Page 62 of Carousel

“No.”

“Has anyone told you about how to get laundry done?”

“No…”

“Sorry,” she says. “There’s a place we call the Laundry on Deck 2. You can use it to wash your own clothes, if you have anything from home. But just leave any dirty uniform there, and it will get sent down to the ground for laundering. And they’ll issue you with fresh sets. We can go down there later.”

I nod. I know vaguely about this system. It’s what was what Cosmer’s mother did – laundering uniforms for soldiers. A tough, underappreciated job that ruined her hands and back, and never gave them the Provision they needed to live on.

If it had, maybe he would never have ended up coming here.

“Thank you, Riss,” I say. “I really appreciate... everything.”

Her chin tilts. “I can trust you to bathe on your own, can’t I? You’re not going to do anything in here you shouldn’t?”

“Yes. I just want a bath.”

I hold my bar of soap up, a little pathetically, to prove my point.

“Okay,” she says. “I trust you.”

She leaves.

As I strip naked and climb into the barrel, I think that through.

She trusts me. A prisoner.

Do I trust her?

I’d scoffed when Cosmer suggested I might make a friend out of her. But she’s been fairly kind to me, all day, in her spiky Riss way.

But Drake had said not to trust anyone up here. We have to stay focused. Stay loyal.

I think it all over as I soap myself – but as I run my hands over my arms, my forearms prickle. I look down to inspect them. The little round marks I have there, on each arm by the crook of my elbows, seem more red and raw than usual.

I’ve always had them. I must have had a rash as a child, and the scars never faded. I’m embarrassed by them, but I suppose I can’t complain. I’ve seen men and women whose whole faces have been scarred by pox.

I’m not sure why my own would now be stinging. Maybe the starched prisoner blouse has irritated them.

After only a few heavenly minutes of enjoying my own company for the first time up here, Riss calls through the door.

“Are you finished? Cosmer and Drake are here.”

I panic.

I’d thought I’d have more time.

I stumble to get out, leaving the floor a little wet. I pick up my clothes, but decide by the smell of them that I can’t put them on again.

I settle for just my corset with the blouse over the top of it. It’s long and loose enough that nothing too improper is on show – by Hevallan standards, that is. By Rhavnan standards, Old Mother would be fainting.

There isn’t much I can do about it, so I pull on my boots and open the door. I end up almost knocking out Riss with it.

“Sorry,” I say to Riss, shutting the door behind me and side-stepping her.

“You’re fine,” she says.

I look up. Cosmer and Drake, less than a foot away in the narrow hallway, are both staring at me – or rather, my bare legs.