There was a ghost in her room.
Her da¡¯s had said there was no such thing as ghosts, but she was pretty sure there was a ghost in her room. Sometimes the curtains would move in the night, and she would hear strange noises from under the floorboards.
The other kids that lived there laughed at her and said there was no such thing as ghosts either. But she still wasn¡¯t sure. Sometimes she saw things that they couldn¡¯t, shapes in corners and movement on the roofs, but they were always gone by the time the boys checked.
They would laugh at her afterwards, and tuck her into her little bed in the corner, leaving the curtain cracked open so she could be comforted by their firelight. She felt safe and warm whilst they were there, but deeply afraid once they fell asleep.
She had a protector though, during those long hours lying awake. A friend she never had shown anyone, because even orphans have at least one. He lived under her covers, or in her pocket, and she would talk to him in the moonlight, long after the boys were asleep.
His name was Weatherfingers, he had told her, and her da''s had left him to look after her. She had found him peeking out from the roots of a tree not long after they¡¯d disappeared. He was made of something warm and heavy, and he fitted into the palm of her hand as if he''d been made for it.
He was a bit worn by rain, but his face was calm and beautiful, and she could feel the shape of it even in the dark. During the day, when the boys were out, she would let him sit on the corner of the window where the shutters didn¡¯t quite fit, so he could see the world pass by, but she always hid him before they came back, just in case.
She didn¡¯t think they would steal him, but they might laugh at him, and an unvoiced part of her was scared that might break his magic.
She clutched him in her hand now, her blankets wrapped around her like a cloak, watching the boys get themselves ready for the day. The ghosts had been loud last night, and they had gone out in the early dark, returning with bits of old rope and tar for the shutters, but it hadn¡¯t helped.
They insisted it was just the wind, and they¡¯d lit the fire extra big, but she knew it was something else.
They called her Kitten. She knew it wasn¡¯t her proper name, but her real name had been long and winding, and time and cold had scrubbed it from her memory.
-
The boys were out today, as they were most days, but she had laid awake late last night, holding Weatherfingers tightly in her hand and listening to them talk.
The two younger ones, Wordsound and Truedream, had both been talking about school. She didn¡¯t really understand much of that conversation, but she found it soothing to hear the tenor of their voices. Past the edge of the curtain, she had watched their shadows move with the firelight, as they sat on the floor, drinking beer and laughing together.
They would give her a little beer sometimes, but she didn¡¯t like it much. She preferred it when they bought back the hot pies and mashed potato, or chips, or the muffins still warm from the oven. Those were the best.
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Then the older boy, (Blueyes, even though his eyes were brown!) had started talking about his new job cleaning up after horses, and she had covered herself with the blankets and gone to sleep.
She had seen a horse once, and the noise of its hooves against the street had haunted her for days afterwards. Only the repeated reassurances that horses couldn¡¯t get up onto the greenways had convinced her to venture outside again, and she always checked both ways before moving out the door.
She liked Blueyes the most because he almost always slept in the house overnight, and it was nearly always him that brought hot food. She hoped the horses would be kind to him.
The others bought food too, but it was more often cold and not as tasty, and sometimes they forgot, or didn¡¯t turn up for days.
In the summer she could walk around outside and pick the berries that grew on the greenways, gorging herself until she could eat no more, staining her hands with juice and sugar until she was sure the colours would never come out.
But the weather was getting colder, and there were fewer berries about now. The last time she¡¯d been out had been disappointing, but it had rained a few days ago, so there might be some new growth.
Carefully, she pulled her coat off the hook by the door. It was a thick warm thing made of what must be a whole sheep, and it smelt of lanolin and safety. Wordsound said that it had belonged to his brother, but that he didn¡¯t need it anymore, so it was hers now.
She loved him deeply for that.
The door was difficult to move, one of the hinges didn¡¯t work anymore, but she could get it open if she put all of her weight behind it, making a gap big enough to get through.
With one hand in her coat pocket, Weatherfingers a comforting presence clutched in her small fingers, Kitten headed out to look for food.
-
Well, she was definitely lost. She had even resorted to taking out Weatherfingers, and asking if he knew where they were, but he had whispered back that he didn¡¯t know either.
It had been going so well. She knew the area around her house as well as any child does. She knew where the best fatberries grew after rain, where the frogs lived, and any number of secret hiding places.
She had found a little basket discarded under a large thorny bush and spent an hour or so repairing it with leaves and grass. Then, with it over her arm and her skirts metaphorically hitched up, she had been ready to face the day.
There hadn¡¯t been much to face, so she had ventured to the edge of her normal territory, almost to the end of the terrace. There she had found a garden full of bushes, all with big red fruits on, but as she was loading the fruit into her pockets and basket, a shouty-person came out, wielding some sort of club!
Kitten wasn¡¯t really sure what they¡¯d been shouting about, as she hadn¡¯t stuck around long enough to find out, but they were loud and new, and even the friendlier new people were scary, awaking in her a deep fear of something she couldn¡¯t quite identify.
Now, sitting in the mouth of an alleyway, she was unsure of where she was. At some point she had ended up back on ground level, but she didn¡¯t remember how and she didn¡¯t recognise this street. It was all movement and noise, horses and shouting. She had been drawn here by the smell of food, but now that she¡¯d made it, she was far too afraid to venture out.
She hadn¡¯t known many people, over her short life. She had to have had a mother at some point, the boys seemed insistent on that, but she only remembered her da¡¯s.
First was the one with the long dark hair and the sharp face. He hadn¡¯t spoken to her much, but he had always been around, and she had taken comfort in his presence.
Second was the one with fire for hair. A bright red, it had surrounded his head like a halo. He had always spoken gently to her, tucked her into bed sometimes, and the fire of his hair had kept the ghosts away even when they had no real fire of their own. Often he would go out during the day, but he had always come back at night.
Until he didn¡¯t. One day she had come home from playing and found the house empty, both furniture and fire gone, never to return.
But they had left her Weatherfingers, she was sure of that. His fire was hidden deep inside, but he would keep her safe from ghosts. And, she reassured herself, the boys would find her, they had before, so they would again.
Crouched in the relative safety of the alleyway, her guardian clutched tightly between her hands, she sat and watched, as the world passed by.
Chapter 8 - Ghosts - Wordsound.
Wordsound was having a bad day. He hadn¡¯t gone home last night, instead choosing to go straight from the hangout to school. This wasn''t uncommon, but the spare clothes he¡¯d stored there had been eaten by rain at some point, and he hadn¡¯t had a chance to replace them yet.
Once at school, his teacher had shouted at him for his appearance, a quick wash from the tap by the school gate not good enough for her. Later he had tried to defend himself and received a whack with the cane as punishment. He had missed the rest of the morning, unable to concentrate, stewing in anger and resentment instead.
Come lunchtime most kids either went home for tea, or got something from the hawkers down near Market Street, but he was out of pennies and wouldn¡¯t be welcome at home, so he had instead walked around town, wallowing deep in his misery. When the time had come for him to return to school, he hadn¡¯t.
Instead, he¡¯d mooched around town for a while, before ending up back outside the hangout, which was basically a second home to him at this point. His real home was always too busy and crowded, and he had long ago gotten the message that he was unwelcome there, just another mouth to feed and clothe.
He was lucky that he got free schooling, most kids did, but it wasn''t the best. It was all funded by the local factory owners, as a way of keeping them off the street during the day (fat lot of good that was doing), and then when they hit 15 they would have the necessary skills to head straight into work. An almost guaranteed job in the mills or foundries or even the potteries that were springing up on the edge of town.
Although the law stated they couldn¡¯t work until they were fifteen, Blueyes had been doing odd jobs for years now, and Wordsound knew loads of other kids who were working under the table in all sorts of different places. Maybe he should look into it¡
With a grunt, he lifted the door up slightly and pushed it open. The lower hinge had rotted out weeks ago, and the thought of fixing it hadn¡¯t even occurred to him.
The place was a wreck, to be honest. They¡¯d nicked some oakum and tried fixing up the shutters last night, to assuage Kitten''s whimpering about ghosts, but it was beyond repair. Houses in the city were well built, and it was attached to other places on all sides, so it wasn¡¯t falling down, but the wooden floor was rotting out and the shutters being sealed shut without a fire meant that damp had built up inside, causing the plaster to crumble. The walls hadn¡¯t been repainted in far too long, picking up damp and soot, and although they¡¯d cleared most of the rubbish, it was still a mess.
The Kitten had been here when they¡¯d first arrived, that was how they¡¯d found it, actually. Truedream had found her in the street, lost and confused. An hour or two of detective work and they¡¯d managed to ascertain both where she lived, and that her parents were gone.
The neighbours had confirmed that two men who matched the descriptions she gave had lived here, but that they¡¯d packed up and left almost a week before. A kid? Yeah, that looked like theirs. Poor brat. A shrug and a closed door, not their problem.
Blueyes had been shocked, but he¡¯d lived a more sheltered life than Truedream and Wordsound. His mother had loved him, but she¡¯d died when he was twelve, leaving him alone. The two boys had helped with finding him places to stay, but they were barely welcome in their own homes as it was, adding another mouth to their family''s burdens wasn¡¯t an option.
So this place was perfect, really. As far as they knew the landlord had given up on it, one room, too decrepit and out of the way to bother trying to find tenants for. The fact it came with a free Kitten was weird, but that¡¯s how life goes sometimes.
Wordsound squinted around the room. Nothing new since he''d left that morning. Kitten¡¯s bed was empty, and her coat was missing from the hook, so he assumed she¡¯d gone out. They knew she didn¡¯t normally stay inside all day, and who could blame her, the place was a tip.
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He kicked at a bottle lying near the burnt-out embers of last night''s fire, hands in his pockets to ward off the chill from the dark room. He should collect those up and take them to the brewery. They¡¯d give him a half-penny each for them if he was lucky, enough to feed them all tonight.
Despite being the ostensibly poorest of them, Blueyes always seemed to have enough money for food. It was always him that turned up with the stuffed pastries or chips wrapped in newspaper, always him that encouraged the others to gather up the bottles. A few days ago Wordsound had opened the door and found a half-keg of small beer in the corner, and none of them had questioned the source. That was just how he was.
With a sigh, he thumped down onto the floor, using his feet to nudge the rubbish he could reach into an untidy pile in the corner. Somebody else would deal with it.
Job done, he lay back on the rotten floor and caught up on the sleep he¡¯d missed last night.
-
He was awoken by a gentle kick in the ribs. Truedream and Blueyes were both back, the latter holding a package of what looked like pig trotters, tightly wrapped in newspaper and still steaming.
Both of them flopped to the floor beside him.
¡°Where¡¯s the kitten?¡± Truedream asked, taking the package and starting to break it open on his knee. ¡°You leave her asleep somewhere?¡±
Wordsound blinked sleepily, looking around the room. ¡°She wasn¡¯t here when I got in, what time is it?¡±
¡°Like, 6pm?¡± Blueyes replied, ¡°I just came to drop dinner off before they need me at the Bull tonight.¡±
¡°Ha!¡± Truedream laughed, done unwrapping the food, ¡°They better scrub you twice before they let you inside, don¡¯t want you tramping horseshit into the carpets. Should I be making you wash your hands before I let you touch the food?¡±
¡°Ha ha. Very funny.¡± Blueyes rolled his eyes, grabbing for the food, as Truedream laughed and pulled it out of his way.
¡°Gimme that you thief! You can deny me my food when you¡¯re the one paying for it.¡± Truedream reached for it again, grinning, limited by the fact he wasn''t willing to stand up and ruin the game.
Wordsound smiled sleepily at their antics, stretching and looking around the room.
The fire was still unlit, but they¡¯d scrounged up a couple of candles before they''d woken him, giving the room a comforting glow. Kitten¡¯s bed, in an alcove that most likely once held a second fireplace, was still empty. Their own blankets and mattresses were scattered around the edges of the room, in between the small bits of rubbish and junk that none of them had bothered to clean up. By the door was the obligatory bucket of clean water, he should refill that later.
Reaching for his own portion of food, he frowned, ¡°None of you saw her outside?¡±
¡°Who?¡± Truedream was tucking in now, eyeing up the fireplace as if it might light itself if he glared at it hard enough.
¡°The Kitten,¡± Wordsound frowned harder now, drowsiness ebbing away, ¡°She wasn¡¯t here when I came back, and that was like, 2pm?¡±
Blueyes reached over and thumped him on the head with a greasy hand, ¡°You skipping school, boy? I¡¯ll have to tell your parents about this!¡±
¡°Oh lay off it-¡° he batted the hand away.
¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯s fine.¡± Truedream spoke up, eyeing up her portion of the food, the dead ashes of last night''s fire having decided not to spontaneously burst back into life. ¡°She goes out on her own all the time, she¡¯s a big girl.¡±
¡°She¡¯s like 4 years old, Truedream.¡± Wordsound shook his head, taking a bite of the pork and trying to ignore the worry in his gut. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we like¡ Go look for her?¡±
His friend shrugged, wrapping her food back up in the newspaper and placing it up on the dusty mantelpiece, before it somehow made its way into his stomach. Beside him, Blueyes rose to his feet, wiping his hands on his trousers.
¡°Thank-you for the meal gents, but I¡¯ve got work to attend. Tell me tomorrow if our Kitten doesn¡¯t turn up?¡±
The other two nodded as Blueyes pushed his way out of the house. Through the half-open door, Wordsound could see that the sky was getting dark, autumn truly settling in.
Truedream got to his feet as well, shaking out the coat he¡¯d been using as a cushion and grabbing his hat from where it was hanging near the door. ¡°I gotta go check in at home. I didn¡¯t go back last night and my ma shouts at me if I don¡¯t check in every couple of days.¡± He gave Wordsound a glance, before snuffing out both of the candles and heading outside, ¡°hope the Kitten turns up.¡±
Wordsound gave him a wave, watching as he left. He started into the empty fire for a moment, and then looked back at the alcove where the kid was meant to be sleeping.
¡°Fuck.¡±
Chapter 9 - Ghosts come out at night.
He checked the surrounding roofs and gardens first, but all was quiet and still. After that, he checked the privies, in the hope that she was just having some mad constipation. After that he ran out of ideas and went home to his ma, the calm initial search transforming into panic. She wasn¡¯t going to be at his house, of course, but a part of him had to check. Maybe a kind stranger had led her there, or something.
The reception he got at home was not good. He hadn¡¯t been home for almost a week and his mother had gotten wind of the fact he hadn¡¯t been going to school. He made sure that she wasn¡¯t there and then scarpered. No point in sticking around for the whole lecture.
A brief check of Truedream''s place. All noise and singing at this time of the night, but only a shake of the head from his friend. Next he tried The Bull, sticking his head inside briefly, but an annoyed glance from Blueyes, arms loaded with plates, determined that she wasn¡¯t there either.
Having checked everywhere he could think of, he gave up, completely out of ideas and paralysed by worry. What if she¡¯d fallen off a roof, or into a canal, or been kidnapped by villains!
Wordsound had a sudden, heart-pounding, breath-stealing moment of panic, as he finally realised that, at the grand-old-age of not-quite-fourteen, he had suddenly become a father.
Kitten wasn¡¯t¡ He was realising now that he¡¯d never actually thought of her as a person before. More of a pet, a kitten. She didn''t even have a real name! Sure, they all made sure she ate, breakfast and dinner every day, but the rest of the time? Who knew.
He knew she played in the street a lot, mostly alone, and that she often hunted the greenways for food. They had made sure she knew how to get to the privies and back, and they sometimes emptied the chamber pot for her in the morning, but¡ None of them thought about her much other than that. They all had their own problems to contend with.
You can¡¯t own a cat, so they didn¡¯t own Kitten. She was simply a fixture of their hangout space, the same as the fireplace or the dodgy door.
Frowning, he paced down the street, hands in his pockets and eyes on the ground in front of him. He could ask the police, claim she was his sister. He knew there were a couple of local constables around, although they didn¡¯t patrol the slum district. But, the police only dealt with criminal matters. A missing child was a case for the parents, unless she¡¯d been murdered, at which point they might look into it or they might not, and what if they asked about her parents.
Nobody was looking for her. Nobody would miss her, except some other unwanted kids, so why bother. They had better things to do with their time.
His hands deep in his pockets, hat pulled down over his ears, Wordsound went back to wandering the streets. He should check around the canals, just in case¡
-
Kitten was still lost. The afternoon had passed her by as she watched the street, fear long replaced by fascination. The noise and movement amazed her after a life spent in dark rooms or the quiet greenways of the slums. She had heard the boys talk about it, of course, but to see it for herself. Wow.
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She had watched in quiet awe the cycle of the day. First came lunch. She had admired the hawkers pedalling their wares, all the different foods on offer. For a good hour or so there were people everywhere, and then, as fast as they''d arrived, they were gone again, the streets quiet once more. The day had cycles to it, she realised. It was teatime now, and the people were coming back, buying and selling and all eating.
Her stomach grumbled. Even the horses weren¡¯t so scary now. They were big and noisy, sure, but they were also well-controlled, never left alone to do evil, restricted to their place in the centre of the road.
At one point she had seen a person walking by, with huge red ears sprouting from the sides and top of their head, all surrounded by bright, fiery hair. She had stood up and almost run to them, before realising it wasn¡¯t her da. Her da had been bigger, and he hadn¡¯t had a tail.
She¡¯d sat and had a little cry after that, but that had been almost an hour ago, and at this point she was more focused on the food. She had only managed to grab two or three berries before she had gotten scared, and those had been eaten hours ago. She¡¯d lost her little basket somewhere during the run, and the cobblestones beneath her were starting to get cold in the evening air.
Time to get moving, she decided. She had seen somebody selling pies only a few minutes ago, maybe if she asked them nicely they¡¯d give her one. The boys never asked for money, so¡
-
Safely back in her alleyway once again, Kitten re-evaluated her views on the world and money, rubbing her smarting ear. On a normal day she would be home by now, tucked up safe and warm in her blankets, and the feelings of wonder and awe from earlier were rapidly ebbing away, being replaced by hunger and sad.
She missed the warmth of her alcove opposite the fire and the comforting sound of the boy''s voices as they ate their tea. She missed her das and the way the candles lit up the walls. She wanted to be home.
Sniffling, she rubbed her face against the fur of the big yellow dog pressed against her side and tried to decide what to do next.
-
The cries of the food sellers were waning. Teatime over, they were shutting up their stalls and wheeling their carts away, back to homes and shops. As darkness set in, she watched with interest as a figure with a ladder worked their way along the street, lighting the lamps. She wished they had one of those lights at home, they were so bright!
What to do? She could- she thought about it for a moment, scrunching up her face- she could maybe ask people if they knew her boys? She didn¡¯t really speak much, and she didn''t like strangers, but she knew the boy''s names, and where Blueyes worked, somebody here might know the way home.
The pie-seller had been mean, but¡ She refused to re-jig her whole view of the world based on just one interaction.
Yeah, that would do.
She pushed herself to her feet, folding her hands up into her sleeves. She didn¡¯t know what a Bull was, but she would find out.
-
So, it turns out that while people have unique names, pubs do not. This was a novel concept, but one to be mulled over later.
A nice woman had led her to ¡°The Bull¡±, but Kitten was pretty sure it wasn¡¯t the one Blueyes had talked about. Partly due to the lack of horses, partly due to the fact that he didn¡¯t work here.
She had circled the building twice, marvelling at the fact it was all on its own, unattached to anything else, before drawing courage into her lungs and venturing inside.
The man behind the bar had been sympathetic to her plight, but ultimately unhelpful. He had given her some water and allowed her to warm herself at the fire while he asked around, but the results were in. No Blueyes worked here and she was taking up space, so it was time to move on.
Well, this sucked. She gave the dog a pat, his nose pressing wetly into her free hand. How was she meant to get home now? It was fully dark out, and although this part of town was lit by the streetlamps, she knew that her part would be dark and scary by this time. What if the ghosts were waiting outside the house for her, how would she get inside?
Unsure where to go or what to do next, she hunched down outside the pub, her back pressed against the wall, sheltered from the wind by the steps leading inside.
Once settled, she rested her head on her knees, and gave up.
Chapter 10 - Putting ghosts to rest.
It was a quiet night at The Bull, and Blueyes was bored. He had been working in the kitchen earlier, washing up dishes and mugs, but now that things had quietened down again he was back in the stables. Boring.
Nominally, his job was to look after and feed the horses, both those belonging to the inn and those belonging to patrons, but there had only been two new arrivals tonight and they were both already sound asleep. If the other nights were anything to go by, that would be it.
He sighed, lying back and staring at the ceiling. Maybe he should sleep here tonight. The innkeeper wouldn¡¯t mind, but he also wouldn¡¯t be paid for any extra work, and that rankled his mercenary heart. Still, it would be easier than walking all the way back to the slums.
Wordsound had stopped in earlier, right? That meant he hadn¡¯t found the kitten. Strange, but not his problem. She would turn up.
Of course, he felt for her, he really did. He knew what it was like to lose your parents at a young age, to go hungry because nobody was looking out for you, but he had survived, and she would too. He had watched her weave little baskets and bags out of grass, so she was resourceful, and he knew she often found her own food. Give it a couple of years and he could find her some small jobs.
Speaking of small jobs, Blueyes sat up as the door to the stables creaked open, spitting out the piece of straw he¡¯d been chewing and waving to Truedream, who appeared to be trying to get through the door without actually opening it. Blueyes smiled with what he hoped was a confident smile and waved him in. Not all doors have dodgy hinges, he hoped his face said, this one opens wider than you¡¯d think!
Truedream was a good kid and a good friend. His best friend, next to Wordsound, and Blueyes trusted him implicitly.
Which was why he was going to help him rob a house tonight.
-
They had been planning this for weeks. Maps, accomplices, disguises, they had the works. The house was on the edge of town, and much fancier than anywhere he¡¯d ever even seen before, never-mind robbed.
On a regular night, he would simply take advantage of open doors or windows, often on roofs higher than everything else around them, where nobody except the house owners ever stepped. People got lax when they thought nobody else was around, but you were never alone in the city, and Blueyes could scale walls like a cat.
Petty crime was how he''d sustained the three of them over the last couple of years, well, the four of them, now. He had a couple of fences that he could sell to, and none of them needed much. The odd candlestick or piece of silverware could feed the lot of them for a month. Add that to the pennies he picked up doing odd jobs, and he was doing pretty well, all told.
Blueyes stood up, pulling on his coat and hat, dusting off the straw while Truedream still hovered near the door. With one last glance around the stables, he finished his train of thought.
Kitten was young enough she was still in frocks, but she could do with something warmer now that winter was on its way. They¡¯d scrounged her up a coat, but the rest of her clothing was starting to get ragged from rain and wear. Second-hand clothing was cheap enough, especially for kids, he should look into it once they got their payout. Maybe he could nick her something from the house tonight.
With a nod and no words exchanged, he gave the stables one last glance, and then the two of them set off.
-
Well, this was it. Showtime. They were hiding in the greenery behind what the locals called ''Mill House''. The building was a modern construction, three-winged and jewel-like in the dusk, every window shining with a bright white light. Gaslight, he mused, judging by the brightness, either that or it was on fire.
It was a big house, situated in what had only a couple of decades before been far, far outside of town. Just getting here had taken them two borrowed bicycles and twenty minutes of furious pedalling, and the break was as much to scout out the premises as it was to catch their breath.
Spread over three stories, the walls of the building were ornamented in a way you never saw inside the city. The plaster was a deep red, textured to look like stone, and there were small architectural features everywhere. Small stone animals, carvings of plants, and little pointy bits above all the windows. To an eye used to plain white boxes, occasionally adorned with vines to break up the monotony, it seemed messy and strange.
The roof was a mix of flats and slopes. While during the day it might be a mix of green and autumnal shades, in the dusk it was dark and weird, like the teeth of a saw against the sky. The whole thing was all a show, Truedream mused, as he climbed out the bushes. It was a statement that they could afford to have sloped roofs, wasting useful space and making maintenance more difficult purely for looks.
There were a couple of acres of greenery and gardens surrounding the house on all sides, again, showing off. This close to the city this would be prime farmland, and sure some of it was farmed, but most was merely a hangout area for rich people. A mix of lakes and follies, the latter shiny and new a couple of years ago, but the fancy imported stone already starting to degrade in the rain.
The windows were flat planes of glass which had to have been bought in by boat, they would never have survived the trip by coach, and so on. The list of extravagances never ended.
The whole building sat badly with him, and that was only the outside.
They knew from previous reconnaissance that there were two wings stretching out behind the house, enclosing a large courtyard. To one side were stables, and storage rooms for all the bits and pieces that horses accrue, to the other side servant''s quarters, guest bedrooms, and a big warehouse full of fancy carriages.
To the back, (or front?) was the main house, brightly lit, gaudy and at the start of a big ol¡¯ party.
Blueyes squinted at the carriages pulling up into the courtyard, the guests arriving, ready for an evening of food and dance. There were servants lending a hand as people exited their coaches, and stable hands and valets dealing with the horses and carriages. Even from this distance their dresses and suits were bright and flashy in the autumn air, all laces and frills and nets.
A part of him wanted to stay here, to be a part of it even if just on the periphery. Pretending that each figure was him or Truedream. He watched as one person, probably not much older than himself, struggled to exit their coach, the ridiculous hoops of their skirt needing to be turned sideways to fit through the door. Okay, maybe he didn¡¯t want to be that person in particular, but one of the better-dressed ones sure.
Beside him in the greenery, Truedream shuffled his feet, antsy and nervous. They had both washed in the city baths and then changed their clothes before setting out, and the younger boy was itchy and uncomfortable in his starched shirt, long trousers and crisp jacket. The clothes hadn¡¯t been cheap, but Society expected even their servants to be well dressed.
A friend from school had Changed their faces, adjusting their features beyond the point of recognisability. Truedream¡¯s normal short black hair and expressive cat ears were missing, in favour of shoulder-length brown hair held back with a large blue ribbon. Blueyes had gone the other way, forgoing his normal short hair and replacing it with a yellow mane, somewhat reminiscent of an old tomcat. He had seen it in the mirror and seriously considered keeping it, but it would have needed far too much maintenance.
With both the Change and the new outfits, it was enough to make them unrecognisable, and they had spent a few minutes looking at each other and giggling after they¡¯d first changed.
Time to get moving. A shared look and a deep breath, and they were out of the forest, and moving towards the house.
-
Tonight was the last party of the season, a debutantes ball, whatever that was. It was being hosted by one of the local mill owners, a middle-aged woman named Homeflame. Tall and good looking, she had come from a well-off background, only increasing her fortune by investing early in the machinery that made up the mills.
Now on top, she was known to be ruthless to her workers, demanding they work long hours under artificial light and liberally covering up injuries from the new machines. The whole house belonged to her, an ostentatious show of wealth, built off the backs of those who worked underneath her.
Their beef wasn¡¯t with her, though. If you tried to go up against every ruthless business owner then you¡¯d never get anywhere. You¡¯d have to start with the people who picked up horse shit in the streets and end up with the Monarch himself. What a pain that would be.
No, instead their goal was simpler, a single item, hidden in the upper story of the house, in one of the bedrooms. A bounty had been put out for an old map, bought from auction by Homeflame several months before and set to be displayed in a big museum somewhere up east once the next dragon courier came through.
The boys would never see the map itself, just the leather tube it was contained within. It would be handed it off to their contact later tonight, in return for a bounty of ¡ê20.
¡ê20. Blueyes shook his head, heading towards the house at an oblique angle, hidden in the shadows of a large hedge maze. That was the equivalent of 4800 pennies, and more money than either of them could really imagine. There were a couple more people on the sidelines they had to split the money with, their Changer and her crew, but they would still end up with almost ¡ê15 between the two of them.
They had had long whispered conversations late at night about what they were gonna do with the money. They could go to the fanciest restaurants and order anything they wanted off the menu. Buy themselves the fanciest clothes. They could even buy Kitten a china doll larger than she was, right out of the shop window, that would be funny, watching her haul it around. They knew she had a little doll she kept in her pocket, but she was secretive enough about it that none of them had asked.
Casually, Blueyes and Truedream walked up to the side of the carriage block, glancing through the open doors as they passed by unnoticed, wondering with wide eyes at the finery stored within. Carriages gilded with gold, made out of fine woods, ponies brushed to a shine. Everything gleamed in the gaslight. Even the stables had glass windows!
They passed through the kitchens next, taking the servant''s entrance into the house. Clean clothes and a good bath had rendered them almost invisible, but for two starving teenagers, being surrounded by so much food was a challenge in itself, neither of them had ever experienced actually being full, and the temptation to stop was terrible.
Roast meat, vegetables, and fruits in all colours. A variety of different fruits, some they¡¯d heard of but never seen, grown in glass houses down south. Apples and pears, currently in season. Many different kinds of berries, many of which didn¡¯t even have names.
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A whole corner of the kitchen was even dedicated to ice. Cold deserts, iced cream, sorbets, all the treats of winter, here months before the cold season started. One of their contacts had informed them that it all came from a large building deep underground, where it had been stored since last winter, but that there was nothing interesting down there to steal.
From the kitchens, it was easy to access the servant''s stairwell to the upper floors, thankfully mostly empty. The steps were steep and narrow, with barely enough room for two servants to pass.
Emerging out of the narrow staircase and into a soft-carpeted corridor, Blueyes was hit with a sudden disassociation, like he was watching himself from the outside. He wasn¡¯t meant to be here, in a place like this, his hands would leave marks on the drapes, and his feet turn the carpet to mud. His mane and collar itched his neck, and he had a sudden urge to throw himself out of one of the windows.
He struggled to throw it off, looking around and taking in the scenery instead. The carpet was a deep red, plush and deep, muffling their footsteps like a friend. The walls were blanketed with endless pieces of artwork, a confusing mishmash of modern and ancient, as if somebody had robbed an antiques store.
¡°It¡¯s so soft,¡± Truedream whispered beside him, and he could only nod in response. They were on the second floor and it was deserted, but the richness of the interior seemed to muffle their voices, as if speaking too loud would break some sort of cotton and linen based spell, exposing their presence to invisible watchers.
After what seemed like miles of walking, passing door after locked door, they came to the one they¡¯d marked out on their maps beforehand. Below them the sounds of the party were ramping up, music and singing and laughter filtered by two floors of finery, until it was indistinct and strange, like the drone of one of Kitten''s ghosts.
The door was locked, but that¡¯s why Truedream was here. Most people had a talent for Grow or Change, but he had a much rarer variant, Rot.
With a breath and a glance around, he shut his eyes and placed his hand on the door frame, Blueyes on lookout.
Wood was easy to break down, a natural and very dead material, magic would go through it like a spoon through butter. Metal was more tricky, but the more it had been worked, the more it wanted to break down. All it took to reach the recessed lock was to place his little finger on the edge of the frame, and Blueyes watched as it seemed to sink into the wood with no resistance.
Almost two minutes later Truedream pulled his hand back and turned the handle, the door sliding open on well-oiled hinges, the deadbolt rusted to nothing by his touch.
If they¡¯d truly wanted to secure the room, then they would have used copper, the layer of oxide build-up making it resistant to the magic, but iron and steel were getting cheaper every day, and why would you need to protect a random bedroom from an extremely rare variety of mage. The lock was meant to be a deterrent for servants with sticky fingers and nothing more.
They shut the door behind them with a gentle click. The room before them was as fine as the hallway, which seemed like a surprise, although neither of them was sure why. The walls were papered lime-green, embossed with patterns of flowers and birds. Ahead of them was a large double bed adorned in its entirety in bright yellow, the canopy of which almost touched the ceiling.
¡°That thing must be bigger than our whole house¡¡± Truedream muttered under his breath, absentmindedly wiping his dusty hands onto a bright yellow couch.
¡°I bet we could get well more than twenty quid for it,¡± Blueyes whispered in return, starting his search by heading towards a large wooden cabinet. Upon opening, he was presented with some sort of makeup¡ Cupboard? Perfumes and powders in every shade. Rapidly he shut it again, before it could stink up the whole room.
Truedream laughed, imitating them attempting to smuggle an entire canopy-bed out under their shirts, sticking his head under the furniture, just in case somebody had dropped the map at some point and it¡¯d rolled out of sight. Wouldn¡¯t that be lucky!
A couple more minutes of careful searching, and then: ¡°Ah ha!¡± he¡¯d found it. Placed carefully away in a dressing table drawer was what he¡¯d been looking for. Two tubes of brown leather, one acting as a cap. He pulled it open to check the contents, and then carefully closed it up again. Yep, that was it.
The whole object seemed to radiate age. He could see divots in the leather where it had been rained on at some point, but so long ago that it seemed to have almost healed around them, the spots polished smooth. The map inside had been yellow and dry and filled the air with the slight scent of old books.
Blueyes tucked it under one arm, before glancing around the room one last time, taking it all in. Pretending it was his. Beside the unlit fire was a small table, containing a fine tea set, seemingly sized for a child with the cups so thin and delicate that he was almost afraid to even go near. Kitten would have loved that, all kids loved small things.
Near the big window was a writing bureau, folded out and with a half-finished letter laid out on the padded leather desk. He thought for a moment about pocketing the heavy silver fountain pen beside it, but they wanted to go unnoticed as long as possible.
The whole room was themed in green and yellow, and the longer he was exposed to it, the more nauseous the colour scheme made him feel.
As one last hurrah, he pocketed a couple of earrings from the bottom of an unlocked jewellery box on the dressing table. Old-fashioned and tarnished with age, they had obviously not been worn in a long time and were unlikely to be missed. He pressed the pins through his trouser bottoms and rolled the cuffs up around them, just in case. If they were caught, at least they might get away with something.
A quick check of the corridor, a thumbs-up from Truedream, and they were off.
-
They peeked into a few more rooms on the way out, but nothing much caught their interest. Only once, when they passed by a well-appointed but mothballed nursery, did Blueyes have to be held back from nipping in and looting the room. He hoped Kitten was alright.
Seeing the nursery, as abandoned as it was, made him realise that possibly an unheated, unlit, one-room hovel wasn¡¯t the best place to raise a child. It was a startling thought. Maybe with the money from this job they could do better by her.
They were only stopped once on the way out, by an older servant who questioned both their presence there and the object under their arm, but the lie that they had been told to go and fetch it was easily believed. That was the sort of thing the bosses always did. Accosting random servants with such sentences as ¡°Go and get my my reading glasses from the pagoda in the garden, I wish to read.¡± and ¡°Go and fetch the large marble basin from the conservatory, we wish to play charades¡±, and so on and so forth.
¡°Gods forbid you don¡¯t do it,¡± the servant grumbled, as they waved the boys away, ¡°You better get on with it then.¡±
And that was that. After a whispered discussion they had split up near the kitchens, Blueyes slipping out through a door at the side of the house and Truedream heading towards the food. They would meet up again tomorrow morning.
That first pass through the kitchens had been too much for both of them to resist. There was more food there than even a hundred guests could eat, and what monster would deny a poor servant boy some vittles.
Slipping away into the trees at the edge of the gardens, map case under his arm, Blueyes headed back towards the city.
-
Half an hour of peddling later, and he was at the rendezvous point, the girl from school already there and ready to change his face and hair back to normal.
The feel of the magic washing through him was always weird, eating up the sweat on his skin and changing his body back to what he was used to. He would miss the hair, but it had started to itch by the end of the night and he couldn¡¯t imagine having to wash that at the tap every day, not to mention it would pick up all the little bits of straw from the stables!
Hmm, they had combs for the horses, maybe that would work¡ Plus if it was the /same colour/ as the straw...
As he handed back the borrowed clothing and pulled his own back on, he was hit with a sudden pang of loss. This was the first time he¡¯d felt clean in years, and pulling back on his worn, grimy clothes hit him like a punch in the gut.
He thought of Kitten again. None of them had changed or washed her blankets at any point he could remember. They had found her new dresses a couple of times, and the coat, but other than that, she was left to her own devices.
Frowning, he tucked in his shirt, and vowed to do better.
-
With two accomplices watching from a nearby vantage point, Blueyes settled down inside a coffeehouse in the centre of town. He had wrapped the tube up and thrown it into a basket, along with a pile of newspapers.
That such a small and fragile thing was worth so much money boggled the mind. Gems he could understand, but this thing was just leather and paper. Somehow, it had survived for hundreds of years, without being destroyed by damp or rain or poor handling, and now here it was, in a battered sea-grass basket in a run-down coffeehouse, wrapped up in yesterday''s news. The world was a strange place.
Even at this time of night, the shop was fairly busy, with small groups of people discussing the issues of the day and sharing newspapers and pamphlets. It was a little past midnight and somebody had turned up a few copies of tomorrow''s papers, making his now two days out of date. Blueyes sat for a while, sipping his coffee and feeling very out of place.
He looked up as a man slid down into the seat on the other side of the table, placing his bag on the floor underneath as he did so. He was in his late 30s, with a scar over one eye, which Blueyes couldn¡¯t determine was real or Changed. His hair was short and inky black, his eyes a matching darkness.
The man¡¯s name was Lightfingers, most assuredly not the name he was born with, but one he had chosen at some point. His smile was warm and open, and as Blueyes pushed a mug of coffee towards him, his eyes flicked towards the basket for a moment, before he caught himself, grinning.
The grin widened as he took the drink, taking a sip with an appreciative nod.
¡°Good day?¡±
¡°Not bad, got all my work done.¡± Blueyes nodded. ¡°How¡¯re you getting on?¡±
Lightfingers dragged the basket of newspapers towards himself with a foot. Subtle. ¡°Oh not bad, not bad. Heard someone was looking for you, though.¡±
¡°Oh?¡± Blueyes was instantly on high alert. They¡¯d been pretty covert with this whole thing, only five of them in on it, not including Lightfingers. They hadn¡¯t even said anything to Wordsound, despite how much it hurt the both of them to keep quiet. Was it the servant from earlier?
¡°Mm, some kid. Came into the Fiddle and asked if you were there, around 8pm?¡± Lightfingers took another sip of his coffee, his eyes half-closing in satisfaction, like a cat.
Blueyes frowned. He knew at least 4 different variants of the Fiddle, and he¡¯d worked at half of them over the past couple of years. There was The Cat and Fiddle, down by the docks. The Fiddlers Arms up on Broadbank, there was the Bull and Fiddle, barely a house, never-mind a¡ Oh.
¡°Small kid, girl, about four years old?¡± He questioned, his heart jumping in his chest. If she was all the way over that side of town then she truly had gotten lost.
Lightfingers shrugged, ¡°Never asked, but the age seems about right. Publican sent ¡®em on their way, but,¡± he reached out, rubbing his fingers and thumb together in the universal gesture of ¡®you must pay me for what this next piece of information implies¡¯, ¡°I got one of my girls to keep an eye on her.¡±
Blueyes nodded, unfocused as he handed over his last couple of pennies. Caught off-guard as the worry he had been suppressing all night rose to the surface all at once.
¡°We picked ¡®em up about an hour ago, they¡¯re asleep in the stables at your Bull, if you wanna claim ¡®em.¡± Lightfingers drained the last of his drink before standing and grabbing the basket of newspapers. ¡°Good luck, kid.¡±
Blueyes raised his mug in farewell as the older man left the shop, basket over his arm. He hadn¡¯t even checked the tube, just trusted that the map would be there intact. But then again, he also knew where he worked, and had Kitten as a hostage, so¡
Staring into his empty mug, Blueyes sighed, the ringing of the bell above the door announcing one of his companions entering the shop. Back to work! She would be safe there for a couple of hours more.
-
The envelope in the bag had contained ¡ê20 in notes and coins, with enough small denominations that it was easy to split. Once the Changer and her muscle had been paid, he was left with just under ¡ê15 for himself and Truedream. He had spent a few pennies of the windfall on pies from a night vendor, the woman gearing up for when the factories changed to the morning shift in a couple of hours.
Coming into the yard at the back of the Bull, all was quiet and still under the moonlight. The witching hour. He had walked back across unlit greenways, seeing nobody, and hearing noises only distantly from the streets below, crossing the root-bridges between streets rather than descending to ground level. The only people out at this time of night were the homeless or ne''er-do-wells, like himself, and he took joy in the quiet, so rarely experienced n the city.
The figure leaning on the stable wall wasn¡¯t one he recognised, but she gave a familiar nod upon seeing him. He proffered a pie, but she shook her head, rising to her feet and vanishing into the shadows in what seemed to him like a single movement.
He shrugged, and let himself inside. The stable was quiet and warm, lit by moonlight from a single window high above. There was a slight humidity in the air from the breath of the horses and the damp of their bedding, and the only sound was their quiet snoring.
He found Kitten curled up in the stall where they kept the clean straw, her arms wrapped around her head, small and vulnerable.
Blueyes reached out a hand to wake her, and then hesitated, drawing it back. Maybe she was better off sleeping here, the horses lived better than she did, and it was a long way back to the slums.
They would deal with that tomorrow.
With a creak, the side door opened behind him, and he turned to see Truedream and Wordsound, their faces pale in the moonlight. Truedream had Changed back to his normal look and attire, and Wordsound had obviously been crying, his face tear-stained and exhausted.
Over one arm, Truedream carried a large wicker basket, and out the top of it, Blueyes could see what looked like most of a ham. There was a story there all on its own, but not one he needed to hear right now.
He reached out his arms, bringing them both in for a hug.
He would do better, by all of them.
And tonight, they would eat like kings.
Chapter 11 - Ghosts - Truedreams Big Night Out.
Grinning, he watched Blueyes slip away through the side-door, before making his own way towards the kitchens. They had passed through the kitchens earlier, and the sight of it had caught him. He¡¯d never seen so much food before, and such variety, not even at the fall festivals on Market Street! He had to see it again.
Truedream tugged down his shirt and checked his cuffs, before running his hand over his hair, quite liking the ribbon but missing his usual eats. The kid at school who¡¯d done them for him had been a real talent, tying them into his real ears, and without them, sounds seemed muted and distant. Added to that, he kept trying to twitch them, the muscles in his scalp itching.
He''d tried a tail once, to match, but it made the logistics of both skirts and trousers that much more complicated, and he¡¯d gotten rid of it before the afternoon was over.
Hair patted down all neat and tidy, cap tucked under his arm. Ok, time to steal some food!
-
The air in the kitchens was humid from steam and bodies, the smell of cooking thick in the air. For a moment he stood in the doorway, his plan of attack momentarily disrupted by the pure energy of the place, before he was rudely pushed into the room.
¡°Move it or lose it,¡± the pusher said, using the silver tray they were carrying to bop him lightly on the head, the plates and glasses upon it rattling. ¡°Get on with you.¡±
Truedream staggered forward before catching himself. Right, right, he was here for the food!
In the centre of the room was a long wooden table, spanning a good length of the room, upon which people were chopping vegetables and rolling out dough and doing all sorts of arcane things to birds that he¡¯d never seen before.
Center-piecing one wall was a fireplace, the scale of which he¡¯d never seen before, but the fire within was unlit. Arranged around it was a bank of shiny cast-iron stoves. The head of the kitchen was obvious, a large busty woman who was in her element directing the workers.
She spotted him the moment he staggered into the kitchen, shouting out to him and gesturing with a soup ladle. ¡°You over there, you¡¯re one of those kids who passed through earlier, right? Where¡¯s your accomplice gone?¡±
Truedream balked for a moment, not realising they''d been spotted before, accomplice? ¡°That¡¯s us, he¡¯s gone home, uh, Sir, got a message his mother wasn¡¯t feeling very well.¡±
She squinted at him for a moment, considering this very flimsy excuse, before shrugging. ¡°Well you¡¯re here now, you done kitchen work before?¡±
Truedream shrugged, ¡°Nope, but I¡¯m sure I can learn.¡± A grin, ¡°I get fed for this, right?¡±
She waved her arm as if to whap him with the ladle, but as she was on the other side of the room, it was relatively ineffective. ¡°Wash your hands and get over there, Godschild will show you how to stuff pastries.¡±
Weird name, he thought as he scrubbed his hands, but he¡¯d heard weirder. Blueyes, for one! He greeted Godschild, and they chatted for a while as they worked together to form and stuff the pastries.
The sweets were made of a sweet dough, which he learned was different from bread dough, filled with a mix of fruits, nuts, spices and animal fat. He had licked a little off his fingers (getting a shout from the kitchen boss) and found it was tasty, but probably better once cooked.
They got through those rapidly, his first few rough but more than good enough by the end to earn him a word of praise. After that, it was on to kneading bread dough, which was different from pastry, although still sweet. Once they were done, he helped glaze them in watered-down honey to make after-dinner rolls.
The initial meal had already been prepared, cooked and sent out by the time he entered the kitchen, but afters were still due. Then after that, the guests would want snacks and finger food, the ball winding down and the nobility scattering throughout the house to play games and drink.
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After that, more bread was prepared, apparently for tomorrow, and there were small sandwiches to be made. The bread was sliced thinner than he¡¯d ever considered possible, or edible, and was whiter than he ever would have ever considered safe. The sandwiches were filled with vegetables, because, he was informed, it was bad form to eat meat at night, consumption leading to bad dreams, disturbed sleep and too many trips to the privy.
It had never bothered him or his crew, but what did he know.
While slicing vegetables for the sandwich fillings and contemplating constipation, he learnt they had indoor toilets here, complete with plumbed water. One of the wonders of the modern age. A large part of him was disgusted by the idea of shitting indoors, an impulsive shudder running through him that the other servants gave emphatic nods at.
He¡¯d spent a lot of his life grubby, but he washed (at least superficially) every morning, and even their hovel had a bucket of clean water near the door so they could avoid tracking dirt inside. Even Kitten washed herself every night.
Huh, a moment of introspection, they should buy her some shoes, she was getting big enough now to make them worth it.
Disease was a real risk anywhere, but even more so in the city. They all had lessons on cleanliness drummed into them at school from a young age. He knew you could see germs and bacteria under the microscope, and they¡¯d all done the experiments where you dropped a bit of rainwater and sugar onto the plate and watched the mana make it bloom.
If that happened to a city, it could lead to infections at best, and plague at worst. Bad times.
He carried on kneading the bread dough, copying the movements of those around him. He could learn to enjoy this kind of life. Sure, the owner of the house was a prick, but so was every tavern or innkeeper he¡¯d ever met, and at least he wasn¡¯t expected to muck out the horses once he was done with the sweets.
After the rolls came little bowls made of pasty, tiny and filled with fillings of wild mushrooms or fruit jam or a variety of other things, all to be served cold. The cases had been prepared earlier, and he was tasked with circling the various rooms of the house with a tray, offering them to hungry guests and collecting discarded glasses and plates in return.
And so on and so on, until finally, the night was over.
Come 2 am, drunk on the atmosphere and stuffed with leftover pies and pastries, Truedream realised that it was quite possibly the most fun he¡¯d ever had. On top of that, he¡¯d been washing pots and cups for almost an hour as things wound down, and his hands had never felt so clean.
Finally giving up and half asleep on his feet, he collapsed into a heap next to the old fireplace, beside the cooling stoves. His sleeves were rolled up around his elbows, and he''d acquired an apron at some point, but his shiny new clothes would need a wash before he could hand them back.
Somebody had lit a small fire in the fireplace, nothing like the cooking fire it once would have held, but enough to ward away the oncoming chill. The doors and windows were thrown open to allow the night air in, and most of the servants had gone to bed or home by this point. He was one of the last people left.
Smiling and blinking away sleep, he stared out of the door and into the quiet courtyard beyond. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear quiet talking and laughter, but most of the guests were abed by this point, and the atmosphere in the house was like the calm that comes after a violent storm.
He didn''t react as the kitchen boss walked up to him, leaning heavily against the edge of the kitchen table to take the weight off her swollen ankles.
¡°You don¡¯t work for anyone here, do you?¡± she asked, her voice quiet, her face lit orange by the firelight in his peripheral vision.
He shook his head, still staring out into the moonlit courtyard.
She waited for a moment, and then nodded as if that confirmed something. ¡°One of the staff told me you said your sister was missing?¡±
A shrug, ¡°She went out this morning and didn¡¯t come back. My brothers are looking for her though.¡±
She watched him without speaking for a minute more, before heaving herself away from the table and heading towards the other side of the kitchen.
With a groan, Truedream got to his feet, pulling himself up against the edge of the mantle, stiff muscles slowly flexing back into life. She was right, it was time to go home and see if Wordsound had found the kitten. He needed to get his face fixed too, if their Changer was still awake. Maybe he could try cat-eyes this time, he wondered how the world would look through slit pupils.
Yawning, he made his way across the kitchen, dunking his head under the kitchen tap for a moment to wake himself up. Indoor plumbing, what a wonder!
Surfacing for air he was surprised to find the kitchen boss behind him.
¡°Take this.¡± She held out a basket to him, filled with food. ¡°For your sister, and your¡ Brother''s mother.¡±
He blinked, holding back for a moment, before deciding to speak his mind, emboldened by the spell of the silent room. ¡°They''ll love that... I don¡¯t suppose you have work going, in the future like?¡±
She smiled tiredly, pressing the basket into his arms. ¡°Come back in a couple of days, and I¡¯ll see what I can do. Now get outta here, you¡¯re keeping me from bed.¡±
He looped the basket over one arm, giving her a mock salute. ¡°Yessir!¡±
He could hear her quiet laughter as he shut the kitchen door behind him. A moment of logistics, as he worked out how to ride the bike and carry the basket, and then he was off.
Time to go home.
Chapter 12 - Crests the Skies on Wings of Soot
Dragon banked slightly, to better catch the air-currents. Autumn was almost over now, and the jungle behind him had faded back into dark greens and browns. Even from up here he could smell the rotting leaves behind him, along with the scent of the sea ahead.
Today was a fun journey, one he only got to do every couple of years, out across the sea and through the chain of islands to the east, loaded down with parcels and bags even more-so than usual.
There were ships and vessels that made the same journey, but they were confusing things, a mix of living plants and copper alloys, and he had had never managed to get close enough to one to find out how they worked. Added to that, he was much faster and more reliable than any ship, if a little limited in cargo capacity.
Flying onwards, he soon left the forest behind him, the sparking blue ocean below. Spotting a ship, he took a moment to admire the green of the sails and the shine of the deck; the people on board pausing to squint up into the sky as his shadow passed overhead.
Ok maybe he was flying a little low, but that was part of the fun.
There was no child on his back today, the lack of landing places in the sea making it more difficult to transport them, so he was free to swoop and soar as he wished. Sometimes over the ships below, his wings almost clipping their masts, and sometimes high above the clouds, drinking in the magic from the air.
The last stop had sat badly with him, any good done from the impromptu wash by the lake scoured away by the smog and smoke of that terrible place.
He didn¡¯t understand what had happened. He remembered the city as a small walled settlement, a town at best, but over the last forty or fifty years it had grown. Bigger and bigger, it had spilt into the surrounding countryside like a fungus, the small disparate cottages transforming into ropes of green and white, the population skyrocketing out of nowhere.
That was fine though, what bothered him most was the air. It had changed from somewhat clean to awful. The air above any settlement was never truly clean, not to a being that could smell the smoke of a single cottage from across the horizon, but it had gone from somewhat okay to unbearable. He could feel the soot and tar coating his scales even now, his dives through the clouds failing to shift it.
So, as he flew, he decided on a tiny rebellion, the thought years in the making but now spurred on by a small act of kindness.
The next stop was a big island, and one he knew almost better than any other. A days flight off the east coast of what he thought of the big continent, the island consisted of a sprawling city built up and through and over an inactive volcano. He had delivered a few children there in the past, most with a good Grow talent, so he assumed that the industry there was something to do with that.
On top of that, this was where he had been born. Maybe. It was one of the first places he remembered being, at least.
Down on the docks was where ships were built and grown, and he saw a lot of them moving below him as he flew, much more now than in previous years. Small figures waving up at him and flags being raised in the harbour.
It had been almost a day of solid flight, and he was coming up to the mountain now, swooping down and skimming his feet against the sea, rocking the ships in the harbour, before rising again, twisting in the air.
This stop always felt like coming home. The volcano rising up before him, covered in green and white, with terraces and roads built into the walls to make a steep and beautiful city. It levelled out as it lead down to the waters edge, where there were wet and dry docks, harbours and marinas, piers, fisheries and all-over life.
He had never been able to explore the city himself, but he had seen it from above many, many times, and he had watched it grow from a small fishing town to the huge expanse it was today.
With a final twist he swept over the docks, watching the ships sway in the wind, before flying up and circling around the crown of the volcano. Then swoop! Down into the mountain, down, down, and into the courtyard in the center.
Everything here was green with mosses and vines, and it gave him a real sense of being ¡°inside¡±, something he hadn¡¯t experienced anywhere else. The center of the atrium was built on what he knew had once been molten stone, now hardened and polished to a smooth surface. The people living here had then carved out pools and streams within it to catch the rain, channelling it in beautiful patterns, all planted to absorb the mana and filter out toxins, leaving clean pure drinking water behind.
As he flew down in the center he was lit from the sun far, far above, a beam of light straight down, all to illuminate him!
As he flew, all around him were buildings. They were built up inside, against sides of the hollow mountain, circling his landing space as if he was the main speaker in an amphitheatre. All painted different colours, with terraced gardens and plants and people everywhere waving and laughing, all sheltered from the weather by the surrounding volcano.
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A final whoosh around the area, and then thump! A perfect landing in the center. Already people were running out of the buildings, holding tools and bits of string and all the other things they needed to do their work.
He liked this stop because it was a maintenance stop. Crouched with his chest against the floor, he turned to look at the people swarming up his sides, releasing him from the bulk he spent his life enclosed by. Give them a few minutes and they¡¯d bring out replacement bags. Then a little longer for them to wave the bits of string over him and get them all cinched up, and he¡¯d be ready to go again.
Or so they thought!
He watched in anticipation as the first bag dropped softly to the ground, then turned his head and watched as they lowered the other one. Free of the straps and bags for a moment, he stretched out his wings, a few of the humans scurrying backwards at the unexpected movement.
As so they should, because.
He.
Was.
OFF!
A flex of the legs, a flat of his wings, an angled sweep around the area, and he was gone! Up into the air, delighting in a freedom of movement he¡¯d rarely experienced before. A moment later he was out of the crater and into the wind, glancing back down for a moment to see the panic below him, people scurrying around like ants.
He¡¯d be back, he wasn¡¯t abandoning his duties. Well, not for long anyway. A circuit of the island, full speed, and then with his legs and wings folded back like a bullet- something he¡¯d not been able to do in a long, long time- he was into the sea!
Splash!
He knew that humans needed to breathe, they got something from the air that was only available below certain heights, but he, being a Dragon, a creature of the sky and sea, did not.
Filled with joy he swept along the bottom, digging himself deep into the sand, demolishing everything in his way and startling quite a lot of small creatures. For a moment he let the magic he always held constrained within himself go, and watched the water bubble and fizz around him, weeds sprouting from tiny seeds, coral beds growing in moments, only to be destroyed again instantly by his rolling bulk.
He sighed with satisfaction, a further release of magic, as the sand scoured his body clean. He had been so tired of the dirt between his scales, the itch that he had stopped thinking about, until Boy had tried to wash him.
With a cloud of bubbles he exited the sand, keeping more of a reign on the magic now but still letting it trail out behind him, breaking down all of the dead things in the soil and all of the toxins in the water, blooming the natural bacteria and organisms. He watched as his magic sprouted seeds and grew coral back from fragments, his earlier rolling having scattered the pieces like seedlings, ready to take root all over again. Clouds of reproductive matter filled into the water as they bloomed and died back and then bloomed again. An endless cycle.
This was where he was meant to be, a part of him said, buoyed by the water, no need to flap his wings to stay aloft, no need to hold back. He was a bullet, strong and fast, needing only small movements of his tail to adjust his speed or heading.
He shivered, sand releasing from between his scales as he flexed muscles, leaving them clean and tight to his body. Dead skin he hadn¡¯t even known was there shedding off, to reveal bright and shiny silver underneath.
Then whoosh! Out of the sea like animals he¡¯d seen playing and jumping, but they never got up as high as him! Up, up and up, spreading his wings wide in the sun, before folding and diving down again, this time after the fleeing shadow of a rather large fish. He had been saving meat-space just for this!
Back in the water, he took joy in speeding along again, mouth open. Efficiency-wise it wasn¡¯t so great, but all of the little things he could catch in his teeth more than made up for it.
On top of that, who knew he needed salt in his diet? New discoveries all the time!
Sated with the meal of Very Large Fish, Dragon pushed himself from the water, less explosively this time, doing his best to make the exit clean and smooth. There was only a slight hiss as he left the sea, water streaming off him with barely a whisper. Satisfying.
Shaking the water off his scales and swallowing the last of his fish Dragon rose into the sky, up up up up and into the clouds. A part of him was tempted to keep going, to keep rising and never come back, but he had a job to get back to. A quick wash through the clouds that always seemed to collect around the top of the mountain, and then boom, back through the center. Back down into the rabbit warren, using his wings to break his fall moments before he impacted the ground.
As he flew down, he eyed the humans running around below him with ropes and nets. Did they¡ Surely not. No. Probably just decided to do some mending or something while he was busy. Right?
With all the glory of an adolescent dragon, he dropped the last meter to the ground, eyeing the fisher-people around him. He frowned, as much as a dragon can frown, baring his teeth slightly at them as they approached, nets out. Really, they were going to do this? If he wanted to leave then he would just leave, he¡¯d only needed a bath!
Whump! One of the nets landed against him, catching on the claw and fouling his left wing slightly. He glanced at it, and then turned with a baleful eye, watching as the thrower ran for it, hands over their head. Utterly ridiculous the lot of them.
Very slowly, so as not to startle the rest of them, who seemed to have frozen up around him, he turned his head to look at the net. Then, using his teeth, he gently lifted it off of his wing.
With a delicate motion, he dropped it in front of himself, and then after a moment of thought, used the claws on his wing tips to fold it up into a neat square.
As he pushed it back towards the crowd with a dismissive claw, the postal workers and fisher-people watched in frozen silence. Are you done? His posture seemed to say. If he could have folded his arms, he would have, so he made do with wings.
Slowly, over the course of the next tedious hour, the workers put their nets away and shifted back into a somewhat-normal routine. The one that had been thrown at him remained discarded on the ground, as if it might leap up and bite them if they touched it. They bought out his new packs and strapped them on, flinching and scattering every time he so much as took a breath. Really, all he¡¯d done was take a bath, it had been twenty minutes at most. Any delays incurred by this would not be his fault.
When the the straps were all tightened and bags all messed about with, he was ready to go. He watched as they bought out the map, ready to do their ritual of pointing and gesturing.
He watched as the human''s hand pointed at the next destination. It was the same destination this route had had for the past 54 years. Really, couldn¡¯t they add a little variety. This was pointless.
Before the hand even hit the board, he was airborne. Onwards!
Chapter 12.5 - A Letter to Postmaster Summersun
This letter is addressed to:
The main Postal Office, Drilelme, Anchor Street, Located on The Eastern Continent.
For: Postmaster General: ¡®A path rarely walked, dappled in the summer sun. Green and still¡¯
(Shortname: Postmaster General, Summersun.)
If you are not the intended recipient of this letter, please send it on.
Postmaster General Summersun.
First of all, congratulations on your recent promotion! You have always done good work, and I am glad to see it recognised.
Secondly, your courier may be late by at least an hour and twenty-three minutes.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Please work this delay into your schedule from now on. Maintenance procedures have been necessarily adjusted at the port of Vocil and our biennial drop is now earmarked as one hour, rather than the 15 minutes previously allotted.
This added time cannot be avoided and will be a permanent fixture on the schedule from now on. Extra time may also be allocated to the ports of Chita and Ri¡¯kon, but for now, further investigation is needed. Updates will be sent out as required.
From your friend and colleague, Postmaster Wavebreeze, (¡®The Waves Shimmer in the Cool Breeze¡¯) in the city of Vocil.
P.S. At least you¡¯ll get an extra hour in bed from now on!
-
Postmaster General Summersun frowned at the letter in her hands. It had arrived along with a travelling merchant vessel, and it was at least two months late.
She had noticed that ¡®Crests the Skies on Wings of Knowledge¡¯ was extra shiny the last time she¡¯d seen him, and a thought came to mind: were they taking an hour out of the schedule to polish him?
She stopped and thought about this for a moment, and then, folding up the letter, decided she didn¡¯t care. Being able to get up at 5 am instead of 4 was more than worth it. A free hour of sleep, score!
Chapter 13 - Brickwrath Takes a Walk
It was the first day of Spring, and his first trip into town for the year. He had stacked up his cart with pots and figures, hitched it up to a donkey, borrowed from a neighbour, patted Daisygreens on the head, and set off.
It hadn¡¯t been an easy winter. The storms had broken through the roof twice, ruining the floor and getting into the dry wood he¡¯d stored in the back of his workshop. Luckily he always had a lot, due to the kiln, but it hadn¡¯t made things easy.
Most things died back during winter, the cold and frost working their magic, but the literal magic meant that other things bloomed. What this amounted to was that the road from his house to the maintained road between cities was pretty much gone.
He had been living here in the wilds for almost three years now, and if he was being honest with himself, he was getting kinda bored with it. The first year had been interesting, building the house, setting up his kiln, and learning to survive off the land. The second had been a challenge, taking what he¡¯d learnt from his first year and building off it. Now in year three, he was merely existing, going through the motions. It was too easy.
Brickwrath broke the path as he walked, machete in one hand, the other on the neck of the donkey as together they forced their way through the overgrowth. His goal for this trip was to sell a few of his early crops and gargoyles at the first Spring market.
Those figures that didn¡¯t sell would find homes in the city anyway, he smiled at the thought. Most of them were the size of a mug, but he had some smaller ones that he liked to sell as household guardians, to live on a shelf and watch over pots or books.
Strapped to cart and underneath everything else he had a carved table-top that he¡¯d spent most of his winter on, the face in the centre looking out at the world in a savage grin. He wasn¡¯t sure it would be much use as a table, the carving being fairly deep, but maybe somebody would buy it as wall art or something. He had enjoyed the challenge of making it, but had no use for it otherwise.
After an hour or so of hacking and chopping, together they reached the main road. It was a wide affair, at least ten paces across, the dirt trodden flat. It had been carved out of the forest by generations past, and part of his work whilst in the army had been to keep roads like this clear and functional.
He ran an eye over it as he emerged from the brush, and stopped, frowning to himself. It was far more overgrown than he¡¯d expected, the path lined with thick grass and even the odd sapling. At this time of year it should be clearer than this, especially at this time of year. Had they made up a new road elsewhere and he¡¯d missed it?
Things to consider as he walked along. Without really thinking about it he plucked saplings out of the ground as he passed, tramping down the holes left behind with his boots.
The only other explanation he could think of was that war had broken out somewhere, and the standing army which would normally maintain this route was needed elsewhere. Nobody travelled much in winter, so the lack of cart tracks through the grass was odd, but within the realms of expectation.
He hoped that wasn¡¯t the case. He was out of the army now, but he felt like if they really needed it then they wouldn¡¯t hesitate to browbeat him back into it. He wasn¡¯t even forty yet.
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He could get somebody to change his face to look older, maybe, but he was happy with how he looked right now. His long hair, tied back behind big ears, a matching beard around his mouth and chin, neatly braided. His face was homely and friendly and already looked older than he felt.
He had been much taller and prettier once, but it hadn¡¯t been him. He had found a good Changer specialising in using a person''s ideal image of themselves, and he had been surprised to see how it turned out, but not unhappy.
It was a day and a half walk to the city, so he should be there by tomorrow evening. Yawning to himself, he patted the donkey, and they walked on.
-
He would have liked to say the city loomed before him, but life didn¡¯t work in such dramatic ways. Instead, the city crept up on him. First, it appeared in the form of lone farms like his own, and then as fields and houses, the woods and gardens slowly giving way to wider and wider stretches of land, until the whole area around him was open and cultivated. In the distance he could see the high white-granite walls, glinting in the sun.
His worry only increased as he walked towards the city. It wasn¡¯t the biggest place, in the scheme of things, but it was the closest one he had. It was the local governmental hub, which made it officially a City, with a dedicated building in the centre where they dealt with all the civil issues for a hundred miles around. There was also a post office and a big square for festivals and markets.
On top of that, a lot of people lived there, which was why the complete abandonment around him was worrying. The farms, which should have been in full swing for the oncoming Spring, were empty and overgrown with weeds.
Normally this close to civilisation things should be better maintained, not worse!
Even if the city had been taken by plague, the farms around should have been relatively unscathed. People here still lived far enough apart and hygiene practices were adhered to closely enough that things like that should be easily contained.
Brickwrath stopped and looked around, slowing the donkey with a touch. The growth around him was weeks old, small trees and weeds sprouting up through what had, last time he visited, been meticulously maintained fields. Now that he paid attention, he could see the spring crops rotting on their vines.
Maybe he should turn back. He could go home, and then take the week''s trip south to the next major city, see if things were better there.
Beside him, the donkey started to walk again, and he reluctantly followed, no longer pulling up saplings or weeds, keeping one hand on the side of the donkey and the other on the machete sheathed at his side.
In the distance, he could see the inner walls of the city rising into view. The whole thing had been built all at once, three concentric rings of shops and houses, all surrounding the central market area and governmental buildings. The walls rose higher the nearer the centre they were, like a child''s stacking on a gigantic scale.
The donkey had done this journey many times and carried onwards, unbothered by the silence around them.
As they neared the city, his worry only grew. This close to the gates there should be the noise of people on the wind, instead, there was only more silence. He could see birds in the sky above, and once or twice nervous dogs, gone wild after time alone, but otherwise, nothing.
He was really worried now. At some point, he had unsheathed the machete and pulled his scarf up around his face, looping it twice, just in case there was something in the air.
He wished he had gloves and a proper mask, but he had left the army with nothing, and hadn¡¯t ever thought he would need them enough to purchase his own.
A glance at the donkey, and then he halted it with a touch, unhooking the cart and leaving it in the centre of the road. He could come back for that later. His first stop was to get to one of the city gates, of which the city had four, at the quarter-marks. There were normally guards stationed in there, to tax those coming and going with goods and to keep out undesirables. He had never done the job himself, but it was always a viable retirement path.
The guard stations should have masks and gloves and fresh water, he wouldn¡¯t trust washing in rainwater for a while after this, and maybe he could find out what was going on.
Mind made up, Brickwrath and the Donkey headed towards the silent city.
Chapter 14 - Brickwrath 2
The guard station was empty and abandoned, but there were no bodies, which was a good sign. The door had also been properly shut, indicating purposeful abandonment rather than fungal plague.
That had been one of the horror stories they were told early on in their military training. Whole cities taken over by fungi, turned into mindless mushroom food, bodies alive but also dead, rotting where they stood.
Always wash your hands, don¡¯t breathe in strange spores, if you don¡¯t trust the situation, get out.
Brickwrath did not trust this situation, but he had found a mask, a first aid kit and some thick gloves in the back of the guard station, so he was ready for anything.
He left the donkey in a small garden near the station, and with one last pat, headed out.
The first things he checked were a few houses in the outer ring. Closed up, locked and deserted. Strange. If it was a plague then it was a very neat one, if it was conscription then there should still be somebody about. Maybe they¡¯d all just¡ Upped and moved? Water poisoning over the winter causing a mass exodus?
The city was comprised of three rings, and he was getting nothing from the first, so he moved further inwards. The next guard station yielded no clues, in much the same condition as the first, and the houses were all locked up, shutters tightly closed.
Having found nothing here either, he moved up onto the Greenways, or tried to at least. Despite the cold weather they were already starting to get overgrown. The root bridges between the first and second ring already almost impassible.
Give them a few months, and the weight of the growth would cause the whole lot to collapse. Within ten years the whole city would be reclaimed by the jungles. It wasn''t a great loss architecturally, Brickwrath thought sniffily, but what a nuisance. Maybe the growth would improve it.
Climbing up onto the roof of a rare three-story building, he took a moment to take in the vista of the city and surrounding fields. Trying to spot movement, but seeing nothing other than a few stray cats and birds.
Climbing back down, he sighed. Time to check out the centre.
-
The gates leading to the market area were locked and barred, and he spent almost an hour walking the empty streets to the next one, only to find that that one was locked too.
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He peered through the bars for a minute, and then climbed back up onto the greenways.
He wasn''t surprised to find that the few root bridges to the final ring had been hacked away, he had noticed it from below, but the remains had been cleared from the streets either by people or weather. The bridges weren¡¯t small structures, normally paved with dirt and stones, and wide enough for two people to pass, so the fact they¡¯d been completely removed... Somebody had done this on purpose.
With a start, Brickwrath realised that at some point he had taken out his machete and that he was holding it like a sword. Sighing at his own foolishness, he sheathed it again, pulling his mask down to around his neck. Whatever had happened, here, he didn¡¯t think it was plague, and even if it was, it was weeks dead by now.
His choices were to either scale the wall somehow or to try and break through the gates. He had a tiny talent for Change, but nothing for Grow or Rot, so that wasn¡¯t going to work, even if the gates weren¡¯t made of a corrosion-resistant material, which they would have been if he''d been designing them.
He made one last attempt at communication, shouting through the metal gates to see if anyone responded, but the only response was a flock of pigeons emerging violently from a nearby rooftop. He stood and listened for a while, as his voice echoed off the walls, the cooing of startled pigeons in the distance.
He eyed up the walls. The vines had been stripped away from the walls, the houses and shops all boarded up.
No. Fuck this, whatever was in there, he didn¡¯t want to bother it. Whatever was going on here he wanted out, right now. There should have been people around the farms outside, that should have been his first sign to turn around.
As he should have done at the start, he turned around, heading back towards the donkey at a brisk trot, refusing to let himself break into a full run.
He would go home, wash like he¡¯d never washed before, and then head south to the big city. They¡¯d know what to do, he wasn¡¯t touching this any further, and he was getting out of here before whatever was going on caught up with him.
-
He left the cart right there, in the middle of the road. He took what travel rations he could fit in his pockets and threw the oilcloth over it before he left. It was a winter''s worth of work lost, but he had no plans to return for it.
Jogging along the road, the donkey by his side, he considered that he was getting too old for this. He had never been a front-line soldier, but the army had kept him fit. The last decade of wandering had slowly eroded that away. He could ride the donkey short distances, but he was heavy and it wasn¡¯t good for the animal.
Drawing in deep breaths and trying to ignore his cramping muscles, he carried on. This was going to be a long journey.
-
After a couple of hours, he slowed down and took a break, leaning against the donkey and physically unable to jog anymore. He was past the edge of the abandoned farms now, back into the forest. Everything seemed strangely muted, but that could have just been all the blood pounding in his ears.
He took the next few hours to alternately jog and walk next to the donkey. Checking out small farms as he passed. All of them were deserted, and he saw nobody on the road. Had something passed over and just stolen all the people, leaving his isolated cabin alone, out of sheer luck?
He hoped his home was still there.
Chapter 15 - Brickwrath 3
It was gone midnight by the time he made it home, exhausted but unable to rest just yet. First, he had to get clean, breaking into fresh water and soap reserves. Afterwards, he washed the donkey, and them himself again. He buried his clothing in the back of the garden, it would rot down in the spring weather, and he didn¡¯t trust the fumes from burning.
Daisygreens nuzzled him as he worked, worried and unused to seeing her friend walking around without his fur on, so she ended up with a bath too, just in case.
Chores done, and satisfied he was clean, Brickwrath crawled into bed and got a solid fourteen hours of sleep.
-
By the time he woke up, it was already dark again, and he had a moment of disorientation as he opened the house door, expecting morning sun and instead finding darkness.
The next two days were spent recovering from the run and sorting out what he would need to take with him. It would normally be a week''s journey to the big city, but he was hoping to get there much faster.
No trade goods, just the basics. With some light saddlebags on the donkey, and with the newly-sharpened machete at his side, he was ready to go.
-
The first stop was to find the neighbour who owned the donkey, and see if she¡¯d heard any news about Tole, the dead city.
There was a certain amount of trepidation as he approached the farm and saw no smoke at the chimney, but the fields around the house were well-tended, and a few minutes later she emerged from the woods, a basket of mushrooms over one arm.
A brief conversation later and he had determined that she was as in the dark as he was. She let him take the donkey but didn¡¯t want to join him on the journey, instead giving him directions to a few nearby farms.
Walking away from her smallholding and back towards the road, a part of him felt fear. What if something terrible had happened and they were the last two people alive? No matter how bad things were, there should have been somebody maintaining the road. To cut a road out of the forest was a humongous effort, and no government would let one fall to ruin, even in times of war.
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The next few farms were all still inhabited, bar one. That one looked like it¡¯d been empty since long before the winter, the roof of the house caved in and the buildings stripped bare.
His heart had still skipped a beat when he¡¯d seen it, but a half-hour of snooping around had reassured him that the inhabitants had left of their own accord, and not due to whatever had happened.
More walking, alone with his thoughts and an unsocial donkey. Two days later he hit a small village, a halfway point between somewhere and somewhere else. Typical of its kind, the village consisted of several cottages and shops, all surrounding a large inn.
The inn was a two-story affair with a nicely maintained roof, indicating recent habitation. It was almost 3 in the morning by the time he reached it, and he didn¡¯t feel like waking the innkeeper, so he took shelter in the only room that was left permanently unlocked.
In small villages like this, the inn doubled as the town hall, and towns halls always had a room open to the public, the Memorial Hall. A small, or sometimes large room, with memorial plaques on the walls for all of those who had died locally. Along with the plaques, there would always be a book, where families and friends could write down their memories of those now lost.
The halls were never locked, and always had fresh water and a bench to sleep on. He would be expected to draw more water in the morning, and to buy breakfast and a couple of drinks from the innkeeper, but otherwise, it was quiet and free.
He had left the donkey in a field at the back, letting it find its own breakfast. Poor thing, it wasn¡¯t used to this much exercise!
Before he settled in to sleep, he read the memorials by lamplight. Most of them were very old, dated years before, but three people had been lost over the winter.
Staring at the walls, he wondered who would put his name up here if he died. Would anyone remember him?
After that rather morbid thought, he browsed the village noticeboard. These were normally located in the same room as memorials and were a way for people to post jobs or advertise events. There was nothing much interesting posted though that he could see. A few notices for shows, months out of date, a flyer stating the council met once a month, somebody had rats in their cellar and would like some advice, the usual stuff.
He squinted at a small hand-drawn map in the dim light, trying to work out if he lived within the jurisdiction of the local council, and if he was thus eligible to attend the local meetings, and decided in the end that he was. Not that it meant anything, they weren¡¯t meeting for another two weeks and he wasn¡¯t going to march for three days, just to listen to the elderly moan about how much better things used to be, before the newcomers moved in!
Newcomers like himself, he was well aware. Maybe if he married a local and they had children, and then those children had children, maybe that generation might no longer be considered ¡°the new folks¡±, but he wasn¡¯t so sure.
With a rueful shake of his head, he wrapped a blanket around himself and settled down to sleep on the bench. If he was lucky, the innkeeper might even be alive to greet him in the morning!
Chapter 16 - Brickwrath 4
The next morning he was awoken by the noise of activity in the inn. Grumbling to himself, but quietly relieved, he straightened out his clothes and went to order breakfast.
Conversation over sausages and pickled mushrooms revealed that the villagers had no more information than he did. One day travellers had simply stopped arriving, the army folks who cleared the road each winter never turning up.
By now he¡¯d drawn a crowd. The village was small, a hundred people at the very most, and his donkey had been noticed, everyone coincidentally deciding to have breakfast in the inn.
They had been snowed in most of the winter when the help they¡¯d expected hadn¡¯t arrived, but they¡¯d planned to send somebody down to Tole, the small city, and another up to the big city (which he discovered was named Cericil) within the next couple of days.
The boy who¡¯d been slated to walk to Tole expressed relief that it wasn¡¯t him who''d had to make the discovery, but like everyone else present, he was worried about the implications for the village. You didn¡¯t just abandon a settlement of that many people, not without somebody hearing about it. Where would they trade their crops in the summer, where would they buy cloth and books?
It was a worry. What if both cities had fallen, or what if they were to be all conscripted into a war they¡¯d never heard of.
Brickwrath was willing to check it out. He¡¯d come this far, but he didn''t have to go alone. Elegantlillies was the name of the woman who had volunteered to check out Cericil, and she was willing to join him.
She was a handsome woman. Much, much taller than him, with a flat chest and a square jaw, she had a look of the military about her, and he was pretty sure she would beat him every time at arm wrestling.
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She hadn¡¯t expected to leave for another couple of days, so he was left to sit in the inn for a while, nursing a surprisingly good beer and chatting with the villager who had stuck around.
Somebody had given birth in the middle of the winter, a bad omen, but between them they had made it work. Somebody else¡¯s cow had taken sick and died, with much debate over the cause.
He asked about the memorial plaques, and discovered the new ones all belonged to a single family. They had lived on the far eastern edge of the territory, and it seemed like they¡¯d perished in some sort of farm accident over the summer. Nobody had found their bodies until a neighbour had visited to borrow an ox at the start of winter.
News was slow to travel, and the village hadn¡¯t heard about it until a couple of weeks ago, when the farmer had finally made it in.
Brickwrath started down into the beer, listening to the quiet conversation around him and glad that he wasn¡¯t the last person alive in the world. Having a travelling companion would also be nice.
-
After some negotiations, the villagers agreed to lend him a horse, in exchange for the donkey. If he never came back, they would return it to his neighbour in a few weeks'' time. The village would have been down a horse either way, having already set aside two to send with Elegantlillies and Summerjack.
He patted the donkey before he left, whispering a goodbye into its ear. It had been a good friend to him over the past week, and leaving it behind gave him a strange feeling of guilt.
That done, he pulled himself up onto the horse, and with Elegantlillies (what a mouthful of a name) to his left, together they set off.
-
He glanced over at her, as they rode. She carried a small pistol on her hip, and he wondered again if she had also been in the army. She didn¡¯t let off the strong signals that ex-army normally would, most people you could tell at a glance, but you never knew. They hadn''t spent much time together yet.
He had also been offered a gun before they set off, but he felt more comfortable with his machete. He had never had much experience with them, and he would rather trust in his chopping skills.
The journey to the Cericil would take a couple of days, but it was a large city- twice the size of Tole- and they were hopeful that it would still be intact!
Chapter 17 - Brickwrath 5
¡°Seriously, why won''t you just let us in!¡± he tried once more.
¡°Sorry mate, no hard feelings.¡± The guard didn¡¯t even bother to make eye contact, chewing on something and staring straight over the top of his head, as if he wasn¡¯t even there.
¡°Look, I know it¡¯s not your problem. We just need to know what¡¯s going on with the West Road and Tole.¡±
The guard kept staring, ignoring him completely. Chewing. It was infuriating, they hadn''t even bothered to introduce themselves.
Brickwrath sighed, and turned to Elegantlillies, hoping she had a better idea. Two days on the road and he hadn¡¯t learnt much about the woman. She took the time to shave every morning. She cared well for her horse. Her partner was back in the village, and between them, they had two children, but they had grown up and left years before.
One of her children, a son, was living in Tole, and that was as far as the conversation had gone before she had stopped speaking. They had continued the journey with her back ramrod straight and her gaze focused on the horizon.
Right now she was giving the guard a Look, one he knew well, and one which signalled incoming violence. He hoped it wouldn''t come to that, but he was becoming resigned to it at this point. They had been trying to get into Cericil for almost an hour, at first by stating they were travellers, and then, after being refused entry by this shit-pissing guard, by demanding to talk to a superior.
It hadn¡¯t worked. The guard was stonewalling them at every attempt, responding with meaningless phrases and generally being a prick. The guard was armed with both a spear and a large gun of a modern design, but they had made no motion to use either.
There were no others travellers waiting at the gates, and they had met nobody on the road, which had maintained the same level of overgrowth for the whole journey. Brickwrath had expected it to improve as they neared the Cericil, but it hadn¡¯t. As best they could tell, nobody had been along here for weeks.
Now stuck here, their questions unanswered, he was getting upset, and Elegantlillies expression was becoming less stoic and more angry by the minute.
Tole had been a sprawling settlement with farms and cottages surrounding it like a blanket, Cericil, or ¡°Big City¡± as the farmers and villagers referred to it, was a well-contained mass, surrounded by high walls, built up over generations.
In the past, they would have been covered with mana-absorbing plants, but those had been torn off and the walls re-plastered in preparation for winter, the white of the paint blindingly bright in the midday sun, even after a season of wear.
Brickwrath reached out a hand and laid it on Elegantlillies¡¯ arm, holding her back from braining the guard with her pistol.
¡°C¡¯mon, fuck this, we¡¯ll circle round to the next gate.¡±
She gave him the Look, and then just a look, shaking her head and letting the anger go. The guard got a final last capital L Look, and then they moved back to their horses.
¡°I¡¯m afraid you can¡¯t do that¡±, the guard spoke. They both looked around at them, not expecting the interjection. They were still staring into the middle distance, chewing. ¡°Boss says you can¡¯t, next gate¡¯s gonna be as shut as this one. Go back to your farms or whatever.¡±
Brickwrath stared at them, puzzled. ¡°You haven¡¯t spoken to anyone since we got here, kid.¡±
The guard''s eyes flicked to him for a moment, and then back into the middle distance. ¡°Boss told me before. Before you arrived.¡±
Brickwrath and Elegantlillies shared a glance, and then, without further communication, they moved. He went for the legs, ducking under the startled spear thrust, and she leapt, knocking into them and grabbing the gun from their back, snapping the shoulder strap with pure strength and chucking it off into the city.
Between the two of them they easily overpowered the young guard, confiscating the spear and pinning the struggling kid down with their weight.
Target down, Brickwrath crawled up the body, clamping a hand over their mouth before they could scream. Somewhere inside the city, he heard somebody shout, and in the distance, a single bell started to ring.
Hearing that made him realise how quiet it had been up until that point, but he was spared further contemplation by the sensation of liquid under his hand.
Looking down, he released his hand from the guard''s face. Beneath him, their eyes were unfocused, blood running from their nose and through his fingers.
Well, that was a bad sign. He hadn¡¯t hit the kid''s head on the floor that hard. Both he and Elegantlillies knew how to take somebody down, and it had been as clean a jump as he¡¯d ever seen.
Frowning, Brickwrath drew his hand back, keeping it outstretched in front of him. Beside him, Elegantlillies also moved back, frowning at the guard. "Well that''s a bad sign."
Beneath his knees, the guard gave one last full-body shudder, and then was still.
He nodded, biting his lip and staring at the corpse in front of him. On the floor, the guard was obviously dead, their eyes empty and the bleeding already starting to slow.
Nothing he could do would help them now. He wished the guard had given him a name
Keeping the hand stretched out, Brickwrath wobbled to his feet, and then into the guard station, kicking the door open with his foot. This wasn''t right at all.
Once inside he scanned the room with his eyes and then grabbed some soap from the station by the door. This was the entrance to a major city, and they had procedures for this sort of thing. He scrubbed his hand twice, using clean water that Elegantlillies had drawn from a pump at the back. The water barrel next to the entrance was dry and empty, as if it hadn''t been refilled in weeks.
Help provided, Elegantlillies retreated back to the horses, and a moment later returned with a straight razor. A few minutes later his arms were clean and his face was clean-shaven, a sensation he hadn¡¯t felt in years. He watched as his neatly braided beard fell to the floor, shedding a single tear. He would miss it.
After that, they raided the Plague Kit, kept in a sealed box in a locked cupboard at the back of the station. He hadn''t had to wear one of these things since basic training, and now he was doing it twice in a month. This sucked.
He took a long, long drink, and then shuddered, pulling the mask up over his face. He had no idea what they were supposed to do from here, had the whole city been taken over by something?
Was that why Tole was abandoned? Had the citizens all headed west to get away, leaving the outer settlements and villages to fend for themselves?
¡°Stop being miserable. We have to go in there¡±. Elegantlillies voice came out muffled but understandable, and he sighed in agreement.
Whatever happened, they were probably dead either way, may as well go out with a bang, trying to take down some sort of telepathic plague-beast.
He was pretty sure telepathy wasn¡¯t real, but mushrooms and plagues both were! Added to that, there were definitely creatures living deep in the forest that no human had ever seen and survived, so what did he know.
While they''d been suiting up, the noises from the city had stopped, the bell only ringing for a minute or so after the guard had died, and nobody had come to investigate.
Examination of the corpse had revealed nothing, no identifying features or obvious growths, so, after checking himself and Elegantlillies over for any missed spots of blood, the two of them advanced into the city.
