Anderson-sama watches her, his eyes surprisingly tender for a man with scars that crisscross his body. She can catalogue those scars. Each one a mystery of violence on his pale skin. Perhaps the puckered scars on his chest came from spring gun attacks. Perhaps the one on his shoulder came from a machete. The ones on his back look like whip marks, almost certainly. The only one she's certain about is the neck scar, from his factory.
He reaches out to touch her gently. "What's wrong?"
Emiko rolls away from him. She can barely speak through her embarrassment. "The white shirts… they will never let me out of the city. And now Raleigh-san has paid more bribes to keep me. He will never let me go, I think."
Anderson-sama doesn't respond. She can hear his breathing, slow and steady, but nothing else. Her shame is all encompassing.
Stupid greedy windup girl. You should be grateful for what he is willing to provide.
The silence stretches. Finally, Anderson-sama asks, "You're sure Raleigh can't be convinced? He's a businessman."
Emiko listens to the sound of his breathing. Is he offering to buy her free? If he were Japanese, it would be an offer, carefully couched. But with Anderson-sama, it is hard to tell.
"I do not know. Raleigh-san likes money. But I think also that he likes to see me suffer."
She waits, straining for a clue as to what he is thinking. Anderson-sama doesn't ask for more information. Leaves her hint dangling. She can feel his body though, close to her, the heat of his skin. Is he listening still? If he were civilized, she would take this lack of response as a definitive slap. But
Emiko steels herself. Presses again, almost gagging with humiliation as she overcomes her training and genetic imperatives. Fighting to keep herself from cowering like a dog, she tries again.
"I am living in the bar, now. Raleigh-san pays the bribes to keep the white shirts away, triple bribes now, some to the other bars, and some to the white shirts, to allow me to be there. I do not know how much longer I can last. My niche is vanishing, I think."
"Do you…" Anderson-sama breaks off, hesitating. Then says, "You could stay here."
Emiko's heart skips. "Raleigh-san would follow, I think."
"There are ways to handle people like Raleigh."
"You can free me from him?"
"I doubt I have the funds to buy you out."
Emiko's heart crashes as Anderson-sama continues, "With tension so high, I can't provoke him by just taking you away. Not when he could just send the white shirts hunting here. It would be too risky. But I think I can arrange for you to sleep here at least. Raleigh might even appreciate the lessened exposure."
"But would this not create problems for you? The white shirts do not like
Anderson-sama tugs her shoulder gently. Emiko lets herself be pulled back to him. "You hope for too little," he says. His hand traces across her stomach. Idle. Thoughtful. "A lot of things may be changing soon. Maybe even for windups." He favors her with a small secretive smile. "The white shirts and their rules won't be here forever."
She is begging for survival, and he speaks of fantasy.
Emiko tries to keep her disappointment hidden. You should be content, greedy girl. Grateful for what you have. But she can't keep the bitterness from her voice. "I am a windup. Nothing will change. We will always be despised."
He laughs at that, pulls her close. "Don't be so sure." His lips brush her ear, whispering. Conspiratorial. "If you pray to that
Emiko pushes away, looks at him sadly. "I understand if you cannot change my lot. But you should not tease me."
Anderson-sama only laughs again.
Hock Seng crouches in an alley just outside the
