Terrestrial Undead

Chapter 37

Tesla came to in a sewer pipe; after Orla had mouthed the instructions "run", she hadn't known what else to do in her half-hung state, and she had crawled into the sewers out of habit. Unlike the last ones though, this one wasn't so unused. She woke covered in foul smelling muck, and the air felt like sandpaper in her windpipe. She flinched from her own touch as she raised her fingers to her neck. That'll leave a mark.
Crawling out of the sewer sapped all her limited strength, and she lay flat on her back on the cobbled road, filthy and aching as the stars glittered above her.
And stars, in their orbits, shone pale through the night. Orla had read her that. Where was she now? What was happening to her?
Tesla tried to heave herself up and fell back with the effort, a sob escaping her chest. Tears snakes down her cheeks as she heard a small answering mew.
"No way..." she whispered as she turned her head. Miu padded up beside her, forcing a rasping laugh from Tesla's raw throat.
"Miu... how?"
Nang approached from behind.
"Where there's fish, kitties follow. Sorry. I don't have anything right now," she sighed, and closed her eyes. Nang dropped something by her head, and she opened them again. It was a small smoked fish.
"Oh, Nang. I don't know if I can..."
"Maah."
Tesla didn't have it in her heart to disappoint them. How often did a cat offer a human a stolen fish? She swallowed a little with difficulty, and then offered the rest to her friends, smiling a little to herself. Here she was, talking to a pair of cats like they could understand her. She was picking up Orla's habits. Not that that was a bad thing. Orla had an uncanny knack for coming out on top when things were hopeless, too. Tesla pushed herself up, hoping that that was another thing that had rubbed off on her. Orla would be alright; and so would she. It was just a matter of finding plan B. After gathering herself, she staggered away from the temple— if they found her again she might not be so lucky. Tesla headed into the night towards Sect 1's prison, with her friends padding behind her.

The next morning, Tesla was dressed in rags up to her chin. She waited for the prison warden to come in for work, tapping her foot. The sun was in the sky; he was late.
At length, he came toward the imposing building, stumbling slightly. Just as Tesla had thought— he'd spent the night on poppy fuelled dreams. She guessed she would too, if she had to witness the horrors that went on in these prisons.
"Begging your pardon, sir," she called, stepping out. The warden grunted and waved her away as he would an insect, but Tesla moved around him.
"Please, sir, for His Majesty's mercy," she whimpered. "I've fallen on hard times, sir, I'm in need of work, and I can cook better than anyone in the Sect."
He waved her away again, grumbling.
"Now hold on, sir. I've something that might interest you."
Tesla held out her hand as she spoke. It's contents finally caught the warden's eye; three opium poppy seed pods.
He moved to take them and she snatched them back.
"They're yours if you get me a place in the prison kitchen, sir. If you get me a job in there, there'll be plenty more where that came from."
Frowning, he gestured for her to follow him.
"A'ight," he growled, "kitchen's this way."
Once they were inside, he barked, "Oi! New kitchen hand for you." Tesla gave him the seed pods and set about cleaning dishes, humming as she did so, pleased she would finally get a chance to put her choice cooking skills to work. The guards were in for an extra special treat come lunch time.