A Slice of Unkindness Read online

  Those drones who worked in the fuel refineries had to wear the equivalent of hazmat suits and still ended up with a reduced lifespan from their toil. But there was never any lack for replacements on Castor 5. The planet was a dumping ground for all sorts of human refuse from the galaxy. Once deposited on the planet, it was extremely difficult to leave. Inhabitants were quarantined for life.

  Edgar looked out the window and wondered why buildings were even designed with glass. There was generally nothing to see but fog. Every now and then a steam carriage, pulled by mechanical horses, would puff its way by, parting the mists. Everyone who made Castor 5 their home seemed to have a yearning for the way things were. Digital machinery was useless in the gas but gears and steam worked just fine, if adding to the poisonous air. Animal husbandry was out of the question but everyone seemed to have a robot dog, cat or other small pet. The ridiculously wealthy had real, actual dogs. Rats were plentiful, having hitched a ride on cargo ships, and consequently so were cats to combat immigrated rodents. Mechanical horses were all the rage if you could afford it and one deka millionaire, who had dubbed himself “the Maharajah” even had a steam animal zoo complete with elephants and giraffes.

  Edgar shook her head again and wondered why she had ever come here. It was all too much like the First Earth song about a hotel one could never leave. Visiting Castor 5 was so easy. Leaving was a virtual impossibility unless you were a merchant with friends in high places. Edgar had scheduled one quick trip fifteen years ago and she was stuck. She had been assured passage back home but somehow it never happened. Now she couldn’t escape. Like a fly in honey, she was trapped. And all the appeal and excitement of the venture had faded away too quickly.

  “Morning, Professor,” said a young voice behind her, jarring her out of her thoughts. She turned about and nearly dropped her cup.

  Warren Corbie had been transformed. Now scrubbed and clean, his face seemed several shades lighter. His unkempt curls were wet and brushed to lay slick against his head. He was dressed in a plain but spotlessly clean, white shirt which was a tad bit large on him. Suspenders held up pants that, like his shirt, were a bit too big. A belt kept his pants from falling down around his ankles. The socks and shoes seemed to fit better because his feet were bigger than the rest of his proportions, a herald of things to come. He should mature tall and lanky, if his nutritional needs could catch up to his feet.

  She noticed now that he was clean, his freckles and startling blue eyes seemed to stand out all the more. He would be a lady killer someday.

  Morris stood just behind the boy, beaming at her.

  “Good heavens!” Edgar exclaimed. “What happened to that scrap of an urchin who bolted into my shop yesterday?”

  “Miss Morris told me to scrub behind my ears and wash my hands for breakfast,” Warren said.

  Edgar smiled. “And you decided to go for brownie points and get it all clean, eh?” she laughed. “My stars! The boy actually smells presentable, too! Well done, Morris.”

  Morris clucked maternally and guided Warren to a chair.

  “Set yerself doon, laddie, and let’s get some meat on those bones, shall we?”

  He did as he was bid. He still did not smile and his eyes had a haunted look as if he expected to be turned out any minute for the slightest transgression.

  “How do ya like your tea?” Morris asked.

  Warren looked about as if the question was a test.

  “I... I’m not sure,” he stammered in a tiny voice. “I’ve never had… tea before.”

  Morris tsked with disapproval. “Well here we ’ave tea fer breakfast.” And she launched into a description of tea and the different ways people doctored it. The boy listened dutifully for a bit and then Edgar noticed his eyes seemed to glaze over as he was overwhelmed by it all.

  “Let’s keep it simple for now, shall we, Morris?” Edgar suggested. “Plain tea with honey. We can’t get sugar and honey never goes bad even if it is pricey.”

  Edgar pretended not to notice but she watched as Warren took his first, cautious sip. She tried not to laugh as his eyebrows shot skyward and he stared at the hot, dark liquid in his fine china cup.

  “Good eh?” she whispered. Warren nodded as he eagerly gulped down the tea all at once.

