Sway wakes slowly, squirming deeper in the bed and pulling the blanket tighter around her. She thinks for a moment that she is back at the Thieves Palace. Someone clears their throat, jerking her out of the remnants of her dream. She rolls over and opens her eyes, glaring sleepily at whoever has woken her.
Mush sits in a chair facing her bed, watching Sway with interest. She props herself up on one shoulder sulkily. Her eyes are half-lidded and framed by her dark lashes.
"What the hell . . . Why are you . . . Where am I?" Her voice is fogged with drowsiness. She yanks the bed sheet up to her chest as an afterthought, noticing that she is wearing only her chemise. She supposes she should try to uphold some semblance of propriety.
"The Newsie Lodge House," Mush replies. The memories come tumbling back to her. The last thing she remembers is dropping her knife. She groans and drops back onto the lumpy mattress. She can see her shirt hanging over the back of a chair to dry. Hope presses her to check her belt for her knife anyways, but her fingers glide over the empty slot with a little pang. She supposes that it's still lying out in the street somewhere. Her mother gave it to her when she was twelve.
"What happened after I blacked out?" she asks quietly.
"What, no cutting remark? I'm shocked." His voice is heavy with sarcasm. He's not sure how he feels about this situation yet. Mush tilts his chair back precariously, watching her with his level gaze.
"It's too early," she says groggily. Her head still aches. "You going to answer my question?" Mush grudgingly obliges.
"Some of us newsies were at the Diner tonight. Jack set off early to pay his girl a visit and found you in a brawl with the Delancy's. He got there just before you passed out and kept them from takin' ya to pieces. Race and I heard the noise and came out to join him. Kloppman, he runs the Lodgehouse, he told us we could put ya in here. This room costs twice as much as a bunk, so it's almost always empty."
"That's it, I'll never live that one down," she mumbles. A smile tugs at Mush's mouth; he finds himself almost enjoying the girl's off-beat humor. "Anyone find my knife?" She tries to make the question sound less important than it really is. He shakes his head and watches her eyes darken with disappointment.
"What's your name?" It seems odd to him that he doesn't know. It's a quirk brought about by the continuing strangeness of their meetings.
"Sway," she replies after a moment's hesitation. He throws her a skeptical look.
"That your real name?" he asks.
"Real enough," she retorts. Mush can accept that. He stands up and grabs a nearby jar, unscrewing the lid. A pungent aroma fills the room. Arnica salve, probably.
Sway sits up, wedging herself against the headboard so that she can see him. Mush sits down at the foot of her bed, tossing the covers back and grasping her injured ankle gently. She pulls it back, wincing as the sore joint twists. It makes her nervous to feel so vulnerable.
"What are you doing?" she asks, suspicion lurking in her tone. Mush draws her foot back onto his lap firmly.
"Trust me," he says, only half joking. She rolls her eyes disbelievingly.
"I stole from you, Mush. That doesn't give me great faith in your intentions." He shrugs and rolls up the cuffs of her trousers. He dips his fingers in the jar, scooping out the pale orange salve. He smooths it onto her swollen ankle, his fingers tracing the violet shadows there. Her pain smooths into a light, tingling sensation as he rubs her ankle. She isn't sure if it's from the salve or his touch. "Really though, why are you doing this?" she asks.
He fixes her with a burning stare, quite serious. Sway shifts uneasily. It's as though he's looking into her soul, seeing all the times that she has lied and stolen and cheated. All the times that she hasn't cared. Her restless fingers crumple the edge of the covers. Finally, he speaks.
"I don't know, honestly." He pauses. "It just feels like somethin' I should do. Besides, I'm the only one in the lodgehouse who knows anything about injuries. My ma was a midwife."
"A midwife ain't exactly a doctor, just so ya know," she points out, eager to change the subject. Mush grins sheepishly.
"That's what I keep tellin' the boys, but they won't hear it," he says. An awkward silence settles on them. Mush wraps a length of rough cotton firmly around Sway's ankle, tying the ends together and proclaiming it as good as it's going to get for the next few days.
"Let me see your ribs," he says, moving closer to the head of the bed. "The Delancy's mighta cracked 'em." He eases up the fabric of her chemise and runs his fingers over the deep purple-black bruising on her right side. He presses down lightly with two fingers and Sway bites back a yelp. He declares her ribs to be badly bruised but not broken. Mush dips his fingers in the salve once more and massages it into Sway's side, his fingers banishing her pain. He hears her indrawn breath as the cool balm touches her.
"I wouldn't have pegged you a the hero type to defend that kid," he says, not meeting her eyes. Sway flushes, wether with anger or embarrassment Mush can't tell.
"It's get old, not being able to sleep at night. Felt like I should start makin' up for all the wrong things I've done." Her words hang in the air, harsh and self-deprecating. She wishes she could swallow them back. She swipes a loose curl from in front of her eyes roughly and looks out the duty window. Mush wonders if she's always angry with herself.
His's eyes flicker over her briefly before he returns to his job. If there's one thing he's learned about Sway, it's that she will continue to surprise. Tough, reckless, light-hearted, bitter, scared . . . He can't seem to figure her out. Sway leans forward so that he can wind another length of cotton around her sore ribs.
Mush turns away to replace the jar, but Sway catches his hand impulsively. "Thanks," is all she says. He nods curtly, knowing it would only embarrass her to make a big deal out of it. Sway swings her legs over the edge of the bed before he can stop her, mumbling something about getting home. He grabs her just as her injured leg buckles and she curses violently. He sets her back onto the bed, and his arms linger on her body for just a moment.
"I'm not sure I think much of your doctoring," she jokes. Mush offers her the bed for the night, and she accepts reluctantly. She slips back under the covers, and Mush blows out the candle. He can hear her breathing in the silence. He hesitates with his hand on the doorknob. He feels a curious attraction to this peculiar girl. Not affection as such, but a deep fascination.
"Goodnight," he murmurs. He is silhouetted against the dim light of the next room for a brief moment, casting an eerie shadow across the splintery floorboards. Then the door clicks shut.
"Goodnight," she whispers into the darkness. Sway turns over and pulls the covers up to her chin, but her eyes remain open. On the other side of the wall, Mush stares at the ceiling, unable to find a comfortable position. He reaches a decision and climbs down from his bunk. No one hears the lodge house door creak shut behind him.
Sway awakes with a start as an old man's voice punctuates the early morning calm. She hears the newsies grumble and complain, thumping and rattling around as they prepare for the day. She gets up but doesn't leave her room; she doesn't feel up to any more excitement just yet.
Sway drags her fingers through her hair, yanking at the tangles. She pulls on her shirt, glad that it has dried overnight. Hearing the footsteps in the outer room receding, she slips out the door and turns to push it shut. What she sees makes her pause, her hand clenched on the door knob. Her knife is jammed into the door, its scratched point pinning a tattered piece of paper to the wood. The note reads:
I thought ya might want this back, so I went back to find it. M.
Meet me at Medda's tonight.
The second line is an afterthought, scrawled hastily at the bottom. Sway rips the note free and jams it in her pocket. Her fingers caress the smooth steel of her knife before she slides it into her belt. Warm satisfaction glows within her. Her face is thoughtful. She finally steps out into the crowded street, walking with a slight limp that she tries to conceal. She blends quickly into the crowd, becoming just another lost soul among the masses.