Leah is coming to understand just how different this other-Leah’s world is. Not just with the books, and the glass, and the strange architecture, but with the technology.

The cold air always flows, no matter the weather or temperature outside. There are lumps on the wall that can turn on strange lights – except for the one in the washroom, which does not work for some reason. There is a private wash closet, for that matter, and when she finally realised that the emptying of the pot was activated by a lump on the side she was astounded.

Having decided to seek out other such magic lumps, she spent all of the first day discovering the powers of the ‘apartment.’ The most interesting were the lights, the pot, the water, and the fireless stove.

The stove led her to discover other things in the pantry, like the always-cold box, and the small stash of food inside it. There was far more dry stuff than anything else, in the pantry as a whole, and almost no vegetables anywhere. Some sliced cheese and ham, from the cold box, which she luxuriously ate all the first day while lounging on the plush couch like a Probesc nobleman.

Even the unexpected arrival of her cycle couldn’t dull her enthusiasm for this strange new home – there was a generous supply of absorbent pads, though apparently single use, as her one attempt to wash one had resulted is a soggy mess of pink fibres on a flimsy, sticky backing.

But now, four days into her strange captivity, she decides she has found the most astounding thing the rooms have to offer.

Next to the stove is a small wooden rack with many small jars of coloured powder. At first Leah had ignored these in favour of bigger things, but eventually she begins to open them and examine them. The first she opens is cinnamon.

She recognises it right away, from the few times she’d smelled it before while in Valerin. The others are harder to place, or totally new, with unfamiliar names. However, she knows enough about cooking that she can think up a dozen ways to use each one – and, faced with a sparse enough pantry otherwise, decides to indulge one night.

Leah sets a pan on the fireless stove and pours in sunflower seed oil – a fascinating concept, one she decides she ought to bring back to Algi – If just to show-up those pretentious Chedens. It’s just too bad it doesn’t have that same bite as olive oil. She adds in chopped onions and spices – a powdered garlic, of all the silly things! – and wonders how one is supposed to cook the strange grains called ‘rice.’

Not much time has passed before Leah has an interesting experimental recipe in progress, and the smell of the spice has filled up the whole apartment. Not sure how much to use, she decides to indulge and opt for as much as she can stand the taste of. The spicy red powder is especially potent but pleasant.

She gets stalled partway through, unsure of how to proceed without anything fresh. While stumped, she finds herself gravitating towards one cupboard, and decides to open it and check. Inside is a box of broth, and a familiarly shaped bottle of something vaguely green. Turning it to read the label, she is shocked to find it is wine.

She gives an exaggerated chuckle to herself, looking for a corkscrew in the many drawers. “I must be some special servant in this world, to have wine in my private cupboards!” She uncorks it and pours some over the frying rice.

She can’t understand how it works, but by the end of a half-hour she has some sort of gooey grain dish, with tangy wine and onion flavours and a half dozen different herbs. In another pan she has crumbled up some of the distressing-looking sausages with a bunch of hot and savoury spices, and used the leftover broth and sugar – they gave me sugar! – to create a sort of sauce. She doesn’t know what to call it, but it smells far better than any of the poorly concealed peasants’ food the Valerids had been serving lately.

Sitting down to eat her strange meal, Leah considers what the woman in the hall said. Rent. Some sort of money that needs to be paid. I am apparently supposed to be searching for a job, but without any understanding of how this world works, and no-one to support me, how am I supposed to find work? Can I even labour, in this body? She feels at her muscle-less arms and sighs at how weak she has discovered this body to be, even though she has been exercising it for an hour a day since arriving.

A knock at the door; the first since she woke up here. Leah cleans her hands on one of the tiny towels from the pantry and answers it. The woman from the first day, looking confused yet intent, is standing outside.

“Oh! Oh, hello,” Leah says, trying to sound friendly.

The woman sniffs. “It is you that’s cooking.”

Leah’s smile falters. “Is it too pungent?”

“Hm? Oh, I could smell it from my apartment down the hall, and I was just wondering who made it.”

“I went a little overboard with the spices maybe…” Leah admits, suddenly wondering if the food is even legally hers.

“Are you kidding? It smells amazing. What is it?”

“Uhh…”

“Family recipe?”

“Uhh, yes.”