-
At first, everything looked almost normal. There were shops open and people walking about in the streets, but upon closer inspection, the illusion fell apart. None of those walking the streets were interacting with each other. They merely walked from place to place on a long, slow circuit. Shops were open and shopkeepers stood behind counters, but nobody entered the shops, and the owners never moved from their posts.
Those outside had worn and rotten clothing, as if they¡¯d been out in the rain more than once, their shoes worn to rags.
It was eerily quiet, and the two of them found themselves drifting on silent feet, as quiet as those around them. Not wanting to make too much noise, to risk breaking whatever spell these people were under.
Another strange thing was the lack of animals. There were no horses in the lower streets, no cats or dogs running around. They saw a few pigeons, but the birds kept well back, scruffy and underfed.
They ventured briefly into an area where hawkers would have cried for food, but the streets were quiet and empty. The only sign of them being one cart upturned in the middle of the road, its load of fruit and vegetables long pecked away by birds and rot.
Brickwrath was glad they¡¯d left the horses outside the city, the noise of their hooves was not welcome here.
Leaving the lower streets, they ventured upwards. The greenways were starting to get overgrown, but there were paths through the centre, worn into the mud as if people had been walking the same routes over and over. Beneath them, the roofs creaked worryingly, and Brickwrath knew that they wouldn''t hold up under another year of this.
Warily, the two of them made their way towards the city centre. Cericil wasn¡¯t circular, but was rather a sort of awkward pentagon, the outer walls added late into the settlement''s growth.
The smaller city, Tole, had been built only a few decades before, by rich eccentrics hoping to exploit nearby coal reserves. It had been a work of art in its own right and well regarded as beautiful in its simplicity, which Brickwrath disagreed with, but what did he know.
Cericil was no such work of art, having grown up organically around what he suspected was once a fortress. Rain and vandalism had destroyed whatever building had spurred the initial growth, and necessity flattened the rest, leaving an open area in the centre for markets and gatherings.
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He was almost certain by this point that Elegantlillies was ex-army, and he was glad to have her by his side as they walked through the spooky city. She had liberated the large gun they had ejected from the guard, and she held it comfortably in her arms.
He had considered taking the spear, but it would have done him no good. He had wielded a war hammer when needed, and had liked its weight and versatility, but never a spear. Good luck finding one of those, though, it wasn''t a common weapon. At her insistence he had taken her pistol, and he had his machete on his other hip.
Reaching the edges of the central area, they paused, peeking down over the edge of the greenway to take in the sight. All the normal trappings of the stalls and businesses which would normally inhabit this space were gone, replaced instead by a giant, teeming mass.
Mushrooms, gods damn it. He had known the moment the guard fell dead, the moment they had turned around a spoken, but to get confirmation... It was heart-breaking.
He was dead. They were both dead.
He closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to every god he knew. They wouldn¡¯t, couldn''t, help, but it made him feel better.
A flipped coin to The Crippled Man, a warm fire to The Crone. A movement in his peripheral vision to The Child and the Dog, a stage bow and maybe a dog biscuit for The Fool.
He didn¡¯t plea to The Absent Mother, she wouldn¡¯t help him and would only scorn him if he tried, he knew that. But he sent his sense of loss to the Monarch instead.
He had been good throughout his life, he had tried to make the world a better place, and this was how it ended. He was as dead as those walking the city below, his brain just hadn''t realised it yet.
He opened his eyes. Next to him, Elegantlillies was doing the same. A haunted look passed between them, and then they both retreated, taking shelter in an empty house.
She looked shattered, and he imagined he didn¡¯t look much better. Inside, they shut the doors and windows, blocking any gaps with sheets and curtains. That done, they stripped off the weapons and threw their backpacks into a corner. They did not remove their masks.
Everything they owned would have to be burnt, if they survived this. But they would not.
He stared at the backpacks with a distant stare, trying to garner some resolve. He had no regrets in his life, if this was how he went, then so be it. It was already done.
He had seen children out there, wandering the streets with their shoes worn to nothing, their eyes milky and dead. He couldn¡¯t save them, but he could put them to rest and stop this thing from taking more of them.
Resolve kindled, between them they started to make a plan of attack. He would weep later for the children and animals, and Elegantlillies would do the same, but right now, they had a job to do.
It was difficult to burn a place made of grass and stone, but not impossible, and if anyone knew how to dismantle and destroy a city, it was him. The roofs under the greenways were thick wooden beams, tarred with a thick pitch and resin mix to prevent leakage from above. On top of that, the floors inside were wood, and the terraced houses often shared support beams and ventilation.
If a fire did get going, and it was allowed to go unchecked, then it would spread along a row with little effort. Until the roof collapsed and it went out, but¡ It was a start.
Elegantlillies was already moving, using a fire poker as a crowbar to pry planks from the ceiling. Correctly removed boards wouldn''t compromise the structure in any meaningful way, roofs had to be repaired somehow.
He joined her, moving between houses like a mouse, collecting up firewood, avoiding the Walkers as he went. As long as he didn''t get too close, they didn''t seem to see him, their eyes cloudy and grey.
Over the course of the next few hours, the two of them worked together, quick and efficient, stacking up the wood around the perimeter of the market square. If they were lucky then the thing was flammable, if they weren¡¯t¡ Well, there wasn''t anything they could do about that.
They would set up two bonfires around the area, one around the outer edge, and then, when that was done, another as close as they could go without attracting attention.
But even if they survived this, what then. The villages and farmers nearby couldn''t survive without the support of a city, they would have to evacuate. Maybe west, past Tole, following the tracks of those who had left, hoping none of them were infected.
He closed his eyes for a moment, dragging wood towards the centre, his shoulders numb with pain from the work and his mouth dry behind the mask. The village would have to fend for themselves, neither he nor Elegantlillies could go back to help.
This whole thing was going to be such a pain.
They almost got caught at several points over the next few hours. They had determined that they could approach to within ten meters of the Thing before it would react, whereupon it puffed out clouds of spores and extended worm-like tendrils from its rotten bulk.
After that discovery, the both of them had retreated, grateful for the full-face masks. They had spent almost an hour hiding and resting before daring to peek outside again.
The walkers, which hadn¡¯t seemed to notice them before, had changed their behaviour once their controller was agitated, their eyes brightening slightly, their gazes empty but searching.
Elegantlillies was suffering as much as he was when it came time to return to work, rubbing stiffened muscles and yawning behind her mask. As she reached to open the door, he reached out, going to touch her arm, and then pulled back. She looked at him warily.
¡°Thank-you.¡± His voice was muffled, but he didn¡¯t have anything else to say. She stared at him for a second, and then shrugged, shaking her head.
¡°You owe me a drink when this is all over."
He smiled, although she couldn¡¯t see it, and they sent off back to work.
The walkers didn¡¯t sleep. As dusk set in, they could still hear them moving. The rustling of worn clothing and shuffling footsteps were the only sounds in the night. They both kept an eye out, but neither of them had seen any signs that anyone was still alive in the city, other than them. No houses broken into, no food missing from larders. Nothing. Whatever had happened here, it had been complete.
Working through the night, they made a ring of scavenged boards and firewood around the Thing. It seemed like it had arrived at the beginning of winter, and most houses had firewood and coal stored away.
As long as the two of them stayed out of that range, and avoided the walkers, it seemed not to see them. Brickwrath said many silent thanks to the gods for that as they worked, cycling the prayers in his head. He didn''t think it would do anything, but it kept his mind off of his inevitable death.
Around four in the morning, they both stopped for a break, too exhausted to stay on their feet any longer, running off adrenaline alone. A couple of hours rest, waiting for the sun to come up, and they were ready to go. He wished they could have drawn it out, built the bonfires higher, but humans can only go so long without water and rest.
Time to get this show on the road.
Brickwrath staggered to his feet, trying to convince himself that he didn¡¯t feel worse now than before the break. Elegantlillies had a reasonable talent for Grow, and it had taken a little of the ache out of his muscles, but it had also made him ravenously hungry. He had never felt so old and tired¡
Either way, enough stalling. He looked at the woman beside him, wondering if either of them would see the end of the day. She was a good person, and if that was how this went down, he would be glad to die beside her.
Time to go.
They had scavenged several oil lanterns and a good amount of lamp oil and tallow. They had boxes of matches and a couple of torches made from firewood and old rags. It was time.
He had volunteered to light the inner circle, his justification being that he was smaller and faster than her, and that he didn¡¯t have anyone at home waiting for him. Elegantlillies had been too tired to argue, giving him a tired nod and letting him do whatever he wanted.
-
It was as he approached the woodpile, a torch in one hand and a bucket of combustibles in the other, that things started to go wrong. The Thing apparently had a sense for fire, and the walkers who had previously paid them no attention all turned at once, heading towards him at a shambling speed.
On the one hand, it was bad that they were coming for him. On the other, if the Thing disliked fire enough to send its minions after him, then this burning thing seemed like a good idea!
They ran towards him, emaciated figures in ragged clothing. The ones in the square seemed less well cared for than those further out, and he knocked the first one out of the way with a shoulder tackle. It had been a teenager, and he felt sorrow for the life lost, even as he tried to keep the torch away from the bucket of oil-soaked rags. The rest of them flinched back from the fire as he spun, swinging the torch around himself like a hammer.
Then he was closing in on the pre-bonfire, thrusting his torch into the rags and tinder that they¡¯d piled up earlier, and throwing the bucket as hard as he could at The Thing.
It didn¡¯t go up with a whoomph, they didn¡¯t have any of the right chemicals to achieve that sort of effect, but it certainly went up, and within a moment he was dodging away, his shoulder aching and the fire spreading behind him. Around him, small sparks flickered in the air, as previously unseen spores ignited.
He wouldn¡¯t have been surprised to see fire spreading in front of him already, his partner having lit her bonfire and fled, but no, he was in luck. She nodded to him as he passed, pushing an avalanche of wood into place behind him and thrusting her own readied torch into the mix, before following behind.
Then they were off, out of the city. As they ran, there was a sound in the air that wasn¡¯t a sound at all, and it made his ears ring and bleed. Around them, the walkers were running, throwing themselves into the fire as if they could quench the growing flames with their bodies.
If it had been a small fire then that plan might have worked, but the two of them had their work well and the fire was rapidly growing out of control. They had set trails of oil and tinder into some of the houses, hoping it would start to take those down too, but that was a last "fuck you" rather than a real plan.
-
Panting and out of breath, they reached the city gates, pulling the portcullis shut behind them with a piece of rope they had jury-rigged in place hours before. They had checked the other gates and locked them already the previous day; the guards eyeing them disinterestedly but making no moves to stop them.
The people near the edge of the city, like the guard they¡¯d taken out, seemed better cared for. Their clothes were less worn and their eyes less dim than those deeper inside. Maybe some sort of evolutionary mechanism, to convince the outside world that everything was fine, and to discourage scrutiny. He had no idea.
They didn¡¯t stop once they reached the outside of the gates, instead sprinting towards the horses, who seemed a little unsure at their sudden appearance, already nervous from the smoke on the wind. He caught them, with Elegantlillies giving him a quick leg up. A strong kick to the sides, and they were off.
They rode the horses hard for an hour, before finding an abandoned farm. They rolled from the horses, lying on the ground for a moment, the animals frothing and panting from the charge.
A moment of rest, and then work. Brickwrath drew water from the well while his partner stripped off her clothing, building a quick bonfire in the yard. Water drawn, he did the same himself, shivering in the cold spring air.
She used an axe from the woodpile to break open the locked door to the farmhouse, a single-story, three-roomed structure, and between them they liberated enough soap from the kitchen to wash an army.
First, they scrubbed the horses, unwilling to lose the animals, and then they scrubbed themselves. One wash, and then another, before they carefully removed the masks, throwing them into the bonfire with breath held, scrubbing their faces with prepared soap and burning lungs.
After a day of entrapment, being out of that fucking thing was a relief, and his face was sore and blistered where the edges of it had chafed and sweated. His beard was starting to grow back, and he closed his eyes as Elegantlillies shaved it away along with his hair. No taking the risks. One spore might be enough to kill.
Then, a days worth of water all at once. Blessed relief for his dry, sore mouth.
As clean as they could get, they borrowed clothing and huddled down in the main room of the house, trying to pull warmth from the small grate. The kitchen had held space for a larger fire, but they had contaminated that room in their search for soap.
Staring into the fire, too exhausted to sleep, he thought of Daisygreens and hoped she was doing alright. If the two of them were gone long enough, then the villagers would pick her up, assuming nothing had come out of the forest and eaten her by then.
She was a resourceful goat, she would survive, he told himself.
Beside him, shivering in the pillaged clothing, Elegantlillies stared emptily into the fire. He watched her face for a moment, before mustering the energy to speak.
¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯s okay." he tried, wanting the words to sound comforting, but they came out like an empty platitude.
She didn¡¯t move, but her mouth hardened into a straight line.
¡°From what I saw¡±, he winced, this wasn''t going well, ¡°from what I saw, Tole was evacuated, not taken¡¡±
She didn¡¯t answer, narrowing her eyes.
¡°Nah, you know what. Fuck it!¡±
She blinked owlishly, turning towards him, the conversation headed in an unexpected direction.
¡°Fuck this, if we¡¯re already dead then we¡¯re already dead. We''ll skirt by the village, shout a message not to come near us, and carry on to Tole. We can break into the market and see if there¡¯s similar shit there, put our minds at rest before we go.¡±
He stood up out of defiance, and then wavered, almost falling onto the stove and dead on his feet. ¡°Fuck everything. Tomorrow though.¡±
She stared at him for a second, and then nodded, letting out a single sobbing laugh. ¡°Tomorrow. Fuck this shit, let¡¯s get some sleep.¡±
And so, they did.
Chapter 18 - Brickwrath 6
They didn¡¯t leave the next day, or the day after. The exhaustion hit and that next morning they lacked even the energy to crawl out of bed. When they finally emerged, they managed to find a good supply of preserved food in the house, so they ate well at least. A last meal for the dying. The family that lived here had been stocking up for winter.
After that, they spent the next few days chatting, recovering from their ordeal and planning their next moves.
On the third day, they had a visitor. Somebody from the village had seen the smoke on the horizon and gone to investigate. They had noticed the hoof prints on the road, and come to find out what had happened.
They had a very brief conversation from across a field, before the visitor backed off, glad they were alive but also leaving as rapidly as possible. They would go back to the village, inform the others of their fate, and then quarantine themselves for several days at home.
Brickwrath had a lot of time to think about what had happened, and if what they had done was the right approach.
Most things that lived in the wilds kept to themselves, but Cericil wasn¡¯t the first city lost to the jungle, and not the first to be lost to fungi. There was a reason all the guard stations stocked sealed, spore-proof masks and anti-fungal soap, and a reason that how to deal with it was the first lecture they got when joining the army.
It could have been worse, he thought. It could have been a dragon, or just a really big monster, and then they would have had no way of dealing with it. At least the mushroom had been stupid.
He wondered why Tole had evacuated, rather than fought. Maybe the oncoming winter, maybe their standing army was elsewhere.
He would probably never know, but he had no regrets about how they had handled it.
-
On the fourth day, an hour before they were due to set out, one of the horses fell sick.
A few hours later, so did its partner, both of them keeling over, one after the other, dripping foam from their mouths, their lungs making noises like kittens, their eyes sad.
Elegantlillies did the killing, while he built the funeral pyre around their bodies, trying to harden his heart. He had seen worse things, in the last week, even, but he still felt the loss deep in his soul.
If the horses had names, then he hadn¡¯t known them, and neither did Elegantlillies, but they had been important to the village and good companions to them both over the past week or so.
He was starting to lose track of time, four days'' rest had not been enough, but it would have to do.
Without the horses, it was going to be a slow trek towards Tole and more difficult to evacuate the village, but they couldn¡¯t take the risk.
And so they left, the funeral pyre burning bright behind them.
-
Several days of walking bought them back to the edge of the village. He stood back as Elegantlillies signalled from a distance that they were still alive and that the horses were not. Tears ran down her face as she shouted words to her family, and Brickwrath tried not to listen.
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The villagers would understand the situation and know to stay out of their wake. The rest wasn''t for him.
Three more days of walking to reach his farm. Daisygreens had already been liberated by the villagers, a good goat never going to waste, and he hoped they would take care of her. Goat stew was tasty, but she would be old and stringy, and he was fond of her.
Without her, the farm felt cold and empty, and they only stayed for a day to replenish their energy and supplies before setting off again.
Neither of them was dead yet, and that was a good thing! A small part of him was hoping this was a sign, that maybe they would survive, but, the thing had taken a whole city and caused another to evacuate, it couldn¡¯t be that easy, could it?
More walking. They talked sometimes, but most of it was spent in silence. They had bought a good supply of food with them, and although the days had been long, he felt much better than he had the day after they burnt the Thing. His old fitness was starting to return, muscles toughening back up under stress. He would never be in his twenties again, but his body still remembered.
-
The outskirts of Tole looked much the same as they had when he had last visited. His cart was still abandoned in the middle of the road. The oilcloth eaten away by rain and the goods within a little damaged, but otherwise untouched.
He ran a hand over the carefully packed statues, before reaching into a box and pulling out one the size of a large marble. He remembered making this one, back in the autumn, and the shape of it felt warm and comfortable in his hand.
His own private guardian. With a rueful shake of his head, he slipped it into his pocket.
He heard her footsteps approaching from behind, and then Elegantlillies lay a hand on his shoulder, drawing him into a hug.
¡°I guess this is it, then.¡± She wrapped him tight in her arms for a moment, and he returned the embrace, before an unspoken signal caused them both to separate. He wanted to reassure her that the city was safe, but he knew that wasn¡¯t her main worry.
She had spoken quietly to him of her son, a man named Cornflower. He was in his late twenties, and the last she heard he had been living with his partner, a man named Mintsteam, in the second ring of the city.
Brickwrath stared into the cart for a moment, and then selected another small gargoyle, pressing it into her hands. ¡°I made these to be guardians, may they protect us now.¡±
A silly ritual, but she smiled as she looked down at it, running her thumb over its face even if the smile couldn¡¯t reach her eyes. After inspecting it for a moment she nodded and slipped the gargoyle into a pocket. Together, they made their way towards the city.
-
Nothing had changed. They liberated masks from within the first guard station, the last of the supply he had broken into last time, and then made their way in without hesitation.
They had bought a crowbar and a hammer with them to jimmy the gates, but their first destination was the house, the last known abode of her son and his partner.
The home was dark and locked, much the same as the rest of the city, the shutters barred from the inside. The crowbar made quick work of the lock, though, and they made their way inside, not knowing what they would find and not daring to hope.
Inside, the rooms were bare, with no personal effects left behind. It was as if it had been purposefully stripped. No notes, no journals, only one message.
A scarf, lying neatly folded on an empty bed frame. She had knitted it for him two winters before. Elegantlillies gently picked it up and held it to her chest, eyes closed behind the mask, and Brickwrath turned his gaze away, letting her have her moment.
Then they slipped it into a backpack and carried on. Her son wasn¡¯t here, but he had been, and that was enough.
The greenways were even more overgrown than last time, the warmer spring weather, longer days and recent rain spurring growth everywhere he looked. After a brief battle and two attempts at sharpening the machete, they decided to keep to the lower streets instead.
They tried shouting through the gates first, but received no response. They gave the sound a few moments to settle, and then broke the lock with the crowbar, their combined strength no match for the brittle metal.
They took a moment to steady their nerves, and then ventured into the locked and sealed inner ring.
Chapter 19 - Brickwrath 7 - Epilogue
They knew what had happened, now.
There had been a Thing here, too, but the people had responded more quickly than those in Cericil, sealing off the central plaza and chopping down the root bridges so it couldn¡¯t send feelers out into the rest of the city.
Any Walkers that had escaped had been burnt, the remains of the pyre located on the far side of the city, where he hadn¡¯t previously explored.
It explained the locked doors and empty homes. If there was something inside one of the houses that could grow, it would hopefully remain contained until it starved. The furniture taken to fuel the funeral fires.
With the city cleaned, and unable or unwilling to deal with it further, those still alive had left, heading west, as they had suspected.
Brickwrath and Elegantlillies didn¡¯t know how many had been lost, but the Thing had died over the winter, starved for a lack of food in the sparsely populated market square.
By the time they got there, all that remained of it was the corpse, a bubbling mass of rot and slime, surrounded by abandoned carts and the desiccated remains of those it had consumed.
Together, the two of them burnt the rotting remains, thankful for the filters on their masks. After that, they made a separate pyre for the drained and desiccated bodies of those who were left. Men, women, children, and those who were none of the above, all fed into the fire.
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Elegantlillies had refused to look at the bodies, in case one of them was her son or his partner. Brickwrath had checked each body for name tags, and had found a few. He would leave them in the memorial hall, for whoever recovered this place to deal with.
It was miserable work, but it had to be done, before the spring rains and summer heat revived any spores within the bodies, starting the whole process anew.
So many lost. So many people who would never have their names inscribed on the walls. No plaque for them, no words in the memorial book. Just¡ Gone. Their names forgotten, belonging only to the wind now.
It was a true death. It would be their death.
-
Sweeping the last of the dust and leaves into the bonfire, they conversed in muffled speech, wondering where it had come from. Things like this usually lived deep within the woods and didn¡¯t come back to town unless disturbed. The militarised expeditions that went out that far were normally pretty careful. Both of them had done their time, and neither had ever seen the regulations flaunted, for good reason.
As they worked, they decided it may indicate a slow incubation period, but the horses getting sick after only a few days had to be a good sign, right?
Job finally done, every stray leaf collected from the marketplace and the bonfire burnt down to ashes, they set off back to his farm. They locked the gate behind them as best they could, and had left a summary of what they had found in the memorial hall and the eastern guard station.
They would stay at his farm there for what remained of January and February, and then, if they were both still alive, would head west, following the path of the other evacuees.
The villagers would have to fend for themselves, there was nothing they could do to help, the risk was too great.
Tired, and with heavy hearts, they started making their way back home.
He was gonna have to build another bed.
Chaper 20 - Lightfingers
Lightfingers was the best thief in the city, or so he liked to think. He had the cool outfit of dark browns and greys, he had a cool peaked cap, he had a scar over one eye, which didn¡¯t impact his vision, but only added to his rugged handsomeness.
He liked to think that every guard and police officer in the city knew his name. The bobby on the beat on a constant lookout, just in case Lightfingers stopped by!
Tonight he had a big job lined up, a robbery of the mansion on the outside of town. He had bought himself a new cape for the event, from his best tailor, and lined up all his subordinates in advance.
A good leader delegates, he always said.
Right now though he was sitting in a coffee house in the centre of town, browsing the local broadsheets and thinking about how cool he was. Really, it was a crime in itself, and he just kept getting away with it!
He took a sip of his coffee, a good roast from some volcanic island off the coast, imported just a few days ago and freshly ground. He held the bowl under his nose and enjoyed the aroma, swilling the liquid within around as if it were brandy. Exquisite.
He drained the liquid and raised his hand for another.
After a moment he lowered it again. The service here was awful. He had paid a whole penny to gain entrance to this establishment, and despite that¡!
He placed the bowl down in an elegant fashion, turning back towards the paper. Many newspapers were being published in the newer, tabloid format nowadays, but he was an old fashioned man, and much preferred the broadsheets.
Eyes darting to the side, he surreptitiously checked the front. Ah, the Sun and Stars! A fine paper. Not one he would normally read to be sure, but a fine paper. He turned the page. Would you look at that, Lady Weathermay¡¯s daughter sure was growing up. He shook his head in admiration, before turning the page again. What a fine young woman.
He skimmed the headlines for a while, but finding nothing about himself, quickly grew bored.
He came here for the intellectual and stimulating conversation, but at this time of the morning things were quiet, only a few knots of students from the local university milling around, talking about whatever it was students talked about nowadays. It wasn¡¯t like it had been when he was a lad!
¡°Gentlemen!¡± he announced to the room, standing up suddenly from his chair, almost toppling it behind him. A few heads turned to look in his direction.
¡°I must now be off,¡± he announced to his audience, giving a dignified wave and a small bow, twirling his cap onto his head as he did so.
¡°I hear that old thief is in town again! Watch onto your purses, he¡¯s a rogue, that one!¡± He laughed loudly, giving the students a stern yet fatherly look, as well as a wagged finger.
One of the students waved and bowed back, the gesture that of a subject to an emperor, certainly not one of mockery, and he made his way out of the coffee house, his new cape flowing out behind him. He ignored the booing from a couple of the other students. Kids these days!
Walking down the street, he nabbed a pie from a nearby stall, throwing the seller a penny out of pity. A mix of poor quality vegetables, with no meat in sight. Who would care for this! Food fit only for the poor.
He scoffed at it, and then scoffed it. Waste not want not. There were starving orphans out there after all!
Speaking of starving orphans, he ought to prepare for the job tonight.
But first, a haircut! His favourite hairdresser was already waiting for him with a chair ready, a towel over one arm.
¡°Big job tonight, Lightfingers?¡± they asked with a smile, laying out the tools of their trade and mixing up the soap for his face.
He gave them a wink in the mirror, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t tell you if there was, but make sure I look extra good, yeah?¡±
The barber laughed and started to soap up his face. He was good at his job and always did his work well. Maybe a little bit much of a gossip, though.
Next, he visited his absolute favourite store, a little shop off of Bearstrip, one of the oldest streets in town.
The shop, The Great Grape, was one of those old dusty stores which nobody ever seemed to enter, with a bell above the door and all of the merchandise out of sight and mind. The place was barely known and always empty, it was a crime! Without him, they might even go out of business! Shaking his head at the thought of such a dreadful thing, he entered the shop, the owner meeting him at the door.
¡°Big job tonight, Lightfingers?¡± asked the man, leading him towards the cellar. He was a tall man with a gaunt face, exactly the sort of face you¡¯d expect of somebody who spent most of their time underground, but he was a friendly sort, once you got to know him.
Lightfingers laughed and winked, the same as he had in the barber''s shop. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t tell you if I did, but let¡¯s pick out a good vintage for tonight, yeah?¡±
The store owner laughed, and held open the door so he could walk first down the steps.
-
By now it was lunchtime, and he stopped at his favourite chocolate shop, where he had a small sliced meat sandwich on beautifully thin white bread, and a cup of chocolate from a fine porcelain cup. It was amazing what they could make, these days, he thought, admiring the cup.
He took an hour or so to eat his sandwich and enjoy the chocolate, because he liked this place and they deserved his patronage. He sat in the window so that passersby would see how cool this place was and come in out of curiosity.
It was a shame it always seemed so empty. He hoped they would stay in business. Their sandwiches were delicious.
Mid-afternoon and his altruistic visits done for the day, he started to do some actual work. First, he had to visit a friend of his mother''s. The man''s daughter worked in the kitchens at the Fig and Berries, and he would be surprised to find somebody she hadn¡¯t spoken to recently, she was the biggest gossip in town.
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He helped the man out with a few household chores and then spent a few minutes chatting with his daughter before she left for work. A good girl. She would do well for herself, one day.
After that, he spent an hour or so in the Branch and Claw, a small pub off Bardsway. Then he spent another hour there, and then a third, having accidentally lost track of time.
By now it was early evening and he wasn¡¯t drunk, but he was a little light on his feet. Leaving the lights and singing of the pub behind him, he waltzed happily down the street, towards his favourite dinner place.
Then home, for a nap. He had a job to do tonight, after all!
-
He was awoken from his nap by a knock on the door, the clock on his bedside table told him it was a quarter past ten in the evening. Who could this be? He pulled on his dressing gown and tugged his nightcap over his ears before opening the door. It wouldn¡¯t do for him to get a chill now!
¡°Hey Lightfingers, got a weird for you.¡± Thornprick, his friend''s daughter, stood outside the front door, shivering a little in the autumn air. He would have invited her in, but his house wasn¡¯t much warmer. He had neglected to light the stove before he went to bed.
Instead, he leant on the door frame, in a roguish and dapper manner. Like a cool mentor. It would have had a better effect if he wasn¡¯t in his pyjamas, but you take what you can get.
¡°Go on.¡± He encouraged.
She started at him for a moment, and then started, as if she¡¯d forgotten what she was going to say. ¡°Right. You told us to listen out for names, and there was some kid, 4 or 5 years old, down at the Bull and Fiddle asking for Blueyes. I heard it from¡¡±
He blanked out for a moment as she listed names and relations, culminating some five or six connections deep. He zoned back in towards the end, just as the barrage ended.
¡°¡anyway, they seemed liable to freeze to death, so I had Poppyrose pick ¡®em up.¡±
Lightfingers thought about this for a moment, mulling the situation over in his mind. Ah, a lost babe, maybe even a sibling of his apprentice in roguery! A chance to be a hero!
¡°You know where Blueyes works?¡± he asked, suddenly realising he didn¡¯t, and she nodded slowly. He could almost see the machinery working behind her eyes.
¡°Yeah. I think so, last I checked he works down in the stables at The Bull, on Hedgerow Place. Kid probably went to the wrong pub is all, you want me to take her there?¡±
She really did know everyone! Lightfingers nodded magnanimously. He would never admit, even to himself, that she was the brains of his operation, he truly believed that she was the smartest person in the city, behind himself, of course.
¡°That¡¯s perfect, the stables! Give her a meal and put her to bed there, have¡¡± He wracked his brains for a moment over which subordinate to send. ¡°Have Candlewash look after her, she¡¯s a good lass, three sisters last I checked so the babe should be in good hands!¡±
He threw Thornprick a few pennies to cover the cost of food and care, and she nodded as she turned to leave, ¡°Good luck with the job tonight, Lightfingers.¡±
He shook his head ruefully, if only she knew!
Good deed done, he shuffled back into the house, feet warm in his lambswool slippers. A few minutes later and the living room stove was going, the kettle on to boil. A cup of tea, a few biscuits out of the tin (a gift from his mother a few days before) and he settled into the cosy wing-back chair.
He yawned, and closed his eyes for just a moment.
-
His alarm went off at midnight. The little clock had been expensive but was worth its weight in gold. Lightfingers made himself another cup of tea and then shuffled around the house for a bit, planning his outfit.
He would go for the flat cap and the new cloak. For his uppers, a ruffled white shirt with a high collar, in an old-style, and a jacket in a rich, deep blue. He had newly cleaned and pressed trousers, in a rich black velvet with no holes in them, and a quick check of the weather outside reassured him it wasn¡¯t raining, so they should survive this trip.
He fastened the cravat around his neck and admired himself in the mirror. Very handsome. The way the candlelight highlighted the scar and caused his black hair to shimmer. He smiled, and blew his reflection a little kiss.
A few more minutes adjusting his outfit, and he was ready to set out.
He got halfway down the street before turning around, heading back home and retrieving the bag of food and the bottle of wine he had set aside earlier. Whoops!
He gave himself one last wink in the mirror before setting out again.
-
He passed by the coffee shop twice before he spotted Blueyes in the far corner. That kid could really do with a bit more meat on him, poor thing. He had lived such a hard life, before Lightfingers picked him up.
Smiling to himself, he slipped into the shop, dropping his penny into the tin by the door. There was a dispenser of coffee and some cups in the corner, but he passed on those, for now, gliding across the room and slipping into the chair opposite Blueyes. His sneakiness made the kid jump slightly in his seat, whoops, but gods he was cool.
Blueyes pushed a cup of coffee towards him, and he took it happily. It smelt almost as good as the one he¡¯d had that morning, probably from the same shipment.
¡°Good day?¡± he asked.
¡°Not bad, got all my jobs done.¡± Blueyes nodded at him, giving the correct code words for a job done well. ¡°How¡¯re you getting on?¡±
What a thoughtful lad, if he kept on like this, he was going to go far. Lightfingers took a moment to pull the basket of newspapers towards himself, making a neat little movement with his ankle as he did so.
¡°Oh not bad, not bad.¡± He thought about it for a moment, hadn¡¯t there been something¡ Ah, yes! The kid! ¡°Heard someone was looking for you, though.¡±
¡°Oh?¡± Blueyes was instantly on alert, the tiredness leaving his face, replaced by wariness. Oh no, that hadn¡¯t been his intention at all.
¡°Mm, some kid.¡± He seemed surprised, so Lightfingers decided to come at it from another angle, ¡°Came into the Fiddle and asked if you were there, around 8pm?¡± He took a sip of his coffee, gods this stuff was good. And they gave it away for free!
In front of him, Blueyes frowned, obviously thinking something through, before his expression changed, the wary wariness shifting into wary hope.
¡°Small kid, girl, about four years old?¡± He questioned, his voice catching for a moment. Lightfingers felt his heart melt slightly, such things could move even an old polar bear like him! But no, he couldn¡¯t let it show, he had a role to play!
He shrugged, nonchalantly, ¡°Never asked, but the age seems about right. Pub sent ¡®em on their way, but,¡± he reached out, rubbing his fingers and thumb together. The boy wouldn¡¯t expect him to give information for free, nobody gave anything away for free, and it would reassure him to have to pay for it. ¡°I got one of my girls to keep an eye on her.¡±
He gave Blueyes a stage-wink, but wasn¡¯t sure the lad caught it. He seemed distracted, checking his pockets for change.
Blueyes nodded, handing over his last couple of pennies, and Lightfingers resisted the urge to place a hand over his heart. Such love for a sibling, that he would give up his last coins for their safety!
¡°We picked ¡®em up about an hour ago, they¡¯re asleep in the stables at your Bull, if you wanna claim ¡®em.¡± Lightfingers drained the last of the truly delicious coffee, before standing and grabbing the basket of newspapers, hooking it over his arm in a gesture he then realised made him resemble his grandmother. Oh well, it did no good to second-guess yourself. ¡°Good luck, kid.¡±
He kicked the bag of food and money towards Blueyes, the poor lad really did need to eat more, and then he turned on a heel, swished out his cape, and left the fine establishment behind.
He hadn¡¯t even checked the basket, just trusted that the map would be there intact. He trusted Blueyes not to scam him, and hoped that his trust was not misplaced. Maybe should have¡
Oh well, no point worrying over it, it was too late for that. Sweeping out of the coffee house, he took a left down the alleyway behind the store. Two streets later, the map was safely stowed in the prearranged drop point, with him pocketing his own paper-wrapped parcel of notes in return.
Humming happily to himself, he started making his way home, hearing a scuffle behind him as two rival gangs met in blood and violence. He hoped the map would come out of it untouched, but the lad had wrapped it well from what he¡¯d seen.
All in all, a good night''s work.
Chapter 21 - Twigseethe
Tomorrow was going to be Twigseethe¡¯s first day at her new school, and she was incredibly excited. They had done tests in class earlier in the year, and the teachers had discovered that she had a prodigious talent for Change.
She didn¡¯t really understand how somebody could not have a talent for it, or why they''d had to do the tests. All Change involved was drawing an image in her mind, or pulling the image from the mind of the person she was targeting, and pushing the magic into shape.
They had said her tests were to see if she could store magic in her heart, but, couldn''t everyone do that?
It was just weird. Was that how normal people functioned?
She held on tight to the dragon''s horns. She had discovered after a few days of travel, that if she was careful, then she could scale up his neck and perch on his head, holding onto his two horns for balance. It had quickly become her new favourite place in the world.
She was kneeling there right now, her knees against his head, the pattern of his scales pressing into her skin, building an image in her the back of her mind.
The magic told her she couldn¡¯t become a dragon, their bodies simply weren¡¯t built¡ Well... Weren''t built, was all it said. She didn¡¯t know how, but only a small part of him existed on the physical, and the physical was what her magic focused on.
Taking a deep breath, she screamed into the wind, laughing with joy! "WHEEE!" Under her knees, she felt the body of the dragon shift, as he gave a slight tilt into the wind, first one way, and then the other. Enough to lean her against the horns, but not enough to threaten her balance.
He was having fun too, he told her, "woooo!"
-
Before setting off, the people at the post office had tied a piece of rope around her waist. They''d secured that rope onto a ring, which in turn was secured to the straps around his body, but she had cut it away before the end of the first day. It hadn''t given her nearly enough room to move or see.
She wasn¡¯t worried about falling, he would catch her if she did, he told her, and she was building an image for that anyway.
Some time in the second week of flight, they had flown near a huge flock of birds, huge enough to black out the sky. She had managed to convince Dragon (She wasn¡¯t going to call him ¡®Crests the Skies on Wings of Knowledge¡¯ every time she thought about him, it was way too slow, and he didn''t think of himself like that) to fly above the cloud. She had wanted to fly either underneath or through the flock, but he had pointed out the sheer amount of bird-poo that they produced, and she had relented.
The two of them had flown above the flock for almost an entire day. The birds were unafraid, predators in the sky seeing another, bigger, scarier version of themselves. She had taken the time to study how their wings worked, how they stayed in the air even whilst even asleep.
She wished she could have caught one and spoken to it, but observation would have to do. She had never considered differing air currents before this, or the different shapes of wings. The only birds she knew were the pigeons and sparrows that inhabited the city, and only the pigeons would talk to her, the sparrows too busy for conversation.
Pigeons were very cool, much smarter than one would expect from the so-called ''winged rats''. They told her how the pulls in the wind and earth showed them North, and how to recognise landmarks from far above. They told her how to hear incoming storms, and which shops sold the tastiest chips. They told her to care for those around her, and to always remain loyal to your flock.
She couldn¡¯t make use of a lot of the bird-knowledge, especially without the right senses to detect the things they could, but she was getting there with the other stuff.
Flying on the back of the Dragon was, she had decided, the greatest thing that had ever happened to her. She screamed into the wind again out of pure, sheer happiness, ¡°WOOOOOO!¡±
She felt a laugh ripple through the great head below her, and she laughed herself, standing up and clinging onto the horns with her face into the wind.
In her mind, something clicked as the image finished building, and she gave Dragon a pat on the head, before sliding down his neck and landing back in the hollow of his neck.
It was the most complicated thing she¡¯d ever made, and if her teachers found out then she reckoned they would have shouted at her, and told tell her parents, who would have been very proud but also rather shouty.
She didn¡¯t know what the big deal was. You couldn¡¯t Change a living being in a way that would cause it to stop living, that wasn¡¯t how it worked. If she tried to Change herself to a form without a head or something then the magic would fail, if she could even form an image that broken in the first place.
The one she had just finished building was based on birds she had known over the years and those she had studied on the journey. The pigeons had shown her their bones, the low density a part of how they could lift themselves into the air. They had shown her the skeletons of their dead, and she had seen how they were formed. Humans were strong and sturdy, creatures of the earth, while birds were creatures of the air, and it showed in the structure of their beings.
The image she had created aimed to cut as much weight from her bones as possible. It would knock a bit off her height, and her limbs would be a little longer, but it would also make the heavy bones in her arms and legs much lighter. She could change the other bones in her body to a certain extent, but they were more important and resisted more. She was already slim, being eight years old and having lived an active life, but she wasn''t going to mess around with fat and muscle just yet.
The magic whispered to her that this wasn¡¯t the best idea. The stuff within bones made her blood work, and to change it too much would cause her body to work badly, but she could concentrate on the working parts, thin out the bones and change the structure enough for her needs without weakening them too much. It was all about compromise, but if she did get break something, she could always just Shift back.
She settled down, crossing her legs underneath her and starting the Change.
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A single inward breath to pull the magic out of the air around her. There was so much mana around Dragon that she barely needed to store it, her heart already full to bursting. Then, with an exhalation, she pressed the image across her body.
She knew the moment the fire ran over her skin, that something within her image wasn¡¯t right. It burnt for a moment, a tremendous heat sweeping over her skin and through her bones, and then the fire went out.
She took a few minutes to work out what the issue had been. Ah, the pelvis was more important than she had thought. An adjustment, adding back strength and marrow, and she let the image build again. This time instead of fire, it was like a cool breeze, the wind of flight around her.
She would take a nap first, and then give it another go.
-
She was awoken by a violent shake from the Dragon, and she crawled out to see what was up- Oh!
The birds were back, the same flock as before, but there was a much bigger one with them this time, a leader. It was huge and orange, and almost the same size as her ride. Impressive!
The feathers resembled fire, and she knew just by looking that it wasn¡¯t an entirely physical being. Not in the same way Dragon wasn¡¯t, but like a younger, much, much more distant cousin.
It was like Dragon, in the same way Dragon was like a Pigeon.
Even despite that, it was beautiful, and she sat up in her seat to better admire it, wondering if it would come closer to talk to her. The wings were like flame, and the beak was hooked like a falcon''s, coloured a dark orange, fading up into a blue as it met the body.
The cry it let out was the scream of a house fire burning out of control. The screech of a damp log thrown into a bonfire, the wail of the fire station''s sirens in the distance. When it opened its mouth, the flock surrounding it scattered, and the noise of it made the jungle below explode in life, as every bird within a hundred miles was suddenly compelled into the air all at once.
Before they rapidly realised what was in the air above them, and returned back to their trees with haste.
Dragon gave her a moment to admire the bird, knowing her obsession well by this point, and then shifted his position, beating his wings and climbing upwards. Up and up, higher than she¡¯d realised he could go, until the air was thin and her head span with every breath. Then, just as she started to see spots, he dove, gaining speed until she thought she would lose consciousness from the speed instead.
She curled up into a ball and tried to hide in her sheltered hollow, regretting cutting the safety line and glad for her human weight. Without it, she feared she would have blown away in the wind.
Even as she hid, a part of her was still working and adjusting the image. Analysing the pattern of its wings and how the feathers connected together.
The magic whispered how she could modify her arms and hands into wings. She would lose the functionality of fingers, but nothing she did was permanent. With wings, she could glide through the air. She wouldn¡¯t be able to gain height, but if she fell then she could catch herself, could float to safety.
She would need some sort of rudder, maybe a fantail like the fancy pigeons she had spoken to in the gardens of one of the upper-class, once. It would look daft on the ground, but it was possible she could form it into a sort of skirt.
Did it count as being naked if your feather skirt was your own feathers? She thought back to some of the people she had seen over her life with fur and scales, and decided it probably did, at least to adults. Dammit. She would have to wear a proper skirt over it, she supposed. Split down the sides like you would have for horse riding.
Being at school was going to be weird, but maybe they''d be more forgiving of that sort of thing, in a school where everyone had a Talent. Back home she had been seen as strange and odd, and the other kids had avoided her unless they had a complicated request nobody else in the school could realise for them.
It could have also been a class thing, she considered, huddled up with her hands over her head, peeking out at the bird through the gap between her knees.
Twigseethe didn¡¯t think she came from a particularly rich family, but they had always been well off. A house attached to no others, with nice gardens. Two stories, her own bedroom. They had a live-in maid and a cook, but she didn¡¯t have servants to wait on her hand and foot, like others her age. She didn''t even have a pony!
Her mother owned a tailor''s shop, and her dad designed things. Buildings, bridges, houses and shops, if it needed designing, he was your guy.
She had been expected to become an artist, surviving off her painting and drawing, but then the scholarship had come in and now here she was, being shipped off to a fancy private school, far away from home.
She would live there for eight years before graduating, it seemed like an awfully long time.
She had accepted that she might never see her family again, they were hundreds and hundreds of miles away, but, she would write every week. She had promised. She would send her drawings back, and her dad would send his in return.
And when she had learnt everything the school could teach her, she would Change herself, so when she graduated, she could fly home under her own power. Below her, Dragon approved.
In her mind, the new image clicked, the patterns of the feathers and the bones merging into one bird-like form. It wasn¡¯t perfect yet, and if she was being honest, it would never be, but it was a start. As an added bonus, if she fell off now, at least she might have a chance at surviving!
She clung onto Dragon as best she could, as the giant bird swept and veered around them, never managing to hit, but also refusing to give up. It left ripples in the air behind it, from the heat of its wings, and up close she could see small blue flames ringing the bottom of each quill.
During the fight, she considered sliding down Dragon''s side and wedging herself against the bag near his neck so there was no chance of her rolling off, but he was very careful, and she was safe where she was...
It kept attacking for what felt like hours, before suddenly tiring and falling back, lagging behind with angry screeches and calls.
Now that it was over, she could feel the tiredness in his body, exhaustion and lactic acid infusing every muscle. She didn¡¯t have nearly enough talent to Change him some healing, but she patted his neck in a comforting manner, trying to encourage him to keep flying.
He wasn¡¯t used to this sort of exertion, and with her on his back it had only been more difficult, having to fight whilst also not losing her to oxygen deprivation or fall damage.
Now that it was gone though, she scrambled out of the gap, returning to her rightful place on his head. Wheeee! She pushed through the change to her bones as she did, lowering her weight, but keeping back the feathers later experimentation.
It set this time, and the feeling was strange, not one she had experienced before. Sudden lightheadedness, and a sense of, not weightlessness, but as if she¡¯d been carrying around something all her life that she could now put down for the first time.
Standing up, holding onto one of the horns, she looked back. In the distance, she could still see the flock of birds, the fire-bird a tiny orange speck, in the middle of a huge black cloud. She wondered why it had attacked, and what it was.
Either way, she had gotten some interesting ideas from it, and she was already adjusting her image to adapt to the changes.
She couldn¡¯t replicate the fire, but she could the colours and the shapes. She had absorbed how it used its wing feathers to change its direction during flight, and was now realising that the way a predator flew was very different from a pigeon or a sparrow.
-
She sat there on his head for the rest of the journey. At some point she adjusted her regular Image, changing her hair to be like fire. A deep red at the tips, fading into orange, and then blue at the roots. It would look strange as it grew out, but she was always updating it anyway.
She stayed there for the night, and then as the sun rose before them, she saw the city appearing over the horizon. It was a raised area of white and green, bathed in the orange light of dawn, and it was beautiful. Off to one side was a taller structure, as if somebody had taken piles of cubes and piled them all up on top of one another. That would be the school.
The two of them would arrive within a few hours, and that pile of cubes would be her home from now on.
It was gonna be so much fun.
Chapter 22 - Twigseethe - First Weeks
Twigseethe had been at the school for almost two weeks now, and it hadn¡¯t been what she¡¯d hoped for.
For a start, the teachers were mean! She had gotten off Dragon full of excitement and joy, and had then instantly been shot down, they hadn''t even given her time to say a proper goodbye!
The first thing the teacher had done upon seeing they had done was confirm her name and that she was who she said she was, as if there was somebody else coming in by dragon. The second thing had been an order to "drop that hideous affectation".
She had queried that, confused, and the teacher had clarified, walking her away from the dragon area and starting up towards the school. She was not to Change anything unless ordered to do so. Not herself, nor others, or even inanimate objects, outside of class. She was also to wear her "natural" form at all times.
Secondly, they expected her to attend every single class, even the ones she didn¡¯t care about like maths and chemistry and history of the poetic noun.
At least she thought that that was the name of the final class, it might not be, she had still been reeling over point one.
Why would she need to know poetry and history? She wanted to learn how to paint and draw and do magic, and that would be more than enough for her to support herself. Everything else was secondary.
She had refused, of course, on the magic front, but they had threatened to not let her in if she refused, to leave her alone on the streets.
If she could have turned around and gone home there and then, she would have, but her hand was being firmly held and Dragon was a ways behind them now. A part of her had considered that maybe the streets would be a better option, but she was hundreds of miles away from home, with no friends and no family. Where would she have gone¡ She didn''t want to die.
She had argued, but the teacher stood firm. A beautiful woman, with grey hair, cropped so short that she almost looked bald from a distance, and a sharp, defined face. She had stood there in the landing area, her back straight and her gaze hard, as she looked down at Twigseethe.
So, she had let them Shift her back into her ¡°natural¡± form. Taller, stockier, and a boy. She hated it, hated it, hated it, hated it, it wasn¡¯t her! It had never been her. It would never be her.
She had held it for a heartbeat, glaring at the teacher the whole time, and then Changed back into the form she had made for herself whilst on Dragon''s back. She couldn¡¯t, wouldn''t do it, she couldn¡¯t live like that, had never lived like that. She had Changed herself the moment she was old enough to understand what was wrong and had never gone back.
Would never go back.
It was a vivid memory, that first class in school, when the magic teacher came in and asked them what they wanted out of their lives. When they had asked if they were happy with themselves. He hadn¡¯t let them become less fat or taller, but he had let them change their bodies in silly ways, and when she had said she wanted to be a she, that was easy, nothing to it.
And she wouldn¡¯t go back. Not ever.
The teacher had threatened her more, during the short walk to the school. Threatened to abandon her to the streets, to write to her parents, to her old teachers, and finally to lock her magic away if she didn¡¯t abide by their rules.
She didn¡¯t think they could actually do that, but she didn''t want to take the risk. Magic was life and light, and to lock her out of it without killing her would be to keep a fish alive outside of water, but the threats had worked. She hadn¡¯t wanted to be thrown onto the streets, hadn¡¯t wanted to risk losing the magic that was the very air she breathed.
So here she was. A thousand miles from home in a school that she hated, surrounded by people who didn¡¯t want her there, trapped in a body that wasn''t hers. It sucked.
-
She had been putting up with it for almost a week, and currently it was late afternoon, the sun warming her face and hair as she gazed out over the city. Classes were over for the day, and she was perched on the highest roof she could reach. The students weren¡¯t allowed to leave the school grounds, but nobody seemed to mind where else she went, as long as she kept out of the teacher''s areas on the upper floors.
It was strange, this body. She took a moment to stare down at her unfamiliar hands. She had probably been four or five years old when she had last worn it, and under the shroud of Change, it had aged alongside her like a lost sibling.
She wouldn¡¯t have minded having a brother, but she resented having to wear their body. With a surreptitious look around, she let just the tiniest bit of magic wash over her, changing some of the more onerous physical features. They would notice, they seemed able to see Change in people in a way she could not, but for now¡
It was still miserable, but it was a little better.
-
It lasted all of five minutes into her next lesson before the teacher spotted it and demanded she Shift back, with a raised ruler and harsh tones. The other kids in the class looked away, all going through the same thing, but more willing to bow to authority. She had learnt a few of their names but hadn¡¯t really had any chance to speak to them, too wrapped up in her own issues.
She had done it, but now, sitting in the corner of the classroom, humiliated and shunned, she decided she would rather die or be smacked with a ruler than live like this any longer.
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The teacher had been writing something on the board, but she couldn¡¯t hear it through the roaring in her ears, couldn''t see it through the tears streaming down her face.
With a breath she let the magic roll through her, shifting her back into the form she had designed whilst in the air. The smaller body, the pocket-filled bones and the hair like fire.
She added small feathers over her arms while she was at it, purely cosmetic, a deep green and tight against her skin. She also added a ridge of longer feathers, to flow out behind her arms like sleeves. As she used one arm to wipe her eyes, the small feathers tickled her nose, and it made her feel a little better.
Everyone in the class was looking at her now, and the teacher was heading her way, their face angry, but she didn¡¯t care anymore. Let them kick her out. She would survive.
-
She was marched off to the headteacher''s office, one hand heavy on her shoulder, as if she might use her new feathers to fly away if they released her. She could feel the teacher pushing their own ideals onto her, trying to change her back to her "natural" form, but she pushed it away easily. They weren¡¯t very good at it, if she was being honest.
The meeting with the headteacher lasted a good two and a half hours, the woman who ran the school trying to convince her of their reasoning. It was the same woman who had picked her up from the post office, and she was a little surprised that she''d had so much free time.
The two of them ganged up on her. They said that she had to ¡°know her own body¡± before she could ¡°inhabit somebody elses¡±, that it would be "good for her".
They were wrong, the both of them. She knew her own body, and it was what she was wearing right now. It was whatever she wanted it to be.
They tried to browbeat her into submission, with lines such as ¡°That may be how you do things back in whatever backwater you¡¯ve come from", and "here we do things differently!¡±
She would come to hear those lines a lot, but it would only serve the firm her resolve. Maybe her home had been a backwater, but that water had been clean and clear, and the people there had treated her with kindness.
They tried to convince her that the changes she had made to her bones would harm her in the long run, but she knew that wasn¡¯t the case. If she got into a fight, sure, the blood loss would be harder to recover from, but she could always Shift back if that was the case, and why would she get into a fight. ¡°But what if you¡¯re unconscious,¡± was their counterargument, well then somebody could Shift her back without resistance, or she would simply recover slower. This wasn''t going to work.
Two and a half hours.
In the end, she agreed to reverse the hair and the feathers and the bone density, but she kept her body as it otherwise was. They tried to humiliate her, forcing her to explain to each teacher in the school one by one why she was doing this, but she was done cowering. They wouldn¡¯t break her, not like this.
She was justified in what she wanted, and if they were going to make her explain it to the whole world, then fine. She would tell the gods themselves if that was what they wanted.
They didn¡¯t insist on that, of course, you didn¡¯t bother the gods with such petty matters.
She had gone back to class with her head held high, her body not right, but closer to what she needed. The other students in the class had looked away, and refused to meet her eyes. She knew that given the chance, they would do the same themselves, but they were cowards.
-
For the first few days at the school, she tried to make friends, but eventually, she realised it wasn¡¯t going to happen. Coming in via dragon was faster than arriving by horse or boat, but he worked on a set schedule, and she was almost two weeks late. By that point, the others in her year had already started to learn their way around and form friendship groups, and she was on the back-foot from the start. Added to that, she was the one who complained and rocked the boat and didn¡¯t know the class schedule, and nobody wanted to deal with that.
The other kids had also had two weeks to adjust to their ¡°normal¡± bodies, and none of them seemed as upset about it as she was. They had just accepted it as a fact of life and couldn¡¯t understand her anger.
Despite that, she had started to make friends with a girl in her dorm. She had bright yellow hair and beautiful blue eyes, and she was named Lemonleaf. She was also a late arrival, and they had bonded over their shared confusion. The two of them had sat together at lunch and chatted, almost every day for a week. They had talked about classes and how mean the teachers were and bonded over a love of magic.
Then, one day, Lemonleaf had taken her lunch to another table, sitting with a group of girls Twigseethe didn¡¯t know. When she tried to take a seat next to her, the group closed ranks, shifting to fill the benches and staring at her with judgemental eyes. Lemonleaf refused to make eye contact with her, shrinking into her seat and stoically staring into her food.
That night, the other girl hadn¡¯t returned to the dorm, her bed stripped bare, and Twigseethe discovered some days later that she had requested a room change.
She had stopped her in a corridor and tried to ask what had happened, but the new friends had closed in around her, jeering and mocking until she had backed off in tears.
The few people who would speak to her before seemed to avoid her afterwards, no longer meeting her eyes, and she was left alone in her misery.
-
She cried only outside, in gardens and terraces where she wouldn¡¯t be overheard. She shared her dorm with five other girls, and although they didn''t bother her, their presence there made her feel open and vulnerable. The dorm was too open, and she was too small to deal with either their insults or their questions.
She would lie there awake with her eyes wide open, forcing herself not to blink or breathe until her eyes burnt and her every muscle ached from lack of air. The windows were large and always open one above each bed, uncurtained and cracked open by the transom at the top. On some nights she would lie there and watch the moon move across the sky, from one window to another, until it completed its cycle, disappearing around the building.
After a few weeks of watching the moon, she had had enough. She would wait until everyone was asleep, and the last check had been done by the monitor, around 11 pm, and then she would wrap herself in a blanket like a cloak and explore the cold, empty school until the dawn light started to creep in through the windows.
They weren¡¯t expected to be awake until eight, so she would have a few hours'' sleep when she returned, exhaustion overwhelming her misery and anxiety.
She missed her home. She missed her own bedroom filled with her own books and toys. She missed her father and her dad. The public school she had attended had seemed bad at the time, but she even missed that. The other kids hadn¡¯t liked her much, but they had never been hostile, merely distant, and the teachers had praised her talent. The students had been encouraged to practice on each other, to get to know different body types and to learn what would make them happy.
It had been in that first class that she had learnt that, despite her body being that of a boy, she wasn¡¯t. She had come home later that night and told her dad, and it had been accepted from then on. It wasn¡¯t unusual, many people were born in the wrong bodies, and a Changer could easily fix it. The stubborn refusal to accept it over here confused and upset her, a culture shift she was unwilling and unable to adapt to.
Sure, it was more difficult to fix the insides, so if you wanted babies then you might have to take special expensive potions to invoke permanent Change, but Change was good enough for most, and good enough for her.
Stalking through the corridors, alone and with her blanket wrapped around her like a cloak, her wrist feathers trailing behind her in the gloom, Twigseethe ended her first few weeks at the new school.
Chapter 23 - Twigseethe - First 2 Months
Those first couple of months passed in a daze. The morning classes were always what the teachers referred to as ''the arts''. Literature, maths and languages. If they had been something she cared about, then she may have tried to concentrate on the lessons. But they weren¡¯t, so she didn¡¯t, preferring instead to sleep through the mornings.
The inside of the school was all sharp walls and high ceilings. From a distance, the building had looked like a stack of child''s blocks, and inside it wasn¡¯t much different. It had been built up over decades, rather than all at once, and it showed in the layout, all halls and rooms and hidden places where walls had been moved for convenience.
Then, she had opened a door once, late at night, and found herself home. Or at least as home as she would ever be, within that broken place. The door was half her height, and she expected it to lead into a closet or air duct. Instead, she had found a dusty and forgotten room, lost to all. It wasn¡¯t a large room, the size of the family bathroom back home, but it had a high dusty window to let in light, and it the space gave off an air of peace that she had been unable to find elsewhere.
Sometimes when things got too much after classes, and it was dark or raining, she would retreat to that room and read endless books.
She found blankets and pillows in forgotten cupboards, and she bought those back to the room, making it warm and comfortable. She wished she could sleep there overnight, but if she wasn¡¯t in the dorms come morning there would be questions from the monitor, and the girl would be obliged to report her absence.
She didn¡¯t want to get the monitor in trouble. She had suspicions that they knew about her nighttime expeditions, but the girl never said anything, and Twigseethe was grateful for that.
-
She had the feeling, sitting there and staring up at those great high windows, that the school had once been more prestigious, with more than the hundred or so students that it housed now. She found empty dorms and classrooms that obviously hadn¡¯t seen use in years, and she wondered how they maintained it all.
One night she came back to the dorm earlier than usual, and the monitor''s bed was empty. She saw her return a half-hour later, and their eyes met briefly, before the girl turned and got into her own bed without saying a word.
It was the closest the two had come to actually speaking in the two months she had been in the school. She knew that the girl''s name was Cottonspire, and dearly wished to hear the story behind it, but could never ask.
The afternoons were better than the mornings, the light lunch and micro-sleeps during classes restoring her energy. While the mornings were devoted to mortal arts such as language and mathematics, the afternoons were for magic.
The classes focused on Change were her favourite, but Growth and Rot were pretty cool too. Everyone in those classes had a Talent, if not one as strong as hers, and to be in the same room as others who could do the same things she could was a revelation. At her old school, she had been the strongest talent by far, the only other kid in the school who could Change being two years older than her, and only a minor talent.
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Those classes were interesting, and long discussions ensued on how they each saw the world or connected to the magic, and the teacher would often let the classes run on for an hour or even two afterwards, letting them experiment and talk it out.
But when it was over, she had to go back to the body they were enforcing on her, and she hated it. It was better than it had been for those first few weeks, but she still hated it, and over time she started to draw distant from the others in the lessons. They all had their own ideas about magic, mostly being somewhat local, and her viewpoint was seen as that of a yokel, an outsider, with the teacher backing them up.
Eventually, she stopped staying after classes, choosing to practice in secret on her own instead. She wasn''t missed.
They did force her to consider the idea of growing older, which wasn¡¯t something she had ever thought about. She had aged her body over the years, but hadn¡¯t put conscious thought into it, mostly mirroring those around her and doing what felt right at the time.
One night, sitting on the edge of a building in her winged form, she tried making herself older, stripping off her dress and standing naked in the wind, taking on what she imagined she might look like if she was stuck teaching at this shitty school for the next 40 years.
It was boring, to say the least. She had abandoned the female form, her self eroded away by years of apathy and rules. A young man with a tightly trimmed beard. She couldn¡¯t change clothes, but she imagined him in a boring white shirt and black dress trousers.
Another route she could go would have her looking like the headteacher. Stern, taking back something of her true self, but in a rigid, controlled manner.
Being taller was interesting, a different view of the world, but she could feel the magic resisting the change in size. If she wanted to be bigger, she would have to do it gradually, not having enough blood or mass in her body to go so far so fast.
Changing to her bird form was easy, she lost size and bone density, changing that mass into feathers, but she didn¡¯t actually lose weight, merely shifted it around.
It was enlightening really, and as she changed back into her normal form and pulled the dress back over her head, turning to head back inside for bed, it gave her some things to consider.
Biology, Change. There weren''t separate classes for Growth and Rot, the school believing them all to be part of a greater whole, and she didn¡¯t disagree.
Rot and Growth were, to her, the same, and the insistence on them being considered two separate schools of magic had gotten her into several fights during class, before she had stopped trying.
To her, Growth was just Change, but in a different direction, pushing what would happen naturally into happening faster. Rot was, she insisted, the same, pushing Growth into the tiny living beings that broke down matter, accelerating what would happen anyway.
A couple of the other students had agreed with her, despite the teacher slowly going more and more red in the face. One of them was a boy named Blanketweaving. He had no talent for Change that any of them could find, but he could grow an oak tree from an acorn in a day. It wouldn¡¯t be a good tree for construction, trees grown with magic tended to lack the integrity that ones allowed to grow naturally would have, but it was still very impressive.
After that class was over they had both received a dressing down from the teacher. Pushed together through adversity, they had eaten lunch together, and the sheer relief of not being invisible to those around her was intoxicating.
She wasn¡¯t stupid though, she had been in the school almost three months by this point, and she was well aware that she was at the lowest point in the social pecking order. They had eaten that one lunch, and then she had distanced herself from further contact with him.
He nodded at her in the corridors when they passed, and she smiled back, but they didn¡¯t become friends. He already had his friendship group, and she was a pariah.
Even if he had reached out, she wouldn¡¯t have been able to accept his friendship at that point, so deep was she in her misery and isolation.
Chapter 24 - Twigseethe - Six Months
Four months in was the tipping point. Her misery had finally started to wane a little, being forced to wear somebody else''s body was bearable when she could have her freedom at night, and her body had started to get used to her odd sleeping pattern.
Her marks in classes had started to improve as well. She still wasn¡¯t interested in the subjects, but admonishments, detentions, and threats to make her catch up in the afternoons were enough to make her care, at least a little.
She could have been top of the class, had she tried, but the school had beaten that out of her. If she had been treated better in the first days then maybe she would have come out of it with accolades, but it was too late for that now.
It was around this time, that Lemonleaf finally confronted her in a corridor. The girl had 4 friends behind her, and Twigseethe didn¡¯t know their names, but at least one of them was from an upper-year, tall and intimidating.
Lemonleaf stood there, arms folded, blocking the corridor. Twigseethe tried not to make eye contact, but her attempts to squeeze past the group failed, and she was pushed back. She knew that if she turned and ran, they would have others stationed, to catch her.
With dread, she took a step back, reluctantly meeting the other girl''s eyes. Lemonleaf''s expression was not friendly and her body language was hostile, arms crossed in front of herself, back straight, her gaze unyielding.
¡°What is it.¡± Twigseethe said, her voice hoarse from disuse, sounding wrong to her ears. She glanced away, before squaring her shoulders.
If this was how they were gonna play it, then she wouldn¡¯t be cowed. She had been content to keep her head down and out of the way, but if it was a fight they wanted¡ She lifted her eyes, meeting Lemonleaf¡¯s gaze again.
The other girl didn¡¯t look away, meeting her eyes back.
¡°I wanted to apologise,¡± she said, her voice hard and the words very unlike an apology.
Twigseethe blinked, that wasn¡¯t what she¡¯d expected. Was this some kind of trap?
¡°For what?¡± she asked, warily.
¡°For ever trusting you as a friend.¡±
Twigseethe frowned, what even was this, ¡°we knew each other for what, three days? I don¡¯t think that really counts as friendship.¡±
¡°It doesn¡¯t¡± Lemonleaf¡¯s voice was firm. ¡°This is dumb and stupid.¡± Her eyes flicked towards her entourage, ¡°Look, just don¡¯t talk to me again, don¡¯t come near me, and stay away from my brother, ok?¡± She seemed exasperated, as if there was some component to this conversation that Twigseethe was meant to have picked up on, but had somehow missed.
Confused, she shrugged, ¡°Sure, I guess? I don¡¯t even know your brother. I don¡¯t know anyone.¡±
¡°You can¡¯t be that much of a shut-in, surely.¡±
She shrugged, ¡°Nobody speaks to me, I speak to nobody. Whoever your brother is, I don¡¯t know ''em.¡±
¡°He¡¯s in your stupid Growth class.¡±
She frowned, there was only one boy in her growth class as far as she knew, the kid who had sat with her at lunch once what, two months ago? She didn¡¯t even remember his name.
¡°Alright,¡± she kept frowning, ¡°I don¡¯t even know his name.¡±
¡°Good, keep it that way.¡± Lemonleaf made a sharp signal with her hand, and her entourage relaxed, moving to surround her and freeing up the corridor. ¡°Don¡¯t speak to me again.¡±
¡°Wasn¡¯t planning on it.¡± She muttered.
As the group moved away from past her, one of the followers, the one who was older than all the others, caught her eye. A look passed between them, a look which said ¡°If I see you again, you are done for.¡±
Twigseethe gulped and was glad it hadn¡¯t come down to a fight. She was deliberately short, and she had somehow lost weight over the past three months. She was pretty sure that if it had turned into a fight, she would have died then and there, beaten to death at the age of eight and a half in a school corridor.
-
Things carried on in a sort of equilibrium until the end of term. She got up, she went to classes, and then in the late afternoons, she would either nap on the rooftops or in the library.
She confirmed some things she had always suspected, in those classes. Apparently, most people couldn¡¯t talk to birds or animals, and there were people out there who not only had no talent, but couldn¡¯t see or detect magic at all.
She also learnt that different places had different rules. Back home, children were expected to experiment with Change, giving themselves ears or fur, changing how they presented almost daily. A boy could go to school in the morning looking normal, thinking of himself as a he, and come home in the afternoon with fox ears and a tail, thinking of herself as a she. There was nothing weird about it. If fox girl went back to school tomorrow and came back a he or a they, well, eventually somebody would throw their arms into the air and demand they make up their mind, but for the most part, it was accepted and normal.
Things were not the same here, in this city. Children were allowed to experiment, but only under strict supervision, and they were never allowed to hold those forms afterwards. They weren¡¯t even taught magic until they were older than she was now!
It was mind-blowing. She had never in her whole short life considered that there might be places where things were done differently, and after that class she had sat and looked around at the other students, starting to understand why they were all so compliant with the overbearing rules here.
She had spent the rest of that afternoon in the library, staring blankly into the distance. Did she want to hold onto the values of her home and her childhood, or should she allow this place to change her?
She didn''t know.
-
At night she would explore the castle, or hide in her little room. She tried to avoid going there during the day, in case she was spotted, but during the nights it was her own private space, and one of the few things keeping her sane.
The school was old, she had discovered. The building had started off as a single large square box, now known as the Hall. That was the room where they ate meals and held assemblies and sat at lunchtime when the weather was bad. Built off of it were kitchens and hallways and classrooms.
The meals were simple. There was porridge in the morning, as much as they could eat, but with little milk and no spices or sugar, and the lack of variety started to wear after a while. Lunch was light, cheese and bread, sometimes a little cold stew. There was no meat at lunch, and the vegetables used in the stews were very seasonal. Halfway through the afternoon, in the break between classes, they could go to the hall for a small bowl of fruit or berries.
Dinner was sliced meat, pigeon or chicken or beef or pork, with mashed tubers and vegetables.
This had been another bone of contention. She could speak to animals, and had spent her life conversing with dogs and pigeons. For the first week, she had refused to touch the meat, but the other students had reported her to the teachers, and from then on they monitored what she ate. Her attempts to swap her meat with the other kids in return for their vegetables hadn¡¯t worked, the teachers vigilant.
They would make her sit at the table until she was done eating, and in her misery, hounded and battered, she had given up and given in. She still parcelled off her meat to the other kids when the teachers weren¡¯t looking, and they never complained about getting more to eat, but if they were caught then they would both get told off.
Eventually, she would discover that the oldest students had an allotment of late-night snacks left out for them in the kitchen, and she would raid that for extra sustenance, but for those first few months she was constantly hungry.
Behind the hall was a new wing, with plumbed toilets and showers. This was a recent construction, and the novelty hadn''t worn off yet with the staff, judging by how often they were expected to wash. She wondered if something had happened in the past, to make the teachers so adamant about it.
On the first floor were more classrooms. Twigseethe got the impression that it had originally been accommodation for staff, but now it was just classrooms and offices. One end held a big staff room, where the teachers congregated during the day when they weren¡¯t working, rather than climb the stairs to their own floor.
The second floor was the student dorms and common rooms and storage, the scale of it far too much for the small number of students.
The third and fourth floors were The Library. Somebody long dead had donated a fortune to have it built, starting it with their collection of books and art, and over the hundred years since, it had only grown larger.
Again she got the impression that the school used to be much bigger. There were less than a hundred students, and the library always seemed huge and empty, even with most of the population of the school studying or hanging out in there.
They were allowed to borrow books as they wanted with little oversight. Nobody could leave the school after all, and there were always more books to replace any that got lost.
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She suspected that old students donated back to it, years after they left, and due to this the shelves were stuffed to bursting, with more books in piles and stacks wherever there was a gap.
There was one rather stressed librarian who looked after the place. He seemed to have a system for where he wanted the books to go, and this enforced some sort of order and sectioning, but it wasn''t enough to compete with years of neglect and a hundred lazy students.
The children had been warned at the start of the year that anyone found damaging a book or school property would be expelled, and somehow it worked, the system more or less looking after itself.
During those first few months, she learned more from that library and reading during the night than from any of the classes she attended.
The library spanned two floors, with a chaotic and confusing layout, and above that was a small floor of staff accommodation and offices. She had explored there a little, but the teachers often stayed up late and their presence spooked her enough that she never gave it more than a cursory glance. The construction of the final floor was strangely modern in comparison to the rest of the building, and it spooked her.
She much preferred exploring the second floors and library, where the layout had been reconfigured so many times over the years that she was always hitting strange dead-end corridors and forgotten rooms.
She once found a room at the back of the library, hidden behind a bookcase, which had obviously been intended to be a reading room. At some point it had been stuffed full of books and abandoned, to be dealt with by future, and as yet non-existent, librarians.
She had had to do some interesting Changes to get herself up on top of the bookcase, and again to let her slip down the back, and as she did so, she was coming to understand cats.
The school had a lot of cats. They lazed around on the rooftops and hung around the Hall, stealing food off plates and lounging on students'' laps. They were mostly banished from the library due to a few issues with littering, but even there were a few who were trusted to hang about. Two big tomcats who guarded the entrance with huge yellow eyes, whose lazy looks belied their watchfulness.
She spent a lot of time talking to and watching the cats, learning how they moved and jumped. She had once seen one jump from one rooftop to another, many meters below, landing with a grace she thought impossible.
She had spoken to many of them. Some were friendly, showing off their springy legs and instructing her on how to fall to avoid injury, while others were aloof, pretending they hadn¡¯t heard her questions until she either met their petting quota or left, depending on the day. Together, they taught her how to move on silent feet, and how to feel the wind with her whiskers. How to smell out mice and how to judge distances.
There was a stable and paddock out behind the kitchens, where horses and ponies were stabled for trips to town, but she couldn¡¯t get much conversation out of them. They were too used to being ignored to imagine she could hear them, socialised and dim.
It made her a little sad, but it was something she had encountered before, and she didn¡¯t make another attempt to talk with them. It wouldn''t make either of them happy.
She started to speak less and less to what she came to think of as ¡°the humans¡± in the school. She did her school work and then kept to herself. As the weeks passed she had the strangest feeling, like her throat was closing up, and she wondered what would happen if she Changed herself away from speech. Would the magic let her do it?
She didn¡¯t try. She knew the story of The Fool, and down that road lead something that she so far wasn¡¯t sure she wanted to grasp.
What would she want to be, if she gave up on humanity? A bird was a tempting choice, flying through the air without being bothered by anyone, but she had known enough pigeons and sparrows to know that it wasn¡¯t as easy a life as it looked. She would have to join a flock, like the one around the fire-bird. Or maybe they would chase her off, or kill her¡
A cat would be a good choice. They led quiet, nocturnal lives, and she often saw them stalking the corridors at night, eyeing her with respect as she passed on silent feet, but she was almost too big for that.
She started to feel like a ghost in her own body. The strangeness of the form enforced on her only added to her dissociation.
She had stopped being able to wear the bird form during the day after a student had narced to the teachers. After that they had kept a closer eye on her, hanging out on the rooftops where she would normally practice. The summer was coming to a close, and it was too cold to go outside at night, so she just¡ Stopped trying. Choosing instead to spend her nights reading or exploring.
The magic lessons were interesting. She was learning to see Magic in others, and the lack of it coating her fellow students never failed to weird her out. It was like turning up to a masked ball, and discovering you were the only one who had bought a mask.
But then, later on, you discovered they did have masks, they just wore them on the inside, where nobody could see them. It was like being in a room full of ghosts.
She had tried to speak up at first in classes, to show them how to do it better, but had slowly given up, content to be silent and watch what the others in the class did, practising on her own at night what, if anything, she had learnt from the day''s lessons.
They were allowed to change their forms in class, but with heavy restrictions and only under supervision, and the thought of it hurt her soul so much that she simply didn''t, couldn''t. The rest of the class thought she was slow, a small talent but nothing more.
If only they knew. Most of them couldn¡¯t even store the magic within themselves, and it was frankly embarrassing to watch them struggle to enforce Changes that she could have done without even a thought.
-
Gradually, after six months at the school, the end of the first term came to an end, March heralding the start of spring. There had been a big holiday in the middle of December, but getting home would have been too difficult for most of the students, so they worked on through it. But by March the snows had cleared, and most students went home to their families for two months.
Not her though, she was a scholarship student, and the trip home would have taken months, to begin with, never-mind the return journey. Even riding on Dragon''s back, the journey had taken almost three weeks, over land it would be much longer, if possible at all.
Even most of the Teachers went home, or to visit families and friends. The school was left with a skeleton staff and around fifteen students, who were all moved into the same dorm, to make it easier to heat and feed them.
The release from schedule was a strange relief. They normally had classes seven days a week, unlike a regular school which would only be five. It was made up for by their days being shorter, classes over by 3 pm. The students were left to themselves for the rest of the day, and most people formed clubs and friendship groups, hanging around in the hall or the library, or on the rooftops in the summer. The older students had sitting rooms attached to their dorms and often congregated there to play board games or socialise. She had snuck a look at those rooms during her nighttime excursions but hadn¡¯t found much of interest.
Those who wished to study extra subjects also had the option to do so in the afternoons, but Twigseethe had never seen anything on the lists that caught her attention. She was passing her classes, but firmly in the middle, and the subjects got very little of her attention.
Not everyone was at the school because of magical talent, some were there for more academic reasons, their parents paying through the nose so they could say their child was at such a prestigious school. Apparently, the morning lessons were well regarded, but she didn''t see it.
She spent the first week or so of the holiday exploring the furthest reaches of the library, finding corridors and rooms blocked behind shelves or piles of books, where it seemed students hadn¡¯t stepped in years, never mind the librarian.
With less authoritative oversight, she was more free to shift, and she gave herself cat eyes, ears, a tail for balance, and, when she needed them, claws. She had experimented with a claw/hand hybrid, so she could retract the claws to still read and hold things without damaging them, but it was easier to just Change her hands on the fly.
She thought about fur too, with the school still being winter-cold, and unheated during the half-term, but that seemed like going a bit far. She did sometimes give herself a covering of downy feathers though, and they were warm and comforting.
Scrambling through the library, talking to the cats, reading, for a short time she was almost happy.
Out of all the books, she liked the histories the most, but there was a lot of fiction hidden in the library too. The school catered for children from ages eight to eighteen and had to entertain them somehow. The best books tended to float around the school, rarely returning to the library, passed from hand to hand until they fell apart from use. With no other students to compete with, she finally got to read some of those coveted gems.
-
The dorm she was in for the end of term held around nine kids, aged between eight and thirteen. She was almost 9 now, but her birthday wouldn''t be for another couple of months.
The older students were in a separate room, just a corridor away. During the day she would see them all together, clustering in the hall like kittens venturing out for the first time, suddenly realising how big and empty the world was around them, and she resented them for their innocence. They had tried to include her in their group, adversity and lack of other options overcoming whatever had prevented them from speaking to her before, but by now she was un-trusting and feral.
After the first week she stopped heading back to the dorm at night, instead choosing to stay in the nest she had built in her hidden room, all blankets and warmth, surrounded by her favourite books and lit by the light of the moon or a small candle-lantern.
It was there, in those quiet weeks alone and with no supervision, that she finally went back to work on the bird Image. While before she had kept herself mostly human, she let that go now. Humans had done nothing for her, and she had no desire to stay with them.
She had spoken to an owl on the rooftop one night, catching it coming home from its hunt of mice and rats in the city, and it had given her a stern lecture. Amongst other things, it told her that the density of bones was not just for lightness, but for structure, so she wouldn¡¯t die when she hit the ground, so she could heal faster. It was a better lecture than any she had received in school over the past six months, and it gave her a sudden insight into why the magic was resisting her so much.
She went back to the drawing board, scrapping her image entirely and rebuilding from scratch. Much longer wings, in place of her arms, a covering of tight feathers on her body, to allow the air to pass her by. A change of shape to her legs and the way she held her body. For her face she decided not to change, but instead fashioned herself a mask out of brass, using one of the school''s empty workshops. A long beak, covering the top of her face and her nose. It was an affectation, but she wasn¡¯t sure that she wanted to make the change to her face just yet.
The owl had explained to her that her eyes were weak and her ears were deficient, so she changed those too, revelling in the ability to see movement from so far away. Later on, he had directed her towards a family of hawks, and they had helped too, asking her to choose if she wanted to be a hunter during the day or during the night.
She had decided on during the night, and they could help her no more, but she had thanked them for their help by negotiating with the local cats to leave their nest alone, and she had enjoyed their hooked beaks and ability to turn on a dime.
All these things went into her Image, along with everything she¡¯d learnt from the cats and the fire-bird and Dragon.
Standing on the rooftop, a week before school was due to start, she really considered it. She knew the story of the Fool, and if she did this then there might be no way back. It was possible she would lose her humanity.
Did she care?
She was miserable, but she was young. A part of her knew that it wasn¡¯t forever, that one day she would be free of this school, but at the same time, she knew she couldn¡¯t live like this for another seven years. She would go insane. More insane. The quiet unsupervised month and a half of holiday had been a relief, but it had also pushed her even further away from humanity. She couldn¡¯t remember the last time she had spoken, and the thought of continuing like this scared her more than anything.
Mind made up, Twigseethe took a deep breath, and then launched herself off the edge of the building.
Her wide strong wings caught the air. She held herself for a moment, and then with a strong push, she rose easily up into the sky, catching the currents of air that swirled around the large building.
With a shake, she shed the mask, turning her beak into the wind. Somewhere below she could see people running and pointing, but that was beyond her now.
She was free.
Chapter 25 - Singingmind
Singingmind really thought she was gonna make it this time.
She had been chasing the kid they called Twigseethe around for almost two weeks now, and she¡¯d finally found the girl''s secret hideout. It was behind a bookcase in the third corridor on the second floor, between an empty classroom and what might have once been a science lab, and she was quite proud of herself for finally finding it.
The room looked like it¡¯d once been a storage cupboard, but the classroom door has been bricked up, and what might have once been a maintenance hatch was now the only way in.
It was small, but it had a full-sized window and a real high ceiling, which made it feel larger than it was.
Singingmind had snuck a look inside, and the blankets and pillows littering the floor made it warm and inviting, despite the small size.
Twigseethe was one of the first years, but the students Singingmind had spoken to hadn¡¯t wanted to talk about her, avoiding her questions. From what she could gather, the kid had gotten in on a magic scholarship, but none of the other students had seen her do any magic. She had done something in the first week that none of them would talk about, but that was more or less it.
Cowards, the lotta them. Singingmind was a fifth-year, and didn¡¯t think much of the sort of students the school was bringing in nowadays. When she had joined the rules had been different, but somebody had died or something, and now all the younger ones were subdued and quiet, forbidden to use the magic that had gotten them accepted into the school in the first place.
It was weird, and she hoped it was just a phase. She had liked the school, when she first came here, but now... Well, the new system certainly hadn¡¯t done much for student numbers, that¡¯s for sure! There seemed to be fewer and fewer new-bloods every year.
Anyway, she had been following the kid around for a month now, because while all the others were merely cowed and fearful, this one was obviously incredibly unhappy.
That, and the fact that the magic flowed around her like water, much stronger than on anyone else Singingmind had ever met, other than herself of course. Like the passing of a huge fish in a shallow stream, she left trails wherever she went.
On top of that, she was wearing a Changed form, which none of the kids below fourth year were allowed to do, and Singingmind wanted to ask her how she¡¯d managed to get permission. There must be quite a story there!
Unfortunately, there was only a week left before the new term started, and every attempt she¡¯d made so far to get the girl to talk to her had resulted in a startled, frightened look, a Change and a fleeing on padded feet. She wasn¡¯t sure the kid even knew she was doing it, and that was super worrying. She wasn''t even forming a proper image before she Changed, making it up on the fly instead.
She had found two or three of her hiding places so far, and some rooms in the library that she never would have known existed otherwise! Exciting. The one filled with shelves containing nothing but the same, fifty years out-of-date textbook was pretty cool, half of them were still in their paper wrappings. She wondered if the author had donated it or if the school had actually wasted money on them, but she hadn¡¯t bothered to look inside any of the books.
Who reads that shit! Not her, that¡¯s for sure.
She still hadn¡¯t planned out what she was gonna say when confronting the little wildcat, but she was confident that it would come to her in the moment. Her talent was with Change and Growth both, and she had decided that this gave her an imperative to help people improve themselves, or to help people out of a bad situation, and woof, was this kid in a bad situation. What was the school doing, to let her go like that¡ It never would have happened before.
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She didn¡¯t want to spook the poor kid though. Best go slow.
-
Singingmind lurked around the corner, behind a shelf full of boxes and boxes of ancient-looking pencils, all coated in dust.
The kid was there now, sneaking out of her little room on bare feet, furred like a cat to keep her steps silent. Her eyes were golden with narrow pupils, and she had cat ears for hearing and a tail for balance. She was thin, and the other students had told her that she didn¡¯t eat much. In one hand she carried a metal mask. Singingmind had seen it a couple of times before but had no idea what it meant.
She didn''t confront her here. She had tried to surprise her once in the back of the library and had almost gotten clawed for her effort, so she would wait for the right moment.
She just wanted to talk to her, that was all. The other kids in her dorm had said that she was a spoiled crybaby, crying at night and sulking during class. She had gotten into fights initially, but repeated detentions and punishments by the teachers meant that that had stopped relatively quickly.
Singingmind fidgeted with her sleeve, watching. She wished she had known about this earlier. How did it get this bad?
She snuck along the corridor after her target, staying well back to avoid her improved hearing. The girl moved the ears like a cat would, twitching and rotating them to pick up the sounds around her. Now that she squinted closer, she thought the kid might have whiskers too, sensing the air for movement.
She resisted the urge to sigh, it would only give her away.
She had been doing this for a couple of weeks, following, watching, wanting to get an idea of her routine. So far it had mostly been trips to the library to swipe and return books, and then a night of reading. Once she had gone up to the rooftops and made eye contact with an owl for a good two or three hours, Changing herself feathers or adjusting her eyes without any clear Images.
Singingmind wasn¡¯t sure what to make of that, some talent she had never heard of perhaps? Who knew, but she would find out, once she had the kid in a better place.
Oh, there was a change of routine tonight. Instead of stopping at the library, they continued upwards, onto the teacher''s floor, stopping at every corner. A little harrowing, they would be told off if they were caught, but the school was almost deserted at this time of year.
Eventually, they got through that floor, the only signs of life some quiet talking and the sounds of laughter from an office. They bypassed that by taking a different corridor, the girl had obviously been here before.
Finally, they came out onto what must''ve been the highest rooftop in the school, a neglected garden atop the teacher''s floor. The scrubby grass was littered with cigar ends and labels, nobody had cleaned up here for a while. Singingmind had never been here before, and looked around curiously, trying not to give herself away.
