Kalon leaned heavily on the broom, still aching from the kicks three days earlier; blood had still been present at the bathroom that morning, although she had at least stopped spitting it up.
She stole glances at her scruffy captor.
He was extra disheveled that morning, frantically searching the wooden crates stacked to the ceiling on the far wall of their small cottage. He gnawed his bitten nails, leg bouncing.
Her heart missed a beat when he shot a look her way. She turned back to sweeping, her long curls swinging in time with the broom. She tensed as a hard hand dropped on her shoulder, the broom ripped from her grasp.
“Where’s the book?”
“It should be–.”
“Should nothing! You stole it!”
Kalon flinched as he raised a hand, peeking at him when the hit did not come and the grip on her arm was released. She cradled her bruised ribs as she shuffled after him, ducking to peer into the next box he searched.
“There’ll be hell to pay if I don’t find it. That librarian is going to show up any second to–.”
THUD, THUD, THUD.
She whimpered involuntarily as he scruffed her, tossing her down at the box.
“Keep looking!”
She sat still as his footsteps faded. She pushed the box aside and inched towards the wall. She listened–silence–and wedged a thin book out from behind the crates. She traced her skinny, pale finger over the curly writing inlaid on the soft, worn, leather cover: The Nutcracker.
It was the only one of his books she had not read yet. She had gotten her hands in it long enough to see beautiful, fantastic pictures of dancers in long skirts before an evergreen tree larger than a building decorated in colors, and a humanoid rat with a crown, uniform, and sword. She had tried several times over the last year to steal more glances, and always received a beating. It was the oldest book he owned, the most valuable, and he was sure to express it was more important than her wellbeing.
Kalon pressed the thin book to her chest. She inched from the room, poking her head around to the living room.
He was with a man, this one older than him by many years. His hair was more salt than pepper. His face was deeply lined and grizzled. His eyes were sharp, and Kalon shrunk as they flashed to her.
“Come join us, young miss.”
She hesitantly came forward at the lack of reaction from him. She stayed still, rigid, as ripped the book from her grip.
“See? Here it is! Belonged to my grandmother.” He glowered. “You took it, didn't you, you nasty thief?”
Kalon cowered. “No, it fell!”
“And whose job is it to clean?”
She covered her head with her arms as he raised his hand to her.
“Sir, you better lower that hand if you want to make a deal on that book.”
She slowly lowered her arms as he retreated. She did not leave. She rubbed her naked, purpled ribcage, watching the old man with uncertainty.
“Come sit, young miss.”
“She's fine where she's at. In fact, she shouldn't be there. Go back to your cleaning!”
“Surely your daughter can visit for a few moments. I don't often get to pick the minds of young ladies.”
“Daughter?” He laughed cruelly. “No, no, she is absolutely not my daughter.” He rapped against the table with his hard knuckles. “Please, to business, Mr. Gousa.”
Kalon spied the other books he picked to discard, books she had managed to sneak reads from.
They were more worn, paperback, and spoke of brainy beauties too busy for love that always fell head over heels for an aloof hunk that ravished them by the end of the first act, leaving the rest of the one hundred or so pages to explicitly lay out each encounter thereafter.
She compared her own encounters with her captor to the ones in these books. The striking lack of similarities had her conclude that whoever wrote those books had never had an encounter themselves.
“Ah, smut novella. Of course.”
“Of course?”
“Shockingly common to see when you put out the notice you seek books.” The old man set his gaze to her, frowning. “Have you read these?”
“Once. Each.” Kalon scrunched her dirty toes. “I… like to read.”
“Admirable hobby.”
“Forget the girl, what about the price? If those are so common, what range am I looking at?”
The old man narrowed his eyes. “One note for all five.” He offered a smile to Kalon. “I hope you find the price fair enough.”
Kalon shrugged. “I don't know about prices.”
“Why do you keep trying to include her? She's nothing!”
“She read what I'm purchasing when I have not. I should know if I'm being ripped off.”
“They're readable, and that's good enough!”
“Sir, you will mind your volume if you wish to continue.”
It was odd to watch him back off all on the word of this old man. She never knew him not to be the one in control.
“Now, young miss, what did you think of these paperbacks?”
“Not much.” She picked at her nails, keeping her eyes down. “The one with the cowboys… they change the spelling of the man's name from pages sixty-seven to the middle of one hundred and thirty-two. The shipwreck one had four pages–end of seven to the first three words on eleven–dedicated to describing the man's–.”