“What cuisine? It smells French maybe, or North African.”

“Mhmm. Yes. North African.”

“Oh, you don’t look North African.”

“They’re my adopted family.” Leah smacks herself mentally for the desperate lie.

“Oh!”

A moment of silence passes, and Leah’s stress makes her panic. “I made too much for just me, if you’d like to try some.”

The woman seems surprised by the offer, and Leah curses this third misstep she has made in such a short conversation.

“Oh, no, I was just curious. You should be a chef, with cooking skills like this.”

Leah nods politely and agrees, and they say goodbye. She closes the door with relief, and remembers the little paper from her first day here. She goes back to the bedroom and rummages over the desk, finally finding the address.

A job…I could wander the streets tomorrow, something beyond the area right in front of the building. I’ve found the house-key, and I could safely leave without worrying about getting back in. Certainly with even streets like this I won’t get lost. Besides, I’ve been waiting for an excuse to venture into this strange new world.

*

In the morning, Leah awakens late, eats some cold leftovers – much less appetizing – as her breakfast, and dresses in the plainest yet nicest clothes she can find.

She has had time to study the fashions of this world, from the few passersby she has seen, and knows that short pants and sleeveless tops seem to be the most common clothing for women. Given the temperatures outside, she is grateful to be allowed to wear light clothing, rather than baggy linens and a leather vest. She dresses, takes the little paper, and sets off down the street at noon.

She stops the first person she sees and shows them the paper, asking where it is. They tell her the street is a twenty-minute walk north, or a five minute bus ride. “It’s better not to pay the four-seventy-five just for that short of a trip,” the stranger says, and Leah nods as though she understands the relevance of the numbers – or the meaning of the word ‘bus.’

She turns north and begins walking, using the sun to judge how far she has gone, noting landmarks as she goes. She watches the colourful contraptions zoom past her along the centre path, and feels her heart jump every time one passes close. Occasionally they will emit a loud, sharp sound, for no discernable reason.

Leah arrives finally at an intersection labelled with the street name written on the little paper. She stops someone else to ask where the restaurant is, and they shrug and walk on. She asks two more who don’t know, then ducks into the nearest cafe to ask.

The server welcomes her at the counter with a warm smile, and looks at the paper Leah shows her. “That’s about two blocks east, near the theatre,” she says, “But you’re welcome to order here instead. That restaurant is kinda pricey, and possibly not even open yet this early.”

“Oh, no thank you. I’m going there about a job.”

“Oh! Well good luck then,” she says with a smile, and Leah blushes and thanks her.

Leah walks east two blocks, as directed. She checks all the building names, noticing bookstores, hotels, bars, pubs, tattoo parlours, restaurants, cafes, bakeries, and hair salons. She finally finds the name she is looking for, and enters.

A woman standing at a podium asks if she has a reservation, and Leah says she is there about a job. The woman asks her name, and Leah gives it as it appeared on the other sheet of paper: “Leah Louise Armande.”

After conferring with an older woman, the woman from the podium turns back to Leah. “We emailed you about an interview two days ago, did you mistake the date?”

Leah draws a blank at the strange verb. “I must have, I’m very sorry.”

The woman shrugs apologetically. “Well we can’t accommodate you now, we’re expecting a lunchtime reservation of forty people, you understand how it is.”

“Should I come back another time?”

“You can. Would you like to leave your CV?”

“My what?”

The hostess’s expression falters. “Anyway. You can come back another time. Please phone ahead to make sure it’s convenient.” Leah understands this as a dismissal, and understands that she does not know enough about this world to be able to navigate it without further study.

She stops by some other businesses on the way back, asking at every one if they are hiring. Eventually she finds herself back at the cafe with the friendly server.

“Any luck?” the server asks, on recognising her.

“I misread the date, the interview was two days ago.”

“Ohhhh my gosh I’m so sorry to hear that! That sucks so much, but honestly I had a friend who worked at that restaurant and he said their business practices are shady as hell.”

Leah smiles, understanding the tone if not the vocabulary. The server pauses, checks the clock, and smiles back. “I’m on break in ten minutes, and we’re going to do the mid-day toss then; do you want me to save you something?”

Leah has no idea what that means, but says yes out of curiosity, then takes a seat at a table. The server comes out in ten minutes, carrying two glasses of cold water and two somewhat stale pastries.