If Twigseethe knew she had a follower, then she hadn''t shown any signs of it yet. The garden was sparsely planted and bare at this time of the year. Nobody had been up here for a while either, by the looks of it. There was no railing around the edge of the roof, just a small battlement, lightly pitted from rain. This part of the school was pretty new, and it hadn¡¯t had time to break down in the weather yet.
She bit her lip, as Twigseethe walked towards the edge, leaning on the wall and staring out over the city and school terraces below. Was she going to jump?
Singingmind wanted to run to her, to pull her back, but if she was going to jump, she didn''t want to startle her into it!
But she had to make a choice, she could see an image building around the girl, but she was too far away to work out what it was, just a huge mass of magic. Feathers? It felt dense, but light, like feathers, like the release of pressure in the air after a storm.
Twigseethe stepped up onto the battlements, staring into the air ahead of her, focusing on the image more than her precarious position, and Singingmind started to run forward, making her choice.
She would grab Twigseethe and pull her back. If they both fell, then hopefully they would hit one of the terraces below, and not fall the full six stories to the ground. It was a risk she was willing to take.
As she took the first running step, the image suddenly solidified around the girl, at the same time as she seemed to fall slowly forward. No single step off the edge, only a slight lean taking her away.
¡°No!¡± Singingmind ran forward, almost tripping in her haste, but it was too late. Grabbing at the edge of the battlement she narrowly avoided falling off herself. Staring down into the air below.
Far below her, the great white bird caught the air, holding in place for a moment, before giving a steady pump of its wings, rising up into the sky.
¡°Come back!¡± she shouted, one hand on the wall, the other in the air, as if she could somehow reach her and drag her back.
But it was over. Singingmind watched as the mask fell from the bird''s face, a golden glimmer, tumbling and circling as it fell towards the earth below.
With that, she was gone.
Chapter 26 - Frogsplash and Lillypad.
Lillypad was five years old today, and it was her birthday!
Her mum had made her a cake! It was a sponge cake, with buttercream and jam in the middle! She had wrapped it carefully in paper and put it carefully into her little pram, next to Frogsplash, her doll. She shared a name with her doll, they were sisters.
She was going to go down the stream today and have a picnic, all by herself. She was five now, and that meant she was much more grown-up than yesterday!
In the pram next to Frogsplash were some sandwiches, some little teacups, and a glass bottle full of lemonade. The lemonade was a special birthday treat, and she would have to ask one of the older kids to open it for her, and to break the bottle so she could keep the marble.
Her mum said she wasn¡¯t supposed to go down the stream, but it was the best place to play! The frogs who lived in the shallow water fascinated her, with the way they hopped and jumped, only partly because she shared a name with them. If she didn¡¯t break the bottle, then she could catch tadpoles in it and take them home.
Her dad had made her a little pond in the yard behind their house, out of an old sink and some pondweed, and she dutifully tipped the tadpoles into it every time she came back. Her mum said she couldn¡¯t have them in the house!
It was going to be a good day.
Lillypad gently patted Frogsplash on the head, making sure she was safe and warm, all tucked into her blankets, and then they set off.
Frogsplash was her best doll, and had been a present for her last birthday! That was forever ago, and as far as she was concerned, they had been together forever. The doll had long straight hair and blue eyes that closed when you lay her down, as if she was sleeping. She had three whole outfits, and their mum had made a brand new one for her birthday this year. She was dressed in it now, a dress of blue silk, with little white bloomers underneath. She had her hair in ribbons, and she was quite the most beautiful thing in the world.
Lillypad was very fond of her.
It was a short walk across the meadow, to the stream on the edge of their village, and the air was hazy in the summer sun, the breeze blowing gently through her hair.
There was a line of trees between the meadow and the stream, but the other side of the brook had been recently cleared, making it a warm and bright place to play, out of the sight of the adults.
All the local kids went there to paddle and swim, especially in the summer, and they looked out for each other.
The grass in the meadow came up past her shoulders, but many others had carved out a path, and it wasn¡¯t too difficult to push her little pram through, even if she did have to lift it up occasionally to get it over bumps. (That was cheating, real prams were heavy and you couldn¡¯t lift them! But nobody would know except her.)
Frogsplash wouldn¡¯t tell, she was the best.
As she pushed the pram through the grass, she thought about her name. It was very long and her mum had made her memorise it, repeating it over and over until she could say it by heart. It was, she took a deep breath, ¡°I crouch to see the frog atop the Lilly-pad, but with a splash, they are gone.¡±
Her mum called her Lillypad, but she was allowed to change that if she wanted. Was expected to change it, now that she was five!
She was all grown up now, much older than she had been a year ago, and the thought made her a little sad. She wasn''t sure she wanted a new name.
Lift the pram over another hump in the grass, she took a moment to make sure that everything was in place, and that Frogsplash was still comfortable. Yep, all good!
She was almost to the stream now, the tree line at the edge of the flower-filled meadow approaching. She could hear laughter through the trees, and she stopped to consider if she wanted to go down there now, or if she wanted to sit in the tall grass and eat her sandwiches first.
She stood for a moment, squinting her eyes at the sky and thinking. She watched the birds overhead, circling and calling. Her dad said the birds were called swallows, and if she looked real hard, then she could see their forked tails.
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She looked down again, a butterfly had landed on the hood of her pram, and she hesitated, suddenly afraid to move.
She had caught a butterfly once, when she was very little, and held it in her hand. When she had gone to let it go it had been still, the beautiful wings crumpled into powder. She had never told anyone, washing her hands in the stream and silently heading home.
She had told Frogsplash though, and that night she had cried into the doll''s red flannel nightdress.
The butterfly on her pram took off again, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She would sit in the grass and eat her sandwiches and cake, and then the boys wouldn¡¯t steal it off her in return for the marble. A nod, and she looked around, at the deer trails through the tall grass.
A few minutes later she was hidden in her own private alcove. She had burrowed into the grass, pulling the pram behind her and flattened herself a little spot, a bit like a dog preparing for sleep. She had made Frogsplash a little chair out of folded grass and sat her in it like a queen. For herself, she had spread the blanket down and arranged the little cups on top of it. She didn¡¯t have anything to drink, she couldn¡¯t open the bottle on her own, but she could pretend.
The sandwiches were made of brown bread, thickly buttered and filled with watercress. Watercress was one of the main crops of the village, and the adults sold it in the nearby city. It didn¡¯t last very long, so they had to transport it in big baskets every morning, and they came back at night with them empty. She sometimes sat down near the big troughs where they grew it and watched the grownups work, but they always shooed her away before too long.
Happily, she bit into the sandwich. The cress was fresh and crunchy and a little spicy. She wished she had a drink to go with it, but soon! Around her the grass swayed in the wind, the insects buzzed and the butterflies flit about, playing with each other in the air.
It was warm, but she was cooled by the same breeze which rustled through the grass. This was her own private little space, and for the moment she owned it completely, a god in her own domain.
Humming happily to herself, she finished her sandwich and lay in the sun, enjoying the moment. But, time was wasting! She rolled to her feet and dusted her hands off on her skirt, packing everything back up into the little pram. She shook out the dried grass and seeds from the blanket and tucked it around Frogsplash, so she wouldn¡¯t get cold.
She saved the cake, for now, hiding it in the head of the pram, behind the little pillow that the doll rested against. She would eat it later with the lemonade, down by the stream.
The blanket was pretty, and she admired it as she tucked it into the edges of the pram. It was made of old clothes and bits of cloth, all sewn together into one big blanket, and her mum said it was what she had wrapped her in after she was born.
The colours were pretty, and she liked that. She had a deep, heartfelt respect for the history of it, but the colours were the best bit. Reds and blues and oranges and greens, colours she never saw on any other fabric.
Job done and everything settled into place, she fluffed up the grass where she had been sitting and set off back towards the stream.
The boys were there again, and they laughed as they saw her. They were half-dressed, shirtless and damp from paddling in the stream. It looked like they¡¯d been trying to build a dam out of stones, but it had overflowed the banks and they¡¯d kicked it apart, leaving only mud and scattered debris behind for their trouble.
Wordlessly she pulled the bottle out of the pram and handed it to the oldest boy. His name was Cinderash, and he was almost ten! She was a little shy of him, he was so tall! But he was always nice to her, and he was good at opening bottles.
¡°For me?¡± he questioned with a smile, she knew he was joking, but shook her head violently.
¡°No, open it, please!¡±
He laughed and carefully pressed his fingers into the top, the bottle opening with a hiss. He smiled and reached over her head with it, tucking it into the pram. ¡°Don¡¯t drop it now, bring it back and I¡¯ll get you the marble out.¡±
She nodded happily and, checking the bottle was secured in place by the blanket, trundled off to find a place to consume the rest of her birthday feast.
She didn¡¯t go back to the boys, instead choosing to fill the bottle with tadpoles. If they broken it, then the top would be sharp and she might cut herself, so she kept it intact for now. Maybe dad would get it out for her tonight when he came back from the City with the empty crates.
Carefully setting the bottle of tadpoles upright, she stopped to watch the construction work in the field across the brook. They were digging a new channel towards the city, so that they could get the cress and stuff there faster. The workers at the cress beds had bought a boat, and they¡¯d been talking about getting some new horses to pull it, though it wouldn¡¯t be done for ages yet.
The boat was very big! She had gone to see it with her dad a few weeks back, and they had lifted her up onto the deck, so she could see out. It was very smart! She looked forward to seeing it in the water, although she couldn''t imagine how it would look when it was all finished.
They all seemed pretty excited about it, and as she watched the workers dig, she wondered if the boys would paddle over there when it was done, or if it would be too deep for that. The diggers would reach the village soon, and they might even build a new inn!
Starting back towards home, the late afternoon sun was no longer as scorching as it had been earlier. Her food and drink were all gone and the pram was packed neatly away.
Lillypad looked down at Frogsplash in her blue silk dress, and the tadpoles circling in the bottom of the lemonade bottle.
It had been a good birthday.
Chapter 27 - Dreamspears and the Circus
The circus was in town. ''Dragonclaw¡¯s International Circus and Show'', the signs proclaimed. They had set up in the big park in the centre of the city, and Dreamspears had snuck in through the hedge. She didn¡¯t have the penny they required at the gate, but as long as she didn¡¯t call attention to herself nobody would notice she was there.
She came out of the hedge behind the carts. This was, she supposed, where the circus people lived. It was strange, seeing it from this angle, the part the public wasn¡¯t supposed to see, and it gave her a little thrill. Normal things, such as a pair of shoes on the doorstep of a caravan or the big yellow dog lounging in the shade of a large empty cage all seemed strange and new, in their proximity to the bright colours and wooden carts.
She walked through the area casually, hands in her pockets, feeling like an intruder in somebody else''s space. But, she had lived a lot of her life like that, and the feeling wasn''t new.
It was only a few minutes before she broke through the line of carts and found the circus proper. The air smelt of food and sweets and animals, and there were people everywhere. It was late afternoon, and the big show wouldn¡¯t start until later, but there were exhibits and games set up. Overwhelmed by choice, Dreamspears wandered towards a fenced area, where she could see a lot of small children congregating.
It was a petting zoo, and she stood for a while and watched a large herd of goats receiving pets from many small children. Once she bored of that, she checked out what else there was. She peered into a small pen filled with hay and antlered rabbits. She petted a goat which had wandered over, and eyed up an enclosed tent that promised baby dragons and snakes, for the price of a half-penny admittance.
She didn''t half the half-penny, so she skipped out on that one, making a note to come back later.
Some of the kids were pointing to the back of the pens, where a small black cat was lounging. It had large black wings folded by its sides, like a pigeon, and she wondered if they felt like feathers or fur.
She hovered around the area for a while, before heading off to check out the rest of the attractions.
Along the path to the big tent were juggling clowns and tumblers. She leant against the wall of a caravan for a moment and watched as one taught small children to spin a cartwheel. Maybe if they got good enough then they would eventually take the clown''s job, she mused. Her dad had taught her to do cartwheels, before he went away, but she wasn¡¯t sure if she could still do one, and didn¡¯t feel inclined to try here in public.
There was a booth selling hot sausages in bread, and another selling sticks of hard candy wrapped in paper. Her stomach growled, and she lowered her gaze slightly, keeping an eye out for dropped coins. It was amazing how much money there was in the gutters and verges if you just kept an eye out for it.
The circus was a city in itself, and although she had been to this field before, the circus made it into another world. Along another path she found games. For a half-penny, you could throw horseshoes or bowl down pegs. A small area had been set aside, where you could wrestle the ¡°strongarm¡±, whatever that was, but it was deserted right now, whoever operated it away on break. There were bowling games and throwing games and many other little attractions.
She wandered through the circus for the rest of the afternoon, until her stomach hurt and her feet ached. She had gotten lucky, and found a penny on the floor as the light started to dim and the lamps started to come out, and was still trying to decide if she wanted to spend it on food, or if she wanted to see the show.
She decided on food. The circus had finished setting up yesterday, and would be in town for another two weeks, so she had plenty of time to sneak back in if she wanted.
Sitting on a small wooden bench, eating the hot sausage wrapped in bread, she felt almost as if she was watching herself from the outside. She could almost see herself, thin, her hair was too long, two days late for a bath. The kid who had cut her hair last time had moved on, and she hadn''t the tools to do it herself. The clothes she was wearing were all a size too big and her trousers held up with a piece of rope she¡¯d scavenged from the docks. She had taken a needle and thread to the cuffs, but the work was already starting to come apart.
She was fourteen, and she had been living on the streets since she was eleven. She wasn¡¯t an orphan or anything tragic, things at home simply hadn¡¯t worked out. She didn¡¯t think back on it, what was past was past.
She licked the sausage grease off her fingers and took the time to watch what was going on around her. The show had started and most of the visitors had either gone inside or home, and around her the tents and booths were all closing for the night. Behind her there was a clatter, as the owner of the food cart folded down the shutters, locking them up tight. She looked back at them, motioning at the bench, but the stall owner shook their head. It was fine, they didn¡¯t need to put it away just yet and she wasn''t taking the space from anyone.
The circus people were walking around, picking up the litter and paper that had accrued over the day, making the most of the lull while the show was running. On the wind, she could smell somebody cooking dinner, and she wondered why they didn¡¯t try and sell food after the show. She supposed that it was a long day for them as it was, no need to make it longer. From the big tent came the sound of laughter and the barking of dogs, and she made a promise to herself that she would scrounge up the money for it, some other night.
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She waved to the stall owner and pushed herself up off the bench, back to wandering. She didn¡¯t have anywhere to go tonight. The doorway she had been using as a den for the past few weeks had been taken over by a couple of adults, and she wasn¡¯t in the mood to fight for it. It hadn¡¯t been much anyway, only a forgotten porch behind a shop.
The weather was good, so she would most likely settle down somewhere on the greenways, soft grass for a mattress.
For the moment though, she meandered around the closed attractions, pretending she had a home waiting for her. A warm fire, a family, candlelight and books. A mother who cared about her and a dad who wasn¡¯t the man her mother had shacked up with after her real dad had left.
She shook her head, as if to physically dislodge the thought. No good would come of dwelling on it.
She ended up back near the petting area, and stopped to stare up at one of the main attractions of the circus, a huge imposing animal the size of a house. She had seen it pull most of the caravan into town all on its own the previous day, and seeing it up close was quite something.
The thing was at least three times her height, taller than most buildings, and was covered in a thick shaggy fur. She knew from seeing it during the day that the fur was striped like a tabby cat, but in the evening light, the whole beast looked like nothing other than a huge shape against the horizon.
She wondered how, and what, they fed it. Some of the other kids had said the ringmaster had to feed it two children a trip. One to get it to enter the town and one to get it to leave, but she was somewhat sceptical of the veracity of their sources. Others had said it ate criminals, and one kid had insisted that they fed it whole trees, all in one piece.
It had a long trunk coming out of the front of its face, which had gotten giggles and nudges from the older kids. The thought of it made her a little wary, even more so than the tusks or the curved horns atop its head, like the biggest goat she had ever seen.
It seemed to be asleep right now though, unmoving apart from a slight rise and fall of its massive sides, but she made sure to keep well back either way.
Shoving her hands back in her pockets and shivering in the evening chill, she prepared herself to leave. The show would be kicking out soon, and she¡¯d rather be out of here before the influx of people hit. Best to find a spot to sleep, before all the good ones were taken.
As she walked towards the official exit, she kept an eye on her surroundings, giving a start as she suddenly saw somebody she knew. Behind one of the caravans were a group of teenagers, around her own age, and she recognised one of them. His name was Berrygreen, and he had disappeared almost a year earlier.
Huh, guess she knew where he¡¯d gone, now. People disappeared all the time, so she hadn''t thought much of it, but she was glad he wasn¡¯t dead.
She hesitated for a moment, and then headed over to the group. Those who don''t ask, don''t get!
The group looked up curiously as she approached. They were sitting around a small cook-fire, a pot of vegetable stew between them. She eyed Berrygreen, wondering what to say and wishing she''d thought this out before marching over.
¡°Homeless?¡± one of the kids asked, and she moved her gaze. They were probably a year older than her. It was hard to see features in the firelight, but their hair was cropped short and their clothes seemed clean.
She nodded, ¡°yeah.¡± and they patted the ground on their left.
She paused for a moment, and then sat. The grass was cool and slightly damp in the evening air, but the fire was warm against her face and she was glad to be off her feet.
¡°Orphan?¡± another asked, and she shook her head. ¡°Nah, runaway.¡±
¡°Ah. Can¡¯t blame you really.¡± She wasn''t sure if it was the same person as had spoken before or a different one, but the accent of their words told her they were a he.
She shrugged in response, it wasn¡¯t something she was going to go into. A moment later somebody handed her a bowl of stew, and the conversation lapsed as everyone ate.
It wasn¡¯t the best thing she¡¯d ever eaten, but it was far from the worst, and there was enough to go around.
Food eaten, she glanced at Berrygreen, thinking through what she should say to him. Thankfully he spoke first, ¡°you were one of Lizardlegs¡¯ girls, right?¡±
She nodded, thankful that it wasn''t her that had to open the conversation, ¡°surprised you remember, Berrygreen right?" he nodded, "you¡¯ve been gone a while.¡±
He nodded again, and beside him, she saw the other two figures relax slightly.
¡°Lizardlegs was a good sort. How¡¯s she doing?¡± Berrygreen said.
"Ah," Dreamspears grimaced, ¡°Got herself partnered last uh, spring, she doesn¡¯t help us no more.¡±
He copied her expression, and it looked like a festival mask, all the lines of his face outlined and exaggerated in the firelight. ¡°Ah.¡±
She nodded, "Ah indeed." and for a while there was silence.
He seemed lost in thought, staring into the fire. She wondered if they''d been close.
He finally looked up, ¡°you uh, found somewhere else to stay?¡±
She shook her head, ¡°Nah, but I get by, gonna try down Anchor street tonight, there¡¯s normally nobody about there.¡±
Berrygreen glanced between his companions, and they shrugged. Taking this as an ok, he spoke.
"There''s always room here for one more¡± he started confident, and then immediately second-guessed himself, ¡°if you wanna, of course. The work isn¡¯t so bad, and we need somebody to look after the goats. Place doesn''t pay much, but there¡¯s food and shelter and it¡¯s better than the streets, I guess.¡± He trailed off, and she thought she could see a blush on his cheeks, but it may have just been the heat of the fire.
She looked at the other two, ¡°You guys don¡¯t mind?¡±
¡°Nah,¡± Kid number one held out their hand, bumping his fist against hers, and she recognised the voice from earlier. ¡°Welcome to the club. I¡¯m Brightfeather.¡± She smiled at him, and the other figure held out their hand, doing the same thing with their fist, but having to lean over to reach her.
¡°I¡¯m Washesblack.¡± She peered into the pot while she was leaning, and then ladled out the last of the soup into Dreamspears'' bowl. ¡°We were all the same here, my ma died, and Brightfeather took me in.¡±
Brightfeather nodded, ¡°I got lost one day and never went home, ended up here.¡± He grinned, and she laughed, not many people wanted to talk about why they ended up on the streets, and she respected that.
That night she slept next to Berrygreen, underneath a caravan that smelled of paint and varnish and fresh new wood.
Chapter 28 - Dreamspears 2
The next morning she expected to be taken to see the owner, to be given an official job and permission to stay, but instead, Brightfeather lead her straight to the goats. The circus wasn¡¯t open until the evening, but, he explained, the animals bought in a lot of coin. The goats were owned by the circus and used to help clear the roads as they moved. Between stops, they were set up in the petting area, and kids could pay a penny for a little bag of feed for them. They more than paid for themselves.
The goats required checking each morning for burrs or health problems, and then splitting into groups. The check also served a dual purpose, it kept them healthy, and it also kept them tame enough to handle.
Not all the goats were suitable for the petting area, and she had to separate those out. The herd was used to it so it wasn¡¯t too bad, but if the wrong one got through and a child got bitten, she would be out on her ear.
She would spend the rest of the morning taking coins and handing out little bags of goat-nuts and handfuls of hay in return.
In the afternoons Brightfeather would take over and she was expected to help pick up litter, assist the stall owners, and generally make herself useful.
-
That first afternoon, after she had handed off the coin box to Brightfeather, she found herself helping out an old woman named Butterflies. It was an odd name, and she needed help re-waxing the roof of her wagon, too old to climb up on her own.
The caravans were all painted in different colours, and from above she could see how the circus was laid out, a city in miniature. The caravans were all made of wood, which seemed strange to her sensibilities, and they were all heavily painted and varnished in bright colours.
The size and shapes of them were mostly the same, the roofs gently curved, with a wide overhang on each side. Little steps down at the back and small windows to let in light.
She didn¡¯t get to see inside, but the old woman had lived her whole life in there, she told Dreamspears. She had raised three children in that caravan, and had been travelling with the circus her whole life.
Dreamspears made a mental note to come back sometime later and have dinner with the woman, but not tonight.
The circus was a whole ecosystem, and she came to know it much better over the next few days, hanging out with the clowns and the acrobats, those who performed in the ring and those who maintained it.
The only class of circus people that she didn''t meet were the scouts, already gone. They were always one city ahead, putting up posters and arranging essential supplies. They organised all the different things that the circus needed to function. Food for the animals, food for the people, food for the vendors.
She learnt this from Washesblack, who was being coached into becoming a scout at some point. The logistics behind it all were surprisingly complicated, and Dreamspears was glad she only had to contend with goats.
The goats were owned by the circus, but most of the animals were owned by the people who looked after them. The lizards (which, to her supreme disappointment, were not actually baby dragons) and snakes were owned by a man named Rushred, who would let nobody else touch or interact with them.
The winged cat had turned up one day, and nobody was sure where it had come from, but a small child named Snowblossom fed and brushed it daily. You couldn¡¯t own a cat, but everyone agreed that she was its official caretaker.
The giant beast which pulled the biggest wagons was a draw in its own right, and she learnt it was called a Lumpox. The Lumpox was owned by the circus, but the same woman had been looking after it for almost thirty years. It had been taken from a place far, far away when it was only a babe, and they had never found another.
Nobody was sure how long its lifespan was, or if there were others of its kind, but the circus had a bounty out on any others, and posted it on the noticeboard of every inn and pub they passed through.
She wondered if it was lonely, but she wasn¡¯t going to go near anything which could crush her in a single misplaced step.
-
After a few days, somebody had given her a brass token, which she could use to get in and out of the front gate without having to pay. It had a hole bored through it, and she hung it on a string around her neck, hidden under her shirt. It made her skin a little green, but she didn¡¯t mind.
One of the other kids offered to escort her back to wherever she had been living and pick up her belongings, but she had nowhere to go and nothing to get.
Everything she owned was on her back, and anything she''d left behind would have been gone by the morning.
They decided to drag her into town anyway. She wasn¡¯t yet being paid for looking after the goats, she wouldn''t be paid until she had proven that she was going to stick around, but the other kids had gathered some money together to get her some new clothes.
She picked herself up a worn backpack and some better fitting clothing from a store off Brandle Street. The place was run by the Tailors Guild and catered to mending and reselling old clothing to the poor.
She hadn¡¯t lived in this city all her life, having moved here when she was eleven, escaping the bad situation at home, but she had grown up here. The thought of leaving gave her a strange feeling in her stomach, but it wasn''t a bad one, and walking around the familiar store was strange, the realisation that she would never see it again.
-
The circus was only in town for two weeks, and the day before they left was a whirlwind of packing. They were closed to the public, and at 5 am somebody prodded her awake, leaving her blinking in the dim pre-dawn light. She started by herding together her goats. Checking them over and making sure they were fed, glaring jealously at another kid who tried to help. Once she had them ready for the move, in the way Brightfeather had explained to her the day before, she set off to see who else needed help.
There was a dedicated team taking apart the big top. Some people checking and folding the waxed canvas, others stacking the light wooden benches together on the back of their dedicated cart. They folded down in some way she didn¡¯t care to investigate, but she did stand and watch for a moment, until somebody shouted at her to go find something better to do.
She helped an old man check that all his chickens were locked in their little house. She helped a food vendor go through their small kitchen, locking up plates and cutlery in custom made cupboards and crates.
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After that, she helped one of the clowns shoo a group of teenagers away. They had snuck in through a gap in the hedge and were standing around gawking and getting in the way. They were her age, and she had seen them around the city on occasion. They liked to hang around the rougher parts of town and pretend they were hard, but they were well fed, and she knew they all went back to their homes at night.
By noon everything was packed and they were ready to get moving. It was amazingly fast, long practice and time pressure making the process efficient. Her goats were tethered to the back of a cart, near the end of the procession, and the animals were unbothered, used to the routine.
She clambered up onto the front of a cart with the old woman Butterflies, and they ate lunch together. The woman had spent the morning making stew and sandwiches from the leftover supplies they had no way of reasonably preserving. They were warm and greasy, and one of the best things she¡¯d eaten in years.
After that, she said her goodbyes and trotted to the back of the line, where she would spend the next week. The Lumpox had already set off, and everyone else was following, but it would be late afternoon before her herd started moving. They were the last thing in the queue, and once they were out of the city she was to recruit Brightfeather¡¯s help and let them graze on the sides of the road. She learnt that the government paid the circus a small stipend for this, yet another way the goats paid for themselves.
Behind her, there would be only a few people. Those who didn¡¯t live on-site, instead preferring to spend their time in hotels or inns, and a small crew of Growers who would repair any damage they had done to the road. The Lumpox had big feet, and the iron-bound wheels churned up the ground as they went.
She had seen the procession coming into town two weeks before, the Lumpox followed by the massive carts containing the tents and benches. There had been jugglers and clowns and acrobats. There had been somebody tossing sweets into the crowd, and others giving out free tickets to drum up hype. She was a little sad she would miss that, arriving hours later, but she was glad of the peace.
She wasn¡¯t unsociable, being a part of everything was a lot of fun, but going from a life on the streets, where she had to be wary of every interaction, to one where she was part of a huge¡ Family? Was that the right word? It was all a little overwhelming.
She was determined to stick with it though. She didn¡¯t want to go back to cold doorways and other people''s boots in her ribs. She hadn¡¯t seen much of Berrygreen since that first night, but he smiled at her when he saw her around, and it made her happy.
Plus, she couldn''t abandon her goats now! If they had names, then nobody knew them. There were almost twenty of them, and they had been looked after by a long procession of different teenagers. As long as they got fed and they were in good health, that was all anyone cared about.
Brightfeather had been stuck with the job when their previous caretaker had disappeared, roughly two months ago. They weren''t dead, the other kids had followed up on it, they¡¯d simply decided to leave. Rumour was he¡¯d lost his heart to a handsome young man, and everyone wished him well. If she stuck around for longer than they had then she would get paid, but until then, the others looked after her.
That night they didn¡¯t stop, walking on through the night. Sometime around midnight Washesblack took over goat duty, and in return she took over for Butterflies, letting the old woman get some sleep.
Early next morning they reached their first stop, and everyone got a few hours of rest, including the poor goats. In the early afternoon ponies and horses were swapped out, and the whole thing started all over again.
It took them almost a week to reach the next city, and the journey through the thick jungle was strange to her. There was a rainstorm on the third day, where everyone hunkered down under the cart overhangs and she mostly left the goats to fend for themselves. Once they reached the city everyone would re-varnish and check the wood of the carts, but they were well made and one rainstorm wouldn''t destroy them.
-
Arriving in the new city was fun. It was a place she had never been before, and was named Popshire. Cities always had such weird names. It was smaller than their previous stop, but still impressive to her.
Pophire didn¡¯t have what was referred to as a Dragon Park, so the circus set up in some grassy fields on the outskirts of town. The streets were too narrow for them to do a procession with the Lumpox, but the acrobats and clowns had gone out, dancing and handing out sweets.
Her goats had weathered the walk well. They were tired and glad of the rest, but mostly in good health. They had grazed well on the way, and it didn¡¯t take her long to set up their pen and shelter.
-
It was late afternoon by the time she was done, and she and Brightfeather collected the child Snowblossom, and together they set out to explore the city. None of them had any money to spend, but she had long ago gotten used to that, and they could always window-shop.
The city was strange. She was used to the greenways of her home, long terraces of connected houses, their roofs forming streets that anyone was welcome to use. They functioned as a second and third set of streets, and she had never considered a city without them. Here, just a week distant, people were confined to the ground along with the horses and traffic. Each roof was fenced off from those around it, and only accessible from within the houses. It was quite a culture shock, and to her, it gave the city an oppressive and claustrophobic feeling.
Brightfeather agreed with her, having grown up somewhere similar. ¡°I guess only doorways?¡± was his response to Dreamspears¡¯ musing on where the homeless slept, ¡°weird. Wouldn¡¯t like to live here.¡±
Dreamspears nodded in agreement. The few homeless she¡¯d seen had looked harried and worn, and she wondered what other things this city had going on.
Snowblossom was oblivious to all this. She was seven years old, and completely taken in by the shops and stalls. She had been born in the caravan she called home and had never lived any other way, so every trip to the city was one of wonder.
Together they steered her around the fanciest shopping district, peering into glass windows and laughing and lifting her up so she could see better, despite her protests.
-
If you¡¯re gonna window-shop, you may as well do it in style! They admired rings set with precious gems and alchemical mixtures which promised all sorts of varying effects, some of which couldn¡¯t be real surely. They passed shops selling perfumes and soaps, the smell of which seemed to linger on them just from passing.
They stopped at one open-fronted shop to watch a Changer at work, the mage adding delicate patterns to the previously bare arm. The three of them cooed and admired as the bright lines and colours seemed to be drawn out of the skin itself, until the artist stopped and shouted at them to move on.
They ran off giggling, and discussing what they would have if they could afford that sort of work. Snowblossom wanted patterns shaped like flowers, all up both arms. Brightfeather wanted intricate geometric designs. Dreamspears suggested the designs should be shaped like angular feathers, to match his name, but the older boy wasn¡¯t into it.
For herself, she decided on leaves, coating her skin like camouflage. With that, she could hide anywhere overnight and nobody would see her!
Giggling and laughing, they made their way back to the circus. Snowblossom¡¯s mother had given her a penny, so they bought a bag of sweets and ate them together on the way back.
-
The Lumpox had arrived the night before, and the workers had spent most of the morning setting up the big tent and arranging the carts and wagons. It was even faster to get everything set up than it was to square it all away, and Dreamspears was impressed by how quickly it all came together. They would take tomorrow for break and rehearsals, and then the day after the circus would open to the public again.
Evening coming on, she went back to check on her goats.
One of them was a little lame on a back leg, and she and Brightfeather mooched around the circus until they found somebody who could help. One of the older clowns was a man named Salamandershield, and he offered to show them what to do. It was a proper mouthful of a name, and he was one of the only people she¡¯d ever met who used a short-name for their short-name. Everyone called him Sal or Shield, and with practised motions, he showed the two of them how to clean the goat''s feet. She had a large stone wedged between her toes, and he showed them how to pry it out without hurting her, the goat bleating in indignation the whole time.
After that, he went back to practising his routine and the two of them went over the rest of the herd with soapy water and a brush, but found no other issues.
With all the goats clean and brushed, Dreamspears lay back on the warm grass with her arms behind her head, watching the sunset.
Life was pretty good. She could get used to this.
Chapter 29 - Dreamspears 3 (Rosesweet)
She had been with the circus for almost a month, and she was helping an acrobat pack up their caravan in preparation for the next move, when the owner finally called her in.
She had learnt from Washesblack that his real name was Rosesweet, and that Dragonclaw had been the name of the original circus owner, long gone to earth, the name of the circus his memorial.
She had seen him around, in his bright coat and shiny black hat, and had steadfastly avoided him. She didn¡¯t want to be chased out of the first place she had been able to call home in almost four years.
But, she had been summoned, so it was time to face the music. Heart in her throat, Dreamspears knocked on the door of his caravan, her metaphorical hat in her hands and her head down.
¡°Come in.¡± The voice was sharp and no-nonsense, and she opened the door and shuffled in, trying to make herself look small. The caravan wasn¡¯t any bigger than anybody else''s, there was a limit to what horses could move, but it was much more richly decorated than any of the others she had been inside, which weren¡¯t many.
She didn¡¯t see much of it though, with her eyes on her feet.
Across the end of the caravan, Rosesweet was standing, his hands behind his back, like a headteacher.
¡°Dreamspears, right?¡± She nodded, eyes still on her feet.
¡°Oh for the love of¡¡± He walked over to her, and she flinched backwards, a part of her mind noting where the door was, and that she¡¯d closed it behind herself. Stupid.
He stopped, taking a step back, and she risked a glance at his face. He was frowning. That wasn''t good!
¡°Look at me, kid.¡± She glanced up at him for a moment, before putting her head back down. Her shoes were ragged, she noted, she ought to replace them. They hadn¡¯t been in good shape even before she walked between cities.
He sighed, and she heard a creak as he sat down on the edge of his bed, and she risked another glance. He had his hands on his knees and was still frowning at her, but he seemed tired and sad, rather than angry. She didn¡¯t know what to make of that, and wasn''t sure she wanted to find out. It had been a while since she''d last been called before authority, but it had never gone well for her.
Rosesweet cleared his throat, ¡°Sal tells me you¡¯ve been taking good care of the goats, for almost a month now?¡±
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She nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat. She wrung her hands together, twisting her fingers into knots and wishing she had an actual hat she could hold to distract herself.
The circus owner was silent for a moment, then he slowly reached across the caravan, picking up an envelope off the table. It was made of sturdy brown paper, and he held it out to her. The caravan was small, and he leant towards her without getting up. After a moment''s hesitation, she reached out a hand, taking it gingerly.
¡°That''s your pay for the month," he retracted his empty hand, "plus an extra week to get you on schedule. You can pick it up from me around the end of each month, before we move out, ok?¡±
She nodded again, clutching the envelope to her chest. It was bulky in her hands, and she could feel coins inside. He sat, his body very still and his expression unreadable.
His voice was quiet as he spoke, ¡°you¡¯re friends with Brightfeather and Berrygreen, right?¡±
A nod. ¡°Yessir.¡±
¡°If you¡¯d rather, I can give it to one of them to pass on to you, if you¡¯d like?¡±
¡°Brightfeather, please¡± she struggled to get the words out. He wasn¡¯t mad at her, he wasn¡¯t even threatening, everyone in the circus said he was very nice, why did she want to run so much?
He sighed. ¡°That seems more convenient, then. Welcome to the family, kid.¡±
He gestured towards the door, and she fled, shoving the envelope up her shirt as she left.
She didn''t pause as she left the caravan, heading back towards the goat pen at a trot, but she did let out the breath it felt like she¡¯d been holding the whole time she was in there, every muscle in her torso aching as if she¡¯d run a marathon. In the back of the pen, she made sure the envelope was carefully hidden beneath her shirt, so that nobody would see it and take it away from her.
She opened it later, hiding under somebody or other''s home. The trailer above her was painted a bright red and yellow, and from this angle, she could see that the under-floor needed some maintenance. She¡¯d let somebody know later.
The envelope contained almost nineteen shillings, in varying coinage. The largest amount of money she had ever held. All this just for looking after some goats for a month? On the streets, she had been lucky if she could scrounge a couple of pennies a day.
She would have to chip in money now for food, and pay the others back for what she had borrowed over the past month, but¡
She was definitely gonna buy herself some better fitting clothing, and some new shoes!
-
That evening she paid the others back. It took over half the money, but she¡¯d been poor for too long not to take note when somebody lent her money. She discovered that the other three teenagers had a shared pot into which they put cash for food. As she contributed a share to that, she was grateful that they hadn¡¯t asked anything of her before now.
She hid the rest of the coinage in the bottom of her backpack. She would spend it tomorrow. She had learnt what happened to those who tried to save, and she didn¡¯t want to lose it to somebody stronger and older. Washesblack, Berrygreen and Brightfeather were good people, but they weren¡¯t the only ones in the camp.
That night she slept next to Berrygreen, under a red and yellow caravan, her head resting on her backpack, and she was happy.
Chapter 29.1 - Dreamspears and the Goat
She celebrated her fifteenth birthday in the back of the goat pen, surrounded by friends. Washesblack had procured a cake, and Berrygreen and Brightfeather had each bought small gifts.
From Berrygreen, a long red feather. He swore it had fallen from a phoenix that had passed overhead once. From Brightfeather she received a leather belt with a bright brass buckle, to hold her trousers up.
She laughed as she fastened it around her waist. She was still skinny, and the others had insisted that she buy clothes slightly too big, so that she could grow into them, which meant that even new clothes hadn¡¯t stopped her trousers from falling down.
The cake from Washesblack was heavy and sweet, and she savoured every bite. When she thought back to a year ago, it all seemed so far away. She had celebrated her birthday huddled in a shop doorway, watching the sheets of late-spring rain come down. She hadn¡¯t managed to find any money that day, and had ended it alone and hungry.
Now here she was, surrounded by friends and goats, with money in her pockets and cake in her hands. It was strange how life ended up.
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For the first time in a long, long time, she wondered how her mum was doing. She would never find out, she didn¡¯t intend to go back, but she did wonder¡
There was a shout from the other side of the pen, and she finished cramming the rest of the cake into her mouth, wiping her hands on her trousers and clambering to her feet. It was a school day so the morning had been quiet, but the afternoon rush was about to start, and somebody had to sell goat feed!
-
¡°Give it back, it¡¯s mine!¡± the child tried to pull their coat out of the goat''s mouth, and Dreamspears wondered where it had all gone wrong. She named this particular goat ¡®Brown¡¯, and they weren''t normally trouble, but today she had tried to bite a toddler, to chew off one of the other goat''s tails and to run off with three different coats. She had actually taken a solid bite out of one child''s bright red coat, and was now trying for score number two, red threads still hanging from the corners of her mouth.
Dreamspears pushed her thumbs into the goat''s jaw and tried to pry the teeth apart, only slightly worried about the possibility of lost fingers in the process.
¡°It¡¯s miine¡± the kid whined, tugging harder at their coat, and she resisted the urge to burst out laughing. She would make sure that all of the food anybody bought today went to Brown. The poor thing was obviously hungry.
There were four goats who were deemed to be ¡°Not Child-Friendly¡±, and that night Brown was added to their pack, stuffed full of food and still chewing on a scrap of stolen fabric.
Chapter 29.2 - Dreamspears and Brightfeather
Two months after her arrival at the circus, Brightfeather came to her, as she was bringing the goats in for the evening.
¡°I¡¯m gonna leave, tomorrow. I¡¯ve always told the old man.¡±
Dreamspears blinked and turned from where she''d been filling the hay net, wondering if she¡¯d heard wrong. Leaving?
¡°Leaving?¡± she asked, confused. By ¡®the old man¡¯, he meant Rosesweet, the circus owner.
Brightfeather nodded. His face was sad, but determined. ¡°Woman in the village says she can get me a job, and I¡¯m gonna go for it.¡±
Dreamspears didn¡¯t know what to say. She had known Brightfeather wasn¡¯t going to stick around forever, and he was old enough to work legally now, but already?
¡°A good job?¡± she asked, hating how her voice broke on the last word.
He nodded. ¡°Pays double what I¡¯m gettin¡¯ here doing odd-jobs, and it¡¯ll be less work.¡± He at least had the decency to look embarrassed about it, ¡°Sorry to leave you in the lurch like this¡ You can always ask-¡±
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¡°No, no it¡¯s ok¡± Dreamspears said, cutting him off. ¡°I can look after the goats on my own, that¡¯s not an issue. It¡¯s just-¡± She slowed, unsure how to word it. ¡°I haven¡¯t had many friends, you know.¡±
Brightfeather hesitated, and walked towards her. He spread out his arms and pulled Dreamspears into a hug. She resisted the urge to draw back, and instead rested her face in his shoulder, trying not to cry.
¡°I¡¯ll miss you.¡± It was muffled, but he heard it and she felt him nod.
¡°Me too,¡± he said, so quietly that she almost didn¡¯t hear it. Then louder, ¡°look after Washesblack for me, ok?¡±
She nodded into his shoulder as she hugged him, tears making wetting the fabric of his shirt. ¡°She¡¯ll be fine¡± she mumbled, ¡°She¡¯s gonna be a scout anyway.¡±
Brightfeather laughed, his voice breaking slightly, and pushed her back. His eyes were bright with tears, and she reached up and rubbed his face.
¡°None of that,¡± she sniffled, ¡°you¡¯re gonna get a good job, and if it doesn¡¯t work out, the circus¡¯ll be back round in a year anyway!¡±
He nodded, and leant forward, knocking his forehead into hers. ¡°You take care of yourself, you hear?¡±
She closed her eyes, unable to look at him anymore, ¡°You too man.¡±
When she opened them again he was gone.
-
The meal that night felt very empty, with only her, Berrygreen and Washesblack. Brightfeather had said his goodbyes to them separately, taken his knapsack and left during the afternoon. She hadn¡¯t even thought to ask where he was going to live so she could send letters, and the other two didn¡¯t know either.
The next morning the goats were antsy and restless, searching for somebody that wasn¡¯t her, but over time they got used to it.
Chapter 29.3 Dreamspears and The Dragon
One morning, around a month after Brightfeather had left, Dreamspears was awoken by loud bellowing from the Lumpox, over on the other side of the encampment. She rolled out from her sleeping place, realising even as she got up that there was nothing she could do to help.
They all pretended they could control the Lumpox, but in reality, it stayed with them out of goodwill. If something the size of a ship and as strong as a mountain decides it¡¯s going to leave, there¡¯s not much you can do other than get out of the way.
She had heard rumours that they had tried tying or chaining it up when it was younger, but that hadn¡¯t gone well and they had never tried again.
The woman who looked after the Lumpox had never partnered up or had children, and she loved the animal like a child. It loved her back in return, curling its trunk around her and taking food gently from her hands.
Dreamspears had mostly gotten over her fear of it over the past couple of months but still tried not to get too close. Better not to take chances.
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She looked around, and then up, as a shadow passed overhead. Ah, the dragon, flying low in preparation for a landing in the next city over. The packs against its sides bulged with mail, silver scales glinting in the morning sun.
Was it shinier than usual, or was it just her memory playing tricks on her?
She¡¯d seen it once or twice whilst living in the city but had never dared go near. The other kids said it looked friendly, but that it¡¯d eaten a child once. She wasn¡¯t sure she believed that, but they¡¯d insisted it was true and although she would be a rather meagre snack, she still didn¡¯t want to risk it.
Now that she was older, she wondered if it was merely something the adults said to keep the kids out of the way or if it was a real thing that¡¯d happened.
She sighed, folding up her blanket and stuffing it into her backpack, slipping it over her shoulder. It was getting a bit too heavy to carry around, but she would keep it where she could see it.
Over on the other side of the field, the Lumpox bellowed again, and now that she was awake, she realised it didn¡¯t seem distressed.
Overhead the dragon made a return bellow of its own, circled once, and then continued onwards.
She shook her head, wondering what that was about, and headed towards her goat pen. She was up now, so she may as well get to work.
Chapter 29.4 - Dreamspears Loses a Goat
That morning she split the herd, as she always did. Five goats going into the corral at the back of the field, and fourteen going into the pen at the front, ready for a day of fuss and food.
Except, and she counted twice, whilst she still had the fourteen destined for the petting area, she only had four troublemakers.
A frown and a quick headcount showed that, yes, it was exactly as she had suspected. Dot, Spot, Leaf and Twig were all still there, but Brown was missing. Again.
With a long-suffering sigh, Dreamspears nudged her good girls into their pen, and went to look for her lost goat.
-
Brown wasn¡¯t in the field with the horses. She wasn¡¯t hiding in the area where the food was stored, gorging herself into immobility. She wasn¡¯t on the back of the Lumpox, which was where she¡¯d been the last time she¡¯d gone missing. She wasn¡¯t under any of the caravans or trying to eat the bowling pins, again.
Dreamspears searched the hedges around the edge of the field, but there were no new holes there, and after almost half an hour of searching, she enlisted the help of two other kids. Washesblack, who was free that morning, and a new kid in camp, ¡®Lampfire¡¯.
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Lampfire had turned up a week or so back, and had shown an instant talent with the animals. He was only twelve, but she was already impressed by him.
The fancier horses they used in the parades and shows were owned by the circus or the acrobats who rode them in the ring, but there were any number of other horses and ponies that were more or less owned by the collective, and they seemed to have fallen in love at first sight with Lampfire. He had only been here a week, and it was funny to see them already running up to him as he approached their field, nuzzling his hands for apples and fuss.
She was glad to see somebody taking care of them, she thought, as she peered under another wagon. The poor things always looked ragged and grubby in comparison to the show-horses. She hoped he would stick around.
-
The three of them spent almost an hour searching before they finally found their missing goat. Washesblack had been on the verge of heading into the city and checking the butchers, Lampfire muttering about seeing if she''d hidden with the horses.
They ended up finding her in the back of Snowblossom¡¯s caravan, being fed small handfuls of grass and sips of tea from a tiny cup. Her mother had tracked them down first, insisting that they "get that bloody thing out of my house!"
It wasn¡¯t the strangest situation they¡¯d found Brown in, but it was up there. She bleated a heartfelt goodbye as the three of them dragged her away.
Dreamspears was just surprised she hadn¡¯t eaten the tablecloth. If this carried on, maybe they could get her a job with the clowns!
Chapter 30 - Lampfire
Lampfire brushed out the ponies mane, reassuring all of the others nuzzling his hands and shoulders that it would be their turn soon.
These were the workhorses of the circus, the jobbers who pulled the wagons and caravans. The animals who took people into town and back. The ones who pulled the residential caravans between cities. The ones who were hired out when a nearby field needed ploughing or a stump pulling up.
The herd ranged in size from almost comically small ponies to full-size draft horses, bigger than any he''d ever met before. There were more of them than he had had time to count, but they were all eager to tell him about themselves.
It was odd, he thought, as he untangled a particularly difficult knot from the ponies mane. He had never before met horses who could speak, but the circus animals were much more of a herd and much wilder than any others he''d encountered. Horses in the streets tended to be focused on their work, those he¡¯d met in stables were sleepy and obtuse.
These guys rarely went indoors and weren¡¯t often apart. They all had their own little friendship groups and intricacies, and he was enjoying learning about them all.
The one he was combing at the moment called herself¡ He took a moment to translate it in his mind. She called herself something along the lines of ¡®All the Colours of Grass¡¯. It wasn¡¯t a very original name, but she was the smallest in the herd, not even big enough for an adult to ride.
He listened to her gossip as he brushed out her coat. She hadn¡¯t been brushed in some time, so it had taken some convincing to get her to stand still, but they were all quickly coming to trust him.
She had been with the circus most of her life, which was a long time indeed, and had taught many different children to ride over those years. He wasn¡¯t sure who, as she didn''t know human names, and he didn¡¯t know anybody here yet, but she reassured him that there were many. The only people he''d met so far were two older kids, Brightfeather and Dreamspears, and they were both so grown up!
Lampfire had only been here a week, and he had only tried talking to the horses a few days ago. He didn¡¯t have much experience with horses, to be honest, but they had all been groomed at some point in their lives and were very vocal on how he should do it.
He was done with the mane, and stood back to admire his work. It had been a matted and grubby mess when he''d started, but now it gleamed.
Onto the tail next. One of the horses said something about feet, but he wasn''t feeling confident about that yet, and he suspected he might be missing the right tools, so they let him be.
He was only here because his dad had been hired on as a carpenter after the previous chippy had disappeared and had to be quickly replaced. There were rumours that he¡¯d run off with a whole week''s takings, but, Lampfire considered, that was none of his business. Between the two of them, they had a small and rather dingy caravan, and it was rather like being on holiday.
He finished brushing the ponies tail out, leaving it shiny and clean. He had already done her coat, but he decided to give it one final polish.
She looked very neat and proud when he was done, standing next to the others. He hadn''t done anything with her hooves yet, but they all told him they were fine, and it was mostly just a wash-job that was needed. Somebody came through once a month and clipped their nails and checked them for sores.
He had never considered that horses had nails like people, but they insisted it was true, and he wasn''t going to argue with lived experience!
He held out his hands, selecting his next target. This horse introduced herself as ¡®The Taste of Oats in Summer¡¯, and Lampfire smiled. The old woman who normally looked after her simply called her ¡®Oats¡¯, and he wondered if the two names were related. It was very unlikely she could hear the horse speak, he had never met anyone else who shared his talent, and he figured that was probably the reason most horses were so dull. Lives spent dedicated to nothing but work wore their voices down to nothing.
-
Once he¡¯d finished grooming Oats, almost an hour later, he had to recruit help. The next horse was named ''Clods of Earth'' and was much too big for him to handle alone.
He sought out the older girl who had welcomed him on his first day, Dreamspears. She had shown him around and told her all the names of her goats. He was impressed she could remember so many!
She had insisted on helping when he asked if she knew anybody, and had found somebody else to do her job for the afternoon.
Between the two of them, they got it done. She held ¡®Clods of Earth¡¯ in place, while he stood atop a borrowed ladder and attempted to groom the old boys back.
¡®Clods of Earth¡¯ was one of the circuses largest horses, used for the heavy loads and general work that the smaller animals couldn¡¯t handle. The biggest jobs were handled by the Lumpox, but she was overkill for most jobs.
The old horse would have stayed still without Dreamspears'' encouragement, but her being there made Lampfire feel much more confident. ''Clods of Earth'' was taller than even the tallest adult that Lampfire knew, and despite his friendly and docile nature, his size was simply overwhelming. His coat was a light grey and he had big furry feet that had taken the two of them almost an hour to wash and comb. His sides were scarred from ill-use, but he reassured Lampfire that it had happened long before he had joined the circus, and that everyone here had been nothing but nice to him.
If anything, ¡®Clods of Earth¡¯ mused, shifting a little on his feet, he wished they would give him more work. He wasn¡¯t getting any younger, and the exercise would be good for his old bones.
Lampfire made a note of this, maybe he could drop some hints to somebody. He still wasn¡¯t sure what the system was for working the animals, but probably there was somebody in charge and he simply hadn¡¯t met them yet.
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There were still three more horses of a similar size for him to clean, and Dreamspears couldn¡¯t help him all day, but together they got a good amount done. She seemed as pleased to see them clean as he was, and he decided he liked her a lot, even if she was a bit deaf.
He had spoken to her goats, on his first day here, and they had told him all about her. She was attentive but distant. She couldn¡¯t hear their words but she was good to them. She made sure the food came on time and never once forgot to let them out in the mornings.
They still missed their previous human, and there was an air of collective mourning hanging over the herd, but it wasn¡¯t the first time they had lost somebody, and they were bracing themselves for Dreamspears to leave too.
He tried to reassure them that she wasn¡¯t going anywhere, but their words were all spit and bleating and he was mostly drowned out. He hoped that over time they would come to trust that she was going to stick around, but for now, they had seen it all before.
-
It took him three days to brush and clean all the horses, and at the end of that third day, he got a summons from ¡®The Man Himself¡¯, Rosesweet. The owner of the circus.
Lampfire was more than a little nervous. He was only a kid, well below legal working age, and he hadn¡¯t been recruited to look after the horses. Nobody was paying him, he was simply doing something he enjoyed. He was only in the circus because his dad was a carpenter, and was a little worried he would be told to leave alone what wasn¡¯t his to mess about with.
-
He entered the purple and gold caravan with his hat in his hands. He had brushed his hair and scrubbed his face in advance, and he was wearing his best clean outfit, the one his father said was reserved for funerals. He hoped he looked presentable.
Inside the caravan, the circus owner was sitting on a bed, his face illuminated by the evening light coming in through a small window on the opposite wall. The glass was stained different colours and arranged in a sort of geometric design, and it lit up the inside of the small room like a rainbow, making it seem warm and friendly.
¡°You¡¯re Seafront''s kid, right?¡± the owner questioned, and Lampfire nodded the affirmative. ¡°Yessir, you called for me?¡±
The man gestured to a chair near the door, it was made of new wood and looked like his father''s work. Lampfire drew it out and sat, placing his cap on his knees.
Rosesweet cleared his throat, ¡°You came as a package with your dad, right? I hear you¡¯ve been grooming the work-horses and ponies.¡±
Lampfire gulped, ¡°It just seemed like they needed it¡¡± he twisted his cap in his hands, looking down. He hadn¡¯t done anything wrong, had he?
The older man shook his head reassuringly, ¡°It¡¯s fine, I¡¯m not upset. If I had time to do it myself, I would, but,¡± he gestured in a circular motion around himself, ¡°this place takes up all of my time.¡±
Lampfire relaxed a little, looking around the neat little room, and Rosesweet spoke again, ¡°I talked to ¡®Lumps of Earth¡¯ yesterday¡±
He blinked, ¡°the biggun?¡±
Rosesweet smiled a slow smile, ¡°The very same. He said you can Speak, as well as Listen.¡±
Somehow those words seemed to have an odd intonation to them, the same as when people said Grow or Change. He had never thought about his talent that way before¡ He¡¯d never met anyone who could do the same thing and therefore hadn¡¯t needed names for it. Not even his dad knew he could do it, he had been scoffed at and mocked for trying to talk to animals when he was younger, and had learnt to hide it.
Knowing he might not be alone stirred a strange excitement in his stomach, ¡°You¡?¡±
The owner nodded. ¡°If I¡¯ve got an ear out, I can hear em." He looked at the window for a moment, and then back at Lampfire, "I¡¯ve got a job proposal for you. And not just the horses.¡±
Lampfire waited to see what it was, but he was already starting to suspect he knew, and it was only confirmed by Rosesweet¡¯s next sentence.
¡°The Lumpox, have you spoken to her at all?¡±
Lampfire shook his head. He liked animals, but he was a little afraid of the massive beast and hadn¡¯t yet worked up the courage to go near her. ¡°Not yet, she¡¯s very¡ Big.¡±
Big was understating it. She was like every monster out of every children¡¯s book he¡¯d ever read, and he was finding it a little hard to shake that image.
Rosesweet smiled fondly, apparently not sharing the same fears. ¡°That she is, she could move the whole circus by herself, that one.¡±
He lost himself in his musing for a moment, and then looked at Lampfire, who suddenly felt as if he was being assessed somehow.
¡°How old are you, kid?¡±
¡°Twelve, sir.¡±
He tried to sit up straight and attentive, like at school when the teacher picked on you. There was a pause at that, and then a nod from Rosesweet. Whatever the test was, it had gone over his head, but he seemed to have passed.
¡°The Lumpox." he began again, "Her name is ¡®Moves the World¡¯, and her keeper is getting on. The woman is in her sixties now, and we need an apprentice who can Speak and Listen. There aren¡¯t very many of us out there, but I try and recruit all those I meet.¡±
This made the chattiness of the horses make a lot more sense. They wouldn¡¯t be so amazed at his talent if they had been brought up amongst people who could do the same. ¡°There¡¯s more of us?¡± could it be that it wasn¡¯t as rare as he thought?
¡°Aye, there are a few of us. Me, Bellgold, who looks after ¡®Moves the World¡¯, and one of the clowns, you¡¯ll know him when you meet him. I¡¯ve heard of one or two others over the years, but it¡¯s a rare talent.¡±
He looked thoughtfully at the window again, and Lampfire considered this. The man had spent all his life seeking out people who could Speak and Listen- being able to name it gave him a little thrill- and he had still met less than a handful.
Rosesweet spoke again, pulling him out of his thoughts. ¡°¡¯Moves the World¡¯, as far as we can tell, is the only one of her kind. My predecessor picked her up from the far, far north, and we¡¯ve never found another. If we don¡¯t have somebody who can speak to her, then¡¡± he trailed off.
Lampfire understood. It would be a long and lonely life. Even cats had each other. To be the only one of your kind?
Rosesweet nodded, reading his face. ¡°This is a job for life, you understand? I¡¯m not having you bond with her and then leave when you get bored in a year or two. In return, you¡¯ll be paid well, and you¡¯ll never have to worry about where you live or how you''re gonna get by.¡±
Lampfire thought about it. It wasn¡¯t like being partnered, he would still be able to look after the horses and do other things around the circus. He just wouldn''t be able to leave.
¡°What about my dad, sir?¡± He knew for a fact that his father wasn¡¯t planning to stick around. This was an emergency job, and he was only planning to stay for a couple of months until a more permanent replacement was hired. He had been planning to go to the coast and get Lampfire an apprenticeship under a captain he knew there.
¡°We¡¯ll talk to him. I want you here.¡± Rosesweet said, calming his fears, ¡°it¡¯ll be an official apprenticeship, with all the paperwork that involves. If it works out then he¡¯ll be paid until you¡¯re old enough, and then your money is your own, ok?¡±
Lampfire screwed his nose up, ¡°I¡¯d rather my money be my own now.¡± He knew his dad. The man was a decent carpenter, and not a habitual drunk, but he was wont to gamble away any extra pennies, especially those that weren¡¯t his.
Rosesweet seemed to think about this, and then reached over to his desk, grabbing a pencil and making a few marks on a piece of paper. ¡°We¡¯ll put it in trust for you then. You¡¯ll get an allowance, and can ask me if you need any extra, ok?¡±
Lampfire let his breath out through his nose. That was a relief. Just one last thing.
¡°I¡¯ll have to meet her first then, Sir, what if we don¡¯t get along?¡±
Rosesweet laughed, and the deal was done.
Chapter 31 - Interlude
She lit the incense, standing back and taking in the small glow. The room was dark around her, windowless and unlit, apart from the two candles and the pile of incense.
She clasped her hands together and nodded to the shrine, before turning and leaving. There were no pictures here, no paintings or offerings of food. Simply the two candles and the scent of winter.
She locked the door behind herself, unconcerned about the risks of fire or theft. The building was built of strong stone and not much else. The small¡ She hesitated to call it a temple, but that was where she was. The small temple was empty except for her and her companion, abandoned in the middle of a forest, long overgrown. She had to fly here on feathered wings to even find the place.
Worship of the Gods was not advised under most circumstances. When they had taken over from the previous pantheon several hundred years ago, they had made that clear. Worship was forbidden.
People still did it a little. Nobody would comment on the empty dog basket, sitting in the corner of a room that had never known a dog, or the twisted bundle of sticks in the back of the fireplace. If your grandma set an extra place at the table sometimes, well, that was just grandma.
When times were bad, nobody would judge you for calling out to the Gods for help, but it wasn¡¯t spoken about out loud, apart from around campfires late at night.
And maybe in temples in the middle of the woods.
The building was made of white marble, and designed in a strange style, with fluted columns leading up to a bare, triangular roof. The bare roof still unsettled her a little, even after all these years. It wasn¡¯t often you would see a roof that was un-planted, never mind sloped at such an angle, and the lack of greenery on it stirred a primal weirdness inside her. On top of that, it was untouched by the normal pitting you would expect on a structure like this, despite the fact she knew it to be hundreds, if not thousands of years old.
The front door was plain, untreated wood and was in the same condition as it had been the first time she¡¯d found it, many years before.
It had taken her almost a month to work out the lock on the door, taking lock-picking classes in the shadier parts of town and consulting with locksmiths. She didn''t doubt that she could have broken it down with force, but¡
The Gods didn¡¯t want worship, but that didn¡¯t mean they didn¡¯t watch what was going on, and desecrating a temple seemed like the sort of thing that might annoy them. They had left it for a reason, surely.
There hadn¡¯t been any treasure in the room, much to the disappointment of those back in town who had helped her get it open. It had contained just the stone table, the stubs of two candles, and the scent of something she had taken years to track down. Beeswax mixed with a mixture of herbs and scents. She had searched perfumeries and soap shops for many years, coming up bare, but clean. It wasn''t until she was passing through a small village, barely ten or fifteen houses, that she had found it.
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The smell had been emanating from the kitchen of an elderly person. They had been sceptical of her enquiries, cleaning up what they were doing and pretending they¡¯d been cooking dinner. But she had managed to draw it out of them, talking about what she had found, and after a long evening of talking, they had shown her the recipe and sold her a small box of candles and a handful of insistence. She had gone back the next year, and the year after that for more.
When they died, she had mourned. Then she had bought more candles from their grandchild. The recipe would never be lost, she had published it and sent copies to the great library of her childhood, but it would remain obscure and was far too much effort for her to make herself.
The old Gods weren¡¯t spoken of much anymore, except in forgotten books. The new Gods hadn¡¯t erased their memories or records, it was more like a new regime taking over. People rarely clung to the memory of an old leader, especially if the new one was better. They simply got on with their lives, and day to day life was enough that within a few generations they were forgotten by all.
She came back here once a year or so and left her offering. She was convinced that the Gods had saved her once when she was a small child, lost and alone, and this was her way of paying it back.
They didn¡¯t want worship, but maybe they needed it. The Old Gods certainly had, insisting on chants and mnemonics and whispered prayers. It had taken a few generations and a number of small but public humiliations for those to die out, but they had.
She wondered if it had been better after they were gone. It was long, long before she was born, but she had read a lot of the older books, hidden in parts of the library that had been blocked off or forgotten about, where knowledge was still preserved, instead of being destroyed by lone fanatics and idiots. Reading between the lines, those books did not paint the divinities in a good light.
-
There was a screech from near the gate to the complex, and she walked a little faster. Ahead of the white marble building was a courtyard, clad in similar stone but not quite so untouched by time. It was covered in moss and lichen, but it appeared like local stone that had been cleared and left for a couple of years, not something abandoned for hundreds.
Around the edges of the complex were a few other buildings, none containing anything interesting, and surrounding all that, was a white stone wall. The gate to enter was carved to look like logs, two pillars with a third laid across the top, and if it wasn¡¯t for the fact they were obviously not, she would have sworn they were real wood.
On the other side of the gate, her companion waited. A large white animal, with the legs, body and tail of a cat, but the feathers and the wings of a dove. Its face was that of an eagle, and she had no idea what sort of animal it was. She had rescued it from predators when it was only a few days old, lying broken at the base of a cliff, and they had bonded. He flew her to the unwalkable places, and in return, she gave him care and companionship.
She had tried to take him back to the place of his birth once, but it was obvious he didn¡¯t understand, and she hadn¡¯t tried again. For better or for worse, she had domesticated him, and he would never now be wild.
She slipped onto his back, locking her knees behind his front legs, and with a pat on his neck, they were off.
In a year or so she would come back and do the same thing all over again, but for now, her duty here was over.
-
Inside the house, the old man carefully blew out the two candles and snuffed the incense burner. He waited a minute for it all to cool, and then slipped the lot into his pockets.
No sense in letting it go to waste.
Chapter 32 - Dragon
It had been almost a full round of seasons since his little rebellion, and it seemed to have paid off. They had given him more free time at various points along his route, and even come at him once with rags and brushes, polishing his scales until they shone.
It was quite nice really.
But today was strange. He was currently headed towards his next stop with no bags, and only a single rider. On top of that, the rider was an adult, which had never happened to him before. He hoped that this wasn''t going to become a regular thing, their weight felt badly distributed and awkward on his back, and they couldn''t crouch in his neck as the children did.
If they tried to put a saddle and bridle on him, he was rebelling, end of. He had seen horses and wanted none of it.
That said, this seemed to be a special occasion, and he didn¡¯t really understand what the handlers had wanted from him. They had stripped him of his leathers and held him back from leaving, giving him slow and careful instructions on what they wanted him to do, but his lack of language skills was showing, and no matter how slowly they went, he was still confused.
As far as he could tell, from their body language and gestures, they wanted him to go to a certain city, circle a bit, go onto the next one, do the same thing, and then head back to them to report.
Very odd. He had moved his head in a gesture of ¡°I don¡¯t understand¡±, and after a minute of rather heated debate, one of the humans had climbed up onto his back and ordered him to fly. He knew that word!
He more or less understood where they wanted him to go, he wasn''t stupid, he just had no idea why.
It wasn¡¯t a long flight, a week or so at normal speeds, but they hadn¡¯t even bought food! Not even a safety harness! He was pretty sure that adult humans needed food and water just as much as children, as well as breaks, to relieve themselves and to stretch their legs, and that they still cracked when they hit the ground.
The rider knelt on his back, clutching onto his neck, and Dragon decided that this trip was going to be as fast as he could make it without dropping them. The whole thing was very worrying, and he wanted this over with as fast as possible.
The world below them was late spring, and the earth below was clean and bright, new growth everywhere. The spring rains had washed away any last traces of winter, leaving only good soil and healthy plants, all doing their best to compete for the brightest display.
He followed the line of the road between cities, heading along the coast. Roads made good landmarks, and he often followed them if the route was right, taking joy in the little glimpses he could see of the lives below. A glance down told him that this one was a little greener than normal, and lacking the travellers he would normally expect to see. Disappointing.
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He was flying high, so it was a little hard to tell, but so far he hadn¡¯t seen a single walker, never mind horses and carts. Very strange. The few farms he flew over seemed cold and quiet, lacking both people and woodsmoke, although it was hard to be sure from this high up.
He had visited the first city on his route once before, only a couple of years previous, and hadn¡¯t liked it much. He thought of it as "Circles". The buildings were all packed into concentric rings, and the only place to land was directly in the centre, amongst the carts and people. The air smelt of coal and smoke and it was, all-in-all, an unpleasant and irritating place to visit.
He tucked his legs back and beat his wings to get up speed, feeling as the rider on his back clung on tighter. He could make it there in a little over a day if they kept the rest stops short. Best get this over with.
-
The rider had not bought food or water, yet still expressed unhappiness when Dragon offered them half a deer. Oh well, no loss for him. He swallowed it down, waited for the human to finish seeing to their own needs, and then they were off again.
-
He knew something was off long before he reached Circles. There was no smell of smoke in the air and no noise of mining from the hills.
There was new growth over the spoil piles outside the city, which was also not normal. He had watched them grow over the years, and they were normally in constant flux, ever-changing black scars upon the landscape. Even the shape of the land changed year on year, making it confusing to navigate.
Past that city would be thick woodland, but the land around it had been chopped and cleared for farmland, which was now quiet and still.
The lack of activity explained why they didn¡¯t want him to land, and why they hadn¡¯t sent him with the normal goods. No point in landing if there was nobody there to pick it up!
-
Dragon did as the handlers had asked, circling low over each city a few times, before moving on, leaning so that the rider could see.
He tried to land in Circles, but they didn¡¯t like that, making fearful gestures and noises until he aborted the landing.
Even from above, there was a smell of old rot in the air, but whatever had been here was long gone. Still, he couldn¡¯t communicate that, so made do with low sweeps.
The second city was much the same. It was by the ocean, and not somewhere he remembered visiting before. The smell of rot here was much stronger, and the smell of smoke still lingering, even to the human on his back. Half of the city was in ruins and something still smouldered near the docks, but the forest was already reclaiming what it would.
The rider was very quiet after that, and they flew back towards home in silence.
-
He had transported a child once, a few years back, who seemed to almost understand him. He had imagined he could even understand when they spoke back, and dropping them off at their destination had made him lonely in a way he hadn''t known he could be.
He felt a sense of loss as he thought back to them. Maybe if they were here now then he could get the message across, but he had left them weeks away, and it was too far for him to detour.
He hoped the child had done well for themselves. They had been a happy little spark, fearless and bright with magic. Maybe one day he¡¯d meet them again.
He was musing to himself, flying tight and fast, when he smelt the smoke on the wind.
It was getting towards evening, and the scent of smoke and charred meat indicated a cook-fire, people settling down rather than travelling onwards in the dark. The smell would be too faint for the human on his back to ever pick up on, but¡ It was the first sign of life he¡¯d scented in a normal three days flight range.
Mentally shrugging to himself, he put his face into the wind and headed toward the fire.
Chapter 33 - Truedream
The kitchen was hot and humid, even with all the doors and windows thrown open. Tomorrow was the start of the Midwinter Festival, and the most important day of the year, as far as he was concerned.
It was time for a feast. The festivals of the spring and summer were fun, but for Midwinter, they got to pull out all of the stops.
He smiled happily to himself, and looked around his kitchen.
Over in the coolest corner, where all the doors and windows were thrown open, the pastry was being rolled out for pies. Over there, on the fire which they had put back into use for just this occasion, was roasting a whole piglet, being slowly turned by a series of different kitchen kids. There would be another, larger one, tomorrow, a wild boar caught especially for the festival, but this was the test-run.
There wasn¡¯t much fresh fruit at this time of year, but they were making do. The winters were long here, lasting from October to February, but they had saved up. In the cold-room, they had a dazzling array of apples and oranges, redberries and blueberries, skinny fruits and fatberries, and a whole variety of other unimaginatively named fruits. On top of that were grapes frozen from the ice house, and an endless variety of sweet and savoury preserves.
Truedream threw the bread dough down, wrapping it around his fist in a practised motion and showing his apprentices how to properly knead and form it into rolls, before parcelling the rest of it out into sections and handing the job off to them.
The kitchen had been revamped and rebuilt only a couple of years before, the gas stoves being moved off to re-reveal the large ancient fireplace. The tops of those stoves now held bubbling stock, soups and sauces, vivid vegetables and sizzling sausages. Inside the ovens were baked vegetables, cakes, pies and several varieties of large bird.
Down in the cold-room was a large goose, waiting to be the star of the show in a couple of days. He would prepare it himself, coating it in a mix of salt, flour and water to keep in the juices while it slowly baked.
New pantries, and the cold rooms, had been added when the kitchen was rebuilt, and he had overseen it all. On top of that, there was extra access to the cellars to the ice house deep below ground. His favourite new addition though was a locked cupboard, containing every spice that the Upstairs could acquire, and boy was there a lot of them.
Some of those spices would go into soups or bread. Some would be rubbed into the goose. He used others to spice up porridge and others to sprinkle over finished meals. At the tail end of winter, everyone would thank him for those spices.
Bread rolls sorted, Truedream moved across the kitchen, checking on what was rapidly becoming his favourite thing to cook. Stew! A thick hot, meal, filled with seasonal vegetables and spices that burned the mouth, even when served cold. It was perfect for warming up even the coldest of guests, many of which he could hear arriving right now, ready for tomorrow''s feast.
The soup maybe didn''t work quite as well on the upstairs as a hot whisky, but it was much cheaper, and to less of a detriment to work.
Those spices had been shipped in by dragon only a few weeks before, and the kitchen staff were still learning how to moderate them. Those first few days had been a trip.
They were on the cutting edge of cooking here, and he loved every moment of it, even as he hoped that none of it was poisonous¡
Truedream dusted the flour off his hands and apron, reaching down to check the stew. It was simmering in its pot, rich and flavourful, but could do with more salt. As he headed towards the pantry, he first stropped by the open door to take in the cool winters breeze.
It was barely five in the evening, and already dark. The sky was heavy with snow, and he placed one hand on the door frame, thoughts drifting back to the years he had spent homeless. He had been lucky, he knew now. Friends around him, shelter, even if it was a house in the slums, and a job to let him escape. Others weren''t so rich.
Honestly, it seemed like there were more and more orphans about every year. When he was a kid they were mostly confined to the slums and other areas, now he saw them everywhere. In the corners of the markets, huddled in the gutters, and running through the streets in gangs.
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He understood that he was viewing it from a place of privilege, but even so, there wasn¡¯t much he could do. Most of his time now was spent outside the city, in the Big House, and even most of the shopping was done by others. He still ventured into the city once or twice a week to meet up with old friends, but he was rather isolated from it all. Sometimes it would be weeks between visits, rather than days, as work ramped up for the party seasons.
Still, tomorrow the week-long Midwinter Festival would start, and he had Plans, even if those plans all involved work.
He wasn¡¯t paid particularly well, especially considering his position as head cook, but the free food and lodging more or less made up for it. He had spent most of what he¡¯d saved up over the past few months on bribes and food, and now it was all coming home to roost.
In a quieter corner of the kitchen, crouched under a table so as to be out of the way, he had arranged six street kids. He had been scouting them out for a little while, and these were the ones he had decided were trustworthy.
As a test, he had given them a token amount of money and sent them into the city to trawl shops for ingredients. They hadn¡¯t stolen it, and some of them had actually come back with what was asked for, so that was good enough for him.
He shook himself out of his reverie, realising he was blocking the door. Tomorrow would be all-go, back to prep.
-
The next morning, it was all go. The feast was to start at mid-day and would continue for a week without stopping. The kitchen staff had been preparing for weeks, and despite the work ahead of them, they were all glad to finally start.
The dinner would consist of one long buffet, served from long tables in the South Hall. There would be hot and cold food always available, varying depending on the time of day.
It all seemed a little wasteful to Truedream, hence the Plan.
Overnight, his small cohort of street kids had swollen from six to ten, and he had them huddled all along one wall of the kitchen, out of the way but ready to be called upon as needed. Throughout the day some of them would act as servers or dish-washers. Others as runners or for whatever jobs he could find. Then in the evenings...
The owners of the house didn¡¯t know he was doing this, but what they didn''t know wouldn''t hurt them. The staff had discussed it between themselves, and if things went wrong, then he would take the blame. It was his plan after all.
-
Technically Midwinter didn''t start until midday, and the time before that was supposed to be a fast, but tell that to a hundred hungry workers and an equal amount of grumpy guests. Breakfast for the Upstairs would consist of spiced porridge, studded with preserved fruits. For those who didn''t fancy that, there were various types of eggs, both cold and hot. There was fresh bread, and bacon still hot from the pan, and in bowls throughout the house was a variety of fruits and nuts, available to anyone who was passing by, and of the right social class, of course.
The servants got a simpler breakfast, plain but sweet porridge, ladled from massive vats. Lunch would be stew from cauldrons on the hearth, where the heat was low and the pot added to throughout the day.
There were roughly a hundred family and guests to feed Upstairs, and almost three times as many servants Below who also needed feeding. There were maids, butlers and gardeners. There were stable hands and runners, and servants to look after the other servants. Every guest had to bring their entourage with them, who else would help them dress in the mornings!
The logistics of it were mind-boggling, and there would be no let-up until the end of the week.
The problem with the whole thing was, even with the best conditions, you can¡¯t leave food out all day. Small slices of cake quickly go stale, bread goes hard, bacon cools and becomes cold and greasy, not fit for an upper-class stomach. Nobody wants porridge for lunch, and you get complaints when you serve beef wellington for breakfast.
A lot of those foods can be re-used. Bacon goes well into stews, and the bread into puddings. You can soak the cake in alcohol for a boozy dessert and turn the sausages into sandwiches, but in the end, even after the servants had taken their fill, it was Midwinter, and there would still be food left over.
That was where the orphans came in. At the end of the day, when most people were headed off to bed, and only the night shift were left on duty, the street kids would be loaded down with sacks and bags and sent back to town.
The first night it was tiny cakes, stale bread, some cold sausages and sliced meat that had been sitting out all day and he no longer entirely trusted. He had made small pies, and taken vegetable peelings diced fine and baked them into cakes. There were chewy shortbread biscuits, where the dough had been overworked by the apprentices, and scraps of meat in thick gelatin, made from bones that had been boiling for almost a day.
He was particularly proud of the cakes. The ones made with carrot peelings were the best, but he had worked out all sorts using the off-cuts of other vegetables.
There would be other things on other nights, small gifts of warm clothing and toys. Pies and cakes and good hearty food, to help see them through the winter. He hadn''t spent his own money on this for nothing.
As he watched the children hurry off into the dark, loaded down with their parcels of food, he thought about how he¡¯d ended up being one of those kids, all those years ago.
His friends were all grown up now, and safe. The money they had made that night had carried them through the next few years, giving them the stability and safety they needed to grow.
He hoped he got the chance to go into town and see them at some point, but not tonight.
With a sigh, Truedream turned and headed back into the kitchen. No rest for the wicked.
Chapter 34 - Funerals
¡°We are gathered here today¡¡±
He didn¡¯t need to rehearse the words, but going over them once more never hurt. ¡°To lay to rest the mortal remains of¡¡±
He shifted the hat and brush he was holding into one hand, and checked his notes one last time, making sure the name was correct. He would check it once more whilst in transit, but it wasn¡¯t a long name, and he was pretty sure he had it down by now.
¡°We are gathered here today¡¡±
Today was a rain day. The hot summer staggering towards autumn, like a drunk heading home in the early morning hours, the nights closing in once again.
Today was the sort of humid, grey day that funeral directors dreamed of.
¡®Speaks Truth Without Words¡¯, or ''Truth'', as most knew him, gave the hat in his hands a last once-over, before setting the brush aside. The stiff black hat was as clean as he would get it, the wool almost gleaming in the weak morning sun, the sweat marks and wear on the inside known only to him.
Placing it firmly upon his head, he checked himself over one last time in the mirror. The vision before him was never how he had imagined himself looking, but it was important to play a role. The black overcoat and crimson shirt had been pressed that morning, the yellow bone buttons polished until they gleamed, and by his side, the ceremonial umbrella stood, freshly waxed. It was quite a striking image, if he must say so himself.
Through the open window, he could hear his apprentices moving around, shouting to each other as they finished tacking up the ponies, getting the last of the energy out of their systems, ready for the ceremony.
As he gave one last tug at his collar and patted down the hat, Truth considered the strangeness of his job.
Less than a hundred years ago, the profession of ¡®undertaker¡¯ hadn¡¯t existed at all. Back then, when the world was made up of small villages and hamlets, spaced out with large stretches of forest, people would deal with their own dead. When you''re a group of a hundred people, and you lose two or three a year, it''s easy to deal with. But nowadays, with the ever-encroaching tide of industrialisation, that was no longer an option for most.
You couldn¡¯t leave grandma resting in the back yard, when all that yard consisted of was a coal shed and a toilet, and that was if you were lucky enough to have a yard at all! They were building houses back to back and three high now. Long narrow rows of doors and windows, with factories at either end, passages dark from the bridges and the soot and the greenery above.
You couldn¡¯t take old granny into the forest either, to be eaten by rain or animals. If everyone in the city did that, then by mid-summer, no matter how wet a year it was, the bodies would be piled neck deep. The city wouldn¡¯t need walls anymore, the corpses would see to that on their own.
Never mind what things that might draw in from the deep woods. Wolves, or worse.
With one last glance down at his outfit and a last tug at the crimson sleeves, Truth headed out, spinning the umbrella with a practised motion. Time to get this show on the road.
-
The two white ponies were both hitched up to the hearse already, their coats clean and gleaming. He reckoned they would have been stomping their feet in anticipation if they weren¡¯t so well trained.
Inspection over and a nod to the apprentices for a job well done. It wasn¡¯t every day they got to do these fancy funerals, but they were becoming more and more common. Old Whistle and Squeak, the ponies, mostly did partner ceremonies nowadays. A happy couple swearing loyalty in front of two white ponies was an image to remember.
It all seemed very contractual to him, Truth thought, pulling himself up into the driver''s seat and tucking the folded umbrella down into the foot-well, but that¡¯s how it goes. When he was a lass, the most ceremony anyone expected for that sort of thing was a good dinner in the local inn and a drunken oath of commitment. But what did he know, most of his clients weren''t up to discussing philosophy.
Times, and traditions, were a-changing, and Truth was at the forefront of it all.
The body they were going to pick up today was resting at home, as was traditional. A twelve-hour watch, and then the ceremony. Death moves fast, and therefore so must the living, burial wasn''t something you could put off until tomorrow.
Most of those they dealt with were from the poor, and would be picked up in the handcart, or, if streets permitted, a basic horse-drawn wagon, but this one had been a child, from a tailors family on the posher end of town, and they were going all out. They¡¯d even splashed out for the crimson feathered plumes on the horse''s foreheads, and the fancy, gilded carriage.
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It was a shame really, that the girl herself would never get to see it, but that¡¯s how it went. Funerals were for the living, not the dead.
Maybe that was why partner ceremonies were getting more popular, Truth mused, adjusting the reins and shifting in his seat. They were a lot like funerals, but you got to experience it all whilst still alive.
A flick of the whip, more for the noise than anything, and they were off, both apprentices taking off with a shout, jostling each other for pole position in the race out of the courtyard. By the time the carriage had cleared the front gates of the funeral home, they would be halfway to the destination.
The two of them would take the quicker route over the greenways, and he would remain on the ground with the horses.
The seat of the vehicle was covered with an overhang, but that could only do so much, and already Truth could feel the moisture settling on his face. By the time they were at the burial place, it should be a full shower. He couldn''t have asked for better weather.
He would meet back up with apprentices a street before the tailor''s home, and from then on they would follow along behind the carriage, their hats in their hands, the rain streaking through their hair. By the afternoon their outfits would be little better than rags.
The parents had paid extra for that, and they even provided the suits. You gotta put on a show.
-
Body collected, mournful exchanges done, heads bowed and tears acknowledged, and they were off again. The rain was starting to come down now, and the carriage moved at a steady pace as they left the city, the two apprentices trotting behind, suitably solemn with the water running down their faces like tears.
They were a good pair. The older one had been with him for a while and was honestly getting a little old for the job of mourner, but the younger, a girl around eight, was a new hire. She was the sister of one of the grooms down where he boarded his horses and ponies, and once he¡¯d cleaned her up a bit and given her a little coaching, she looked quite the part.
Even if he hadn¡¯t been slipped a little extra to hire her, he might have done it anyway, she had a uniquely mournful face.
-
Their destination was what the locals referred to as ¡®The Field¡¯, but its official name was ¡®The Garden of Rest¡¯.
The upkeep and maintenance of it was nothing to do with Truth or his company, he was merely another visitor, if a frequent one.
Most people would transport their relatives here themselves, on hand carts or with the help of friends. Others arrived via the new canal, or from the connected hospitals. Only a lucky few got the whole shebang of ponies and mourners.
It was a beautiful place, the Garden. One of the local factory owners had founded and funded it, taking empty scrubland and woods, and turning it into something else. Hearsay said she¡¯d lost a child, and the place was her own personal memorial. Other rumours said she was a murderer, and it was a convenient place for her to dispose of the bodies of those workers who were too much trouble.
Having been in the industry for a while now, Truth put more stock in the first guess, but he wouldn''t rule out the second either.
The building of it had been a project all on its own. First, the forest had been cut back, leaving only a few old-growth trees behind. Then other trees had then been planted and Grown, along with fruiting and flowering bushes. Winding paths lead over several acres of land, protected by the bushes and hedges, and you could walk all day and still only see half of it.
There were small hidden gardens with tiled pools in which you could rest your feet. There were fountains, mazes, and benches in hidden alcoves, to shelter the grieving family. At the end of summer, as it was right now, the whole place was a riot of colours and flowers. Above him the trees were filled were birds, all trying to outdo each other in song, and yet, somehow, it was still the most peaceful place he knew.
Directly at the centre of it all was the Hall of Memories. A purpose-built building, made to house the plaques which had long outgrown their room in the town hall. Markers in all different materials, each containing a name that would never be forgotten.
One day, his own name would hang there, and future generations would look upon it and remember him. He liked the idea of that.
-
Standing by the grave, hat in his hands and eyes to the ground Truth listened to the solemn words of the child''s friends and family. The stories of her short life.
The earth had been excavated to just above the mana line, roughly ten centimetres down, the body placed upon the bare earth, and the girl laid to rest. He had said his words and his part was done, all he had to do now was stay out of the way.
Under normal circumstances, she would be covered loosely with earth, and that would be it. You didn''t bury bodies too deep, as rain would percolate through the ground, but the magic contained within would quickly be absorbed by the roots of plants, leaving the earth below bereft of magic. Dead.
If you had no other options for long-term storage, burying something deep in the ground was one way to keep it from rotting, but you had to be careful with replacing the growth above.
Thus, bodies were never buried deep. You wanted to be returned to the earth, but too much so, and it would benefit nothing and nobody. You would never truly return to the earth that way, except to be interred within it, lost.
