By the time Stella and Fireboy, as she’d decided to name him in her head, opened the sixth railway wagon, the stink was destroying her composure. Her power couldn’t keep it away from her and she was retching inside her mask, trying hard not to vomit. It was worse than anything she’d ever smelled before, worse than the general stink of London in the summer. Worse than that time a sewer had blocked and sewage flooded the road. It was sewage. Sewage and sweat and death. Twelve of them had died in the containers. It was a tragedy, and a miracle, that only twelve had died.
Four of the six wagons had been the same as the first. Thirty people stuffed into each one, with no toilets, little air, no food. The last was slightly different in that it held twenty-nine people and one small mongrel dog, filth caked into its fur. It ran out into the warehouse and headed to a corner, trembling, as far from people as it could get.
The people themselves were huddled in small groups outside the containers now, barely moving. They blinked in the glaring lights and hardly spoke, and the words she did hear came in a smattering of different languages. Some of the people had open sores which wept puss, infected by their own filth. All of them were dirty. None of them had attacked after the first one.
And several of them visibly didn’t look human. The girl whose body was covered in small, black spines, like a cactus. The person who had bark instead of skin, twigs and leaves instead of hair, and no obvious gender. Another person covered entirely in short, dark fur. More than just those three.
Even the ones who looked human were different. She saw wounds heal. She saw water move through the air, cleaning the worst of the filth away. She saw the impossible, over and over again, as impossible as she was, and that was a terrifying thought.
The warehouse door opened, and two masked figures stepped inside, one of them carrying a bow and the other a shotgun. As the recently freed youths around her tensed, Stella instead relaxed completely. She moved between them and the newcomers. “It is quite alright,” she said. “You are safe. These are allies. You need not fear them; they have come to render aid.” She repeated the words in Spanish and Arabic, and then again in English, and listened to some of the youths translate them into other languages, before lowering her hands.
Fighting the gang had been fine. Everything after opening the first container had been awful, but it would be alright now. Her mother and her bibi-daj were here, and they would fix everything. They always did.
“You left two outside,” her mother said, shotgun lowered towards the floor, as Stella walked over. “One was still conscious. He might have slipped off.”
“With two broken legs? Hardly.”
“Then he could have raised an alarm.”
That was a point Stella couldn’t argue with, so she accepted the criticism with a nod.
“And you’re supposed to send me their descriptions, so I can check them over,” her bibi-daj added. “We need to know if they have warrants.” She glanced around. “No immediate danger, so I’ll go bring those two inside.”
Her mother looked over at the gathered youths who were staring intently back. “Your assessment?” she asked.
“One hundred and sixty-nine individuals, and a dog. Mostly not English speakers. Several have demonstrated extraordinary powers; I’m worried they might all be powered. M…” Stella broke off before identifying her mother. “You know, we truly ought to establish code names for circumstances of this nature.”
“I will take it under advisement.”
“So, that’s a no, then.”
“It’s an I will take it under advisement.”
“You always say that, and it always signifies refusal.” Stella waved her hands and tentacles towards the youths. “They were all gathered and brought here. People with extraordinary abilities being kidnapped, that’s very bad, isn’t it?”
“We do not know that that is what is happening here.” Her mother turned as her bibi-daj dragged the first unconscious man inside, then headed back out for the second. “We possess a little time,” she continued as she looked back towards Stella. “Though not as much as I should prefer. We have to adhere to the plan as closely as possible.”
“You want me to call him in?” Stella asked.
“Not yet. We must not permit the police to discover these individuals. We’re not sure the government even knows about these abilities yet, and we won’t be the reason they find out. Besides, the government would exploit these people as much as the criminals that brought them here. They would vanish into some government facility, to be exploited or dissected in a most regrettable fashion.” She looked out over the room. “They’re all children.”
“They’re all in the middle of their teenage years,” Stella corrected her. “I can’t be sure without asking, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were all sixteen.”
Her mother gave her a look. Stella could tell, even through the mask. Her mother directed that look her way enough for her to know by the tilt of her mother’s head. “We do not know that everyone with powers is a sixteen-year-old.”
“We also don’t know that they’re not,” Stella argued. “But we do know that everyone with powers that we know of, and have looked into, is sixteen.”
“You’ve met one other person with a power. That is not enough people with powers to draw any kind of conclusion.”
Stella glanced back over her shoulder. “Well, there’s a hundred and sixty-nine data points to add to bi… to a graph. And code names, seriously.” She turned back to look at her mother. “What are we to do with them all? How will we move that many people? Where will we take them?”
“You secure the site and prepare for dealing with the police. I’ll handle our new friends here. Afterwards, we can investigate who did this, and why.”
“But what are we to do with them all?” Stella asked again.
Her mother shook her head. “At present, I have no satisfactory answer.”
The dog ran out of the building as her bibi-daj pulled the second unconscious body inside. Farnika looked out after the dog for a moment, then shrugged and closed the door. She dumped the second gangster beside the rest and walked over to the other two women. “We didn’t need the dog tagging along, did we?”
