Night came to Jericho. The familiar van found its berth in an alley between an abandoned building and one where designer clothes are stitched for a price that, after import duties and transportation costs were factored in, resulted in a slightly better deal for the company whose logo was on the garments than a competing plant in China, from which country most of the building’s inhabitants–or inmates–had come.
The owners of that building, which was officially held to be empty, would not report the strange vehicle’s presence. They wouldn’t make trouble… not for anybody except the three hundred women to whom they’d promised a better life, who were told every day to thank their lucky stars they were only asked to run sewing machines for upwards of half a day at a time and not to peddle their bodies.
The women wouldn’t do anything about the van, either, of course. They were allowed access to neither a window with which to see it, nor to a phone with which to report it.
How did Mama feel about hiding in the shadow of a warehouse full of misery and exploitation? We can imagine she wasn’t too happy, but her responsibility was to her tribe and she couldn’t save everybody.
In any event, this story is not about her, or about the sweatshop.
The other building… the truly abandoned one… belonged to tribe. Three men–two young and quick, and one older and cannier–slipped out of a side door when the van came to a rest. The blond giant of a man known as Ivan disembarked and gave them their instructions with a curt nod. The youths took up positions at either end of the alley and the older man leaned against the van.
Ivan hurried away into the darkness to take care of his own business. He’d been driving Mama for weeks now, and it was growing tedious for them both.
This story’s not about him, either.
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“…designer clothes are stitched for a price for wages that, after import duties and transportation costs were factored in…”
Reword?
Oh, whoops. Thanks for the catch.
What’s with the narrative 3rd person perspective all of the sudden? Seems kind of an odd, filler-ish direction to take. And cannier? I assume it’s a real word but does that mean slower or something?
can·ny (kn)
adj. can·ni·er, can·ni·est
1. Careful and shrewd, especially where one’s own interests are concerned.
2. Cautious in spending money; frugal.
3. Scots
a. Steady, restrained, and gentle.
b. Snug and quiet.
“Cannier” means “more canny”… i.e., cunning, shrewd, or wise. As for the story’s voice… each arc in the anthology is meant to be its own story, though they form a larger narrative. The little flourishes at the beginning of this one won’t be the last or the biggest departure I make.
Not about Ivan? Hey! Arc 2 kind of left us hanging with Ivan.
Don’t know what I Like betterer your writing, your writing style (never the same from story to story) or the posts of confused people at the end of each chapter. hehehe…
Tins…
I suppose the narrative style is similar to G. Martin’s “a song of ice and fire”. Each chapter is written from the perspective of one character, whose thoughts might be included too.
AE switches the narrator sometimes every page though.
Given the quite universal knowledge it could be someone Nick sent to investigate. The narrative style of this page hints to someone who only heard the whole story – it could be some sort of tribe-historian/storyteller (we don’t know much about the organization of “tribe” apart from their security. We DO know they have witches, what else – only time will tell.
Duh, canny. I just didn’t realize cannier was a version of that word. When you compared young and quick to old and cannier, I assumed it was a reference to speed.
I didn’t realize this was a new arc. Curses! I really like this story and wanted it to keep going. It reminds me of when a good movie stops in the middle of the action and goes to some flashback memory sequence or flips over to some other character’s story.
I was in bed this morning listening to the radio and a commercial came on, and all I heard was was “Tribe..” My first thought..”When did Lexy start advertising on the freaking radio?” And then, you know, it was a sports commercial.
You’ve warped my brain.
I love the way this chapter perfectly avoids setting up whatever comes next. Very H2G2, after a fashion, as Ivan would say.