A glance up at the gathered mourners. Her father was speaking now, tears running down his face. He had the tattoos of a sailor, but the hands of a craftsman and the suit of a tailor, and Truth wondered about his history.
The arms of the family around him as he wept, and Truth moved his eyes back to the ground, the rain running off his umbrella. Already he could see seeds sprouting up out of the bare earth, a testament to the power of the rain and the disturbed soil.
Instead of being lightly covered over with earth and sod, the girl had been interred under a mound of stones, shipped in from across the sea for this sort of purpose. Truth had placed the first stone himself, and the relatives the next, until eventually the body was gone from sight.
The looseness of the stones would allow the rain to flow through, and within a year or so they would be gone to earth, and so would she. In the centre of the cairn was placed a sapling, a Walnut, in reference to her name.
As the rain poured down the sides of his black umbrella, and as he watched the family pour a final ceremonial bottle of water over the grave, he nodded to himself.
She would be remembered. The tree would grow strong, and her name would hang forever within the hall, for future generations to gaze upon. The fruits of the tree would feed those who needed it, and the world would go on.
He could only hope that he went half as well someday.
Chapter 35 - Pepper.
Sitting in her father''s shop, the smell of leather and polished wood. The feel of the paper in her hands. The ring of the bell above the door and the way the dust motes seemed to float in the light like fairies.
Tucking her chin into her chest and summoning up the courage to knock on the door, knowing she¡¯s an hour late. The smell of the night behind her. The warmth and light as the door opens, the ruffle of her hair and the heat of her mother''s hand, flaky with dried flour from the dough she¡¯d been preparing for the next day.
The crunch of snow beneath her boots, rushing home from an afternoon with a boy she couldn¡¯t even remember the name of now. The way her face fitted perfectly into the crook of his neck and the overwhelming smell of fresh straw.
¡®The Bloody Wind Brings and Still and Silent Laughter¡¯ had, over the course of her life, come to the conclusion that whatever drugs they''d given to her mother during childbirth, they had been far too good.
Her mother had called her Laughter when she was a babe, and Windbringer when she was old enough to dash around the house. Her partner had called her Bringslaughter, and her children, ¡®mum¡¯. She called herself many variations, depending on the day and the mood, but right now she called herself nothing, content to doze.
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The fire warming her feet, the memories rushed past her one by one, unrelated to anything but welcome all the same.
Painting the house for the first time, her children around her feet. Her son bringing a bunch of flowers on her birthday. The time the cat had fallen into the water pail, and how he had emerged at speed, almost ending up in the fire instead.
Her eyes half-closed, she nudged the teapot closer to the fire with her toes. In her hands, she played with an old pepper pot, which she had picked up off the dining table as she passed, for no real reason other than to have something tactile to play with. The pot was modelled like a bird, with one wing outstretched. It had once had a partner, to fit inside the space, but she had no recollection of what had happened to it. Perhaps one of the children had carried it away, to live a separate life, away from its pepper-bearing friend.
The end of summer, the autumn light through the window as she scrubbed the floor, lighting up the parquet behind her like liquid caramel.
The ache in her knees which had never really gone away.
The ghost of a song heard long ago on her lips, she dislodged the cat from her lap, pushed the pepper pot down the side of the chair, and leaned forward to check the kettle, just as it started to whistle. Perfect.
Settling back in the chair, cup of tea in her hands, she closed her eyes again, and let the memories take her away.
Chapter 36 - Rice
¡®Rice Brings Health to the Valley¡¯ was bored! Utterly, bone-deep, breath-takingly, muscle achingly bored!
It was the third day of the autumn rice harvest, and they were already so, so tired of it. They weren¡¯t old enough to be trusted with the sickles and knives used to cut the rice, so their job was simply to hang around and see if anyone needed anything.
Boring! Boring boring boring.
Ok, there were bursts of activity now and again, helping to hang the rice so it dried properly, lending a hand where somebody else needed a break, but overall. It was the worst!
Once the rice bundles were dry, they would be ready to be threshed, and Health, as they called themselves, would have more work to do, but for now. Boring! Rice rice rice, who cared!
Ok fine, the autumn harvest was important sure. It meant that there would be food for another year. It meant that the village would have something to trade, which meant new clothes, and meat for the winter, but Health didn¡¯t care about any of that. All they cared about was the fact that it was just so Gods. Damned. Boring!
Ugh!
The valley spread out below them, rows and rows of green terraces, green and healthy in the light. Some, nearer the top, were already drained of water, the rice bundled neatly up, but others were as of yet untouched. The whole village was out working, and a few people had even come from the settlement further down the mountain to help.
As they kicked at the edges of the wall they were using as a seat and stared down at the people below, some so far away that they looked like insects, Health thought about all the things they hated.
First and foremost was Rice, both as a crop and as a way of life, but a close second was the nothing, backwoods, stupid boring dumb village that they were currently forced to reside in.
The stupid naming conventions were a solid third. Everyone in the village was named after Rice! Their sister, ¡®Rice Grows Up in Terraces Green¡¯ and their mother, ¡®The Fish Swim Amongst the Rice¡¯, their father, ¡®Brings Prosperity to the Family through Rice¡¯, it was never-ending! Even the village was named Ricetown, after the stupid rice!
It was so stupid and dumb and stupid and they hated it. Why couldn''t they have been born somewhere more interesting, ugh!
Health understood why they were all named this way, of course. The names were whispered by the birds of the sky and the fish in the waters. They came in on the wind and down in the rain and every now and again even from the gods themselves, but really. Couldn¡¯t they all work together and come up with a broader theme, something not related to Rice!
Another kick at the wall, a loud huff, and finally, a few surreptitious glances around, just to make sure nobody was watching. Health was sitting on one of the highest terraces. Their father was a whole four levels down, and their mother wasn¡¯t even in sight. There were any number of cousins and relatives around, but everyone was busy, focused¡
Far over to their right, and one level down, was ¡®White Rice with a Pearlescent Sheen¡¯, their best friend, and a victim of similar circumstance. Health stared at her for a moment, and that brief moment of eye contact between the two was all it took.
Time to escape! Scramble, scramble, up through the dry and empty fields, ducking past the frames and bales, scrambling up the walls, over drying earth and into the surrounding woods.
Most people in the village kept the Rice part of their name, out of some sort of stupid misplaced price. Their mother was Ricefish, their dad Ricebrings, but they called themselves Health, and their best friend Pearl.
It was a bit weird to have a single word name, but not that uncommon. Apparently, it had been more unusual when their grandparents were young, as there was a lot of muttering about ¡°dog names¡± and other such old-person nonsense, but Health and Pearl didn¡¯t care about any of that. As long as they could distance themselves from the ¡°rice¡± part of their name, that was all that mattered!
Health''s mother had tried forcing different variations on them over the years. They couldn¡¯t be Ricebrings, that was their father and you never took the same name as somebody else, but she had tried Ricevalley and Ricehealth and Villagerice and all sorts of other stupid iterations on the theme, before Health had thrown their arms up and vetoed them all. Loudly, along with a couple of other social conventions while they were at it.
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Pearl was in much the same situation with her family, except with an extra layer of taboo for shortening the ¡®escent¡¯ off the end. As they scrambled together through the trees which marked the boundaries of their land, Health was proud of her for that. She was two years younger than them but even more stubborn!
-
A couple of months back, in the heat of summer, when the rice had been thick and green, the two of them had found a cave in the woods.
The place had been nothing more than a depression in the mountain face when they¡¯d first found it, but a bit of digging into the earth had revealed a wall of crumbling mud bricks, slowly turning back to earth after years of absorbing moisture from the land.
That first day, after breaking down the wall, they had explored only a short way in. The place they''d uncovered seemed to consist of a single long corridor, with rooms on either side, filled with echoes and darkness. Over the next few weeks, they had spent a little time checking through the first couple, but harvest season was coming up and the two of them had been roped into work, quite literally.
The autumn harvest was the busiest time of year, and even the children were set to work, arranging and mending baskets, ropes and bags, all of which would be needed for the harvest. Around them, adults sharpened sickles and made the appropriate offerings to the gods, that the weather might be bright and clear. The basic things that a village needed to have sorted out before the real work started.
They were upon it now. The way the sun shone directly into the cave at this time of the day made it appear like a corridor to another world, a door to elsewhere, placed there by some laughing god.
The complex within was interesting. At some point in the long distant past, it had been chipped out of the rock, and then later on small magics had been used to conceal it.
Pearl had a strong talent for Change, and it was her who had found the wall, by spotting the tiny glimmers of failing magic. Colours and sparkles in the air, she said.
Health had no magical talent whatsoever, and was quite content to keep it that way. They weren¡¯t going to be a growth-battery, trapped in the village forever and guilted into never leaving. Bugger that! The moment they were old enough, they were gone. Outta here! Vamoose!
Change had been used to make the wall mimic stone, Pearl explained anyway, and with some searching they''d found signs that the surrounding vegetation had also been altered, to cling where it shouldn¡¯t. Still, whatever had been done, it had been many, many years ago, and those magics were now all but gone.
Inside, the walls and ceiling had been chiselled to look like bricks, but there was no other ornamentation. All the rooms they found were empty, the floors seemingly brushed clean and the walls bare.
Some experimentation did reveal that the floor sloped a little towards the outside. It would be a perfect place to shelter in a rainstorm.
Even the corridor seemed to end abruptly in a bare stone wall, but careful searching and nudging from Pearl had revealed it as what it was. Another bricked up doorway.
-
Between them, they had ¡°borrowed¡± tools from the village, hiding them in one of the rooms until they were ready, and today was that day. Today, they were ready to break through the back wall.
¡°You sure we should be doing this?¡± Pearl seemed unusually hesitant, as she tossed her hammer from hand to hand. ¡°What if there¡¯s like, a monster back there or somethin¡¯¡±
Health shook their head, holding the large chisel out in front of themselves like a sword, ¡°you said that about the first wall, and there was nothin¡¯, it¡¯ll be fine, c¡¯mon!¡±
Pearl chewed on her lip for a moment, studying them, before shrugging and settling the hammer in her left hand, turning towards the back of the cave.
It wasn¡¯t badly lit, once they¡¯d cleared the undergrowth and such from the front entrance, but they¡¯d bought a lantern anyway. The doorway behind them was south-facing, and the mid-morning sun streamed in, illuminating almost all the way to the back.
Pearl had also done something to their eyes. It muted colours but allowed them both to see much better in the dim light. It would be fixed before they went home, of course, couldn¡¯t have the adults asking weird questions, but for now, it allowed them both to see easily in the dark.
Change wasn¡¯t a well-regarded magic in the village, to the relief of both of them. It didn¡¯t help with growing rice, therefore it was no good!
Growth? Now that was a talent more valuable than gold, but Change? Change was¡ Insubstantial? Ephemeral? Gaudy and pointless and nothing to do with Rice! It was a magic used by thieves and con artists, and nothing more. Add the fact it was almost impossible to make something into something that it didn¡¯t want to be, and that the changes didn''t tend to be permanent, well, you just get that nonsense out of your head right now young lady! Why couldn''t you grow rice, like a good kid!
Then one day, a traveller had appeared at the entrance to their village, dressed up like an animal and almost glowing with magic, even to Health¡¯s poor magical vision. It had been early evening when they''d arrived, and the elders had gone out to meet them with torches and stern words.
Health had snuck out and hidden flat against a roof, watching the exchange with their hands across their mouth. The traveller had left, walking away into the night, and that was all that had become of it. Nobody had ever spoken of it again, except Health and Pearl.
They had recounted it to her later that night, and it had been mind-blowing to the younger girl. Not the adult''s reaction, but that you could do that!
She had never been allowed to use her magic outside of small repairs, had never even considered that it could be used that way, to change your own body. Over the next year, the two of them had experimented in the woods until they could replicate something that matched how that traveller looked, with their own spin, of course.
If their parents or the other villagers ever found out, then their world would end. The two of them might even be exiled! But so far nobody had found out, so it was all fine.
Pearl reached out, tugging on Health¡¯s shirt to catch their waning attention, and with a nod, the two of them headed towards the wall.
Chapter 37 - Dragon
The human on his back protested at the change in course, but quietened down again once they realised that there was nothing they could do about it. They were a passenger here, and not a terribly welcome one, time to relax and enjoy the ride.
It took almost an hour of flying and multiple course corrections before he spotted the remains of the campfire. The smoke had drifted with the wind, dispersing into the thin air once the fire was out, and he had been looking for something much larger than what he eventually found.
It was the glint of light off metal and the small remains of burning embers that allowed him to finally spot it. If it hadn¡¯t been in the centre of the road he never would have seen it at all.
Dragon circled above for a time, considering his options, and wondering if it was worth landing, before all of a sudden the fire below flared up. Burning with a renewed vigour, red and orange sparks flew into the air as more fuel was added. Against the light, he could see the silhouette of a waving figure, and on the wind, he could hear their distant shouts.
On his back, the passenger awoke, and then started to point and shout, as if Dragon had just happened to circle here by chance and this whole thing was a grand coincidence.
Adult humans weren''t too bright, but he was fond of them anyway.
It took him a minute more to work out how to land without disruption. In the cities it was easy, everything was prepared for him, but out here the wind from his wings could easily throw the small fire into the sun-baked forest.
At least they¡¯d camped on the road, he thought as he landed several body lengths away, walking towards the fire and crouching a little to allow the passenger to slide off.
Dragon paused as the previously-waving figure moved towards him at a trot, and then a run, with none of the fear he would normally expect. Was this an attack? He''d heard of those! But no, laughter, and then outstretched hands clasping of either side of his face, as he was drawn down for a hug and a kiss on the nose! Aww! Something happy fluttered in his heart, and the tension that had been building up inside him eased.
These last few days had been terrible, but this made it all better!
He bumped his forehead gratefully into their chest, careful to not knock them over, and then stepped back to let the humans do their talking thing.
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-
The short one and Passenger seemed to know each other. Both of them hugged upon meeting and then gestured at him as he settled down next to the fire, turning a few times to flatten the ground before wrapping his tail around his bulk, trying to make himself small. It was so much easier without the bags!
By the fire, he had found a third human, lurking in the shadows. They were more than a head taller than the other two and seemed much warier of him, unwilling to come any closer than necessary. He hadn¡¯t spent much time studying human emotions in a while, but he thought their face looked tired and sad and nervous.
He¡¯d learnt long ago that reaching out wouldn¡¯t help, so he settled his head down to wait instead, letting out a sigh. Knowing humans, nothing would happen until the morning anyway.
-
The fire, which had been barely more than embers when Dragon first spotted it, had been stoked up and food prepared. The Passenger seemed more grateful for their food than he had been for the deer, maybe it was something to do with the cooking ritual? Dragon considered finding something for himself, but the forest was densely packed here and he wasn¡¯t that hungry anyway.
On top of that, there was a smell of something in the air, as if something big had been through here recently, and it was unlikely there was any game left nearby.
He gave the forest a baleful eye. Whatever it had been, it was gone now, and it probably wasn''t very tasty anyway.
Over the course of the night, Shortie and Passenger ended up leaning against his side, talking and laughing. The other figure finally came out of the shadows after much coaxing, but they still sat much further away, as far from his face as they could get.
They flinched every time he moved, so he did his best not to move.
He dozed until the dawn light started to lighten the sky, lulled into sleep by the sound of their voices and the warmth of their bodies. The mixture of the wood smoke and sweat, the green summer smell of the forest and the sparks in the air, all mixed with the lilts of their voices and the gestures of their speech. He recognised his name in there a few times, but it all washed past him. Maybe, he considered with a dream-mixed brain, the hand movements were what he was missing?
-
Come morning, the three of them attempted to have a discussion with him, and he really did try! It was obvious they wanted him to carry the three of them, and while they weren¡¯t heavy- not compared to the parcels and letters- he was reluctant. He would have to fly much lower than usual, and if one of them fell off...
Shadows was on his side, shaking their head in negation, making movements with their hands and at one point even walking away, having to be cajoled back with soft words and clever little gestures.
After much back and forth and signing and head shaking, he agreed to take Passenger back to the first city, and then to come back for the other two. He knew where he was going, so if he flew fast then it would only be a day''s flight each way. He''d wanted to take Shortie, but they had all pointed about the lack of harness, and he had in the end relented.
He missed his normal job already.
Chapter 38 - Brickwrath and the Dragon
Relief. Pure, unadulterated, relief. That was what Brickwrath had felt upon seeing the shape of The Dragon above them. Absolute pure relief.
The two of them had been on the road for a few weeks now, and they were pretty sure something was tracking them. It had started with strange noises in the forest, rustling and creaks. Later it became a movement of leaves when there was no wind and swirls of dust on the road, heading in the opposite direction to the breeze.
Once, a snapped twig, loud behind them. Elegantlillies had spun around, her gun in her arms, but there had been nothing there. Only smudges in the dust of the road, the smell of hot breath, and the headache-inducing scent of jasmine on the wind.
She had growled and shouted into the empty air, but nothing had come of it, and eventually, they had had to carry on.
After that, they had taken to keeping their fire low at night, no more than embers. Whatever was following them, it liked the light. They were lucky the weather was good, or they might have frozen then and there on the road.
Then one night, when the haunting was at its worst, the noises of movement and the breath of animals all around them, the silver shape had appeared in the sky, circling like a beacon under dark clouds.
Elegantlillies had spotted it first, an air of final defeat in her voice as she pointed upwards. Her face was hidden in the darkness and Brickwrath couldn''t see her expression, but he knew it deep in his soul. Exhausted by so many sleepless nights, what was one more monster.
Then he looked up, and his reaction couldn¡¯t have been more different. A moment of resignation, and then a surprised whoop and a mad scramble for material for the fire. He knew that shape anywhere! Had spent days of his life watching out for it. Elegantlillies had at first tried to stop him, what about the stalker, what if it was a different dragon, but they both already knew.
An outward sigh, one last movement through dried leaves, and their ghost had left. Had left minutes ago. A pressure against the edges of their consciousness they weren¡¯t even aware of until it was gone, and weren''t even aware was gone until they looked for it.
-
''Crests the Skies on Wings of Knowledge'' had grown bigger since they¡¯d last met, or Brickwrath had grown shorter, either was possible! At the same time, the dragon looked harried and worried, his mail packs missing and the rider shaky and worn, wearing none of the safety equipment he would have expected. As he watched the two make their way towards him, Brickwrath wondered exactly what had happened, and was ready to confront the rider, with violence if needed.
''Was it possible to steal a dragon?'' He thought as he ran towards them. It would certainly be a good tool for highway robbery! Nobody¡¯s going to argue over a bit of gold and a few rings when you¡¯re brandishing a creature the size of a boat.
Either way, it was still His Dragon, stolen or not. Beautiful and resplendent, with scales shining like plate armour under the moonlight, each one a perfect diamond. They mirrored the glow of the firelight behind him, and as he reached up and grasped the familiar face in his hands, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
He drew the big ol'' head down, wrapping his arms around the nose and pressing his forehead against the scales in silent thanks. The old boy really had grown bigger!
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Then, as the dragon huffed softly into his chest and stepped back, the rider came forward into the light, and the face resolved itself into one he knew. The young artist who had been in his squadron for a while, and who he rather embarrassingly still couldn¡¯t remember the name of. Over a decade older and half a continent away from where they''d last met, but still recognisable.
The world was a strange place sometimes, he reckoned. The lad had always had a fascination with dragons, hanging around anywhere he might land and making endless sketches, but this was still unexpected.
A hug and a clasping of hands, and as they settled down next to the fire, the relief he felt was palpable, a violent ache as the muscles in his chest relaxed. The first breath of a drowning man, plucked from a ragged sea.
Elegantlillies was still wary, she said it was something to do with the teeth, but Brickwrath and Windwash, as he called himself now, settled down much more comfortably, the body behind them, the fire in front and the old friend making for the best camping experience he¡¯d had in years.
-
It took most of the night to get their stories out, but they managed. After the ponies had succumbed, they, he and Elegantlillies, had waited several weeks in tense anticipation, but no symptoms had manifested, and somehow, against all expectations, they had lived.
After deciding they were as clean as they could get, the two of them had decided to head west until they hit civilisation. Brickwrath had pulled out some old maps and they had decided that the road had to go somewhere, right? Normally travel from this part of the world would be via boat, as the land routes were long and unsuited to those travelling under their own speed, but needs must.
They hadn¡¯t taken much with them, only what they could carry. A small amount of provisions and clothes, the battered leather case he had carried throughout his time in the army, and a few odds and ends to make camping less miserable. They were lucky that it was the dry season, but there was a reason they hadn''t set out earlier.
Food along the way had been simple fare, mostly fruit and mushrooms scavenged from the woods, with the odd rabbit or ground bird thrown in, and they had both lost a significant amount of weight over the course of their journey.
They were lucky in that it was standard practice to plant up the edges of new roads with fruiting plants and shrubs. The plants served the dual purpose of proving food, and of having been bred for generations to provide a thick hedge, blocking the way into and out of the wilderness. After months of neglect, much of the hedgerow had been eaten away, with regular breaks where beasts and animals had decided to reclaim trails lost to them for generations, but there was still enough about to keep them both alive, if not much more than that.
They had seen signs of the other refugees ahead of them, marks from fires and slashes cut into trees, but the forest was already reclaiming them, the vegetation fast encroaching onto what had the year before been a hard-packed road.
-
Once he¡¯d learnt of the stalker, somewhere past midnight, Windwash had urged the two of them to fly back with him. Elegantlillies had given that a ¡°Not on your life¡±, and Brickwrath was prone to agree with her. While the lad was thin and tall, able to cling on with grit alone, balancing three of them at once would have been like a doomed circus trick. If they managed to make it back like that, then maybe they could take it as a reference and use the experience to join the show as acrobats.
Questioning the man on what exactly had happened back at base had caused him to go bright red, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath, and Brickwrath realised that it was possible that he might have stolen the dragon. It was all a little unclear, and after a moment of internal conflict, he decided that he didn''t want to know.
The Dragon didn¡¯t seem too fond of the idea of carrying all three of them either, nudging his way into the conversation with snuffles and blinks and a lot of head shaking.
He seemed to shake his head even when in agreement, sometimes, which was a little confusing, and at one point had tried to communicate something using his wings, which nobody had managed to interpret before he had accidentally swept away both the campfire and a lot of the road surface, but they had worked it out in the end. Windwash was to go back, report on what he had found, and if he wasn''t arrested the moment his feet touched the floor, then The Dragon would return for the two of them in a few days, with the appropriate safety equipment this time.
Hopefully, he would have managed to talk Elegantlillies into the idea by then, so far she was not impressed at all.
Chapter 39 - Pearls and Rice.
It took them almost half an hour to get the first brick out of the wall, but after that, the job went much faster, and by the end of the hour they were pulling them out by hand, the sandy mortar crunching beneath their feet.
Most of the houses in their village were built of mud bricks. Baked hard and protected from the rain by the overhanging roofs and layers of clay plaster, properly shaped bricks degraded slower in the rain than even stone, and it was much easier to replace a damaged section. The use and maintenance of the mud bricks had been honed over the hundreds of generations their people had lived on the mountain. The bricks and plaster were held together with rice straw, and the few houses that utilised stone in their construction all used a rice mortar to bind the stones together. You couldn''t escape it, it was even in the walls!
Recently, some people in the bigger cities had started using stone blocks instead of the small mud-bricks, coating their roofs in plants like those in foreign lands, but Health had heard they were leaky things, prone to rain-rot and sudden collapse. Much better to use varnished clay tiles and replace them once or twice a generation than to have to deal with that mess. Prettier too.
The bricks they were removing now were formed in a strange style, the straw in them seemingly absent, and Pearl had pointed out lingering traces of magic, once used to make them appear all almost identical.
Their village produced rice, and a lot of it, but further down the mountain Health knew that there were other villages, specialising in other things. One of them had to make bricks. They had never been outside of Ricetown, but the other villages were probably all named stupid things like Claytown or Brickington. All their inhabitants spouting names such as ¡®The Clay Forms Around Our Souls¡¯, ¡®We Eat Clay for Dinner¡¯ and ¡®Clay Clay Clay Clay Mud Mud Mud¡¯.
I''m not bitter, Health grumbled, pulling the last brick out of the gap and setting it aside, not bitter at all.
-
Pearl went through the gap first, Health following close behind, one hand on the back of her shirt and the other holding the lamp.
Between them, they had enlarged the gap more than they strictly required, in the hopes of allowing light in, but the sun had moved on, the entrance a white portal behind them.
As they worked, they''d discussed what they expected to find behind the wall, and it was everything from ¡°monsters¡± and ¡°gold¡± to ¡°another wall, built of sturdier materials.¡±
What they actually found was an extension of the existing corridor, as if somebody in the distant past had picked an arbitrary point to brick up. The walls were still flat, smooth stone, and the corridor ahead of them stretched off into darkness.
They had prepared for this though, and the miners lamp, pilfered from the same place as the hammer and chisel, cast enough light ahead for them to see by. Pearl had murmured something about cats, and how their eyes reflected light, but that was her prerogative, Health merely reaped the benefits. It was strange though, the way everything seemed to be made up of different shades of grey. Even the flame within the lamp seemed to shine with white light, rather than the orange-red they knew they would normally see.
The passage went deep, deep under the mountain, and they walked for several minutes before it turned sharply.
The silence was deafening. Health had never before been anywhere where you couldn¡¯t hear birds or insects, and the absence of sound was like a physical pressure, the shuffle of their feet and the sounds of their breath the only noise. Their ears seemed to fill in the gaps with great whining noises, which they knew weren''t real but couldn''t find a way to stop.
A touch of the wall from Pearl and a shake of her head showed that if the way ahead was concealed by magic, then it was far above her ability to detect.
With a nod, they turned.
Within a few paces, the corridor turned again, and then once more a moment later, setting them back onto their original heading. What the purpose of the baffle was, neither of them could discern, but the spot of light far behind them was now well and truly banished.
Lamp double-checked, the two of them continued onwards.
-
The end of the passageway seemed to sneak up on them. One moment they were in the same narrow hallway they had been in the whole way down, no side rooms, no change in height, and then, all of a sudden, they weren¡¯t. A step into the darkness, and the narrow hallway opened up into a large room. It was probably three stories high, and only the enhancement of their eyes allowed them to see that there was a ceiling up there at all...
There was a little muttering between the two of them, before together, they stepped into the room.
Upon entering Pearl was the first to react. ¡°Beautiful!¡± she exclaimed, shaking off her surprise at the surroundings and taking confident steps forward into the atrium. Health followed a step later and had to stop in wonderment. What had a moment before looked like a dark hall was now a well-lit atrium. From somewhere high, high above them, the sun shone weakly down, and Health winced as their eyes adjusted to the light.
The room was circular, the walls stretching straight up until their vision blurred and eyes watered. Those same walls, which had so far had been bare carved stone, were now covered in the remains of faded murals, the paint blistered and peeling in the high humidity until nothing discernible was left, merely spots of colour and the impressions of figures. Flakes of paint littered the floor, and the air had a damp, musty quality to it, like the cellar or a storeroom in a long-abandoned house.
In the centre of the area was a raised platform, and on top of that a low table, carved out of a white stone, the likes of which was assuredly not local. Despite that, there was no rain damage in the room, and no plants, except for one.
Placed upon the table was a vase of fresh roses.
Five, perfect, roses.
It was to make out with their altered vision, but for all it was missing colours, it was still sharp, and Health could see the dew on the petals, and smell the scent of jasmine in the air.
Something about that was very strange, but it was dismissed as Health lurched forward, grabbing the back of Pearl''s shirt as she reached the edge of the dais. She was almost two years younger than them, and although she was smart and stubborn, her childishness sometimes showed at the worst possible times!
Luckily she stopped just as their hand clamped on the back of her shirt. The smell of the flowers was stronger here, closer to the table, hanging in the air like a thick perfume. The smell of a summer''s night, with the rice fields in full bloom. The flowers were in a glass vase, half full of water, and Health felt the hair rise on the back of their neck as they stared at them.
Something was watching them.
¡°You can¡¯t go up there,¡± Health hissed, dragging her back, but she shrugged out of their grip. A moment of hesitation, and then she turned towards them, her brow a furrowed line in the dim light.
Slowly, carefully, their hand pulling on her shirt, they retraced their steps, returning to the doorway, the dog on their heels. Pearl looked back at the flowers as they left, and opened her mouth as if to speak, but then shut it again. To speak in that room felt as if to invite the attention of something much bigger than them.
Then they were both out of there, back into the darkness of the corridor. The air here was cooler and fresher, the doorway a dark curtain behind them.
¡°What was that?¡± Pearl whispered, the words still seeming too loud.
¡°I dunno¡±, Health wrapped their arms around their torso, shivering at the sudden temperature change. ¡°A bad thing?¡±
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¡°I don¡¯t think so, it was so pretty!¡± Pearl spoke louder now, wistfully, giving a glance back to the way they had come but making no move to go back through into the light.
She paused, thinking about it, ¡°There was a lotta magic in there, but it wasn¡¯t anything I could use?¡±
Health didn¡¯t know how to respond to that, magic wasn¡¯t their domain, but¡ ¡°I didn¡¯t like it¡±, a shudder, and then a ¡°let¡¯s go home. We¡¯re gonna be missed soon anyways.¡±
Pearl stopped staring back at the doorway, instead turning to look at them. There was no light here other than from the lamp on the floor, and the light was cast upwards, highlighting her cheekbones and leaving her eyes in shadow. ¡°No.¡±
-
What? Her intonation and voice had changed and their baby friend suddenly seemed to grow up in an instant, ¡°what?¡±
She seemed to stand straighter, to square her shoulders in a way Health had never seen her do before. It made her look taller and older, as she looked directly into their face. ¡°We came this far, Health, whatever¡¯s in there, we can¡¯t just leave¡ I gotta...¡±
She trailed off, the confidence seeming to drain out of her all at once, her shoulders sagging and the conviction on her face turning to confusion. ¡°What¡¡±
She trailed off, staring off into the gloom. They could see her eyes reflecting the light from the lamp like stars, but the rest of her face was still obscured.
Health reached out, laying their hands on her shoulders, ¡°Hey, Pearl, you ok?¡±
She shrugged, not pushing them away, but looking a little lost. ¡°I¡ I¡¡± She trailed off again, eyes flicking to their face for a moment, and then back into the darkness. She chewed up her lip for a moment, and then gave a vigorous shake of her head, like a dog throwing off water. ¡°It¡¯s ok, I''m ok. Let¡¯s go back in.¡±
"How about let''s not?" Health countered, hands still on her shoulders and absolutely not up for going back. Pearl was young and impulsive, but she was generally also rock solid. They had never seen her demeanour change like this before.
She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, from behind them, in the darkness of the corridor, came a scuttling noise, small claws scratching across stone. They both turned to look, the lantern still on the floor between them, casting a small cone of light.
Both of them waited for a moment with held breath
¡°Hello?¡± Health finally shouted into the darkness, listening as it echoed back each repetition shrinking to sound smaller and further away in the gloom. The silence seemed to press into them now, the blood roaring in their ears. Beside them, Pearl laid her hand on their arm.
"Probably just a ra-" Health started, before-
¡°Boo!¡±
The voice came from behind them, and both of them jumped as if they¡¯d been shot. Health grabbed the lamp from the floor, swinging it around like a weapon but hitting nothing. Within the lamp, they could hear the oil sloshing, but the light stayed thankfully lit.
¡°Really now! There''s no need for that.¡± the voice was still behind them, in the corridor this time, ¡°It¡¯s been a while since I last had visitors, never-mind two kittens!¡±
Health resisted the urge to swing around again, the flashing of the light off the walls and the risk of losing the light too much.
Unwittingly, they took a step back into the big room, and around them, everything went white.
-
It was blinding. It was the first glimpse of daylight after generations that had known only darkness. It was the very first crystal to form in a winter frost. The first breath taken by the first chick of spring, still trapped within its protective shell.
It was life and light and magic, and as they stumbled backwards, Health was completely overwhelmed. He could see the colours of the murals on the walls, bright and new, the paint rotten and flaking and showing the bare stone beneath. Their vision was still shades of muted grey, but every colour was there, red and white and blue and purple and and and-
Something inside their brain short-circuited for a moment, and it was only the pull of Pearl''s hand on their wrist that got them to look away. She seemed unaffected, her mouth a grim line, even as Health tried to gesture at the walls, trying to look anywhere but at those bright, unnamed colours.
Far above them both, the roof was streaked with an aeon''s worth of dirt and grime, yet the sun which shone through seemed as bright as daylight, and he felt a rush of magic run through him as Pearl Shifted him back to their normal form, colours, real colours rushing in all at once.
Ahead of them, on the dais, the roses were gone, and sitting on the table was a man.
Health didn¡¯t know how they knew that it was a man, but they did. Normally you had to get that from conversational clues or from being told, but...
They frowned, squinting in the bright gloom. The features of the man on the table seemed to slide away from their eyes. There was an impression of bright hair and a flat chin, but the moment they tried to focus on it, it was unfamiliar again, like it was the first time they''d met.
Combined with the walls, this whole thing was absolutely headache-inducing.
¡°So how about you two introduce yourselves!¡± the man smiled, his voice the gentle crackle of the fire on an autumn night. He was their friend, and nothing here would harm them. This was the ultimate truth, and also possibly a lie.
Headache inducing. Beside them, Pearl gave a polite bob of her knees, frowning and squinting her face. She introduced herself, and then Health, but the words seemed lost in the roar of the wind, and Health looked around, expecting to see a raging storm.
Upon the dais the man nodded as if he could hear them perfectly, as if the cavern wasn¡¯t crumbling to pieces around them, the paint chips swirling around in an endless tornado of colour.
Which it wasn''t, and they weren''t, but the wind noise was so loud now that it should have been.
With a hop, he jumped down off the table, and the world shook as his feet impacted the floor, sending up little clouds of dust. They shimmered in the air, and Health was caught again for a moment, the colour was¡ Was¡
Then the man was in front of them, his shirt blocking the view. Homespun linen, they could see every fibre as it filled their vision, every stitch and mark.
A hand on their shoulder, and another on Pearls, and gently they were being guided towards the exit. Past the door and into the blessedly stark corridor.
¡°How did you two even get in here?¡± the voice rattled cheerfully on, ¡°I thought we''d sealed this place up years ago!¡±
Pearl seemed to be explaining something, but they couldn''t hear, couldn''t concentrate.
The corridor had been shorter before, it hadn¡¯t taken them this long to walk it surely. Beside them, the voice continued, ¡°but yet here you are. Man, if I was a better host I¡¯d offer you some cake and tea or something, but, you know how it is, crumbling old ruins don''t tend to have much left in the cupboards!"
He took his hand off Health¡¯s shoulder briefly, to gesture around, before placing it back with all the weight of the mountain above. ¡°I thought you¡¯d like the flowers, but I guess that¡¯s more something for parents, right? Not sure I¡¯ve ever met a kid truly into tasteful floral displays.¡±
Health stumbled for a moment, they wanted to stop walking, wanted to¡
¡°You¡¯re talking nonsense.¡±
Their words were lost to the wind, but still managed to reach the ears of the Thing. It wasn¡¯t a man, they told themselves. It was a Thing, a Thing they shouldn¡¯t have released, and they would refer to it as a Man no more. Pearl shook her head next to him, but whatever she was saying was taken by the thunder and the rain.
The Thing scrunched up his nose and appeared for a moment as if he, it, he, it it it might be offended. But then a grin stretched over his it¡¯s face and it stopped. It was in front of them now.
It clapped its hands together, pleased, and next to them Pearl flinched. Health hoped she was ok. She was stubborn, but she could see through this, could take apart the magic and reduce this thing back to its base components whenever she wanted. That''s what they told themselves, sheltering their face from the storm with their hands.
"Drivel!" Health shouted through their fingers, "garbage, nonsense. Absolute, utter, bollocks!"
These weren¡¯t the words they used, of course, language is a fickle thing, but it was the impression Health tried to give, over the wind and the roar. They were shouting now, the pain in their chest increasing and increasing.
And then, all was silent. They were back in the big room as if they¡¯d never left, and the Manthing was sitting on the dais still, his hands on its knees, face serious. Health''s hands were by their sides, the lantern held in a firm grip.
¡°Let¡¯s just say I was a genie¡±, it spoke, ¡°and I could grant you one wish, what would that wish be?¡±
Neither of them knew what a genie was, but they could get the gist of it. One wish. Each?
¡°Just the one.¡± it nodded.
Health thought about this, glancing at Pearl, who was biting her lip and staring at the ruined murals. He nudged her in the side, and she started, looking at him, and then at the Thingman, ¡°Can we decide together?¡± she asked.
It nodded again, hands resting on its knees, fingers moving to an unheard beat.
There was some frantic whispering between the two of them, before they both nodded.
¡°We¡¯d like,¡± Health started, their voice loud in the silence.
¡°To get away from this dumb village.¡± Pearl finished.
"Somewhere far away." Added Health, for good measure.
The Thing blinked at them, tilting its head. ¡°But you have family here surely, friends, a future? It can''t be all that bad."
Health shook their head. ¡°We have a future of rice. Rice and nothing else.¡±
Pearl nodded in agreement. ¡°I didn¡¯t even know I /had/ magic until somebody new came to the village. And if I¡¯m found usin¡¯ it, then they''ll kick us out."
The Thingmanthing on the platform thought about this for a moment, rubbing its chin. "Surely that solves your problem then?"
Pearl shook her head. It wouldn''t understand, leaving of their own free will was different, exile was exile, but to choose to leave, well. They''d never really thought about it like that before, and the two had another whispering session, before agreeing that it was their wish. More than gold or riches. They didn''t want to be exiled, but they did want to be gone.
On the table, the Thing waited for them to finish. It looked like an adult, long blonde hair, tied back into a scruffy braid, loose at the edges. The linen of its clothes was dusty as if it had been sleeping in dry fields for many days, and its face was clean-shaven. Beneath the mane of hair was the glint of a single gold earring. The more Health stared at it, the more human it seemed.
Best not to stare, in that case.
¡°Well.¡± It removed its hand from its chin, coming to a decision, ¡°I¡¯m not actually a genie, but I can do that. Are you sure about this?¡±
The both of them nodded in unison, and it was done.
-
The vines snaked up the side of the mountain, clinging to the rock face with small thorns. Overhead, a storm broke.
Chapter 40 - Dragon
There was magic in the air. It hung around him like a cloud, scouring his scales and burning his nose, like the scent of rain before a huge thunderstorm.
He knew on an instinctual level that this happened every now and again, but the last one had been many, many years before, back when he was still small. He had sheltered in the bottom of the volcano and stared up as the magic rained downwards like snow, gentle hands against his sides keeping him on the ground, the world hushed and muffled by the pounding rain outside.
It didn''t seem like it would be so gentle an experience this time, and there were no soft voices to keep him grounded.
On his back, Passenger clung on with cold hands, fingernails gripping the edges of his scales in a way he didn¡¯t like, but it was better than them falling off. This was going to be a pain.
He had been in the air for a while now, and he was doing his best not to fly through the cloud of magic, but it seemed to fill the whole sky, settling on the forest below with a visible sheen. It was worse higher up, so he was flying so low that he could hear the creaking of the trees as they worked to draw it in, the sounds of birds and beasts below panicking as his shadow passed overhead.
He banked to one side, allowing the claw of one wing to brush the tree canopy, rejoicing in the feel of the leaves and twigs breaking against his scales, the feel of static in the air. On his back, he felt Passenger grip tighter, hunkering down as best they could, and, a little embarrassed, he righted himself, catching an air current and flying back up.
Flying with no bags was great. No burdens at all would have been nicer though. The human on his back was feather-light, but did limit him in other ways.
He flew up, allowing his feet to brush the canopy only occasionally, until, finally in the distance, he caught the acrid stench of City.
Almost back. A short stop, and then he could travel back to Shortie and Shadows all by his lonesome, with nothing at all to weigh him down. That was gonna be fun.
-
The reception on the ground wasn¡¯t what he had expected. Normally when he came in to land, there would be a nice cleared area, some goats, maybe even a cow if he was lucky.
Instead, the area below him was filled with people, sitting on bright fabrics and bits of wood, sunning themselves in the late spring air. They screamed and scattered as he appeared above them, the wind of his wings blowing the wood and cloth away, ducking away under hedges, holding onto their hats and children. Annoying, but it wasn''t his problem.
His Passenger slid off the moment they landed and then proceeded with disgorging the contents of her stomach into the hedge. He hadn¡¯t even been going that fast, and the landing had been much gentler than the one on the road!
He thought about it, as he snuffled at the pen where his goat normally awaited. This city had always been good about that, but today the pen was clean and empty, almost as if they hadn''t been expecting him back.
Behind him the magic roared, the sky a deep, azure blue, and his scales itched.
Lack of goat acknowledged, grieved and forgiven, he turned to Passenger instead, giving the woman a gentle pat on the shoulder with his wingtip. It would be ok! Her, oh wait, his? Who knew. He wished he had a way to ask. Her, their, clothes were crumbling and falling apart around her, and Dragon raised an eye to the sky.
Humans were sensitive to that kind of thing, right? He had tried washing them down with magic once or twice when he was very young, and they had implored him to stop. He didn¡¯t generally release it whilst on the job, the leather of the packs couldn¡¯t take it, but his handlers had made it clear that it was not to be done at any time, not even on the ground.
He wondered what they were going to do about the storm.
Ah! The help was here. From the side gate came several nervous looking humans, all looking rather unprepared but probably willing to help. They were wearing the right uniforms and everything. This was a good sign!
He nosed the back of Passenger in what he hoped was a comforting manner, nudging her towards the group. She was no longer throwing up, but still looked haggard and unwell.
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The people split up around him, two heading towards Passenger with stern faces, one turning around and running back out of the area, and another running their hands over his scales, checking for injuries? Their frequent glances at the sky and shouts between each other indicated something was up, but Dragon wasn¡¯t sure what.
-
They all hung around in the landing area for a few minutes, some of the humans doing their talking stuff, a couple more starting to pick the discarded fabrics and wood out of the hedgerow. Dragon attempted to help with the tidying up, but after rather a lot of pointing and shouting, he got the impression that he was doing it wrong, somehow.
Over the course of those few minutes, more figures turned up. One human drained the traces of magic out of Passenger, altering his appearance but seeming to cheer him up. Another with spare clothing, and more who only appeared to be there to ask questions which had already been answered.
One of them had started getting quite aggressive, giving off anger displays and vocalising loudly, but a wing-claw on their shoulder had put a stop to that. Another pushed their way into the area, shouting and crying, throwing themselves in front of Dragon, but what they were upset about, he didn''t know. Was it something he''d done? A minute later Passenger picked them up off the ground with soft words, and they were both escorted away.
All this was taking far too long, Dragon thought, eyeing the sky once more. The storm was getting worse, starting to worm its way under his scales in a way he disliked. He had managed to outrun it whilst flying here, but it was starting to drift over the city now, huge clouds of magic forming in the bright blue sky. Soon it would be too heavy for him to pass through without the harness degrading around him. The harness that they still hadn¡¯t even started equipping him with yet!
There were a good ten people in the area now, and none of them were doing anything useful. Some were arguing softly with each other, some others cleaning up. There was no sense of urgency, and the tension that had been there when they arrived seemed to have dissipated. The one who had run their hands over him had left by now, but as he waited, shuffling his feet with impatience, another had finally appeared with the harness draped over their shoulder. Nobody was doing anything with it though, it had been left off near the goat pen, and Dragon turned his face into the breeze.
The wind was picking up now, and he could see the shimmers of blue on the edges of the city walls, smell the electricity in the air. Did the humans not¡ Notice? Could they not see it?
Over on the edge of the circle, Passenger had returned and was gesturing at herself, at her discarded clothes, and the looks of apathy and lack of urgency from those around him indicated that it wasn''t something that bothered them.
They really couldn''t see it, huh.
Ah. What a learning experience this last week had been.
With a sigh, Dragon rose from his crouch. After taking a moment to make sure there was nobody too close, he stomped one foot against the ground, hard. The noise was loud, a shudder that vibrated through the whole area, and plants beneath his foot sprang up bright and green as the earth trembled. Around him, everyone froze.
Good.
A huff of magic, very carefully directed onto the clothes Passenger had been pointing at. He watched in satisfaction as they crumbled into earth, becoming what they wanted to be. That done, he used his wingtips to point at the sky. Then again, just in case they didn¡¯t get it. Then a third time for good measure, this time using his front legs and his nose. Humans pointed a lot, they should understand this.
That done, he then pointed at them, and let go of his tight control for just a moment.
There was a lot of squawking as their clothes turned to dust, as their little wooden seats crumbled and rotted underneath them. He watched as the metal of their badges and braces turned to rust, as the leather of their shoes rotted away around their feet. There were creaks from the hedges as the deadwood, sheltered from rain, suddenly succumbed to age, and various exclamations from outside the area. People''s features shifted and adjusted, the ideals they had draped themselves in taking the spark of power and adjusting, closer to the original intentions, settling into permanence.
Whoops, he might¡¯ve overdone it a little bit.
There was no movement, no shouting, nothing. Around him, they all held still, not even daring to breathe. Prey animals finally realising that what they had thought was a mouse was really a large predator that they had no conceivable way of fighting.
With exaggerated motions, Dragon pointed once more at the sky.
A final moment of still, and then sudden squawking and hoots and a frantic covering of different body parts.
Dragon settled down to watch the commotion, only then realising that he had accidentally destroyed the harness. Bugger.
-
Most people left, but a few hung around, apparently ok with their nudity. There was some muttering and quite a bit of pointing and laughing, but as Dragon glanced at the sky, he wasn¡¯t sure they got the message. They¡ Might¡¯ve simply taken it as a threat?
Runners were sent and a different harness was fetched, this one older and tighter and smelling a little of damp, but the humans with their smart little hands knew what they were doing, and with some adjustment, it would do. Or not, the Storm was in the way now, and to go around it would add days to the journey, if he even could. His stunt had sped things up, but he didn''t think it had sent the right message, somehow.
Then he was leaving. Buckled, cinched a little tighter than he¡¯d like, but ready to go. A warning humph, a flap of his wings, and he was off. Below him, the humans ran around like ants, and on the wind, he could hear laughter and cheers.
As the harness turned to dust around him, he wondered if he should go back.
Nah, they¡¯d find out on their own soon enough.
Chapter 41 - Dragon (Cities)
Up in those dark blue clouds, Dragon swooped and dove, enjoying the freedom and energy of the storm, nourished by the magic. Visibility was diminished, but knew where he was going. He had never been lost, and never would be, even in the harshest of storms.
He had tried to climb above the clouds at first, until the air was so thin no rider would have survived. But he was a creature of the sky and the sea, and didn¡¯t need air to sustain him or hold him aloft, it was just a nice convenience, that was all.
Up he had gone, up through the thin air, up until he could almost see the rivers above him, calling to him to swim in its sweet water. He had flown in that middle-place for a while, but the storm had been even thicker, almost cloying on his scales, and he didn''t wish to join the rivers above, so he had returned to the land and the birds.
He liked birds. Sometimes they would fly for hours in his draught, following him like children, resting on his back and swooping around his face, as if daring him to eat them. He knew that above him in that endless sea, there would be no birds, no humans, no Dragon, and so he simply would not go, no matter how it called down to him.
He had a bird on his wing now, a great white thing. They felt familiar, as if he had flown with them before, but far from here and years before, even if he couldn''t place where. Together they drank in the magic for a time, holding it inside them and letting it clean them of impurities, before letting it go again with fierce joy. Swooping and diving around each other for the sheer sake of it.
They flew like that for a time, but somewhere along the way she left, and Dragon carried on alone. The harness was long gone and his scales felt clean and strong, the magic washing through him unhindered and electric. Holding it in, as he normally did when he flew, would have been pointless. Like a jar of water beneath the ocean, with a fish trapped inside. Able to see out, but never free.
-
Around an hour from where he¡¯d left Shortie and Shadows, the storm finally broke. The air, almost in a moment, changed from dry static into sheets of rain and thundering booms. The promise and tension in the air finally released, forming a solid wall of water.
It washed his scales down, filling his eyes and forcing him to close his nose. Around him the water absorbed the magic from the air, capturing it and dragging it towards the earth, where it would nourish and grow the forests and fields.
It was beauty and life, and for a time, Dragon simply enjoyed it.
-
The two humans, when he finally found them, were not having such a great time of it. They had tried to weave a shelter out of the brush, but it could only do so much with the magic permeating the air. Once the rain had started they had given up, sitting under the remains of their shelter, miserable and wet. If Dragon hadn¡¯t noted down in his mental map where he had left them, he might never have found them at all.
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What had been a road the day before was already vibrant and green, the plants up to his knees as he landed, the crash of the wind and the creak of growth all around him. It was warmer on the ground, but not by much, and the two of them looked utterly miserable in the rotten remains of their clothing.
They beckoned him towards them and then shivered under his wings, pressing up against his body for warmth. They hadn¡¯t questioned him at all, too cold for fear or words, merely snuggled down beneath his bulk, away from the cold and the rain.
-
It took three days for the storm to end. The humans had, after much effort, managed to get themselves a fire going. Only carefully dried brush and something from the remains of one of their packs succeeding, after many failed attempts. It was only a small fire, but watching their process was interesting, the way they generated sparks of heat and then kept them going with dead and dry materials. He sheltered it from the driving rain for them with his wings and his body, enjoying the warmth.
Watching them create the fire answered a lot of questions he had had about human society, but also produced many others.
He had at some point Changed himself a little, lowering his efficiency to generate more heat for the two snuggled against him, and he wondered why he had never done it before.
There hadn¡¯t been the need, he supposed. In the course of most journeys, blankets and clothing worked well enough.
When the rain finally stopped, he had expected cheers, but the two of them seemed too tired and sick for celebration. Humans were not magical creatures, and he was coming to realise that too much of it damaged them, wore them down and did things to the insides of their bodies that they didn''t understand. In retrospect, some things started to make more sense there, too.
He could fix it, of course, he was a Dragon, but the sickness would remain, and he wasn¡¯t familiar enough with their anatomy to go messing about. Best to get them home quickly, where other humans could take care of them.
-
The journey back to City took far longer than he would have liked, almost another week in total. Flying too fast or too high upset them both, and increased the danger of them falling off. He had Changed himself a little, forming some spikes on his back they could hold onto, rather than dig their nails in, but it only helped so much, and it was a constant effort to keep the magic in place.
Despite that, they were much more accepting of the half a deer than Passenger had been, slicing at it cleverly with stone knives and then burning it over the fire. Once it was cooked, they offered him some of it back.
Dragon had never eaten cooked meat before, and he wasn¡¯t sure about it at first. The flavour was very different, which he found interesting. It was a little like eating the fire-fuel, the heat reducing some of it back down to base elements, bitter and black, but quite tasty. He would be up for trying this again!
Shadows seemed to suffer more from the magic-sickness than Shortie, but they were much less in tune with their body, resisting the magic and trying to hold it away, rather than letting it work.
Weird, but that was how humans were, he supposed. Dragon had only met a few who seemed to truly know what they wanted, and it was always the younger ones, the ones thrumming with magic, who had not yet learnt to push it away. Shortie was closer, but there were things even they denied.
Reaching the city after that arduous week was a relief.
From the sky above it smelt sweet and pure, with only slight undertones of the acrid scent he was used to. The plants in the landing area went up past his shoulders, and he had to stamp them down a bit before his passengers could alight.
As they staggered off into the city, he shifted his body back to how he liked it, pressed his face into the sweet grass, and dreamt of simpler times.
Chapter 42 - Brightfeather & Moorheather
Brightfeather was in love.
The sun was bright and hot and the breeze through the streets bought with it the smell of cooking and washing and flowers. It beat down on his face and warmed his skin and clothes, and when he moved, the dark fabrics rubbed against his skin.
As he hovered next to the door to the bakery, he was, he smiled to himself, In Love.
The object of his love was named ¡®The Sky Blue, the Heather Upon the Moors¡¯, and they were known around town as Moorheather.
It was, Brightfeather thought, the most beautiful name that he had ever heard. He didn¡¯t know what heather was, or moors, but some enquiries had informed him that it was a sort of small purple bush and a large hill, respectively. Beautiful. Majestic!
It was a name that deserved to have songs made about it. Poets should write whole screeds about that name. If he had been such a man, then he would have written all of his poems around it, he would have used it as his start and his end, and he would have crafted lines which would be sung to the heavens for generations to come. But he wasn¡¯t, so instead, he improvised with food.
He had first spotted his love a week before, whilst on a reconnaissance run through the city. The circus had been due to arrive that afternoon, and he had gone on ahead to find some food and a good spot for dinner.
It was by the fountain in the central square that he had spotted them for the first time. Their smooth brown hair framed their face, reflecting the sun until it glowed almost red. Their skin was dark, patterned with subtle stripes, like that of a boar, their eyes a vibrant greeny-blue, reflecting the sheen and ripples of the water behind them.
They were wearing a light shift-dress, their feet and ankles bare, and had a basket of clothes balanced on one hip. Behind them, the fountain reflected the summer light, and beside them bounced a small dog, trying to reach something it wanted from the basket. Its fur was bright and clean, and it had obviously taken its own dip in the wash-water. Sparkling like magic in the morning sun, the whole thing was a perfect image.
That was the moment Brightfeather fell in love.
He had hung around the area for a while after she had gone, and from the locals had learnt the name and intonation of the object of his affection. Moorheather. She came to the area once a week to wash her clothes, and she did it neatly and efficiently, before disappearing for another week. Nobody knew where she lived, but she would be back next week for sure.
-
The circus had taken up his time for most of the next week, so he hadn''t had time to search her out. They¡¯d picked up a couple of new kids in the last town, but some of the goats were staging some sort of mutiny and Dreamspears was still a little afraid of them.
Added to that, a new attraction had joined up. It was a shooting game with paper targets and small pistols, and they¡¯d had to rearrange the whole setup after the Lumpox had gotten spooked and threatened to demolish several wagons. Only careful mollification by its handler had de-escalated that situation, and everyone was thankful she had been there.
They¡¯d chained the guns down after that, modifying the wagon so that the guns couldn¡¯t be pointed at the animals. That particular child had been sent home with a reprimand, but it had been an accident waiting to happen, so they weren''t blamed too harshly.
Still, it had necessitated a whole rapid rearranging of the whole area, as well as a good bit of carpentry, and he had been drafted in to help.
But that was by the by. It was Sunday and he was leaning against the wall of a bakery, a basket of bread and cakes under one arm, waiting to see his love for the second time.
And there she was! Entering the square, with her willow basket of washing balanced on one hip, heading towards the communal wash-basins. Watching her move across the courtyard, the way she expertly balanced the basket, the way her feet seemed to glide across the floor. Brightfeather fell in love all over again.
It was the middle of summer, and the busiest time of year for the circus, so he really shouldn¡¯t have been taking the time off, but surely nobody would notice his absence, as long as he got back before the evening rush.
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-
Moorheather wasn¡¯t thinking about much of anything, as she hauled the washing to the public fountains. She had been in this routine for months, if not years now, and the weekly wash was the symbolic end to her week.
Technically, the housing estate she lived on had a big shared wash-copper she could have used, but it was only fired up on Tuesdays, and she worked down at ''The Lock and Quay'' on Tuesdays. If it had been Mondays or Wednesdays, she could have managed it, but not Tuesdays.
She hummed to herself as she dumped the washing into the trough, rolling up her sleeves and lathering up the soap. She had enough left over from rent this week to maybe pick up some sweet cakes for dinner. Then, if she got off early from her shift in the flower shop, she could borrow a bike from next door and go and see her great-grandma outside of town. It would only take a couple of hours and the old woman would appreciate it.
With renewed vigour and her day planned out, Moorheather got to scrubbing.
-
He had tried to approach her twice, the prepared speech forming a solid lump in his throat. Sure he¡¯d had crushes in the past, but he''d never been in love, and it was a whole different beast. Plus, to actually ask somebody out? How did you do that!
The first attempt had failed. He had been so busy planning out his words, that he had just kept walking. Only realising that he had forgotten to stop when he hit the wall on the other side of the square.
On the second attempt, he had made it almost all the way to her, before he realised he was approaching from behind, and that might seem weird or creepy. It had been too late to change his path in a way that still looked natural, so he had instead turned towards the fountain, staring down into the blue waters for a while, before changing his course and walking away, whistling. Whistling always made you seem normal, right?
She didn¡¯t have the dog with her today, which was a disappointment. You could always go up to somebody and admire their dog, but going up and admiring their soapy underthings was a little weirder.
He wasn¡¯t the best-looking person out there, Brightfeather knew that. He¡¯d never had the contacts or money to be able to afford a Change, so his face was rounder than he would have liked, his chest larger, although luckily that had never grown beyond control, his nose was wonky where it had been broken as a child, and a myriad of other things.
On top of that, he had washed his clothes yesterday and was wearing his best outfit, but his trousers were almost around his knees now, just a little too tight and permanently stained from a life lived on grass. He brushed at them self-consciously, as if tugging at them with a hand would make them longer.
A couple of the women had helped him scrub them, but there was only so much soap and water could do, and everyone had agreed that they were fit for rags. The shirt wasn¡¯t much better, but he had heard that girls liked the ragged, short-sleeved look, and he had opened the top buttons to let the air in, and to hopefully look sexier.
Attempt number three, this was it! Brightfeather swallowed the lump in his throat, and sauntered, with what he hoped was a confident and friendly manner, up towards the girl he was In Love with. Everything was going to be fine. He could do this.
-
Moorheather was done with her washing, and he could almost see the steam coming off it in the late-morning sun. Today was going to be a scorcher, maybe he should have picked up some sweet tea to go with the cakes and bread.
As he walked across the square, with all the air of a convict heading towards the gallows, he practised his rehearsed lines.
The list started with ¡°Hi¡±, and ¡°Hello!¡± and then morphed into gradually worse and worse ideas the further down the list he went. The best one, in his opinion, was ¡°Hey baby, wanna come back to my place and see a Lumpox?¡± which seemed like it should work. Who didn''t want to see a Lumpox!
He had tried it on the washerwomen and they had all agreed that he shouldn¡¯t go with that one, no matter how bad his other options seemed. A complete veto. He had thought it was pretty good, but a consensus was a consensus.
None of them worked in his head though, and so he had decided to wing it. If he didn¡¯t, then she was gonna leave and the circus would be gone by the time he got his act together.
Deep breaths. You got this Brightfeather. Here goes.
¡°Heeey¡±
Oh gods.
¡°I uh¡¡±
"I..."
Brightfeather blanked. His whole mind was a clean, white sheet, hanging up to dry in the summer breeze. She was half a head taller than him, so he had a moment of standing, staring blankly into her chin, as if staring hard enough would somehow allow it to manifest the right words, so he could ask the love of his life out. Not that he was great at reading, but maybe it would be in phonetics or something.
His Love started down at him for a moment, confusion clear on her face, before she adjusted her grip on the basket and took a step backwards, looking to either side of herself, and then behind. ¡°Yes?¡±
Brightfeather started, looking around for a moment like a dog caught doing something it shouldn¡¯t be doing, before coming back to his senses, sheet blown away by a freak storm. ¡°I uh, Ijustwantedtoaskyouifyouwantedtocometo-¡°
He coughed, and then coughed again, something caught in his throat, and she stared at him for a moment, before placing the basket carefully down onto the ground. ¡°Are you alright?¡±
He nodded, still coughing, taking a moment to contain the fit, ¡°Yeah I uh,¡± squeeze the eyes shut. Say it! You faced down a bear once, you helped contain a Lumpox, you told off a child with a gun! ¡°I uh just wanted to ask if you wanted to come on a picnic with me!¡± he brandished his basket out in front of himself like a shield, ¡°I bought bread!¡±
She seemed to think about this, looking him up and down. His short trousers, his ragged shirt, his long hair tied back with string and the basket of bread in his arms.
Then she looked into his face, and shrugged, ¡°sure, why not, sounds like fun!¡±
Yes, he was in!
Chapter 43 - Greensleeves
It had all started off as a stupid joke. Somebody at the bar had asked him what he did for a living, and he had replied ¡°private detective¡±.
What a private detective did took some explaining, but he had, over the course of many drinks, blagged his way into a qualification in "hunting and tracking difficult-to-find suspects through densely populated urban environments."
Or something along those lines, anyway, he had been /quite/ drunk at the time.
He had quite enjoyed the process, the whole bar gradually getting in on it, and by the time it was kicking out time, he was half-convinced himself.
Then the next thing he knew, it was mid-morning, and he was semi-sober and standing in front of a whole line of very serious-looking people. They had smart blue uniforms on with little metal badges pinned to their lapels, and as he glanced blearily around, everything looked worryingly official.
¡°We¡¯ve heard from multiple sources that you are a well-regarded people-tracker,¡± the woman on the far left started, and Greensleeves winced internally. Was that the story he had spun last night? He only remembered the night before in spits and spurts.
The whole situation was not helped by his absolutely banging hangover.
She was quite attractive, he thought, squinting through the pain, and ignoring whatever she was saying. Her skin was a deep green and scaled like the lizards he sometimes spotted sunning themselves on the walls of warmer towns. Magic of that calibre was unusual here, so he assumed she¡¯d travelled in from elsewhere.
¡°We have¡¡± She paused to think about how to word the next part of her sentence, licking her lips in thought, ¡°we have lost somebody, and we need to find them again.¡±
Next to her, another figure in a similar blue suit nodded. In contrast to the woman, who reminded him of bright days in dockside bars, this one''s skin was dark like old leather, wrinkled and worn. Still reminiscent of the sun, but it spoke more of labour than sangrias. Greensleeves wondered if it was their real look, or if they had chosen it. It was quite striking, especially in contrast to lizard-lady, but not his kinda thing.
He nodded in affirmation, and then tried not to flinch as pain spiked through his forehead.
¡°We last heard word of them,¡± Leather followed up, ¡°somewhere south of the city, in the area of...¡±
Greensleeves stopped listening for a moment. None of this mattered, he was just a day worker! Gods his head was killing him. Was there a drink around here somewhere?
When he refocused, the whole line of people was staring at him.
Oh, there had probably been a question for him in there. Whoops!
¡°So¡¡± He screwed up his face, wincing internally. Blagging had always been an unfortunate habit of his, but this was way beyond the mess he normally got into. ¡°Your guy¡¡±
Leatherface provided the name and gender, frowning as if he''d already said this.
¡°Ok." He resisted the urge to hold his head up with his hands, "so your guy has gone missing somewhere in the city, and you need me, the best private detective in the all of the eastern territory, to find them. Of course I can do it, I could track a single ant all the way back to the hive! Did, once!"
This was a terrible idea, Greensleeves thought, his mouth carrying on without requiring any input from his brain. The stiffs in front of him looked quite impressed though. A woman near the right end of the row, an older lady with no visible Changes, but pale skin and eyes the colour of magic, put her hand up, ¡°do you have any references for these claims?¡±
Greensleeves had done two years in the army, before being dismissed for what were, on paper, health and vision problems, but what was, in actuality, incompetence and an inability to keep his mouth shut. ¡°Oh yes, my sergeant, back in boot camp, she¡¡±
He elaborated bullshit for a good thirty seconds, giving himself a glowing, rock-solid resume, that would crumble under the first strong look from anyone with an iota of sense. Luckily, the people he was talking to all seemed to be blind idiots, because they were falling for it, hook line and sinker.
Somewhere along the way, he accepted a glass of water and a chair, and gradually, as his stories got wilder and wilder, the headache started to ease. As Greensleeves became more sober, the panic started to set in, lurking in the back of his mind like a badger.
But, like any good blagger, he didn¡¯t let that stop him. First, they questioned his background and familial connections. Oh yes, he had grown up in an orphanage across the sea, on a small island, where he had learnt his trade from an old man with a long beard and a big staff.
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The old man, he elaborated, had sadly gone back to earth years before, prompting him to leave the island, ready to show his skills to the world. Having spent his life tracking birds and stags back to their dens, he had discovered a heretofore unknown talent for tracking humans.
Previous jobs? Oh many! He had once tracked down the child of a distant noble, stolen by a terrible monster, all silver scales and teeth like swords. He hadn¡¯t fought the monster himself, of course, but he¡¯d found the child and returned them safely home, once the knights had done their job.
He¡¯d once uh¡ He¡¯d once tracked down a puppy, stolen by pirates, using only the scent of its fur, damp with the tears of the child it had been cruelly ripped from the arms of!
He had once... As his mouth continued to move and words continued to fall out, the bigwigs in front of him all now glowing with admiration, he considered adding that he had once gotten himself into Deep Shit.
It was mid-afternoon by the time he left wherever he had been. It might¡¯ve been something military? The uniforms would imply so, but it wasn''t often that he left the docks and ventured into the city proper, and he tried to avoid authority as much as possible, so he wasn''t all that sure.
Either way, he was a bought and paid for private detective now, and he had a person to track down, a crime to solve!
Probably. Best take a trip to the pub first, listen out for clues, you know.
-
From what he¡¯d gathered, some kid had gone missing from the local school, the big cuboid place up on the hill. Nobody had seen her leave, but she was most definitely gone. Strangely, nobody could say when she¡¯d gone missing, it may have been days ago, it may have been weeks, but that was why they were hiring him!
There was no point in him checking out the school, they said, it had already been scoured clean, scrubbed down, all the crevices and corners checked for children and chitterlings. All the turrets and towers had been traversed for trotters. All the beds bugged for bacon.
Ah. He was walking through the food district, it was past lunchtime, and he had missed breakfast.
-
After a lunch of pork, Greensleeves was much happier and was forming a game plan. The headache had faded into an unpleasant memory, the money the toffs had given him was burning a hole in his pocket, and the assistant they had assigned him had, at some point, lost his trail.
Ha, if only they were a master tracker! They wouldn''t lose him then for sure!
As he rolled a two-penny coin between his fingers, he considered where he should go from here. He could always head up along the North road and hope that he blended in for long enough to get away. He could head west along the coast, towards the fisheries and clay-towns that he knew to be out there, but there was nothing more boring than a small town, and somebody there was bound to recognise him at some point and hand him in.
He could get on a boat and go chill on the chain of islands off the coast, he¡¯d done sailing work before and he had contacts from his regular job down the docks, but it seemed a miserable life.
Small island life looked idyllic on the surface, but in actuality, it was horrendously boring. It was the same as small-town life, except you were surrounded on all sides by water, nothing to do except shag and shuck in the sand, staring out to sea, waiting for a ship to stop by, to take you away to somewhere more interesting.
He wasn¡¯t a fan of oysters, or of a diet that consisted mostly of fish. So that was out too.
Hmm, what else. The coal mines were always hiring. There¡¯d been some weird supply shortages lately, but that was work for the poor and the desperate, and Greensleeves, right now, was neither.
He could only think of one more viable option, and it was the stupidest of the lot.
Actually become a private detective and look for the kid.
It sounded horribly unrealistic when said out loud like that, but he just couldn¡¯t see any other options.
-
After an hour of hanging about on the docks and chatting to his friends, he had determined that running away to live a life on the islands was out. Most ships wanted to hire for a six-month tour at the minimum, and to book on as a passenger would take most of what he had in his pockets. What was the point of running away to live a beautiful island life if you had no money to fund it and nowhere to spend it! May as well head out into the woods and become a farmer at that point.
Oh gods, he was going to have to do this, wasn¡¯t he?
Greensleeves cast a glance up to the school on the hill. You could see it no matter where you were in the city, and from where he was resting on the roof of a pub, it rose high above everything else. It was a grim-looking place, all vines and towers, tall and strangely designed and always firmly barred and bolted. Students rarely left, except for at the end of the school year, and the teachers all seemed dour and miserable when he¡¯d seen them in the dockside pubs, drinking themselves into oblivion.
They didn¡¯t even teach the local kids there, as far as he was aware, not as day students anyway. No wonder she¡¯d run away, poor little mite.
Well. He thought, getting to his feet and heading down for another drink, nobody here seemed to have seen her. Maybe he could try at some of the other pubs along the docks, work his way up Tavern Street and maybe even check out over by the canals.
Yeah, that seemed like a good idea. The beer here tasted like piss, it was sure to be better up there.
-
She had not been on the docks, or hanging out on Tavern Street. She hadn¡¯t been in any of the pubs by the canals or the ones on the edges of town where the guards hung out. She hadn¡¯t stopped by the bakery down Broadside, or looked for work near the breweries, where the sky stank of malt and sulphur, sometimes so strong your nose seized up and your eyes watered just walking past.
One person had been to all those places though, and that person was Greensleeves, now well and truly smashed. Sloshed. Splattered and singing for his supper.
He was drunk, was the long and short of it. Very, very, very, drunk.
At some point, the assistant had found him, and he had roped them into helping with his information gathering excursion. It hadn¡¯t taken long for them to open up and tell him everything they knew!
Wait, weren¡¯t they supposed to be helping him? Greensleeves considered this, as they staggered down the street together. Oh wait, they were! Without them, he probably would have fallen over quite a way back, but between the two of them¡ They would go far. The perfect team! An a-frame, standing up against the weight of the world.
A few streets of singing later and they came to the door of a dosshouse he knew well, where, for a few pennies each, they both got a very good night''s sleep.
Chapter 42 - Greensleeves 2
What had he done yesterday, Greensleeves wondered, as he awoke with his arms wrapped tightly around the body of somebody he did not recognise. Where was he? Who was this?
Oh, right! His brain started to catch up, wheels grinding slowly without the lubricating fluid of alcohol. This appeared to be the dosshouse down on Broadside, he''d know those stains anywhere. This was way out of his normal remit, though.
As he groaned and staggered to his feet, the memories started to trickle back in, like the last of the beer from an almost empty keg, tilted on it¡¯s side to hopefully release those last few precious drops.
Oh gods.
How much had he spent last night?
A check of his pockets revealed: actually not all that much. Greensleeves wasn¡¯t into the fancy-dancy expensive stuff, and he was very good at cadging and cajoling drinks out of others. Others such as his poor assistant here.
He stared down at their peacefully sleeping face, one hand on his pounding, pulsating, painful head, the other on his coin purse, and then he gave them a solid kick in the side.
They snorted, and then rolled out of the hammock, landing on the floor with a thump and a squawk. A moment later they curled up into a ball, groaning and clutching at their skull.
That was more like it, couldn¡¯t have your underlings too happy for too long, wasn¡¯t good for business. He nudged them in the side again with the toe of his boot, and they released one hand from their head to swipe at him ineffectually.
¡°C¡¯mon, we¡¯ve got a job to do!¡±
Right after some water, and maybe a little hair o¡¯ the dog.
-
Swiftlight was having an awful morning. He had no idea how he had gotten here, or why his head hurt so gods damned much. Had he been attacked? Poisoned? The sharp pain in his side, resonating with the one in his brain like a symphonic instrument certainly seemed to imply that he had been both.
¡°C¡¯mon, we¡¯ve got a job to do!¡±
The voice, emanating from somewhere far above him, was familiar, and very loud. Where had he¡
Flashes of memories flashed through him, like code from a smugglers lamp, and he groaned again, letting go of his head and attempting to rise to his feet. Oh. Now he remembered. The charlatan they had picked up from the dockyard pub.
With painful movements, he tried to pull himself to his feet, using the hammock beside him as a helper.
As it flipped over at this weight, depositing him back on the floor, from somewhere above him he could hear laughter.
-
His assistant was an idiot, but that was a good thing, Greensleeves thought as he watched the poor sod attempt to stand. That or he¡¯d never been well and truly drunk on the bad side of town before, either was possible. The kid had been wearing a smart uniform the night before, but now it was stained with food and beer and several unsavoury things it had probably picked up when they¡¯d taken a tumble into the street, down near the quays.
Ahh, it had been a good night. Any night you woke up with hoof-prints on your back was a good night, but last night had been especially good. Those bargers sure knew how to throw a good party.
As he dunked his head in the barrel near the door, Greensleeves considered that he hadn¡¯t actually gotten much closer to finding the wayward waif, but there was time. She¡¯d been missing for weeks, one more night on the streets, or wherever she might be, wasn¡¯t going to change anything.
-
Filled with coffee and thick bacon sandwiches, Greensleeves and Swiftlight sat down on the grass in a local park, and he actually started to consider doing what he''d been hired to do.
The kid had been a genius, according to the people in the hall. A once in a generation magical marvel, capable of feats even most adult mages couldn¡¯t conceive of. Or she would have been, once she¡¯d had a couple more years to grow into her talents.
Instead, she was missing. Swiftlight didn¡¯t mince words, the drunken antics of the night before having bonded them together in mutual trust, as intended. For a start, he started, "the school fucked up."
There had been a scandal only a few years before and their organisational structure had changed, their modus operandi changing to what was meant to be a much safer and steadier curriculum than what had been previously taught.
That previous way of teaching seemed to mostly consist of ¡°make sure the kids don¡¯t accidentally morph themselves into birds¡± and nothing else. Some guidance was given, and warnings repeated, but as long as they weren¡¯t harming themselves, the kids were generally left to their own devices. Change, which the school mostly focused on, was a safe magic, and very intuition based, it was difficult to fuck it up.
Then, two years ago, the Accident had happened. Two kids had fought, with the end-result being that one of them was killed. They were a child of nobility, or something, so it was noticed. There wasn¡¯t much nobility about these days, but rumours were that they may have been a descendant of the Monarch himself.
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The idea of that was quite something, for a multitude of reasons, but Greensleeves didn¡¯t question, he just listened.
Whoever the kid had been, their family had Connections, with a capital C, and the death had been investigated. The school turned inside out and staff replaced, proper lesson plans put into place and the student body whipped into shape. The result had been that most of those students had left, either pulled out by their parents or never turning up come the new term, choosing instead to study elsewhere. The stellar reputation of the much beloved school had been dumped. Down, done and dusted, despite the supposedly better teachers and lesson plans now.
You couldn¡¯t fix that reputation hit overnight, but the school had persisted for a hundred years, and would persist for a hundred more, it was taking them a while to acclimate to the changes.
Swiftlight took another drink of coffee, or would have if his mug wasn''t empty. He stared ahead into the trees, rotating the cup in his hands.
Greensleeves nodded, catching his attention and telling him to go on, the motion almost not painful, the sun only mildly glaring.
Anyway, back to the missing girl. The school had taken in a student roughly a year ago, who was supposed to be a genius. She had been flown across the country by the Mail Dragon, all the way from the other side of the continent on a specially chartered flight spanning weeks. There had been high, high hopes for her.
But, the delay between her acceptance and her eventual arrival had been over the scale of years, and by the time she turned up, she hadn¡¯t fitted in with what the new administration expected from their students.
Still, they had attempted to teach her as best they could, but she had been a wild thing. The teachers at her previous school had lied about the scope of her talent, and about her nature. The village she had come from had obviously been less civilised than they had all been led to believe. She had been of a sulky and disobedient disposition, resisting the structured lesson plans at every turn, fighting with the other students and stealing from the faculty.
It was quite a picture they painted, and Greensleeves questioned if they had checked for local burial grounds for her, if she¡¯d been that much of a pain, but no, Swiftlight shook his head and carried on. The school had tried to do their best by her, but at some point during her first year, she had run away anyway. Ungrateful for all that she''d been given and all that had been done for her.
She was a scholarship student, so there was no fees due to the parents, but it still wasn¡¯t good. They had wasted their wages on a wastrel, and now they wanted her retrieved.
Greensleeves wondered about some of the story, but he only had Swiftlight¡¯s story to go on right now. Despite the heavy drinking of the previous night, he had actually asked around, and nobody had seen her. Urchins and guttersnipes weren¡¯t unusual, but they didn''t go as unnoticed as they thought, especially ones with a good talent for magic. No matter how old or young you were, you could always make a living with that.
Time to check out the school, he supposed. He was a world famous private detective now, after all.
-
The school was as grim close up as it had been from far away, maybe grimmer. It was all terraces and vines and strange austere, cube-like architecture. The staff at the school explained that this was so they could rearrange the insides without fuss, moving the walls for classrooms and such around as they needed it, but Greensleeves thought it was more likely laziness on the side of the builders.
The design of it made for a dark and strange atmosphere, the ceilings always too low or too high, the corridors either too narrow or unreasonably wide. It felt like somewhere that should have been lighter, busier, happier, but instead it was as quiet as the earth.
All of the students had been sent home, his guide said, until the investigation was over. So ¡°if he could just get on with it¡¡±
There was an implicit threat in those words that Greensleeves didn¡¯t like, and he walked a little slower from then on, shuffling his feet and peering into cupboards at endless rows of worm-eaten pencils. Checking under beds, and crouching down to see into the strange narrow room they said she¡¯d been using as a ¡°den¡±. There wasn¡¯t anything left in there, they''d said. They''d had to scrub it clean, as she had merely collected filth and stolen things. They had certainly cleared it out, he thought, the floor scrubbed clean and the air stinking of bleach, despite the open window.
There was nothing under that smell, though. Normally filth on the level they described would leave some taint in the air, he should know, but then again, they were the magic-school, for all he knew they had some mystical method of scrubbing the air.
Greensleeves thought about that, as he wandered around the school. It was a vast and lonely place, something about it making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Like waking up in a pub hours after closing time, the lights shut off, the barkeep having somehow missed you during the evening clean. If she had been killed, and he found evidence of it, then the school would be shut down, for good this time. That was the unspoken dragon in the room, as the teacher fidgeted beside him, as his assistant followed behind, clutching their forehead and glaring at the ceiling. Was he willing to get this place shut down?
He glanced up, following Swiftlight''s gaze, just in case there was a clue up there, but there was nothing except cobwebs and lights. And the cat.
Perched on top of one of the cupboards, it stared down at him with vibrant green eyes. It¡¯s fur was the same grey as the dust on the walls and shelves, and it''s body seemed to blend into the gloom, until all that was left were those bright, bright eyes.
Was it, he questioned the teacher, sweeping his gaze past, not wanting to let the cat known that he had seen it, possible that she had turned herself into a cat?
Ten minutes and a terms worth of lessons on why that wasn¡¯t possible, and Greensleeves was thoroughly schooled on the subjects of ¡°mass¡±, ¡°not that talented¡± and ¡°don¡¯t be ridiculous¡±.
Well, it hadn¡¯t hurt to ask he thought, as he eyed up the cat again.
Or where the cat had been, it had left at some point, only a cat-shaped memory there now. Part of him imagined that he could still see the trail of it¡¯s eyes, but that was probably just the lack of alcohol and gloomy atmosphere affecting him.
There wasn¡¯t much else to see, that he was allowed to see. A dormitory stripped bare, and a library so full of books that he questioned the stress and the structural strength of the floor beneath.
They had checked through it, they said, but if her body was in there then it was somewhere beneath a mound of books entitled things like ''Magic for Beginners'' or ''Rot and You'', all decades out of date.
There were more cats in there, though, staring at him from atop piles of books, looking down from high shelves, sending shivers down his spine with their staring¡
Ok, he needed to get out of here before he went mad. With a clasping of hands he thanked the teacher who had led him around, and then left the relieved woman to the rest of her day.
Time to check the canals and see if anyone had found a body.
Chapter 43 - Greensleeves 3
There were no bodies, down by the canals. Well, there were always bodies, but none that matched what he was looking for, unless she could transform herself into a middle-aged drunk, and he thought that was unlikely. Give ¡®em a few more years for that one.
He had started asking for boys, too, having had a sudden moment of epiphany whilst in the school, but none of those had turned up either. It was as if she¡¯d just flown away, and Greensleeves was starting to run out of leads.
A small part of his mind attempted to remind him that he wasn¡¯t actually a private detective, but it was quickly dog-piled by the rest, beaten back into oblivion.
He had always fancied trying out a Change some time, going to a real good mage and seeing what they came up with, but it probably wouldn¡¯t alter him much, he was already pretty much perfect, and on top of that, he was way too old for it.
It just wasn''t the done thing, especially at his age. If everyone messed about with themselves like foreign children did then it would be chaos, nobody would know who was who!
The day was turning towards evening and the birds were kicking up quite a racket in the trees around them, as Greensleeves and Swiftlight sat on a bench, somewhere along the greenway back towards the waterfront. His faithful assistant was slouched, resting their elbows on their knees, head bowed.
He had lost his fancy jacket at some point, and the sun was shining with golden rays across his back, highlighting the fine fabric of his uniform and making the silvery threads shimmer in the light.
Greensleeves transferred the bottle he was holding to his other hand, and reaching out, laid his hand on their back, feeling the warmth of their skin and the heat of the sun through the fabric of the thin shirt.
¡°I¡¯m delusional,¡± his Swiftbright''s voice was muffled by his odd posture, but still clear, ¡°but maybe we should try interviewing some of the students? They¡¯ve gotta be close by somewhere, the school is pushing to reopen as soon as it can.¡±
This was a great idea, and Greensleeves was a little jealous he hadn¡¯t thought of it himself, but credit where credit¡¯s due.
¡°That¡¯s a great idea.¡± He paused for a moment, ¡°do we know where any of them are?¡±
-
Down at the most imaginatively named pub on the docks, ''The Dockyard'', the two of them settled in, ordering a couple of cheap beers. This was one of the closest drinking establishments to the school, and was a known haunt for both teachers and students. Not many students, in the scheme of things, but teachers, oh yes.
He could see one now, sitting in the corner deep into their cups, outed by the gloomy cloud of misery that seemed to fill the air around them. They had some subtle changes about them, an elongated face, pointed ears and a thin layer of ginger-red fur across their body, but it wasn¡¯t anything compared to what he''d seen on the sailors. Some of the things you saw down on the docks proper were wild.
With a nod to Swiftlight, he scooped up their drinks, and they headed towards interrogation central.
-
The teacher had been stoic at first, but they¡¯d soon broken him. One good whisky, a couple of small drinks with little umbrellas in, a single olive on a toothpick, and he was all theirs.
He had been working at the school for nigh on ten years, he sobbed, teaching Growth and botany. To Grow, you had to understand plants, he said. You could introduce small changes which would be permanent down generations, but only if you truly knew what you were doing. He gestured with the olive on a toothpick, ¡°Take this for example, a hundred years ago these trees would have had half the production, and the fruits would have been almost a deep black. Nowadays they had all sorts of colours to choose from. Red, white, magenta, all because of mages like me!¡±
He had hiccuped, and then eaten the olive, staring at the toothpick afterwards with empty eyes.
He had let out a choked sob at the sight of the drink with the little umbrella in, and had rambled for several minutes about how he could have gone into Growth full time. He could have grown these olives, instead he had chosen to grow olives in the form of children, shaping them into the mages he knew they could grow to be. One man could Change one olive tree, but many olives could Grow the world!
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The metaphors were a bit lost on both Greensleeves and Swiftlight, but they had gently patted him on the back, and bought him another drink.
He remembered the kid that had gone missing, he choked out, opening and closing the tiny parasol, she had been a bright young thing, but misguided. She had spoken up in class once and started a fight with another child, about how all schools of magic were just the same school, acting as if she could teach better than he could.
He had allowed it to play out, he still remembered how they had used to teach, but had gently reprimanded her after the class. He was the teacher, the one in charge, and she was here to learn. Things were different now, and they didn''t want another death on their hands. Plus, if they didn¡¯t do as the board of directors directed, then there would be no direction, the school would be closed, and then nobody would learn anything.
She had behaved much better after that, but had sadly stopped staying late or turning up for the extra-curricular lessons. He had been disappointed, but resigned, she probably picked up some other club instead.
At this point another teacher appeared in the doorway to the pub, an older figure with striking eyes and an austere outfit. Their hair was tightly tied back, their face as severe as their dress, and Swiftlight had taken an instant, drunken dislike to them.
A few drinks down and they had insisted the missing child was a boy, which the botany teacher seemed to disagree with. The argument went on for several minutes before the first punch was thrown.
-
Out on the edge of the docks, their legs above the water, all staring off into the dark harbour, the four of them nursed their wounds. Olives, as Greensleeves had internally named him, was nursing what would be by the morning a very impressive black eye. On the other side Austerity was examining a rip in her doublet, apparently attempting to convince the fibres to grow back together. The hole was getting worse by the moment, but he wasn¡¯t going to point it out. Beside him, Swiftlight was muttering something about "never drinking again", and with him sandwiched in the middle they looked quite a sorry lot.
