Time for a Fresh Start

“And then, I said—” began, but my thought was cut off by a whiff of a disgusting smell.

Shemman leaned against the bars of the cell. “What did you say?”

“Just a minute.” I sniffed, then almost retched. The smell was coming from… “Shemman. Jepha. When was the last time you washed your clothes?”

Jepha was listlessly sitting on his sheets, fiddling with a piece of gravel. He didn’t seem to hear the question. But Shemman answered “not since we were brought to this place, obviously.”

“Yikes.” I stood up. “Wait here. I’ll be right back!”

“I would not dream of leaving,” Shemman dryly returned as I hurried out.

It took a few minutes of searching, but I found my father in an out-of-the-way part of the Pocket, behind the buildings and right next to the grey misty barrier that formed the edge of the space. He was performing a handstand on just one hand, rapidly bending and lifting himself on his one arm.

When he heard me approach, he hopped to his feet. He wore only his pants and undershirt. His tricorn hat and suit were folded neatly to the side. “Hello, Rakel,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “I am glad to see you so cheerful.”

“Father, do you have two spare sets of clothes I can borrow temporarily? Just for a few hours, at most.”

He looked puzzled. “I do, but what do you need them for?”

“Shemman and Jepha are in desperate need of having their clothes washed. They need something to wear in the meantime.”

“Who are—ah. The prisoners.” His face clouded. “You know their names?”

“It would be strange not to, Father,” I said, trying not to let my impatience slip through.

He said “Rakel, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the amount of time you spend down there.”

“Not now, Father, really. They are waiting for me.” Urgh. This polite form of speech didn’t roll off my tongue well anymore, not now that I had been regularly speaking in a relaxed way to Shemman. “There is nothing to worry about. Really.”

My father seemed to go through some kind of internal struggle for a moment. Then he sighed. “Follow me. I will get you those clothes.”

I returned to the jail with an armful of my father’s clothes. I pressed them between the bars. “Get changed, then give me your old clothes.”

Japha asked “why, Miss Rakel?”

“I’m going to wash them.”

Shemman said “Rakel. I have a small request. While we change, could you bring me a pen and some paper?”

“Sure thing.” I scampered to the library, where after a short argument with Bekah I acquired the requested items.

When I got back into the jail, I saw the brothers had already changed. The clothes were far too large for the slim Shemman and the small Japha; in particular, Japha had decided to try on my father’s tricorn, which fell so low that it covered the entire top half of his face. I burst out laughing. Shemman asked what was so funny. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but you look like children who broke into their father’s wardrobe.”

“Not far from the truth, I suppose,” Shemman said. He had neatly folded his dirty clothes, while Japha had left his in a crumpled pile. I took both piles and walked to what served as the laundry room.

The Pocket had a room that sort of worked like a well. In that room, clean water continuously flowed out of a hollow metal pipe that protruded from the wall. If left to its own devices, the water would fall into a hole in the ground covered with a metal grate. If we wanted water for anything, we just had to put a container to catch the flow. My father called it “plumbing” and said he had seen it in cities before, although he didn’t know where the supply of water came from. Granny had speculated that part of the magic that sustained the Pocket drew clean water from outside somewhere, then drained the dirty water somewhere else. I had privately wondered why the mages who built this place couldn’t have done something similar for food, but I supposed I couldn’t complain.

There was already someone in the water room: Mrs. Elihu, the wife of Andre, who I had reprimanded the other day. She was a sturdy woman, with a tough appearance built from years of hard work. She was already arm-deep in a washbasin filled with suds, but glanced up when I entered. “Good day, Rakel,” she said in a clipped voice. Glancing at the pile of dirty clothes in my hand, she added “come to finally contribute something to this little community?”

I ignored her irritable tone. Everyone was a bit on edge these days. “I’m washing Shemman and Jepha’s clothes,” I said, showing her the black robes unlike anything else worn in our community.

“Well. How nice.” Her voice was cold and her face had the same clouded look that my father’s had had.

I felt the need to defend my actions. “If we’re going to keep them prisoner, we should take care of them.”

“Yes. No doubt.” The coldness had not left her voice. I decided maybe it was best not to antagonize her anymore. I moved toward her washbasin. She scooched to the side to give me space, and for a while we sat in silence, washing clothes.

Presently, the awkwardness was too much for me. “How is Mr. Elihu? After the other day with Old Man Hendriss.”

“Oh, he’ll be fine. I think it hurt his pride a bit to be talked down to by a child.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

She waved her left hand dismissively, splashing a few drops of soapy water on my face. “Don’t be. With your skill in magic at your age, there’s no doubt you’ll become the leader of this community sooner or later. Andre will have to accept that.”

