Rebel Heart by Moira Young

Author:Moira Young [Young, Moira]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Young Adult Dystopian Fantasy
Publisher: Marion Lloyd
Published: 2012-08-01T21:00:00+00:00

The Cosmic Compendalorium rattles along. After we cover a couple of miles, the driver clears his throat.

You got me at a disadvantage, he says, moniker-wise, that is. You know my name. Doctor Salmo Slim TPS at yer service. Feel free to call me Slim. Might I have the pleasure of knowin who’s hijacked me?

I says naught. I got one boot braced aginst the buckboard. Nero sits in my lap. He’s bin givin the driver the beady eye since we set off.

That’s a handsome bird, says Slim. Tame crow’s, uh . . . unusual. Don’t s’pose he has a name.

Nero, I says.

Nero stretches over. Flicks the pink dress with his beak an croaks.

Ha! says Slim. You wanna know about the dress, do you? I admit, it ain’t every day you see a fella in a frock. It’s a cautionary tale, friend Nero. A story of laundry an hard likker. Must be a week ago now. I warshed my clothes, britches an shirt, once a year like I always do. Rigged up a couple of branches, y’know . . . to hang it on, right next to the fire so’s it ’ud be dry in the mornin. Well, you know how it is. I must of necked a little too much pop an passed out. Next thing you know, the gawdamn sun’s up an my laundry’s burnt to buggery. The whole shebang fell on the fire. Lucky I had the dress – it was my late mother’s, bin keepin it fer sensamental reasons – otherwise I’d be sittin here in my birthday suit. Mind you, if I was, you might of thought twice about hijackin me, eh? Ha ha! Wouldn’t that of bin a sight! Hooee!

Slim hoots an wheezes an cackles. Nero copies him, bobbin up an down, crow-laughin.

Well, don’t lay a egg, I says.

Thing is, he says, in my line of work, you spend a lot of time sittin. A dress lets the breeze up . . . cool yer dingles down. There’s a lot to be said fer a skirt.

I give him a look. We go on fer a bit, then he says, So, yer all headed to the Lost Cause.

Yer headed there, I says. We’re jest hitchin a ride that far.

You know these parts pretty well? he says.

I says naught.

New Eden ain’t no place fer travellers, he says. Let’s hope we don’t run into the Tonton.

Oh? I says.

New Eden’s their land, they control it top to bottom, includin the roads. There’s guardposts an pretty regular patrols. They stop everybody, check you got the right marks. Quartered circle brands fer Stewards of the Earth, slaves wear iron collars, an the rest of us git one of these. He shoves up his right sleeve, shows me a line of five small circles on the outside of his arm. Naw, he says, we don’t wanna be stopped by them boys.

I aim my bolt shooter at his temple. Then you’ll jest make sure we don’t, I says.

We’ll take the back roads, he says.

We go on fer a bit more.

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