Before them ships bobbed on the waves, dark shapes in the distance, only the odd flash of light or glint of metal announcing their presence. Somewhere above seabirds shouted, and the air smelt of shit and salt. It was a strange place to end up, between the darkness of the sea and the light and atmosphere of the bar behind them, and for a moment they all simply sat in silence.
Finally, Austerity spoke, letting the hole in her jacket go and staring instead out over the dark water, ¡°they would have fitted in well, ten years ago.¡±
Greensleeves glanced over, but her face was shrouded in shadow, the lights all behind them.
¡°Kid was a real talent. He¡ She? I suppose¡¡±
There was a moment of silence here, of introspection, before the teacher carried on.
¡°She could have changed the world.¡±
On the other side of the row, one hand over his bruised eye, Olives nodded. ¡°Wasn¡¯t my area, but even I could see the sparks. Wish she¡¯d spoken up in lessons more.¡±
They sat like that for a time, before finally Austerity sighed, swinging her legs up from the edge of the dock and clambering slowly to her feet. She spoke in soft tones as she dusted off her skirt, ¡°We should have done better. Everything these past two years has just been such¡ Utter horse-swill.¡±
Olives nodded, turning to look up at them, one hand still over his eye. Somewhere in the distance, from one of the bigger ships, two bells rang out.
¡°Listen,¡± Austerity¡¯s voice was deep above him, ¡°we know what happened to her, and she¡¯s fine.¡±
She dusted off the back of her skirt and tugged down on her drink-stained sleeves. ¡°This happens every now and again, we had the old rules for a reason, just¡ Just tell the investigators that you found nothing, or that she snuck away, onto one of the ships.¡±
Behind them the pub started to kick out, sailors needing to be back to their ships for the next watch, people who needed to be at work in the mornings, all mixed together into one noisy mass. With a sigh, Olives also clambered to his feet, accepting a helping hand from Austerity. ¡°She¡¯s fine. She''s not dead! We know what happened, and we¡¯re keeping track of where she is.¡±
He glanced at the doublet and sighed, running his free hand over it, leaving behind a neatly stitched line in the fabric. The he removed the hand from his eye, the swelling already reduced, his face looking almost normal in the shadows. He seemed to square his shoulders, taking one last glance out across the sea.
Then with a shared nod, the two of them turned, and headed back to their school.
-
Greensleeves kept looking, but found nothing in his investigations. Swiftlight backed him up, when they were both called back to the hall several days later. It was determined, he read later in the papers, that the lost child had probably snuck onto a ship as a cabin kid and was now long gone.
The next page had held reports of a giant white bird, seen flying across the city more than a month before. Hunters had been sent out to track it, but it had disappeared over the woods and nobody had seen it since. Last spotted headed east, there were rewards for it¡¯s capture.
As he looked between the two articles, he wondered. But, he reflected, closing the paper and folding it neatly away, he wasn¡¯t actually a private detective.
Chapter 44 - Southshore
¡°Rides the South Wind to Distant Shores¡± was one of those people who had the perfect name for their profession. It wasn''t uncommon amongst sailors, but his was uncommonly good. His crew called him Captain Southshore, and he was the Captain of a big ¡®ol boat, with several decks and quite a lot of crew. You don¡¯t care about the details.
Captain Southshore was not an introspective man. Right now he was in his cabin, at the end of his morning consultation of the maps and charts and tools. Behind him his cabin kid, some distant cousin that had been foisted upon him by a relative, hovered by the door nervously. The brat had only been at sea a couple of days, and hadn¡¯t found their place in the social order yet. Give it time.
He went to address them, and had to hesitate for a moment, clicking his fingers at them rather than admit that he couldn¡¯t remember their name.
¡°Seabound, Sir,¡± the kid filled in, and Southshore raised his eyes. Sailors often had names related to the sea, but that one was a little bit on the nose, and wasn¡¯t the first Seabound he¡¯d ever met either. ¡°That your given name, uh, Boy?¡±
¡°Yessir¡±
Southshore considered correcting the lad, informing him that ¡®Sir¡¯ wasn¡¯t the right word to use, and that ¡°Captain¡± would have been more appropriate, but he decided he couldn¡¯t be bothered. Respect had been shown and that was what mattered, there were more important things to do with his time than worry about correct terminology!
¡°Hmm, okay walk with me, tell me your full name¡± He bustled out of the cabin, the boy following behind him at a run.
¡°I did sir, yesterday,¡± the boy frowned, trotting to keep up.
¡°Yes, well, tell me again.¡±
The boy glared at him, as if this was some kind of test. ¡°It¡¯s ¡®Bound for Sea, Bound for Service¡¯ sir¡±
¡°Gods!¡± Southshore had to stop his march mid-step to think about that, ¡°that¡¯s a jolly depressing name, your parents pick that for you?¡±
¡°Yes, I know sir, they did, and you said all that yesterday.¡±
Captain Southshore shrugged. Maybe he had, but the present and the future him were the only things that mattered, the past had been and gone, and had nothing left to teach him.
Although if he had taken the time to reflect, he would have said that so far, that past had been working out pretty well for him. Captain of his own trading vessel at the age of only forty, bought and paid for, his job mostly consisted of making sure it got from point A to point B without the crew drinking too much of the alcohol and without too much of the cargo falling overboard.
As he marched across the deck, toward the ship-nose, or the "prow" as the cook insisted on correcting him, from where they were polishing the bell, he admired his ship. Ships were complicated things, and not as easy to build as you might think!
The timbers of the outsidey-bit, or the "hull", as the ships carpenter shouted at him from across the deck, were made of live wood, the trunk and wind-catcher ("sails" corrected the boy, they were learning fast!) were bright and green, grown especially for the purpose and kept alive and healthy by a dedicated mage. There was always a job for talent on the sea, be it Growth or Change, but a good Growth mage earned their weight in gold. He was lucky, the lad he''d picked up was very young, but would grow into a powerhouse one day. His previous mage had been glad to retire to a life on the islands, pockets heavy with back-pay.
His first-mate was waiting for them at the wheel, and beneath their feet the wood was shiny and polished, waxed and varnished to within an inch of it¡¯s life. Around them the activity on the ship was smooth and practised.
The shiny floor wasn''t as dangerous as it looked, well, not anymore, the varnish was mixed with a little sand, and the wax was already starting to pit from the rain the night before. Somebody better get on that, or he¡¯d have words!
When they weren''t correcting his lack of proper lexicon, most of the crew''s job whilst at sea was to keep the ship from sinking or dying. He didn¡¯t have the slightest idea what went into keeping the thing alive, but generations of work had been put into designing the ship-trees, and they mostly had it down by now.
If he looked down the side and into the water, then he would see roots clinging tightly to the hull, like vines up the side of an old country house. The salt-water wasn¡¯t terribly magic-heavy, but after a storm there could be enough in the water to cause problems, and the roots helped draw it up before it could damage the ship.
All in all, the whole boat was a modern marvel of engineering, and he didn¡¯t care a whit, as long as it was shiny and clean. The vessel got from one place to another and made him good money at the end of the month, and that was all that mattered. After-all, he was the captain, and one of the hallmarks of a good captain is being able to delegate!
-
Captain Southshore stood by the wheel for a time, arms behind his back and nose to the wind, admiring the ripples of the blue sea before them. Beside him the first mate was silent, her hands loose on the wheel, and behind him the cabin kid hovered, copying his pose, nose raised high. The boy really was learning quickly!
Their next stop was on the island of Vocil. It was the biggest island in the chain, and had once, hundreds or thousands of years before, been an active volcano, hence the name. Nowadays it was an up-and-coming port, all fancy artisans and crafts-people, coming together to create wondrous buildings and magnificent ships and lots of things he could sell.
It was there that his ship had been grown, and it was there that it would go for maintenance, when that was next needed, but for now they were sailing smoothly and this was just a quick stop. They would swap out cargo and crew, and be away by morning.
They had been at sea for several weeks now, with only brief stops, and the sailors were getting restless, starting to complain about the food and the company. This was always a good place to pick up new hands.
He shook his gaze from the shadow of the island in the distance, to look beyond it, into what was known as the Distant Ocean. Now that was the place to go. If he was allowed to sail out there, then he would learn all the correct boat-words, you could bet on it.
You could see the edges of it from here, this close to the archipelago, but in his lifetime none he knew had ventured out there and lived to tell the tale. His ship was a rugged thing, but it was still, at best, a Barge. Made to sail the small safe waters of the Inland Sea, between the Western Continent it''s protective islands.
To take his ship outside of it¡¯s comfort zone would see it beaten to pieces within days. Made rotten by the storms that hammered the seas off the coast, unadulterated and pure, the magic would eat through the dead wood of his deck like hot needles through pig fat.
Out there there was nothing to draw it up, the water too deep, no forests or plants to sup the magic away, and his ship would be a feast.
Sill, with longing eyes, he stared out into the Distant Ocean. One day he would sail out there, one day.
-
The cargo they were unloading today mostly consisted of perishable goods. Flour and rice, salted meats, that sort of thing. The island of Vocil had fertile ground, but not a large amount of it, and they mostly focused on quality over quantity. In return for his basic goods he received coffee and chocolate, both in high demand on the mainland, along with fruits and spices that weren¡¯t grown elsewhere. For non-perishables he picked up little pieces of artwork made from volcanic glass and tiny glass bottles of black sand. Always popular back on the mainland.
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Each island in the chain had it¡¯s own specialities, but above all else, Vocil was known for what it called "dragon fruits." They were large things, the size of a babies head, and the skin on the outside was a bright silver and patterned like little scales. Once you managed to break into them, the insides were a deep, rich red, and filled with seeds. Supposedly they had been bred decades ago to commemorate something or other to do with the Postal Dragon, but that was well before his time. Maybe it had delivered them a really big parcel, or an especially fat child, who knew.
Either way, the fruits and goods were packed carefully down into the cargo-space, or "the hold", corrected the woman tying down the barrels. A weeks journey at the best speed they could make, and it would all be delivered to the mainland, still bright and fresh. They would get good money for that.
-
The next morning he watched as the land receded behind them, and cabin kid¡ Seabound? What an awful name, bit into one of the fruits for the first time. His annoyed face as he fought his way through the thick leathery skin, to his joy at the sweet seeds inside. Southshore always kept a few aside for just this reason, there was no better way to cheer up a crew than fruit.
Ok there were some better ways, but no easier way, and none for kids his age.
As he stepped out of his cabin and onto the deck, there were shouts and exclamations from his crew. As he looked up to see what all the commotion was about, a shadow passed overhead, rustling the sails and drawing a cheer from all who saw it. As the Postal Dragon swept over them, bags bulging with parcels and letters, Southshore grumbled to himself, casting a last glance towards the Distant Ocean.
He wished his ship had the freedom of a dragon, to explore those fierce horizons. One day.
-
They had been warned off from the city of Cericil weeks before, but he had wanted to see it for himself. Something had happened last fall, and now the harbour gates were drawn and barred, just a smudge in the distance, his crew unwilling to sail closer. Together they stood for a moment, the deck creaking beneath them, a silent vigil for the lost.
The loss of Cericil bit a normally reliable chunk out of their route, and that upset him almost as much as the supposed loss of life. Under normal circumstances they would pick up a good shipment of fish or coal there, which could then be taken up the coast or around the islands for a reasonable profit. The coal was a hassle, even more-so than the fish, but it was always in demand and easy to shift, and if his crew were feeling it then they could even do several trips before moving on.
There had been talk of funding a canal up towards the mines, which would have been good for trade. His ship was too big to make the journey inland, but he could have hired a barger and horse for relatively little, at least in comparison to what they stood to make. There was even talk of steam-powered ships, easy to fuel in the coal-rich area.
Messy business, though, transporting coal. Even when contained, the dust would seep out of the barrels, staining the walls and floors of the hold in permanent ways. Not to mention the damage it did to the lungs of his crew.
He had invested in some barrels just for the purpose, but they were lost to him now, stored in a warehouse somewhere in the locked up city, probably filled with coal he would never be able to pick up. What a waste. All that profit, left to rot.
With a sigh, he made a motion with his hand, and the crew got back to work around him, drifting back to their posts, the ship turning away. It wasn''t the first port they''d seen lost, and wouldn''t be the last, but all you could do was carry on.
-
The thunder rumbled in the sky, and there were hurried shouts from the sailors around him. Their mage had started complaining that morning, of headaches and strange colours in the air, and they had heeded his warnings. The kid may have been half his height and a quarter his age, but you didn''t argue with your mage, that was how you ended up fishing your goods out of the sea.
They were a couple of days travel from away from their destination port, but there was a small island a few hours away that they had marked down as a water source. He''d never needed to visit there, but it was known to some of the crew.
Southshore leant on the railing and looked down the side of the ship. The water here was crystal clear and relatively shallow, and far below him he could see coral beds and fish, as well as seaweed swaying in the underwater breeze ("currents", supplied his navigator, distractedly, not looking up from his charts).
Somewhere behind him, a sailor congratulated him on remembering that they were called "Charts", and he resisted the urge to throw the papers at them. Cocky buggers!
-
They had waited a little long to turn and his navigator was worried it might be too late. The mage had been concerned, but not worried, and together they had chalked it down as just a regular storm, but by mid-afternoon it was obvious that something was wrong.
The waters, which had been clear that morning, were starting to bloom, growing greener with every moment that passed. The smell of rotten fish and green-stuff hung heavy in the air, and the ship creaked alarmingly as they pushed her for all she was worth.
Halfway to the water-island the ship had let out a final groan, and the mage had fallen back from where they had been standing, hands against the mast. Southshore had stood and watched, resigned, as flowers had started to bloom from the crows nest, great pink and white things that you were never meant to see under normal circumstances.
That, he nodded to himself, was a Bad Sign.
Southshore had a talent for numbers, and for speaking, but he had no talent for magic. Even so, the air felt heavy and muted around him, the colours wrong, and as he stared up at the great flowers, he considered that the petals were a shade of¡ Something, something between yellow and blue, something which made his head hurt.
Well, it obviously wasn''t doing him any good to look at it, so he stopped, instead choosing to inspect his ship once more.
The railings, which stopped the sailors from falling off into the sea when things got too boisterous, were beginning to crumble. He could see where the waves had splashed up onto them and the thin rods were slowly pitting and thinning. Hm, he would have to talk to the carpenter about that.
"Don''t trust the railings!" He shouted, and several of the crew glanced around at him, and then towards the edges of the ship. Good job, he was helping.
Somewhere above them the thunder rumbled again, despite the blue, blue sky, and Southshore headed towards the bow. Better check their heading, just in case.
-
He had never before witnessed a mage get so annoyed that they kicked the ship, but that''s what his mage was doing. Or had been doing, as several kicks in they had damaged something in their foot, and were instead now curled up at the bottom of the mast, crying. The cabin kid was squatting down with a hand on their shoulder, trying to comfort them, but it seemed like a wasted effort.
Most of the crew were below-decks at this point, just those needed to sail the ship staying up top, moving around warily on the increasingly rotten planks.
Their sail had bloomed, at some point, to match the mast, and they were all very consciously not looking at it. The sea surrounding their small sanctuary was thick with algae, and in places the seaweed, normally many feet below them, was poking out of the surface, searching for light. Southshore watched as the whole mass seemed to roil and roll, the movements of the waves mixing with the movements of life and death, sped up far too fast, like a fly-wheel out of control, the machines of the factory champing and crashing until with a great sound they would grind themselves to death.
He glanced over at the mage, still curled up at the bottom of the mast, and then once up at the sail.
Ouch. He blinked the colours out of his eyes, turning back towards the sea, making sure not to learn too heavily on the rain-eaten rail. His brief glimpse, apart from giving him a headache, had also shown him great holes in the sail, gaps rents which weren''t meant to be there. The sails and the hull were all a part of one great same, and if one section was dying¡ He didn''t want to think about what that meant for the rest of it.
Probably a good time to go talk to whoever was operating the helm. And to kick the mage back into gear while he was at it!
-
The rain started in the early evening, and Southshore stood on the beach, his people sitting on the sand around him, and watched as his ship sank beneath the waves. They had gotten what they could off of her, but it wasn''t a lot, and what had been a spattering of moisture in the air was rapidly turning into great blue sheets, hammering at the trees above them and filling the air with noise and magic.
He raised his face into it, feeling it burn across his body, eating up the sweat and tears. By his feet the cabin boy shivered, their arms wrapped around their knees. Poor kid, only a few months in and already one ship down, if they were unlucky, then that omen would follow them for life. Might be best if he found himself a nice job on shore, his cousin owned a grocers, maybe that would suit.
There were creaks and groans from the sea ahead of them, and he watched as his ship rose up once more above the waves, huge and beautiful, shedding the last of the dead planks in great flakes. He knew that below those rolling waves, she was now rooted into the sand and the mud of the sea-bed, never to move again. Great flowers bloomed and died as the ship drank in the magic from the air and the nutrients from the earth, and Southshore sighed, shaking his head.
It would live on for a hundred years before fading peacefully away, if what his mage had told him was correct, now merely an interesting part of the local ecology.
Well. No point in crying over spilt tea. His charts had indicated a cave and a natural spring somewhere on the island, time to organise his crew, and to see if the water was still good.
Chapter 45 - Brightfeather 2
She had lead him back to her place first, where they had hung up the washing, before it went mouldy in the sun. She had sent a message to her friend that she would be missing work, and then they had borrowed two bikes from one of her neighbours and headed out of town.
Brightfeather had been going to take her back to the circus, but she knew the local area better than he did, and they had ended up in a field of flowers, near where they were digging a new canal. There was the buzzing of insects in the air and the smell of flowers on the wind and the smell of her hair in the flowers and everything was bright and good and amazing and they had actually talked!
She lived alone, on an estate built for the fishery workers. It was a square of tiny houses, barely two rooms each and all terraced together, with a big courtyard in the middle where people hung out either themselves or their washing. Brightfeather had stood and looked around with mooncalf eyes while she had dealt with things. It was like a village, but in the center of the city!
Technically, she said, hanging up the washing, you were only supposed to hang your washing out on Tuesdays, but everyone knew that she worked Tuesdays, so they allowed it with only a bit of tutting.
Brightfeather took all this in with stars in his eyes. They had picked up a jug of tea on the way, his failure to procure drinks forgiven and forgotten, and lying there, full of bread and sugar, life was good.
Her mother had worked on the fishing boats, but one day her boat had never come back, and Moorheather had inherited the rent. She was older than he was, probably, but not by much. She worked down by the Canals on Tuesdays, and did domestic work the rest of the week. Sundays were her day off, just an hour shift cleaning the flower shop.
As the afternoon wore on, he told her his own stories, of the circus and the Lumpox and all about the goats, and she seemed very impressed. He had been worried at first, but she seemed to find magic even in the mundane things. By the time they were done, the sun was going down in the sky, and on the wind he could hear the happy shouts of children. In the distance he could hear the ringing of bells, and the music of the show, and he realised he had forgotten to go home.
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-
Over the next few days they met up again and again. On Monday they met up after her morning shift cleaning houses. Tuesday, he sat in the corner of the Lock and Quay and simply soaked in the atmosphere, nursing a thick beer. Wednesday he waited for her on the greenway, above her kitchen shift, and so on and so forth, until before he knew it, almost a week had passed, and tomorrow the circus was due to leave.
It was the closest he had ever come to understanding both mages and drunks, and he felt lightheaded and happy, even when drinking water, hurrying through his morning chores in the circus and leaving the moment they were done. Together they huddled in the green places and talked about their childhoods, so different yet similar in many ways.
He had never wanted to talk about it with anyone else before, had never felt the need, but with Moorheather it was easy.
-
Brightfeather was in love. Or at least that¡¯s what her friend in the flower shop had said, when Moorheather asked them for their advice. In-between snapping the thorns off the rose stems and wrapping the carnations, they had chatted. She only did an hour here a week, and she had missed Sunday, so she was making up for it today, working doubly hard to get the floor scrubbed clean, the buckets emptied and the shipping baskets stacked out back, ready to be taken away in the morning.
"He''s in love." Her neighbour had agreed, nodding sagely when she described him, offering no advice, but several of her partners old shirts. Her partner didn¡¯t need them anymore, may she be one with the earth.
"But how do you feel?" asked her boss in the pub, leaning heavily on the bar. "It''s obvious he''s in love, mooning over you in the corner over there, but what about you?"
Moorheather thought about this as she mopped the floor later that night. Brightfeather was gone, needing to be back for the final show, and the room was dim and quiet, the doors locked.
Squeezing the water out of the mop, she stared out of the window into the dim night.
With a nod, she decided. Moorheather was pretty sure she was in love.
Chapter 46 - Dawnfires Bad Day
Postmaster Dawnfire was having a bad day. Only a few short months ago, everything has been good. She had been on track for a promotion, ready to tackle the problem of the missing coal barges, ready to finally get her life in gear and clean her kitchen, and then They had turned up.
It had started in the very late autumn, with just a couple of refugees. One or two people with carts and baggage had arrived at the city gates, and she hadn¡¯t thought too much of it. The local government had dealt with them, and the only reason she¡¯d heard about it at all was she attended the local council meetings.
The local council meetings mostly consisted of sitting in the back of the pub with the mayor, ten minutes after anyone else had failed to turn up, but that was how it went sometimes.
The next week had brought a couple more, and on the third week, everyone had turned up to the meeting, which she had never seen before. Not once, in all her years of working in the city, had she seen everyone turn up, it was unheard of.
That was how Postmaster Dawnfire was first clued into the fact that something was wrong.
The first few people to arrive had been put into isolation, on a farm outside the village. Interviewed and forgotten about. Over the course of the next week another ten had turned up in drips and drabs, and the government had become more worried. If what they said was true, then there would be more turning up the next week, and then the week after that the city would be over-run, as those who were travelling on foot started to catch up.
It was still the beginning of winter at that point, and they didn¡¯t think many on foot would make it once the first snow hit, but by that point, there were almost a hundred of them. The thing nobody was mentioning, Dawnfire put forth, was where they had come from.
The chairs were dusted off and maps were bought out and pinned up onto the walls of the council chamber. East as the dragon flies, there were two small cities, barely blips on the map. One had even been built after the map had been made, to take advantage of a nearby coal-seam, and after some consultation had had to be drawn on in pen and ink. The other was a fishing town, barely worthy of the name of town, never-mind city.
The refugees didn¡¯t know what had happened, only that they had been told to leave one day, the bells were rung and the evacuation orders were given. They hadn¡¯t been allowed to head towards the fishing town of Tole, a name she only knew because of her position as Postmaster, but rumours were that it had fallen to pirates.
Some had said pirates, others had said plague. One man had blamed the dragon before they were quickly shot down by Dawnfire. For it to have struck down a city, they would have had to be hundreds of miles off-route. It was extremely unlikely.
The man she had admonished sank down into his seat after that and didn¡¯t speak again for the rest of the meeting. Good, she thought. Serves him right.
More rumours were bandied about after that. Maybe they were at war again, but why would they have struck at a random fishing village. Maybe something had crawled out of the forest and eaten all the villagers, but why couldn''t they fight it off. Maybe the gods themselves had struck the place down, and were going to go for other coal towns next, for succumbing to the evils of industry.
Nobody knew for sure, and eventually, order was called, the mayor herself standing upon a chair and shouting for them to quiet down.
After that, the discussion went on for a couple more hours, in much quieter voices. Where were the refugees going to be housed, who was going to feed them, what to do if it was a plague, and by the end of her night her head was spinning.
She was glad she only had to deal with the postal side of things. Letters and parcels for those two cities would be set aside, and the dispossessed could call in if they thought something belonging to them was in that pile. Simple as.
-
The people were right, and after the first snow, no more refugees arrived. The lack of the two villages and added people were a strain on the city, which was felt more than Dawnfire had expected. Lack of coal for the fires, lack of fish for dinner and a shortage of crops on the weekly markets, although thankfully they were mostly self-sufficient in that regard.
With the harsh winter behind them, and Spring transitioning into summer, she had been hoping for a break. Then the stiffs had turned up.
They weren¡¯t anyone she¡¯d met before, but they were the bosses of her bosses bosses, their uniforms crisp and sharp, their movements strange, as if they were thinking just a little too much about each movement, their gazes a little too sharp.
They had turned up in her office one morning, as she had been attempting to negotiate with an old man about his tobacco shipment, which was apparently sub-par. It wasn¡¯t her problem, the number of packages and parcels that came through her office each day was countless, although she did keep good books, and if he wanted to take up with somebody the fact he had been sold common grass rather than actual tobacco, he should do it with whoever had sold it to him.
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The old man had been trying to hit her with his stick and she had been fighting him off with a bundle of letters, when They walked in.
Both her and the old man had frozen for a moment, before he had politely put his cane away and left, and she had deposited the letters into the sack where they belonged, before making eye contact and greeting her visitors.
-
"We''re here to commandeer ''Crests the Skies on Wings of Knowledge." Stated the first figure, once they were all seated in the back of the pub. Dawnfire could tell they were a stick in the mud by the way they gave the full name every time, nobody did that unless they were way too far up the social ranking. That and the fact she was the only one who''d bought a drink, and gods was she going to need it.
"We need him," nice avoidance of the name, "to go and see what''s happened in Cericil and Tole. We''ve had no contact with them over the winter, and this is the closest stop."
Dawnfire was sceptical, "How are you going to manage that? He can''t speak, as far as I know, he just has route he''s trained to fly? Do you think you can change that?"
Different people had different opinions about ''Crests the Skies on Wings of Knowledge'', and oh gods now she was doing it too. Some argued that he merely flew where he had been trained to fly, others argued that he might be more intelligent. The range of that intelligence differed depending on who you were talking to. At one end of the scale were the cultists on the island of Vocil, who revered it as one of the gods, to the average postal worker, who she would say considered it no smarter than the average dog.
Dawnfire hadn''t interacted with it enough to know on which side of the fence she stood, but it was somewhat closer to "dog" than "god". It landed, it grabbed his cow, it let them load its packs and then it left again. That was all. No more intelligent than a minecart.
It was nice of it to eat the cow elsewhere, though. Much less traumatic for everyone involved.
"We''ll strip the bags off and put a rider on him. It''s been done before." This was news to her, but she didn''t question the veracity of it. She liked her job.
"Is that¡ Safe?" she countered instead, "If the cities really have fallen to plague like the refugees say¡"
The three of them shared a glance, before the one in the middle finally spoke, an air of embarrassment in her voice, "there are refugees?"
-
The Dragon had turned up two days later, and by then the plan had changed completely. They were going to send him out alone, and they had several artists waiting back on the ground. Once it returned, if it returned, then they would draw different things and try and get it to point to which ones it''d seen.
This was utterly bonkers, but the stiffs seemed convinced that it wasn''t. The artists were being paid, and she didn''t want to lose her job, never-mind her new promotion. Her heart had sunk as she''d seen the silver shape in the sky. They were really going to do this?
Fifteen minutes and one confused and rather naked looking dragon later, they were absolutely going to do this. The artists were already hard at work, pencils and inks out, making the most of the rare opportunity to sketch him without being chased away by the postal workers.
''Crests the Skies on Wings of Knowledge'' crouched on the floor with his head on his front paws, and stared at the three of them, resplendent in their shiny blue uniforms.
"Okay," started Stiff Number One, who referred to themselves as Wintersfoil. The second was Batsblack and the third was named Landblight, which was far too on the nose for somebody investigating a plague, and she had questioned it. They had smiled, but said nothing.
Wintersfoil pointed at the map, "We need you," she said, very slowly and pointing with an exaggerated motion, "to go to this city¡"
The explanation went on for a few minutes, and by the end of it, half the people in the area looked as confused as the Dragon. It had watched the demonstration with interest, waited until it was over, and then tilted its head like a dog. A confused dog.
It had looked around the area, at the amassed people, and his eyes seemed to say "What''s wrong with this guy, I just deliver letters!"
Batsblack had tried next, recruiting one of the artists to help, a middle-aged man named Windwash. He had been in town to help design the new civic hall, but had jumped at the opportunity to sketch the dragon. She had her suspicions that he might have been hanging about even without the added incentive, there was always one.
Batsblack''s approach was abandoned even faster than Wintersfoils. A few sketches in, and the artist threw his hands up in the air, pushing his pencil behind his ear as he did so. "He doesn''t get it," he exclaimed, "this is pointless, you''re just gonna have to send somebody with him."
"We can''t do that." Batsblack had countered, unphased by her failure, "if the city has fallen to plague then there''s a chance it''s still there. You''re a military man, you know the regulations."
Windwash had huffed in agreement, before looking between the three of them and rolling up the paper he''d been drawing on, slipping it into the back of his belt. "Well if you can''t even communicate with it right now," he pointed at Crests the Skies as he spoke, "then how do you expect to get information out of it when it returns?"
Something crossed his face for a moment, as he looked at the dragon, a complex mix of emotions, but it was gone in an instant. "You can always just circle, whoever you send doesn''t even have to land."
Landblight had spoken up then for the first time, and their voice was lighter than she had expected, their intonation completely neutral, unusually so. "He won''t accept any riders other than children. This has been tried in the past." They looked around the area for a moment, at the assembled postal workers and artists, "There is an orphanage in this city?"
Dawnfire nodded, "down on Charity Street, it''s not far."
Batsblack nodded back. "One of you go and fetch a child from there. Old enough to speak, that''s our best bet, and they won''t be missed."
Windwash had lowered their hands, one laying on the paper on the back of his belt, the other over the ear holding the pencil. "You''re going to sacrifice a child for this?"
Batsblack shrugged, their face as impassive as their voice. "It''s our best option. They won''t need a harness, and can tell us what they saw when they return."
Windwash stood there for a moment, frozen in his odd pose, before shaking his head and moving his hands to a more neutral position by his sides. He took a moment to compose himself, his face twitching between anger and something else.
"If you care about them so much, you may adopt them yourself, if they return." Batsblack nodded, as if this was a completely normal thing to say.
The artist had stood for a moment longer, and then looked at the dragon, which was crouched down still and appeared to be watching the conversation with interest.
Then he had thrown his hands in the air, shouted something incomprehensible at Batsblack, scrambled up the side of Crests the Skies, and had stolen a dragon.
Chapter 49 - Seabound.
Well, this sucked. Seabound pressed his chin into his knees, stared out over the sea and hated everything about his life.
He was the seventh child of parents who hadn''t wanted more than three, and by that point, they were sick of them. They had saddled him with this stupid name, one which was tight enough that he couldn''t even pull anything good out of it, and then had gotten rid of him the first chance they got. He was calling himself Seabound, because he was right now, but it wasn''t special. It wasn''t him! It was stupid.
He started out at the ruins of what had yesterday been a ship, feeling the rain run down his face, and he hated it. ''Bound for Sea, Bound for Service'' was his full name, and it was a stupid, stupid name. He had spent years of his life staring at it and hating it and had never managed to come up with a short-name that he liked. The closest he had ever got was Forfor, and that was mostly out of spite.
He let out a sigh, and as he shifted the cold rain soaked behind his knees and through into the warm space between the backs of his legs and his stomach. One day he would pick a whole new name, and this one could be thrown into the sea where it belonged.
The only hitches were that you had to be sixteen to get your name changed without your parent''s permission, and that it cost money.
In theory, he was being paid for being here, on this stupid doomed voyage, but it wasn''t money he would ever see. It passed right over his head and directly into the hands of his parents. His labour, their pay. He had pretty much been sold, and he doubted they were keeping any of it back for when he came of age. He knew better than that.
But, he would live to sixteen, he would get his name changed and he would escape this stupid island. He was not going to die of magic poisoning somewhere in the middle of the ocean. He refused to even consider the possibility.
He kept his mouth firmly shut against the rainwater, tilting his head down so it didn''t run into his eyes or up his nose, but it was getting so heavy now that it was hard to avoid, and he could feel it filling his ears and washing away the last ragged remains of his clothing.
Gods, this was the worst. Everything about this sucked.
When he got back to real land, he was going to change his stupid name, official documents or not. Then he was going to go and become a baker. He was going to bake bread and get his lungs filled with flour and retire at the age of thirty with white hair.
It would go back to its normal colour once he washed it, of course, but, there would be nobody who could make him do so.
Sitting on the shore of a god''s forsaken island, staring at the mass of branches and flowers which had once been a ship, it was a good dream. He was gonna make the best gods damned bread. Or shoes, he could make shoes!
Sailors didn''t wear shoes, so he wouldn''t even have to deal with them, hmm, that sounded better than-
There was a shout from behind him as one of the sailors called out that they''d found a cave, and with a sigh he pushed himself to his feet, letting the last shreds of clothing fall away into nothing.
This sucked.
-
It turned out that the island wasn''t as deserted as they had initially thought. In the back of the cave, next to the freshwater spring, had been huddled two kids, staring with wide eyes at the storm outside. They didn''t speak the same language as any of the crew, Seabound was informed as he helped drag in the half-rotten barrels of food, but one of the sailors said he''d heard it in the past, many years before, and he knew where they could take them to get a translation.
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They both seemed rather shell-shocked, and consensus amongst the crew was that they had been shipwrecked. Possibly escaped servants or runaways, either thrown off a ship or forced to flee.
They stared at the sailors as they went about their work, their eyes wide, holding hands and shying away from contact. Seabound felt for them. However they had gotten here, it obviously hadn''t been willingly, and they had been trapped here for a while without food.
The crew had managed to salvage a good amount of food off of the ship, so that would feed them for a week or so, plus whatever the island would provide.
Seabound settled down next to them in the doorway and they sat there together in silence for a while. Whoever they were, he mused, at least their names probably weren''t as stupid as his.
-
The rain went on for three days, and Forfor was dying of bordem by the end of it. Or Forfore. He wasn''t entirely sure what the difference was, as they both sounded the same, but the sailors told him that it was a good nautical pun, and that he should stick with it.
He refused to have anything more to do with anything to do with boats, so Forfor it was, for now. Captain Southshore had told him that he''d met another Seabound once, and that had cemented it between both him and the crew. It was bad luck to take the same name as another.
The Captain had patted him on the shoulder, and together the crew tried to think of a new long-name for him, to pass the time.
''Not bound for the sea, bakes bread for the Landfolk'' was the current favourite, along with ''Unlucky Shipwrecks Lie In Store'' and ''The Land is a Pleasant Home For Me'' as second and third. There were possibilities there.
Landbound huffed to himself. When they weren''t making up names, they were trying to communicate with the two kids. They weren''t too old, nine or ten at the oldest, and they seemed to be picking up the local tongue at a good pace, but they were running out of words, each new word an ever-increasingly elaborate game of charades. You could only point at things in the rainy cave so much before you had to start improvising.
They had accepted the sailor''s food with gusto, trading words for things in their own language, up until the bag of rice had come out. They had both stoutly refused to eat or even look at it, and speculation was they had been trapped on some sort of plantation or ship? Nobody was quite sure, but it was obvious something had happened there.
Strange, Bakesbread thought, but everyone had their traumas.
-
They had been worried about food initially, when the rain hadn''t stopped, but it turned out to be a non-issue. Upon emerging from the cave, the day after the rains had ended, the world was completely different. Gone were the battered, beaten and scrubby trees, and in their place was a lush green paradise, thick with the sound of birdsong and bright with colours and fruits. The storm had taken their ship, but it had left a wild bounty in its place.
Still, it was a boring diet, berries and pigeons, and when rescue came almost three weeks later, it wasn''t a moment too soon.
Forland had been helping the mage, a kid named Blanketweaving, to examine the wreck, when the shout went up. The two of them were in the water, floating around the now almost unrecognisable mass, and the two new kids were up on top, messing around.
The first to spot it was¡ Nobody quite knew the kid''s name or intonation, but they had managed to approximate a translation, which was something like Beads? It was a weird one-syllable thing though, and he thought it made them sound rather like a cat. Their friend on the ground, who they didn''t have a translation for but had taken to calling "Notrice", took up their cry, pointing to the west.
Blanketweaving had done something to the wreck at that point, floating in the water with his hands on the side, and the flowers above them had bloomed and sung. Then Beads, up on the mast had shouted too, and the flowers had suddenly shifted hues and shape, flashing in the sun.
Forfor almost imagined that the sea around the wreck got clearer, the blue turning to crystal as the ship drank up the magic, but as far as he knew that wasn''t how it worked. Anything in the water would have already been eaten by the little plants and animals that lived there. Not that there wasn''t a lot of magic around, the whole island creaked with it.
Blanketweaving had run back to the cave, leaving him sitting on the shore with Beads and Notrice. He could hear cries being taken up in the distance now as the ship sailed closer. Hopefully, his permanent return to land was at hand!
All he knew, was that once he got home, he would never set foot on a single stupid ship ever again.
Chapter 50 - Dragon
He slept on the grass for almost a full day before anyone came to bother him. It was relaxing, and around him the plants grew higher and lusher and greener, drawing in the magic from around him and using it to fuel their growth.
He didn''t mind, he had lots to spare. The storm had filled him up until he was fat and lazy with it, content to nap in the sun, watching the plants grow around him.
There was a surprising amount of seeds lying dormant around here, and he watched in curiosity as several different kinds of fruiting vines made their attempts to grow up his sides, gripping into the edges of his scales with small thorns, throwing out white flowers and red and purple berries.
They were quite tasty, if a little spiky. He preferred the crunch of a cow or goat, but he could see why humans kept these things around. Little drops of sweetness, punctuated with the prickle of the thorns on his tongue.
He was pretty sure the humans didn''t eat the thorny bits, but he appreciated their bite.
When the humans did finally turn up, they had to hack their way through the plants and shrubs to get to him, and he amused himself by watching them struggle for a moment, before clambering to his feet and flattening most of the whole lot with a few well-placed steps. There!
As he scrutinised them, they all seemed worn and tired. Their clothes weren''t the bright blue he was used to seeing, and most of their uniforms seemed several years out of date, at best! Had he eaten the only clothes they owned? Whoops! He always thought humans had more than one set, but now that he thought about it, maybe they didn''t?
They tentatively brandished the carts holding the straps and bags to him, as if he might say no, or as if he might blast them with magic again. In response, Dragon yawned, stretching out his wings and the muscles in his tail from where they''d been lying idle for a day, pulling the magic in the area back into himself, the plants around him groaning and shrinking back in protest.
As he yawned, several of the postal workers dropped what they were carrying and fled.
Whoops.
-
All kitted up and ready to go, Dragon had a sudden thought. He hadn''t seen any of his passengers since he bought them back. The humans would look after their own, right?
There was a flutter of worry in the back of his mind, a half-forgotten memory of a child clinging to his back, as they flew above endless battlefields.
Right?
Maybe he should just go and check. He¡ He sniffed the air, sorting through the scents and traces until he found the tiny traces of magic that both Shortie and Passenger had held within themselves. He could follow it back to them relatively easily!
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Then he looked down, at the people in front of him, and out over the buildings that surrounded him. The city was lush and overgrown, everyone still and waiting to see what he would do.
He had a choice here.
He could go and find the humans, probably demolishing half the city as he went, or he could go back to doing his job.
With a sigh and a last look in the direction of his people, he took off into the air, spiralling upwards and wiggling his bulk until the packs fit snugly against his sides. Maybe he could find that smart kid again, when he was over in that area, and they could ask for him. That would probably work better.
Until then, nobody else was gonna deliver these letters!
-
People didn''t used to be so afraid of him, Dragon mused as he flew, the endless empty landscape below him. When he had been small they had treated him like a pet, their hands all over him. He had played with the other kids and everything had been fine.
He beat his wings, pushing himself higher into the air, as if he could escape the thoughts by adding height.
Now, everywhere he went, they seemed scared of him. He thought back to Shadows, before the rain had pushed her into survival mode. To how she had sat as far from him as she could get. To how the people in the grass had fled when he yawned. Did humans just not understand body language?
For the first time in a while, Dragon had a real good look at himself. Metaphorically, of course.
There were his shiny silver scales, those weren''t scary!
His wings, how could wings be scary. Ok, they had claws on the tips, but those were blunt things, not at all like the claws of the brambles or the spears he had seen guards brandishing now and again.
He paused for a moment, to think that last comparison over. The fact he''d thought of it probably meant that they were a little like spears.
He turned his head for a moment to look at his wings. Stretching out beside him, they were wide sails, catching the air and keeping him aloft. In the morning sun, the scales reflected the light from above like mirrors, each with a slightly different refraction, causing them to shimmer like a rainbow as he shifted slightly.
Not scary at all. But he probably shouldn''t sharpen the claws at any point. Noted, what else?
Well, there was his tail! It was long and thin and didn''t even have spikes on it. That one wasn''t scary either.
For a moment, he considered adding some spikes. Now that would be a weapon! But he was happy with his tail as it was, and he had no need for weaponry. It helped with his flight, letting him adjust in the air without having to move anything else, a point for the air streaming over his body to exit.
He liked his tail as it was, and it wasn''t scary. So that one was out.
His¡ His face?
The air up here was too thin, and staying aloft wasn''t as easy as it could be. The world below him was hazy and far away, obscured by clouds and distance. From up here, the world looked like an endless blanket of green, and all was silent apart from the rush of air. He was above even the birds.
He swept his wings back and dove, holding them against his sides to protect the leather of the bags and to keep himself aerodynamic. It took almost a minute before he had to slow down, banking and swooping above the trees until he was back at a more reasonable height.
He remembered how Shortie had run up to him and grabbed his face, and for a moment his heart fluttered happily in memory. That meant it couldn''t possibly be his face that was the problem, right?
He had his nose, noses weren''t scary. His eyes with their three eyelids were, in his opinion, very nice and useful. The horns on his forehead had grown up over time, so maybe humans were scared of those for some reason? But the number of children who had stood on his head, holding onto them for balance, belied that thought.
His¡ Teeth?
He thought back to the weapons he had seen humans wield, all the swords and spears and guns he had seen over the years, although in his own thoughts he had no names for those things, only images.
Ah, Dragon considered, that might be it.
Chapter 51 - Health & Pearl
They were lost. Absolutely, completely, lost.
The Genie, whatever a "genie" was, could at least have sent them somewhere inhabited! Instead, they had ended up on this stupid island. Trapped.
The first day it hadn''t seemed so bad. They had traversed the coast, expecting to find a city or village somewhere, but instead it gradually curved, until, in the end, they were right back where they started, standing on the shore and looking out over more water than either of them had ever imagined could exist.
They had done the same again the second day, just in case they''d missed something, and on the third day, they had explored the rest of the island, still coming up with nothing. All there were trees and berries and ocean. On all sides, ocean.
The amount of water around them was mind-boggling. From atop the mountain back home, they had been able to see what they thought was the whole world. They had imagined that the horizon was the edge of everything, and the world was all made up of endless green. They had heard of the ocean, but neither of them had imagined they would ever see it. They''d heard it described as "A large lake of brackish water, rich in fish and plant life", and they''d never thought any more about it.
They had lakes, in the gullies and valleys and hidden in caves, but the sheer amount of water. And it wasn''t even drinkable!
At the end of the third day, Pearl had clambered to the top of the highest tree they could find, and from up there, she said, she could see the whole island. The ocean surrounded them on all sides, and even from that height, she could see no land.
They were lucky that the cave they were in had a small spring in the back. It looked like it may have once been a place similar to the complex they''d found under their own mountain, now gone to ruin. Scratching in the dirt had revealed chunks of worked stone mixed in with the sand and gravel of the floor, but if it had been such a place, it was long, long ago.
The two of them had been there almost a week, scrounging for roots and berries, gradually getting hungrier and hungrier, when the storm came. Pearl noticed it first, scenting the magic in the air, but even Health could tell something was brewing. They had huddled in the mouth of the cave and watched as it began. A sprinkling of rain, rapidly transitioning into crashing thunder and torrential sheets of water.
It had felt like the end, and they had sat together at the back of the cave and listened to it roar.
When the people had staggered in, shouting in their strange voices, the accents and intonations all wrong but oh so human, they had been too tired to question it.
-
"You think they''re friends, Health?" Pearl whispered, as if they could understand her.
Health shrugged from where they were huddled at the back of the cave, watching as the people carried in boxes and barrels, shouting the whole time. The two of them hadn''t been bothered much. After the initial questioning and discovery that neither party spoke a common language, the invaders had decided that they had more important matters to attend to.
"I dunno," Health finally answered, pausing to wipe their face on their knees, hiding their tears, "I don''t think it matters?"
They laid their head sideways on their knees and looked over at her, watching her expressions. She said a lot without words, and it was easy to miss if you weren''t looking for it.
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Pearl considered this, in the way she often did. A biting of her lip and a furrow of her brow. She was taking this much better than they were, listening to the people speak and taking it in, her eyes bright and moving.
"Maybe," sniffed Health, wiping their nose again, with their sleeve this time. "Maybe they''ll help us get off this stupid island."
Pearl didn''t look round, her eyes still following the newcomers, with their strange, rain-rotten outfits and their loud voices. "Let''s hope so."
-
Over the next few hours, some overtures were made and some basic communication was established. The tall¡ Man? Pearl and Health had had some debate about this and decided to revert to just guessing based on physical features, something which wasn''t easy to conceal with him appearing to have spent more time in the storm than any of the others. The tall man seemed to be the leader of the group. He wasn''t so much shouting orders as giving small nudges here and there, but he was obviously in charge.
He had tried to communicate with them in various ways, and in what sounded like three different languages, none of which Pearl or Health knew.
They had picked up some things, though. The culture which had stumbled upon them had both long and short names, and whatever those names were, they were utterly unable to get their mouths around even half of it. At least not just yet.
They had established some words at least. ''Water'' and ''Rain'', but they were exhausted from a week of little to no food, and the new people weren''t in a much better shape, so it was mostly left there.
-
It took another week before both the storm ended, and rescue arrived. Food wasn''t an issue, after the blessing of the storm, and Pearl and Health learnt a lot during that time. Words. Foreign words for everything. For ''Tree'' and ''Rock'' and ''Cave'' and people and, unfortunately, ''Rice''.
Health had tried to bite one of the sailors after they had learnt that word and discovered that they were being referred to as "negative-rice".
Ok yes, it was a negation of rice, but even here, thrown to some unknown part of the world, they couldn''t escape it! It was a curse that would follow them until their dying day and then when they died somebody would carve a rice stalk on their stupid gravestone.
They would probably carve the stone to look like terraces or something, to flow the rain down, knowing their stupid luck.
"You''re exaggerating," Pearl shook her head from where she was clinging to the trunk, or ''mast'', of what had apparently once been a boat of some kind. Neither of them were sure how it worked, but they insisted it was the boat that got them here. Health thought it might have curled up like a giant leaf, Pearl suspected something more complicated, but for now, it was just a huge mass of branches and flowers, the perfect playground for two bored kids.
"Just pick a new name in their language. It''s what I''m gonna do." Pearl shouted down again, her bare feet gripping the mast as she tried to shimmy her way up further.
Health grunted, pulling themselves up the sides of the boat tree, balancing on the edge of the "deck" so that they could see out over the ocean. There sure was a lot of it. "I gotta learn more of it f-"
"There''s something out there!" Pearl interrupted, squinting into the evening sun, and Health tried to do the same, not seeing it. "Huh?"
"Ship!" she called out to the two kids in the sea, and then again, holding onto the mast with one hand and pointing when they didn''t get it. Words were hard and there was something tonal in the language that was eluding them both.
The younger kid, Health wasn''t sure if they were a boy, girl or neither, that quirk of language also seemed to elude them so far, shouted something utterly incomprehensible, and set off at a run back to the cave, as the other, older one pressed their hands against the hull of the ship, and Pushed.
Even Health could see as the magic rippled through the structure, strengthening the branches and causing the wilting flowers above to burst back into full bloom.
Above them, Pearl laughed, and they saw her press her own magic into the ship, swirling and combining it with the person''s below until the whole ship sang of it, the flowers blooming and fading and blooming again in all of those not-colours they had seen in the Genie''s atrium.
Maybe Growth wasn''t so bad, they grudgingly considered, watching the ship bloom above them. It was kinda pretty at least.
In the distance there were shouts, and the ''ship'' started to draw closer, the mangled shape of the thing they were standing on starting to make sense when presented with a non-mangled example.
Watching it sail closer, Health let out an inward sigh of relief. Hopefully, wherever they ended up, they could find somebody who spoke their language!
Chapter 52 - Rattleglass
Rattleglass adjusted her crinoline skirt, and stared out of the carriage window, not seeing the landscape as it passed by. Even during the day, it hadn''t been interesting, an endless stream of identical green trees and hedges. The rhythmic clopping of the horse''s hooves, which not even sleep would let her escape. The sound would wedge itself in her head after this, a steady rhythm that never let up.
Clop clop, clop clop. Endlessly repeating, each muffled step vibrating through the carriage.
If her family had been richer, then they could have afforded a better carriage. One with a proper suspension so that she didn''t have to line the floor with pillows and cushions to get a slight bit of relief from the constant shaking and rattling that seemed to seep into her very bones.
Apt, considering her name, she considered, sliding off the hard wooden seat and onto the floor.
A few minutes later and she was lying on the floor with her legs against the door and her arms behind her head. Her feet were in the air, and were slowly starting to go numb, but she didn''t want to move just yet. From this angle, she could see a little of the sky. It was a full moon tonight, and the small bits she could see behind the trees were filled with stars, fronted by bright grey clouds.
She tilted her head back, looking out through the other window instead. Her head was closer to the door over here and she could see more of the sky, nice.
She wondered what the stars were called, what pictures people had drawn in them over the years. She knew a couple, everyone did, but she had never bothered to properly learn.
She stayed like that for a few more minutes, the hoops of her skirt like a circus tent around her legs, her bare feet almost high enough to touch the window, then with a groan she rolled over onto her side, drew her knees up, and tried to sleep.
-
They stopped only briefly that night, in a small village, located somewhere and nowhere. Rattleglass exited the carriage only briefly, to do her business while the horses were changed, and then it was back on the road.
Somewhere under the layers of cushions and blankets, she had a bag full of food, but so far she hadn''t felt the need to break into it, hunger a distant memory.
Lying there on the carriage floor, her face pressed into the pillows, listening to the clop clop clop of the horse''s hooves, she allowed herself, for a moment, to think.
A week ago she had been on the back of a dragon, flying high across the world. An adventure most children could only dream of.
A month ago, she had been sitting in her dark, empty house, waiting for death to come for her.
A year ago she had been loved, and had loved in return.
Rattleglass squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her face deeper into the pillows. She still held his image in her heart, kept safe and perfect, but she would never use it again.
She had vowed, whilst in the air, that she would never cry again. But it was difficult, at night when everything around her was dark and she was so very, very alone. Only the rattling vibrations of the horse''s hooves and the shudder of the carriage for company.
-
"Hey Rattle''!"
Rattleglass looked around the room, squinting her eyes in an over-exaggerated fashion. "Is somebody there?" she called, with more squinting, and a cupped hand on her brow for good measure, "I thought I heard a voice, but there''s nobody here!"
A giggle from the little cloud of magic under the table, "I''m a spooky ghost!"
The tablecloth wiggled slightly, and Rattleglass smiled.
"Raar!" She raised her arms and jumped towards the table, lifting the tablecloth and diving under in one motion, "I''m a big ol'' dragon and I''m going to ea-"
But there was nobody there.
-
She awoke the next morning with her eyes already open, staring at the roof of the carriage, the grain of the wood seared into her vision, sunlight streaming in through the windows.
It took her a moment to come-to, to realise that the carriage had stopped and the horses were still. She had arrived.
-
The house loomed before her, large and white. The plaster was freshly painted and the windows thrown open to the spring air. Surrounding the front door were flowering vines, gripping weakly to the new plaster. They looked a bit scuffed, like they''d been torn back recently and then forced back into a place they weren''t all that comfortable with.
Rattleglass sympathised.
The house was two stories high, a ground and a first floor, but the roof garden hung down, obscuring the upper windows with greenery and flowers. From somewhere up on the roof she could hear the sound of laughter and the clinking of plates and glasses.
Behind her, the driver cracked the horse-whip, and the carriage turned smartly. The figure gave her one last glance, and then pulled their hat down over their eyes, and the carriage pulled away, leaving her alone.
She had no bags with her. No luggage. When they had taken her off the dragon they had removed her travel clothes and put her into this stupid skirt, and now after three days of constant travel, it was tired and crumpled.
She spent a moment trying to smooth it down, running her hands over the pleated front of her dress, straightening out the crinoline and trying to force her bushy red hair into some sort of shape.
It didn''t help. The only thing that had ever helped with that was magic.
Rattleglass squeezed her eyes shut for a moment until the wave passed. Then, with a deep breath, she knocked on the door.
-
There was a momentary break in the sounds from above, then it resumed, and a small face peeked down from one of the upstairs windows.
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"C''mon in!" they shouted, and Rattleglass hesitated, struggling to see them against the bright sun. "I said c''mon!" they made some sort of gesture, and then the face disappeared.
A moment later there was a clunk, and the door opened, "we dun normally use the front!" the kid shouted happily as they ran back to where ever they''d come from, "we normally just come in ''round the back!"
Rattleglass took a moment to catch her bearings, and then stepped silently into the hallway.
It seemed dark, compared to the outside, but it wasn''t really, it was just her eyes adjusting. The hallway carried on for a while, and then at the other end was another door, this one open. Off to either side were rooms. One room was closed, and another was propped open with a pile of grubby clothing. The washroom maybe?
There was a cart wheel lying against one wall, almost as tall as she was, and she edged past it gingerly. It was old and several of the spokes were dimpled with rot, the metal band around the outside spotted with old rust. The floor hadn''t been swept in a while, and the walls inside were not as freshly plastered as those outside, making the whole affair seem narrow and oppressive.
But not as oppressive as where she had come from. For a moment she shut her eyes again. She wasn''t going to cry!
The edges of her skirt brushed against the walls on either side as she walked, and for a moment for felt a vivid sharp hatred for the thing. Then it passed, leaving her exhausted and tired, and she staggered, reaching out a hand to steady herself.
She stood like that for a moment, before the face appeared again from a doorway near the end of the hall, "c''mon slowpoke!" they waved, and she pushed away from the wall, hiked up her skirts, and followed.
She expected to be led up to the roof, but the child shook their head, leading her out the back instead, into an overgrown garden. "You dun wanna go up there, they''re day-drinkin''!"
It wasn''t a phrase she had heard before, but she could imagine what it meant, and she wrinkled her nose at it. "Isn''t this supposed to be an orphanage?"
The kid ahead of her shrugged, still leading her by the hand through bushes and hedges, her skirt catching on branches and getting stuck in the narrow gaps. "Dun ask me, they said I had to live here so now I live here!"
They walked for a couple more minutes, under trees and vines, until eventually, they came upon a large willow tree. The child leading her put a finger over their lips and crinkled their eyes, before signalling that she stay where she was. They then spun and pushed through the hanging willow, disappearing from sight like an otter diving into a stream.
There was a moment of silence, the birdsong overhead and the chirping of insects, and then the head reappeared, the willow fronds encircling it like the edges of a painting. "C''mon in!"
She parted the willow twigs with her hands, and entered the den.
-
She didn''t know what she had expected, but the bright, dry space before her wasn''t it. She stopped for a moment to look around, and then to look up. Whoever had Grown this tree, they had done it over a long period of time, and the roof of it was far above her head, the sun streaming through the spindly branches.
Willows were good trees. They absorbed magic from the air and the earth, leaving everything around them clean and fresh. The oldest tree known was a willow, in the inland city of, surprisingly, Willow, far to the east, or was it west now¡ The tree was said to cover the whole city and to protect it from the rain, but she had never seen it for herself.
She thought for a moment about the tree she had sheltered under with the Dragon, and the calm cool lake, but there were more interesting things to be thinking about!
The area wasn''t bare, instead in the centre of the area in front of her was an area filled with dirty looking cushions, and around six or seven dirty looking children. One of them waved as she entered, and another rolled their eyes, looking her up and down and obviously not impressed with what they saw. There was a range of ages throughout the group, from kids younger than her to others much older.
As she looked around, she wished her brother could have been here, and something in her heart clenched. She took a moment to steady herself, before opening her eyes again. "Hi?"
One of the older kids stood up, and she expected a greeting, but instead, they simply walked away, through the willow fronds and out of sight. The kid who had rolled their eyes sighed, "don''t mind him", she said, "he just doesn''t like competing for food."
"Competing?" she asked? Her voice was quiet, and she hated it.
The girl shrugged, "you''ll see."
-
The kids hung around the willow until early evening, not heading home for lunch, which Rattleglass didn''t feel up to questioning, despite her stomach growling quietly from the hunger. She had only eaten lightly during the three-day journey, and it was starting to catch up with her.
Six kids lived in "the house", as they referred to it. Three boys, two girls and one who was neither. That last one was Shortfire, who had escorted her across the fields to begin with.
The lad who had left was Cloverstep, and the girl who had apologised for him was Plumsweet. She had left not long after Cloverstep, and hadn''t returned by the time the sun started to set.
Shortfire was a confusing little sort, sometimes she was he, and sometimes he was they, and Rattleglass took a while to get the hang of it. It seemed to depend mostly on mood and time of day. They reminded Rattleglass of her brother, sometimes.
If the others saw her trying not to cry, then they didn''t say anything.
Heading back to the house in the yellow evening light, Shortfire''s hand in hers, Rattleglass wondered if she would find a new family here.
-
Coming back to the house, somebody had been through and shut the windows, but the only light was coming from the upstairs, the downstairs shutters tightly closed. Shortfire held her back for a moment, putting a finger over his mouth, "you gotta be quiet goin'' in or the ladies''ll shout at you, so shh!"
Rattleglass started at them for a moment, before shrugging and nodding, and the small group of children formed into a line and shuffled towards the house. It was all very strange.
They entered the hall she had passed through earlier, which was even gloomier in the evening darkness, and then led her into the kitchen, not letting go of her hand.
The kitchen contained a large table, around which were chairs which looked like they''d lived a hard life, before coming here to find their final resting place. She went to take a seat at one of them, but Shortfire pulled her back and gestured to another, pushing at the one she had chosen.
It wobbled on its legs like some sort of wild animal, swaying side to side, and she would have laughed, if all of the other children weren''t being so careful to be silent.
The room was lit by a single large fire, in front of which Cloverstep was attending to a large cauldron of stew. At least the room seemed cleaner than the rest of the house, and she had the sense that something else had been cooked in here recently, but which was now gone. Food for the "upstairs"?
A few minutes later they were all seated around the table, one of the larger children taking the wobbly chair with practised ease. It creaked a little as they swayed side to side, but a look from the other kids soon put a stop to that, and the only sounds in the room were the quiet rattling of spoons on the heavy earthenware bowls.
There was enough food to go round, but barely, and Rattleglass still wasn''t full, but the pains in her stomach had eased.
One of the girls took her hand, and with a candle in the other, she was led down the hall, to the bedroom.
It was all so eerie and surreal, that she just went along with it.
-
The room contained several small beds, and a single table near the door, where the candle was placed with reverence.
There was a little confusion about her lack of luggage and sleepwear. "What," whispered Plumsweet, plucking at the skirt, "you''re gonna keep wearin'' that thing?"
Rattleglass shrugged, suddenly defensive of the dress she had hated so much only a moment earlier. She narrowed her eyes at Plumsweet, "Why, what''s wrong with it?"
She didn''t raise her voice, but it sounded surprisingly loud in the silent house, and there was a frozen moment where nobody moved. Then Plumsweet stepped back, her hands up in front of herself but her expression not seriously threatened, "It just looks a bit uncomfortable to sleep in is all," she said quietly, "your highness."
Rattleglass went to make a retort, only holding it back at the last moment, biting her lip so hard she was surprised she couldn''t taste blood.
Plumsweet watched her for a moment, silent, and then with a shrug, she turned. "Kids sleep in this room, grown-ups in the room next door. Don''t go upstairs, don''t run away."
She gave a backhanded wave as she left the room, and then pulled the door shut behind her, not looking back. The dirty clothes in the doorway still hadn''t been moved, so it remained open a crack. The girl who had led her into the room sighed through her nose, and then dug around in a box in the corner, coming up with a surprisingly clean-looking nightdress. "Here," she murmured, pressing it into Rattleglass''s hands, "put this on, your bed is over there."
The mattress was straw, but the sheets seemed clean, and within minutes she was asleep, the long day catching up to her all at once.
Chapter 53 - Rattleglass 2
She was nudged awake the next morning by the girl, whose name she had learnt was Coldspring. Breakfast was porridge from the pot, again in strange silence, and then they were out of the house and away, children scattering with sudden laughter. Somebody had found her a homespun linen dress and a ribbon to tie her hair back, the dress was a bit too long and very brown, but anything was better than the layers of petticoats and pleating she had been wearing the day before.
She wanted to question the strange behaviour, but it was barely past dawn and she was still rattled from being shoved awake and from her journey the day before, so she kept her mouth shut until they were back at the den under the willow tree.
For most of the morning, it was just her and Shortfire, lounging on the cushions and meandering around the clearing. At one point she found herself standing with her hand on the trunk of the ancient tree, staring up into the branches. The fronds hung like moss, and now that she paid more attention she could see that some of the branches were so long, they had been planted back into the ground, where they were slowly turning into their own trees, an impenetrable wall.
As she held her hand against that tree, she missed her brother again, the ache in her very soul. He would have loved it, he would have given it a name and spoken to it and encouraged it to grow for another thousand years. But he was gone, and no matter how tightly she held his image in her heart, she would never have his talent.
It was a physical pain, but it was one she was learning to live with.
Behind her, there was a scuffle, as somebody entered the area, and she turned to see Plumsweet, with a small basket of what looked like apples. The girl looked at her for a while, and then up at the tree, before setting the basket down. "You got magic?"
Rattleglass hesitated, and then shook her head, "nah."
"Shame." She kicked at the basket of apples, and from the pile of grubby cushions emerged a Shortfire.
"Fruit!" she exclaimed, jumping at the apples like a cat, and Plumsweet cracked the first smile that Rattleglass had seen her make, before throwing herself down on the pile, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling.
"Guess you''re wonderin'' about this place then, your majesty?"
"I''m not royalty," Rattleglass murmured, settling down on the edge of a log, "wouldn''t be here if I was, but, I guess?"
Plumsweet rolled her eyes, and threw her arms behind her head, "ain''t that the truth. We''re all here for some reason or another."
She huffed through her nose, and then continued speaking. "Lil Shortfire over there, they''re here cause their parents wanted a boy."
Shortfire nodded, and Rattleglass looked confused. "I don''t¡ I don''t get it?"
Plumsweet shrugged, as much as somebody lying down on a pile of cushions can shrug, "neither do they." A hard laugh. "I''m here cause my sister didn''t want me around no more. Some kids are here cause their parents couldn''t look after ''em, some, who knows."
She rolled over, leaning her chin on her fists and looking at Rattleglass. "So, what''s your story?"
Rattleglass bit her lip, and then opened her mouth to speak. She wanted to say it, wanted to say out loud, ''yes my parents are dead''. She wanted to have those words come out of her mouth smoothly and easily and have them impact the world in the same way they had impacted her, like the first thundering boom before the whole mountain came crashing down, but instead, she simply shrugged, looking away, "Does it matter?"
"Mm. You''re gonna have to meet the Upstairs at some point." She kept her chin on her hands, and somewhere overhead a pigeon hooted, a two-toned, mournful noise. "Better have your story straight by then."
"My story?"
"Mm," she licked her lips, thinking for a moment, before sitting up straight, her fists on her knees, balancing on the cushion, "They don''t¡ How do I put this¡"
Rattleglass waited, and next to her Shortfire reached out, grabbing a second apple from where the basket had overturned, causing her to almost overbalance, "They don''t really¡ Like children here?"
Rattleglass frowned, "isn''t this supposed to be an orphanage?"
Plumsweet and Shortfire shared a glance, "In theory" she started, a diplomatic tone to her voice, "yea'', but¡ You''re an orphan then?"
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Rattleglass shrugged, "I guess¡"
"Ah" Plumsweet reached down and grabbed an apple, tossing it to her, and Rattleglass fumbled as she caught it. "Well. Sucks for you I guess." She shrugged. "So, you''re gonna have to meet the Upstairs at some point, so here''s how you gotta be."
-
The explanation took some time. "The House" was owned by two elderly women, who had gotten lucky with fortunes early on in life. They had been partners for years, but, Plumsweet made clear, you weren''t ever to mention that in their presence. They would deny it until their dying day, for reasons none of the kids quite understood, but that was just how things were.
You had to be out of the house by breakfast time, unless you were one of the kids who was seeing to the house that day. Today it was the jobs of Cloverstep and Teapot. They had to stay behind and make sure that the Upstairs, as the two women were referenced, had cooked food and hot tea throughout the day, as well as do the cooking and cleaning. The kids divvied the jobs up between themselves over the course of the week. Food came in once a week and if they needed something, they were to request it from the Upstairs.
Shortfire had been up there yesterday to look out for Rattleglass and tidy up a bit, as they knew she was arriving, but it was a special case. While you were in the house you had to be quiet, so as not to disturb the upstairs.
"There''s no servants?" Rattleglass had asked at one point, and Plumsweet did her favourite thing and rolled her eyes, flopping over onto her back and gesturing at the sky, "we are the servants, dumdum. Where are you even from."
You had to be back in by sundown, and once a week there was an inspection to make sure everyone was still present and hadn''t run away, and¡ That was it. When you were fifteen you were expected to leave, but until then, just do whatever. Just don''t draw attention to yourself. The women never left their room or garden, so as long as they stuck to the rules, everything would be fine.
The rules of the house seemed a bit arcane, but she guessed she''d figure it out as she went along. Otherwise, it seemed like a pretty good deal. There was food, there was lodging, she wasn''t expected to work, it could be much worse. Would be much worse if she tried to run away, but why would she.
Over the course of the explanation, a couple of the other kids had filtered in, and added their own knowledge and opinions, until she felt rather overwhelmed. The dress was scratchy and a little too tight, and her hands itched to Change it until it fit, until the inside was as smooth as silk. It wouldn''t last, the material wanted to be either what it was, or dirt, but she could have held the magic in place as long as she was wearing it.
Or she could have, once. But she didn''t do that anymore.
None of the other kids had Talent, which she found strange, but apparently those kids got shipped to other places.
When she had asked about that, one of the youngest children, a boy named Teapot had silently stood up and left. The others had watched in silence, waiting until he was gone.
"He had a sister," Shortfire said, from where they were still submerged in cushions, only their arms visible, held high up in the air, hands cradling a well-polished apple. "She went to some stupid school and he ended up here, better not talk about it."
Rattleglass nodded, and another spike of pain shot through her chest. She understood.
-
The next two days were more of the same. Strange, silent meals, and then days spent either hanging about under the willow or exploring the nearby woods. There weren''t even any farms nearby, the house was almost entirely isolated, the woods always encroaching. There was, they informed her, a hired mage who came once a week to check on that sort of thing, but none of the children had ever spoken to them. They just did their job and then left.
The third day was when she was finally summoned. Apparently, this was normal and was to give the new children "time to settle", but Rattleglass suspected that it was really either indifference or apathy.
It was the first time she had been upstairs, and she was struck by the contrast. While the downstairs was gloomy, with neglected and child-worn rooms, the upstairs was light. The walls had been repainted recently and the windows were large and clean, thrown open to let light in. The whole upstairs consisted of one large room, separated into sections with soft furnishings or bookshelves. In one corner, a sleeping area, in another by a stove, a small place set aside for reading in the evenings. Doors on one side led to what she assumed was a water closet, and there were stairs leading up to the roof, from which came the scent of flowers.
It couldn''t have been a bigger contrast.
With a lazy wave she had been directed to stand near the stairs, and she had waited there, looking around the room. The two women didn''t stand up off their couch, their backs to her. From what she could see though, they were very similar in appearance, both dressed the same and roughly the same height. For a moment she almost looked at them properly, to see what was magic and what was the genetic lottery, but she didn''t do that anymore, and either way, it would be a massive invasion of privacy.
She stood there for what felt like hours, but which was probably only around ten minutes, until they deigned to get up and look at her.
"She''s a skinny one, love" the first woman said, poking her in the ride. Rattleglass tried not to flinch, keeping her mouth in a firm line, her eyes narrowed.
"That hair though!" the second woman admired, running her fingers through it. She was lucky that her hair didn''t tangle easily, and with the help of the other kids she had washed it with water from the pump outside the day previous, so it fluffed around her like a pink cloud, the ribbon barely holding it back.
"You''re not going to be trouble, right?" The first woman asked, and Rattleglass shook her head, biting her lip.
"Good" the second woman nodded, letting go of her hair. "You may go now."
And with a wave, both of them lost interest in her.
Another child might have asked why they were here, what was expected of them. Would she go to school at any point? She had always had tutors, until everything went wrong, but normal kids went to school right?
But, with one last look back at that beautiful room, she turned, and headed back down the stairs.
Chapter 54 - Health & Pearl 2
They stayed on the boat for longer than anyone had expected, almost two weeks, before finally coming to shore. The ship which picked them all up was only running a skeleton crew and was grateful for the extra hands. At least, that''s what Health and Pearl assumed, it was all still a little muddled.
They had both picked up the language surprisingly fast, but they were still missing huge gaps in their knowledge. Partly due to just a lack of time, partly due to the fact they were stuck on a ship, and you could only point at different bits of the boat a certain amount of times before you ran out of bits of the boat to point at.
Health mostly bummed around the deck. They were learning to weave ropes and scrub and wax the deck, but once the captain discovered that she had what they referred to as a "talent", Pearl had been recruited as a fully paid mage.
They had both been surprised when the pay appeared, after that first week, and the explanation for why had gone past them at first, but money was money, and between them they kept busy with little odds and ends. Change wasn''t a hugely practical magic, but you could, if you knew what you were doing, use it to break down materials in certain ways. So the ship had set her to work carving game pieces, nudging faded tattoos, and changing little physical features which had shifted over time without access to a Changer.
They already had a Growth mage, so in their spare time, the two of them had been hanging around with Blanketweaving, learning language and playing with magic. They got the impression that he had gone through some sort of formal education for what he did, but the communication barriers were still too high to really get anything across.
-
Sitting on the forecastle one morning, the three of them were playing with some grains of rice Blanketweaving had stolen from the kitchen. He was making them grow very slowly between his fingers, wrapping the shoots around his hand, and Pearl was attempting to copy him, squinting in turn between him and the her own tightly clutched grains.
Health laughed, "Well, if we ever end up back home, at least you''ll be appreciated"
She narrowed her eyes at them for a moment, and then went back to glaring at her fingers, "I can kinda see what he''s doin, but it doesn''-"
There was a shift in the air, and the grain in her hand suddenly broke down, turning to dust in her fingers. With a sigh she pinched another one out of the bowl, brushing the dirt away. "It doesn'' matter so much here."
In front of her, Blanketweaving''s grain had sprouted into a full plant and was now starting to bloom. Without pollination it wouldn''t be viable, Health mused absentmindedly, but they had heard the adults talk about how a growth mage could¡
They shook their head and looked back. The grain Pearl was pinching between her fingers had dried out, even more so than it had been originally, and Blanketweaving was nodding and offering some advice that neither of them could understand.
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The three of them had taken to scrawling pictures in a little tray of damp sand when things got desperate, but it was discarded off to the side for now. Whatever it was he wanted her to do, it wasn''t easily communicated by sand drawings.
"Bla bla bla bla" said Blanketweaving, waving his hands about in a way that conveyed nothing, "bla you bla water bla bla"
"Oh!" Pearl exclaimed, "I think I get it"
She paused, triumphant for a moment, and then deflated back to her previous posture.
"But I have no idea how to do it."
She stared at the grain for a moment and then reached for the tray, but Blanketweaving pulled her hand away, and she huffed at him. "I think he''s pullin'' water out of the air, but I don''t know how to do that."
The mage kicked the sand tray a little further along the deck, and she rolled her eyes at him, "using a soil is cheating yeah yeah I get it."
She settled back into a more relaxed pose and tried again.
Health got up and headed towards the rail, leaning against it and looking out along the bowsprit. If they understood it today, the ship would make land tomorrow, and then something would happen, but neither of them were sure what. Without a ship, Southshore and his crew wouldn''t be able to get them to the place where they knew somebody who spoke their language, and to get another ship was going to take a while.
The more complicated details went beyond them, and both Health and Pearl had stopped worrying about it. What would happen would happen, and they would just have to go along with it. They had the few coins that Pearl had been paid to help out, but they didn''t know the value of those coins and had no way of negotiating for goods. They were two kids lost in a strange land.
As they stared out over the blue sea, Health thought about the genie. Had it sent them both to that island on purpose? Things could have gone much worse if they''d just been thrown into a strange city. As it was, they''d had a relatively gentle time of it.
Plus, it had been kinda fun so far. Health would even miss the sea, but they could come back.
There was an exclamation and laughter from behind them, and they turned to see Pearl, with a tiny rice shoot clutched between her fingers. It was only the tiniest of sprouts, but it was something!
"Good job!" Health exclaimed, leaning back on the rail and laughing at the concentration on her face, as she glared at the tiny shoot.
"Stop laughin'' at me this is super hard!" she growled. "I couldn''t have done this before whatever Genie did to us!"
Health nodded. Since their experience at the cave, even they could see more than they had used to be able to, although they hadn''t tried to do anything with it yet. Whilst Pearl had been able to do magic since before she could talk, Health just didn''t have the instinct for it.
And that was ok! Scrubbing the decks and painting the rails was fine by them, if they needed something Changing, they could always ask.
Pearl grunted and shot them a look, before finally allowing herself to break a smile. In her hands, the shoot wilted a little, but it didn''t wither up and die, so that was something.
She clambered to her feet, rubbing her bum from sitting on the hard planks all morning. On the other side of her Blanketweaving also got to his feet, looking around. "Something something Sails, something something" he said, and the two of them nodded, as he made his way back towards the centre of the ship. He wasn''t the mage in charge, but he could always give the one who was some relief.
Pearl came over to stand beside them, learning her arms and chin on the rail and staring out across the water.
"You think we''ll ever go home?" Health asked, and she turned to look up at them.
"Gods I hope not. Bet your dad is pissed."
Health laughed, and they stood together for a time and simply watched the sea.
Chapter 55 - Rattleglass 3
Two weeks in, and Rattleglass was bored. Her grief had slowly waned, under the monotonous weight of summer. She had already had two years to mourn the death of her brother, and over a month in that grey empty house, to come to terms with the fact her parents were gone. The grief was a wound which would never heal, but it would scab over, and that was enough.
Shortfire had been her constant companion over those two weeks, and together they had explored the woods around The House. Before she turned up, they had been the youngest child, and had mostly stuck to the willow tree den, but with a companion¡
They found small secret places, forgotten ruins and a mine which appeared to have been abandoned many generations before, perhaps the reason the remote house was built in the first place.
But, by the end of the first two weeks, she was bored, and that was when they decided to explore the village.
-
Peering out from the corner, she saw Shortfire nod. "C''mon, it''s clear!"
Rattleglass nodded and scurried across the narrow street, diving into the alleyway between two houses on the other side, panting for breath. Two weeks of running around in the woods had made her fitter, but she wasn''t all there yet, and several months of grief and poor food, along with being thirteen years old had left her thin and weedy.
She panted, "Ok, your turn next," Rattleglass looked around, before pointing to a nearby roof, "you have to get over there, over the roof and down the other side without anyone spotting you!"
Shortfire wrinkled up their nose and sniffed, rising it into the air, "of course your majesty," then she broke down giggling, "easy!"
She looked surreptitiously around, narrowing her eyes and doing several over-exaggerated checks, before spinning around and charging towards the steps. A few hops and she was up and over, a scuffle as she made her way through the roof garden, and then she was down on the other side.
Rattleglass took the ground route through the alleyway, and met her on the other side, sneaking like a thief from a novel.
-
Come lunchtime they were bored of the game, and resorted to wandering the streets looking for coins. They didn''t get any sort of pocket money at the house, why would they need it, so they had nothing to buy food with, but you could often find pennies in the gutters or half-buried in the soil. If you knew where to look, that would be enough to get food for both of them.
It was more of a town than a village. Neither Rattleglass nor Shortfire knew the name of it, and neither of them felt like asking. It was simply "the village" to them. The settlement was a blip in the woods, and consisted of small rows of three or four houses, with gaps between and sometimes bridges overhead. The roofs weren''t accessible to the public, and to travel you had to stick to the ground.
Rattleglass had never lived in the town, and she had only ever travelled through it in carriages, but Shortfire complained a lot. Apparently, where she was from, it had been different.
There was a main street, where there were grocers and butchers and bakers and all of the good stuff, then a couple more streets of shops, and the rest was housing. There was a market held once a week on the main street, but they hadn''t been in on that particular day yet. Today was some sort of weekly rest day, and the streets were quiet as they walked.
Having failed to find pennies, they settled down at the end of a garden they had found earlier in the week. It was overgrown and neglected, and on ground level so it didn''t need to be maintained to prevent the roof collapse. The two of them had burrowed into the undergrowth and dug themselves a small den amongst the vines.
Shortfire fiddled with a tuft of grass, weaving it into little ropes, "my ma" she started suddenly, and then halfway through the sentence changed their intonation, "my ma wanted me to be a boy, and I didn'' wanna be a boy. Not all the time." They didn''t look up from their weaving. "I got in a fight with me dad and he hit me and then I dunno what happened after that. Ended up here."
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Rattleglass looked over, biting her lip and suddenly realising she didn''t know how to word what she wanted to say
"My ma¡" She started, but that wasn''t right, "my¡ My brother died."
She held herself very still for a moment, controlling it, "he was¡ He was the other half of my soul."
She looked down. Around them, the breeze rustled the grass, and she could hear the noises of the town. The clatter of horses and the murmurs of human conversation.
She let out a breath. "I loved him and he died anyway. Then¡" She drew it back in, "I guess my parents died too. Later." She paused, "Nobody¡ Nobody found me?"
Shortfire looked up, and she looked away, leaning back against the warm brick wall behind her. "They took them away, but¡ I just ended up on my own for a while, in the house."
"Nobody came to get you?"
Rattleglass shook her head. "It was a bit like this house I guess, in nowhere. All the servants left and it was just¡ me."
She stared up at the green roof of their little den. Now she had said it, it seemed so much easier to keep speaking, like a door unlocked.
Shortfire reached out and patted her on the knee, and she smiled sadly at them. "They put me on the dragon to get me here."
Shortfire''s eyes widened, "for real?"
She laughed, "yeah, I don''t really¡ Remember much of it, but" she shrugged, "he seemed nice."
"Wow." Shortfire stared at her as if they''d never seen her before, eyes wide and mouth fallen open. "That''s nuts! I just came by horse!"
She laughed, and the tension broke.
They spent the rest of the afternoon with Rattleglass recounting what she could remember about the dragon ride, and Shortfire reacting with reverential awe.
When she went to bed that night, things were pretty ok.
-
She didn''t tell the other children about the dragon, and neither did Shortfire. She already knew that Plumsweet didn''t like her for whatever reason, and she suspected that admitting she had done most of her journey by the most expensive transposition method possible would only have soured that relationship further.
Her attempts to make overtures with the others hadn''t gone so hot either, so she had stopped bothering.
The oldest girl was Plumsweet, at thirteen, and the other was Coldspring, who was ten. The oldest boy was Cloverstep who was almost fifteen and the next youngest boy was Icecoat at twelve. Finally, the last boy was Teapot, who was only nine.
Rattleglass was twelve, and Shortfire only eight, but they got along well. Everyone else seemed to already have their established friendship groups and she didn''t feel like trying to talk to them. She wasn''t going to stay here forever, and neither were they. It was their loss.
At the start of her third week in the house, Plumsweet announced that it was time she started helping with chores. Rattleglass didn''t mind so much, and Shortfire offered to hang around with the two of them. It wouldn''t be a fun day, everything had to be done quietly so there would be no talking, but it was better than hanging around on his own under the willow.
She had never done any housework before, and that day involved a lot of sneering from the older girl. The bedding had been washed the day before, but there was still cooking for upstairs and some cleaning to do. Plumsweet took care of most of the cooking, and Rattleglass silently yearned to know what on earth she was doing.
She''d also never even seen the process of cooking going on, back home. After her¡ After her parents had died, she hadn''t eaten much, mostly just drifting around the dark and empty house like a ghost. Somebody had left food for her at one of the back doors, one of the old servants, and she had broken into that when the rare pangs of hunger struck her.
Nobody had told her if it was disease or poison that had killed her parents. They had said poison, for her brother. It was a rare disease that made you foam red at the mouth, and her parents had enemies.
She scrubbed at the table in the middle of the room, with little experience but the anger of grief powering her movements.
They had to drag her away from his body, and she hadn''t spoken for months afterwards. When she closed her eyes she could still see his face, and she had awoken sobbing every night for months.
Her parents had gone the same way, two years later to the day. She hadn''t been the one to find them, instead, being awoken by the screams of the servants. The hit had been bad, but it wasn''t the soul-tearing grief that she had felt when she lost her other half.
The servants had packed up and left later that day, and in one fell swoop, the mansion went from full and busy, to silent and empty. Nobody lit the lamps, nobody opened the shutters. Even the dogs and horses were gone. The pony she had known since she was a child no longer in her stall, the hay mouldering in the mangers.
She had wondered if she was also dead, as she drifted around that great and empty house, but if she was, then where was her soul, her Heartsdream. Shouldn''t he be here too?
A hand on her shoulder, and she realised she had stopped scrubbing, her face soaked with tears. Above them, the floorboards creaked, and Plumsweet took the brush from her hand.
"Go outside," she murmured, gesturing to the door, "I''ll send Shortfire after you."
Rattleglass shook her head, rubbing at her face with the back of her wrist. "I''m ok" she whispered, "just gotta think less." She wasn''t going to be beaten by this. She had made it this far, she would survive now.
Plumsweet stared at her for a moment, and then sighed through her nose, shrugged, and handed her back the brush.
They spent the rest of the day working in silence.
Chapter 56 - Harvest
His daughter was gone. His only child. The light of his life.
The harvest was due, there was no time to do proper searches, there was a storm coming, days ahead of their predictions, and his daughter was gone.
Their daughter and her friend, his wife had corrected him, with a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he didn''t care about that. The other child wasn''t his daughter, and it was her that was gone.
Overhead the thunder rumbled ominously, and the sheaths of rice were heavy across his shoulders as he hauled them towards the storehouse.
They should have been able to leave them out in the sun for days more yet, but the clouds had formed out of nowhere the day before. A fitting mood. The storm in the sky mirroring the one in his heart, because his daughter was gone.
His wife assured him that she would come back. Had always come back before. That her desire to be different, to leave the village was just youthful rebellion. A night in the forest, a sneaking back with the dawn, and his daughter would return.
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But he knew in his heart she would not. He heard it from the birds with their mocking cries, from the dogs barking at their owner''s heels, from the fish that swam in the pools and streams.
His daughter was gone, and would never return.
He knew this as certainly as he had known anything before in his life.
He dropped off the sheathe in the shed, into his wife''s strong arms, and headed back out to pick up another. Overhead the birds cried out. "She is gone, she is gone."
There were new people in the village, those who had come to help with the harvest, who they in turn would help the next week, had helped the weeks previous.
But none of those people were his daughter, none of them had her, and none of them cared that she was gone.
Standing on the edge of a terrace, staring down at the valleys below, he could see for miles. Everything was activity and movement, the drained levels which would fill up with life-giving rain tomorrow. The ones where the rice still grew, ready to be harvested when the squall was over.
From here he could see forever. Almost, he imagined, to the great cities and oceans of the north, places he had only heard of.
But none of what he could see, and none of the places he could imagine, contained his daughter. For she was gone.
Overhead the birds cried out again, and Ricebrings returned to work
Chapter 57 - Rattleglass 4
The weekly inspections were the worst part.
They all had to be clean and bright, for those mornings. They would eat their silent breakfast, and then a call from upstairs would ring down, at which point they were all required to troop up like good little subjects. Standing in a line at the top, from tallest to shortest at the top of the stairs, they would wait.
Some weeks it only took a moment for the two women to come over and poke and prod at them, but the other kids had muttered that sometimes it could take up to an hour. Longer, if they''d been noisy during the week.
She hated it. Standing there, being judged by these two country nobodies, like a cow at market. If only her parents could see her now, she thought, quietly seething in anger, her dress too small and her feet bare, as she was poked and prodded like a piece of beef. She hated it.
What would happen if one of them didn''t pass muster? None of them knew, but none of them wanted to find out either.
