague mask. You know they use it for plagues. That’s a disease.”

Bob was squirming. “You diseased?” he asked.

“No,” said Sam.

“Then why is she wearing that mask?”

“She must be diseased!”

Sam took it off and put on her smile. The cabin quieted down. “You got a boyfriend?” inquired Bob.

“Yes,” lied Sam.

“Of course she does, Bob, look at her!”

“I don’t know. Women lie all the time.”

“Now why would she do that?” Bob huffed.

“Because you make three grand a year, Bob, and you stink.”

Sam laughed. It made her cheeks hurt. “I can’t smell,” she said. “My nose doesn’t work.”

The men murmured. “I don’t get it,” one declared.

“She can’t smell, Jarryd, her nose doesn’t work.”

“Yeah I know what she said but it don’t make sense that she said it.”

“I think it lacks context.”

“The fuck context you looking for?”

The cabins pulled around a corner. Four steam engines were pulled across the road, surrounded by amblers.

The pullers attempted to stop. Their ankles dug into the dirt, and the cabins bucked as if kicked in the rear, the chassis screeching as it spun out. As the world turned upside down, Sam glimpsed an old man in an orange tux, holding out his arms.

The cabin crumpled, punctured in the dead centre as if by a drill. Its front axle broke into a dozen spinning pieces. The railing snapped under Sam’s hand, and a hand yanked her away from the crush of steel. Men rained all around her, yelling. The old man extricated his arms from the carnage, brushing off his tattered sleeves.

Only then did Sam realize it was an ambler. Hidden under stiff collars, its face was pale and tinged with purple; its eyes, glittering behind horn-rimmed spectacles, were two faceted spheres of glass. There were steel anchors growing out of its heels.

The hand on her arm shook, gently. Sam looked up and saw an identical copy of the tuxedoed ambler – same glasses, same eyes – looking down at her. Looking, as if its eyes were real. It pulled her toward an engine, stepping over groaning supervisors like pavement.

Robert Finley was waiting. He beckoned at her. Come.

Orange-clad amblers materialized from every direction. They pulled the living from the wreck and set them in a row by the curb, ignoring their cries. They picked up the pullers – still tangled in their harnesses, their legs still peddling – and piled them up in a heap of flesh and rope.

Robert Finley pulled out a card. “Pleasure,” he said without a hint of it. “You are?”

“Sam,” said Sam, trembling.

“I will speak with you.”

He waved. The engines turned around into a slow-moving convoy. The two tuxedoed amblers grabbed onto external handholds, tails flapping.

Flanked by hissing steam and a platoon of the dead, they walked. Robert Finley folded his hands behind his back. “What is your current salary?” he asked.

“I…” She almost answered. “Why?”

Robert gave her a scathing look, as if she were a stain on his cuffs. “You will conduct yourself in a professional manner.”

Sam looked down at her hands. The plague mask dangled around her wrist, its beak crumpled from the crash. She wished desperately to wear it. “I apologize, Maestro,” she said.

“I am no Maestro.”

“I apologize –”

“When do you expect to audition?”

“I don’t...” Sam swallowed, forcing down the heart leaping to her throat. “I don’t know. I have not been given a timeline.”

“That was not my question.”

“I…I feel I am ready. Any time. I have studied –”

“You have been independently assessed on the Thirteen Fundamentals?”

“Yes.”

“You have field experience implementing the Handbook?”

“Yes.”

“You have completed Level Three Anatomy, Chemistry, Accounting, and Project Management qualifications?”

“Yes.”

“Is there any additional information you would like to provide in support of your application?”

“My…?” Sam swallowed again. “I’m not sure what I’m applying for, sir.”

Robert held out a velvet envelope. It was hastily sealed with uncoloured wax, but the imprint of the cartoon skeleton – seen here giving a thumbs-up – was unmistakable. “You will attend an interview at the House of Solutions on the twenty-second of September. You will be assessed by a panel of three, consisting of myself, Jack Finley, and Jack Finley. You will make yourself available.”

“I…I…” She struggled to verbalize her confusion. “Twenty-second. That’s during the plenum.”

“And?”

“I thought…”

“You will make yourself available.” Robert spoke like he hated each word as much as he seemed to hate her. “You have been given an opportunity. You will make the most of it, I am sure.”

Robert told me to kill you, the apprentice had said.

“What happens, sir, if…if I happen to be…not looking for a job?”

“I assumed you’d like to live.”

Sam wanted to cry. Her voice trembled despite every effort. “May I ask what I have done wrong?”

“No.”

“May I…speak to someone about it? Offer my apology?”

“No. The decision is made.”

“I…I would like to apologize anyway, sir. If I had known what it is, I would not have done it.”

Robert seemed amused. “Apology accepted. You have made a mistake early in your career. It is not too late to begin again.”

He clicked his fingers. A steam engine pulled up and opened its doors.

“May I get a lift to the hub, sir?” Sam asked. “I would be grateful.”

One foot on the steps, Robert beckoned her to follow. How dare you ask a favour of me, his eyes said. Sam shrugged as she climbed into the cabin. It was still better than walking.