“Can we please move on to the last book? That's the one that's my money maker anyhow.”
Kalon shuffled forward as he presented the Nutcracker. She rocked onto her toes to view the colored pages as he proudly displayed them. She shrank as the old man acknowledged her with his keen eyes.
“What can you tell me of this one?”
“She isn't allowed to touch it.”
“Pity. It's a story for young girls. Although, I imagine you do not see her as such.”
She backed away. The aching in her ribs and stomach grew worse as if responding to the angry glare he shot at the old man over his statement. She sucked air in sharply, biting her lip.
“Kalon!” He leapt up, storming towards her. “You get into the back! Now!”
She doubled over where she stood as her stomach lurched. She spotted blood dripping to the floor, felt the uncomfortable sensation of it trickling down her leg, and threw up on top of it. She felt the back of his hand across her face just before collapsing inches from her sick.
“I warned you, sir.”
She heard him shrieking, smelt smoke. She pushed herself up and her stomach plummeted.
The entire table, books included, was ablaze. The old man sat calmly with the fire casting dancing shadows across his face. Her captor was frantically, unsuccessfully, trying to smother the flames.
“Sir. Sir! Quit your hysterics. I'll still pay you. But I'll be taking that girl.”
Kalon's eyes widened, darting from him to the old librarian to the burning table. She attempted to speak but a wave of pain had her hissing through her teeth.
He glared down at her, disgusted. “Fine. She'll be too much trouble long term anyway.” His lip curled. “Should she even survive the long term.”
“Good. Here is twenty. I suggest you spend it on new curtains.”
The old man lit a match. He held it to the curtain nearest as he sputtered protests, lunging toward the librarian, switching focus to the now burning curtain.
Her attention was locked on this scene to the point she screamed when the librarian grasped her arm, helping her up.
“Ssh, you'll be safe now.” He draped his coat around her bare shoulders. “Come now, young miss. Let's leave this horrid place.”
Kalon shuffled outside under the old man's guiding hand. She stumbled a bit as her bare feet scuffed against rough dirt and pebbles. She squinted up into the clear sky, tracking a pair of birds darting above.
---
An annexation was unusual enough to keep Kalon from becoming too bored with the political nature of Grams’s latest summary. She had never read it done to an ocean town, but memory of strategic placements and the fresher knowledge that this particular ocean town had been a rebel base made it make much more sense. It also proved Grams’s instinct for which rumors carried weight was still sharp.
“Governess Casarina Apex.” Kalon sighed, propping her face on her fist. “Must be nice having a sister-in-law that can hand you a town.”
She added the addition to the shelf containing other summaries related to the Shepherd family of the Rio Colony. She stretched her hands over her head as she headed for the stairs into the basement.
She searched through her wardrobe, bypassing the five books–The Nutcracker, Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan, Holy Bible, Collection of Persian Mythology–that she kept next to her stack of eyeshadows. She chose a medium gray and carefully added smoke to enhance her eyes.
She grabbed her rosemary, cedarwood, and sage mixed oil, peering into the jar with a small frown. She dabbed what she could get behind both ears before pocketing the jar.
“Grams!” Kalon stuck her head out from her cramped room. “I'm heading to the corner shop! You want anything?”
“No need to shout.” Grams looked up from her laptop, sitting in her usual armchair across the way. “Packet of pens would be wonderful.”
Kalon sat on the end of her bed, sticking her foot out the door as she stretched to zip up her boots. She batted her curls frustratedly from her eyes.
“You may consider some pins. Goodness knows I'm pleased you're letting your hair grow out, but that mop you kept on your head is now too long and too short to not be a nuisance.”
She bothered with her hair as she strode down the stone streets. She was committed to seeing her hair grown out, but there was no denying having nothing but the top curls–and those short–for years had been in part due to the ease of care.
She paused outside the large shop windows of a store selling women’s clothing; hand-me-downs directly from the colonies. She frowned at the ballet flats placed beneath the mannequin wearing an off-white blouse and checked capris. She clicked her four inch heels down on the stones, smirking, and heading next door.
“Bon matin, Miss Gousa. You’re my second customer today. Anything I can help with?”
