Read Online Mechanique by Genevieve Valentine, Kiri Moth - Free Book Online Page A

Her face is tight, her eyes closed like she’s dreaming.
    The girl is terrified.
    “That’s Elena,” says the woman in charge. Then, with a small wave that shows in what esteem she holds them, “And these are Nayah and Mina.”
    Elena opens her eyes deliberately, slowly (they’re green and dark and Ying doesn’t like them), and fastens her gaze on the girl. “What’s your name?”
    The girl trembles.
    It’s the woman in charge who answers, “Ying.”
    Ying’s surprised (she’d had another name), but she decides she doesn’t mind. She’s better off keeping her secrets while she can (she knows what it’s like in close quarters), and besides, there’s luck in a new name.
    “You’re kidding,” Elena says at last to the woman, as if Ying isn’t there.
    (Ying will get used to this feeling.)
    “We’ll wait until she’s older for the bones,” says the woman in charge.
    The other two have stopped their game and are looking between Ying and Elena, waiting.
    After a long time, Elena says, “I don’t want her.”
    The woman says, “That’s not your choice.”
    “Well, then she’d better take the open bed,” says Elena at last. She pivots and lowers her leg, looking at Ying as if she’d be a fool to come one step closer. “But she gets the bones. None of us knows how to be that careful any more. We’ll just break her trying to catch her.”
    Ying doesn’t know what she means.
    “Too young,” the woman says. “Wait four years. She’ll be thirteen then; she’ll have grown enough.”
    So much for pretending to be older, Ying thinks.
    “She could be dead in four years,” says Elena, like it’s something to look forward to.
    The boy who takes her to the costume trailer is named Little George, and he’s as young as she is.
    “I’ve been here ages,” he says as they walk. “I’ve already seen three dancing girls come and go, and a juggler. You’ll get used to it if you stick around. Just try to keep the names straight. If you need anything, don’t ask Elena, she’s so cold she could freeze a roach. Come find me. I know everything that happens here.”
    “What do you do?”
    He stops, frowns. “I work for Boss,” he says, like that’s all the explanation he needs.
    She thought everyone here had a special talent. “But I mean—can’t you do anything?”
    He looks at her, and she knows what a stupid question it must be. Even people who can’t do anything need a home.
    But all he says is, “Well, you’d better hope so,” and when he smiles, she smiles back.
    “Tell me about Elena,” she says.
    He laughs and says, “I wasn’t joking about the roach,” and after that the stories never really stop.
    For four years, Ying trains on the bars alone.
    She scurries back and forth along the rigging to set up the trapeze bar or break it down for Big George when it’s his turn to grab the supports; she rolls up canvas with Little George and hauls it out to the waiting flatbed, where the crewmen are waiting to drive it out.
    (“Who are the crew?” she asks.
    Little George shrugs. “Who cares? They don’t stay.”)
    When she is thirteen, Boss shows Ying the workshop and explains what will happen to her bones.
    The pipe is paper-thin, and the copper warms up in Ying’s hand, beating back against her pulse like a living thing.
    Boss explains what the bones mean to her, if she takes them. Ying is ashamed that it hasn’t struck her before (what is she, a fool?), but as Boss explains what the copper bones mean, Ying goes clammy. She half-listens. She thinks about Little George and the dancing girls and the jugglers who will all come and go, untouched and unremarkable, free and plain.
    Ying cries, suddenly overcome. The end of the pipe digs into her palm as she presses the backs of her fists against her eyes.
    Boss leaves her alone in the trailer.
    It’s Alec who comes back inside.
    He smiles, his whole being seeming to understand her, and holds out a hand.
    “Let’s take a walk,” he