3 Million Marks

Miren swept a trembling hand over her wet lips, the taste of bile on her tongue and teeth threatening to send her retching over the toilet bowl again. The nausea had been a constant if unobtrusive companion all day until the overfilled garbage bag she had been carrying had split down the side, releasing the stench of day-old caviar and stale champagne.

Once certain her stomach had settled, she rose slowly and made her back to the deserted staff changing room. As kitchen porter, she was always the first one in and the last to clock out.

She stripped off her work uniform, tossing the garment into a communal wash basket.

She caught a glimpse of her naked form in the mirror on the far side of the room. Endless scrubbing and lifting had calloused her hands and set tight muscles on her small frame.

Unconsciously, she thought of him, the warmth of his lips on her palms and the press of his hardness against what little softness remained of her.

It was a wonder he had noticed her.

Even the thought of him dazzled her and brought a reflexive squint to her eyes.

He was an Elite. Special. Descended from the first families to settle in New Britannia after the Great Plague had all but decimated the Old World.

She was a Drudge. Common as dirt. One among millions who formed the lowest rung of society. Labour brought in from the still diseased old world on a lottery system. Cogs in the grand machine of New Britannia, furthering industry and science in the hope of building the world anew.

***

The Steadings, where she made her living, was a restaurant located in a plush neighborhood of New Britannia's Capital. Its frontage overlooked the Parliament and Treasury, around which lush greenery intersected by high streets of graphite tarmac, pastel townhouses and well-appointed shop fronts painted a scene of wholesome prosperity.

During the day, the streets were alive with Elite dressed to impress in fluttering silk chiffon, their children outfitted like little royals, running squealing from nannies as their mamas looked on from cafes dotted around the Central Plaza.

At this hour, the streets were deserted save for Drudges like her or Guards on patrol.

Delayed by her bout of sickness, Miren half-ran half-hobbled the last block to the train station. The last train of the day was almost due, and she didn't fancy a half-hour walk home. The checkpoints were no place for an unaccompanied Drudge, especially a woman.

***

The architecture changed drastically as the locomotive rolled past the glittering Elite quarter, growing far less ostentatious as the tracks wound through the Cleric quarter, the abode of the political class, culminating in the brutally practical Barracks that housed the Guard.

The train slowed as it approached the Drudge quarter. Twenty-storey tenements crowded the landscape, interspersed with clusters of trees and allotments bursting with crops the Drudge were strongly encouraged to grow.

Solar-powered street lights illuminated cabro plazas, which in the daytime were overrun by vendors selling everything from furniture to live chickens and in the night, much the same, save rowdier with Drudge returning from work.

A cacophony of languages, percussion and food smells struck Miren as soon as the train doors opened. Although she had safely tucked the day's wages into a hidden pocket in her jacket, Miren hugged her satchel close as she walked. The satchel contained leftovers that she had carried to share with her bunk-mates. The districts pickpockets were as undiscriminating of their targets as they were canny.

The boarding house came into view, and Miren quickened her pace, eager to get home and wash the day off.

***

"Alright, Miren?"

Prostrated on the bottom bunk, Miren smiled weakly at Karina, the one member of the household she dared call friend.

"Suppose the buttered crab claws knew a lowly Drudge was eating them and are seeking vengeance," she groaned as syrupy sweetness flooded her mouth.

She barely made it to the floors shared bathroom.

She hunched over the privy bowl until there was nothing but air left to purge. When she turned back, she realised she had failed to shut the door; a half dozen faces peered in at her. Some concerned, others disgusted, and one or two exchanging looks.

"Come on, let's get you washed up," Karina bustled in to gather Miren into her arms.

"Shall I call Mrs H?" Lydia, the youngest in the group, piped up.

"No!" The interjection was so sharp it made Miren jump, "I don't think we need to disturb Mrs H. over a little tummy trouble, Lydia."

The young woman who has spoken strode into the bathroom then, without much ado, shut the heavy wooden door on the other girls.

"Sylvie, what-"

Sylvie drew up, gently tilting Miren's face up to meet her own with the tips of her fingers, "How long have you felt ill? A week? Two?"

"More..." Miren replied thickly.

Sylvie lips pursed, "When was your last course?"

Miren blushed. Karina spluttered.

"When?"

"Maybe two months ago?"

"That far along..."

Karina's face mirrored Miren's confusion. Sylvie sighed heavily.

"I heard Mrs H. talking about you and Grayson Carnow," Sylvie's tone broached no argument.

Miren blushed scarlet, Karina's brow furrowed.

Mrs H tried to maintain the appearance of an upstanding boarding house owner. Yet, it was no secret that she owned a good number of bordellos too, secret salons scattered through the Drudge districts, frequented by the gently bred Elite to drink, gamble and engage in all sorts of debauched behaviour.

Though a Drudge Sylvie didn't work in service. She worked in the bordellos; her tall curvaceous figure and archly pretty features made her perfect as a bordellina. Drudge or no, she was striking, and the Elite were not above sleeping with the help.

Grayson Carnow, the third son of the Carnow conglomerate, was a patron of The Steadings. He spent extravagantly and tipped generously.