  “I guess they give ya coffee at Madeline’s instead? It’s cheaper,” mused Morris.

  “No,” Warren replied.

  “Milk then?” Edgar suggested as she refilled the cup again.

  “No. What’s coffee?” Warren asked.

  This prompted a horrified glance from Morris which Warren missed.

  “Are flapjacks okay fer breakfast?” Morris asked as she busied herself at the stove.

  “Sure. I guess. What are flapjacks?” Warren asked.

  Morris spun on her heels and stared at the boy in disbelief. Warren recoiled as if he had said something wrong.

  “Ya dinna know what flapjacks are?” she exclaimed.

  “Pancakes?” suggested Edgar trying to be helpful but Warren only turned to her and blinked in confusion. It was obvious to both of them the boy had no idea what they were talking about.

  “Ooch! What are tay feeding you at tha’, place?” Morris demanded.

  Warren blinked a few times before he replied, “Dirty water and some runny porridge they call ‘Mulligan Stew’.”

  Morris and Edgar exchanged the same horrified glances.

  “What about lunch?” Edgar asked.

  “Mulligan Stew,” he answered.

  “And supper?” asked Morris.

  “The same. Mulligan Stew,” he replied again.

  “Dessert? Snacks?” Morris quipped.

  Warren wrinkled his nose. “What are those?”

  Again Edgar and Morris exchanged incredulous looks.

  “Well!” Morris declared as if she had been insulted. “There will be nae Mulligan Stew ’ere. Ever!”

  “Suits me fine!” Warren told them. “I never want to see or taste that slop again.”

  He was working on his third cup of tea. Edgar was relieved the cups were so small. Morris’s hands flew as she made breakfast. Warren sniffed at the wonderful smells coming from the stovetop and his stomach yowled loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. He blushed in embarrassment but neither of the women took any notice. Presently a plate with a heaping stack of steaming pancakes was placed in front of him and the professor.

  Edgar noticed Warren staring at the plate. She realized he had no idea how to tackle this strange new food. He had probably only handled a spoon if he had eaten porridges all his life. And it was obvious he was too shy to ask.

  Quietly she took the lead. She cut a pat of butter and christened the top of her stack with it. She poured on a healthy dollop of maple syrup. Then she took up her knife and fork and cut the flat patties into bite-sized pieces. Warren observed closely and mimicked what she did as best as he was able. Cautiously he took his first bite of syrupy, sweet pancake. His eyebrows shot up and his eyes went wide with delicious delight. The pancakes were quickly devoured with gusto.

  Morris caught Edgar’s gaze.

  “Told ya,” she crowed. “Miss Madeline’s illustrious establishment knows naught about feeding a growing bairn. Mulligan Stew, my lily white arse! That stuff’s poison.”

  At this Warren stopped eating and dropped his fork with a clatter. “Poison?” he protested. “But they feed everyone Mulligan Stew. How could it possibly be poison?”

  Edgar made a sound that resembled a dog growling. “Haven’t you heard the song?”

  Warren blinked again and shook his head in denial.

  Edgar grimaced. “Well, since Miss Madeline’s is government funded, I’m not surprised. It’s against the law to sing or play it.”

  She punched some keys on her Babbage device. “Too many rules,” she muttered. “But we have ways around such nonsense.”

  Music began to play. The sound of a banjo playing a spritely tune began to waft out of the device and presently someone began to si
ng a song with the lilt of a limerick.

  “Mulligan Stew, Mulligan Stew,

  Oh what shall we do with the horrible brew?

  Shine your windows and mop your floors,

  Dry it and sweep it with the dust out the door.

  Grease the gears and shine the chrome,

  It’s so useful on things around your home!

  It really is a marvelous thing,

  Of its wonders I will sing.

  But listen, my child, and listen well,

  Of the warning to you I tell.

  Do not, I implore, quaff, eat or otherwise imbibe,

  Or let it in any way get inside.

  Although they call it stew, use caution with this brew,

  For no good will come of it within the human flesh.

