Of Metal and Wishes by Sarah Fine

Author:Sarah Fine
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books

I AM VERY EFFICIENT at work today, even though I am low on sleep. I am determined to do things right so Mugo doesn’t keep me late. First Holiday is tonight, and the streets will begin to fill just after the dinner hour. Vie is so excited she can barely do her work. She keeps flitting over from Jipu’s office to bother me. She’s going to wear her purple velvet dress, the fanciest she has, which I don’t think is practical for traipsing around the muddy streets all night. I learned that lesson the year my mother let me wear a dress that made me feel like a walking jewel box—it was stained and ruined, and I never got to wear it again. Practical is not what’s on Vie’s mind, though. Turning Iyzu’s head is. She wants me to dress up too, and keeps asking what I’ll be wearing. She doesn’t think my brown work dress is up to snuff.

I’m dreading telling her I’ve already made other plans.

I’m going to have to do it at some point, but I keep putting it off. After lunch Mugo comes out of his office and gives me another stack of notes to transcribe. I’m learning so much about how this factory works. Jipu is more of a figurehead. He’s from a wealthy family, and his father was the boss before him. Mugo is the guy who keeps the slaughterhouse going. He hires new workers from the Ring or surrounding towns, and he transfers older or less productive workers to another factory to make room . . . though the transfer papers don’t ever list its exact location. He also cuts every possible corner. I’m surprised anyone’s willing to work here at all. The workers have received wage increases every year . . . but their expenses have gone up as well. Mugo is a details man, so he does it in tiny, barely noticeable ways. A service charge here, a penalty there. I suspect many of the workers haven’t even noticed that they aren’t bringing more home now than they did last year or the year before.

“You’re learning quickly,” Mugo says. He’s standing right behind me, and I have no idea how long he’s been there. I imagine him staring at the back of my neck, and it makes me itchy and squirmy, but I force my fingers to keep typing. He edges closer, so that his legs are touching the back of my chair. “I think it’s almost time that I teach you a few new skills.”

His fingers dance along my shoulder, and I freeze. They stroke at the boundary between the dress and my skin. His fingers smell of mushrooms and dark, damp places, and my stomach turns. “Oh, sir, I’m barely getting the hang of this typing. I’m not good at anything.”

My voice sounds so small, almost a whisper, and it chokes off as he begins stroking up and down my neck in the way that makes me want to cry.

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