The City Up There

Three

The church bells struck 11:00am.

A large silver bus hovered over the stone path at the front of the Palace. A short girl with thick blonde hair was the first to shove her way out. Her hair was backcombed so high that she wore a blonde mountain. Her face was caked in makeup and she wore pastel pink stilettos. Two other girls had soon pushed their way out, marked as part of the trio with the same massive hair and the high pink stilettos.

The class teacher was the next to fight his way through the bundle of kids. He waited until they had all climbed out of the bus and then began to bellow his instructions. After a rather long and rather boring brief of the rules, the class formed a line and entered the Palace.

"Two minutes."

"Over sixty seconds? You're optimistic."

"Remember Faith, the Inanimalia has to stop talking before they can hurl insults."

Faith laughed quietly. "Fair enough." She handed the mirror piece she'd been working on to Morag for its final coat of silver. Though the government had probably given the Palace its name in a vain attempt to make it appealing, the workers had kept the name because of its produce. Rows of workers sat for long hours to spray coats of silver and platinum paints onto various parts for the Upper City.

If a guard found a fingerprint, smudge or any other imperfection in a piece of work, the whole line suffered. Loss of days wages at best. It was better not to think about the worst.

"This is the main work room," explained the tour guide. He was one of the guards, his voice clear as crystal. His usual visor was clipped up to show the lower half of his face. The group stared through the thick glass, watching the lines of women as they coated doors, vehicle parts and furniture amongst a myriad of other things in the strong metallic finish.

"Can we go in?" a boy asked from near the middle of the group.

"Only if you wear one of these," the guide replied, holding up a handful of clean white masks with air filters that covered the nose and mouth. "They protect you from the fumes," he continued, starting to hand them out.

"Why don't the workers wear these?" Ethan asked.

"It's too expensive for us to provide everyone with their own mask. If they want one, they can buy one, and as you can see," the guide waved his gloved hand vaguely towards the work room, "No one wants one." He smiled crookedly.

Once everyone was equipped with a mask, the guard opened the heavy door to the work room. "Have a look around, but remember; no mask, you leave immediately."

The class fanned out, Ethan and Sam headed towards the car parts. Ethan was surprised as he looked at the workers. The women looked normal. They shied away from the pupils' gazes, forcing focus on their work station. Why were they so nervous?

Faith kept her head down, not allowing herself to meet eyes with the rich kids around her. She could sense someone tall standing to her right, but wouldn't look. Her gaze quickly flicked over to Morag as she began to splutter.

"Are you okay? Morag?" She put her hand to her friend's shoulder, but she turned away. "Morag?" Faith tried to keep her voice low, but she was beginning to feel a sense of worry in her gut. Morag began to sway slightly, and Faith grabbed her wrist to steady her. She noticed a dark red liquid across Morag's palm. "No, no, no. . ."

Morag suddenly fell from her stool and Faith's grasp. Faith was beside her in seconds, cradling her in her arms. "Stay with me, it's going to be okay. Please. . ." Faith's pleads were desperate.

"I'm sorry. . ." Morag's voice was quiet and forced.

"Shhh, you're okay. We'll make it through this, we always do."

Morag's coughing quietly ceased, a tiny trickle of blood running from the edge of her mouth. Her eyes seemed glassy, unseeing. Her body was still.

Faith let out a pained cry, her body shaking, hot tears flooding onto her cheeks.

Ethan's head spun to the side as he heard a scream from a work station nearby. He moved quickly to find the source, joining the edge of a small crowd starting to form. A girl knelt beside her stool, trembling, tears silently streaming down her face. She looked about Ethan's age, with long dark hair that sat in a high ponytail.

She held the head and shoulders of another girl in her lap, tilting her face towards her to hide it from the onlookers gaze. The other girl had wild curly hair and a frail frame. She wasn't moving. Ethan looked at his feet; it felt wrong to stare at her.

"Excuse me, everyone." Ethan looked up to see the guard. His visor was all the way down again, making him seem artificial, robotic. He looked down at the girls in front of him, then crouched, still keeping a slight distance. "Huh, they normally last longer," he murmured. The kneeling girl glared daggers at him, looking as if she was about to tear him apart.

His head moved slightly, showing he was staring back at her through the dark visor. "Get back to work, Lower." Ethan tensed slightly at his harsh words. The girl didn't move, holding her friend protectively. The guard leaned in close to her, and Ethan was amazed she wasn't cowering in fear. It was impossible to hear what the guard had said, but the girl slowly began to move, gently placing the other girl's head on the floor. She pulled off a small apron from her waist and placed it over the still face.

She went back to her stool, alone.

"Right, sorry about that everyone. Please go back to your previous doings." The guard scrawled something on a piece of paper and flung it onto the worker girl's bench before returning to his position at the front of the room. She immediately scrunched it into her pocket without reading the message.

The class quickly moved on from the incident, casually returning to their observing and babbling. Ethan cautiously moved towards the dark haired girl on her own. "What happened to her?"

"Fumes." The girl never moved her steely gaze from the guard at the front of the room, unmoving eyes burning blue as the hottest flame.