“It’s not like I wanted to intervene. Granny forced me to stop them.”

“I see.”

I finished washing the clothes. Oh, of course. They were still wet. I didn’t want to wait for them to air dry. I wondered…

I opened myself to the Expanse, then performed a quick sequence of hand gestures. The clothes began to hover in the air under my command. I added another sequence of gestures. I had never tried this particular variation of this spell before, but my tutoring sessions on the theory of magic with Granny had made me confident enough to experiment with magic.

The levitating clothes began vibrating at high speeds, spraying a fine mist into my face. I spluttered, losing my concentration and letting the clothes fall to the floor. When I wiped my eyes and picked them up, they were mostly dry.

Mrs. Elihu looked on in awe. “Can you teach me that spell?” Best as I remembered, she was an Earth mage, so a Space spell like that should be doable but hard.

“Maybe later!” I wanted to bring the boys their newly clean clothes.

I hurried out of the water room. Just outside the door stood Liah. I stepped to the left to avoid her, but stepped in the same direction. She forcefully bumped into me, knocking the clothes to the dirt. I stared at her for a moment; she had done that on purpose!

“Oops,” she said, smirking. “Sooo sorry.” She walked off, making sure to step on the sleave of Shemman’s robe.

A part of me wanted to run after her and scream at her, but that wouldn’t solve anything. Biting the words down my throat, I gathered up the clothing and returned to the water room. Once again, I washed Shemman and Jepha’s robes, although this time Mrs. Elihu helped. I used the same spell to dry them—this time making sure I did it outside so we didn’t get splashed again.

I muttered curses at Liah under my breath the entire way back to the jail. “Here,” I said when I got inside, thrusting the robes through the bars.

Jepha seemed reluctant to accept his cleaned clothes—I got the distinct impression he was enjoying playing in my father’s baggy shirt—but Shemman forced him to take the black robes. I turned around to let them change.

With my back still turned, Shemman said “um, Rakel? I see you appear to be in a poor mood, but—”

“I’m not mad!” I snapped. “I am very happy! Nothing’s wrong!”

“I see.” With the sounds of changing finished, I turned around again. Shemman and Jepha were back in their black robes, but Shemman clutched the papers I had fetched for him. I saw the top one was covered in some kind of writing.

Shemman cleared his throat nervously. “Well, ah, how should I put this.” He looked helplessly to his brother. Jepha didn’t say anything, so Shemman took a deep breath and continued. “In Aijalon, when one receives an act of kindness, it is customary to repay the act with a work of art that one has created.”

I blinked. “You want to thank me for washing your clothes?”

“Not just the clothing, but all the kindness you have shown to my brother and.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Well, it’s sort of my fault you guys ended up here…”

“Be that as it may, I wish to repay your kindness during our extended stay with your people. So I, er, composed a set of poems. For you.” He held up the paper. His face flushed. “May I, ah, read them?”

It must have been warmer in the jail than I had realized, because my face started to feel hot. “Sure, Shemman. That would be nice.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat and began speaking.

What followed was a blur of affronts to rhyme, meter, and the concept of beauty itself. I could not recall any words, only an overwhelming repulsion at the fundamental wrongness of every word.

The sensation seemed to last an eternity, but at the end of the eternity, Shemman closed his mouth. “Did…did you like it?” he asked, an uncharacteristic shyness in his voice.

“Wow. Uh, yeah. The poem was very…yes. I have to ask: did you revise it at all?”

“Neigh! I simply let my emotions flow onto the page unadulterated.”

“Something flowed onto the page, all right.”

Shemman beamed. “I have half a dozen more poems right here! I can read them too.”

“No, thanks,” I said hastily. “Let’s, uh, save those for a special occasion.” I felt bad. Clearly, Shemman had put a lot of effort into writing that thing that called itself a poem. And I was truly happy that Shemman had wanted to make something for me. In fact, the happiness dispelled the cloud that my run-in with Liah had left with me.

I drew closer to the bars. Shemman did likewise (Jepha was lying on the ground, apparently knocked out by the poem). “Really, thank you,” I said.

“I wanted to do something for you, Rakel,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you.” He stretched his hand through the bars, ready to place it on my hand—

“If you two are done with the love poetry,” Granny’s voice came from behind me, “I need to speak with you, Rakel.”

I whirled around. Shemman sprang back to the far end of the cell like he had been stung. Granny was standing a few arms lengths behind me, frowning. I said “Granny! Um, we were just talking, and,”

Granny said, her voice serious, “we can open the portal now. But I need your help.”