“London can handle one more stray,” her mother said. “It will do well enough on its own.”
Her bibi-daj nodded. “Do you have a plan yet, or do you need me to save the day?”
Her mother gave her bibi-daj a considering look, then nodded: “I would welcome any suggestions at this moment.”
“Then, do we need one of your plans? You know, six folders, colour coded, every possible contingency and threat assessment? Or do we need these kids to just not be here?”
“Move them?” Stella asked.
“It’s not ideal,” her mother stated, “but it presents us with more time to devise a proper course of action.” Her mother side-eyed her bibi-daj. “With colour coded sections and in six folders, if need be.” She turned to Stella. “Where might we take them? It must be within walking distance.”
Stella considered the question carefully and tried not to bounce on the spot. She had been asked for input. Input input input, and not in the usual way where they would have her make a plan so they could tell her how bad her planning was and then re-make it better. No, this was the way that acknowledged that Stella had skills they did not, that her habit of wandering the city and sketching her little maps was not just a hobby, it was useful. She was useful and that meant-
“Is there somewhere nearby?” her mother asked.
Thankfully, no one could see Stella’s guilty expression through her volto. “St. Annes. It is an Anglican Church, along the Limehouse Cut from here. It is not far, easily within walking distance. The church helps people, feeds the poor and so on, and the crypts are huge. They could easily hide this many people.”
“You’ve been inside the crypts?” her bibi-daj asked.
“Oh, I go inside everything,” she grinned, unable to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice.
“Then we have… not a plan, but a task. The plan may come later,” her mother announced. “We will walk the banks of the cut until we reach this St Anne’s, and beseech the priests inside for shelter and succour.”
“Bring your wallet,” her bibi-daj said.
“We will donate as required,” her mother replied. “We shall organise these so the ones that look most like normal humans are on the outside of the group.”
“We definitely need a better word than normal,” Stella said.
No one replied to the comment. Hopefully that meant everyone agreed with it.
Her mother headed to the group of teenagers. “We are going to move you to a safe location in case any of these men’s friends come here. A church. You will be cleaned and fed, your wounds tended to. After that, we will help you find ways home, if you wish, or new identities here, if you prefer that. You are not here legally, so I do not advise going to the police, though if you really want to, we shan’t forbade you. The men who did this to you have been stopped, but there may be others searching for you. You are safe now, but you could easily put yourself back in danger. I know that some, perhaps all, of you have some kind of gift or power. It is to your own benefit that you keep this hidden, outside of this room, if you can. You will all be helped.” Stella and her bibi-daj followed behind her, translating into Spanish and Hungarian. Teenagers in the crowd re-spoke the words in French and Finnish, Prussian and Polish, and a handful of other languages.
Her mother took another step towards them. “You must do what you can to make things easier for us to help you. I understand at least one of you has some control over water. Please gather whatever water you can and help everyone get clean. Are there any more of you who can help us help you in some way?”
A small girl stepped forward. Her skin was dark, but her eyes were a pale blue, like deep ice. “I can heal,” she said in Spanish, and was urged to do what she could. She moved amongst the others, reaching out to touch them after a few words, and their wounds healed, leaving only faded scars remaining.
“If you look very different, and cannot hide your powers, please stand to that side,” her mother said, and translations multiplied as she pointed. About thirty of the youths gathered where she had indicated.
The boy with the flaming hands approached them, his fire still extinguished. “I can help,” he said in Spanish.
“How?” her mother asked.
He pointed at one of the corpses, still lying in the container, then screwed up his face. After a moment of intense concentration, his hands burst into flame again.
“We can’t burn the bodies,” Stella said, appalled at the idea.
“We can’t leave them here for the authorities,” her mother replied. “Who knows what an autopsy would find? And we have enough work helping the survivors.” She looked around at the gathered youths, then back to the boy with the flaming hands. “Esperar,” she told him. “Más tarde.”
He nodded, his hands extinguishing, and moved away as her bibi-daj approached. Her mother glanced over at Stella, then to Farnika. “It appears the French Alps shall have to be put off for a time.”
“We’re going to the Alps?” Stella asked.
“You need to work on your skiing,” her bibi-daj said, and Stella repressed a shudder. She hated skiing. “And I need a hot spring soak.”
“I was considering it,” her mother said. “But, regretfully, no.”
“As I said earlier, you always say you’ll consider it, and then invariably say no.” Stella moved off amongst the teenagers, talking quietly to them, reassuring them. The dark-skinned, blue-eyed healer was concerned for her twin brother, the bark-skinned boy, so Stella spent a moment with her, ensuring she understood they weren’t just going to help the ones who looked human. Saving people meant saving all of the people, even the ones who looked like trees.
Fireboy started walking alongside Stella as she talked to the teenagers. He seemed to have taken guardianship of the group, and none of them had protested. He had told her his name was Diego, and after she bemoaned the lack of codenames, she reluctantly introduced herself.
