The Rise of Io by Wesley Chu Read Free Book Online

her subjects every day, lest any of them develop any funny ideas about trying to squeeze in on her turf.
    She poured a bowl of water over her head, wiped her face with a wet rag, and dumped the dirty water down a small drainage pipe that ran down the side of the container cluster. She was about to get dressed when she saw her old clothes in the hamper. She could smell last night all the way from here. Ella sniffed her shoulder. No amount of hand and face washing was going to get rid of this stench. It was time to visit Wiry Madras. She sighed and grabbed a fresh towel, some clean clothes, and her dirty laundry.
    Ella checked herself in the mirror on the way out. She bared her teeth and curled her hands into claws. “Rawr.” She had survived to prowl another day.
    She looked like a stray cat that someone had dunked into the river. Black Cat was her nickname among some of the older residents in Crate Town. When she had first heard it, she had thought it was because she was sleek and brought bad luck upon her foes. She found out much later on that they called her that because she was small, sneaky and pissed on everyone.
    Today, something was a little different, a little off; she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Ella looked and felt the same, but she had always been pretty in tune with her body. A person had to be to survive on the streets from an early age. She twirled in front of the mirror once more, checking her back for anything out of the ordinary, and then, resigned to the fact she’d never look like those women she saw in magazines, left her container home.
    Ella double-checked the locks on her front door and tossed Burglar Alarm a snack on her way down. Crate Town at noon was a kaleidoscope of color that splashed the otherwise dreary and washed-out landscape. The crowds were thick with men, women, and children, many wearing brightly patterned sari and panche, painted the backdrop of rust and dirt and steel, adding much needed life. Lines of clothing – in yellows and pinks and purples – hung in the air on wires over the streets in between the riot of brown, red and green container cluster buildings. Blue and orange canvases draped over makeshift balconies and alleyways, providing a little shade against the suffocating heat.
    Ella joined the crowds as the people went about their day. There was a rhythm to the slum, a heartbeat as the sharp sounds of dogs barking, horns blaring, and people shouting filled the air. Trucks honked as they tried to bully their way against the river of people, hauling lumber, aluminum and scraps.
    Men pushed by her, sacks strapped to their backs or balanced on their heads. Women chattered while washing clothes, herding little ones, cooking delicious aromatic food that almost covered the constant acrid smell of rust, unwashed bodies and concealed sewage. Groups of the young and the old picked through mounds of refuse, looking for anything of value to sell, recycle, or repurpose. Crate Town was alive.
    The first thing Ella did was head to the center of the slum, to the bath house. Wiry Madras ran this particular establishment, and it was easily the most expensive public bath house in all of Crate Town. That was fine by Ella. If there was one thing she allowed herself to splurge on, it was baths and laundry.
    Wiry Madras, an ex-madam from Little Dhavari in the east, did a lot of good for the community here by employing and protecting many of the orphaned girls who otherwise would be on the streets. Ella had spent some time as one of those girls when she had first made Crate Town home, so she now considered the few extra rupees for washing services a way of paying it forward as well as repaying Wiry Madras.
    Wiry Madras took her load of laundry and sniffed it. Her wrinkled face became even more prune-like. “Stupid girl playing in shit again. It’ll cost you double, you filthy cat.”
    Ella stuck her tongue out and paid the premium. It didn’t mean Ella