Polite Society: Chapter Three

The cart had stopped at a clearing in the woods.

The prisoners were marched towards four plain houses, little bigger than huts, and Credence realized that her line was not the only one there. She counted three others, at least twenty people long, and the rattling of their chains filled the night with a mournful rhythm.

Credence wondered if this was the towns, as she remembered hearing one of the men mention its name.

When they reached the houses, the lines were positioned into four rows, one behind another, and a man built like a mountain walked down each one, inspecting the prisoners.

After swift scrutiny he gave every person in line a number, calling out one, two, three, or four before moving on. Behind him scrambled a smaller man who was juggling four paint pots and a brush. Once a number had been called, the smaller man swept a stripe of color across each prisoner's chest, with the same indifference as the caller before him.

Credence's row was last, so she had the opportunity to watch and notice a pattern.

Ones were men and women with white hair and haggard features, the elders of the lines, and their clothing was painted with an orange stripe.

Twos were men only, near Pa's age, and they were painted with a blue stripe.

Threes were a blend of children and youths, boys and girls, and were painted with red.

Lastly, there were fours, the rarest number given, who were given a black stripe. This grouping puzzled Credence, for they had no discernible similarities, and contained children, adults, and the elderly, male and female.

The most distinguishing thing about a black stripe was the agitation it caused the person receiving it. A few prisoners begged against it when they were given the color, and fell to their knees and wailed, but they were quickly and violently silenced, and in little time no one spoke if they got the black stripe.

But oh, how they trembled and whimpered!

Credence could instantly recognize who had received the number four by the way their shoulders hunched and shook.

"What's happening," Credence dared to whisper to Wonda, who had remained silent since the incident at the cart. Wonda didn't answer, still sulking, so Credence waited in dread, praying she would not receive the designation of four.

At last, the huge man came to her row, grunting numbers while the smaller man painted. Credence didn't dare turn to look at her cart mates, fearing a retaliation similar to Wonda's treatment. It was only now that Credence noticed a third step in the process: After each person received their number and color, a third man, armed with two knives that swung from his sides, followed with a bucket. It was stained and full of holes and chipped edges. After the caller and painter moved on, the armed man stopped in front of each prisoner and withdrew a small chunk of bread from the bucket, which was greedily accepted and devoured by its receiver. A few even thanked the man who had given them bread.

The only ones who weren't offered something to eat were the black-striped fours.

It was Credence's turn, and the caller looked her over without a hint of interest, instantly designating, "Three," and moving on. The small man, likewise uninterested, had his paintbrush ready even before Credence was given her number, and swept a long stripe of red up her torso. Credence was still shaking from the shock of it and barely noticed the third man holding a piece of bread towards her. She eyed the portion, noting the strong smell of old dust rising from it. Spread throughout it were patches of blue and green mold.

It did not look appetizing. There was barely enough bread to eat around it, and Credence had no interest in tasting something with such an unpleasant scent, so she politely shook her head.

"No thank you, sir," she said as respectfully as she could.

The armed man froze, and even the caller and the painter turned back to look at her.

"Wasn't askin'," the armed man growled and shoved the bread towards her lips. "Or are you askin' for a black stripe over the red?"

Now everyone's attention was on Credence. She saw the disgruntled faces of the other prisoners, some who had turned around to gawk, and in every single one of their stares was worry and pity.

Take it, they all seemed to plead. Anything to keep the black stripe away.

She accepted the bread and held it, thinking the man would be content and move on, but he stood there, waiting, and everyone watched with him. With no other option left, Credence pushed the bread into her mouth and chewed and swallowed as quickly as she could.

The taste was like mud and dust, with a hint of bitterness and an almost fuzzy texture.

It took all of her strength not to spit it out.

Relief rolled through the other prisoners when she swallowed, and the armed man gave a small, mocking nod.

"S'what I thought," he said with a snort.

"Four," a voice announced, and everyone's attention was pulled to the caller and painter who were standing before Wonda.

The painter moved to stripe her, but Wonda's spirit had returned, and she screamed at the men.

"I's no four!"

She lunged at the painter, grabbing for his buckets to secure another color. It was an awkward attempt, confined as she was, and the weight from her chained partners kept her from reaching very far—but she managed to take hold of the bucket of red, seizing the moment of shock from the smaller man, and splashed it across herself. She puffed her chest and gave a triumphant smile.

The caller grabbed her hair and jerked her head back. He leaned in close and whispered, "Four", then held his hand out behind him. The painter offered the bucket and the caller dipped his entire fist inside, then smeared black paint across Wonda's face and neck, not caring when some of it got into her eyes and mouth. Wonda sputtered and cursed but could not struggle away.

Quickly as they had come, the men moved on, and Credence felt Wonda's weight pull slightly on the chains as the girl slumped forward in defeat. Wonda began muttering to herself, repeating the same four words over and over:

"No Chopper for me, no Chopper for me, no Chopper..."

When the numbering and painting had been completed, the lines were released from their shackles and moved again, and several men corralled each color to a specific house. Rough hands took hold of Credence and pulled her away, and the last thing she heard from Wonda was the soft murmur of the word 'Chopper'.