When the teenagers were as cleaned and healed as they could quickly be, and the criminals were gagged, bound, and blindfolded, her mother gave a nod to Diego. Flames engulfed his hands. He held them up before him, as if he was a boxer, and sent a stream of flame pouring into the first railway goods wagon.
There was a whoomph as the faeces and air inside ignited and fire shot out and engulfed him. He stood there bathed in flames and continued to send fire inside, then after a few minutes his hands dropped to his sides and his flame stream ended. The contents of the container continued to burn, and so did Diego, his entire body engulfed in fire.
Her mother turned to her bibi-daj and handed over her wallet. “You begin moving them to the church. I will wait for…” Selene paused and looked over at Stella.
“See, we need code names. But as I have already given them my name, you may use that.”
Her mother looked pointedly at the piled-up gangsters. “I will consider your request for a code name.”
“Call her tee, for all the trouble she brings,” was her bibi-daj’s suggestion.
Stella rounded on her bibi-daj. “Trouble? Who was it that left the honey out and got ants all over the kitchen?” Behind her, the fire popped and cracked as the faeces-fuelled flames devoured the first wagon.
“Let us keep domestic matters separate and unmentioned whilst we are working. I shall wait until the bodies are dealt with and Trouble here has left to negotiate with the police,” her mother told her bibi-daj. “Then we will be along to join you as soon as matters here are resolved.” She turned back to the crowd. “There is a safe place, as I mentioned, a short walk away. Please go with Farnika here and help out when you get there however you can.”
Stella finished translating her mother’s words as Diego headed to the third wagon and started burning its contents. Her bibi-daj led the others out as Stella walked over to where the gangsters lay. They were all unconscious now. It was safer that way, so she’d knocked them out earlier.
“You know, those are very intense fires,” Stella pointed out as she turned back to her mother, the furnace level heating causing her to sweat beneath her mask.
“They are,” her mother acknowledged.
“And this warehouse is made of wood.”
“It is.” They both looked at the piled-up criminals. Her mother sighed. “I shall take this one, you bring as many of the rest as you can, and do not forget the one you left on the roof.”
Stella managed all seven criminals in one go. Her mother was gluing charge sheets to their faces as Stella went to check on Antonio. He had run off at some point.
She dropped back to the ground in time to see Diego stroll out of the burning building, his flames extinguished. His clothes were gone, incinerated into ash. Stella turned to her mother. “The one on the roof fled after regaining consciousness.”
“Ah well, he is of no consequence.” She turned to Diego. “Hurry, now, and you can catch up with the rest.” Her mother pointed into the flame-lit dark, where the end of the walking group could be observed as shadowy figures. Diego seemed disappointed that no one cared about his nudity but hurried after the others.
Stella’s tentacles lifted the only two men without outstanding warrants from the ground.
“Are you alright?” her mother asked.
“I am. It is just… I didn’t plan for any of this.”
“Things usually do not go to plan. That’s why we have contingencies. You’re doing satisfactorily.”
“Thank you, mama. I will handle the police now.”
Her mother nodded. “Remember what I taught you about negotiating.”
“The wise king uses conciliation, gifts, division, and force. Do not fight a battle you cannot win; do not enter a negotiation you cannot leave. No one dares to attack those who are known to be prepared. Let him who desires peace prepare for war.”
“Very good. You are prepared for this, Stella.”
Stella smiled behind her mask. “A girl should always be prepared for war and shopping, mama. You never know when you’ll get the opportunity to buy knives and pretty shoes and punch people.”
Previous Chapter: Chapter Two
Next Chapter: Chapter Four
Editor’s Note
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
From: The London Eye Editorial Board
Subject: Language
Date: June 11, 1922
Anachronisms: some readers may think teenagers is an anachronism. It isn’t. In fact, the first known use of teenager in print dates from 1922. Teener was the term used in the 1890s and teen actually dates to the early 1800s.
Teenager feels like it should be one, because it feels synonymous with the 1950s, when it became popular. Anachronisms are rarely anachronistic, in my experience; it’s more about the vibes.
Regardless of the etymological history of the word, or the vibe, there is no other good substitute. I have compromised somewhat by refusing to use the term teens, which is older but sounds newer, and teener, which just sounds awful.
A note on terms: bibi-daj is a Romani kinship term with no direct English equivalent. Bibi means aunt, daj means mother, and bibi-daj means:
- an aunt who has the right to scold, guide, or bless you even if she didn’t raise you
- an aunt who raised you or helped raise you
- honorific for a respected older woman in the extended family
- a woman who is not your aunt by blood but fulfils the aunt‑mother role
- a second or additional mother
It’s probably obvious that Farnika and Selene are not sisters. From a historical perspective, they are flatmates.
Author’s Note
No queerguide today, but leave a comment and let me know if you’re Team Stella (respect the dead, demand recognition of their suffering?) or Team Selene (protect the living, erase the evidence, survive?).
It’s not a trap, okay? Both are valid, ethical positions. No one is wrong.
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