One bustling evening, with all hands on deck, Miren had been tasked with serving a particularly boisterous party of Elites. It was late; drink flowed freely, tongues were loose and hands overeager. One of the men had swept Miren onto his lap; another lifted her skirts lifted so high that gooseflesh puckered the skin on her thighs.

"Lay off the help, will you!" Grayson's tone was playful, but his look was not.

"Just having a little fun, Grayson," the one with his hand between her thighs grumbled.

"I don't want to have to ask you again, Gibs."

Miren was released.

Her face burned with mortification. Grayson helped her up, her trembling hand clutching his as he led her out of the private room.

He asked her name and remembered it the next time he visited. Alone.

He asked for her, and though surprised, the proprietor of The Steadings obliged.

"Why me?" she asked over dessert.

The question needed no context.

"Why not you?" he replied simply.

To that, she had no reply, at least not one that would not insult him and demean her.

All children were taught about the Great Plague. The first wave of a viral illness that had destroyed the Old World and hundreds of years later still caused devastating outbreaks among those outside nations like New Britannia.

No Drudge was allowed to forget who had brought humankind out of the dark age wrought by The Great Plague.

The forefathers of New Britannia, Carnows among them, had pooled their resources, claimed an Island in the Ariary sea and set out to rebuild. Their first step was developing the vaccine and, after that, reclaiming the glory of the second golden age.

Grayson smiled then. There was little in him that could displease anyone, but it was his smile, blinding and beautiful, that sent her tumbling over the edge of common sense.

"You're... she's not…." Karina stammered in disbelief.

Miren said nothing.

"Only the Elite can have children-"

Sylvie lifted a hand to silence Karina, "Except they can't...or don't, I haven't quite worked out which."

"We're all sterilised on arrival," Miren stated softly.

She had received the shot at the terminus immediately on arrival. The rationale put forward was the strict need to maintain a sustainable population. Drudges left to manage themselves would multiply like locusts and, much like the vermin, leave only destruction in their wake.

"Sometimes, a lot more than you would think, it doesn't take." Sylvie replied.

An interminable pause.

"Where do they get the children?" Miren asked, thinking of the children in the Central Plaza,

"Where do you think?" Sylvie's gaze darted to Miren's belly, "They pay you for the honour...though if you tell Mrs H, you'll never see a cent of it."

Neither girl asked how Sylvie had come by this information.

"You haven't been with anyone else...local?" Sylvie asked.

"No…"

The bordellina nodded.

Grayson had not sought Miren out in over a month though he still frequented The Steadings. It was readily apparent that he had simply tired of her.

"You will find Grayson and tell him about the child."

"Miren, you can't dare…." Karina gasped, "How would she even find him?"

"At this time of night, he'll either be at The Belvedere or Sappho. I'll find out."

Sylvie provided clothes and make-up for Miren to wear and asked Fatou, another bordellina, to help her into her costume.

For it was indeed a costume. Miren was unrecognisable.

***

Sappho was a confection of dark wood furniture, bright yellow, pink and green silks upholstery, accented with an excess of gold and crystal fixtures and virtu.

Miren was still jittery from the journey across several checkpoints to the bordello, convinced that she would be caught and sent to gaol, but the Guard paid scant attention to her or Sylvie, not with the red ribbons tied to their arms to signify their destination.

She heard his laugh before she saw him. He sat on a lime wingback chair, his shirt unbuttoned to his sternum, revealing the smooth muscled planes of his chest and the golden heart-shaped locket that rested there.

He glanced up and smiled as though he had known she would be there at that exact moment. Miren faltered.

Sylvie's hand clasped hers, warm and reassuring, "Remember, Miren, you have the power...these Elites would be nothing without us."

Miren returned Grayson's smile but did not go to him. Instead, she took a turn about the room before stealing into a secluded portico, then waited anxiously for him to trace her path.

"Hello, little bird," the words were a puff of warm wine-soaked air along her neck.

Miren gasped in surprise, and the breathy exhale must have sounded like an invitation. His hands grasped her around the waist and drew her against him.

"Gray…"

A pause.

"Miren?"

She turned to face him.

"What are you doing here?" he took her in, seemingly for the first time since setting eyes on her.

It was sobering to realise that he had only followed her because this costumed version of her had intrigued him. Not because he had recognised her for who she was.

His lips parted into an apologetic smile, "Listen, I truly enjoyed our time together, but-"

Miren cut him off, "I need your help."

His smile turned wicked, "How much?"

"Excuse me?"

"The going rate for a night is-"

Miren could not accurately pinpoint when her hand had left her side and struck his face. He reared back as though about to return the hit, and she flinched in anticipation of the blow, but none came.

Her whole body was shaking. She prayed the tremor would not carry into her voice.

"The going rate is three million Marks."

He scoffed, "You were good but not that good a fu-"

"The going rate for a baby, Grayson Carnow." Miren snapped.

In an instant, he was stone-cold sober, "Mine?"

She nodded.

"Well, doesn't that change things."

It worried her only slightly that the look on Grayson's face wasn't one of fatherly pride but pure calculating glee.

FIN