The two women never went downstairs, so this was the only time they saw the children, outside of Incidents. They lived their whole lives in that room, and they did their own cleaning, sending down rubbish and washing once a week for the children to do. Shortfire was the only one allowed up there, outside of inspection.
The women had taken a liking to them, and would sometimes call them upstairs in the morning. They would get little bits of cake and sweets, or be allowed to sit in the corner and look at the books. They hadn''t even been told off for shouting on the day Rattleglass arrived!
Rattleglass had expected jealously to be the reaction to this, but most of what she saw was concern. Shortfire was the youngest of them, and the other children were surprisingly protective.
She had to admit, she was a little jealous.
Rattleglass missed books. She had loved reading, when she was younger and her brother was alive. One wall of her bedroom had been dedicated entirely to books, the shelves a rainbow of colours and sizes. She had taught Heartsdream to read the moment he was old enough, and together they had amassed their own library of stories. Some from the shops in town, others gifts from people trying to butter up their parents, and the final ones written themselves, in her own shaky handwriting.
She hadn''t looked at those notebooks in years, not since she had lost her soul, but all of a sudden she missed them.
-
Inspection over for the week, and sitting in the branches of an old oak tree, she wondered where those books were now. Probably still on the shelves in their bedrooms, cold and dusty. Waiting for the roof to collapse, the windows to shatter and the rain to come and take them away.
A sudden pang of loss made her almost lose her grip on the branch, and it took her a moment to recover. She should have treasured them more. She should have insisted on taking them with her, should have made sure they would be safe. Those books were a connection to him, and one she would never have again.
In her chest, the Image ached, but she held onto it still, even as it got further and further away from possibility every day.
She had grown even in the past few months, and he had been dead for almost three years now. Thinking about it in such direct terms felt like a betrayal, but she had to accept it. He was gone, had been gone for three years now, and what was the image but a portrait of somebody nobody remembered except her.
She was still small, but not that small anymore, and she had been holding onto it for so long.
"Let go", the magic whispered to her, this isn''t you.
She gripped the branch with bloodless fingers and glared out across the water. Fixing it back firmly in her heart and pushing the voices away.
No. She was better than this. She would survive, and she would hold on.
-
As she slid down the tree, her bare feet scraping against the trunk, she thought, with a mixture of grief and guilt, about her parents. She hadn''t done well by them she was realising now. Blinded by loss, she had spent most of the last two years in silence. Barely eating and leaving her room only when coaxed.
Her tutors had been dismissed and then never called back, and she hadn''t even ridden her pony, the poor thing, although she was sure that the stable-hands and grooms had seen to it that she was cared for. Poor Freckles, hopefully, she had gone to a good home.
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She had been blinded by her pain, the loss of her soul, her Heartsdream.
She chewed the inside of her lip, staring blankly at the small stream for a moment. Where had all those animals gone? Her mother''s hunter, her father''s roan, the shires for the farm machinery. Even the falcons and dogs were gone. Within a day the stables were empty and she was alone in the house. Surely things couldn''t move that fast without some sort of prior planning?
Had it been poison? She hadn''t even considered it before now, but she wouldn''t be surprised.
Rattleglass paddled into the shallow water, hitching her dress up so the hem didn''t get wet, enjoying the contrast between the icy water on her feet and the hot sun on her shoulders.
Much like the books, she would probably never find out. She didn''t even know what part of the country she was in. The accents were certainly different here, as well as the styles of the buildings. She had flown for a long time, but she didn''t know how fast Dragon flew. It couldn''t be that far, surely, the language hadn''t changed.
She leant over, holding her dress up with one hand, and using the other to splash her face with the cold water, half-remembered lessons in her mind. The iciness of it indicated a glacier somewhere along the line, snowmelt, probably somewhere southern, right? Or was it northern, it was all so long ago.
She hadn''t seen any mountains nearby, but it was hard to see anything through the trees. She would have to check next time she was in the village, it was a bit more open there.
With a sigh, she clambered out, almost slipping on the smooth pebbles of the streambed, and started back towards the den. Maybe Shortfire was free by now.
-
Shortfire wasn''t free, but Icecoat was there, splayed out on the cushions like a downed stag, all long limbs and sharp angles in the afternoon light.
She ignored him, and instead wandered over to the remains of the fire, nudging it with her toes to see if there was any warmth left. It was cold and dry, so she left her foot in the ashes, enjoying the way the little chips of carbonised wood crumbled under the grinding of her heel.
They were still a little damp from the stream, and the ashes happily absorbed the water, turning her feet a dusty grey. She never would have been allowed to get dirty like this, back at home, and it still gave her a little thrill of rebellion.
Icecoat looked over at her, pushing himself up on sharp elbows, and she studiously ignored him. She hadn''t interacted with the boy much, he mainly hung around with Cloverstep, but she got the impression he didn''t like her.
He sighed loudly, an exaggerated exhalation of breath, and flopped his head back to where it had been before, his arms and legs spread out.
"Suppose you want me to deal with that, eh?" his voice sounded strange from the angle, like he wasn''t talking to her at all.
She shrugged and shook her head, not saying anything. She didn''t have any clue how you lit a fire, but the sun was too hot for it anyway.
He groaned and pushed himself up into a proper sitting position, "if you want me to help, ya gotta speak up, y''know."
"I''m fine." Her voice came out harsher than she meant, and she hid her wince with another shrug, rubbing the sole of her foot in the ashes of the fire.
"And stop that" he sighed, "you''ll muck it all up."
Rattleglass stopped mucking it up, and instead sat down on one of the logs that had been dragged in as seating, watching his face as he returned to his previous position. Should she apologise? Probably not.
She could still see her footprint in the remains of the fire, and she stared at it for a while, thinking about nothing.
"How did you end up here?" She surprised herself almost as much as him, the question coming out of her mouth unbidden.
There was a beat of silence, and then "I walked ''ere, from the house. Same as you did."
She glared at him in annoyance, but he was crawling to his feet, and had his back to her now, so it was a little wasted. "You know what I mean."
He shrugged, walking over and crouching down to pick up some sticks from the rim of the area. "Parents din'' want me around, so they paid this place to take me, same as you, same as all the others. Simple as."
"Paid?"
He turned his head, looking at her for a brief moment, one arm full of twigs, the other hand still in mid-air for a moment, "Yeah, like, with money, you know the stuff?"
His response was a little heavy on the sarcasm, but it gave her a start, "I thought¡ The government paid for me to be here?"
He laughed and rose out of the crouch in one smooth motion, "nah! Government wouldn''t care. They''d just send you to the workhouse or something, toss you out on your arse. Somebody paid money to have you looked after here."
He must have seen something on her face, because he trailed off and the laughter went out of him, his expression morphing into a frown, "ya really thought you just ended up here by like, luck?"
She shrugged, "That''s¡" she bit her lip, how to word this, "the people who found me said I was going to an orphanage, I thought¡"
Rattleglass didn''t know what she''d thought, if anything. Orphanages were places that looked after babies, right? When their parents were too poor to raise them? She had read books about children adopted from orphanages by rich families, it wasn''t an uncommon theme.
She stared into the ashes of the cold fire, jumping a little as Icecoat dropped his gathered twigs onto its remains, "everyone else here has parents?" she asked hesitantly.
Icecoat nodded. "Not parents who want us mind, but yeah?"
"Huh." She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again with no idea of what she had been going to say, "huh."
He watched her for a moment, before shrugging. "Guess somebody out there must''ve been lookin'' out for you, anyway."
"I guess."
He nudged at the firepit a little and then disappeared, away through the willow curtain. She watched him go, and then sat more heavily on the log, pondering.
It made sense when she thought about it. Why would they put her on the back of a dragon and fly her for weeks across the country, if an orphanage closer to home would have done?
She hadn''t been in any state of mind to question it during the journey, or after her arrival, malnutrition and grief making her blind, but now that she was in a better place¡
What was being hidden from her, or what was she being hidden from?
Chapter 58 - Dawnfire 2
Dawnfire was having a very bad day. The previous days had been pretty dog-shit, but this one was the whole dog, and nobody had let it outside for a while.
''Crests the Skies on Wings of Knowledge'', henceforth known as ''The Dragon'', had returned and ruined her day.
At first, it had seemed as if this was a good thing that he was back, but she had been given time to reflect on things since then, and it really would have been much better if he''d simply decided to stay stolen.
Standing there in the middle of the park, staring up at that bright dot in the sky, hands on her hips and as naked as the day she was born. Dawnfire sighed. How had she ended up here.
First of all, his return was unexpected and sudden. After the theft, Dawnfire and her crew had noted the theft down, sent messages to the other cities in the local area to look out for him, tracked the direction he had headed, and then given up on ever seeing him again. It was a dragon, what else were they going to do, they couldn''t exactly follow him!
That night they had thrown a party in the local pub, because why not. So long, it''d been a good run, thanks for delivering our mail for so many years! She was pretty sure there were some longstanding bets on how long it''d take before he left, and somebody somewhere had just won an awful lot of money.
In the week since, she had been in talks with the city council about what would happen to the park, which the post office owned the land of but the council very much coveted as prime real estate, for either housing, factories, or simply a park of their own. They had been after it for years, and without the dragon post, there would be no use for it for the post office.
She had been trying to convince them to wait another week, until head office got back to her, when out of nowhere, The Dragon had returned!
They''d found out about his return mostly by the screams and shouting echoing in through the open windows, as the benefactors of the city''s newest public park discovered that their presence was very much no longer welcome. Whoops!
He had come down at speed, barely giving the picnickers time to get out of the way, the thief on his back hurling and wretching as he rolled off and into the grass. The meeting had adjourned as they all peered out the window at the spectacle. "Better send somebody to fetch the plods," one council member had stated, and the rest of them nodded in agreement.
-
She was quite impressed he had managed to cling on at all, never mind when he was so obviously very, very ill. They had given him a minute to recover and for the police to arrive, before heading in to arrest him.
It wasn''t framed in such vulgar terms, of course. They didn''t want to upset the dragon, and displays of violence had been known to set him off in the past. There was some history there, but she wasn''t privy to it, and as far as she knew, any documents relating to it were officially sealed.
''Crests the Skies'' wasn''t injured, which was good. That was the first thing they checked. "Every scale intact, just a little dusty," reported back the mage, "otherwise, he seems in good shape."
The same couldn''t be said for the rider. Was it possible the dragon had taken against him, and that was why they returned? The second mage into the area had done a quick check over on him, and then run off to find their superior. And then that person had gone and found theirs. By the time they''d managed to drain the sickness out of him, almost an hour had passed, and the tension was also draining out of the situation as he told his story.
They had done the full journey as documented on the board, he reported, and he had drawings. He pulled what was left of them out of the remains of his clothing and they were handed off to be copied and stabilised before they degraded more.
He carried on with his tale: they hadn''t landed at either of the cities, although The Dragon had tried at one point. Later on, they had gone off course, finally coming upon two refugees, who had the whole story of what had happened.
Dawnfire and her crew had exchanged glances at that. There hadn''t been any new refugees since the autumn, and they had found two new ones, by chance?
"You think it''s a ploy?" her second in command whispered, so the thief wouldn''t hear, "we get him medical help, send the dragon out like he says, and by the time we realise it''s missing again, he''s been released?"
She shook her head, "I don''t know, but we shouldn''t risk it. Best to get back on a regular schedule."
Her assistant nodded and went to talk to somebody else, and Dawnfire returned her focus to the thief.
He was reiterating that he wanted them to send the dragon back for them. They were on the road with no supplies, and something strange was happening in the air. Plus, then they could tell the story themselves.
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The person he was talking to was shaking their head. He''d already stolen the dragon once, and it was already more than a week behind schedule on deliveries, it wasn''t going to happen.
"Look," ah, bargaining, "he understands, he''s not stupid. It shouldn''t take more than a couple of days, just put the harness on him and-"
He had been cut off at that point, as a police officer tried to arrest him. Theft of post office properly, cattle theft, assault of an officer, all the usual things. It was a bit hard to pin down "stole a dragon" in the books of law, but they''d had a week to work it out, and now that book was being firmly thrown.
A small scuffle had broken out as they tried to get the handcuffs on him, and then the beast had intervened.
A single tap on the shoulder with a clawed wing, and Dawnfire rolled her eyes and sighed as the officer wet himself.
"Someone go and get him a new pair of trousers, and you, send somebody more subtle!" she shouted as he was escorted out of the park by one of his co-workers, his face bone-white.
She looked at the artist. They still looked a little green around the gills, but much, much better than they had when they first landed. "What did happen to you and your clothes anyway?"
"I don''t know," he replied, "they just kinda fell apart in the air." Shortly after that, he had started feeling real sick, and he didn''t remember much of the rest of the journey. The next thing he knew he was on the ground, half-naked with a mage''s hands around his face and several police officers all jostling to be the first to get him into handcuffs.
"Was it possible that The Dragon did this to you?"
He shook his head, "I doubt it, he seemed quite on board with the whole thing when we were on the road." He rubbed his hands over his torso as he thought about it, "it was something in the air, he tried to fly around it, I think, but it wasn''t working."
Dawnfire nodded. It had been theorised that The Dragon had done it on purpose, in retaliation for being stolen, but nobody there believed it. The mages had been complaining all morning of strange colours in the air and headaches, but that was the sort of thing mages did.
"I think it''s trying to tell us something", one of the workers came up to Dawnfire and nudged her on the shoulder. She turned in irritation.
"Well, can''t you work it out?"
"I dunno", he shrugged, "He keeps pointing at the sky. I think he wants to leave?"
"He points a lot," the artist butted in, "and he does want to leave" and she shot him a glare.
"Well, he can''t, not yet. We haven''t got the correct gear for him and the bags will have to be repacked. It''s going to take a couple more hours at least. Plus we have to send messages onto the next stations to let them know he''s been found-"
"I thought we were gonna send him after the refugees?" another worker butted in, "I went and got the kid harness, I think I can rig it up even without the bags."
She shook her head, "he''s already over a week behind schedule, we can''t be sending him out after every lost soul out there. Besides, how will he even know where to go?"
The worker shrugged. "Just trying to help." next to her, the artist opened his mouth to add his own interjections.
She was about to snipe something petty at the both of them, when there was a wail from outside the area, pushed their way in through the south side, two harried-looking postal workers following behind.
"We couldn''t stop her," the first one apologised to Dawnfire with a slightly out of breath bow, "she kept insisting, and when we said no-"
Whatever the rest of the sentence was, it was lost, drowned out by another loud wail. Dawnfire winced as the woman stood in front of the Dragon and screamed.
"You killed her!" she cried, tears running down her face, reaching up to him but not quite daring to touch. Her clothes were unkempt and she looked like she''d been crying for a while, her face tired and worn. Everyone in the area stilled. "You killed my baby!" she screamed again.
If animals could show emotion, Dawnfire was certain that The Dragon''s would be "nonplussed", and for a moment nobody moved, as she stood there and sobbed.
The Dragon didn''t move, seemingly as frozen as the rest of them, and she stared up at him through tears. "You killed her."
The artist, she ought to learn his name one of these days, slowly walked over to the woman and laid a hand around her shoulders. She struggled against him for a moment, and then all of a sudden gripped onto him like a castaway clinging onto a piece of driftwood, pulling both of them to the floor.
They stayed there for a time, the artist comforting her with quiet words as she sobbed, but what they were saying to each other, Dawnfire couldn''t hear.
The crowd gave them a minute, and then the postal workers who had been following her were there, helping them both to their feet, and out of the park.
Well, that was one way to resolve things, she supposed.
"Who was she?" Dawnfire asked her second in command.
"I''ll go find out."
She nodded, and they turned to go find out.
"Ok," time to go back to work. "Send Petalearth for the bags, the main office should have them repacked by now, we can send off-"
She was cut off, as the ground shook.
Oh.
Oh dear.
Everyone turned to look at The Dragon, suddenly aware that they were standing under the nose of an intelligent creature the size of a small tavern.
Ah. Fuck. Was this about the woman? Dawnfire ran down a checklist of things in her mind that had gone wrong over the past couple of hours. Arrival, arrest, woman¡ They hadn''t had the ritual goat on hand, shit.
He seemed to puff up in size as he looked down at them, standing up on his four legs, as he rarely did when on the ground. Using one wing, he pointed at the sky, and then at them, and then at the sky again.
"Right," Dawnfire murmured to her two lackeys, "Ok, he wants to leave, just-"
Then he pointed at the pile of clothes, and they crumbled into dust.
A threat.
Dawnfire swallowed around the lump in her throat. Her voice was barely audible even to herself, as she gave out quiet orders.
"-just don''t antagonise him. Brightstar, you go and fetch a goat, Allf-"
She stopped, as the wave of colour washed over them, and much more than just the clothes on the ground disintegrated. She felt her body shift and Change, and saw the same happen to those around her, bodies rippling and morphing, clothes turning to dust and plants twisting up around their feet.
As she stood there, staring at the dust that had been her garments only moments before, a very angry magical beast the size of a barn standing tall in front of her, and her all and everything all on display, a slow spiralling cold moved through Dawnfire, as she finally realised something truly horrifying.
She was never going to get that promotion, was she.
Chapter 59 - Glowshine
The flooring in the lobby below was polished and waxed to a high sheen, the expensive wood glowing in the morning sun, but the servants who maintained it were nowhere to be seen, thankfully. Glowshine didn''t believe in that sort of thing, servants should be neither seen nor heard. Much like children.
A narrowing of her eyes and a look around as she descended the stairs. The flowers were fresh that morning, the water in their vases nice and clean. The stairs were neat and tidy, with the runner up the centre freshly brushed and the rods polished. Good, she had had to have words about that the last time, she just couldn''t abide with laziness when it came to cleaning.
Really, was it so hard to hire good help nowadays?
Passing through the hall and into the morning room, breakfast was already set out for her. Toast, fresh fruit, eggs and a selection of different mushrooms lightly cooked. The tea was steaming in the pot, and the fire was unlit, the windows thrown open to the spring air.
She shut the windows, pulling them closed with annoyance. The breeze was making the food go cold, and she didn''t like the thought of insects coming into the house or landing on the eggs. There would be words, later.
With a long-suffering sigh, she sat, poured out the tea and took the first sip of the day.
Perfect. Glowshine closed her eyes and leaned her head back, savouring it for a moment, before placing the cup gently down and seeing to the pile of letters next to her food. The early morning post had come in only a few minutes before, and it was that which had prompted her to get up, the sound of hooves in the courtyard outside.
She shuffled through the pile until she came upon one that was unlike the others. Ah, this was obviously from her brother, lovely. She spent a moment unfolding the letterlock, years of practice making it easy to undo. He must have a new supplier, as the paper was finer than anything he had sent before, and for a moment she almost worried about tearing it.
They had come up with this method of folding letters when they were children, and the shapes had only gotten more intricate over the years. This one was in the form of a fish and barely longer than her finger when she received it, but by the time she had unfolded it, the paper was the size of the page of a large book.
She stood and held the letter up against the window, admiring how the sun shone through the thin paper. She really would have to get the name of his supplier.
Sitting back down at her desk, she smoothed it out and took another sip of tea, beginning to read.
-
By the time she got to the end of the letter, she had finished her tea and sent for another pot, the toast and mushrooms still sitting cold and congealed on the edge of her desk. Her brother''s correspondence was normally fairly brief, but this one had been dense, written on both sides, with him even rotating the paper as he ran out of space.
If she hadn''t known him, then the cross-writing, combined with the creases and the bleed-through from the other side, would have been almost unreadable, but she managed.
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"The Monarchs are dead." Was the first line, and upon reading it she had closed her eyes for a second. Taking in the impact of that statement.
It was a surprise, but also not a surprise, and Glowshine sighed as she read it again, stirring her tea absentmindedly with one hand, the other holding the letter flat against the desk. The only sound in the room was the quiet clinking of the spoon against the fine porcelain and the ticking of the clock in the corner.
The rest of the words were unnecessary, the letter could have contained just that single line and it would have been enough, but alas, she read on.
She knew that the king and queen had lost their two children several years previous, to either disease or poison, and that their house was dark and shuttered for a time afterwards, but the period of mourning had long since passed, and she had heard gossip that the queen had another child on the way.
She would never know the veracity of those rumours now, as the both of them had been poisoned in their beds, being found far too late to be saved. A shame.
Their home was cursed, said her brother, haunted by rot, the air poisoned and cold with ghosts. Magic had abandoned that place, and already it was starting to fall into ruin, barely a couple of months after the deaths.
Glowshine took a sip of her tea and grimaced. Too much sugar. Being careful not to damage or disturb the letter, she stood and walked over to the window. The air outside was fresh and clean, and she poured the tea out onto the gravel outside.
With a quiet click, she pulled it shut again and returned to her seat.
She brushed the back of her hand against the pot as she sat, and with a shake of her head and a touch to a silent bell, she summoned a servant to bring a fresh pot.
The girl took the cold food while she was at it, collecting the whole lot up with wordless grace, leaving only the bowl of sliced fruit and the fresh tea.
Her brother had been the one to deal with the whole affair, he was the prominent mage in the area, and he had ordered that the house be left to ruin, the animals removed and the servants dismissed. He inquired if she would take in a scullery aid, their references were good, but Glowshine wasn''t sure she wanted cursed servants in her house, and penned a quick note of rejection on a fresh piece of paper.
"Dearest brother¡"
That done, she carried on reading.
Several of the servants had turned up dead in the weeks since, but neither he nor anyone he knew could say if this indicated a more long-term disease or if it was the poisoner clearing up loose ends, but it didn''t matter either way. They had died in the same way, foaming red from the mouth and drowning in their sleep.
Not the worst way to go, she mused, pushing the sugar bowl out of reach but leaving her spoon in the cup. With an inward sigh, she turned the sheet over and carried on reading.
The letter went into further details, but she mostly skimmed those. What it was really about was left unsaid, to be read between the lines.
Without any heirs left, who would inherit the throne?
Would it be assigned by the government, or would it go to the next in line? It was an interesting situation, and she wondered if there would be war over it.
Probably not, but the lack of a clear line of secession meant that it would normally go to¡ She squinted at the paper and wracked her memory, probably the queen''s brother and his partner, or was it her sister and her son?
She would have to look it up later, there was a book in the library she could consult.
For a moment she considered summoning a servant to fetch the book, but quickly dismissed the idea. It would take so long for them to find it, and she didn''t have room on her desk for a tome that size anyway. It wasn''t important.
She fingered the thin paper, considering how this affected her. If there was a civil war, which was a slight possibility, then it shouldn''t be on her side of the continent. That meant there would be friends and relatives all vying to come and hide within the safety of her estate.
She let out a long breath through her nose and stared out of the window, crumpling the paper with pinched fingers. They''d have to air out all the bedrooms in the west wing, and that kitchen expansion couldn''t come soon enough. Silently, she thanked for brother for his letter.
She should go and look over her investments, before prices started to rise.
Chapter 60 - Littleshy
She was running. She had been running for so long, but she couldn''t stop yet. The weight was heavy under her arm, and her chest was heaving, spikes of pain running through her, but still, she kept running.
Around a corner, bundle under one arm, the other grabbing the wall to help swing the turn, and then back to running. Behind her, the shouts had waned, but she couldn''t stop yet.
Over a fence, past the discarded pipes, which had been sitting there for so long that grass had grown up and around and through them, then into the junk at the back of the builders'' yard. Ducking under the remains of rotten discarded carts, weaving through years of old rubbish, and then, behind a stack of old clay tiles, she came to a final, heaving, stop.
Under her arm, the bundle wiggled, and with a start she stopped gripping it so tightly, opening up the bag so that its occupant could breathe, crawling into her final hiding space with laboured breaths.
There, in the gap under a pile of old roof beams, Littleshy slowly caught her breath, in and out, in and out, the roaring in her ears and the pain in her chest starting to fade as oxygen returned to her body.
The sack wiggled again, and a little head poked out, staring at her with big round eyes, looking around with curiosity.
The animal didn''t seem to be hurt, for all of its wild journey, and she reached out a hand, her laughter drowned out by her beating heart, as a little tongue darted out, licking at her fingers.
The gap they were hiding in wasn''t big enough for her to stand up in, never mind sit upright, but she groaned a little and stuck her head outside for a moment.
All around was silence, only the birds singing their melodies, and a dog barking somewhere in the distance. If she listened, there was the sound of sirens on the wind, but it was getting fainter by the moment, her accomplice leading them away with his own decoy bag.
Pulling her head back in, she came face to face with the creature she had just risked her life for. It had clambered out of the sack and was now perched on the earthen floor, little tail wrapped around its legs. The animal''s green eyes regarded her with calm curiosity, and Littleshy was struck with the sudden realisation that it wasn''t an animal at all she was staring at, it was a person.
She let out a slow breath, sat back on her knees, and locked eyes with it, them? She would go with ''them'' for now.
"Do you understand me?" her voice sounded too loud, and she froze for a moment, in case anyone had heard.
In front of her, the creature regarded her and then tilted its head, letting out a confused trill like a baby bird. She sighed, that would be a no, but they were only young, as far as she knew.
Well, she had done it. Leaning against the beams and absentmindedly folding up the sack, Littleshy considered that she had just stolen a dragon.
-
It was fully dark by the time she dared to leave the hiding place, the dragon perched on her shoulder. She had tried to convince them to go back into the sack, but they had sharp little teeth and had politely made it known that that was not going to happen. She hadn''t argued.
Maybe she could glue some feathers onto them and pretend they were a parrot? A new exotic breed of pet? These were the thoughts that went through her head as she moved through the dark builders'' yard. If had been a moonless night, or if she hadn''t known this place like the back of her hand, she might have had trouble getting out, but neither of those things were the case, and they made their way through quickly and quietly.
Crawling under the fence at the edge of the yard, convincing the baby to go ahead first, her heart almost stopped when a voice sounded out above her.
"Why is it not in the bag?" Marshgrass whispered, "somebody''s gonna see it!"
She clutched at her chest in mock panic, "they''re not in the bag because they didn''t wanna be in the bag" she finished pulling herself under the fence, kicking dirt back behind her, "and I wasn''t gonna argue with them!"
She couldn''t see his face in the gloom, but she could feel Marshgrass glaring at her.
"Besides, who the fuck is gonna see us out here! Weren''t you meant to be waiting by the boat?!"
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They were on the towpath between the canal and the back of the builders'' yard, and at this time of night everything was still and quiet, the only movement the ripples of moonlight on the water.
"Just get it in the bag and c''mon" Marshgrass hissed, "we''re gonna be late."
She glared at him, and then reached down for the dragon, situating them back on her shoulder. "I''m not makin'' ''em go in the bag, it''s not a loaf of bread, it''s a person."
"It''s not-" Marshgrass started, and then gave up, throwing his arms up, a dark shape against the silver backdrop of the canal, "just come on, the boat''s gonna be leaving in a minute and some of the coppers are still lookin'' for me."
She narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing more, and together they made their way down the towpath in silence.
-
The barge was still there, silent and still, and Littleshy stepped onto it with practised ease. A nod and a handshake for Marshgrass, and then she slipped down into the dark cargo space.
This boat was known to smuggle all sorts into and out of the big city, mostly alcohol, and as long as they stayed quiet and still in the dusty hold, nobody would bother them. The city guards had long ago learnt to turn a blind eye, and the person who owned it had been well paid to do the same.
Sitting there in the darkness, with the dragon curled up on her lap, Littleshy realised that they needed a name.
-
How did you name a dragon, she wondered, watching as the dawn light shone in through the edges of the tarp above her. She had smeared the animal, person(?) with coal dust in the preceding hours, but had been too worried to leave them alone in the hold, as the original plan had been. She was, unless something had gone wrong, supposed to help the barger with the locks and the horses, but she had no way to communicate to the little thing that she needed them to stay put, that it was too dangerous for them to be outside. The few times she had tried to leave, they had gotten up to follow her, and she hadn''t tried again.
She ran her fingers down their spine, admiring the way the scales fit together underneath the dust. It wasn''t like the stories she''d heard of dragons. They were supposed to be beasts the size of houses, and everyone knew that there was only one in the world. He had been given to the people by the gods themselves, but she had never seen it herself.
She didn''t know where this one had come from. They weren''t supposed to exist, and this one officially didn''t exist at all. In the papers tomorrow, today, if it was even covered at all, she would have stolen a hunting dog or a kitten or maybe some sort of snake. None of them would say A Dragon, because that would be insanity.
Yet here they were, and here she was. It was the size of a small cat, with dark blue scales, each one perfect and new under her fingertips. As far as she knew, it wasn''t old, weeks or months in age at best. She didn''t even know where it had been stolen from, the sack had been thrown to her and she had run, as was the plan. Eventually, the two of them would make it to the city of Al''kar and she would hand it off, and that would be that.
As she stroked the tiny head, she wondered where they would end up. Were they destined to deliver letters, like the mythical northern dragon, or was it to go somewhere else? When it was older, the size of a building, would it remember this night in the bottom of the coal barge?
In her lap, the dragon let out a tiny huff, and then snuggled their nose into the crook of her knee. Smiling, Littleshy sat back, and watched the sun rise.
-
That night the boat docked in a little-used mooring on the edge of a quiet town, and Littleshy and the dragon left their hiding place. Her clothes were black with coal and the scales of the dragon were now pitch black, but that was ok. This was a mining town and as long as they kept their head down, nobody would think too much of them.
The mines had kicked out a couple of hours before, and the streets were empty of people at this time of night. Their destination was a new construction on the edge of town, a train yard. Their mode of travel was a big, steam-powered engine, which pulled carts filled with coal or raw iron or who knows what else to the big city almost a hundred miles north. She didn''t know the details of how or why it was built or operated, just that it was the next step of their journey.
The wagon that was waiting for them was full of bags of rice, imported from further afield, and she snuggled down in the corner that had been left for her, trying not to smear coal dust on the bags. That wouldn''t go down well.
They had stopped at the pump for a drink, but maybe they should have washed while they were at it¡
-
She slept for most of the journey, the dragon hot in her arms, but a few hours in and they were both hungry. Some food had been left in the wagon, some sandwiches and pies for her and some chunks of meat, which she suspected may have been rat, for the dragon.
She wasn''t surprised when they turned their nose up at it, the meat was already starting to smell pretty rank in the summer air, and with a quick motion, they both watched as it receded into the distance behind the train.
She let the baby have her pies, and ate the sandwiches herself, but it wasn''t a big meal and she wished there had been more of it.
They were to travel for a few more hours, depending on delays, and then they would be in the big coastal port, where she would hand off the dragon, get paid, get herself some dinner, and then start making her way home.
Watching the landscape go by, she mulled it over.
"Hey little one?"
The dragon looked up at her, tilting their head.
"You''re gonna have to go ahead on your own soon, you know."
They tilted their head one way, and then the other, staring at her with bright but uncomprehending eyes.
Littleshy bit her lip, and then adjusted her seat so that she was sitting more upright. Gently, she placed the dragon on the floor in front of her.
"You" she pointed at the baby, "and me", she pointed at herself, then she thought about it for a moment, and then made a dividing motion between the two of them with her arm. "Separate"
They looked at her for a moment, then at themself, and then around, at the rice sacks.
Then with a shake of their head, they curled up back in her lap, placing their chin very firmly onto her knee.
Oh well, she had tried.
Chapter 61 - Littleshy 2
They crawled off the train together the next morning and headed straight towards the main street for some food. Littleshy had done a lot of thinking whilst they were in transit and had decided that the best way to hide was in plain sight. If anyone asked, the thing on her shoulder was a lizard, from the tropical jungles to the far south. She had bought it from a pet vendor half dead when she was a child, nursed it back to life, and it had stuck with her ever since.
Who would ever believe it was a dragon? The idea was so far beyond belief that most people wouldn''t even consider it, and she was more than a hundred miles now from the site of the theft.
"I still need to give you a name," she said, as they walked through the streets, and on her shoulder, the dragon trilled a small whistle. "Mm, I can''t call you Whistle though, you gotta have a proper name, a people name."
She thought about this as she paid her last few pennies to a butcher, coming away with a large chunk of pork, the creature on her shoulder dancing and drooling with anticipation.
"Guess you''re hungry huh," she laughed, as they sat down in the back of an alleyway. "Here, have at it"
She tossed the meat into the air, and the dragon swept off her shoulder and into a glide, attempting to catch it before it landed. Sadly, it weighed more than they did, and they were very quickly dragged back to earth. Watching them eat, Littleshy laughed as they worried and tore at it like a puppy.
They still had a couple of hours until they were supposed to be down at the docks for the hand-off, and once the meat had been sufficiently told off, she spent a half-hour scrubbing the coal dust off the both of them in the public wash troughs. Under the layer of soot, the dragon''s scales were a dark blue, the colour of an evening sky, and she admired them in the light, much to the dragon''s preening delight.
Sitting on the edge of a public park, letting her hair dry in the sun, she tried to talk to them.
"Listen"
"Chirp?"
Littleshy pointed at their scales, and then at the grass, "Can you do magic, little guy, can you look more¡ Lizard like?"
They chirped at her, and then attempted to nibble on the grass. She picked them up and put them back in her lap. "Not like that, here, look"
She rubbed the grass against her arm, leaving a green stain behind, and then rubbed the grass against their scales. "Like this."
-
They were due at the docks in half an hour. Her attempts to communicate had gone nowhere, but there was a very scrubby patch of grass in the local park now, and her previously clean arms were now an off shade of green. She had at least managed to convince them to fold their wings back, which made them look almost like a normal lizard.
Almost, apart from the whole blue thing.
As she walked towards the hand-off, she wondered why she was trying so hard, another half hour and she was home free, with enough money in her pockets that she could afford to get off the streets.
She had dreams of an apartment with big windows, and her own loom, the evening sun would stream in and she could weave anything she wanted. Her mother had shown her to operate the loom when she was small, using it to bring in supplemental cash, and she had good memories of sitting by her feet, carding out the wool. But the market for homespun cloth was mostly gone now. The mills were driving down the prices of fabric every day, and what had once been enough to live on was now barely enough to buy lamp oil at the end of the week.
Littleshy sighed, her mother had been dead for a year now, and the wound was old, but that was how she''d ended up here. It wasn''t all bad though, she thought, petting the animal on her shoulder, these past couple of weeks had been quite the adventure!
Walking through a narrow passageway between two deep brown walls, so old and tall that they seemed to lean together at the top, she came out onto the seafront for the first time and had to stop to stare.
She had never seen the sea before, and although she''d been primed by the stories of her peers, the shouts of the workers and the smell of salt and ammonia on the wind, the sight of it was something else.
A huge expanse of grey-blue, the waves rippling silver in the wind, and a whole line of magnificent ships, bigger than anything she had ever seen before, each one unique. Was that what a fully grown dragon would be like?
The two of them walked along for a few minutes, admiring the ships. Most of them were in the foreign style, great huge plants tricked into holding passengers and cargo with magic and expertise, but beached along the edge of the quay were smaller ones in the local style. From what she knew, those weren''t fit for the open sea, but they did well enough travelling up and down the coast, where they could be pulled up into caves or onto beaches during storms.
On her shoulder, the little dragon danced, and she had to hold them back from flying towards one of the ships. "You like the smell of magic, huh?" she laughed, "Well, you''re gonna be on one of them ships in a minute, so you''ll get to eat your fill!"
Near the end of the line was the one she was looking for. No more and no less magnificent than all of the others, it was still a huge structure, bobbing gently on the water. The leaves that made up the sails were a bright blue, and the bits which were grown, rather than made of wood, were a beautiful green, vibrant and healthy.
Walking along the edge and staring down, she was surprised at how far below the sea was, and how high the ships rode.
She could see her contact standing on the dock, and she waved as she approached.
They didn''t seem impressed, eyes widening and their arms flapping like a bird as they spotted her. "What are you doing!" he hissed, going to grab her shoulder and then changing his mind "what if somebody sees it!"
Littleshy shrugged, "more people would remember a struggling sack than they do a kid and her pet."
The man she was here to deal with was a full adult, and he towered over her in a way she found quite intimidating, but that was most people if she was being honest. She wasn''t tall. "Just follow me" he glared, and beckoned her abroad the ship, stomping up the gangplank as if it had personally wronged him somehow.
Nobody paid much attention to them as they crossed the planks of the ship. On her shoulder, the dragon chirped and stared around, but they kept their wings folded away, and she reckoned the sailors had seen stranger pets on their travels.
At the end of the deck, the man fumbled in his pockets for a key and then unlocked the thick wooden door, the only structure on the upper deck that she could see. "Bring it in here, quietly!"
Littleshy shrugged and followed him through, the door falling shut behind them both on well-greased hinges.
Inside was a brightly lit room with big windows at one end, and she thought that it must be the room of somebody important. It was all decked out in rich woods and soft colours, and she liked it a lot. It had a sort of foreign charm to it, like nowhere she had been before. There were chests and cabinets and a bed built into the walls, and in the centre was a large table, too high to kneel at but good for standing.
Her contact ignored her gawking, reaching into a deep chest near the back of the room and pulling out a contraption of golden wires. A shake, and it seemed to arrange itself into the shape of a small birdcage.
"Have you had issues with it on the way here?" he asked, fiddling with the cage, "has it eaten at all?"
Littleshy shook her head, suddenly a little perturbed, reaching up and laying one hand unconsciously on the dragon. "They''ve been fine, I got them some pork on the way over¡"
The man nodded and pointed absentmindedly to another chest in a corner, "That''s good, that''s good, your payment is in the chest over there, it''s the linen bag with bronze thread. Your payment is all in notes, you may take it and leave."
She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip and looking at the cage, "You''re not gonna put them in there, are you?"
He glanced at her, and then back at whatever he was doing, a moment later the thing seemed to break apart in his hands. "They''ll be fine, it''s only for a couple of weeks, come on, place it over here."
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He had placed the bottom of the cage, a large gold disk, down on the floor of the room, and he gestured at her impatiently.
Littleshy looked at the disk, and then at the chest in the corner. There was enough money in there that she wouldn''t have to live on the streets anymore. It was her ticket out. She would be free.
At the same time¡ She lifted the dragon off her shoulder with both hands and held them out in front of her like a cat. Their green eyes stared at her trustingly, the dark blue scales glinting in the light coming in through the window.
With a sigh, she shook her head and placed the little thing back on her shoulder. They made a questioning chirp, and she petted them, staring down at the cage base. "You can''t put them in there. They''ll break out, or go mad."
The man shook his head, "This thing is made from a mixture of gold and copper. It''s resistant to all the magic''s we''ve tried on it, and the animal is only a few days old, it shouldn''t be nearly strong enough to break out before we get to¡" he trailed off, not wanting to state the destination, and gave her something that might have been a comforting smile, but it came across as if he was working purely off a description given to him by a child.
"Can you just, not keep them in a cage?" she queried hesitantly, "they''re not an animal, not really, I''m sure if you just-"
His smile morphed to a frown in an instant, and he sighed heavily through his nose. "You''re only here to hand it off, kid, you''re not its trainer, you''re not its mother. Just put it on the disc, take your money and go."
She shook her head, and took a step back towards the door, as he carried on, striding towards her now.
"You''re lucky you''re even being paid, a less reputable operation would have just thrown you overboard, or sent you away with a smacked arse and no dragon."
His accent was all off, and he seemed to grow taller as he spoke.
He changed his direction all of a sudden and walked over to the chest in the corner. Once there, he pulled the previously described bag out and thrust it towards her, holding it out at arm''s length.
"Take your money," he growled, his eyes like stone, "put the animal down, and go."
She shook her head, backing away from the bag and towards the door, one hand holding the dragon down against her shoulder.
The man sighed, narrowing his eyes, "look, you have no skin in this game. Just-"
She reached the door and used her free hand to reach behind her for the handle.
He dropped the bag onto the floor with a thud and reached for the dragon. Littleshy ducked as the hand came towards her, scuttling across the floor and towards the windows at the back of the room. She attempted to push over the table in the middle as she passed, but it was firmly bolted to the floor and didn''t budge at her push.
She scooted under it as the man stomped towards her. At some point, he had picked up the lid of the golden cage, and was now wielding it like a cloche.
The dragon''s claws dug into her shoulder as she moved, and she was thankful for the thick, almost sackcloth of her shirt. As she dove from under the table, out of the way of the descending cage and back towards the door, they let out a loud screech, and something in the air changed.
Under her feet and palms, the planks seemed to soften, and the fabric on her shoulders loosened all of a sudden, the claws digging in deep into her skin, like those of a frightened cat.
She ran across the room almost on all fours, scrabbling for the door handle as the boards bent and warped beneath her, and on her shoulder, the dragon kept screeching.
The handle crumbled away in her hand, and she staggered through the doorway, as a crash and a cry sounded out behind her. She ducked under several pairs of arms as she ran across the decks of the ship. "Stop screaming!" she shouted at the dragon on her shoulder, putting her hand over their snout, her clothes falling to pieces around her, "stop!"
A moment later and halfway down the gangplank she realised they had stopped, and it was just her ears that were ringing now. Her hair felt strange and fuzzy and there was a loud ringing screeching noise in her ears that wasn''t normally there.
A final dodge of a confused pair of arms, and she was onto the docks, and off the ship. A moment later she was into the alleyways and forgotten places of the docks, doing what she did best.
Running.
-
She caught her breath huddled in the back of a half-empty warehouse, the dragon under one arm, and the other hand inspecting the remains of her shirt. The floor in here was dirt, which she was thankful for, as she could still feel the magic washing off them, although not as heavily as it had been on the ship.
"You gotta pull back" she groaned, falling to the floor behind a stack of slowly decaying barrels. This place didn''t look like it had seen much action for a while, and even the air was still.
"Look!" she panted, and making sure the dragon was looking at her gestured towards her fraying shirt. "Stop!"
It took a good ten minutes of pointing and teaching the concept of "no" before they finally got it, and Littleshy sighed in relief as the hum of magic faded from the air around them both. It had been fairly localised, by the end, so nothing in the warehouse had been damaged, but her clothes were in tatters and she was dreading how she would get new ones.
The poor thing''s eyes were drooping with exhaustion, and she felt much the same. As she stared down at the shivering creature through half-lidded eyes, she swore they were thinner than they had been a few hours prior.
Damn, she would have to find them food as well. This day was going great.
She wished she''d had the wherewithal to grab the bag of money as she passed, but she had been panicking, and if she had, she was quite sure he would have pursued them both for theft.
That said, he might do that anyway. Littleshy bit her lip and looked down at the sleeping dragon in her lap. What on earth was she going to do now.
-
It had been three, or was it four days, since her initial run, and before that, there had been a week of sleepless anticipation and planning. She was only meant to be one link in the chain, but now she seemed to be a broken one.
It had been a long journey to this warehouse, with little food and disturbed sleep, and she wished she could stop, get some food and sleep in a real bed.
She again wished she had thought to grab the money as she''d fled, but now here she was, with an expensive pet to feed and very little left in her pockets.
Sitting on the roof of the warehouse, a dragon asleep around her shoulders and the sun setting over the harbour in front of her, Littleshy sighed, running her hands through her damaged hair. She couldn''t stay here. The ship that had been chartered to take the dragon had been a no-go, so now her plans had to change. She wouldn''t be defeated by this.
Whatever happened, she had always found a way to survive, and that wouldn''t change now. Best get some sleep first though.
-
Several weeks before a magical storm had passed over the land, and it had upset a lot of things, according to the butcher whose shop she spent the next day working in. Neither the normal clay-tiled roofs nor the new foreign-style earthen ones had fared well in it, and- he tossed another scrap of meat to the lizard- if she wanted to do some manual labour and knew how to put up shingles, there was good work in that right now.
Nothing was wasted though in his profession, sadly, so there would be no free ride from him. Scraps of meat went for animal feed, and even the bones were good for glue or fertiliser, but he could put something aside, for a day''s work. In her opinion, it was worth it. The dragon was sated for the first time that she had seen, lying fat and happy in the corner of the shop, while she swept the sawdust from the floor. It had taken a bit of shouting at first to get them to stop eating it, but they had agreed eventually, which had impressed the butcher no end. "Never seen a lizard before that was actually trainable! Is he some sort of crocodile?"
She had shrugged and made the admission that she had no idea, she had purchased him from a pet vendor years before. The both of them had fallen on hard times recently, due to the storm, and had come down from the mountains to find themselves a better life, but, she gestured at her tattered clothes, they had gotten caught in the tail-end of it on the way.
She left the shop that evening with a new dress, a little too long, but the butcher''s children had grown out of it, and a bag of scraps of cartilage and tendon for her "pet", the dragon which was draped around her neck like a very fat scarf.
She spent the next day with a work crew, replacing tiles on a large house near the edge of the city. So far all she''d seen of the place had been docks and train yards, the working areas, and she was surprised by how much greener everything was out in the richer areas of town.
The house was set in a patch of land big enough that she almost couldn''t see any neighbours, except, of course, she was perched on the roof, handing across tiles to the woman who was fixing them in place.
"Well," she stated, this conversation had been going on for a while, "I wanna give them a person name, why not, y''know."
"Surely though," the woman reached for another tile, and Littleshy handed it over, "that takes away that name from an actual person, it''s a name that can never be used again, for a pet that might live what, four, five years at most?"
"I''m planning on having them live longer than that!" she watched the woman work, handing over more tiles as needed, "cats can live up to twenty, why not lizards?"
"Ok," this interjection was from a man on the other side of the roof, and he popped his head briefly up over the parapet to look at them both, "so if you''re dead set on a human-name, we just have to pick one which no human would fit, right?"
The man''s name was "Light''s the Sky on fire" and the woman was "The Sun Bleeds Red With Distant Radiance" which was a boss name. They were siblings, and they were known as Skylight and Sunbleed. Littleshy''s full name was "Little form, hiding shy in the branches of the trees", and she suspected her mother had been describing a squirrel or something, but she had never had a real chance to ask. It was a long and loose name, unlike Skylight''s and she wanted something long and complicated for the lizard.
They were likely to outlive her, if things went well. Supposedly the northern dragon was over a century old and still growing, so it should be something they could grow into over their many years of life.
She had stopped thinking of them as a dragon, because if she said it out loud by accident then there might be some explaining to do. Probably "I always thought it looked like a dragon, haha, so funny," and that would be that, but she didn''t want to risk deeper questioning.
She would make enough coins off this work to pay for food for them for a couple of days, but there was an ache in her gut that told her they couldn''t stay here. She was giving it time for the blue ship to leave, before she would try and get passage on a different ship.
Sailors were always in demand, how hard could it be? The only problem would be food for her friend, but she hadn''t tested them with fish yet, maybe it would be ok.
-
The next day she helped finish the roof, and the day after she cleaned tables in a quiet pub, chatting to the barkeeper, her lizard asleep in a dog basket in the corner, curled up like a cat. There was no pub dog as far as she knew, and the basket looked clean and un-used, but maybe there had been in the past at some point.
She''d glanced over the newspapers after the morning rush, and had been listening to gossip, but there were no reports of a stolen dragon anywhere that she had seen or heard. One of the ship captains had been rumoured to have been arrested the day before for attempting to abduct children, and she wondered if that was her.
When she walked through the docks that evening, looking braver than she felt, the blue sailed ship was gone, and she sighed in relief.
Tomorrow she would ask around and attempt to get passage on a ship to the big continent. They would be safer there.
Chapter 61.5 - Dragons
She was young, she had been alive for barely a week, and most of her memories were of a quiet darkness, of sleep and growth.
After that had come light and fear, followed by more darkness and endless movement, but those memories were jumbled and confused, flashes of light in a never-ending storm.
It had been endless, at the time. A confusing mess of shouting and and bumping, being passed from hand to hand, unable to escape, until finally, it had ended after all.
She was¡ Somewhere, surrounded by something, and staring at somebody. Was that her mother? Was this being born?
There were thoughts in her head that she was aware weren''t hers. Names for things that she shouldn''t know the names of, memories of places she had never been.
She regarded the thing in front of her, the human, her mother?
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Maybe. Their shape was wrong, but what was shape other than a trick of the mind.
Their skin tasted of salt, and they barked out laughter at her, still panting and recovering from the rapid run which had placed them here, wherever they were.
She got the impression that this wasn''t how being born normally went, but the shared memories were already fading, and had nothing useful to offer her. They had been there to get her through the first moments of life, and it was up to her to make her own now.
-
She had disliked the smell of stone on her scales, but she did like the way it settled between them, highlighting the river-blue with shadowed edges.
She had disliked whatever had happened in the water-tree earlier. There had been fear in the air and she had released her Self in fear. She didn''t want to go into the darkness again. She didn''t want to lose her mother.
She had wanted to fight, but she was just so small.
Still, they had escaped, and she had managed to withdraw the self. It was hurting them both, so she had to, although it left her tired and empty afterwards, on the verge of somewhere else.
If they tried to take her again, she would fight, but for now¡
For now, the little dragon curled up on the lap of the person she loved most in the world, and she slept.
Chapter 62 - Dragon
It had been several months since the weirdness with the dead cities, and Dragon had mostly pushed it out of his mind.
Within hours of leaving, he had twice turned around to go back, holding himself in the air for a heartbeat by magic alone. He had hovered there, listening to the call of their magics, before changing his mind and carrying on with his job. Over the next few months, he had thought about it a lot, but as time went on the event was fading from his thoughts.
He still had the scent of their magics locked in his heart, so he knew where they were, but what was he expecting to do. They were fine, and either way, he had work to get on with. They didn''t need him to bail them out.
He had some idea of schedules, he had been doing this job for many, many years after all, and he had flown faster to catch up on the days lost to the mission, and to distance himself from that place. It hadn''t been difficult, this route had been set up when he was younger and hadn''t been adjusted to compensate for his new speed, which he appreciated.
With careful sweeps, he came in to land. The child clinging onto his neck this time was a quiet one, and he had almost forgotten they were there. This was the first they had sent with him since the mission, and while he had missed the company, they weren''t very talkative, and Dragon had still felt lonely.
Above him the rivers called, he would have friends there, they whispered, but he tuned them out, as he always had.
Empty the bags, fill up the bags, grab the goat and go, no passenger this time, a shame. Back into the air and onwards.
-
The bird had flown with him for a time, after the mission, and her company had been welcome but brief. She had wanted to stay in that general area and he had rapidly left her behind once he got going, besides, that had been months ago now.
For several days after the latest pickup, he flew higher than he normally would, a long, peaceful flight above the clouds, before finally dropping down as he came closer to his next destination.
This city was different every time he visited, especially over the past few years, and the storm seemed to have inspired a fresh burst of growth. Whole streets were missing from just a few trips ago, others were reconfigured and changed, and the farmland around the outer walls was starting to become urban sprawl, the new farmland spreading out and encroaching into what had, a decade previous, been thick forest. It was always interesting to come back here and see it from the air, to see what was different this time, how the smells had changed.
There had always been one constant to this place though, and that was the smell emanating from a big steaming building to the south end of the city, and today was no exception. He had no way to describe the taste of it, but he always swept past and carried it with him his nose for hours after his visits. Most places smelt of dirt and fire, but this was a clean smell, something warm and comforting, and he enjoyed it.
There was no goat waiting for him when he landed, but there was a box full of rabbits, and he eyed it with distaste. Such a lot of work for such a small amount of meat, and their bones were brittle and frail, liable to catch in his teeth.
He settled down as the humans emptied and refilled his bags, and then took off the moment they were done, leaving the rabbits behind. Instead, he circled twice around and through the steam of the factory, enjoying how it condensed briefly on his scales and settled into his nose. He would find something to eat on the way.
Seriously, rabbits? Why did they even bother, what a waste of meat.
-
Sometime later he came down hard upon a herd of large cow-like animals. The forest was behind him now, and below were plains of tall yellow grass and small, scrubby trees. It rained less here and burnt down almost yearly, so the forest never took off, and it was always a good spot to grab a bite to eat. The tall grass, which would hide prey at ground level, was their undoing when being hunted from the air, and Dragon easily took down two of the cows, laying in the grass to eat his kill and listening to the thunder of hooves as the others fled. Around him, the grass grew tall and lush, and he savoured the meal.
Rabbits? Really?
Still irritated, he headed on towards his next destination.
In the centre of the great plains stood what he considered one of the Big cities, bigger than anywhere else he knew, but he had never been directed to land there, never been told to deliver mail or collect or even to drop off children, and he had dropped off children in some strange places.
As he circled it, he wondered. His bags only felt half-full, and it was rare that they were packed more than halfway at this point on his journey. Maybe he should set down and see if they had anything that needed moving on? He didn''t understand why this place was crossed off his route.
Unlike most of the other cities he serviced, this one had been built in and around a great tree. It was a huge thing, the tree, reaching up past the clouds, with even the upper branches big enough for even him to land on without issue. From the branches hung vines and flowers and little homes which swung in the wind, and the first time he had passed here, many decades before, he had thought that they were fruits. Other dwellings were carved into the trunk, and he could see myriads of stairs and windows and faces peeking out at him as he circled, glimpses of a whole city hidden in the bark of the tree.
It reminded him of the volcano in the ocean, and he felt a certain nostalgic fondness as he looked at it, searching for somewhere to land.
He circled once more, eyeing it up. In most cities, there was an area set aside for him, somewhere he could see from the air, but here there were only branches and leaves and little nests. The branch-roads could have easily supported his weight, but they were narrow and crowded and he didn''t want to damage anything with his downdraught.
Was that was why he''d never been told to land here, there was no circle for him? He thought about it as he did another pass, gradually working his way upwards. Possibly, but he didn''t need fancy landing places. There, on one of the highest inhabited branches, he spotted a wide-open space, surrounded by grown wooden walls. It looked like several of the giant branches had been fused together there to create a platform, and somebody had made themselves a home upon it.
That would do.
-
He came to a careful and controlled descent in the garden, making sure not to disturb anything with the wind of his wings. Once he was on the ground, if you could call it that, the wood felt strange beneath his claws, and he realised that he had only ever stood on either earth or stone before, this was a new experience! He could feel the magic thrumming through it, responding to his presence, and he had to make an almost physical effort to hold himself back.
With a sigh, he settled down into a crouch, and waited for the inhabitants of this place to get their act together.
-
He would have to teach them about goats, Dragon mused, as he watched a head peek around a gap in the wall. These humans were different from those he normally saw, more in tune with themselves than he was used to. They had skin and clothing the colours of trees, all greens and browns, and they seemed smaller and more nervous than the ones he normally interacted with. There were no blue uniforms here, but he didn''t mind, the ritual wasn''t as important to him as it had been when he was young.
The head disappeared again, and he waited with quiet patience.
A moment later and another face peered around the wall, alongside the first, and the two of them seemed to be discussing something. What they were saying, he had no idea, but it was probably something along the lines of "why is there a dragon in our garden?".
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He had been focusing on his language skills lately, but the sounds of their voices were different, words similar but warped and in the wrong places.
Did humans have¡ Wait. Hold up. Did humans have more than one language?
Dragon reeled back in revelation. Was that the problem?! It couldn''t be, surely. That would be insanity, how did they communicate! He would have to think about this another time, when he was in the air with nothing else to do.
The heads disappeared back behind the wall, and he waited almost twenty minutes before there was any further sign of movement. He spent that time considering the words he had heard over the years and how they had differed between places. His name was a constant, but otherwise? It might be a possibility. It would explain so much¡
He was still mulling it over when a third head appeared, and then they were pushed through the gate and towards him by unseen arms. This human seemed to be a child, and they were carrying what looked like a piglet in their arms, holding it beneath the armpits, so that the legs dangled down, its head under their chin. The animal was quiet and unsure, but obviously used to being carried, and the child had tears running down their face.
Dragon watched in silence as they walked over, gently placing the piglet on the floor in front of him, instructing it to stay with tear-stained words. Was this their version of a goat?
He sniffed at the air above it in curiosity but made no other move. For some reason, he''d never been allowed to eat pig when he was young, and he had never acquired the taste for it. The child didn''t seem very happy about giving it up either, maybe it was some sort of friend?
He snuffled at it, and the animal squealed and fled as he moved, dashing out through the gateway and away. Dragon watched it go, and then turned his gaze back to the child, who was standing in front of him now with their eyes squeezed shut, their hands clasped behind their back.
He didn''t like the implications of that, but it was ok, he knew how to talk to children!
With a huff of breath, he bumped his nose into their chest, knocking them onto their butt. Then, job done, he half-closed his eyes, rested his chin on his feet, and pretended to sleep.
After a few moments, the child climbed slowly to their feet but seemed confused about what to do next. They stood in place for a time, and then looked back at the gate, as if waiting for instructions.
He took this time to admire the architecture of his surroundings. The grounds were filled with little ponds and pools and small plants, and he enjoyed the way some of the plants were rooted in dirt, but others were leeching directly off the tree below. If he hadn''t known, by the fact he had flown here and the density of the air, then he never would have suspected that he was almost at cloud level. It was all very neatly put together. He had looked at this place from a distance many times over the years, and to finally land and get to check it all out was quite nice!
If he had been smaller then he would have liked to explore the lower areas, but he had long come to terms with the fact that the human world was not built for a creature of his size. It was fine.
The child had left while he was thinking, hesitating before walking away with shuffling steps, back out through the gate, and all was silent once more, only the sounds of the birds and the rustle of leaves. If he focused, then he could feel the branches beneath him moving in the wind, a strange sensation.
He would have to fly hard to catch up after this, but it wasn''t an important part of his route, and he often stopped around this point to eat or sleep anyway.
Carefully, making sure there was nobody nearby that he could upset, Dragon stood and walked over to one of the pools, inspecting it while he waited.
The water was clear down to the bottom, and it was deeper than he had thought it would be, filled with fish of all different colours and patterns. He dipped his nose into the water and they all flocked to him, nibbling at his scales and begging for food.
Did people keep fish as pets? These ones certainly seemed tame, and he could sense that they were old, with one near the back of the pool almost as old as he was.
Huh. He knelt down and nosed at the oldest fish. It was unhappy with the water somehow, the pool which had been fine for it in its youth was now small and cloying. There were too many of her children around and the little plants she liked to nibble on were eaten up before she could drag herself towards them. She griped at him and nibbled at his nose, and he commiserated.
There was a shout from behind him, but he ignored it for the moment, too busy talking to the fish. Against his belly, the tree thrummed with magic. It had become used to being moved and shaped over its centuries of life, and was happy to do as he asked, as long as he was polite.
With a thought, the pool widened and deepened, the water sharpening and becoming a more vibrant blue, the pond filling to a level at his request. There were huge veins of water inside the branches, he was surprised to discover, he had only had to ask.
Another thought and just the smallest donation of self, and the fish shimmered and changed. She had liked his silver scales, and he gave them to her now, fixing them in place with a thought so that she might always be bright.
As a final gesture of kindness, he ate the three most annoying of her children, and then turned to see what on earth was going on behind him. There was some kind of shouting, and something was hammering against his tail.
He turned one baleful eye towards the source of irritation, but to his surprise, it didn''t stop. It normally stopped when he did that! The commotion, it turned out, was being caused by an old person, a man he decided, wizened and folded over with age, held up by one hand against his tail, while the other was busy beating him with a walking stick.
Dragon squinted, the man was almost as old as the fish, and their magic was faded and dry, like last year''s leaves. From behind him, the old fish spoke up. Yes, they were the one who bought food each day and made sure their water was clean. He was completely deaf, but the food was always tasty and good, and sometimes he would bring others to speak with them.
Ok, perfect. He had found an adult, now, how to get them to understand what he needed¡ He stared at them, and they stopped beating on his tail, choosing instead to hobble past him to inspect the pond, knocking one of his claws out of the way with their walking stick as they did so. They only seemed a little upset?
He turned to scowl at Dragon, something he hadn''t experienced much lately, and then pointed at the pond, yammering something incomprehensible.
The yammering went on for almost a full minute, and then they stomped away, supporting themselves with the cane and heading back towards the gates of the complex, where a whole host of people were watching now, sheltering behind the walls as if that might save them should he suddenly decide to turn into a wild animal.
Excitement over, Dragon went back to communing with the fish. It wasn''t often he met somebody as old as he was, and she had only ever spoken to humans before, so they chatted for a while.
He was in the middle of describing the ocean to her, a pond as big as the sky, endless in every direction and filled with food, when the old human returned, this time escorting a friend.
The friend was young, but not a child, and was being dragged along in a manner that suggested they wished not to be here. Dragon watched without comment as they were presented to him. A gesture of waved arms from the elder and something he assumed was a name, and then the same gesture towards him, expectantly.
He thought of the name the humans gave him, but it was long and unwieldy, and he didn''t think of himself as that. He was just Dragon.
The girl in front of him cleared her throat loudly, and then gave the old woman beside her a glance. She didn''t want to be here, C¡ Cr¡ Dragon? Dragon was very scary, this was her home, and she wished him to leave.
She yammered something out loud, and in the pond the fish gave a flick of her tail, showing off her new silver scales.
Dragon mulled over this as the human cooed over the new scales, at the same time breaking the news to her grandma that some of the other fish were missing. He wasn''t scary, he was just doing his job. And the fish were annoying, he had been doing her a favour by removing them!
This was greeted with scepticism, but Mother of Fish reassured her that it was true, taking a tiny piece of his magic so she could speak more clearly. He didn''t mind, there was plenty to go round, and she would make good use of it.
The human patted her grandma gently on the shoulder, and Dragon watched amused as the old woman slapped at the hand and grumbled something out, presumably still annoyed about the fish.
Oh, his job? Dragon frowned. He picked things up from one place and took them to others. Letters and parcels mainly, bits of writing and paper packages of who-knows-what, but also sometimes children or larger objects.
He didn''t mention the adults, he didn''t want to give them any ideas. That was in emergency situations only!
And they weren''t stolen! He gestured to the bags, look inside if you like. He huffed, stolen! Really now. He knew his job, but he was behind schedule, and he would be back to collect their letters in¡ He gave an estimate of time and saw it bounce, the human in front of him staggering back a step.
Ah, try again. Take it down to night cycles, strip out all of the extra information, make it more vague- there.
She was holding her nose, which was bleeding a little, and he sent concern and apology. She sent back acceptance and endings, and he knew it was time to leave.
One last goodbye to Mother of Fish, another to Sleeps and Dreams the Voices of the Wind, and he was gone, into the open air and back en route.
As he left, he realised he had forgotten to mention the goat. Oh well! Next time.
-
In the courtyard of the High Palace, ''Sleeps and Dreams the Voices of the Wind'', heir to Empire of The Great Tree and First of her Name, clutched her pounding head, ignoring the concerned questions of her aides and servants. Beside her, her grandma kept them away, using her cane to swipe at anyone who came too close. "What did it want? Is it going to fly down and eat all our children?"
"No." She grimaced, moving her hand away from her face and looking at the blood in her palm, "I think he said¡" a pause to translate, "I think he said that we''re now a part of the postal system?"
In the pond beside them, the fish swirled around and around, holding tightly onto the seed of magic, her silver scales glinting in the clear blue water.
She had seen beauty, and it had changed her.
Not a chapter, just a kindle version!
So this isn''t a chapter, just a little announcement that I put up a formatted version on Kindle, for easier reading.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BJHPM72R
https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B0BJHPM72R
(Or whatever your local store is, not sure what RR is doing to the link there, but it seems to still work)
I also set up a ko-fi shop, for just a straight epub. They take 5% if you buy through their shop and then paypal takes 50p. Kindle takes 30%, but gives metrics which leads to more sales and such.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
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I will not be doing Kindle Unlimited, the restrictions are just too much. It''s my book, and I will do what I want with it, and what I want is to keep it up here for free and reserve the right to give it away as I want.
On which note, if you can''t afford the ¡ê2 and you still want an epub, send me a message, either through here or discord, Ko#2807 , leave a review on Amazon or here, and I''ll throw you the file. :3 I don''t really have a souce of income, so I know what it''s like, and life can be hard sometimes.
I wish I could afford a decent cover, that would be cool! But while I''m good with words, I''m naff with a pencil. It''ll come in time, though.
I''ll try and come through for Nano again this year! Is there anything anyone would like to read? :3
Book Two - Chapter One - Feathers (63)
Within the cloud layer she hovered, riding the powerful thermals, half asleep, but held up by strong wings. She was warm and safe despite the buffeting winds.
Still, no matter how she tried, true sleep eluded her. She hadn''t eaten in almost a week, and the need for food was becoming almost unbearable, her stomach a tight knot of sailor''s rope.
Below her, she knew, there was a bull, just waiting for her to take it. It was where it had been for the past two days, standing alone on the shorn plain, held in place by a long rope.
She didn''t understand why it was set apart from its fellows, placidly chewing the grass around its feet, unworried and unbothered, but it was young, and fat, and exactly what she needed.
Yet¡ Something nagged at her.
She had been watching it for over a day now, trying to bring herself to make the kill, as something in the back of her brain twinged and tugged, refusing to let her proceed. Scar tissue pulling tight over old wounds, long healed but refusing to be forgotten, making impossible something that should have come easily.
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It was always bad, she never found it easy to hunt, but this time was worse.
Eventually her stomach would win out, and she would feast, the- her mind blanked for a moment- hot in her mouth, hot on her claws, all thought gone but for the joy of no longer starving, but for now¡
She waited.
Soon, Dragon would come back, and he would take the kill, offering her scraps as he had before, encouraging her to eat.
That would be the best.
-
A few hours of half-dozing later, she finally admitted to herself that Dragon wasn''t coming back. He had told her he was leaving, over and over, explaining it to her in simple concepts, as if to a child. She could have gone with him, could have flown underneath his wings and shared in his kills without judgement, so why hadn''t she? Why must she stay here, why was she bound here?
She wanted to leave, she needed to eat, she missed¡
She¡
A toss of her head, as if the thoughts were a physical thing she could merely shake away, and dropping down out of the clouds, she made the kill.
He would come back, eventually, and she would fly with him then. Leave this place behind.
Chapter Two (64) - Whistlecork
Hands holding onto the straps of her backpack, Whistlecork walked the street, hat tied firmly under her chin, lest it lose the battle it was currently waging with the mounting wind. The soles of her boots were worn so thin that she could feel each rock and bump of the ground through them, but the scarf around her neck was thick and warm, and her jumper, although patched, kept out the bitter sea winds.
The town she was walking through was a nowhere place. A place of fisherpeople and seasonal workers, and not much else, and there were few of either around today. On the wind, she could smell the faint scent of malt, maybe from a brewery as far as the next town over, riding along on the incoming storm.
She had hoped to find a place to stay, but the deserted streets and abandoned nets spoke for themselves, the houses dark, shuttered tight against the growing grey clouds
She shifted the pack on her shoulders and considered finding somewhere to ride out the storm. It was still a couple of hours until true night, and that night came early this time of year, earlier even still, with the weather as it was.
Stopping still, she looked around. Maybe there was an old boat shed which could shelter her, but it still wouldn''t be a pleasant night.
If she kept going then she would be out of the village before she had decided on anything, the whole place was barely more than ten houses, not even large enough for an inn of its own. Not uncommon, most things were probably just handled in people''s homes or down on the docks, but unfortunate for her right now.
Maybe she would find better shelter in the forest, but the wall of trees which normally sheltered villages such as these had been logged down in place of fields and pastures, and she would be soaked through before she was even halfway there.
Flummoxed, she stood in the middle of the street, surrounded by abandoned nets and the weathered trappings of lives, completely alone. Even the seabirds, normally a constant companion to her, were hiding away, sheltering from what was to come.
She shifted the pack on her shoulders again, biting her lip as she considered what to do, then, out of ideas, she knocked on a random door.
A minute later she knocked again, and then when that didn''t work, she hammered a couple of times on the shutters.
Another minute of waiting, during which she wondered if maybe the village was actually abandoned, and how difficult it would be to break into one of the houses, and then came a clatter as somebody unhooked the top half of the door.
A worn face peered out at her through the crack in the door, "wha''d''ya want?"
"Shelter!" she replied, pushing up her hat so the figure could see her face more clearly.
She was peered at with a judging eye, before the door slammed shut, fully opening a moment later. "Ge'' in, afore the rain gets ye!"
Pulling her hat tight onto her head and adjusting her straps once more, Whistlecork slipped into the house.
-
The inside was, structurally, much as she had expected, a one-room home, with a fireplace on one wall, a stove on the other, and the trappings of a life scattered around. In other ways, it was nothing like she would have predicted. The room was an old oil lamp, placed on the centre of a wooden table, which itself was placed in the centre of the room. In the fireplace was lit a small fire, and from a bed in the corner two small faces peered out at her. The other occupant of the room was sitting on the floor by the fireplace, an older person, winding together a fishing net. There was another net folded neatly by their side, and all across the walls, a huge variety of stuffed fish. Above the fire, the mantelpiece was crowded with little trinkets and oddments, and up on the beams, she could see jugs and ceramic faces peering down at her.
As she placed her backpack down gently by the door, she realised that she had expected the place to be more spartan, the epitome of poverty, but no. The room was cluttered but tidy, and the faces of the children were bright and curious, awoken by the guest, apparently blown in on sudden winds.
Glad to finally be rid of the weight of the pack, and glad of the opportunity to be off her feet, Whistlecork eased herself into one of the wooden chairs which bordered the table, leaning her elbows gratefully onto the timeworn surface. There were two comfortable chairs by the fire, but those weren''t for guests, worn over years to the shapes of their owners.
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Outside, the wind was picking up, but the building was old and sturdily built, the roof grown up over generations, and inside all was safe and warm.
The woman who had let her in fussed with the kettle on the stove, muttering incomprehensible utterings to herself, flitting about as if unsure how to deal with this sudden guest. She hesitated in front of the stove for a second, before reaching up and pulling down a rusted-looking tin from a high shelf. An observant pause before she gently eased the lid slightly open, and then she peered inside with one baleful eye, as if whatever was inside might escape should she open it too far.
Another pause, and then a violent shake of the head. The tin was shut with a snap and promptly returned to its place on the shelf. There was then a brief narrowing of the eyes as the woman looked around, and then, bending down, she retrieved another tin from under the cooking surface, where it had been previously hidden underneath a flowerpot. An easing, a peering, an added sniff this time, and a sharp negation of the head as the tin was quickly sealed and returned to its hiding place.
Whistlecork and the two children watched this whole display in enraptured silence, whilst the figure by the fire didn''t stir from their mending.
The third tin seemed to be the charm, this time a nod, just as sudden as the previous shakes, and gradually, out of the tin, were coaxed two biscuits. These were placed with ceremony upon a tiny plate, which had been removed from behind a candle on the mantelpiece and lovingly wiped with a clean cloth and a little water from the teapot, all whilst still juggling the biscuits.
This small and seemingly practised ritual over, the saucer of biscuits was placed on the table before Whistlecork, along with a steaming cup of something she was hesitant to call tea, but the leaves for which had also had to be wheedled out of a large jar on a shelf by the stove.
Looking down appraisingly at the two biscuits and the steaming mug, the woman nodded sharply one last time, turned down the oil lamp, span around, and, grabbing a cup for herself, settled down into her own chair by the fire and then promptly fell asleep.
Whistlecork sat and sipped her tea in silence, listening to the sounds of the rope, the crackling of the fire and the howl of the wind outside, clawing at the shutters and tearing against the walls. The distant crash of the sea and, once, the sound of something splintering in the distance. The eyes of the two children never left the biscuits, and as she drank around the dregs in the bottom of the cup, she eyed the figure by the fireplace. They were still quietly winding their net, and their eyes hadn''t strayed from it once, that she had noticed.
A surreptitious glance at the sleeping woman, the cup of tea cold on the hearthstones, and one last glance at the two children, and she considered her next move.
She had sleeping things in her backpack, a bedroll and a pillow, more than enough to be comfortable. With an exaggerated groan, she rose to her feet, slid the two biscuits into one hand, and walked around the table towards her backpack. As she passed the bed, she tossed the biscuits at the children in a sort of discus motion, never slowing her gait.
The two children fell upon them like starving mice, ducking under the covers together with silent giggles.
By the door, Whistlecork set out her bedthings, rolled herself up in the blanket, accidentally caught the eye of a large pike as it stared down at her from pride of place above the door lintel, and then got some sleep of her own.
-
By the next morning, the storm had blown itself out, leaving the world outside fresh and clean, the dissipating magic almost visible in the morning fog. As she sat on a small stone bench outside the house, she rolled her trousers up to the knees and stashed her boots away into her pack. They wouldn''t last more than an hour on the damp ground, but she would be alright. The effect of the storms had been stronger lately, but that wasn''t a bad thing.
She had been awoken around dawn by the movements of the occupants of the house, the weaver attempting to leave without waking her, despite her place in front of the door, nets slung casually over one shoulder, one foot raised, hand on the door-frame, caught in the act.
Breakfast was a single strip of bacon, lured out who-knows-where, fried eggs, and her contribution to the meal, slabs of fruit cake, spread with borrowed butter, and much more fruit than cake. She had picked it up several villages before. It was the perfect travel ration, high in energy, good for the mood, and perfect for barter, and she tried to always keep a loaf on hand. The whole breakfast had been conducted in mutual silence, before the woman had taken her leave, choking down the last of her meal, throwing on a shawl and grabbing a basket from by the door, rushing out as if unexpectedly possessed by a spirit to move.
The two children disappeared as soon as the light was up, hand-in-hand, slices of cake clutched tightly in the other, and she didn''t begrudge them the lack of goodbyes either.
From somewhere in the distance she could hear the shouts of other children, crowding together on the shore like the seabirds they truly were, looking for things that the sea had thrown out overnight.
Sometimes a storm would throw up small treasures, shells and pieces of twisted wood, but sometimes, after one such as last night, more interesting things would appear too. Birds made of stone, which fitted perfectly into the palm of the hand, spoons of twisted metal, drilled with tiny holes, or earrings of bright sea gems, which tarnished and dulled to stone once removed from their habitat. Things which could not possibly have survived the ages and atmosphere, but which, somehow, had.
The door beside her was firmly shut, and it promised to be a warm day, time to stop wasting daylight!
Hefting up her pack up onto her shoulders, Whistlecork ground her bare feet into the soft ground, nodded, and set herself back on the road to Nowhere.
Chapter Three (65): Health, Pearl and Southshore
"Alright, here we are." Southshore lead the two of them along the docks, away from the great banana-leaved boats they had become used to, and towards the other end, an area they were much less familiar with.
"I''m sure we can find somebody here who can speak to you bilge rats!"
This, they determined, was the gist of what he was saying anyway, if not the actual specific words. A month on board ship had helped with their language skills, but it was still all a bit rough around the edges, and rather too technical in places for conversations about things other than types of sail, shapes of hulls, and different flavours of cargo.
They walked together, the children looking around with curiosity, whilst Southshore looked straight ahead, a man on a mission, until all of a sudden, as if they had crossed an invisible threshold, there was a sense in the air of home.
Health felt themselves jerk, as the voices shouting from the vessels in the dock all at once had a familiar lilt, too far away for the words themselves to be understood, but it could have been the fieldhands back home, shouting from one terrace to another.
Was it still home? Health wondered, looking about with wide eyes. Even the colours seemed different, blues and yellows in shades they hadn''t seen in a month, even on shore. The patterned cloth swinging in a doorway was eerily close to something they''d seen once, but couldn''t place. Maybe on a dress for a summer dance, maybe from a curtain in somebody''s kitchen.
After only a couple of months away, it all seemed strange and foreign, and they shuffled closer to Pearl, bumping shoulders with her.
She gave them a glance, and then went back to looking around, less perturbed than they were. Of course she wasn''t phased, but she was keeping a wary eye out, as if one of their mothers might duck out of a shop without warning, or as if one of their fathers might come striding down the street, a bag of rice over each shoulder and a scowl on their face.
Health licked their dry lips, and kept in contact with her, worming one hand into hers, just in case.
Striding ahead of them, Southshore yammered something at a sailor. She, in return, accused him of something that neither of the children were supposed to know about quite yet, and carried on without stopping, shoving past him and heading back to her ship. Undaunted, their captain carried on, bothering and poking at people until finally somebody swung themselves off a ship and came over to see what all the fuss was about.
It was a small cargo shop, and the two watched on, discussing quietly between themselves whether it was a "junk" or a "sloop", unsure of what the difference was but reasonably sure there was one.
The sailor was dressed in much the same uniform as those under Southshore''s command, but he held himself with a completely different air, uncaring of the fancy uniform, or whatever it was that usually made people defer to Southshore without thought. His hair was plaited into a long line and then slicked back with tar, and somebody in the past had taken a knife to his face, slicing a chunk out of his nostril, leaving a thin line down his cheek and claiming one earlobe as their own.
The two argued over the heads of the children for a minute, before the man finally mimed spitting beside himself, and focused his eyes down at them.
"Where did you run away from?", the question was delivered with no buildup and a scowl, and Health shrank behind Pearl a little, as much as it was possible to hide behind somebody two-thirds your size.
"Big man here wants to know where you ran from," he took a moment to sniff, rubbing his nose afterwards with the back of his hand. "And your names, I guess?"
Pearl looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun with one arm, "are you sure that''s what he said?"
"Sure as bread", the sailor replied. This wasn''t a phrase Health had heard before, but languages differed even from village to village, maybe it was a common saying elsewhere?
Pearl huffed a little and glanced up at Southshore, "We didn''t run from nowhere. And-" she pointed at Health, "That''s Health, I''m Pearl. He knows that."
The sailor looked down at them for a moment, as if waiting for something else, and when nothing else was forthcoming, his expression turned to confusion, "Gimme proper names, those''re just words!"
Pearl considered this, and then shook her head. "Our village was weird. These are the only names we''ve ever had."
The sailor scratched his arse at this, seemingly stumped, before rattling off something to Southshore, much too fast for the children to follow. A bit of back-and-forth, and with a shrug, he turned and walked away. Health and Pearl eyed each other, unsure of what had just happened.
"Think he''s coming back?" Health muttered, and Pearl shook her head.
Unperturbed, Southshore clapped his hands together, "Well," he exclaimed, "that went pretty well!"
-
Word seemed to have spread after that among the local sailors, and they put themselves out of Southshore''s each after that, ships pulling up the gangplanks as they approached and shops emptying. Not one to give up under difficult circumstances though, Southshore persevered, and an hour later the three of them were sitting in a small cafe, somewhat further inland.
It wasn''t entirely like home, they had adopted benches in the local style rather than the cushions of home, and the decor was off somehow.
Still, it was close enough for most, and Pearl glared down into her bowl of food, unsure if she wanted to eat any of it. They had escaped, they had gotten away, and she wanted to eat things other than rice and vegetables and hardtack, to see how they did things in other places.
The food in front of her did not react to her glare, and with a sigh, she took a mouthful. It was spiced differently from what she had expected, and that gave her a little relief. If it had tasted like her mothers cooking, she would have gone and thrown it into the sea.
At the end of the table, Southshore was definitely doing what her mother would have called "flirtin''", with the man who owned the place. It wasn''t something her mother would have approved of at all, in any fashion, but maybe that was why the man was here, and not back home.
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With a laugh, the owner batted him with the cloth he''d been using to wipe down a counter and turned his attention to the two kids. "So," he started, "bloke here wants to know where you two ran away from. You''ve drifted a long way!"
Pearl considered how to answer this, and Health looked to her to answer. This was something they''d both discussed whilst they were onboard the ship, she was just better at talking, they were better at¡
She considered for a moment what Health was better at. Being cool, for one. They were the coolest, most defiant person she knew. Nobody else in the village would have been her friend, nobody else for sure would have run away with her. Nobody else would have dared do some of the things they''d done to upset their parents.
She admired them a lot.
"We got lost." Was her final answer. When the man looked at her with raised eyebrows, waiting for more, she relented and elaborated, slightly. "Home was bad, so we left, then," she hummed to herself, looking for the right wording, "we got lost."
Next to her on the bench, Health nodded resolutely, a mouth full of noodles, which Pearl was wishing she had also ordered. She had panicked when presented with the menu, having never been to a place like this before.
"You kids are," the man hesitated, eyeing them up, "way too young to have come that distance. You''ve got mid-country accents, but no way you''ve come all the way from the homeland." He looked at them for a moment, appraisingly. He had a nice face, and the air around him was harmonious, clear and clean of internal tension, and Pearl liked him, despite her wariness.
"You''re too green to have come from anywhere else though, which is odd." He hummed to himself, thinking it over, and behind them, a bell above the door rang, as another customer entered the shop.
There was a break of a couple of minutes, while he and Southshore chatted between themselves and the new customer got themselves settled. Pearl suspected the chatter might be about them, but she wasn''t inclined to listen in, finishing up her food and letting him whisk the plates away, looking around the shop as he clattered around behind the counter somewhere.
It was strange, to be waited on like this. It wasn''t something either of them had experienced at home, or on board the ship, and she wasn''t sure how she felt about it. Back home, she had always had to clean up after herself, for as long as she''d been allowed her own plate. Before that, she struggled to think back that far, it had been food mostly wrapped in leaves or moulded into shapes, and eaten in the hands and outdoors.
Then the owner was back, wiping damp hands on his front, shifting his apron and perching on the end of the bench, leaning against the table with one elbow. "My language skills aren''t the best, but I can tell your story to the man, if you want to tell me."
-
It took a while for the two of them to tell their tale, as short as it was. There were frequent interruptions as other customers came and went, and Health was grateful for those, as it gave them time to speak between themselves.
Southshore had been good to them, and their greatest worry was that he might think they were cursed in some way. But Health had watched the captain whilst they were on board the ship and trusted him not to abandon them now. The man seemed unflappable, to an extent was almost concerning, and Health suspected he was either a little mad, or extremely stupid. They hadn''t decided on which yet.
At some point, tea was bought out, and the smell of it made their stomach twist. Back home, they had only had this on special days, their village was too high up in the mountains for traders, and excursions to the places it was sold were rare. The cafe owner watched their face as the tea was poured, but said nothing.
It would have been drunk after the harvests were done, a canister or two always came along with the workers, and that would have been shared amongst the village as good luck for the new season.
Nose in the mug, breathing in the steam, Health wondered how the harvest had gone. If the weather which had sunk Southshore''s ship and ravaged the coasts had hit back home too.
Probably not, but it would have been hard on everyone if it had. Quietly they sipped their tea and tried not to think about what had been left behind. They hoped everything had gone ok.
They wouldn''t go back, even if Genie appeared here now and offered, but, it had been their life, even if it was already growing fuzzy with distance, time working its magic, rounding off the corners of the memories.
"So," the man finally placed his folded cloth on the table and sat back on a bench, leaning against the wall, his hands on his sides in disbelief, "and I need to get this straight. You''re telling me somebody magicked you a million lengths, across the sea, and instead of leaving you somewhere sensible, they decided to strand you on an island in the middle of nowhere to die?"
Pearl and Health nodded together, and somewhere under the table, the dog stirred, but didn''t wake up, content to be scratched by otherwise idle feet.
Health wasn''t sure when it had settled down there, but nobody had said anything, so they assumed it belonged to the shop.
He- they had learnt that the owner''s name was Leaknoise, a former sailor who had travelled the world for a while as a cook, before he earnt enough to settle here and open their shop. Leaknoise shook his head at their story but had passed it on truthfully, as far as they could tell, speaking with slow and careful words, so they could somewhat follow along.
Health watched his face as they spoke, but as they had expected, although Pearl had been more sceptical, he took it all in his stride, nodding as if this was entirely a usual thing, and not a tale straight out of myth, or from a story told on dark winter nights to scare children who had yet to go to bed.
Then, when that was all over, there was the question of what would happen to them next. Southshore didn''t have a ship, and not having been able to acquire one, had been planning to disband his crew and head inland to visit his family. He wasn''t partnered, they learnt, but he had parents and siblings.
If he found a ship, of course, he was willing to hire them on as a cabin-kid and apprentice-growth mage, but what to do in the meantime was a puzzle.
There was another mug of tea drunk while this worked over, talk of schools and lodging houses, until suddenly, it wasn''t a problem anymore.
With a clap of his hands, Southshore declared, "Well! I''ll just tell your mother that you''re my get, she can''t complain about that, and she always wanted grandchildren."
This was met with stares from the three of them, until Leaknoise hesitantly translated, confusion in his tone. It wasn''t unusual for kids to look different to their parents, especially with one as talented as Pearl around, but there was generally some sort of family resemblance. On top of that, there was normally a common language, too, and the children were usually younger.
A nod, "Yes, yes, that''ll work fine", then he frowned slightly, the most negative emotion Health had ever seen cross his face, "My mother is a bit of an old broadsword, but she likes children," a final hesitation, and then he seemed to cheer up, "probably!"
There was a little more conversation after that, mostly clearing up strange things about language that neither of the two children had understood, and repeated insistence that their names were just words, yes.