“What are these?” Leah asks. The golden pastry collapses slightly under her grasp, pieces flaking away.

“They’re just plain croissants. The dishwasher claimed the almond ones before I could.” The server starts eating with the hungry bites of someone who is on a short break. Leah, having been in that situation before, feels a little jolt of comforting familiarity – one of her first since waking up in this world – and starts wolfing down her own serving.

Even stale, it is still one of the most luxurious breads Leah has ever tasted. “Oh Gods,” Leah mumbles around a mouthful. “This is good.”

The server laughs. “It’s the butter. By the way, what’s your name?”

“Leah. Yours?”

“Mary.”

“Oh? I’ve never heard that name before. I’ve only ever heard it used as a verb.”

Mary snorts. “Oh bull, it’s the most common female name in English. Or French. Or Spanish.”

Leah curses her misstep but tries to shrug it off.

Mary presses on. “Where are you from, that you’ve never heard the name Mary before?”

“Umm…North Africa.”

“Whaaat? Oh wow, that so cool. How long have you been in Canada?”

“Uh, about a month.”

“Well welcome. Your Canadian accent is pretty good, I’d say.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Mary takes another bite and chews pensively, washing it down with the water. “I hope it’s not rude to ask, but you don’t look North African…”

Leah nods. “Yeah, I’ve gotten that before. I was adopted.”

“Wow, so do you know where your birth parents are from?” She suddenly gets excited. “Are they from Canada, is that why you’re here?”

Leah hesitates. How deep should I take this lie? Does it matter? She seems pretty harmless. “I don’t know where they’re from.”

Mary puts a hand to her chest. “Awn that’s so sad!” She finishes her croissant. “I’ve got to be back at the cash in about a minute. It was so nice meeting you! Drop by any time you like, I always save some leftovers for my friends. Better it goes in someone’s stomach than in the trash, so long as the boss doesn’t see.”

Leah thanks her and gets up to leave, cramming in the last bite of croissant.

She spends the next couple hours walking along the nearby streets, always trying to keep her bearings in regards to her apartment building. She drops by a bookstore and asks if they’re hiring: nope. A hair salon: she doesn’t even bother asking, after seeing the sorts of cuts and styles people wear in this world. A bakery: they just hired someone, unfortunately. A bar: they tell her to feel free to drop off a CV. Leah reflects that she ought to find someone to ask what a CV is. Probably something obvious; everyone seems to think so. I shouldn’t ask Mary, though. I don’t want her to get suspicious, not when she’s the only person so far who seems to take me at face value.

She drops by a public library, but is told she can’t take any book out without a library card. Looking through her pockets she doesn’t find anything resembling what the friendly librarian shows her.

“That’s okay,” the librarian says, “You’re welcome to browse, you just can’t borrow any of the books.”

Goldmine! I might actually be able to learn something, here. Leah mentally notes down the address and leaves.

Nearing the evening, she has found her way to a less populated part of town. She is about to give up on the empty streets and turn back to where it’s busy, when she hears a commotion a short distance away.

She rushes over, and sees a heavily clad man pestering an elderly woman in the open street, where anyone could see, if there was someone to see. The man notices Leah and tells her to mind her own business. The woman calls to Leah to run away and call the cops. Leah doesn’t understand what a cop is, but understands what a mugger is.

She picks up a tall hollow column, orange and white striped, from beside a jagged hole in the sidewalk. Swinging it, she rushes at the man. He backs away in shock and knocks the ‘weapon’ out of her hands. Face to face with him, instinct takes over, and she throws three solid punches, all three landing before the guy finally breaks and runs for it.

The old woman is looking at her in surprise. Leah rubs her knuckles, not used to this weak body. It’s been years since punching hurt that much. I ought to be training even more thoroughly, if I want to get up to my standards.

Leah turns to the old woman. “Are you alright?” The woman nods, patting her hair back into place, eyes wide. “Would you like me to escort you home?”

The woman nods again, still looking a little shocked. “The women of the new generation will change the world more than the women of my generation ever hoped was possible,” she says with some levity, then starts walking. Leah falls into step beside her.

The old woman chats during the short ten minute walk, reflecting on her time in the women’s rights movement in the fifties, as a very young girl. Leah listens politely, taking note of the interesting information – women’s rights, governments, voting, and other strange things. She starts to build a mental picture of what this world is like.