Credence was led into a house that had a red "3" painted above its only door. Inside, she discovered there was only one room and no windows. Two men stood guard at the entrance, watching the red stripes with lecherous eyes. They may have had their shackles removed, but the prisoners were no more free here than they had been in the carts, still cramped together inside an uncomfortably warm space, looking very much like agitated livestock.

As time passed, however, many of the prisoners began to relax. They sat or stretched out on the floor, chatting quietly to their companions. There was an odd familiarity and calm that swept over them, and it appeared to Credence that some had been here before and were well acquainted with what to expect next.

"New face! In the dress!"

From the crowd came a girl, a pretty thing with amber eyes and golden hair, older than Credence by a fair number of years. Her face was kind, but Credence remained on guard, hoping this stranger wouldn't share the same disposition as the last to approach her.

She was, at least, much cleaner than Wonda.

"I'm Rose," the girl greeted. "From Mistress Cinder's. Haven't seen you before. Where are you from?"

"I'm...from the woods. My name is Credence."

Rose's expression twisted into surprise. "That's not part of the towns."

"No. I've never been there."

"Never been—what do you mean?"

"Is this the towns?"

The girl shook her head, her expression one of utter disbelief. "This is just a stop so they can get us into order."

"Why did they do this?" Credence pointed to the red splashed across her body.

"You don't know anything, do you?" It wasn't an insult, but an acknowledgment made in honest shock. "You're not lying? Not playing a trick?"

Credence shook her head and Rose pointed to her own red stripe.

"It's our designation," she explained. "Orange for domestics. Blue for labor workers, and red for—" She winked. "Everything else. So they know how to sell us."

"Sell us?"

"Most of us are runaways. First or second offense. We'll probably go right back to our keepers."

"Runaways?"

"Yeah, like me. I already have a keeper, Mistress Cinder. Bought me fair and square when I was little. If you run away and it's only your first or second time they try to sell you back to your keeper for a decent price. Usually the keeper takes you back, but sometimes they'll let you go to the Auction."

"What happens if you run away a third time?"

Rose's face fell. "Black stripe, no arguments. At some point a keeper's patience runs out and they won't pay for you anymore. You've proven to be trouble."

"What happens to black stripes?"

"You don't want one of those."

"Why?"

"Means you're useless or a criminal. The towns got no use for you, so you'll serve your last days as entertainment." Rose leaned in. "That means death."

Credence tensed, and she finally understood why Wonda fought so hard against the mark.

"Why did you run away?" she asked Rose.

"Same reason as most, I guess. Didn't like the lashings Mistress Cinder gave me. Thought maybe I could escape her. Only two have ever got deep enough into the woods where they can't find them though. Don't know what became of them, but sometimes the risk seems better than home."

"You're...beaten?"

"Only when I don't cooperate." Rose shrugged to suggest it wasn't important. "This was my first runaway, so I know Mistress Cinder will take me back." Rose smirked. "Kind of a right of passage for angels, running at least once. And most keepers appreciate a bit of drama from time to time."

"What are angels?"

Rose frowned. She began to say something but stopped herself quickly.

"Where in the woods did they catch you," Rose asked instead. "Your dress...it's..."

"I was running away, too."

Credence didn't want to explain herself. She felt that Rose would never believe her anyway, so she decided it would be best to keep her answers short and vague.

"So you do have a keeper," Rose said.

"I was running from my aunt." Anticipating Rose's next question she quickly added, "She wanted me to marry a monster."

To her surprise, Rose gave an understanding nod.

"Know that story well enough," Rose said with a sigh. "Well, can't promise you're headed to much nicer places, but you're pretty enough, and you look gentle except for those scratches and the blood on your face. Not a lot of fight in you, either."

Rose knew nothing about her, but Credence kept her mouth shut and nodded.

"Maybe Mistress Cinder will buy you," Rose said, her eyes growing wide with excitement, "and we can live together as sisters! I can vouch for you, how's that sound?"

"Thank you," Credence began, "but I—"

"S'no problem at all! It's not so bad once you get used to things. Day's aren't too busy, so you get free time until nightfall..." Rose's words trailed off and her eyes fell to the floor.

"What happens then?"

"You'll get used to that, too."

"I don't like the sound of that."

Rose shrugged. "Better than death. Who knows? Maybe one day you'll be a runaway, and maybe you'll make it far enough into the woods."

I know the woods, Credence thought, the woods are home.

"Best get some sleep now," Rose said through a yawn. "It's been a long night and the morning won't look any easier. They'll move us at dawn."

"How do you know what they'll do, if this is your first time?"

"Because one thing angels do best is talk—but I listen. Mistress Cinder says I got a gift for it. I've heard the others tell stories about when they were runaways." She sank to the ground and patted a spot next to her. "Sleep beside me. No one'll harm you here. It's the safest place in the world."

Credence didn't believe the girl, but fatigue gnawed at her so she moved to lay beside Rose. The girl seemed friendly, though nothing she said sounded pleasant.

As Credence closed her eyes, Rose whispered in her ear.

"Never met someone not from the towns. You're in for a surprise."