"Well." Exclaimed Leaknoise, after they had insisted on this for the third time and given a little explanation of their reasoning, "you kids, you''ve got no records here or nothin'', why not just change your names? It worked for me!"
Neither of them¡ Neither of them had even considered this! It was true that they were free now, to call themselves by whatever names they wanted, and it inspired a startled glance between them. Pearl was thoughtful, and Health, devastated. Not in a sad way, but in the way a victim of a landslide might be, coming back from a day in the city to discover their whole mountain changed and moved, and their home, previously placed at the very top, now sitting neatly at the bottom, almost untouched.
It was a sudden, heady revelation of freedom, and the possibilities were endless. What they could choose, with no parents to stop them. It was revelatory, and they couldn''t even imagine where to start.
Completely overwhelmed, the three of them left the shop, Health taking a moment to shoo the dog back inside after it tried to leave with them, which it seemed nonplussed by, but they gave it a scratch behind the ears, and stayed behind, watching them go.
Hand in hand with Pearl, still homeless, now potentially nameless, and somewhat adrift, they headed back towards the boarding house with their new... Parent? Tomorrow Southshore would book transport, and the three of them would head inland.
Chapter Four (66): Dreams of Dragons
It was the dragons that had made the world, or so her mother told her. They had been lonely, up in the sky, with only the rain for company.
Below them had been only clouds, stretching away into forever. There was no end to those clouds, and any dragon who fell into them would drift alone, never to find their way back.
And so, the dragons had created the world. They had taken their magic and used it to Change clouds into sea, and they had used their bodies and Rot to turn themselves into land.
Pigsqueak had been a little upset at that, but her mother had assured her that it was ok. There had been a lot of dragons, and some of them had lived a very, very long time. Returning to earth had been like going to bed for them, a final rest at the end of a long day.
But, even with the seas and the earth below them, the Dragons had still been alone. The land was great and empty, and there was nobody there to tell the young dragons how to find their way back, so those that fell were still lost. The dragons above could see their children below, but they couldn''t their call to come home. Some of the parents thought they were staying away out of wilfulness, so they made animals and monsters, to scare them back. When those didn''t work, didn''t encourage their children to return, they realised they didn''t know how to get back, and all the dragons came together, and out of the earth they had formed humans.
"That''s me!" shouted Pigsqueak, and her mother had smiled sadly at her, before continuing her tale.
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The humans told the dragons how to get home, and most of them left, but a few had been here too long, had grown up amongst the trees and had become friends with one another. They had become fond of the ground and had no desire to return to their parent''s clutches, far above the clouds. To drift forever.
Those dragons, her mother had said, changed themselves to be human, but in doing so, they changed humans to be a little more dragon. And that''s why you see people in the streets sometimes with scales or animal features, it''s why people have skin of all different colours, because those were the colours of the dragons.
She had asked if there were real dragons out there still, hiding as people, but her mother had shaken her head. They changed themselves to be human, she said, and in doing so they were no longer dragons. Once they had Changed, like all humans, they one day had to return to earth.
Pigsqueak had been sad at this, but taken it all in with absolute faith, and despite her mother''s assurances that none remained, had looked out for dragons whenever they travelled to the big town at the edges of summer.
Thinking back on it many years later, living under a different name and in a different part of the world, she considered that it might have all been a story fabricated by her mother, to help them both cope with her grandmother''s death a few months prior.
The event had upset their family dynamics greatly, and within a few months, they had gone from a tightly knit family, to scattered remnants, communicating only by distance mail. Like those dragons cast to ground, with no humans to guide them, the death of her grandmother had shattered their family like a mirror, some fragments forever lost.
Still though, as she sat and drank her tea, the fire warming her feet and taking the evening chill out of the air, as she watched the silver-scaled monster circle overhead, and as she heard the welcoming cry of the great beast they kept on the other side of the circus. She smiled.
She had never stopped watching out for dragons.
Chapter Five (67): Windwashes
With a sigh, he threw himself back onto the bed, and held his poor, chapped hands out in front of himself, wondering how it had gone so wrong. It had been a week since his return, and things showed no signs of returning to normal yet.
He had had a good life, and he had thrown it all away, for what, a ride of a dragon?
He had done his full term in the military, and then extra, leaving with distinctions. He had found himself a partner, with whom he had raised a brilliant, wonderful child, had built himself a reputation, and then, at the end of it all, he had thrown it all away. To steal a dragon.
The light of his eyes, the creature he had spent his life sketching and drawing, had always longed to touch, if only for a moment. And then he had stolen it.
No.
With a sigh he threw his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes until all he could see were colours.
That was disingenuous, he''d had his reasons. And it wasn''t Stealing, it was¡ Commandeering. Requisitioning. Hitching a ride. Saving a life.
He had done good work, which the city should appreciate! Would appreciate, if they ever let him speak for himself!
Groaning, he rolled over on the bed, pressing his face into the thin pillow.
He should look into the local orphans. He had never given them much thought before, but if there were enough of them hanging around that the post office could acquire one on a whim, something needed to be done about that. Maybe he could design them a new orphanage or something.
He squinted into the darkness of the pillow, idly musing for a moment about who would fund the building, what it would look like. It would have to be mostly unadorned, to cut down on costs, but there was a beauty even in simplicity.
Perhaps he had been wrong, about their intentions with the kid. They did say that whomever they picked, they would come back, and the adoption offer had been genuine, probably.
With a sigh, Windwashes sat up again, leaning back onto straightened arms, and stared around the little stone room. It was a simple affair. Two spartan metal beds, one against each side wall, with a sink placed evenly between them. The plaster on the walls was a dull grey, and the window above the sink was just high and just small enough that you couldn''t see anything useful out of it. A wooden door was where they''d entered through, and another narrow door in the far wall hid a separate toilet. A boring room, devoid of any architectural merit.
He eyed the man sitting across from him on the other bed, his clothes tattered and his knees under his chin, glaring into the middle distance. There was also that.
After a moment''s hesitation, Windwashes adopted a more relaxed posture, and tried to initiate contact.
"This isn''t one of yours, is it?" he tilted his head to indicate the room around them.
Eyes coming back into focus, Brickwrath grunted in annoyance, the glare fixed firmly on him now. "As if! What do you take me for! Look at the shoddy¡"
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They discussed the lack of merits to the room for a couple of minutes, from the tiles on the floor- the cheapest that the local building supplier had been able to procure, no doubt- to the weakness of the steel used in the window bars- very imposing, but vulnerable to magic- before the conversation trailed back off into silence.
He had been here for only a day, before Brickwrath turned up, and apart from the silence it hadn''t been so bad, but it wasn''t home. Before they''d come for him he''d been on an unofficial house arrest, while the magic washed over the city and everything shut down. That had been ok, he had had his own bed, his partner, and the huge empty house.
It had still felt as much like a prison as this room did, but it was a more comfortable one, with room to pace.
He''d been able to wash, and he had clothes which weren''t in rags now, but he still imagined he could feel the dust of the journey ingrained into his skin, in a way he hadn''t felt in years. His hair needed a trim, and although the Changers had leeched the magic out of him, his teeth still ached with it, his body subtly different from what he was used to, although not in a bad way, and he knew he would get used to it with exercise. Still, old scars were missing, and aches he hadn''t even realised were there were now notable only by their absence.
Eyes on the tiny window, he lost himself in thought again.
The physical scars may have been rubbed away, but the mental ones couldn''t be so easily fixed. There was a hole inside him filled with anger, spilling out and tainting his interactions with the world, and he could only keep his hand over it for so long before the pressure became too much.
Outside, the sky was darkening, changing from a deep salmon red to the dark velvet blue of night, casting the already dim room into slow darkness. Soon, he assumed, somebody would come round with a lantern and food, and it would be bright again for a time, but for now¡
Looking down again at the man across from him, his face almost hidden now by the deepening shadows, Windwashes could see his own grief and anger spreading like a creeping poison, infecting everyone he interacted with. He imagined it as a sort of vibrant green, too bright to be natural, the colour of potions in shop windows, or of green paint under stage-light. Searing, bottled, grief. Too hot to touch, too bright to look directly at.
His partner was at home, suffering alone now, as she had been whilst he was on his jaunt- a spike of guilt at that thought- and he was here, awaiting, what? He still didn''t know. Were they to be put on trial, was this his stay of execution, or was it a quarantine? Nobody had said a word to either of them, just rounded them up and locked them in here.
His hands itched in his lap, and he wished they hadn''t taken his pens and paper away. Not that they would do much good, in this light, but just the having of them was comfort in itself. He wanted to stand and pace, to shout through the locked door, to draw, to paint, to create something.
Across from him, his mentor huffed out a sigh and clambered to his feet. With one hand on the small of his back, he groaned as he straightened up, and then shuffled the three steps towards the door. A jiggle of the handle confirmed that it was still locked.
A shrug, and with both hands now rubbing the muscles in his back, he grumbled towards the toilet. A minute later he re-emerged, washed his hands in the sink and settled back down on the bed.
That done, he eyed up the window, giving it a nod. "Reckon you could get through there, if needed."
His voice was deeper than Windwashes remembered, and even after the night of conversation, it still surprised him. But, he mused, they had both been very different people back then.
"but not me." He shook his head in a familiar gesture of resignation. "Best we just wait it out, I reckon."
"I suppose." The response was swollen in his mouth. Speaking had been easier earlier, the anger within him dulled by exhaustion and fever, but now it was returning, flowing in with the darkness, spilling out between his grasping fingers and staining the air around him. The dimness of the room, which had seemed like soft cloth a moment ago, was turning into spilt black ink, sticky to the touch. His stomach was a black tarred rope, pulled taught until he was afraid it might snap, afraid he might snap.
With a sigh and a false air of relaxation, he laid back on the bed, hands behind his head, the only sign of tension his feet shuddering of their own accord against the foot of the bed. "Suppose so."
Somewhere outside, a bird cried out, and Windwashes tried to sleep.
Chapter Six (68): Sweetkin
She watched people, during the day whilst her mother did her strange, odd things. Some days it was placing rocks high up, on another it would be carrying Flats around, giving out food or drink to those who needed it, making things clean afterwards and barking at those around her.
She rested her nose on the edge of her nest and watched today''s activities. This one was Cube Moving, lifting cubes from one place and putting them in another. Soon somebody would come around and take them elsewhere, but for now, they were building up into a satisfying pile. The cubes were coming off the Bad Floats, and she was giving extra attention to the process today, making sure nothing bad happened. She didn''t like it here much, but trusted that her mother knew how to stay safe.
She was struggling with words. The people, her mother included, all knew what words were, and would bark them at each other all the time without care or thought, but they so rarely explained to her what they meant! Being left to infer on her own, to try and warp it to what her brain insisted communication should be, it was so tiring.
There was the bark that was her mother''s name for her, she knew that one, but not what it meant, and there must be a meaning. Each bark had a meaning, and sometimes those meanings were shared between things, but she hadn''t yet worked out what those meanings were, exactly, or how they fitted together.
She was learning though. She hoped she was learning¡ This was too hard for her to not be learning something!
She was learning to fly, too! Her mother allowed it when they were alone and inside The Big Dusty, as she thought of the big building near home, but for some reason, People weren''t allowed to know she could fly. She was to keep her wings back when possible and to stay out of the way.
That last one she understood at least, people didn''t look where they were going and were liable to kick out by accident. She didn''t react well to getting kicked, even if she knew it wasn''t intentional.
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She had been learning in other ways, too, playing with her sense of Self. One day she had decided she wanted a change, turning her scales from their beautiful blue to a deep, natural green, and her mother had made pleased noises, clapping her paws and calling her the good things, and something of the worry that always clouded around her had disappeared.
She kept them that colour, for her mother''s sake, but she didn''t know why it mattered, until she noticed fewer stares in the street, less pointing from the little ones. They had gone together into a big home filled with patient knowledge and looked at the scripts there, and her mother had reverently shown her painted images of beings a little like herself. They were green, it was possible she had explained, and green was normal, people expected green.
Maybe on another day, these things would have rankled, blue was a much nicer colour, and her wings ached to fly, but she was so very tired. Lately, she spent most of her time sleeping, and it still wasn''t enough. She always flew in the mornings, or beat her wings, or jumped off things as her mother cheered her on, but without that encouragement she would have slept straight through the waking time and the walking times, coming round only for meals.
With a yawn, she half shut her eyes again. Cube days were the worst, her favourite was the food-chewers, where they took the prey and chewed it up into pieces, parcelling out the big bits to others and throwing her scraps throughout the day. That was a safe place, she had no need to be on alert there. Unlike here.
With a sigh, gave the Bad Floats one last glare, and drifted off for a moment, letting her eyes slide shut. Her mother would wake her if there was trouble, and she wouldn''t be asleep for long.
-
When she awoke, it was too gentle hands lifting her out of her nest. She didn''t open her eyes, she knew by everything around that it was her mother, by the magic that swirled around her, by the shape of her hands, by the way she murmured stories of the day to her as they walked back home in the evening air. She smelt of sweat and dirt and food, and she resisted the urge to release her Self, to clean off those smells and leave only what belonged. She hadn''t learnt how to stop the¡ clothes? Yes, that was the word, the clothes from falling apart, they wanted to be earth as much as everything else did, and she didn''t have the willpower to overcome that, yet. Soon, though. Soon.
As she snuggled her nose into her mother''s neck, she dreamed a dream of flight.
It would come, in time.
Chapter Seven (69): Littleshy
Littleshy was worried about her lizard. She had been active and bright at first, in those terrifying days after their escape, but over the past few weeks, she had gotten slower and lazier. Flying lessons in the mornings had gone from an easy fun time for the both of them to a chore where she had to coax and cajole for even the shortest flight or hop.
It was, on a visceral level, terrifying. She hadn''t thought, when she took charge of the dragon, that she might end up killing it out of ignorant neglect, but here she was.
She had tried out different foods over the past week, everything from vegetables, to fish, to lamb, which was difficult to get, but worth a try, yet none of it made a difference.
Her friend at the butchers had shaken his head and suggested that sometimes lizards needed insects to live, much like cats, but neither of them knew how they would manage that.
In the end, they had gone back to a mix of beef, pork fat, rice and vegetable trimmings, which the lizard didn''t seem to like as much as raw meat, but which he assured her was a balanced diet, and was what he would feed to a sick dog.
His other suggestion was that she find a Changer and get them to make sure they were all there inside, and Littleshy hadn''t been able to tell him why the idea terrified her so much.
Sometimes, he shook his head, running his knife across a stone, the scraping of metal punctuation to his speech, calves, kits and babes would seem fine at first, but given time they would stop eating, something inside them failing to grow, or something coded wrong on a deep level.
"Sometimes," he continued, the rasp of the knife ringing out with each word, people would bring him dead animals, in the hope that he could tell them what went wrong, but it was a rare case where he could help, and he had started turning them down years ago.
It terrified her, the idea of going to a Changer, somebody who she couldn''t lie to, who could tear her life apart when they discovered what she had wrapped around her shoulders, but not as much as the thought of losing her friend, and it was with this thought that she called a day off from her many odd jobs, and sought out a new part of the city.
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She hadn''t been inland much, preferring the easy work and transient society of the docks, but she had directions on where to go, and finding the street didn''t take her long.
She knew it was correct the moment she found it. There was something about the air that seemed cleaner, the scents on the breeze more chemical, like the night after a storm, less of a stink of shit.
Not that the city stank too much, but it wasn''t the cleanest place she had ever been, and with the summer being a warm one, there hadn''t been rain in weeks, allowing refuse to build up in the streets.
This street was cleaner than any she had seen on her way here, and even the dragon seemed to perk up, not opening her eyes, but sniffing the air with a sleepy curiosity.
Down this end of the street, it seemed to be mostly artists, and she passed a dazzling display of tattoo and art shops, catering for everyone, from bored housewives, to love-struck young hopefuls, to hardened sailors.
She stopped in front of one shop and ran her hands up and down her arms, admiring the walls of the shop, which were covered in paintings of swirling patterns, all in bright colours, too many to count, overlapping and leaving no white space at all.
She stood there for a while, staring at the colours until the owner of the shop caught her eye, and with a shake of her head she set off again.
There were several more similar shops, all with their own particular styles, but as she progressed down the street, the air started to change to something more serious, from ink to disinfectant. Along one side of the road were small stalls offering healings or scar removal. Others offered tattoo removal, to regrow a missing tooth, and fixes for broken fingernails or even fingers. There was even one building doing a roaring trade in simple splints and stitches, without magic at all, and she stopped to look for a moment, but it wasn''t what she needed today.
Eyes wide as she moved past the healing stalls and towards a row of shops all specialising in potions, everything from love to laxatives to prophylactics, although she wasn''t sure what that last one was, and suspected it was a word made up for the occasion.
The true magical draughts, those that worked, weren''t sold in places such as this, and they were much more limited in their scope, warping and poisoning as often as they cured. Still, she enjoyed looking, running one hand over the scales of her friend and dreaming of what she could do if she had that kind of money to throw away.
Finally, she came to the end of the line, and standing in the middle of the road and staring around, her meagre savings weighing heavy in her pocket, she had to make a decision.
Chewing on her lip, one hand petting the dragon''s tiny head, she headed towards the final shop, one which didn''t advertise. There was simply a small sign by the door, stating the name and credentials of the person who owned it, Glassyseas, Researcher.
It inspired a knot of fear in her stomach, the thought that they might want to research her friend, but she was out of options, and that might be what she needed.
Chapter Eight (70): Glassyseas
Her name was "The Ship Lists Slowly through Glassy Seas", and her birth had been an auspicious omen. Or that was what the sailors had told themselves, anyway. It wasn''t unheard of for a baby to be born ship-side, but most voyages were short and close to land, and most expectant mothers preferred to have their babies on land. Not her mother though, he hadn''t even known he was pregnant until the babe was lying in his rather confused arms. There had been some questions after that, which education should have already cleared up, but it was what it was.
The ship had become becalmed shortly before her birth, the wind dying down to almost nothing, leaving their ship drifting far off course, until there was nothing around them except water, smooth and shiny as molten glass.
It was exactly two weeks to the day from their initial stranding that the wind picked right back up and carried them back to shore, longer than any of the sailors had thought possible. It had been a lazy two weeks of swimming and fishing and worrying about water, and the sailors, initially confused and wary of the new babe in their midst, had by the end of it become quite fond of her, declaring her a blessing, rather than a curse.
Of her own part in the story, she remembered very little, but the crew had stayed together as she had grown, and her childhood had been one of boards and lines. The hum of magic all around her, permeating every breath, the whispering creaks of the living ship her lullabies.
That was why her current life rankled a little, being so far inland the roar of the waves was almost inaudible except for on the stormiest days, but you couldn''t sail forever, and the tides were always changing. The way they had done things when she was a girl wasn''t the way they did things now, and wouldn''t be the way they did things in ten years, and she had gracefully aged out of the profession, doing as all good sailors did eventually and settling down on shore.
She had always been strange for a sailor, anyway. She was even a little strange for a mage, and boy, did ship mages have a reputation.
She had gone to school at a later age than most, and that was a story all on its own, but the result of all of it boiled down to one thing: Glassyseas was trying to write a letter to an academic associate, and she had been struggling with it now for over a week.
The idiot man had some sort of new-fangled ideas for how to grow sails, which she didn''t agree with. He didn''t want to use the old method of cloth sails anymore, which was fine, the ships produced up north had been using grown sails for almost a decade now, but he had gotten together along with several others in what she considered her field and was now trying to modify the ship seeds of their own vessels beyond what they had ever been designed for, in some sort of misguided attempt to... She wasn''t sure, do better?
She was rather irritable about it, both because it was stupid, and because he hadn''t credited her at all in his latest paper, despite her being the superior source and the original teacher of half of the now-adult mages in his little group.
With an angry hiss, she rose suddenly to her feet, stabbing her pen into the desk, spearing through two sheets of paper, bending the tip irreparably out of shape and leaving it standing proud from the wood of the desk.
Maybe she should suggest that as a solution, she thought as she glared at it, the ink slowly seeping out from between the tines and soaking into the paper, absorbing the few words she had managed to write. A ship of polished metal, sailing on a sea of ink.
She was about to head to the kitchen, to see if there was anything for lunch, when the bell above her front door tinkled.
She really ought to remove that thing, she thought as she scrambled away from the desk. The sound of bells always still made her a little jumpy, even after all this time on land. A lifetime of ships and schools had merged to give her a sort of involuntary reaction.
It was because of this that, as her feet started to move, she also hurled the closest thing to hand at the door, if it was one of her students, then that should slow them down! Ships and Their Sails was a boring book, but a useful reference when you were trying to put down academic subordinates who were trying to do things way above their station, and a heavy one, when you were trying to slow them down.
There was a squawk as the book impacted its victim, she was a good shot after all, and then, just as she managed to escape through the back door, a whole rush of Something ran through her home, hissing across her skin like acid.
Stopped in her tracks for only a moment, Glassyseas turned around and marched right inside.
-
The damage wasn''t as bad as she''d feared, from that initial burst. Most of her books were old and set in their ways, dense and bound to survive the rigours of a hard life, and they had only crisped up a bit around the edges.
The floor, on the other hand, had been laid only the year before and the wood was still rather green. She had enjoyed that about it, the whisper of growth under her feet, but now, rubbing the shoots off it with her toes, now she wasn''t so sure it had been a great idea.
The area near the front door had been hit the worst, Ships and Their Sails was a goner, and everything a few feet into the room was still resettling itself, crumbling or creaking, finding its new equilibrium. Still, the wave was over, and anything of any value was up in the loft, kept safely locked away in an old sea chest, so she hadn''t lost anything irreplaceable.
She would miss some of the papers, but¡ Maybe it was for the best.
She frowned down at the young woman, who was crouched in the doorway to her home, sobbing, tears streaming down her face, one hand on her head, and the other trying to comfort what appeared to be one very upset dragon.
Well, this was different!
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-
It took a liberal application of handkerchiefs, half a pot of tea, the loss of an old dress suit ten years out of date and a small piece of liberally buttered pork, before the two of them were in any state to talk to her.
Littleshy gave a sniffle. The bump on her head had been healed, and should only be a distant throb now, but one hand still kept reaching up to touch it. "I just wanted to ask a question!" she gave another sniff, and rubbed her face with a fresh cloth, trying to scrub away the remnants of tears, "My pet lizard-"
Glassyseas gave a huff at that, "if that thing is a lizard then I''m a hammerhead, and you better throw me back in quick!"
This apparent non-sequitur got her a stare, and she rolled her eyes, "I didn''t spend my life at sea to not know what a dragon looks like, girl," she reached out to touch it, but the creature glared at her with sleepy eyes, baring sharp, cat-like teeth, "and I dunno where you picked it up, but you obviously have no control over it."
Littleshy glared at her, clutching the dragon to her chest, "she''s not a pet, she''s a friend!" well at least that was the right attitude, "and she''s-" another sniffle, "she''s sick and I dunno how to look after her and I''ve screwed it all up."
As the girl buried her face into the animal''s side, Glassyseas was struck suddenly by just how young her bludgeoning victim was. She was tall for her age, and her hands were those of a hard worker, but her voice and posture were at this moment those of a lost child.
In another academic, it might have sparked some display of empathy, but Glassyseas had always been good at ignoring that section of her own emotional scale.
"You''re gonna have to let me look at her then," she held her hands out patiently, until, with extreme wariness, Littleshy placed the animal into her hands. The teeth were still bared, but quiet words soothed its fear.
From the moment she touched it, she knew it truly was a dragon, if she had even doubted it before. It wasn''t like any animal she had ever held, and she had held a fair few of them over the years. Most of her professional life had been as a Growth mage, but she had done a fair bit of Change too, even if she didn''t have the artistic bent needed to do truly great things with it.
The thing in her hands was not an animal, it was pure, resonant, Magic. It was what you would get if you took a cat and pared it down to the essence of Cat, a dog to the essence of Dog, magic to the essence of Magic. It was lightning against her fingers, and, if she hadn''t already figured out what a terrible idea that would be, she could have written so many papers about this one moment alone.
With this amount of power behind her, she could have revolutionised the whole sailing industry. She could have grown whole buildings, whole cities.
Gently, and without words, she handed the dragon back, where it snuggled itself into the girl''s chest, Shifting itself until it was in the most comfortable position.
"I''m gonna need to know where you got it." Her voice was soft with badly concealed awe and the air in the shop around her was electric, filled with static. There was a ringing in her ears as if she''d been standing too close to cannon fire, and every hair on her body was standing on end.
"If the mother''s gonna come back for it, if they even have mothers-" a lot had been written about the supposed origins of dragons, but it was all speculation, "that can''t happen within the city. People will die."
Littleshy looked back at her, arms around the dragon still, unaware of the sheet power she held, and her face streaked with dried tears. "I don''t think she has a mother," she squinted in recollection, "the, uh, others didn''t know where she was from either¡" she trailed off for a moment, stroking the green-blue scales, "I was just a pin, hired to take her one place to another, I wasn''t meant to have her¡"
Glassyseas waited in silence, listening to the story and mentally cataloguing the damage to her shop as the debris behind her continued to shift and settle.
"-Then I was meant to take her to a boat-"
"A boat, girl? Like a canal barge, or a rowboat?"
Littleshy screwed up her face for a moment, pushing the tears back, before taking a deep breath and carrying on. "A ship, then, a blue one, it was in, uh," a moment to recall the location, "dock nine, by east-winds, almost two months ago now."
Glassyseas frowned, thinking this over. "Was it a Brig, flecked hull, with a seventh iteration-" the designation went on for a moment longer, but Littleshy''s expression showed that of the confused layperson, and she realised that line wasn''t going to cut it, "big ship, blue, captain arrested for kidnapping?"
"That''s the one," she nodded and clutched the dragon closer, if such a thing were possible. "He wanted to put her in a cage. I didn''t... I couldn''t. Not for all the money in the world!"
Behind her, one of the bookshelves collapsed, showering the floor with various journals and research texts, but whilst the two women looked up, the dragon didn''t react, face still buried in the girl''s chest.
"She was so active at first, but now," a small sniffle, "she just keeps sleeping. I can''t even get her to eat somedays. She used to fly and talk to me and now she just¡ Sleeps."
Littleshy closed her eyes, and took another deep breath, "I just wanted somebody to take a look at her, make sure she''s alright, you know, inside¡"
Glassyseas reached out and took the dragon from the girl''s arms with gentle hands, once again, looking for something other than magic this time. "What''ve you been feeding her?"
They conversed for a minute, about the diets of carnivores and herbivores, but her mind was only half on the conversation, the other half somewhere deep inside herself, listening to the voices only she knew how to hear.
The thing in her arms wasn''t, as she had assumed at that first touch, pure magic, that would be ridiculous, it was still a creature which required sustenance and love and affection, and as far as she could see, it was getting all of those things. Her cells were built correctly, as much as her body wanted them to be, and all the organs were in the correct places, as far as she could tell. The shifting, settling nature under her fingers was strange though. A being in flux, too full of its own power, the scales flickering between green and blue as she ran her hands over them, colours of the sea, above and below.
Nothing she did would ever be able to touch the sheer wonder that that tiny creature produced with every breath. Her body was a masterpiece, perfection in every scale, and Glassyseas couldn''t have Changed her if she''d tried. She also knew, instinctively, that any attempt to do so would have sucked her dry, draining her of all magic, perhaps forever.
They sat in silence for a while as she did her diagnostics, but in the end, all she could do was shake her head. "This is beyond me, I''m just a ship-mage, but-"
She stood, handing her charge back and turning around to face the wreckage, hands on her hips. "I can get you to a friend of mine, she might know better how to deal with this.
As she looked around the wreck of her front room, running a hand over her shaved head and searching for writing materials, she frowned, "I don''t suppose you have a pen?"
-
Out in the street, her dragon around her shoulders and a letter hidden carefully inside her shirt, Littleshy leant back against the shop wall, and let out a deep breath. Tomorrow there would be a ship leaving for the isle of Vocil, the largest of the barrier islands, and Glassyseas had already left to arrange her a place on board.
She would have to work whilst she was on board, no trip was free, but she would have food and shelter until they arrived at their destination. It would take almost a month, but together they would make it there, and there would be experts there who knew how to help.
There was no promise that they wouldn''t take her friend away, but what other options did she have, at this point?
With the thought like a sinkhole inside her stomach, she hoped the dragon would hold out that long.
Chapter Nine (71): LittleDragon
When she awoke, it was to the rocking of the ground beneath her. Or, a brief awareness, of the water.
She struggled against the sleepiness, fighting her way through the fog that consumed her thoughts, trying to fly blindly into wakefulness.
Opening her eyes, her worst nightmares were confirmed. They were on one of the Big Floats!
But it was ok, she was probably just still asleep. She dreamt sometimes, she understood dreams, and this was probably just one of them. Maybe, probably, hopefully!
A long keening noise was surrounding her, and after a moment, and at the running thuds of her mother''s feet, she realised it was coming from her own throat. She could feel the pressure of her Self building up inside her, but she held it back, she had spent enough lately, when they had been attacked inside the Ink Room. She didn''t want to hurt anyone or break the Float.
At least she was outside, she hated waking up inside, in the dark. The fresh air was much better, and as her mother reached down and lifted her up onto her shoulders, she forced her throat to close, for the noise to stop. People were holding their hands over their ears and staring, and anything that caused people to stare was bad.
Her mother was dressed differently than usual, her clothes were those of the Float Workers, and her hair, which had been growing long, was cut almost away. It made their neck colder, but ticked her nose less, so she was in two minds about if it was a good thing or not.
Still struggling to stay aloft above the clouds of sleep, she opened her eyes as wide as she could, and took in the view around them. It was as bad as she had expected. On all sides, there was endless blue water, deep with the reflections of the sky and shimmering in the daylight.
It must have rained the day before, and she could still feel the flecks of Other in the air. With a breath, she claimed some of them as Self, and felt a little better, but it was only a brush, a droplet of water for a dying tree.
She snuggled down to go back to sleep, and then stopped, examining that thought.
Was she a tree? Was she thirsty? She had eaten and drunk, when? A hunt through her disjointed memories told her, this morning. That was ok. Her mother had fed her the meat mush again, but she didn''t know if that had happened here on the Float, at home, or in the dusty place, everything was fuzzy with sleep.
She wasn''t thirsty, but she was thirsty. A frown, creasing the scales of her brow and causing her paws to clench and her claws to twitch where she had carefully stored them away, so as not to tear up her mother''s shoulders as she had in those first few days of life.
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With a sigh, she struggled to her feet, causing her mother to squawk a confused noise, as her posture was suddenly thrown off. The clouds were still below her, but for the moment she could fly above them, as long as she willed it. She was a Dragon, she could do better than this.
Concentrating harder than she ever had before, she dug her claws into the shoulder, wiggled her tail, spread her wings to their full size...
And dove into the sea.
-
Twenty minutes later she sat on the deck of the ship, sneezing the water out of her nose and being dried with a big piece of cloth. Two Float Workers were standing and barking quietly to each other, and her mother was scolding her, the air around her sharp with ageing fear.
She made another conscious effort to push herself above the clouds. She had discovered many things in her short trip, and one of them was that there were fish out there bigger than she was. Another was that she knew how to swim, but she wasn''t very good at it. The Float workers were better swimmers than her, in that they didn''t panic when they hit the wet. She had also learnt that she couldn''t drink seawater, and that what she needed might just be down there.
This was good. She was learning! Now if they''d let her have another go, she was sure she could get it this time!
-
After her second swim, they threatened to tie a rope around her tail, and her mother made it very clear that she would be locked inside the dark-inside if she tried again. If only mother could hear her words, it would make things so much easier! If only she herself could speak!
The Attacker, back in the Ink Room, had almost been able to hear, but she had been too exhausted by the loss of Self to attempt communication, sleepy and drained. Not that she believed it would have worked, nobody she had met thus far in her small life had known how to listen, but the faded memories of her birth had assured her it was possible, how else would they communicate, after all? She had thoughts, there must be some way of showing those thoughts to others, she only had to find it.
She needed to learn the barking language, to twist her brain into the right shapes, to learn to speak as people did, but she was afraid of what that might do to her. She was so small, what if she broke something?
With a huff, she pulled herself above the clouds again, she had been drifting whilst she wasn''t paying attention, almost falling back into the fog.
She had to stop being afraid. If something broke, then it broke, and that would be that.
One last glance at the wet, which was passing by at a worrying speed now, her paws on the wooden railing but her body being firmly held by her mother, she decided to go for it.
-
She hadn''t known her body could reject changes, that she could fail to form her Self into a desired shape, but apparently, that was the case! Her badly formed thoughts had taken hold for a moment, and then something in the air had snapped, and she was Herself again, small and blue and perfect, staring out at the passing ocean. She had managed to keep a hold of the Self at least, and she was proud to see that the railing beneath her paws was still intact.
The adrenaline was leaving her now, the rush of having made a choice retreating into the past. She would try again tomorrow, but, for now...
With a yawn, she sank back into the clouds of sleep, and let them carry her away.
Chapter Ten (72): Walking.
For the last time, they set down their tools, putting each one carefully away into its designated spot in the workshop. The room was tidier than they had ever seen it before, tools which had never had homes finally finding a permanent place to roost.
As they stood back and looked at it, it was a bittersweet moment. This was the shop they had always wanted, had always dreamed of as a young child, had coveted, by sneaking looks through back-doors and windows. It was the shop they had dreamt about at night.
It was the place they had always wanted to work, and now, at the tender age of only sixteen, they were leaving it all behind.
The shawl around their shoulders was thin calf leather, light and new and waxed to a soft sheen, and they had crafted the boots on their feet themselves, sculpting them perfectly to fit. They were the most comfortable shoes Lightsflash had ever owned, and would be even more so in a couple of weeks, once they''d worn in a bit. They had finished making them only that afternoon, and they still shone with the last application of wax.
The pack sitting by the door had strained their shoe-making prowess to the brink, but it was a joy of buckles and straps. It wasn''t large, but it was comfortable to wear and well-proofed against the weather. It had been a quiet project, pieced together over the course of weeks, using scraps and buckles not deemed fit for sale, but hard work had hidden those flaws and made it beautiful.
They were late though, and Slipheart would already be waiting for them at the Copper Ingot, the main pub in south-town, so it was time to leave. It wasn''t clear if the pub''s name was because of something that had been dug out of the ground during its construction, or because of the prevalent mining industry nearby, but either way, it served good ale and good-enough food, and that was all you needed.
They had packed light. Bedding, some food, a flask for water and some cooking utensils, but hopefully they wouldn''t be in the wilds for too long. Hunting was not an art either of them were familiar with, but it was spring, and there should be enough growing along the road to sustain them. That was the hope, anyway.
With one last look at the shop, serene and silent in the dusty morning light, they turned, and left.
The only sign of themselves left behind was a note on the table, sealed with red wax.
-
The Ingot, as the locals called it, was busier than usual, but that wasn''t a surprise. Tomorrow was the last day of spring, and for most of those in the city, it was a day off. Springs End was a day to visit families, to eat and to drink until you could eat and drink no more, before staggering to bed, ill-prepared for work the next day. Even the foundry would be closed, apart from a skeleton crew, and it would be the first and perhaps only meal of the year that many families got to eat together.
Lightsflash kicked their pack under the table and slipped into the seat Slipheart had held open for them, nodding in gratitude.
"You''re late." She smiled at them, pulling the pack further under the table with her foot.
"Yeah, sorry about that," they grabbed a glass and the jug from the middle of the table, and poured themselves a drink, "the old boot threw a last minute order at me, a gift for tomorrow or some shite."
She laughed, leaning back in her chair and glancing around the pub. "Figures. Bet he thought he could get you to work through tomorrow." She reached forward for her own drink, "You gonna miss it?"
Lightsflash shrugged, noncommittal. "End of an era I suppose. But there''ll be other shops."
They sipped their drinks together in comfortable silence, the shouts and chatter of the other pub patrons a halo of noise around them.
"Man," Slipheart said finally, placing her empty glass on the table and leaning forward onto her elbows, "I bet he''s gonna be /pissed/."
Lightsflash laughed and drained the last of their drink, "oh you have no idea, but by the time he finds out, we should be long gone."
She nodded, and pushed herself to her feet, pulling their backpack out from under the table, followed shortly after by her own. "Well, speaking of, we best be gone then!"
A nod and a moment of adjustments later, they were off.
-
Getting out of the city was easy, they walked. There were no walls, no guards or gates, no border checks or nosy neighbours asking their business. There was just the slowly spreading urban-to-rural sprawl of a city growing rapidly beyond its limits.
It was, as far as either of them knew, one of the safest cities on the continent. The acres of surrounding farmland and the military barracks somewhere off to the east protected it from anything that decided it no longer wanted to live that forested life.
There had been walls once, so Lightsflash had heard, but those had been long absorbed into the buildings and structures of the inner city, superseded and obsoleted by time and growth, with what was left worn to nothing by generations of rain and thievery.
Somewhere further inland was Copper Mountain, which was the biggest producer of copper in the country, if not the world, and the reason for the city''s rapid growth, but they weren''t headed that way. They were going to follow the road towards the coast, and, if they were lucky, there they could pick up a ship to take them further north.
-
"As far as I know, she lives alone," This conversation had been going on for a while, with Slipheart doing most of the talking and Lightsflash doing most of the listening, "never partnered or nothin, no kids, but I sent a letter so she knows we''re coming."
They nodded, one part of their mind watching the side of the road, looking for fruiting trees or bushes, the other half listening to her talk. They had only left the farmland behind a couple of hours before, but food-wise, the trees had been a disappointment so far. Spring was, it appeared, the wrong season, and on top of that, the road was well travelled, anything that was fruiting already stripped bare.
"You''re sure she''ll take us in, though? What if her life''s changed since you last wrote."
Slipheart brushed this off with a wide hand gesture, "Well she won''t have no choice, will she, once we turn up on her doorstep. ''Sides, who would just abandon a relative like that."
Lightsflash gave a noncommital shrug and adjusted their pack, one of the buckles digging in, "My feet are killing me," they changed the subject, "these shoes are great, but I was not cut out for this amount of walking. Have you seen any food so far?"
Slipheart rolled her eyes at them, spinning around with her arms out, "what weakness! Did you expect a walk to the shops? We''ve only been out here what, three or four hours?"
They grumbled something incomprehensible, even to themselves, and eyed up the trees again. If there had been fruit on them, Lightsflash would have thrown it at her, but alas, there was not.
-
That night they camped by the side of the road and ate their dinner cold. Their attempts to start a fire had gone about as well as their attempts to scavenge over the day, read: poorly. Shoe-making and carpentry skills did not translate well into wilderness survival.
"I''ve spent most of my life trying to avoid fires." Slipheart sighed, staring glumly at the pile of expertly shaved kindling, "didn''t even think to bring a sparker. Not sure we even have one in the house."
Lightsflash nodded, face just as glum, "me neither, my ma always set it back home, and the boss was too stingy with the coal to let us do it ourselfs."
Slipheart sighed again and stared down at her cold and somewhat inedible porridge. It would have been so much better if it was just a bit warm, but no, she couldn''t even have that. This was rubbish.
Neither banging rocks, nor rubbing sticks together had produced anything resembling a cook-fire, and they had given up.
They both stared at the kindling for a while longer, chewing on their food, as the light faded around them, then when it was almost too dark to see, they rolled themselves up into their blankets and tried to sleep.
The ground was rocky even with the new bedroll, and as they drifted off, Lightsflash considered that maybe this trip wasn''t such a great idea after all.
-
"Reckon your ma''ll have noticed yet?"
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It was the next morning and they were both cold and miserable, but they had survived the night. Without discussing it, they skipped breakfast. Today was a feast day, back home. There would be parties in the streets, and both their families would be sitting down now to luxurious spreads, the first fruits of the spring harvest, ready for the summer to come.
"Nah, thinks I''m at yours, or at work, yours?" Lightsflash asked, but it wasn''t a question more than it was an excuse to fill the air with sound.
Each family would be assuming that their wayward child was off at the other''s house. Their disappearances wouldn''t be noticed until late evening at least, or the next morning if they were lucky.
Slipheart swung her arms as she walked, smiling, and feeling a sudden flash of guilt, although, for what they couldn''t say, Lightsflash leaned over and bumped shoulders with her. She smiled and bumped them back in return, and they walked onwards together.
Lunch was the last of the rations they had packed, eaten shivering by the side of the road. They had expected to see at least some other travellers today, but it was eerily quiet, everyone at home with their families.
"It''s weird." Slipheart whispered, "I never heard such quiet before."
Lightsflash nodded, staring out along the deserted road and listening to the quiet birdsong. "I''ve been to like, the fields sometimes, but never outside the city like this¡"
"Think we''ll make it by tonight?" Slipheart''s voice was quiet as she climbed to her feet, pulling the rucksack back onto her shoulders.
"Bloody hope so, it''s too cold to sleep out here again."
With a nod and a pained grimace from Slipheart, the two of them set off once again.
-
"-You shoulda seen her face, oh man," Lightsflash laughed as Slipheart told the story, waving her arms around and walking backwards on the hard-packed earth. "Then my sister came in, and it got even worse, both her feet got stuck to the floor, and she didn''t realise until-"
This wasn''t a new story, but they laughed all the same, enjoying the day and the company. The weather had improved as time went on, and despite the muscle aches, the two of them were making good time. At least, Lightsflash hoped they were making good time, the last mile-marker had been several hours previous, and they hadn''t spotted another since.
They had hoped to hit the village before nightfall. It was a small place, and unnamed, as was the custom with all villages below a certain size, but called Willow Point by those who lived there. From there they should have been able to follow the paths along the new artificial channel until they hit the coast in a week or so. Easy doings.
It would be almost impossible for them to get lost, the road was a straight line between two points, and the village would be appearing out of the trees any moment now.
Any moment now.
-
"I think we''re lost." Lightsflash stared down into their cold porridge, resenting everything about it. They had been lucky enough to find water along the route, but that was it. Dinner tonight was supposed to be a meal in the inn, along with a comfy bed and human company.
"Next time," Slipheart mumbled, glaring into her porridge, "I''m bringing three fire-sparkers, just you see."
The daylight was fading, and what little light the waning moon put out was being blocked by the wall of trees that bordered the road. They had beaten their way through the growth line and into the woods themselves, and it was cool and sheltered, merely feet from the road.
"It''s dark and creepy here," Lightsflash whined, their voice sounding strangely muffled by the surrounding foliage, "feels like we''re somewhere people ain''t meant to be."
Slipheart nodded, and moved a little, rustling the dry leaves beneath her. "Think how long it must have been since rain touched this place, for the leaves to build up like this."
They nodded, "comfy though at least, hopefully."
They both patted the ground, and wished again they had a fire, but if wishes were sparks, the whole forest would have been alight by now.
With stomachs full of raw oats and water, they settled down to sleep.
-
The leaves did turn out to be more comfortable than the stony ground of the previous night, but they also turned out to be full of tiny insects, and Lightsflash woke up on the third day of their adventure covered in small bites. Slipheart on the other hand, to their jealous envy, had not a single one. Whatever special qualities her sweat had, the bugs didn''t like it.
With a groan, the two of them fought their way out of the brush. Lightsflash''s headache had been building over the past couple of days, and their head was throbbing fiercely with the morning sun, each bird sound a spike of pain.
"I would kill for a cup of tea right now," they groaned, picking twigs and bits of leaves out of their hair, trying not to scratch at the tiny bites up and down their arms, "this is the worst."
Slipheart sighed wistfully, staring into the morning sun with no care for her eyesight, "yeah, me too. I got some tea leaves, we could try chewing them?"
Lightsflash gave her a glare, or really more of a squint, with the headache, and then stared down the road, back the way they had come.
"You know, we could-" a hesitation at finally saying the dreaded words, "-we could turn around and, you know, go home."
She gasped at them, partly mocking, partly genuine, "You gotta be kidding! You''d have to face your boss, and my ma''d kill me, you know that!"
Lightsflash rolled their eyes, "she''d be insufferable for a bit, but it wouldn''t be that bad." They scratched at one of the bites, which was a little bigger than the others, was this what infection looked like? "She''d shout at you a load and then set you to polishing tables or some shit for the next week and that''d be it. Now my ma..." They shuddered in exaggerated fear.
The road behind them was straight and empty, bordered by the towering green, not a soul in sight.
"C''mon, your ma''s nice!" Slipheart laughed, starting walking, "besides, she probably ain''t even noticed you''re gone."
Lightsflash flinched, and then shrugged to themselves, following with reluctant steps, and all of a sudden not having quite as much fun. Looking back at them, Slipheart paused, realising she''d said something wrong.
"Ah c''mon, I didn''t mean it like that, she''s nice¡"
When Lightsflash didn''t respond, walking onwards down the endless road, she stopped for a moment to watch their body language, before jogging to catch up. Adjusting her pack with one hand, she caught up to them quickly and laid the other on their shoulder, bidding them to stop, "Hey, I didn''t mean it. You know that."
She pulled them to a halt, "Hey, is /that/ why you''re leavin''?"
They shrugged against her hand, but failed to dislodge it, forced to stop and torn apart inside, somewhere between anger and sadness. "I dunno, just... Just, just leave it alone, alright? It doesn''t matter."
Slipheart''s face was serious as she drew around in front of them, placing both her hands on their shoulders now. "I didn'' mean it. You know that. We can go back, if you want, go home."
"It''s ok." It was hard to look at her face, so they stared off into the trees to the side of the road, wishing they could keep walking and pretend this conversation hadn''t happened, "figured you knew anyway."
She shook her head, hands still on their shoulders. The heat of them was shocking in the cold air, and a part of them wondered how she had kept them so warm, when the weather was so stupidly cold.
"I knew shit was bad at home, I didn'' think it was that bad. I''ve known you since¡ Forever, and you didn''t say none of this." She seemed to hesitate for a moment, sucking her lower lip back in thought, "knew your boss was a prick, but didn'' think home was the bad bit."
"He wasn''t so bad, it wasn''t him" Lightsflash felt a sudden urge to defend him. "He did his best." as they spoke, they tried to think of a way to get her hands off their shoulders, so they could continue walking before the tears came. "Always paid me on time, and let me use the shop for my own shit, s''long as I cleaned up. Stingy with the heat, but whatever."
A shrug didn''t work to move her, and the next option would be walking into her and hoping she got out of the way in time, which they couldn''t see working. Couldn''t see much of anything, in fact, through their increasingly blurry vision.
A rogue sniff, and as Lightsflash wiped their nose on their sleeve, pretending their eyes weren''t watering, Slipheart took a step back. A moment later they were walking down the road again together, continuing their journey, almost touching, but not quite.
They stayed like that for a while, putting one foot after the other, wrangling emotions back into check.
"Home sucked," it was getting easier to talk, as the truth finally came out, "I used to come back at night and she wouldn'' have even made dinner. Didn''t stay up or nothin'' to make sure I was back. Durin'' the day, if I tried to talk to her, she''d just look past me, like I wasn'' even there. Wouldn'' even take my wages off me, I used to have to just leave ''em where she''d find it."
Slipheart winced, "your siblin''s didn''t step in, didn''t say nothin?"
"Nah," a breath, "Bluejay left years back, the others didn''t care, got their own shit to do, their own lives."
Ahead of them, the road ahead was green and bright, a beautiful spring day, and the morning air had a misty quality to it. It was made all the more surreal by the blur from their tear-filled eyes, "Bluejay tried to step in once, but she screamed him out and he never came back, ''cept for on the holidays, it was just me really."
They heard Slipheart sigh quietly, and somewhere in the forest behind them a flock of birds took off, scattering to the sky, "I don''t get it, she always seemed so nice with me. I thought you were leavin'' cause of work, not cause¡" a shrug, which was more felt than seen.
"Was easier to blame it on work, ''sides, you wanted to go, I figured I may as well come with."
She laughed, "Yeah, but I wanted to go cause I wanted na see the world, and my ma''s too overbearing to let me go but too stingy to let me work on anythin'' ''cept polishing. Not cause things were, you know, bad or nothin''."
They walked in silence for a minute, but it was more comfortable now. Slowly, the tears dried on their cheeks, leaving them feeling tight and hot, in contrast to the cold air, and they reached out, holding Slipheart''s hand.
-
"Do you know why she hated you so much?" they had been walking for a time in silence, but the question had been forming between them. "I mean, if you wanna say, takes a lot to make a ma hate her kid like that, normally."
Lightsflash shrugged, "I think she thought I was why the old man left." Another shrug, "we didn'' get along great, me and him, and the bloke she got to replace ''im didn''t like me neither."
They walked for a minute more, still hand-in-hand, collecting their thoughts before continuing, "we fought a lot, me and the last one, he didn'' like that I wasn''t bringing in any money, didn''t like that we were still payin'' for school."
Slipheart drew away and put her hands behind her head, thoughtful, "that was ages ago though, I remember him, and you''ve been working at the cobbler''s for what, two years now?"
"Almost three."
"Oof, and she''s still mad? When did the bloke leave?"
"Like," they had to think about it, screwing up their face and feeling like their cheeks might crack, "a month, maybe two after I started there? Couldn'' complain anymore once I left school and started bringin'' in money, so they scarpered one night."
They laughed suddenly, "nicked our best biscuit tin when they went too, petty piece of shit."
Slipheart laughed, "the one with the roses on?"
"Yeah, the new one doesn'' seal nearly as well, we''ve been through like four since then."
She grinned, "I can see why he nicked it then. But she really still won''t speak to you, cause of that?"
"I guess so." A sigh, it was strange to talk about it, after having lived in silence for so long. "It''s weird, I dunno if she even thinks about it anymore, it''s just¡ It just is, now. It''s how we live, and it sucks and I hated it, but I stopped tryin'' to get her to change."
Slipheart nodded, and then let out an exclamation, pointing. Ahead of them, the road opened up, the oppressive trees giving way all of a sudden to open fields and byres. In the distance, they could see small green houses, the taller form of an inn, and the blue line of the channel, glittering in the morning light.
"Guess we''re not lost anymore!"
Lightsflash shook their head, smiled, and rubbed one sleeve over their face, and together they set off, towards the promise of warmth.
Chapter Eleven (73): Moorheather & Brightfeather Go for a Walk
Summer was almost here at long last, the long harsh winter and damp spring finally giving way to the warmer months. It was time to air out the house, what little house there was, to throw open windows and pull all the bedding outside.
Later she would limewash the internal walls, it had been a couple of years since she''d last done it and they were growing grey with grime and soot.
After that, she would team up with the other women who lived in the complex and they would dig out the big copper kettle from where it lived in the back shed. It was rarely nowadays, used except for at exactly this time of year. Together they would throw in everything they owned, and it would be boiled until clean, banishing the mould and mildew of winter once and for all. The combined power of bleach and heat achieving what handwashing never could.
It was an exciting, and busy, time of year. In between the painting and the washing, she might stop in at the local school and see if they needed help, or she might take some cookies to her grandma. There was an old man at number seven whose wife had died over the winter, and he was struggling, so she might drop in there too, see if there was anything he needed. The other women wouldn''t mind doing his washing either, they had been taking turns keeping an eye on him.
Already she could see the lines being strung up across the courtyard, ready for the big wash tomorrow.
As she settled her basket on her arm and stepped out of the house, ready to go and buy paint Moorheather hummed happily to herself, because on top of everything else, tonight she was meeting up with Brightfeather.
Smiling, she thought of him as she crossed the courtyard, ducking under ropes and avoiding people too busy to get out of her way.
They had been together almost six months now, although not living together, and they saw each other at least three times a week, if not more often. He had bounced between jobs for a while, but at the moment he seemed to be stable, almost literally, as the job he had found was cleaning up after and looking after the dogs at the racing track on the other side of town.
He had lodgings there above the kennels, and although it was noisy, he claimed it was good work and he seemed fond of the dogs.
As she left the estate and headed towards the decorator, she thought of how he had changed over the past six months. His clothes were no longer ragged and too small, which was a little bit of a shame, but only a little. His hair, which had been lank and uncared for when she met him was now, well, not much different, but it was cleaner and fell around his shoulders in a way that she liked. He couldn''t grow a beard, but she was fine with that, she liked his face as it was.
His skin was still tanned and dark, and he still had a wild energy to him which made her heart flutter every time they met.
She bounced happily a little as she walked, thinking of the evening. It was her turn to provide dinner, so they had agreed to meet up at the Fish and Fin, a pub on his side of town. She knew the sister of one of the waitstaff there, who claimed the kitchen was clean, and who claimed the food wasn''t bad.
She had seen some kitchens in her time, and it was always good to get a confirmation before you started eating, rather than an hour afterwards.
-
They would eat dinner in the Fish and Fin, but she had picked up some little cakes for afters, as something for Brightfeather to take home with him, and she the paper bag under her arm as she entered the bar room.
The sight of him leaning on the counter still made her heart flutter, and she decided that no matter how he Changed in the future, she would always be able to identify him by that little jump, like the strike of a match, that moment where everything flared bright, before the flame caught and settled.
She had spent the day scrubbing down the walls of her home before applying the wash to the plaster, and as she walked, she could feel every muscle in her back, but right now, as he turned to smile at her, all that melted away.
Some rational part of her mind, if such a thing still existed, gently chided her that she might be taking this love thing a bit far, and that she should back up a bit before she got hurt. But that part of her mind was very small and rather quiet, so as she settled down onto the bench seat, she was happy to ignore it.
Life was good right now. Maybe it wouldn''t be in the future, life was always changing, but for now, it was good.
-
Dinner was simple; a small amount of cured meat, cheeses and bread. Talk between the two of them was ephemeral, what they had done that day, and what they hoped to do tomorrow. They spoke more for the sake of hearing each other than to convey any real information.
Moorheather recounted attempting to help the widowed man with his washing, only to discover that his hearing had gone over the winter and no matter how she shouted she only got nonsense in reply.
Brightfeather in his turn shared how one of the dogs had gotten free during training, and had gone three times around the track before they caught it.
"We gotta switch him out for tonight, the bookies weren''t pleased!" he spoke between bites, waving his fork around, "but he wasn''t hurt, so it''s all good, we switched him out for Blink, who was supposed to run tomorrow, so-"
There was a bit of dialogue over how the whole schedule had to change, which dogs had days off and which would be switched in if another was injured or sick, and Moorheather listened happily, whilst also considering that they both probably worked more than any of those dogs.
At the end of the meal Brightfeather smiled, and she felt her heart melt again as she gazed across the table. He made a ''wait'' gesture with one hand, and then rummaged in his pockets. A moment later he produced two paper tickets, he smiled a shy grin as he proffered them to her. "I got us tickets to the races tonight, you wanna go?"
-
The races were fun. She didn''t bet, Brightfeather wasn''t allowed, being deemed too much in the know, and she had never picked up the habit, but she enjoyed listening to him talk with confidence about the dogs. Which ones were running well, and which the trainers thought could do better. They made little informal bets between themselves, and she came away from the experience richer, if not in money, then at least in spirit.
Walking out of the tracks, the evening sun finally starting to fade, Moorheather looked around with interest. She hadn''t been to the track before, or even this side of town much, but she had heard it mentioned in conversation. The place had been built almost a decade previous by one of the local nobles, who had, unsurprisingly, made their fortune in breeding dogs. It hadn''t taken off as much as they''d hoped it would, but it had made enough money to keep itself going. In the years since, a small village of associated industries had built themselves up around it, selling everything from bets to dog food.
The streets were lit by old-fashioned oil lanterns, and they were busy even this late in the evening, as the two of them walked arm-in-arm away from the track. She could feel the coolness of his skin against her arm, and it gave her goosebumps.
Her great-grandmother had kept dogs, and there was a painting of one of them hung in her bedroom. It was a small thing, the size of a child''s hand, and Moorheather made a note to look at it when she got home. It had been around most of her life, but she couldn''t recollect ever looking at it with more than a passing glance.
She made a mental note to ask grandma about it, the next time she visited. She hadn''t gotten around to going today, but the weather tomorrow promised to be good, maybe she could go in the evening after the washing was done.
-
Lost in her thoughts and enjoyment of his touch against her arm, she was startled by an exclamation from Brightfeather, and then she was being pulled towards a brightly lit shop. From the looks of it, it had only just opened, and a small crowd was starting to gather around the open front.
"Look, look", he pointed into the shop, and she walked up to look, missing his touch. The front was open a the top, but the lower half was barricaded off with boards. As Brightfeather leant on the boards, staring down, she was startled by the joy on his face.
Curious, she walked closer and peered down to see what had got him so excited.
Inside the pen were a whole gaggle, a whole herd? She wasn''t sure of the terminology, a whole group of puppies. Different colours and different ages, they were running around the open floor, trading a piece of leather or wool between them, a child''s game. Their shapes weren''t those of the racing dogs they had seen earlier in the evening, she wondered at that. She didn''t know much about dogs and hadn''t expected there to be such variety.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
As she looked over them, watching them tussle and fight, one at the back, a sort of white and ginger colour, reminded her of the painting she had been considering earlier. Smiling, she pointed it out to Brightfeather and then tried to beckon it closer.
As she reached into the pen, the whole flock surged towards her, yipping and falling over each other, all fighting to be the first to get at and lick her hand, their toy forgotten in the scrum.
She pulled back before they could reach her, not enjoying the thought of their spit coating her hands, but she laughed all the same as they continued to yip and tumble at the boards. Brightfeather reached down and ran his hands over them with affection, but the one she had indicated stayed near the back of the pack, out of reach. It was a little smaller than the others, younger he said, and rather outcompeted by its friends.
He petted the writhing mass of dogs for a moment, before giving her a grin. Then, before she could stop him, he clambered over the barricade, earning himself a shout from the attendant, who she had previously failed to notice, and laughs from the others around them.
He waded confidently through the throng, not afraid of their noise or energy, before scooping up the little ginger and white pup and heading towards the back of the shop. The attendant, looking flustered, put aside the newspaper they''d been reading and walked up the greet him, but the noise was too loud for her to hear their conversation.
A moment later one of the mob grabbed the newspaper and ran off with it, inspiring laughs from those watching, and there was a brief tussle before it was retrieved by Brightfeather, all while the puppy he was holding desperately attempted to reach his face.
He played it up for a moment, waving the paper over the throng and letting them jump for it. They could achieve a surprising amount of height, but their landings left something to be desired, and after a minute of play, Brightfeather gave the laughing crowd a wave and disappeared into the back of the shop.
Moorheather hovered by the barricade, torn between following him, and her slight fear of dogs. They were friendly, she knew that, but there were so many of them, and despite their cuteness, they still had scratchy little claws and wet little faces. She had also thrown on a summer dress that morning rather than deal with the hassle of trousers and she feared they might tear up her legs.
She wondered what had caught his eye about it. What if he''d seen something wrong with it? A part of her grew increasingly more worried as he failed to return. He was soft like that, and working with dogs meant he knew all about them. He had helped with training the dogs in the circus, and he had once told her all their names, as well as the names of all the goats and ponies.
As she was finally convincing herself to either step over the barrier or to find her way around the back of the shop, Brightfeather reemerged. The puppy was balanced on one shoulder furiously licking his ear, and a grin on his beautiful face. She forgot her worried as she saw him, her stomach doing a little flip. She resisted the urge to wave like an idiot as he trotted over to her, and she helped him over the barrier, the other holding the puppy in place.
After a moment to adjust the dog, they continued their walk as if nothing had happened. She gave the puppy a confused look, which inspired a wriggling fit as it attempted to reach her, but it soon gave up, sighing and settling where it stood, held in place with one hand and watching with interest the passing sights.
It was such a tiny thing, she thought. Its floppy little ginger ears, its fluffy white body, and its strangely human eyes. It was a bit like a baby, and the burst of energy in had shown the shop was starting to wane, giving way to sleepiness.
Brightfeather caught her looking, and grinned, showing his teeth. "She''ll be a great hunting dog when she''s big." He patted the puppy on her head, and then had to take a moment to deal with the wiggling, "but we used to use this kind in the circus for tricks, so she''ll be smart enough to learn other stuff, too."
Moorheather nodded, "she''s very cute." She hesitated, not sure what to ask next. If he was going to show her or train her for hunting, or how he had afforded it. Even as somebody not in the know, she could tell that it wasn''t a breed designed for racing, those dogs were sleek and slim, the opposite of the bouncy little thing on his shoulder.
They walked in comfortable silence until they reached a dimly lit park. Somewhere along the way, the puppy had ended up in her arms, and she was admiring the softness of its fur and the feel of Brightfeather''s hand against hers as they petted it.
As they settled down onto a bench, under a flickering street lamp, she finally decided on her question: "What''re you gonna name her?"
Brightfeather blinked, before shaking his head. "She''s yours, you name her!"
Moorheather stared at him, and then down at the puppy in her lap, and then frowned back up at him. "I¡"
She stared back down at the puppy, and then back at him again, "what?"
He reached over and ran his hand over the dog''s ears, "I''ll help of course, ''cause you''re gonna have to train her a bit, but she''ll be a good dog when she''s grown."
Moorheather kept frowning, confused and somewhat speechless. "I don''t understand?"
She ran her hands through the fur, and the puppy snuggled its nose into her skirt, sighing with happiness. "I¡ But it''s yours, you bought it, didn''t you?"
He shrugged, "I got some money from a mate the other day," a wink, "she made some good bets and gave me a cut, don''t go telling."
He gazed down at the dog and his expression was distant, "I never had a need for money, once I had food and somewhere to sleep. It''s been a bit different, livin'' here, but not so much." He hesitated, "She''ll be a good dog."
He stared down at the puppy and his grin faded into worry.
"You don''t want her?" He bit his lip, "I can take her back if you want. The owner knew me from the tracks, he''ll take her back if I ask. I can''t keep her at work, the runners would knock her about too much and we don''t have a spare kennel."
Biting his upper lip, he reached for the puppy and started to stand, "I''ll take her back, I shoulda asked, I just thought-"
Moorheather shook her head, heart jumping at the thought she might have upset him. She held on to the pup as he reached to take it, causing it to bite gently at her hand, "it''s ok, it''s fine. I was just surprised, was all."
What was she saying, she knew nothing about dogs, but the look on his face and the uncertainty in his voice were breaking her heart. "I can take her to work with me, or one of the women''ll look after her."
She ran through the scenarios in her mind. Most of the pubs she had worked at had a basket in the corner, she could teach it to sleep there, probably. She would have to watch that it didn''t fall into the canal, but it should be safe enough. She cleaned houses two days a week, but that would be fine, she could take it with her and the owners would never know. They were always out whilst she worked anyway.
She frowned down at the sleeping animal, working all this out in her head, while Brightfeather danced from foot to foot, unsure of what to do with himself.
Gently, she ran a hand over its head. Its skull, her skull, their skull, was so small and fragile. What if it got into an accident, or hurt, what was she going to feed it, where would it sleep? She would have to find it a bed.
"It''ll be fine," she murmured, lost in thought, "I''ll make it work."
"I''ll come back to your place and help, if you want." Brightfeather''s voice was small, and she looked up at him in surprise. She had been so consumed by her thoughts that she had almost forgotten he was there.
At some point, he had shoved his hands into his pockets, and he looked more unsure than she ever remembered seeing him. Not even on that first day, where she had watched him hover around the edges of the square, working himself up to coming over.
Mind made up, she nodded to herself and scooped the dog up into her arms, not as confidently as Brightfeather might have, but she was getting the hang of it, would get the hang of it.
This was fine.
-
There was no streetlighting on her side of town, but she knew the area well, and they made it back to her home with no incidents. Somewhere along the way, Brightfeather had gone back to carrying the puppy, holding it in his arms like a baby, and she watched him as they walked, thinking.
"So dogs sleep at night, like humans," he explained, "and she''s old enough to eat regular food, you''ll have to get some meat for her. She needs different food to the runners, but I can give you a recipe for what we used to feed the circus dogs-"
The night was dark and still around them as they walked. In previous places he''d been they would have been able to walk above the shops and houses, but not here, and Moorheather wondered what that would be like, to be amongst such wildness so late at night. The town wasn''t lacking in vegetation by any means, but the land had always been scrubland. Cold winters and bedrock close to the surface meant that there wasn''t the substrate to support forests like there was further east.
"Have you thought of a name for her?" Brightfeaher asked, and she was startled out of her thoughts, staring down at the small bundle of fur in his arms. What would be a good name? She had never had a pet before, not even a cat or a bird.
Moorheather opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, as names flew past her. Ginger was too generic, too easy. Silky, Soft, and Sweet all too much alike, descriptors, not names.
Frowning, she almost tripped, but she was caught by Brightfeather, and her heart skipped a beat at both the thought of dropping it, and his hand on her arm. All thought of names left her for a moment as she leant into him, thinking of things she liked. Biscuits, Candles, Brightfeather, Teapots and Tealeaves.
She frowned at that last one. It was a stupid name, and it was a human name, anyone who heard her shout it in the street would look for a child, not a dog, and she would keep having to justify it to people.
She dismissed the thought and ran her mind through different things as she walked, things she liked and names she had heard in the past. It was as they were crossing the courtyard outside her home that it came to her.
"Her name is Peanut."
Brightfeather scrunched up his face in thought. She had said it as one word, not as a name, and it didn''t sound like a real word.
"I know the words seperate like," he spoke slowly, "but what''s a Peanut?"
She hesitated, "I think it''s a sort of berry that grows in the south? I learnt about it in school, small animals eat them."
He nodded as if this was sage wisdom, and not a half-remembered tale from her childhood. "It sounds small. Peas are small, and she is a small dog."
They continued their walk across the courtyard, ducking under the washing lines, almost invisible in the dark.
She passed him the dog, and he waited as she opened the door and lit the candles, before pushing his way in, opening the door with his shoulder. He hadn''t been here much, and it made her feel happy and fluttery that he was sharing her space, a mood only heightened by the lateness of the night and the hushed surroundings.
As the door closed behind him and the room darkened, now only lit by the candles, she wondered if this was what Changers felt when they talked about magic. The sense of something unseen in the air, more a mood than a tangible thing.
Unsure of himself, Brightfeather hovered by the doorway for a moment staring into the middle distance, before pulling himself back with a start and moving towards the armchair near the stove. It was a stuffy old thing, but comfortable, and he carefully deposited the sleeping puppy onto the cushions.
"Careful you don''t sit on her," he warned, and his voice seemed muffled in the darkness. "Little Peanut."
He breathed out through his nose, staring down at her shrouded shape, almost invisible in the dark recesses of the chair, the brightness of her fur fading into the darkness if she looked directly at it.
"I''ll come back in the mornin''", he sighed, and reached down and ran a hand over the dim form one last time, "make sure everything-"
He stopped as her arms wrapped around his waist from behind, and she smiled at him as he turned, his face so very close.
It turns out, there''s no need to come back if you''re already there.
Chapter Twelve (74): Walking
It was several days since her stop in the fishing village, and her destination was almost in sight. Whistlecork had been walking for almost a month, following the coast road north, where there was road to follow, anyway.
At low tide, she would often walk along the shoreline, but currently she was forcing her way through dense woodland, steep sea cliffs to her right, and miles of unexplored forest to her left. She would have had an easier time if she had gone further inland and taken the trade road, but it was a huge detour, and besides, that would defeat the point.
It wasn''t about the destination, it was about the journey.
At least, that was what she told herself, as a branch smacked her in the face.
Still, adventure or not, having a destination always helped. For that reason she had at the bottom of her pack a small pile of letters, picked up from various villages and settlements along the way. She would pass them on to the post office in the next city she came to, a place named Hollow Ridge.
Hollow Ridge had been a mining town once, in the distant, distant past, but that industry had long moved on, leaving a quiet and sparsely populated city, with a broken, cratered mountain looming above it. Still, current economic situation aside, it had been a boomtown once, and it was well situated for travellers, which was why it was also the first place she had been in a long time that had an actual Dragon park.
None of the letters were destined for anything as fancy as that, of course. Most of them were addressed to estranged children and relatives, those who had moved to find a better life, but it was a mark in the place''s favour that it was even a possibility.
As for herself, she was looking forward to a soft bed and good food.
The night in the fishing village had been her only one indoors in at least two weeks, and the Spring weather was taking its toll on her gear. It wasn''t advisable to travel outside of the summer months for exactly that reason, but she had never been fantastic at taking advice.
Idly, she mused about what she might see in Hollow Ridge, and the shopping opportunities ahead of her.
She would have to buy some wax and see a leatherworker about a small hole in her backpack, where the weatherproofing had failed. The buckles were solid copper, and resistant to the weather, but she needed to find some cleaner for those too. Hopefully, she would also be able to buy a map of the city, if not one of the whole area.
Over the past few years of travel, she had become somewhat obsessed with maps. She loved the sheer variety of them.
Often she would find that two villages a mile apart would give her completely different maps, and it fascinated her to see what different people considered important.
A chart from a fishing village would be more sea than land, detailing the crags and caves of the sea cliffs, marking out each individual rock, with the land little more than an afterthought. A mile into the forest, it would be the complete opposite, the sea cliffs a straight ruled line, but each road and each interesting tree marked out with exacting care.
She was looking forward to seeing what a Dragon city offered in the way of maps. Would it be one of air, of scale? Would it mark out rest stops and cover miles, or would it be only of the locality, the scale of a dragon''s flight too massive to ever fit on a single sheet of paper.
With a spring in her step, she upped her pace. She should be able to see the mountain soon, and after that, it should only be another day''s walk.
As for the maps, she looked forward to finding out.
-
By dusk, her path still hadn''t cleared. The forest here came right up to the cliff edge, and if she had been at the bottom, she thought she might have been able to see the mats of their roots layered throughout the face, one of the few things stopping the land from crumbling further into the ocean. She had hoped there was walkable shore down there, but lying on her front and peering over the edge, all she had seen was a sheer drop into rolling sea.
As she pushed another branch out of the way, searching for a place to settle down for the night, she considered how amazingly varied landscape could be. It wasn''t something she had thought about before she started her journey, but it was something she had come to enjoy.
In the past year, she had seen everything, from high cliffs to sandy beaches, to so, so many trees. She had tried keeping a map of her own when she first started walking, but she had no training in the matter, and it came out a rough thing, all out of scale. She had given up, burning her attempts for kindling, and instead, she held onto the vague idea that she might one day take her whole collection and merge them together as best she could, making one huge map out of many, many small ones.
For now, she purchased all she could, and then, every now and again, she would send them home, when they became too much to carry. She wasn''t sure what her parents did with the maps, once they were there, but she imagined, with a smile, they were dumping them on her childhood bed, heaped in an evergrowing pile.
-
Camping under the trees wasn''t ideal, but as the light faded, she got lucky. One of the maps she had picked up two days earlier had marked a large pit around where she thought she might be, and investigation had revealed it to be a dried lakebed.
She settled down at the edge of the treeline, set up her bedroll, and was now attempting to make some dinner.
From what she had seen, before the light faded too much for her to make it out, there might have once been a settlement or farm here. But the encroaching cliffs had caused the lake to drain, and whoever lived there was long gone, their house likely long gone to earth.
Most people, who had never been away from home, imagined that you had to fight your way through the forest with a machete. They imagined that it was like an overgrown garden, but, while she didn''t want to say that never happened, most of the time it was easy enough to navigate. Places like this, small farms and forgotten villages, were more common than you might expect.
It was the things which lived in the forest that you had to watch out for, that was what made it dangerous.
She resisted the urge to move further out, to sit under the moonlight and sleep under the stars. Here was much safer, on the edge of the treeline, where she could merge away into the shadows should something terrible emerge.
Most of the time it was wolves or other, mundane predators, but twice in the past, she had been taken over by the urge to move, for reasons she could never put into words, and she trusted those instincts.
It had taken her a while to clear the leaves enough that she could make a small cookfire, and even then she had to be careful, making sure there was no way the sparks could catch and set the whole forest alight. That happened once a decade or so, and small villages and farmsteads were often lost to it.
She poked the small fire and added an extra piece of kindling, angling her head so that she could see the reflection of the moon in the water, pretending she was boiling it alongside her beans.
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She had a short bow she carried behind her pack, and she often used it to take down small game, but she had settled down late tonight, and further inside the forest than she was comfortable with, so she was keeping the fire small and hadn''t had time to hunt.
She should write a letter to her sister, she hadn''t written in a while. It would be good to let her know how things were going. She wouldn''t get a reply, obviously, but it was nice to keep in touch.
She nudged the fire again, the beans were slow to cook tonight.
Perhaps she could work her way inland, she considered, once she''d seen Hollow Ridge. She had been aiming to follow the cost until the Turning Point, far, far to the north, where it never got warm and few people lived, but a detour wouldn''t cost much.
At the pace she walked, Turning Point was years away, and her sister''s home was sort of on the way. Halfway along the flat coast of the continent was the place where the sea became the land, a huge tidal river and estuary, the Mere. If you followed it inland, eventually you would come to Lushgrave, the biggest city in the world, and the seat of royalty. Her sister lived in a small town, miles out from there, but she would love to visit on her way past.
With a sigh, she rummaged in her pack until she found her writing paper, dip pen and the small bottle of ink she kept wrapped in her winter scarf. She had used a fountain pen at first, but the first time it had leaked she realised her error and switched over, she would have had to carry the ink either way.
She was carefully slotting the nib into the wooden body, keeping an eye on her boiling moon and thinking about what she would write when, for a moment, the image disappeared.
She blinked at it, and then leant out of the tree line a little, squinting up. Yep, it was still there, the brightness of it blotting out everything else and ruining her night vision, until it looked like a mirror, hanging in a sea of darkness.
She frowned upwards for a moment, and then, placing her pen and papers down, nudged her fire, banking it so it was as small as she could make it, without it going out.
The crashing of the sea was still audible off to the east, but muffled by the vegetation, and Whistlecork wondered if she should pack up her camp and move.
No, it was too dark. Worst case scenario, she would go straight over the cliff, and nobody would ever find her body, best case, she ended up cold and miserable somewhere on the cliff edge. It would be fine.
-
She was halfway through her letter, and most of the way through her beans, when the moon blotted out again, casting the world into darkness for a moment.
Whistlecork didn''t panic, there was no point in that. Instead, she folded the letter- hoping it didn''t blot into unreadability- wiped the nib of her pen on the hem of her shirt, and then poured the remains of her soup over her small fire, listening to the hiss and crack of the rapidly dying embers.
The full moon still shone down on her as she packed her belongings back up in silence, listening with care to the noises of the forest.
There was no sound at all. There were no cracks of branches or whistles of sleeping birds, no noise of footsteps or swooping wings, absolutely nothing. The only sounds she could hear were her own heartbeat, the hiss of the fire, and the distant crashing of the ocean.
She was pulling her pack over her shoulders and rubbing out the remains of the fire with her foot when it landed. Well, landed is a strong term, crashed might be better.
She instinctively shrank back into the tree line, crouching down to make herself smaller, as branches above her cracked and broke, showering her in debris. Around them, birds scattered and cried, woken from silent sleep.
On the edge of the lake bed, the bird floundered around on the forest floor, breathing laboured breaths and trying unsuccessfully to stand, making quiet keening noises as its lungs worked overtime.
A few minutes of watching, and it calmed a little, failing to stand and instead choosing to lay in the clearing. It was clearly recovering from some exertion, although she couldn''t begin to guess why.
She should have left, snuck away while it was distracted, but something held her in place, those same instincts which had told her to run in the past.
Instead, she stayed and observed. The moon above her was almost full, and its light gave her a good view of the animal. Its feathers were unkempt in the moonlight, clean, but ragged, and it seemed thin and underfed. Was it an escaped pet, maybe? A hunting bird or mount from some noble''s estate.
Whistlecork bit her lip, considering what to do.
She could leave, and report its location in the morning when she made it to Hollow Ridge, but chances were it would already be gone by then. If it was an escapee from one of the local estates, then there would be a reward for its return, but you never knew the temperament of these things. It might follow her through the forest like a child, or it might take her arm off at the first opportunity.
In the clearing, the bird seemed to finally regain itself, and staggered to unstable feet, testing each leg for injury.
From her observations, it wasn''t a creature which was meant to land often, with feet the wrong shape for walking, and unstable with exhaustion, but it made do. First, it checked the dry lake bed, and then, shaking itself out, limped over and checked the remains of the fire.
Whistlecork didn''t move, frozen in place, trusting in the shadows of the trees to hide her presence. Now it was closer, she could see it had something wrapped around one leg, a chain, which jingled as it walked. That reassured her that it was an escapee of some kind, rather than your bog-standard monster.
It nuzzled at the remains of her fire with its beak, carefully nudging at the beans from her soup, and she wondered if it was hungry, it certainly didn''t look well.
Domesticated animals rarely did well in the wild. Somebody had abandoned a pregnant cat near their home when she was a child, and the thing had attempted to raise its kittens in the forest. They had only found out when one of them wandered in after a storm, covered in fleas and sick with magic poisoning.
They had nursed the kitten to health, and as far as she knew, he had rarely gone outside again, having decided that once was enough for that lifetime.
She thought of that cat as she crouched in the woods, watching the bird. It held one of its wings tight against its side, and she wondered if it had been injured in the crash, or if it was an old injury. It didn''t look broken, from where she sat, but she didn''t know much about birds.
Her main worry had gone from that the animal might attack her, to that the noise might attract other, worse things from the forest. It had caused quite a ruckus when it came down, and she could still hear the birds resettling themselves.
Making up her mind, Whistlecork rose to her feet, shook the debris out of her hair, and took a step forward, hand outstretched.
The bird jumped back, to her surprise. She didn''t actually think that it hadn''t seen her, only paces away, she had assumed it was simply pretending not to see her.
Still holding her hand out, she took another step towards the bird, which was now frozen in place, staring at her with wild eyes.
This close, she could see that the chain around its leg was copper, green with corrosion. Copper was resistant to magic and difficult to break, but it looked like it had been there a while. Whoever owned the bird had either been afraid of it being stolen, or the animal itself had some sort of inherent talent for Change. It wasn''t unheard of, especially in the sort of animals the nobility bred, but it wasn''t usual either.
Her father had once had a lizard which could change the pattern of its scales, to blend with a background. It had been debated whether this was magical or if it was some inherent property of the creature''s biology, but nobody had ever come to a definite conclusion.
As she held out her hand to the animal, taking slow, careful steps forward, she considered what she had in her pack, that she might lure it with. It was too late in the day for her to hunt, and the shape of the beak indicated that it was a meat eater, but she had half a block of cake left, maybe that would be ok. It had been interested in the beans, after all.
It was with gentle, coaxing words, that she finally placed her hand on the animal''s side. It skipped back a step at her touch, but then accepted the next one, holding itself still with sheer force of will. She could feel it trembling violently at her touch, and its gaze was still wild, but it seemed willing to accept her presence.
The whole time she made small sounds, nonsense babble, the sort of thing you would coo at the sight of a new baby.
As she ran her hands down its sides, she tried to remember her small experiences with hawks and owls. She hadn''t been into the mews much, it being deemed too dangerous for a child, but she had stroked the birds sometimes, and her sister had raised an eyas once, all the way from hatch to hunt.
Slowly, it relaxed under her moving hands, allowing her to check for injuries. The chain around its leg was held on with a lock she had no way of breaking. It would have to be chiselled off, looking at the high level of corrosion on it. Cheap junk, they should have plated it in gold, but it was too late for that.
Other than that, it didn''t seem injured, or whatever injuries it did have, none of them were breaks. The leg was going to be a pain, the chain too tight, and there might be problems with the wing she was incapable of diagnosing, but the main issue seemed to be one of starvation, more than anything.
With slow movements, she turned away and rummaged through her pack for the cake, the bird''s eyes on her the whole time. She would have to hunt in the morning, pick up a rabbit or two, and then try and find the owner at Hollow Ridge.
That seemed like a good plan, and once it was over, her sister would enjoy the tale.
Chapter Thirteen (75): Court
Dinner came that night, along with a couple of hours'' worth of light. There was small conversation over a thick stew, and then they both tried to sleep.
The next morning greeted them with storms light through the small window. Rain had come while they were sleeping, but it had passed now, taking his anger with it and leaving him feeling drained and empty.
Breakfast was the same as dinner, but stewed longer and with a few added vegetables, if the place was run anything like the military barracks he had lived in, he reckoned the pot had been on that stove longer than half its tenders had been alive. The taste of it was strangely nostalgic, as he stared down into the wooden bowl.
They finished up their meal and were placing the bowls by the door, when with a rattle of keys, the door swung open, almost taking out Brickwrath, who swore like a navvy at the injustice.
There was a brief standoff as the silent guard indicated that they were to follow, and then with a shrug, they both left the cell.
He hadn''t been active on the local council, but he had attended a few meetings and read the newsletters. The council ran the city, which included paying for and running its own justice system, with the final say on laws coming from the monarchy and their parliament.
Although he wasn''t sure what was going on with that, there were rumours of a change up at the top, possibly a death? He had been rather out of the loop for the last couple of years, only aware that anything was up due to letters from old colleagues.
After the council, there was the army. They ran their own justice system, but both he and Brickwrath were outside that now, they should be dealt with by the civil courts.
He had had a lot of time to think the night before. If it was the post office which had an issue with them, they might have had their own system, interconnected with the others. He knew they worked with the army sometimes, and they weren''t short on money.
They weren''t handcuffed or chained as the silent guard led them away, but that didn''t mean much.
It had been dark when he''d been dragged here, and part of the journey had been by carriage, but going off the shape of the window and the age of the building, they were somewhere near the river, on the edge of the industrial district.
A grey place, built for scale rather than longevity, with poor workmanship meaning this building would be scrap and dust within the next decade. What a waste of resources.
Halfway down the corridor, another guard joined them, leading the woman he had met on the road¡ Lillies? Eleph¡ Elegantlillies?
He struggled to remember, she had been rather standoffish and he had been in the middle of a very stressful journey at the time.
She nodded at them both as their groups merged, and they nodded back, unsure if they were allowed to speak. Nobody had told them they couldn''t, but nobody had told them they could, either. It was all very out of order.
As she joined their pack, he caught her eye, and with a sinking heart, realised she was eyeing up the guards.
No, he thought to himself, she reckons she can take them out.
Not that he had any doubt that she could. They weren''t armed, as far as he could see, and she was a head taller than anyone else here, but it probably wouldn''t go well for them afterwards.
Silently he pleaded with her not to make things worse, and, catching his desperate gaze, she made an eye-rolling gesture, falling back into line. Much to his, and, he saw, the relief of the guard who was with her. They really ought to cultivate a better poker face.
It took them several minutes to reach their destination, walking through a maze of corridors, past endless rooms and offices, all deserted at this time of the morning.
"If they''re taking us through the soft bits," Brickwrath murmured as they walked, "they can''t keep many prisoners here."
He nodded in agreement, and Elegantlillies frowned down at the two of them. The guards said nothing, simply keeping up the pace.
Finally, they got there, one of the guards striding forward and pushing open a wooden door. It wasn''t any different from any of the others they had passed, appearing to be another office. The other guard then shooed the three of them in, before the two of them sighed in relief and settled down outside to wait.
It was an office, but it was a large one, and for a moment Windwashes thought it was a library before his mind took in the furnishings.
Directly ahead of them on entering was a desk of dark wood, strewn with papers. Arranged around it were three chairs, upon which sat three people, all wearing deep blue uniforms. Ah, it would be the post office that had pulled them here, then. That was one mystery solved.
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The wall to their left was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, made of the same dark wood as the desk and built into the structure of the building. Those shelves contained more literature than he had ever seen in one place. To the right of the desk, the room seemed to turn into a library, rows of shelves masking how deep it went, but it couldn''t be too far back, maybe three or four rows of head-height freestanding shelves.
There were, he noted silently, no chairs for the three of them.
Behind them, the door shut with a click, and he considered if sitting on the floor would get him into trouble.
-
It took the person behind the desk quite a lot of shuffling before they were ready to speak, and Windwashes considered that this was probably done on purpose, to set them on the back foot, or to see if they incriminated themselves before they were even officially on trial.
With a sigh, papers all in order, the figure behind the desk stood, glared at them, and finally told them why they were there.
"You," She pointed at him, "''The Wind Brings Rain, Washing the Land Afresh'', are being charged-" she hesitated, and then giving a little sigh, consulted the paper in front of her, before continuing, "with the theft of the dragon ''Crests the Skies on Wings of Knowledge''. Henceforth known as ''Crests'' because I''m not saying that every bloody time. In your vile act of theft, you have caused damages to the scale of-"
She listed off some insane number, and beside him, Brickwrath barked out a laugh, "you could build a city for that!"
