Today's Reading

Still, I refused to cut it. It was the only part of my body that looked feminine. The only part I liked. And things weren't getting better.

Most fabricated bodies lasted at least fifty years. I'd worn mine for fewer than eight, and it was already breaking down.

Out of the corner of my eye, a tiny gutter rat inched toward me over the cobblestones, yellow teeth bared. Its fur was matted, and narrow ribs bulged under its skin. The creature hadn't eaten in days. Weeks, maybe. Before long, it'd just be food for its brothers and sisters.

My hand reached into the bottom of the can, and I tossed some scraps in its direction. Grey little vermin needed all the help we could get.

I wiped my crimson tears with the inside of my cap, somewhere the others wouldn't see. Then I staggered back in.

When I got down to the kitchen, the other maids were sitting on stools around a radio, giggling and nibbling on slivers of strawberry cake.

Guillaume had whipped up the batter for Clementine's party, and there must have been some left over. No one moved to offer me a slice.

My chest tightened. 'It wouldn't have mattered anyway. 'My taste buds and nose had stopped working over a year ago.

One of the girls, Beatrix, glanced back at me. I gathered my courage and shuffled toward a gap in the circle, putting on a smile. I could be friendly. Maybe they didn't hate me.

Beatrix stepped to the left, closing the gap. Another girl muttered something, and they laughed.

A dull ache grew in my stomach, and I backed away. They found me repulsive.

I could hardly blame them. My shoulders were broad, my jaw wide, and my forehead bulging. My eyes were too small, and my nose was too big. When I looked in the mirror, I felt nauseous.

"Gage!" Guillaume barked, chopping vegetables in an oily cloud. "Do you get paid to daydream?" He snapped his fingers, pointing at wine bottles in a cooler. "Wash up and serve the guests."

I jogged down to the basement and washed my hands with the grimy faucet. As I scrubbed, my eyes flitted to my mattress on the floor. My little home in Clementine's cellar, next to a dozen more for her other servants. I wanted to crawl under the sheets, flip through my romance manga, and hide there until my letter came. If my letter came.

But I didn't do that. I just went back to the kitchen, grabbed the bottles, and trudged up the central staircase. As I walked, the splintering steps turned to waxed hardwood, so smooth they were difficult not to slip on. The peeling paint faded into bone-white marble.

Clementine didn't care much about her servants' accommodations. But for the eyes of her wealthier friends, the upstairs had to be perfect. It had to resemble their opulent mansions, not the house of some grasping striver.

The dining room stretched two stories high, with a fake-gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling and elaborate metal patterns melted into the windows. The guests sat at an oak table carved with roses, bathing in the hazy sunset. Gentle swing music drifted from a gramophone.

I served the first guest, a tall, broad-shouldered man, pouring wine into his burnished glass. My hands wobbled as I recognized his face. Gabriel Heywood. A wealthy shipping magnate, suspected of ordering the deaths of two business rivals. A criminal, like so many of Clementine's associates.

Officially, my employer owned a logistics company, running a handful of cargo ships in and out of Elmidde's port. But her servants knew the truth, whispered in the dark corners of her basement. She was a mercenary, a gun for hire selling her skills to the fattest purse. Beatrix had seen her one night at the back door, her rain jacket covered with blood. And according to Abigail, her closet had a false bottom filled with guns. These gold-plated drunkards were probably her clients. Men and women whose business she desperately coveted.

"Plum wine," said a feminine voice behind me, "from a private vineyard in Kshatra."

"You must be drowning in profits, Clementine," said the man beside me. "No wonder you can afford a model like that."

I glanced behind me, and froze. Clementine was wearing a designer body.

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