Stranger
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Chapter 15 - Stranger
Archie
I’ll never forget the day she stumbled into my life, breathless, breastless and beautiful.
Crashing through the thin tarpaulin separating me from Newtown’s human warren, the intruder lands on her knees in a cloud of chalk dust. “Bloody hell!” I yelp, as my fingers slide onto the glowing tip of a soldering iron.
“I’m sorry!” she gasps. “I didn’t mean to barge into”—she looks around–“your place.” She picks herself up, grimacing at a tear in the knee of her faded beige trousers. “Py and I were exploring when he ran off,” she continues, untangling some rope wrapped around her ankle. “My balance is still dodgy from…from what happened.”
Her eccentric clothing is ill-fitting and badly worn, from the baggy festive jumper down to the over-sized worker’s boots. The patchwork of tan marks around her eyes and mouth brand her a Stinker. One cheek is badly bruised. She must be the one setting Newtown abuzz with enough rumour to re-topple the Spire. No wonder she’s unsteady. But it doesn’t explain my light-headedness.
Her dog appears, tongue lolling, and trots over to my workbench. It seems a friendly sort. Dogs are rare in Newtown. Cats were good for catching rats, but dogs needed more space and their barks were too loud. I pat its head warily and it licks my burnt fingers.
“Oh, Py likes you,” she says. “He doesn’t do that to everyone.”
She’s still catching her breath as she slaps chalk dust from her legs. Several fingernails are broken and her neck is adorned with more bruises. When she stands, the ring of bare diodes forms a halo over her head. She looks taller than me, her short, dark hair giving her a boyish appearance.
“Py’s an odd name for a dog,” I say.
“It’s really Pythagoras, but I’m not calling that out.”
“Nothing wrong with mathematicians,” I reply with mock gravity. “My name’s Archie. Short for another Greek genius.”
It’s enough to banish the awkwardness. Her laugh is spontaneous, creases appearing around hazel eyes. Her teeth are set in a wide mouth and surprisingly white, one slightly crooked. “Genius? Zero offence meant, Archie,” she says. “Blame my father. I’ve nothing against maths. It keeps us Stinkers alive. ”
A smell of burning wood interrupts my thoughts. Cursing, I snatch my soldering iron off the workbench and return it to its holder, fanning away wisps of smoke. The delicate net-gun repair for Seb’s crew will have to wait.
My visitor is taking stock of my modest abode, eyeing up parts and equipment. Most still need repairing, the larger pieces propped against a wall, other random bits piled on the bench. The tattered curtain behind me divides work from food, sleep and rare distraction.
“You’ve loads of finds,” she says. “What are you doing with them all?” It’s an obvious question from a scavenger, and her frankness is refreshing.
“Oh, they aren’t mine,” I reply. “I repair things for other Remainers – Townies or elsewhere. I’m good with electronics and stuff. You might have scavenged some of them yourself. Have to make sure nothing’s wasted: ‘re-use, repair, recycle’…”
The redundant phrase hangs in the air between us as she returns my wry smile. Our mutual gaze lingers a second too long, and she sidles past me to run her hand along a shelf, lips silently moving. An aroma of antiseptic and gauze bandages accompanies her. For a Stinker she smells wonderful.
“You from the City, then?” she asks. “I mean…before.”
I nod. Being inquisitive about the present could still mean delving into the past. “I was a techie for a VR outfit. Out of town when… when the Flood hit.”
She nods slowly. “That was lucky. So you…any family here?”
“I lost my mother,” I reply, in half-truth.
“Me too…” she says, eyes down. “But we made it, didn’t we, Py?” As she ruffles her dog’s neck, I realise I don’t want her to leave. A pointed question interrupts the uneasy silence created by our fraught memories: “Know anything about melons, Archie?” she asks, miming pulling down a mask. “Dolphin helmets?”
I doubt I could bargain for anything with this intriguing woman…
Despite her unabashed gaze, I scrabble together a reply to remain on this safer ground. “Of course! Well, a bit. The processors are valuable, but they’re mostly dismantled for the screens. You got one needs fixing?”