  Its ingredients and health do not mesh,

  It will stunt your growth, increase your sloth,

  Rot your teeth, increase your grief,

  Shorten your life, disappoint your wife,

  Dull your brain, while increase your strain,

  Pock your skin, make your body thin,

  Loosen your nails, cause your heart to fail,

  Your thoughts will slow, your passions go,

  And that’s just the way the government likes it!

  So please, my friend, of my words take heed,

  And never use it for human feed!”

  Edgar sniffed in disgust. “Everyone on this planet is fed a steady diet of Mulligan Stew in some form or another. They make it into crystals and add it to the water you drink. The stuff they sell as spices is laced with powdered Mulligan Stew. It’s in the side dishes, the desserts and all the main courses.”

  Morris shook her head and her red curls flounced, prettily. “Not ’ere!” she insisted. “Not under me roof! The water system has a filter on it… an illegal one but a filter nonetheless. I buy all my foodstuffs from an underground grocer who makes sure to provide me purified food. I did ’im a favor and birthed ’is bairn when ’is wife was ’avin’ trouble and ta government doctors turned her out on the streets, poor lass! Which reminds me.”

  She rose from the table, went to a nearby cabinet and pulled out an old, black, leather doctor’s bag. She placed it on the kitchen table and rummaged around in it muttering to herself. Finally, with a cry of triumph, she produced a medical vial filled with a blue liquid.

  “Here, laddie. Drink this, all of it,” she instructed.

  Warren pushed his chair away from the table. “No!” he said in a soft but firm voice.“I won’t drink it and you can’t make me!” Warren was utterly defiant as he stuck out his lower lip and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  Morris began to insist but Edgar raised a hand to stop her.

  “Warren, have you drunk something like this before?” she asked.

  The boy hesitated and then fearfully nodded. “They made us drink some icky tasting stuff that looked just like that,” he explained. “If you didn’t take it, they’d beat you. Or pin you down and force open your mouth. It would make you sleep. Then you’d wake up later sore and sick. Except for me. I always woke up in the middle of what they were doing to me.”

  There was a long silence. Then Morris gently prodded him to go on. He didn’t want to but she touched him lightly on the arm and smiled encouragingly.

  He began again, faltering as he spoke.

  “I can’t speak for the others. But I would always wake up strapped into a chair so as I couldn’t move. There were doctors all around me with masks and gowns on. I couldn’t see their faces. They would take blood from me first. And then they would stick me with needles, lots and lots of needles. The needles hurt. The stuff it did to me afterwards… it made me sick and gave me nightmares. I couldn’t sleep afterwards. That’s why I had to run away.”

  “They’ve been… experimenting on ya?” Morris asked, her pretty features creased with concerned pity.

  The boy nodded.

  “Monsters!” Edgar muttered under her breath.

  Warren’s blue eyes were huge and sad.

  “Did they do this to all the bairns?” asked Morris.

  He shook his head in denial.

  “Just ten of us,” he told them. “They would have us all strapped into chairs in the same room. Then I noticed… time after time… a chair would be empty. And then another, and another, until I was the only one left.”

  Warren’s eyes dropped to his hands which were clenched in his lap.

  “I know the others are dead. I just wish I knew why. They weren’t trying to kill us. It just kinda… happened, that’s all.”

  The professor and the red-haired woman exchanged worrisome looks. Edgar sighed and pulling her chair closer, she gently took hold of Warren’s hands in her long, slender fingers.

  “Warren child, I hate to ask this but I must. Do you know why they were doing this to you? What did they hope to accomplish with these… experiments?”

  But the boy only stared absently off into space and shook his head. “They weren’t trying to kill us…” he whispered again, almost to himself. “Not really. They wanted us all to live. But why was I the only one? They said that I was stronger than the others. Why did the others die?”

  Morris gave Edgar a hard look and motioned to her to step away for a moment. Edgar rose from her chair and followed. Morris led her to the next room and turned to face her, seething with barely contained rage.

