Page 110 of Sparktopia
Prisha might work in a down-city tower, but she is up-city all the way.
“Yeah,” I say. “The day is over and I barely just got done. I was too slow, wasn’t I?”
Prisha chuckles. “Dear Clara, no one expects you towork. Tyse has asked my father to watch you. Having you work is just how he fulfills that request. It’s the same for me.” She shrugs up one shoulder, like she doesn’t mind.
“But you are very efficient. I saw you this morning.”
“Because what else do I have to do? If I have to come to work with my father every day, I might as well be nice to people and do things expeditiously. Oh! Before I forget. Here.”
This is when I notice that there is a small package wrapped in brown paper tucked under her arm. She thrusts the package at me. “And this too.” Then she reaches into a pocket andwithdraws a coin, holding it out for me on her palm. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”
I take the coin, then point to the package. “But… what is this?”
“A gift from Father. He likes you and he’s very generous to people he likes. See you tomorrow!” She waves, then turns, walking back towards the stairs.
“Thank you!” I call. “See you tomorrow!” I close the door then sit down on the chair and place the package and coin on the footrest. One coin. Is this what I can expect from a day’s work? I’m not sure, but it doesn’t matter because it belongs to Tyse, anyway. I owe him for the clothes I’m currently wearing. Not to mention the dinner last night and whatever else he’s keeping a tab of.
The package is medium-sized and squishy, so I’m prepared for there to be clothes inside before I open it, but I am not prepared for the quality of garment I remove from the packaging.
It’s a dress, nearly identical to the one Prisha was wearing, but dyed the absolute lightest shade of desert green and trimmed in silk ribbons the color of sand.
My smile is big when I lean back in the chair, holding the dress to my chest, because this dress makes me both satisfied and happy in a way I don’t really have an explanation for.
I have been given many gifts over the last decade. Too many dresses to count. But all the gifts that came from being a Spark Maiden felt like… well, I hate to say bribes, but that is how they felt. ‘Insincere’ might be a better way to describe it. Meant to kindle my favor in some future transaction. In other words, they were all tied to an expectation.
None of those gifts or dresses were special to me personally and all of them were taken for granted.
But this is not a transaction, it’s a true gift from a man who knows I have nothing to give in return. So I do not take this one for granted and I hold it up again so I can take in all the details, feeling truly happy in a way I never expected, I squeal as I kick my feet against the footstool like a new Little Sister who just got her first look at the dorm.
This kicking sends the footstool tipping over backwards. And this tipping of the footstool is how I accidentally discover Tyse’s first secret. Because the top of the footstool flips open to reveal a hidden compartment inside. I place the dress on the freshly made bed and get down on my knees to have a peek.
Inside the footstool is a wooden box about the size of my palm. I pick it up, find it to be heavy, and weigh it in my hand as I deliberate the pros and cons of looking at the contents.
If I look, my curiosity will be satisfied and I will undoubtedly learn more about Tyse.
But then his warning comes back to me.You might not like what you find.
Fuck it. I open the box and find stacks and stacks of gold coins tightly packed together with a clear piece of glass, or something like it, over the top of them. They are packed so tight I get the impression that the box was made to hold coins specifically, because they do not jiggle at all. Not even after the box was tipped over with the stool.
The only other thing inside the box is a small circular silver disc, even smaller than a coin, that has been taped to the inside of the lid.
I huff. Well, this was a bust. But that’s when I notice that the little disc has writing on it. I squint, but the tape obscures the message just enough so I can’t read it. So I carefully peel the tape off and grasp the outer edges of the disc between the tips of my forefinger and thumb as I hold it up to the light. It says ‘Capt.T. Jarvinen’ on the first line and the numbers one-seven-one-seven-two-three on the second line.
Immediately, my face scrunches up into a frown. “Well, this is yet another a big fat nothing.” Then I pinch the flat sides of the disc, ready to put it back, when a spark shoots through my body, forcing me to stand up and release it.
My mouth is open in stunned surprise as I watch the little metal disc roll across the floor and into the kitchen, where it teeters and falls over on one side.
“What the hell?” I look down at myself, checking to see if I’m OK, then draw in a long breath as I try and work out what just happened.
That thingshocked me. With some kind of power. I can still feel a tingle in my fingertips from where I touched it. But when I look down at my hand, there’s no sign of a burn or anything.
“Static,” I say out loud. Even in my world we have static. Little bits of power that hide in the air and collect on windy days. So when you touch certain things—like fabrics—the little bits of power are released and a tiny shock can be produced.
But this was more than a tiny shock. It was… ajolt.
Immediately, Rodge’s words from this morning come back to me. “The gentlemen on the other side of the tower can collect the spark from the air and package it into potent jolts and even stronger jumps.”
That’s how they sell the spark.