She grins again in that disarming manner. “Not one, Archie. Two…both working.”
“Wow!” I exclaim, immediately losing any buyer’s advantage. I doubt I could bargain for anything with this intriguing woman, Stinker or not.
“I need to get back on my feet again, instead of relying on wonderful Townie generosity,” she says, tugging on her jumper with both hands. It reveals an obvious absence and I try not to stare. Patting her stomach, she continues, “Help us out with food and clothes, Mr Techie, and I’m sure there’s a deal possible with those melons.”
“Okay, okay. I know just the person. She’s made loads of clothes for…for Townies. She’s fantastic, I promise.”
“I’m sure she is, Archie. You’re a handy man to know. But I’ll need to remember where you hide out. Newtown needs more visitor signs.”
I smirk at her naivety. “We don’t get that many visitors. Signs might help people who aren’t as friendly as—”
“Not sure I’m that friendly,” she says, looking down at her dog, who regards me with soft brown eyes and a wagging tail. “Best not get too attached. Eh, Py?”
I’m digesting this exposed chink when an unfamiliar voice echoes down the passage. She pulls the entrance tarp aside and leans out, her threadbare clothing taut around lithe legs.
“Do a deal on those melons before you head back to the Stink,” I blurt out.
She pivots around on one boot whilst still clinging to the tarp and her distant gaze pierces all of me. “Recent events have taught me not to plan too far ahead, Archie. Not knowing where I might end up next is far more exciting. Like being here, talking to you. Wouldn’t you agree?” A loud puffing announces the other stranger’s arrival, prompting her to vanish. I’ve forgotten to breathe.
“What’s you doin’ down here?” a man’s voice blusters in a broad Westerner accent. “I were right worried. Been lookin’ ages for yer.”
“Just getting some exercise with Py,” she replies, sounding less than apologetic.
“Why don’t you take ‘im up on the clifftop?” he chides. “He prefers outside. Fresh air’ll do yer both good.”
“Py’s happy to go wherever I go. And I’ve met some fascinating people.” She yanks back the tarp to expose the tech wizard in his grotto. “Isn’t that right, Archie?” she asks, eyebrows raised. I remain speechless, with no desire for any confrontation. Her companion is a strapping, ginger-haired lad; proper farming stock, dressed worse than her. This must be her heroic saviour – the other talk of Newtown. The one the children call ‘Stinky’.
His eyes narrow with suspicion. “Who’s this, then?”
“Be nice, Tom. Archie’s a techie. A fixer.”
“Ah…. Good to meet yer, Archie.” I only manage a stiff nod with the unexpected handshake, his grip numbing my burnt fingers.
Turning back to her, he says, “The Elder and Seb want a gander at that thing in your bag. Might be a clue to what ‘appened. ‘Course, I said best I ask you first.”
“What’s this ‘thing’?” I pipe up, curiosity getting the better of me. I know better than to stick my nose into the Elder’s business.
Her impish grin matches the fresh glint in her eyes. “Maybe I’ll let you have a peek later, Archie. If I can find you again in this dank maze you call home.”
I ignore her teased insult and throw caution to the wind. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you don’t get lost in the dark.”
An arched eyebrow accompanies her swift reply: “Might that depend on where I’m going, Mr Techie?”
I’m mute once more as Tom’s head swivels between us, mouth agape. Ignoring both men, she calls Py to heel, reattaches the rope to his collar and prods Tom to leave. Then she’s gone as suddenly as she appeared. My fingers are stinging again and the pain revives my rational brain. I’ve forgotten something very obvious. I dash out into the passage. They’re about to disappear around the bend.
“Hey!” I call out. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
Without looking back, she shouts, “You didn’t ask!” The echoes of her reply continue to reverberate: “It’s Paysha — but you can call me Pash. See ya around, Archie.”
I slump against the rough wall; the air leaving my lungs as I suck absently on my burnt fingers. Then I remember Py had licked them. But I don’t care. All I can think about is his owner.
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