“My mother would drag me to marches and speeches, and I never thanked her for it until I was an adult trying to find a job in a man’s world,” the woman is saying, and Leah focuses back on her current situation.

“I’m having job troubles myself…nowhere seems to be hiring,” Leah confesses.

The old woman reassures her that with enough pluck she’ll pull through eventually. At her doorway, the old woman offers her twenty dollars. “For the rescue,” she says. “I doubt he would have gotten violent, I think he was just being aggressive for the sake of it, but it made for an impressive show. I’m certainly going to smile anytime I see a traffic cone, for the next long while.”

Leah awkwardly accepts the slippery rectangle, wondering how it could be money. “I was only doing what anyone would have done.”

“No, my dear, you are exceptional. That was very brave, and for you to keep me company for the rest of my walk was more than good of you. Consider it a gift, to help you as you look for work.”

They say goodbye, and when Leah descends back to the street, she finds she has lost her sense of direction. Well that was stupid of me. Well done, Leah. Let’s see…we came from this way, and we turned from that way…and before that…

Leah retraces her steps, but after two intersections finds she cannot remember the way at all; every street looks the same, the buildings all strange and indistinguishable. She wanders, growing more and more desperate, but does not see anything familiar.

After a half-hour she gets to a more populated part of town. She is still on edge, looking out for muggers, and decides to stop at the first inn she can find to get a cheap room and spend the night.

She finds one, or something like one, decorated on the outside with flashing lights and a popping wine bottle with a sign underneath that says “rooms available.” When she goes in, she sees a number of beautiful women and a bunch of men, and a stern-looking man behind the counter. She asks for a room, and the man looks across at her, confused.

“A champagne room?”

“No, a room to spend the night.”

The man gets defensive. “We don’t even let our girls do that, we’re not gonna let some chick off the street use our rooms for that.” Leah tries to understand, and the man sees her confusion. “You can’t bring your mark here, you can’t bring your John here, you can’t bring a client here. We don’t do extras, we do dances and rooms and that’s it.”

Leah looks around, and suddenly it clicks to her. “I am not asking for a room to have sex in. I am asking if you have rooms to rent for the night. To sleep in. I want to rent a room for myself, only, for a night.”

The guy settles down after understanding the miscommunication. “Sorry miss, we’re not a motel, we don’t do that. You probably won’t even find a hotel that’ll accept clients this late; they’ll be just as suspicious of your motives.”

Leah sighs and looks around. The women, she sees, are barely dressed, and the men are all dressed in something that looks like a uniform – bland greys and blacks, with shiny cloth hanging from their necks like odd fabric necklaces.

“How’d you end up needing a room so late anyway?” the man asks, now curious.

Leah shrugs. “I got caught out late, looking for work, and then I got a little lost. Not sure how to get back home, and would rather not try to find my way at night.”

The man nods and hums agreement. “There are some weird people out there at night, you’re right about that much.” He looks pensive, then gestures her closer. “Tell you what. You ever work in a restaurant, or a bar, anything like that?”

Leah thinks back. “I’ve worked at inns, and a couple pubs.” As security, she adds in her mind, but given the state of her body she doesn’t think the man would believe that.

“Alright, I’ll make you a deal. Our week-day bar-back quit without warning, a few days ago, and no-one is available to cover his shifts. If you want, you can stay here until closing time at four am, doing some bar-back work, and in return I’ll pay for your taxi-fare home. What street do you live on? You’re not from way out of town, are you?”

“Havellin.”

“Oh, then that’s alright, probably run you about twenty dollars. So how about it?”

Leah looks at the man’s face, trying to decide if the offer is fair. Considering her other options, she decides that it is – and that it might lead to an eventual proper employment. “Deal.”

“Excellent,” he says with a grin, gesturing that she follow him into the back room. “Leave your stuff in the dressing room, out of the way somewhere. There are spare lockers.”

The man – Owner? Manager? Leah can’t be sure, given how much else is different about this world – shows her where the boxes of back-ups and cleaning supplies are, and tells her to always be polite to the clients and the girls. He then leaves her to do her work, and Leah finds herself – slightly – employed, having survived her first day outside of the apartment.