“Second?” Kalon glanced at the early hour on the clock above the register. “Certainly a busy morning for you. You’ve barely been open for ten minutes. But, yes, I would like some help.” She extracted the oil jar from her pocket. “I’ve run out of my favorite.”
“So soon?”
Kalon’s cheeks tinted pink. “I started the habit of daily use.”
She headed for the stationary section as the proprietor went to the back to check the scented oils. She stuttered to a stop.
Khoa stood staring blankly at the shelves of bandages. His inky black hair was unbrushed, his hazel and brown odd-eyes dry and red.
She swallowed roughly at the scar on his mouth, like a tear that was stitched back together not that skillfully. She inched over to the pens, giving him a weak smile and nod of notice before crouching down to search for Grams’s preferred packet.
“That’s all?” Khoa scoffed, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Whatever.”
“Are you inviting me to speak to you?” Kalon straightened, clutching the pens. “You’re here quite early. Are you heading to the library?”
“No.” Khoa compared two boxes of bandages. “I’m passin’ through. Headin’ out west. Just thought I should stock the first aid kit.”
“You keep a first aid kit?” Kalon averted her eyes from his mouth, hastily turning to inspect a spiral notebook. “Sorry.”
Khoa snickered. He shook his head, gravitating toward the medical tape.
“You are so airheaded.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You noticed my scar.”
“Well… yes, it is quite noticeable.”
“You didn't notice it last time. Or the time before that.” He turned to her, still smirking. “Matter of fact, I ain't had it bandaged since the day after you first noticed it was bandaged.”
She turned bright crimson, her month pulling into a thin line. She tightened her grip on the packet of pens to stop from swatting at Khoa’s smug face. She spun on her heel to face the counter.
“I suppose I just don't find you interesting enough to study each change.”
“I'm thrilled.” Khoa followed a step behind to the counter. “Innit's the one that told me about keepin’ a stocked first aid kit in the car. He knows a thing or two about travelin’.” He placed his items on the counter. “Well, y'know, travelin’ with some sense of control over it. Not travelin’ like how we grew up.”
Kalon added her pens to the counter, being sure they were separated from Khoa's things. She carefully wrapped her arms around her middle. Her green eyes stared into the cracks on the floor.
“In captivity.”
Khoa stiffened. “What was that?”
She shook her head, keeping her mouth tightly clamped. She sighed when Khoa left her to go grab ointment. She smiled as he reapproached, dumping ointment and more bandages on the counter.
“Where’s Bex dragging you that you feel the need to stock up?”
“Bex ain’t involved. He’s stayin’ home.”
“Oh? He came by a couple weeks ago. I assumed it was for his– how did he put it? Hobby?”
“I ain’t sure he’ll practice much anymore. And, if he does, it ain’t going to be the same way.” Khoa watched her from the corners of his sharp eyes. “He watched someone with a similar hobby–.”
The proprietor placed a small, glass jar of scented oil down with a cheery smile, and a polite inquiry if Kalon and Khoa knew each other or were making small talk. They both claimed small talk, and silently paid for their items and left one step after the other.
“I hope your drive is safe.” Kalon smirked, gesturing to the paperbag of items. “Although, you are prepared if it isn’t.”
“Yeah, well, I got no clue how bad the mess is Innit got himself into.”
“Innit?” Kalon’s heart blipped. “What about Innit? I thought he left months ago?”
“He did. For something stupid back in his stupid old town. I wasn’t really paying attention when he was flippin’ out at me.” Khoa rolled his eyes. “Something about a girl or something, I think. Whatever.” He adjusted the bag. “I’m just makin’ sure the idiot doesn’t die, and I’ll do it by force if need be.” He walked by her. “See ya ‘round.”
Kalon nodded, shuffling off. Her chest ached and the corners of her eyes stung.
----------
I'm vague with Kalon's exact age, because I don't know how old she is. She's not older than Innit, Mags, and them. I think she's probably the same age, maybe a year younger at the most. She's treated like an adult by everyone, so I'm leaning more towards her being the same age. I'd put her from 12-14 in that scene. But her 'captor' never being named is because she didn't know his name/forgot his name. I also think smut will outlive humans. The world could end, and spacemen would later find smut and put it in their muesems on exstinct spieces. I also didn't name the corner shop proprietor, because Kalon isn't good with names/faces, and she'd be too embarrassed to ask after living there for years.