  “I expressly forbid ya ta ever take ta boy back to tha’ ’orrible place! I’ve suspected fer some time those walls contained some terrible secret. Now we ’ave proof.” She fumed in a voice she struggled to keep low.

  Edgar nodded. She agreed completely with her partner’s assessment. But there was something else that concerned her more.

  “Be that as it may, we have another, more pressing worry. If he’s the only surviving member of that experiment, do you really think they want to lose him?” she posed. “They’re going to want him back as soon as possible. They know exactly where he went, so they know where to look for him. And they probably don’t want him talking to anyone.”

  Morris’ green eyes glittered in the dim light as she pondered her partner’s words. “Ya think we’re being watched?”

  Edgar sniffed derisively. “Absolutely!” she retorted. “Which means I can’t leave. Good thing you can although not in your present form. So take care when you venture outside, hear?”

  Morris nodded. “Duly noted.”

  Edgar heaved a heavy sigh. “Our lives just became a bit… complicated!”

  “What do we do if the government comes knocking and demands to ’ave ’im back?” Morris asked fearfully.

  “It won’t be the government,” Edgar insisted. “More likely it will be Miss Madeline herself. And if that happens, we hide him and deny, deny, deny! His life may depend on it.”

  Morris clucked and shook her head. “I ’ave a feeling there will be consequences ta ’arboring a runaway orphan, especially this ’un.”

  Chapter 3

  They didn’t have long to wait for those consequences.

  That afternoon, about an hour after the noon-day whistle, Morris came bursting in the front door all in a huff.

  “Miss Madeline’s carriage is ’eaded this way! Where is ’e?” she exclaimed.

  “Warren!” Edgar bellowed over her shoulder to the rear of the bookstore where the living quarters were located. “Warren! Hide! She’s coming!”

  There was a hiss and a screech as a steam carriage pulled up on the street outside.

  “Find him,” Edgar ordered. “And hide him. NOW!”

  Morris fled to the back in a flurry of red curls and ruffled skirts just as the front door’s bells jangled.

  A woman entered the bookstore. She was large of girth and her attire only made her wider. She had to enter the shop sideways so her bustle would fit. A large, black hat with a broad brim, christened with expensive ostrich feathers—real feathers not the synthetic sort—perched supremely on her small head. She removed her
white, porcelain breathing mask, painted to resemble a beautiful woman with long lashes and perfect, red, pouty lips to reveal a perpetually smug looking face. Her chin seemed to blend into her thick neck in folds. She wore too much makeup and her perfume preceded her into the store, hanging about her as heavy as the endless fog outside.

  “Ah, Edgar!” she said imperiously as she swaggered her way confidently up to the counter.

  “Miss Madeline,” Edgar nodded in a flat tone.

  “I won’t keep you long,” Madeline said as she gazed about at the stacks of books as if such antiquity offended her. “I’m sure you’re… busy. Although with what I cannot fathom!”

  Edgar’s sharp ears caught the note of disdain. Her eyes narrowed and she frowned.

  “One of my dear children has appeared to go on walkabout. He was seen entering this… establishment. I’d like to take him back home where he belongs. Now if you would produce him, I will take him off your hands and your life can return to normal… such as it is,” she told Edgar. She kept her gloved hands folded daintily in front of her as if she was afraid to touch anything.

  Morris silently came up to stand behind her. Edgar glanced briefly. Her red-haired partner gave the merest of head shakes. Edgar knew she hadn’t found the boy. Her green eyes were riveted on Miss Madeline. She was trembling with the effort of holding back.

  “He came in here,” Edgar said with a nod. Behind her she heard Morris squeak. “But I kicked him right out again. He’s not here now.” Here Edgar paused for effect. “I don’t like children.”

  Miss Madeline truly seemed surprised at this answer. She paused a moment, thinking. “You’re right. You certainly don’t seem to be the child rearing type. You probably have no idea what to do with one. What a pity.”

  The imposing woman in black slowly turned to leave. Morris carefully heaved an immense sigh of relief.