The fire crackled low, and everyone went about their small tasks, cooking, eating, cleaning of metal eyes. Ruth came to her where she sat atop her roll of sleeping linen and gave her a book.
“It is a diary for you. To take notes of our journey.”
“Oh! Thank you.”
“There is a pencil inside the spine.” Ruth clicked her tongue. “I thought you would appreciate it.”
“Yes. I do.” She clasped Ruth’s giant hand and shook it, marveling at the heat in her fingers.
Sucking on her lower lip, with the diary clasped to her chest, she considered how lovely this was as Ruth moved away to sit and talk again with Shades.
Life was in disarray, and the prospect of writing the adventure down, yes, it filled her with excitement. In the last of the light, she wrote a few words, then closed the diary and slid it into the small bag John had given her.
John, the man who had happily sexually violated her but now did nothing more than watch every move she made—as if she held some secret he wanted but did not dare ask for? Or was he merely suspicious, thinking she might escape?
Then again, he hadn’t even roped her wrist.
After she slipped into the bedding, with a wad of clothes for a pillow, Po felt her wrist. She remembered the rope on her, tightening. Smiling, she shut her eyes and fell into some very odd dreams, none of which she could quite remember when she woke.
Morning, with the cold of the earth numbing her bones and flesh.
Bit by bit, Po unpacked herself from her roll of bedding. She rubbed her hip, combed a mess of hair from her eyes. Sleeping on the ground would make anyone feel a hundred years older.
Soon after, still yawning she stumbled to where the others had gathered beside the fire.
There was breakfast in the offing, for Shades was frying bacon, eggs, and tomatoes in a pan. With lard, she was told. She wasn’t sure what lard was, but it smelled delicious.
She leaned in and inhaled again.
“Oh, this is marvelous. The one thing I really miss is having a chef prepare my meals.”
Silence sneaked in.
“What did I say?”
“Here. Dig in.” Shades handed her a filled plate.
Of course. She looked down at the plate. This was what they always ate. Only John was likely to have ever eaten chef-prepared meals.
Had she insulted them?
Shades shot her a curious look, and John shook his head, but no one admonished her.
With the well-heaped plate, she sat with them on a large log, picked up her one utensil, a fork with bent tines. She rotated it.
Clean, at least.
Not silver but did that actually make the food taste different? No. Po tucked in, and took a mouthful, chewing with her eyes half-closed. Heavenly. She was dreadfully hungry. Swallowing it, feeling her stomach fill as she ate more, was a mixture of amazing and awesome.
She leaned forward and looked past Ruth at Shades. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” He smiled at her, his half-metal mouth inclining upward, and she met his eyes and smiled back.
This too felt good, her chest was gooey with warmth, same as yesterday. Was this what friendship felt like, when there were no politics, trade, money, or expectation of influence involved?
Though little more was said, already this was… comfortable.
As she ate the food with some rather stale bread, birds twittered in the trees, hopping about swearing at each other in bird language, or swiveling upside-down to nibble on some yellow flowers. Ruth’s blue birds joined them, adding to the noise.
While Ruth and John collected the dishes and set off to the stream, Shades unpacked something from his handcart, then walked to her. In his hand was a roll of cloth tied with a brown cord. Sunlight bathed a nearby log with brightness, and he beckoned her there and sat.
“Here is my eye.” It lay on his uncurled palm. With the other hand, he offered Po the roll of cloth. “This is the tool kit. There are small screwdrivers, hammers, tweezers, rods, spare screws, connectors, as well as a magnifying monocle. The eye is robust, so I have hopes.”
“Okay.” She looked about. “You should sit on the ground so I can see into the socket. Lean your head back, if you can?”
“Yes.” He sat, leaned his back against the log. “Say when you want me to tilt my head.”
She laid the roll of tools atop a clean shirt, drew a deep breath to steady herself, and she set to work.
As she worked, she recognized this as a pivotal moment for her. She had never before helped anyone for such selfless reasons. Her ministers would be appalled.
She thought back over the last few days of grit and grime, and the somewhat filthy sex, even if John had not technically deflowered her. That required penis-in-vagina intercourse. Her biology lessons had their uses. She found herself smiling.
Yesterday it had felt good to be tired. Today she was happy to be full of cheap but tasty food, to have the diary to write in—a present given her by the largest person she’d yet met. She was happy also to be with others who were working toward a goal that was not merely in coin. Even Shades had no definite reward in sight. It was a maybe, when they rescued Xander.
This was ordinary life, with unusual people, and it had great merit.
Her mind shifted gears.
Though, actually, gears were pretty simple at the time and made of timber unless they were inside clocks, or a cyclan warrior.
Life now had something more undefinable, whereas before it