She glared, pushing herself forward on the desk and pointing at him, "Shut up, you, we''ll get to you in a moment."
Behind him, Windwashes more felt than saw as Elegantlillies placed a hand on Brickwrath''s shoulder, which was a feat he hadn''t thought she could manage without bending down.
The woman behind the desk started talking again, focusing her gaze back on him and taking a deep breath, "How do you plead?"
Windwashes considered this, trying to ignore the rolling in his stomach. Being glib had never got him far in the military, but the number she had quoted was, truly insane. If that was true, he was fucked either way. As far as he knew the dragon wasn''t injured when he returned it, but he had been kinda out of it when they got back, and he hadn''t had much in the way of communication with¡ Well, anyone since then.
"Uh," he started, "I didn''t exactly steal it-"
"Him," the woman behind the desk glared at him, and he winced.
"I didn''t steal him," he corrected, "you were gonna send him out anyway, I just saved you, you know, a trip to the orphanage."
He thought about this, then spoke quickly, "if there even is an orphanage. You guys weren''t too clear on that, and I know most of the buildings here, and I don''t remember ever seeing-"
"There is one." Brickwrath cut in, "small place, miserable little windows. I saw it about a half-decade back when I came through." He frowned, "Wait, we are in Oakenge right?"
Windwashes nodded, and he made a snorting noise, "if I''d known you were living this close, I would have visited!"
Windwashes gave a brittle smile, as the woman behind the desk glared at them both, waiting for them to finish their conversation with barely concealed anger.
"If you''re quite done. ''I didn''t steal him, guv!'' is not an answer. Not only did you take unauthorised posession of," she hesitated, "the dragon. But then you also sent him out again, unauthorised, to retrieve,"
She frowned down at her papers, shuffling through them for a moment, before giving up, "These two. Your names aren''t important."
"I dunno," muttered Brickwrath, "I''m kinda fond of mine."
She looked like she might explode if this went on any longer, her eyes narrowing at their casual attitude. "Weren''t you two in the military, I have it recorded here," she tapped a random sheet of paper, "that at least one of you outranked me, at least at some point. Can''t you keep your mouths shut for a moment?"
Windwashes frowned, and then pointed at Brickwrath, who frowned and pointed back, shaking his head in denial.
Behind them, Elegantlillies huffed a quiet laugh, and the woman at the desk continued to talk.
There were three other people in the room, apart from them. Two people sitting on the chairs placed to either side of the desk, and a third was standing up, leaning against one of the bookshelves that made up the library section of the room. He hadn''t noticed them when he entered, but it was possible they had been hiding amongst the books.
Windwashes squinted at the one to the left, they looked familiar, but he couldn''t place their face. They certainly had a look going though, and he was pretty sure he''d remember if he''d met them before.
"-and so-" he realised he''d been zoning out and struggled to find the flow of the conversation again. "-held up for an extra week, not to mention the damage done to the city by the storm he caused-"
"Wait a minute-"
"Damage which can be measured in the sum of-" she quoted another absolutely bonkers number, and his mind went blank for a moment, imagining how many orphanages that would fund. "-which is beyond our capacity to deal with. You will be shipped down to Lushgrave and tried at the royal court, under your own expense, of course."
Windwashes considered this in a sort of fugue state, while the other two started up a shouting match behind him.
"You can''t do that-"
"Under who''s authority-"
It was nice to know they had his back, he thought, as the lead weights in his stomach continued to solidify. There hadn''t been an execution in years, he was gonna be famous. Would they hang him in the streets like in the olden days, or would it be a private ceremony? Maybe they would send him inland to do forest clearance, or to mine mercury or something equally miserable.
They needed workers for the canal projects, maybe he could get good at digging ditches.
Somebody would have to tell his partner, she was going to be so angry. There was a pang of guilt, as he thought of leaving her alone, but it was a faraway thing. He was drifting free, as the shouting continued around him.
Ah, the one in the chair, he remembered them now, the strange one from the park, who had told him he could adopt the child. He nodded at them in recognition, and they raised an eyebrow at him in response.
Their face had been so different then, odd, it was unusual to Change yourself so much at such an age, but, who was he to judge?
The one who had been leaning on the bookshelves was shouting now as well, as Brickwrath attempted to clamber onto the desk, struggling a little with both his short height, and the woman behind the desk, who was tossing papers at him and shouting.
Windwashes watched the scene for a moment, drifting on a sea of clouds, and then, with a sigh, he turned around, and simply walked away.
Chapter Fourteen (76): Whistlecork
They couldn''t sleep, not right away. The forest was still buzzing with energy from the crash landing, and Whistlecork was torn between trying to find a safer refuge, and not sleeping.
After some dithering, she gave up and settled back into the treeline, moving her camp and working on getting the fire relit. She was running low on matches, another thing to add to her shopping list.
She was a little worried that the bird might spook at that first match strike, but it only flinched once, setting down against her side. She noted that it seemed used to fire, and seemed calm as she worked, although still shivering a little.
It devoured the last of her cake, down to the crumb, and she smiled as it took each piece of fruit from her hand with surprising gentility.
As she stared into the fire, she wondered where it had run away from. It was tame enough that she wondered if it was the victim of a theft, rather than a runaway. It was always possible it was an abuse victim, seeking a better life. When she was younger, she''d had a friend, whose father was known to take his anger out on both his family and their dog. One morning they had woken up and the animal was gone, no trace. Her friend had blamed it on the father, he had claimed nothing of the sort, and it had created a rift between them which never healed.
Then, almost a year later, it had turned up, living with a family two villages away.
They claimed it had turned up one night, dirty and tired, and that it had moved in with them, always coming back when they tried to shoo it away.
Her friend''s father had tried to take them to the local magistrate, to get the dog back. It was a valuable breed and from good stock, but it hadn''t worked out in his favour. The judge hadn''t liked what his daughter had to say about his treatment of either her or the animal.
Whistlecork wondered how she was doing nowadays, as she tended the fire. She had managed to get out from under his heel, but it hadn''t been a good trade, merely swapping one domineering household for another.
Still, that was how it went sometimes.
With a sigh, she nudged the fire again, wondering if the bird leaning against her was going to give her fleas. That would be just her luck.
-
Dawn broke slowly at first, and then all of a sudden, as the sun broke over the trees. She watched as it lit up the bottom of the dried lake, causing whatever made up the bed to shimmer like diamonds in the light.
She was surprised it hadn''t filled in with vegetation yet, but she wasn''t a horticulturalist. It was possible there was something in the soil which was making it hard for plants to take root, but she had no idea.
She strung up her shortbow, nudged the bird awake, and together they walked around the lake, Whistlecork keeping an eye out for game, and the animal limping along beside her, chain dragging through the grass.
The trip took them a while, the lake was larger than she had thought, and the sun was high and bright by the time they came to the ruined village. She had known it was there, they had been following the remains of an old road around the lake, pebbles and gravel dredged from the lakebed set into the soil, now overgrown with grass and weeds.
The village was in much the same state of disrepair. Crumbled mud-brick structures all gone to root, with roofs caved in, leaving little more than mounds in the landscape.
That was one of the dangers of mudbrick. They were solid whilst protected from the elements, but would crumble to damp, causing any seeds inside the bricks to sprout and ruining any remaining integrity.
She had heard that some people embedded seeds into the bricks, that their homes might grow beautiful when they returned to earth, but she wasn''t sure if that was pure romanticism.
She had been to a village once where each house had been seeded with different plants and then watered until the walls themselves were roots. That was another way to do it, and she had enjoyed that one.
The bird settled down to rest as she explored the ruin, still keeping an eye out for dinner. Domesticated animals generally didn''t do well in the wild, but sometimes they did adapt. She wouldn''t have been surprised to see the odd chicken or rabbit, even now, years after this place had gone to seed.
-
She didn''t find much in the houses. By her reckoning, it had been at least a decade since anyone had lived here, and it had been abandoned by choice, rather than disaster, leaving dwellings stripped bare. She spotted sawn ends on a few of the rotting beams, indicating that the residents here had collapsed those buildings themselves.
What they had left behind though, were the gardens, and despite the earliness of the season, there was plenty of food scattered across the village. Giant carrots gone to seed over the winter, and now maybe better used as blunt weapons rather than food. Various herbs and greens, gnawed down by tiny teeth but still hanging on.
One house boasted a cover of tangled beans, and she harvested as many as she could carry. Maybe there was some truth to the rumours of people purposefully embedding seeds into the structures of their homes.
She set up camp in what had once been the centre of the village, an overgrown area of pitted river stones and weeds, and wished she was more prepared to cook for guests. Her biggest cookpot was still only enough for herself, and her only other drinking vessel was a battered enamel mug, chipped and blackened from one too many evenings tucked into the edge of the fire.
The bird had slept most of the day, head under their wing, hooting quietly in their sleep, occasionally opening one eye as if to check she was still around.
"I guess we won''t make it to Hollow Ridge today," she sighed to the bird, which had awoken and staggered over to see what she was cooking. She had managed to shoot a rabbit earlier and had given the upper end of it to them, keeping the lower half for the stew.
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She had expected them to attack it like the starving animal they were, but it had taken it only with coaxing, deciding to eat it alone, behind one of the mounds. It seemed more interested in the stew she was making, and she wondered if it had been raised on cooked food, for some strange reason.
Then again, fancy animals often had delicate metabolisms, who was she to judge? A friend had owned a horse which had only been able to eat its oats boiled into a mash, anything else gave it terrible colic. They had shelled out the money for a Changer who specialised in animals, but she had spent an hour with the beast and then shrugged, declared it happy, and left. She had only charged them half her fee, a least.
Something like that would explain why the bird was in such a state, though. Maybe it was a hunting bird and had been trained not to eat its own kills?
She nudged the pot of stew with her spoon and smiled over her shoulder at her waiting guest, "Dinner is ready to be served, if you would please take a seat¡"
She gestured at the ground ahead of her, and the bird obediently shuffled over. There were some logistics involved with getting food into the animal, and with a sigh, she sacrificed her old leather hat for the cause.
Maybe it would wash out...
When she reached Hollow Ridge, she was buying a large saucepan. It would have to go on the outside of her pack and it would catch on every tree branch and thorn, but those were the breaks.
Ooh, she could wear it as a hat! Get one with two handles, which would hook over her ears...
The thought made her grin, as she watched her guest eat the stew with gusto. This was gonna be a long day.
-
It took a lot of stew and a fair number of fresh vegetables before the animal was sated. She managed to take out another rabbit, but the bird declined it, and it became her supper instead, roasted over the fire in a way which was wasteful, but delicious.
She wasn''t fantastic with the bow, if she was being honest, and she only had three arrows. She had taken lessons at one point, but even after years of practice she still missed half her shots.
Instead, most of the time she relied on trading to feed herself. Herbs and pressed flowers collected from the side of the road. Mushrooms, if she knew she was going to be in town later that day, small bits of woven jewellery bought from sailors, or pretty shells she found on the shoreline.
Old ruins like this sometimes had interesting things in them too. She had found a smooth piece of polished malachite sitting forgotten on an old window ledge. A piece of dried and twisted driftwood lying in the dry corner of a half-collapsed room. Small things, which wouldn''t get her cash, but might get her a meal when she needed it.
Halfway towards evening, as she was rummaging through one of the collapsed houses, pushing aside rotten beams and large saplings, she found the cellar hatch.
She almost broke her leg doing so, mind. It had been hidden under a layer of dust and dirt, gone rotten with rain. Only a sort of subconscious reaction to the softness of the floor had saved her, throwing her backwards as the wood crumbled away beneath her foot.
Lying panting on the ground, she glanced at the sun, which was starting to ride low in the sky. There was another twenty minutes or so before it would be too dark for this, and she was torn between dropping down and seeing if there was anything interesting, and heading back to her bird and setting up camp for the night.
After a minute of indecision, with a sigh, she turned, heading back to the camp. She wouldn''t be able to see much down there without a torch anyway, and she had no idea how deep it was. Maybe it wasn''t a cellar at all, but some sort of well-shaft, wouldn''t that have been a wonderful surprise?
She suppressed a shudder at the thought of it, dying out here alone at the bottom of some pit, it wasn''t a nice thought, and she kept it thought in mind as she bedded down that night.
Terrifying. It would be much safer in the morning. She didn''t need to find out right now.
It would wait.
-
The first thing she did was send a rope of lit cloth down into the pit, to the curiosity of the bird by her side.
It trailed in the air like the death spiral of a shot pigeon, before landing on solid ground not too far below. Just far enough that she might have some trouble getting out, but not well-pit deep.
She bit her lip in thought for a while, and then decided to risk it.
She normally kept a length of rope wrapped around the outside of her pack, and she tied that to a beam now, throwing the loose end down before she jumped.
She didn''t think she would actually be able to use it to get out, having nothing to brace against, but the precaution made her feel better.
-
The cellar smelt like earth and rot. It was also bigger and much more ornate than she had expected. She had expected it to be a root cellar, covering the same footprint as the house above, which was little more than a shed, but that wasn''t the case at all.
As she raised her rudimentary torch above her head, she breathed in surprise. The whole construction was of real, clay bricks, lightly plastered in a grey daub. The walls on either side were lined with empty wooden shelves, and the ceiling was high enough for her to not knock her head. Ahead of her, the hallway stretched further than her rudimentary torch could light.
The light shining in from above her was blocked for a moment, as the bird stuck its head through the hatch. It watched her with golden eyes, and then, giving a sad hoot, pulled back.
She could hear it settling down to wait, and she smiled to herself, looking around with interest.
Whoever had built this place, they had done a good job, better than she ever would have expected for somewhere so absolutely nowhere.
It even had arches, and pillars! As she took a step forward, her torchlight revealed a doorway ahead of her in the gloom. Swinging around, behind her was an area for storage, and a dead end.
She wondered how they had stopped the groundwater from seeping in and rotting the whole structure away. Her casual inspection of the ceiling didn''t reveal any crumbling bricks or drips, so she supposed they must have done something.
The plaster had started to crumble a little, but for an untreated cellar, abandoned for a decade, it didn''t look bad at all.
The area she had landed in was mostly empty, although, to her infinite relief, she spotted a ladder lying under the shelves, against the right wall. Thank the gods. Assuming it hadn''t succumbed to rot, which was unlikely considering the state of everything else, she wouldn''t have to work out how to climb a rope today.
There was one side door near her entrance, which she did peek into. It was true storage, as far as she could see. A few floor planks were stacked against one wall, and a full cord of firewood lined another.
Shrugging, she headed towards the other doorway. Somebody had put so much work into building this, the workmanship was beyond anything the locals could have put together.
Reaching the wall, she put one hand on the grey plaster, feeling it crumble a little under her touch. There was no door, merely a dark portal, and, taking a breath, she stuck out her torch and walked through.
It was much the same as the first room, continuing on, and somewhere in the gloomy distance, she could see another doorway. There were only shelves along one wall this time, the other was left bare. It was possible the building above had been some kind of tavern? She didn''t know how these things worked.
Some of the shelves had fallen from their places on the wall, leaning at jaunty angles, but all of them were empty.
She swept her torch around as she walked, checking the edges and corners for forgotten items, but apart from one copper coin, she found nothing else of interest.
She didn''t recognise the insignia on the coin, but she pocketed it anyway. She could always ask around in Hollow Ridge, see if anyone recognised it.
The third room was the end. She must have gone a good hundred paces from her entranceway to get here, which was insanity, who built this? Why!
At first glance, it was much the same as the previous room, with shelves on two walls, and now another set on the third. They were layered close together, and she decided that they would be perfect for storing preserves and jams, but there were so many more efficient ways of doing that, why build so high and wide if that was your business?
It was only as she was leaving, that she spotted the hatch above her head, almost lost in the gloom. It had been painted grey, to blend in with the ceiling, and only luck had made her see it at all.
Chapter Fifteen (77) - Littleshy
That first-day onboard ship was a learning experience, but she got through it. There was some anger at the antics, but her passage was already paid for, and luckily it all happened before they had got the ship up to speed.
Littleshy had been living on the coast for a while now and had become used to watching the ships in the harbour, but to be on board one was a whole nother thing. Still, the work wasn''t hard, and she was happy to finally be doing something.
The first day passed mostly without incident, apart from the two swimming expeditions. Her dragon seemed to have exhausted itself and had spent the rest of the day asleep in a coil of rope.
The cook had been warned in advance of her needs, and Littleshy was sitting in her cabin, attempting to coax a mixture of ground meat and milk into her dragon, when the Captain tracked her down.
Her name was Shoreleave, although going off the grins and waggled eyebrows of her crew, Littleshy wasn''t sure if it was her true name or a nickname.
Leaning into the room, arms on either side of the door-frame and half-silhouetted against the evening light, she cut an imposing figure. Her hair was shorn to the skin, much as Glassyseas'' had been, and Littleshy wondered if it was a cultural thing. Her skin was dark, but her eyes were a startling, violet-green.
The ship had a Growth mage on hand to keep it alive and functional, but she had heard that the captain had done the job for many years. Looking at those eyes, she could believe it.
With a huff, the woman entered the room, ducking through the low frame and crouching by the bunk. The bunk took up most of the room, and she had settled the dragon down on one end of it, in full view of the door.
"Well, she seemed pretty lively today." The captain nodded, squatting down until she was on a level with the dragon. "Not like old Glassguts told me."
Littleshy frowned, and opened her mouth to speak, taking a moment to register the nickname for Glassyseas.
"Can I touch her?" She didn''t give her a chance to speak.
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Littleshy nodded, and she reached out, running a single finger down the sleeping being''s spine.
Something in the room seemed to still, the ship ceasing its creaking for a moment, the sound of the waves going dim, and then it was over. Shoreleave pulling her hand away and nodding to herself.
She let out a dramatic sigh, running her hand over her head.
"So we''re meant to do a long trip. I have goods for the middlelands, they rely on trade, and we were going to do a full voyage."
She kept her gaze on the dragon as she spoke, still squatting, her hands on her knees now. "But that''s a year of travel. Through the center, along the middle passage and then a trip through the archipelego. I was planning at least eight months before we even got near the barrier islands."
She paused to collect her thoughts, before continuing.
"Do you think she''ll last that long?"
Littleshy bit the inside of her lip, and stared down at her sleeping friend. And she really was a friend. When she had been awake and active, they had almost held whole conversations, the tiny animal interested in everything around them, bright with life and humming with magic.
"I don''t-" it hurt to speak the words out loud, but after the emotional exhaustion of yesterday, it was getting easier. "I don''t know. I''ve only had them a few months, and I don''t know what I did wrong. I don''t know how to fix it."
Littleshy took a shuddering breath, "I don''t think she will."
The captain stared at the dragon, not moving her gaze, and then she rose and nodded to Littleshy, all in one motion.
"Alright. I don''t-" she paused, and screwed up her face, looking like a caricature in the evening light. She sucked in her lips, and then looked down at the dragon again, thoughtful. "I can land us at Washers Point, it''s a straight run north from here and I think- only think mind- that they have a dragon park there. I can find out the schedule, see if the Mail Dragon is gonna be around any time soon."
She let out a loud breath through her nose, "I don''t know if that''s our best option. I don''t know how dragons treat each other, if they do. He might just eat her, and that''s not even... I don''t know if you want the absolute drama that''s gonna come of the-" she said a foreign word that Littleshy didn''t understand, "-finding out there''s another dragon in the world. They might wanna buy her off you, the big guy himself might kill her. They might just steal her and throw you into the sea."
She took a breath, "But if you want experts, and you want her alive, I reckon that''s your go. Plus," she grinned, catching her breath, "if they throw you into the sea, I can always fish you out again."
Littleshy, who hadn''t managed to get a word out during this whole outburst nodded dumbly. Then, closing her eyes, she nodded again, "I think that''s what we need to do."
Shoreleave placed a hand on her shoulder for a moment, surprisingly gentle, and then she bustled out of the captain, shouting to her crew. "Change of plan, kiddos, listen up!"
Chapter Sixteen (78) - Whistlecork 4
It took her several minutes to set up the ladder, and then even more for her to be able to batter her way through the hatch. Unlike the hatch she almost fell through, this one wasn''t rain-rotten, it was simply stuck.
She wondered, as the hatch finally broke free, how long it had been since anyone had been here.
Mostly though, she was glad it wasn''t locked.
The smell that hit her as the hatch burst open was a mix of dust, damp and old straw. From the smell, she had expected to come up into a stable, but when she pushed herself up through the hole, it was nothing of the sort.
The room was square, windowless, and about four of her arm-spans across, and she came up in one corner of it. The walls were bare brick, and the floor was coated in a thin layer of thick straw, or maybe reeds from the lake.
Scrambling to get through, she knocked aside an old lantern which had been placed neatly beside the hole, but the wick was missing and it was dry of fuel.
As she swept her torch across the room, she worried a little about it stripping away all the breathable air. Added to that, she would have to replace it soon, she hadn''t expected to take this long.
Staring around the room, she wondered what she was looking at. It was clear that she was either still underground, or under some sort of mound, the place was too well protected from the elements to be anything else.
There were marks on the floor, and gaps in the straw, indicating that the room had once contained heavy crates. She had seen similar marks in the wine cellar back home, before the shipments were broken up and put safely away.
Another sweep torch revealed a large bundle of reeds standing in one corner. She froze for a moment, thinking their upright shape was a human figure, before sense got the better of her. They were for packing materials, maybe?
As she walked over and inspected the bundle, she found that it was hiding three crates, each sized to hold twelve wine bottles.
She kicked away the reed bundle and wondered how they''d gotten the crates up through the hatch, it couldn''t have been an easy job.
It also wasn''t an easy job to get open one-handed, but she couldn''t put the torch down without setting the floor alight.
After a few minutes of struggling, she gave up, and pushed it down through the hatch, wincing at the crash it made as it landed. In the distance, there was a surprised squawk.
If the box had been full of wine then she was going to be upset, but it hadn''t been heavy enough for that. Even if it had been, being stored as it was may have already turned it to vinegar anyway.
Plus, why would you go to all the trouble of creating this whole room, this whole complex, to hide a few bottles of booze?
She climbed down the ladder, mulling it over.
It could be that they were brewing it themselves to avoid local taxes, but unless they were selling it for extortionate prices, that wasn''t illegal enough that anyone would care. It was tradition, what else was there to do out here in the dark winter months, except drink and hook up?
More than tradition, it was a joke. There was a reason that many rural communities treated midsummer as a communal birthday.
Carefully stepping off the bottom of the ladder, she started to rummage through the splintered remains of the crate.
It had broke on contact with the floor, but there was no stink of spilt alcohol or crunch of broken glass. There were bits of reed everywhere though.
Upon closer inspection, she found that the crate had been filled with small leather pouches, all of which contained nothing more interesting than beach sand. Or maybe it was sand from the lakebed? Either way, it had a pretty shimmer to it in the torchlight, but was it really that valuable, to smuggle it away like this?
She sorted the pouches out awkwardly- almost burning herself several times- until halfway through, she found one with a different weight to all the others.
As she poured it out into her hand, she sighed in disappointment. First came the rush of sand, sieved through her fingers, and then finally, three small gold ingots. Their edges were rounded, but they were stamped with the official crown stamp, a note of their purity and their weight.
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They were heavy in her hand, glinting in the guttering torchlight.
She stared down, annoyed.
All this rigmarole to hide this? What a pisstake.
Sure, it was a lot of money, she couldn''t deny that. Gold was an exceptionally valuable metal. It was non-corrosive to the extreme, rejecting magic, and that made it valuable for so many things. In its pure form, it was proffered that it might even be able to resist the magic of a dragon.
Not that it would do much else about the dragon, of course. It was resistant, but it was soft.
She had been taken to see the dragon once, when she was a child, and the memory of seeing it come into land was one she still held close to her heart.
Sighing, she poured out the other bags, but there were no more ingots.
Out of curiosity, she touched it with the end of her tongue. It was either from the beach, or it had been mixed with salt. Maybe that was why the forest was struggling to reclaim the lake? She had no idea.
Tucking the ingots into her pocket, she sighed, glanced at her flickering torch, and clambered back up the ladder. She could renew it with some of the reeds, it should last for now. If it went out, she knew the way out.
There were two more crates to go through, and she wasn''t going to say no to free money, but she had hoped for more, had hoped for something magical. Things she had heard tales of as a child.
She had been so excited.
If not magical, then she at least wished for something interesting. Gold was so mundane. Sure, those three ingots would be enough to get her a small house in a good city, and she may well spend them that way someday, when travelling became too much, but it was so... So very boring.
She kicked the other two crates apart in much the same way she had the first, and poured the sacks out onto the floor one by one, stacking up the empties beside her.
There might have been more gold in the sand, little nuggets or dust, but she wasn''t interested in spending her time in whatever extracting that would involve. Leave that to somebody else.
-
She found four more ingots and one piece of natural gold, the size of her thumbnail, hidden in the other crates.
She kept several of the pouches and two of the bags of sand, just in case there was some value to it. The pouches were well sewn, and she wondered if she could have sold them on, but she wasn''t a trader, she was an explorer.
A final scouring of the room revealed nothing more of interest. The hinges on the hatch were iron, which was unusual but that was it. Kicking through the reeds on the floor, and tearing apart the bundle in the corner all revealed nothing, and with a sigh, she clambered down the ladder one last time, pulling the hatch shut as best she could.
As she was doing so, her torch finally guttered out, and she stood on the ladder for a moment in the darkness, listening to the silence.
Then she climbed down with careful, measured steps, and oriented herself back to where she knew the exit was.
She didn''t have to walk for long in the dark, it was still midday outside, and she could see the sun shining down through the entrance.
It was only as she got there, that she realised she had left the ladder behind.
-
It took her a while to finally escape, but she managed it, even taking a moment to stick her head back up into the hidden room, searching for any specks of light she may have missed previously.
The bird was still waiting for her outside, agitated at how long she''d taken. Even in her bad mood, she managed to give it a smile and a few scritches.
She was touched to find out that it had, while she was away, collected a whole pile of vegetables for her, some still dirty with soil.
What a strange beast it was.
She took one last look behind her as walked away. She hadn''t covered up the hole, it was a deathtrap, and she would rather it be left visible.
At least it wasn''t mice. Bobbins, the name came back to her in a rush. He had left a mouse in her bed once, laid perfectly on the pillow.
"You better not do that." She cracked her neck at the bird, still grumpy, receiving a confused hoot in return.
She took one last look behind her, as she walked away. She hadn''t covered up the hole, it was a deathtrap, and she would rather it be left visible.
If there were other secrets down there, it would not be her that found them. Let the next person, in either five or ten or a hundred years times, puzzle it out.
All things considered, she would have preferred to find a decent cooking pot.
-
She sat by the fire that night, spinning one of the ingots in her fingers, watching it glint in the firelight.
"What am I gonna do with myself, Birdie?"
The owl gave her a sleepy hoot, full of par-boiled vegetables.
She stared down at the ingot between her fingers. It was the sort of thing futures were built around. She knew whole noble houses whose entire liquid assets could be measured in less than she had in her backpack right now.
She could send it home. Pack it up and send it via dragon shipment. Keep it as a nest egg for when she was old, or as something amazing to show her grandchildren.
But despite its value, it was nothing more than metal. Boring, heavy, metal.
"How disappointing," she sighed, receiving another hoot in response, muffled by the fact the bird had tucked their head under their wing for the night, dozing by the fire.
She took a moment to inspect it, as much as she could in the fading light. It looked thin, in a way which indicated starvation rather than a natural litheness of form. She was pretty sure that it was a carnivore, and would need more than vegetables soon.
Its feathers were cleaner and it looked a little better groomed than yesterday, but it still had some hanging loose, and a few scratches and scars from where it had lost a fight at some point.
"You still look like shit," she sighed, "but hey, maybe it''ll be better when we find your home."
She stared down at the piece of metal again, turning it over and over in her fingers. "Maybe if your owner was abusive or something, I''ll buy you out," she laughed, "you''re not too great at walking, and I''m pretty bad at flying, but I''m sure we could make it work."
"Hoot."
"You said it."
Chapter Seventeen (79) - Willowrose
He struggled to see what was going on, his chin on the table, his feet barely touching the floor.
He was six years old today, and his dad was baking him a cake.
It was gonna be the best cake, better than anyone else at school had ever had.
"When it''ll be done, dad!"
His father smiled down at him, opening his mouth to speak-
-And Willowrose awoke in his room under the rafters, the smell of medicine and smoke billowing up from downstairs.
With a groan, he pulled himself out of his cot and struggled down the ladder, something difficult to do when half asleep, and with one arm over your face.
"What did you do," he groaned, pushing his way into the workshop, staggering over and throwing open a window.
"It just exploded," his father''s voice came, from somewhere in the cloud, "I think it''s fine though if I can just-"
"For the sake of the gods, I thought you''d set the whole place alight."
With one hand he tried to fan the smoke out of the window, the other still over his face, before giving up and moving over to see what his dad had done.
"If I can just isolate out the compoud that made it explode, I''m pretty sure I can-"
Around him, the dream started to fade, and Willowrose awoke. Again.
There was no smoke this time, no grogginess, only irritation at being unsure if he was now awake for sure, and at being forced to relive old memories.
For a minute he lay there, staring at the ceiling with unblinking eyes, wondering where sleep had gone, and then he got up.
With a sigh, he rubbed at his grainy eyes, feeling a headache coming on. Outside of his tiny window, it was yet another morning. Hadn''t failed him yet.
He glanced around his room, at the piles of scattered books and drawings. He had everything up here, from medical texts to bits and pieces he''d acquired from the monks who lived on the edge of the village.
He wasn''t sure what monks did, but they seemed to mostly live quietly, write books and drink beer. They were always rather cagey when he asked, but it seemed like a good life if you could get it.
His ma said they were a cult, but a cult to what, she wouldn''t elaborate. Adults were weird like that sometimes. It was probably a sex thing.
Maybe he should sneak up there one night. Cults were meant to burn things right? He''d read that in an old book somewhere.
Sometimes they did set bonfires outside their complex, but they also invited the whole village when they did, and put on a real good spread, so it probably wasn''t anything sinister.
Maybe that was how they get you.
With a sigh, he walked down the ladder, not even bothering to turn around or hold on, years of practice had made him complacent.
His father was sitting at the kitchen table, his ma standing by the stove, cooking breakfast. Willowrose helped himself to a flatbread and a pile of bacon as he passed.
"Hey you," he winced as his father spoke, "you wanna help me in the shop today?"
Willowrose hung by the door, his bread halfway into his mouth, eyes tightly shut, "not today dad, sorry."
He didn''t listen for a response, as he left.
-
Everything seemed to lurch around him as he awoke, the creak of settling timbers, the roll of the floor, the-
-
He was in his bedroom again, staring up at the ceiling, but he was pretty sure it was real this time. The walls were bare, his books and scrolls stacked on their shelf in the corner, dusty.
The sun streaming in through the tiny window declared that it was almost mid-morning, and the sinking floating feeling that had accompanied his previous awakenings was starting to fade.
He pressed one hand to his forehead, checking for fever. He was sweaty enough, his bedding crumpled and scattered from disturbed sleep.
His forehead felt ok though, and he didn''t feel nauseous, just gritty and exhausted.
With a sigh, he gathered up his bedding and threw it down the hatch to the floor below. Grumbled as he picked out some clean clothes. He would wash up in the stream. He didn''t feel like setting up the steam room and bath, especially with such nice weather.
The kitchen was empty, as it had been every morning for the past two years. His father didn''t come to breakfast anymore.
It had been a scandal when his ma left, people out here didn''t do that. Once you were partnered, it was for life. You stuck together, no matter how bad it got.
But she''d left anyway, and two years on people still talked about it. A part of him still hated her for it, but there was also a grudging respect.
He knew where she lived, she sent letters sometimes, but he left them unopened and hadn''t seen or spoken to her since she left, and wasn''t sure he ever would again.
He stood for a moment with his hand on the door, washing under one arm, and then he let himself out.
-
One of his shirts had a rip in it, and he was sitting in the sun, stitching it up, when the shadow of his father fell over him.
Willowrose didn''t look up, continuing to sew. Small, neat stitches.
He had started blowing out the shoulders in his shirts lately, a consequence of the job he had got at the lumber mill. He would need new shirts soon.
He got another five or six stitches in before his father deigned to speak. "I needed your help in the shop today."
Willowrose knew how this would go. He wouldn''t answer, he would continue his sewing, and eventually, the man would go away. They would repeat the dance tomorrow, and then again the day after, until one day, life would shatter the cycle.
He wanted to scream, to initiate confrontation, instead he kept stitching, to the tok, tok, tok of the water clock they had installed behind the house many years before.
He paused between stitches, staring down at his work, a momentary break, and then he continued to sew.
His father loomed over him as he worked, tok, tok, tok, and then he was in the sun again, and the shadow of his father was gone.
-
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He had looked around the house this morning, as he came downstairs, and decided he was tired of it. He didn''t spend much time inside anymore, but coming down from his room, the tracked-in dust and filth finally struck him.
His father found him a couple of hours later, on his hands and knees in the kitchen, scrubbing the slate floor.
No words were spoken, but he could feel the sneer, the judgement. He was supposed to be a prodigy, he was the future, when his father was too old to tend the shop, to visit the sick and needy, he would be the one to take over.
And here he was, scrubbing the floor like¡ Like a servant.
Like his mother.
Willowrose suspected that that last one was part of the reason his mother had left, and frankly, he didn''t blame her. He missed the days when they had baked cakes together, the two of them. The days where he had been excited to wake up in the morning that he had failed to sleep, excited to see what new thing they were going to do today, who they were going to help.
He continued to scrub, as that shadow loomed over him, silent because all those words had already been spoken many times before.
At the end of the day, as he sat in the clean kitchen, watching the sun stream in through windows which had maybe never before known a cloth, he stared at the clean stove and the two empty chairs, and sighed.
He missed being a kid. He missed his dad. He was tired of this endless cycle of silence and judgement.
He leant back, letting the chair balance on two legs, one foot on the edge of the table and arms behind his head. What was he going to do with himself, what future did he have here?
The job at the lumber mill wasn''t what he wanted. Endless days of moving things around, handing tools about, watching logs go in and planks come out. It had been good for his physique, he couldn''t deny that, and it put food on the table, but he didn''t fit in there.
If he was being honest with himself, he didn''t want to fit in there.
Eyes closed, what else. He was no good at art, he had liked it when he was a kid, and had taken painting lessons from the monks, but he had no talent for it. Old Mudhoof at the school had told him that, when he asked to have his drawings on the walls. Everyone else got their drawings pinned up on the wall, so why not him?
His ma had said they were too good, he used too many colours, it wasn''t fair on the other kids, but Mudhoof had told him the truth. They were bad, and he was talentless.
And that was ok, he didn''t need art to be fulfilled. He had no magic talent either, it wasn''t much different.
His father still hoped he would step up and help in the shop. Still wanted him to take up doctoring. Neither of them had any talent for magic, but you didn''t need magic to make people better.
His father was a genius, a once-in-a-generation genius. Willowrose knew that, as much as he knew that he himself was not.
He stared out of the window. He had always wanted to travel, wanted to be somebody, wanted to fight dragons and monsters, to be the first one to step foot in the centre of the Forest. But he would die before he got anywhere near the Deep, he had never even held a sword or a gun.
With a clunk he set the chair back on its feet, leaning against the table with the side of his face against the wood. He stared across the expanse of wood, admiring how the evening sun made the grain and scars look like a standing map.
The army recruiter had come through town a week before. He hadn''t considered it then, hadn''t even paid them any attention, but maybe it was better than this shit. He was old enough to join up, if he lied a bit.
He was a year off, but he''d heard that they never checked. Most kids weren''t even in the system til they hit age anyway. Too many deaths, it wasn''t worth it. Name ''em at six, get them registered at fifteen, if you could spare them for the day-long trip to the city.
He stared across the map of the table, imagining it, a strange weight in his stomach as he considered really, actually leaving.
There was a noise from the other room, his father coming home from his rounds, and with a sigh Willowrose stood up, rubbing the side of his face.
He would just have to do better. Maybe he would help with the shop tomorrow.
-
He didn''t help with the shop that day, or the next, and the cycle continued through spring and into summer.
Sometimes he caught a glance of his father, passing by him in the village, or through the kitchen at night, but they were like strangers, living in the same house. He was a striking man and stood out amongst the villagers. His skin was a dark mahogany, almost literally. If you looked close you could see the grain of the wood, and it gave him a severe expression even at the best of times. Like a puppet come to life.
Willowrose had asked him about it many times when he was young but had never received a straight answer. That was just how he wanted to look, so it was how he looked.
It was a strange rebellion, for such a conservative man. Everything else his father did was by the book. He agreed with all the opinions of the old folks in the village who had never been further than their front doors, his views seemed a hundred years out of date. He went to bed at night exactly on time and arose at the same time every day.
He would work the shop until midday struck true, and then do his rounds, checking on the sick people in the village, all the little old men and women.
Their village had no Changer, no magic, nobody to fix little injuries or do adjustments. For that, you had to go all the way to the big city, several hours away.
They had had one once, but they had gone to earth many years back, and magic didn''t seem to run in the veins of the villagers.
It was like a place trapped in time.
Willowrose cast an eye up to the roof of their house as he left. Two stories high, with walls of small bricks, and a steep, slate roof. His parents had built it themselves by hand, using clay from the local quarry and slates from the mountain, split by hand.
If you did it yourself, stuff lasted longer, that was what everyone said anyway, and twenty years in the slates were only now starting to show signs of wear. They had done everything themselves, with only some help from the others in the village. It had taken them months of hard work, and was supposed to be proof of their dedication to each other.
Funny how that had turned out.
This was how most of the houses here had been built, the whole place was a relic.
The village was set deep into the forest, and their main export was lumber, which made the strange brick structures all the more incongruous. There were no villages past them, as far as anyone knew. They were the last one before you hit the Deeps, and nobody went out there if they could help it.
When he was a child, a huge, cat-like beast had burst out from the forest. It had taken out two loggers, before his father and several others had managed to take it down, armed with a spear probably a thousand years old, and logging axes. They had taken it down with no more losses, but that was attributed to his father''s ministrations. The memorials of the two loggers were mounted on the wall of the Pig, along with hundreds of others, a whole genealogy.
Some people could point to names on that wall and list all the links in the chain that led back to them, hundreds and hundreds of years of names. Willowrose knew his family was there too, his grandparents and great grandparents and great great great¡
He refused to look at it, refused to engage. If his children ever needed to know their history, they could look it up in the book. He wanted no part of it.
The Pig, or The Pig and Pipe, as the sign proclaimed, was the heart of the town. Three stories high and made of daub and wood, it was by far the biggest thing in the village and a different style from all the other buildings.
Supposedly it had been built by an immigrant, over a hundred years back. There had been a lot of complaints at the time, but all those involved were dead now, and The Pig was the heart of the village now, and that was all there was to it.
Next to The Pig was a general store, run by old Whiskertouch. Then there was his father''s shop, dispensing medicine and advice. There was the bakers, filling the streets with the smell of fresh bread. And that was it for shopping. Oh, there was a farm on the edge of the village, the woman who owned it would bring vegetables to town on Fridays. If you needed wax or meat, you had to order it from her.
He considered if there was anything else. Some of the old women knitted and would do you a hat or gloves if you asked, but that was it.
Hands in his pockets, he took the bridge over the stream which ran through the centre of the village, underneath The Pig and towards the City. Right now, in mid-summer, it was only ankle deep, a permanent paddling pool lined with smooth flat rocks. A part of him wanted to wade across, but he was too old for that.
He would pick up breakfast with the lumber workers, as he usually did, and see if they needed hands today. He thought he''d heard talk of starting on one of the Giants today, one of the old trees, rather than the new growth that was their normal trade.
Taking it down would create a gap in the canopy, helping promote new growth later on, but it wasn''t easy work. Some of those trees were twenty paces across or more, and it would be the work of weeks to get it on the ground.
He looked forward to seeing what they would do with it. The last one to come down had been years back, and he hadn''t been old enough to appreciate it at the time.
Standing in the middle of the bridge, he frowned. Was this going to be his life? Excited to see a tree cut down, growing old here, living his life day by day until he became just another name on the wall.
"Hey, Willowrose!"
He turned around at the shout, roused out of his melancholy, and raised an eyebrow at his friend. Barkstem had been his best friend for longer than he could remember. They had bunked off school together, and taken their punishments together, bonding over shared mischief.
He hadn''t even heard her approach. Barkstem was sitting on the back of the cart her family used for deliveries or pickups, her father owned the general store.
"What''s up?"
"I''m going into the City," she grinned, standing up in the seat and waving him over, one hand still on the reins, "It''s Dragon Day! You wanna come with me, see a dragon?"
Willowrose hesitated. He had meant to try and get some work in at the lumber yard today, maybe help his dad in the shop.
"C''mon!" she patted the seat, sitting back down with a thump, "When are you ever gonna have another chance to see a dragon!"
She stuck her tongue out at him when he hesitated, "c''mon man, my ma won''t let me go alone."
With an exaggerated sigh, Willowrose strolled over to the cart, easily hauling himself up into the seat, "well when you put it that way, how could I say no!"
Chapter Eighteen (80) - Willowrose 2
The trip to the city was long and jarring. The pony cart didn''t move much faster than walking speed, but it did save their legs over the several hours the journey took.
"What if we miss the dragon though?" Willowrose questioned, and Barkstem grinned in a way that indicated she knew something he didn''t.
She gave a look around as if looking for hidden listeners, and then leaned into him, whispering. "Don''t tell anyone, but it''s not Dragon day today-"
Willowrose pulled back in annoyance, "Then why-"
"It''s tomorrow!"
She laughed in his ear, causing him to wince and move away, and she grinned, settling back into the driver''s seat. "Knew my ma wouldn''t let us go overnight, but we can always say we got stuck by weather or something."
"Huh." Willowrose leaned back, watching the forest pass them by.
"I''ve never been away from home overnight," he admitted, and Barkstem rolled her eyes at his frank admission.
"It''ll be fine, you baby. Even if we get lost, the forest''s so tame around here anyway that nothing''s gonna come out and eat us."
He gave her a tight smile and went back to watching the trees.
-
They got to the city just as the light was starting to fade, and some of their shared bravado faded as they got inside the walls.
For all of her confidence earlier in the day, Barkstem seemed unsure of where to go.
"We can try setting up in an inn, right? They gotta have¡ Places, sleeping places."
Willowrose eyed her, "This was your idea, you should have planned it out."
She shrugged, "It''ll be fine, I only know it''s Dragon Day tomorrow ''cause one of the loggers mentioned it this mornin''."
He sighed at her and gazed around the street. They had stopped beside a sort of park, so as not to be in the way, but there were still people everywhere.
And it was so bright! He had spent his whole life in the village, on the edge of the Deeps. The village was beautiful, but it was surrounded by huge, ancient trees, and even in high summer it was still a place of dappled shade.
He had been to the surrounding villages with his father, to attend to the sick, but even those were still within the forest.
When they arrived it had been late afternoon, and the park had been full of people lazing around, enjoying the heat. He could see that during the day it would be in full sun.
He had only been here once before, when he was very young, and to see it as an adult really was something else.
They sat there for a while, letting the pony drink her fill from a trough, and simply watched the city move into evening. There were lamps on either side of the street, and as they sat, one by one they flicked into life, seemingly by magic, although he never knew magic could do that.
The roofs of the buildings were all plants and flowers, and he could see people walking around up there, hear the chatter of voices and the clinking of cutlery.
There was so much light and noise, how did people live like this all the time!
He was aware that he was staring around like an owl, and that he had been for a while, but he couldn''t stop himself. There was so much to see!
He was broken out of his staring by Barkstem grabbing his hand. "You know what, that looks like an inn, they have a horse on the sign and I can see stables at the back. Let''s stay there."
With that, she dragged him down from the cart, pulling him and the pony into movement, towards the tavern. Was it a tavern or an inn? Did these things have a different name, outside of his village? Back home it was just ''The Pig'', and was rarely referred to as anything else. They had stables at the back sure, but they were mostly used by the locals, it was rare they got any travellers, being at the end of the road.
There had been that inspector a few years back, but that was the only one Willowrose could remember.
"Hey!" she shouted at a stablehand, the poor lad jumping into the air at the shout, "we wanna stay here, how do we do the horse thing!"
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Willowrose squinted at Barkstem, "the horse thing?"
"Yeah!" she continued shouting, "the horse thing, we have a horse, it can''t sleep hitched to this cart. Who do we speak to about that!"
The stablehand stared at them for a moment, then gave a sort of shudder, "I''ll get my boss" she squeaked, before abandoning her broom onto the floor and fleeing into the stables.
Barkstem nodded, as if she had done a fine job. "Well that''s that sorted, should we go inside and find some food?"
He hesitated, "We should wait til he- she comes back, right? What if somebody steals our cart, we''d have to walk home. And your ma''d be well pissed."
Barkstem kicked him lightly in the shin, and putting one hand on his shoulder, nudged him towards the main building, "c''mon, why would anyone do that. Don''t be weird. We can pay at the bar."
She sounded confident, and she did know better than him. She''d been to the city before, while he''d only been the once, after all.
"I guess," he hedged, allowing himself to be dragged along by the arm.
They got about halfway across the courtyard before there was a shout behind them.
"Oi!"
They turned, to see a rather tubby man walking towards them, the girl from earlier peeking out from behind him. "You can''t leave that thing here," he gestured to the cart. "It''s litterin''!"
Barkstem glared at him, one arm still tight around Willowrose''s. "We weren''t leavin'' it, we were gonna go inside and pay, we need stabling for the night."
"Oh did you!" he glared. "I''ve seen your type before! Just abandoning your poor old nag here and hoping it''s gone when you come back. But no, I won''t put up with that!"
This conversation was mostly incomprehensible, and Willowrose wished deeply that he wasn''t a part of it.
"We were gonna pay!" Barkstem sighed loudly, rolling her eyes, and then took her money pouch off her belt, jingling it at the man, "look, we have coin!"
"Give it here." He stomped over and snatched the pouch out of her hand. He rummaged around in it for a moment and took out two large coins. "That''ll get your poor thing a bed for the night, and I''ll even be generous and put your cart under shelter."
"That''s too m-" Barkstem started, but the man glared at her so viciously that she stopped in her tracks.
"It won''t get yous a bed for the night mind," he thrust the bag back into her hands, "come back here at first light and pick your mare up or you''ll be cleaning the stables to pay board."
She gulped and clutched the bag to her chest, and then turned without a word, marching towards the inn. Willowrose watched her go, wanting to follow, but also to clear things up with the stablemaster.
"I''m sorry about that, we really didn''t mean-"
The grubby man turned around and walked away without even looking at him, as if he wasn''t even there, instead taking up the reins of the pony and leading her away. Willowrose stood frozen for a second, and then scarpered after Barkstem.
Maybe it would be better inside.
-
The bar was dim with smoke, from both cooking and tobacco. The main dish on offer seemed to be a rather charred joint of meat suspended over the fire. It was being turned by a bored-looking child, half-naked and still sweating in the heat.
The dining room was big and crowded, and Willowrose hung back as Barkstem pushed her way towards the bar, unbothered by the noise and smoke.
He was pretty sure there were more people in this single room than in his entire village. Every table was occupied, and Barkstem was having to shove her way through a crowd of people to even get near the bar. Everyone was shouting and moving and drinking and smoking and it was just too much.
He realised he''s wrapped his arms around his torso and backed up into a corner, overwhelmed. He had also lost track of Barkstem. She had merged into the crowd somewhere near the bar.
A minute later, he found himself outside in the stableyard again, breathing heavily. The pony and cart were gone, and it was blissfully quiet, after the chaos inside. The evening dark had come on all of a sudden, as it does when you go from inside to out.
He spent a time simply breathing, back pressed against the wall. It wasn''t entirely quiet here, there was still the muffled noise from the barroom and the rest of the city, but it was better.
Opening his eyes, he let out a final, shuddering breath, and stared across the yard. If he started walking now, he could probably make it home by morning. That was assuming that he didn''t get lost on the way, didn''t twist an ankle, and wasn''t attacked by anything.
He ran trembling hands through his short hair, feeling his shirt still sticking to his back with sweat.
He wanted to go home. He wasn''t meant to be here. Home was a house of shadows, but at least it was quiet and familiar and the air was clean and he knew everyone.
Barkstem could find her own way back, she was resourceful, she''d be fine.
He forced himself to move away from the wall, shivering a little in the evening chill, and started the walk towards the gates. It would be dark on the road, but if he followed the road it would be difficult to get lost. They had passed through two smaller villages today, so those would show he was on the right track.
As he reached the edge of the courtyard, he had to pass through the still-open gates onto the main road. He laid one hand on the solid stone and looked back at the yard, the stables all locked up for the night, lit only by what was coming through the windows of the inn.
Then he turned, and started the walk home.
-
It was early morning by the time he got home, and he was sitting in the kitchen with his head in his arms and his forehead against the table, when his father came in.
The shadow loomed there, unspeaking, for almost a minute, before finally, something broke.
"You never came home last night."
"Went to the city with Barkstem." Willowrose didn''t remove his head from the table, and his words were rather muffled through his folded arms.
There were another thirty seconds of silence, and then, "I was worried about you."
His father''s voice was flat, and Willowrose peeked out from underneath his arms for a moment, casting an exhausted eye over the figure. He just wanted to sleep.
"Shouldn''t you be in the shop?"
His father stared down at him, unmoving, and then, "I didn''t open the shop today."
There was a long pause, and then a sigh, which Willowrose felt more than saw.
"I was worried about you."
He hesitated, and then his expression broke a little, "I thought you were gone."
Willowrose stared up. The figure of his father was still a shadow against the light, but something in his face had changed. With a sigh, he pushed himself away from the table, groaning with all the aches and pains he had earned over the night of walking.
"I know dad," he sighed. "Let''s go open the shop."
Chapter Nineteen (81) - Whistlecork 5
Dawn the next morning was glorious, above the lake, the deep red of it catching the sand and shimmering like tiny mirrors.
Whistlecork lay there in her bedroll by the edge of the tree line and watched the sunrise. She always loved this part of the day, when only the birds were awake.
"Well" she announced as the blood sun finally started to fade into full daylight, "We''re gonna have to make good time today."
She struggled out of the bedding and emptied her pack onto the dewy ground.
"If my reckoning is right, and it normally is by this point, that means a storm tonight."
Next to her, the bird struggled to its feet, yawning and checking the fire for any leftover food.
"Yes yes, once we get there I''ll buy a nice big cooking pot. We can strap it to your back and you can carry it."
"Hoot!"
She laughed at that, imagining indignation in the response.
She surveyed what had fallen out of her pack, and started to put it all back together. In went her two changes of clothes and her thin boots, her fire-sparker and cooking gear. Her sewing kit, and all those little things you needed to survive on a day-to-day basis.
The bags of sand went back in next, along with all but one of the gold ingots. That she would keep sewn into the waistband of her trousers, just in case she was ever mugged. Hopefully, she could throw it towards the bandits and run, and they would be so busy fighting each other that they''d forget to follow her.
To one side she placed her waterskin, refilled from the rapidly diminishing spring that still ran through the village. Her few arrows fitted into a pocket on the outside of her pack, and her bow went behind it, safe against her back and protected with a leather cover. She had a single spare string and a small pot of wax, but she needed to pick up more.
Next, she laid out all the oddments she had collected recently. The letters and maps. Some coinage for when barter wasn''t an option, and various small shells and pretty stones, all wrapped in cake paper.
She also had several bricks of fine tea, which she had picked up almost two months before on a whim, and a glass bottle containing a type of expensive plant stem. The sellers had claimed they were used for cooking, and the tiny bottle had cost her most of her cash, but it should be worth it.
She had been assured she could sell it all, once she hit somewhere big enough, but Hollow Ridge was the first chance she had gotten to make that happen.
There were other little things too, that she had picked up over the years. Her favourite was a small glass globe she had found on the shore one evening, filled with tiny seeds. The only way to get them out would be to smash the glass, and she was reluctant to do that. There was the copper coin she had found in the basement, and beside it, a chunk of polished amber, encasing a beetle with iridescent wings. There was the piece of driftwood she had found in the village, and the polished stone.
Over her shoulder, the owl hooted appreciatively at her treasures, and she smiled at them, before transferring the oddments into some of the leather bags she had found in the basement, waste-not want-not.
It wasn''t a lot, but it was enough that she should probably send a parcel home soon.
Once everything was cinched up tight and protected against rain, she was ready to go. She had chosen to go without shoes again, her feet had hardened up to an extent that anyone back home would have had an apoplexy at the mere sight of them, and she liked it that way.
"C''mon then." She gestured to the owl, then frowned, "I gotta think of a name for you at some point."
The owl didn''t respond, but it did give her a look, and then another at the sky.
Whistlecork shrugged, "if you wanna go up there and join me later, that''s fine by me."
It stared at her for another long moment, unblinking, and then with a cloud of feathers, it was off.
She watched it go, running a hand through her ruffled hair, and then set off herself. Time for another long day of Whistlecork vs the woods.
-
She fought her way to a road around mid-morning, after a very rough trek.
When she first moved into the trees, the bird above had panicked at losing sight of her, crashing down behind her in a rain of twigs and leaves.
After a bit of debate and they set up a sort of whistle system. Every now and again it would sweep over the trees and keen, and she would whistle back, and that was enough.
"You feed them once, and they get attached," she muttered to herself, pushing out of the brush layer, considering if she wanted to walk along the road.
It looked well travelled, which meant, in a word: muddy. Adding to that, they had surfaced it with small stones, and no matter how calloused her feet, that wasn''t gonna be fun to walk on.
She eventually settled for walking along the centre, in the grassy stripe where cart wheels never touched. The clouds were starting to build up in the sky above, but the mountain of Hollow Ridge was looming large ahead, promising shelter and society.
-
"Hey, you need a lift?"
The shout came from behind her, and she turned to see a small donkey cart, being driven by a swaddled figure.
"Get up," they patted the bench beside themselves, and she nodded, throwing her pack into the footwell and swinging herself into the seat.
"Thanks," she was grateful for the lift, and the chance to rest her legs.
"You been on the road long¡?" They hesitated, flicking the reigns lightly to get the cart moving again, and she smiled, leaning back.
"Long enough for today."
Above her the bird circled, a small spot, almost invisible against the clouds.
Squinting up, she hadn''t considered that problem.
Next to her, the driver noticed her look and also squinted up, before looking back at her, "friend of yours?"
She made a non-commital noise, and then shook her head, "yeah, new pet, picked them up a while back. Cities are always a bit weird about me bringing ''em in though."
The driver huffed beneath their mask, only their green, cat-like eyes visible. "They ain''t too bad here, but you better keep an eye on it if the Dragon comes through, looks like dinner, up there."
She nodded in agreement, and they moved in silence for a time, the pony''s hooves kicking up grass and mud as they went, the sky darkening above them.
-
The city walls loomed high above her as she dropped off the cart and waved goodbye to her ride.
She only had to wait a minute before the bird swept down, landing ten paces or so away from her and staring at her with golden eyes.
She gestured to the city, unsure how much the animal understood and wasn''t sure how to articulate it in language the animal would understand.
"Look," she started, thinking as she spoke, "I have to in there until¡ Either tomorrow, or until the storm breaks. I can''t walk in the rain."
She stared back at the bird, considering, "Can you deal with the rain, will you be ok?"
The owl-hawk-thing ruffled their feathers closed their eyes for a moment as if asleep, and then returned to staring.
Whistlecork considered this, and then sighed outwards, walking forward and laying one hand on the animal''s head, "Alright then. I don''t know if you can understand me, or how well. Gods know. My aunt used to have a dog that could practically speak, so it wouldn''t surprise me."
The bird continued to stare, but shrank a little under her hand.
"Go." She commanded. "Stay above the forest. Hunt, rest."
She took her hand off the bird''s head, and stepped back a step, and then another.
Turning around, she walked towards the city. It was only when she was halfway there that she heard the noise of feathers behind her.
She hoped they would still be around tomorrow.
-
The first thing she did upon entering the city was look for a place to stay. The inn by the gate was locked tight, and nobody responded when she hammered on the door, so she headed towards the market district.
It was dark enough now that if she hadn''t known better, she would have thought it late evening and not early afternoon. Already the light-keepers were out, lighting the lamps and lanterns on the main street, and she was glad for the extra visibility.
It didn''t look like she would be seeing the dragon park or any shops today. Disappointing.
Halfway to the market square, by her reckoning, she spotted a lodging house with a card in the window, rooms for let.
Shrugging to herself and checking her new coin pouch, she let herself in.
-
The room wasn''t much, but it was clean and comfortable. Added to that, it came with a promise of dinner and directions to the baths.
Centuries ago, or at least before she was born, whoever was in power at the time had set up bathhouses in all major cities and decreed that people would use them. Probably after some plague or another.
She wasn''t sure who they had been, their name was lost to the history books, but their legacy still lived on, especially in small towns like this.
She didn''t even want to touch anything in the room until she was clean, and the owner of the house had made a face at her filthiness. It was only her request for directions to the baths which had convinced them to let her in at all.
She could feel the dirt ingrained into her skin, and if she hadn''t been so tanned dark to begin with, she reckoned it would be a visible layer. Her last bath had been almost a week before, and in the sea, scrubbing with sand. A sea bath was fine, and it took off a layer of skin, but it still didn''t leave her feeling especially clean.
Under normal circumstances, she would have booked the room for a week and spent her time exploring the city, but with the bird, she didn''t feel comfortable making any long-term plans. The excitement at being in a new city, a Dragon city no less! Was replaced with worry.
She would have to go and visit the town hall in the morning and see if anyone had reported them missing. There might even be a reward for their safe return.
She hoped she could find their owner, and that they were a good person. The poor thing deserved a good home.
Then she needed to visit the bowers, to pick up a new string and some more wax. She also wanted to visit a leather-workers and get her backpack looked at, but that would have to wait.
As she changed her clothes, the gold ingot was heavy in her waistband, and she wondered if she should get it changed into cash.
She also needed to trade her tea and stalks, before they got beaten into worthlessness in her backpack, then pick up something that she could hand off further along the road. She couldn''t remember what was good here, and whatever had come up in her economics lessons was now decades out of date, but there had to be some local speciality, there always was.
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She had always enjoyed the game of it, trading, living off her last few pennies. The gold took all the fun out of it.
Either way, that could wait until later. For now, it was time to find that bathhouse.
-
The first drops of rain were coming down by the time she found it, but she didn''t mind, the clothes she was wearing were rags by this point anyway.
It wasn''t all that difficult to find, she had just taken her time exploring the city first. Both the clouds of steam rising into the cool evening air and it being the most ornate building in town guided her in.
The stonework was starting to pit, but the roof was a vibrant green and the vines and plants trailing down the side were probably truly beautiful on a less miserable day.
She put a penny into the box by the door, feeling relief that it was open, unlike the tavern by the gate.
It was the biggest building she had seen in the city so far, but that wasn''t saying much. Whilst bigger cities might have multiple areas for bathing, this place only had one large pool, with a couple of smaller ones off to the side.
She stripped down in the changing area and set her clean clothes to one side. There were no attendants at this time of day, ahead of a storm, but the steam room was active and the water in the main baths was hot.
She spent a minute in the steam room, with her eyes shut, enjoying the heat, before moving on, scrubbing herself raw with the soap and sand provided. It was cheap stuff, if you wanted something better then you had to bring your own, but it did the job.
She did this a couple of times before she felt clean, rinsing herself off with cool water. It came in through the ceiling and emptied into a bucket, which she could pull down onto herself with a string. A strange setup, and not one she''d seen elsewhere, but every bathhouse was different.
She could feel traces of magic in the water, fizzing away at the soap, and she wondered if they had harnessed a natural spring, or if it was fresh from the storm.
That done, and finally feeling almost clean, she spent an hour or so in the pool. The final room contained one massive pool, and several smaller ones, all fed from the same system and obviously meant to handle a larger population than Hollow Ridge may ever have again.
Much like the changing room, she had it to herself, and she spent a while there dozing and enjoying the heat.
This whole adventure was fun, but sometimes she would get so cold that she forgot what it was like to be warm.
As she finally dragged herself out of the bath, ready for one last rinse, she looked around the room. Somebody had come in at some point and was dozing in one of the private tubs, but otherwise, it was all still empty.
Some places would let you stand naked on the roof, arms to the sky, letting the rain wash over you, but she hadn''t seen any stairs up, and from what she had seen outside, it looked more like a jungle up there than a garden.
Her clean clothes were where she had left them, and started to put them on. They were rain spotted and worn, little more than rags, but unless she wanted to walk back to her room naked¡
They hadn''t been in good condition to begin with, and that always accelerated the speed that rain would eat through things. A shirt which had been in use for twenty years, carefully maintained the whole time, would, for a while, bead off the rain as if it were waxed. A shirt which had been in a drawer for a year, unwashed or gnawed at by moths, would be rags by the time you got home.
People speculated why this was, but nobody had ever been able to provide a concrete answer beyond "magic".
She stared down at the shirt, pitted with tiny holes, and considered it. Nobody would be around, so she would probably get away with it unseen. That said, while some settlements were fine with it, being naked in public would get you arrested in others, and she didn''t have the lay of the land here yet.
Probably not a good idea.
But she did it anyway.
-
Her host greeted her at the door, grumpy but resigned to having a guest for the night. "At least you''re clean now, supper''s ready, should you want some. Wash your feet before you come into the house."
Her nakedness didn''t seem to bother him, she wasn''t even sure he registered it, but she was already cottoning onto the fact that he was a strange sort.
She took a minute to rinse the rain and road dust off in the mudroom and then collected the last of her clean clothes from her room. She saved this outfit especially for this situation, she would have to find a washing area tomorrow, or better yet, pay somebody to do it for her.
As she walked towards the kitchen, she thought about the gold sequestered in her backpack, a little sad.
She would deal with that tomorrow.
-
The storm had blown itself out by the next morning, and Whistlecork set out to try and get all her shopping done before her new pet started to panic.
The town was sleepy and quiet as she walked, all ground-level paths and poorly kept roofs. The Dragon Park was the most well-maintained area she saw, and even that was overgrown, the grass up past her ankles.
There was a board on one wall, where they would pin a map when the Dragon came to town, but it wasn''t there now and there was nobody around she could ask, the offices all shuttered tight.
It was possible they sent people over from the nearest city when the place was needed, if it ever was. Judging by the state of the board and the grass, nobody had been here for quite a while.
Despite being almost deserted, Whistlecork did find the city very beautiful. All the buildings had been built from huge bricks of white marble, and they were all carved with intricate designs. The roofs were overgrown, but that added to the peaceful atmosphere, the greenery dripping down the sides of the buildings.
It reminded her almost of the ruined settlement, and she wondered again who had gone through so much effort to build such a cellar, only to abandon it without even properly clearing it out.
The market square was as quiet as the rest of the town. The area quiet and empty, but the shops around the edges open for business, despite the early hours.
She walked around for a while, seeing what was on sale.
There was a general store, everything from string to oats, and she made a note of that one for later. Out of all the stores, that one seemed to be the busiest, and she saw three whole people go in and out whilst she was walking around.
There was a butchers, so she could buy some meat for dinner, and a well-stocked bakery. The window didn''t indicate that they sold anything other than bread, but there was always something the baker made when bored, be it cake or pastries. There were also two grocers, placed antagonistically on opposite sides of the square.
There was a bookshop, which surprised her, but they seemed to be trading mostly in cheap editions and part-works, which they would bind together for you, for a price. She took a brief look inside, but there was nothing that struck her fancy.
There were other shops too, but she mostly glazed over them, sparing only a passing glance at the leatherworkers.
Finally, down a side street, she came across a small store. The windows were old-fashioned but expensive. Small plates of wavy glass, leaded together and inset deep into the stonework, with thick heavy shutters to protect it when the weather was bad.
The sign above the door proclaimed jewellery and other fine goods, and she hoped she could trade in her gold.
A bell rang as she entered the shop, and she looked around with interest.
It had been years since she''d been in a shop like this, not since she was a child. The air smelt like wax and polish, and everything expensive was hidden behind the counter.
There was one burly-looking guard standing in a corner holding an intimidatingly large crossbow, and she baulked for a moment as they peered at her with beady eyes, before deciding she probably wasn''t going to rob the place and returning to watching the door, keeping only one eye on her.
She hovered around the counter for a moment, unsure if they were a guard, or just a very surly shop owner, before the actual owner came out of the back, wiping their hands on a cloth.
"What can I do for you?" she asked, as Whistlecork took off her backpack.
She looked around surreptitiously, before taking a the ingot out of her pocket. She had wrapped it in a bit of paper earlier, and she carefully unwrapped it now. "This was a gift from my niece, a birthday present. She can''t get all the way out here, so she sent this, said I should get it changed into currency and buy myself something nice."
The shop owner whistled, "That''s an expensive birthday gift! Give me a moment, lemme get my boss."
She paused mid-turn, as if they were going to say something else, and then with a shake of the head disappeared back into the bowels of the shop.
-
They returned a moment later, the real shop owner in tow. "This is my boss, I''ll leave you two to it." Again they seemed to want to add something more, but held themselves back, nodding instead to their boss and returning to the back of the shop.
The shop owner whistled much as their assistant had, picking up the ingot and weighing it in their hand. They gave her a nod and a minute later they had it checked and weighed, a test with some sort of liquid and a piece of stone confirming that it was real gold, scales and callipers confirming that it was the correct weight.
They nodded to her and handed it back, opening their mouth-
As they¡ they, they, them? Spoke, her brain stopped responding, all signals crossed, all the wrong flags flown, and for a second she shut down.
She thought she had a decent grasp on the local accents, but this¡ This was something else.
It was a person right? They looked like a person while they were examining her gold. They still looked like a person and she knew they were speaking, but they were completely incomprehensible.
Had she passed some sort of language border? No, surely not! Her host had spoken clearly, and on top of that, she was on the main road to Lushgrave! It was a long road, but surely things couldn''t diverge that much
"¡?" it spoke again, and she could see lips moving and hear the resulting sounds, she could even put them into a sensible order if she tried, but none of it made any sense.
"Excuse me for a moment," she nodded, then let herself out of the shop, leaving her ingot on the counter.
She spent a moment with her forehead against the cool marble of the exterior wall, before gathering her composure and re-entering the shop.
"Sorry about that." she grimaced. "Ok, say again?"
"It - ok," said the figure behind the counter, and she tilted her head, trying to get the hang of it, "[¡] ¡ª get ¡ª that ¡ª a ¡ª lot."
Ok, she could work through this. It just meant retraining her brain, she could do that. She had had enough practice.
"I''m-" she did have to stop for a moment, adjusting her voice so that she was speaking normally, and not as one would to a child or a dog. "Ok. If you''re willing to buy the gold, then I''m also looking to sell some other things, if you''re interested. Or you might know where I could trade them on?"
The shopkeeper nodded and gave her a price for the gold, which was about what she had expected to get. It was a little under market price, and she would have done better to sell it in Lushgrave, but cash was cash, and that was what you got for selling in places like this.
''I should have just gone to another shop'', she thought, as she pulled the tea bricks and flower stems out of her bag, placing them down on the counter. "It''s these, if you know somebody who specialises in this sort of thing."
She opened her mouth to add more detail, and then shut it, instead waiting to see what¡. What [¡] did with it all. Yes, that worked. It was a vague blank space in her mind, but she could put a made-up word to it later.
[¡] picked up the goods, and spent a moment looking over them. Holding the glass full of stems up to the light, inspecting them for colour maybe? Feeling and sniffing the bricks of tea, without opening their fancy paper packaging.
Eventually [¡] spoke, and she did her best to listen.
"[¡] for the tea [¡] can give you two pound notes. [¡] know the shop you bought it from, the owner is a close personal friend, so [¡] ¡ªappreciate getting to try it again."
Her brain fuzzed out in the middle, but she was getting better at interpreting. She still had to modulate her voice when replying, but it got easier as the conversation went on.
The flower stalks netted her almost double that of the tea, for six pounds in total. That was several weeks'' wages for many people, and it sickened her a little that just two bricks of tea and a small bottle of flower stems could cost that much. But, she hadn''t made that much profit on them, when it came down to it. They had been expensive even in the first place, that had sort of been the point.
She spent a while inspecting the rest of the shop and ended up trading for a bracelet and several small rings, which were fashionable at the moment to show you were partnered. Something about the permanence of gold being applied to relationships.
It sounded like the sort of thing the nobility would do.
They were finely crafted and intricately engraved with fractal patterns. The bracelet had small gemstones set into it, and came in a small wooden box, almost as beautifully made.
On a whim, she also picked up a brooch shaped like a starling, made of a sort of gold alloy. [¡] smiled at her as she picked it up, and when [¡] totalled up the bill, [¡] knocked half off the price of the brooch.
[¡] they said something about it, giving her a gentle smile, and she nodded. They had enjoyed making it, or something along those lines.
Leaving the shop, she had spent most of her cash on the jewellery, so she was only a little richer in coin, but at least she had things to sell once she reached Lushgrave. Splitting the ingot into smaller parts made it much easier to spend in the future. She didn''t like carrying cash, and it was useless in a lot of the places she passed through anyway.
An hour later she had restocked her cake supplies and picked up a new string for her bow, along with a large pot of scented beeswax.
She had also picked up a bag of squash seeds and dried cherries, hoping that maybe the bird would like them. If it didn''t, then she also picked up a parcel of eggs. Eggs were good for feathers, right?
In the last shop, she got directions to the town hall. It was a while since she had been somewhere with a real building dedicated to the cause, most town issues were dealt with in whatever the biggest tavern was, and half the time, by the person behind the bar.
The town hall was built from the same white stone as everything else in the city, but it looked utilitarian and squat. It was a wide building, two stories high with many, many narrow windows. The roof was as overgrown as the rest of the city, but she could see one or two figures up there, hacking away at it with knives. Maybe they were trying to bring it back into use for summer?
She let herself in through the big double-wide doors, and stood for a moment in the lobby, confused about where to go. There was no reception desk or map, only bare white marble and corridors stretching out in all directions.
She dithered for only a moment, before shrugging and heading off in a random direction. Either she would find somebody who could help her, or she wouldn''t.
-
Ten minutes later, a rather flustered clerk led her to the office of the person in charge. They knocked on the door and then left her there.
"Come in," echoed through the door, and she had a spike of relief as it was somebody she could understand. The only¡ [¡] had been in the jewellery shop, but along with the strangeness of her host, she had been burnt twice now.
She let herself in, and a minute later was seated in front of a large desk.
"Has any of the local nobility lost a hunting bird, or a mount?" she asked, and the man behind the desk frowned.
"Not as far as I''m aware," he took a moment to shuffle through the papers covering his desk. "Not that we have much nobility around here to begin with."
He turned and peered at the wall behind him, where there was a board covered in tiny paper notes, all handwritten.
"There has been a creature terrorising a city roughtly¡ Three hundred miles to the south. Somewhat, they''re over-doing it a bit. Apparently it''s taken three cows and several sheep over the past few months." He stood up and removed one piece of paper from the board, leaning in close to read it.
"Seems they were going to try and catch it around a month ago." He handed her the note, but it was written in very tiny print and didn''t have much written on it that he hadn''t already iterated.
"Could be that their efforts to catch it failed and it fled here, you thought it was an escaped pet?"
She nodded, "It had a chain around it''s leg and it seemed trained, it was definitely domesticated, at some point at least."
The mayor nodded and took the note back, pinning it back on the board. "How close did you manage to get to it?"
"It wasn''t injured, but it was in a bad state. I fed it and I guess it reverted to training. It seems perfectly tame, and is waiting for me above the forest right now."
She pursed her lips, "I''m headed up to Lushgrave, or I was. I should be stopping at most of the coastal towns on the way. But my sister lives¡"
They conversed for a minute and she put a coin towards getting a note sent to her sister if somebody came along who had lost the bird. Chances were it would have abandoned her by then, but at least she could pass on its last known location.
Job done, she finally collected her shopping and headed towards the outskirts of town. Time to see if her new pet was still hanging around.
Chapter Twenty (82) - Dragon
He was flying.
Dozing, catching the wind without active thought, he slept as he travelled.
Below him were clouds, stretching away into forever, the deep grey of an ongoing storm.
He was in the layer between clouds and nowhere, the nothing place, where he rarely flew, and only when alone.
There was nothing behind him, and nothing ahead, he simply flew without thought. A part of him was aware of the bags strapped to his sides, and he made a small mental note to avoid travelling through the storm, but otherwise, he floated, only the occasional wingbeat keeping him aloft.
-
Coming in to land several days later, he still felt dreamy and half asleep. This was a scrub-stop, and he wiggled with happiness as they took the bags away and bought out the brushes and polish.
The polish was somewhat new, and he didn''t know how he felt about it yet. It made him stink of metal and industry, but it also made his scales gleam like morning clouds, and he quite enjoyed the effect.
He would keep it for now, he could always say no later if it caused him issues.
He ate his two goats without any real thought, then stood very still as two attendants scrubbed at the scales around his mouth, keeping his teeth to himself.
They really did keep getting smaller every year. He huffed at one of them, and they giggled in a way he knew indicated happiness, waving their brush as if to ward him off.
Breathing in, he took in the scents around him. There was nobody he knew or had travelled with here. Maybe, if he looked further out...
He took in a deep breath, and rose to his full height, surveying the city, sorting through what his nose told him.
Then he sank back, letting the scattered scrubbers resume their work, enjoying the feel of the bristles between his scales.
There was nobody here he knew. One or two he had exchanged packages with in the past, but he didn''t make a special effort to remember those anymore, they seemed to change every year.
The giggler had moved on, scrubbing his front claws now, using their whole body to move the brush. He hadn''t thought his claws were that dirty, but it was nice to be looked after.
He looked around, seeing who else was about. There were five scrubbers in total, and two more standing on the sidelines watching. Bigger ones. Adults?
He needed to get the hang of human ages one of these days. He had thought for a long time that they were like dragons and would keep growing as they aged, but he suspected he was wrong about that. It was probably for the best, too. Already he was far too big for their city, they would bang their heads on all the doorways!
By that metric, all the ones scrubbing him seemed young, and he could feel it in their magic too. It was all fresh and still moving of its own accord, if he watched, he could see their appearances shifting a little in his presence. Whoops! That was his fault.
He reined it in before all their coverings fell off or something, he didn''t want a repeat of that incident again.
He had better control than that, but best to be careful.
The giggler by his claws scrambled onto his foot, and started on the top of his leg, a look of¡ Determination? On their face, her face, he decided. She was a brave one!
He nuzzled her gently with his nose, taking in their scent so he''d remember if they ever met again in the future, moving his head back in embarrassment when it almost caused her to fall.
He hadn''t had a passenger with him in months, and he missed the company. They hadn''t given him one since the weirdness and the storm.
He wasn''t sure what their reasoning was, but he missed it. Maybe it was to do with the way the harness had broken down, but that had never happened before the storm, and he was always so careful!
He considered the girl, who had decided she was done with his paw, and was now scrubbing her way up his front leg. It was extremely inefficient, but quite endearing. Maybe she would like to go on a trip? See a new place?
How would he ask that, hmm.
He squinted down at them and concentrated as hard as he could. This had worked in the Treecity¡ It might work here!
He tilted his head at her, trying different voices, but she didn''t react to his scrutiny, a void to his senses. She had magics around her, but they had all been done by others, none of them were her own. There was a possibility that she was too rigid in her thinking already to do anything with her own magic.
That made him a little sad.
He sighed to himself, settling himself down a little and observing the crowd, casting out his senses in a way he still wasn''t entirely used to doing.
The children were all voids, and the adults too. He could touch their magic, and some had more aptitude for it than others. But no matter how he reached, Girl wasn''t amongst them.
He missed her.
He cast out over the crowd, touching each watcher with his mind, and when they all proved dead to his senses, he went further.
A minute later he found one who seemed able to Listen, as he understood it, but they didn''t respond to his nudges. They could hear, but they didn''t. He couldn''t understand it, but he didn''t want to push too hard. Humans were so very fragile.
Was it possible they had been told not to speak to him? That would be... That would be the worst. He wasn''t even going to entertain that thought.
He pulled back his mind and watched the children again. They weren''t very good at this, to be honest, but they were doing their best.
He had vague memories of being that age? Possibly? Younger and clumsier, playing with children his own size, playing running games through the city, but it was hard to cast his mind back that far, and it had stopped after¡
He shook himself out, scattering scrubbers to the wind. This was taking too long. He was half-polished and half-scrubbed, but this was getting boring, and they would never finish before he was scheduled to leave.
He made eye contact with one of the minders at the edge of the circle, and a few moments later they were settling the bags onto his sides, tightening the straps with clever hands.
He looked around hopefully for a passenger, but the minders were already directing him to leave, showing him on the board where to go. Big surprise, it was where he always went when leaving here.
But, he held back. He had never done this route without a passenger. Not once, in all the years he had been flying. He always had a passenger. Always!
Maybe they''d forgotten? He wasn''t sure how to ask, but if he didn''t leave, hopefully they''d get the message?
He shuffled his feet a little, looking for the little one from earlier, or for another young person in travelling gear, momentarily distracted.
There was none, but he could still see the little one if he craned his neck. They had bundled her up with the other scrubbers, herded them out of the circle and¡ Left them to their own devices, hmm.
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He never paid attention to what happened to his passengers when he dropped them off, but there was always somebody there to pick them up. He also remembered the ones he had played with as a child, if he thought about it very carefully. They each had their own minder, sometimes even two. Big humans, who would watch carefully as they played, and then take them back to their caves at the end of the day.
He stood for a moment, watching silently as the people around his feet fussed and griped at his not leaving.
He considered reaching out to the one in the crowd who should have been able to Hear, but they had moved away, heading back to wherever humans went.
Somebody hammered against his chest, and he glanced down for a moment, thinking, before resuming his watching, shuffling a little to adjust the bags.
They still had no minders, nobody to pick them up. The group had walked a couple of streets away before splitting up, but giggler and another he was going to call brushes had settled down against a wall.
He wasn''t so much watching with his eyes anymore, as he was with his nose. They were both still outside. If he was careful, he could step over the little building where they kept the map, over the¡ homes and into the channel between them. He could probably even do it without crushing anything, if he was careful¡
He huffed out of his nose, annoyed at having to find his own passengers, and gave another glance down at the person in front of him. Was this some sort of test? They had stopped banging on his chest, but were now talking at him as if he understood whatever it was they wanted. Probably for him to leave, if he intuited it correctly.
He could make it up, he wasn''t behind by much.
He huffed out again, listening. They still hadn''t moved, huddled against the wall.
He looked around, thinking as hard as he had ever thought before. Humans had minders until they were old enough to be minders. That was a truth.
Humans also had coverings, to keep them safe from the weather, they were susceptible to cold. His passengers always had a travelling outfit and furs and blankets.
That was also a truth.
He squinted at the angry person between his front legs, and at the others in the crowd. Ok, they had multiple layers, to protect them from the weather.
He squinted at the crowd, forcing his brain to work. They all had multiple layers. These were truths.
The children who had been scrubbing him had neither multiple layers, nor did they have minders.
This was... Also a truth, a disturbing one and one he didn''t understand. Maybe the layers had to be made for you by a minder, and their minder had been... Prey? He was intimately familiar with death, he had been hunting since he was old enough to fly.
Humans were fragile, this was...
Stretching out his wings, he made up his mind.
He would fly up and circle around a bit, see if there was anyone else who could Hear, if not, he would come back.
He both disliked this new lack of passengers, and he was itching to use his new skill. He had never been able to communicate with anyone before, and the thought that he might be able to do so now was intoxicating. That he could advocate for himself! It had been months since Tree, and he had found nobody.
With powerful wingbeats he threw himself into the air, taking a little satisfaction in the way the shouter squawked at his sudden exit, tumbling across the grass.
He circled the city four times, in big lazy arcs, casting his nose over the land.
There really was nobody he knew here, not a single stored scent. Not that he bothered to remember every passenger or attendant he had ever had, but he had been in this job for so long, he had expected at least one.
There was a lot of squawking as he landed back in the field, trying to be careful not to injure anyone who might be underfoot. Landing was always a bit of a pain here at the best of times, the circle very hemmed in by buildings.
It looked like they had been preparing to sort out all the packages he''d left them, setting up tables on the grass and moving things into piles.
He set his focus back to where he''d left the children, and nodded to himself. They still hadn''t moved, huddled against the wall where he''d left them.
He considered the dilemma. His nose was pretty good, could he¡ Hmm.
They must have minders, right? There were more big people than little ones, they could just pass them between themselves if a big one died. They must have social groups, flocks, herds, families? Perhaps, if he twisted it in correctly, then he could find them.
Best to test it first, though. He had never tried this on people before.
He looked around until he found a duo on the edge of the circle. A minder, holding tightly to the hand of a little one, that looked correct. He didn''t have either of their scents, but they were right there, he could work this out.
He honed in on the little one with his nose. It was harder from this distance, and without looking at them in case they spooked and fled but-
Ohh, they''d bought him another goat. Not what he wanted, but good initiative. He held it down with one wing absent-mindedly, he''d eat it later.
He focused, taking in what made them ''them'', and then he¡ He Twisted his mind in a way he had never done before, trying to listen, to hone in on the scent, to track his prey back to its den. Better to hunt smart. Nothing was a match for a dragon, so if you tracked your prey back home, then you didn''t eat just once, you could eat for¡
He huffed the odd thoughts away, tilting his head to one side, tracing it back.
The little one lived on the other side of the city. They had two minders, one of which was standing beside them, and they also had several siblings or friends. The numbers and impressions became fuzzier the further out he went, quickly devolving into tenuous links, but it was enough.
Ok, he had that down.
He focused back on the girl. In a way, it was easier, because her scent was fresh in his nose, and she had been very close. He had touched her magic, and that helped too.
He twisted again, following the tracks more easily this time. A predator, hunting from above, only descending when truly necessary.
Her tracks meandered about, but never seemed to stop at any one place for long. There were many different stops. She nested in underground spaces, in doorways and under tables, but she had no permanent abode that he could find. No minders, no siblings, only the other child next to her.
There was one who should have been a minder, if he traced it back so very, very far, but they were so far away that they barely even registered. Too far to hunt.
Huh.
He considered how far that was, roughly, listening and triangulating¡ About halfway through his route, around six months of flying.
That was doable.
He stared around the park, looking at all the little packages and parcels and people.
Now, where did they keep the passenger supply bag?
-
He stepped over the first building very carefully, waiting a moment for all the people in the street to get out of the way before he put his foot down. This place used to be bigger, what had happened¡
Ah, he had been smaller, that was ok too.
He took another careful step, holding his tail very still. He had taken out trees that way before by accident, the houses seemed much more fragile than trees.
He took a third and fourth step, good thing this street was wide!
He hadn''t considered how he was going to take off from here, but he would work it out later.
He moved carefully down the street, knocking over a lot of things but not any buildings, until he got to the two children.
They were seated in a doorway, staring up at him with big eyes, watching as he approached, but not fleeing. Their dog bared its teeth at him, refusing to back off as he came closer.
Now how did he communicate this? For the thousandth time, he wished he could speak the human language, or was it languages? But he had nothing. The girl in Tree hadn''t been able to help him, and he hadn''t found anyone else he could ask, yet.
He crouched down, and the buildings on either side of the road creaked a little as he pressed his bulk against them.
She was looking at him, with her brave eyes, but her friend, a First Neither, he decided for the sake of fairness, he didn''t pick that one very often, wasn''t so brave. They huddled up against the wall, eyes like a trapped deer.
Dragon eyed them up. He would like to give them a place to flee, but he was taking up most of the room in the street right now.
He considered for a moment, looking around. Ah, that was it.
He stood and reached over a building next to him. There was a¡ Supply place there, with fruit and meats and a surface giving away leather goods.
He very, very, very carefully picked up a satchel in his teeth. One of the table legs snapped and broke, but the damage was minimal, they could pick it all back up when he left. Really, it was their own fault for building it so flimsily.
He deposited the satchel on a roof for a moment, eyeing his surroundings. This house was built entirely around a tree. That was interesting.
What else did humans need? The city had gone very quiet around him, and all the people shouting had stopped, it was kinda nice.
Ah, he''d forgotten to keep the goat!
Ah well, they were always a bit stringy anyway.
He eyed up one of the houses, he could see they were providing blankets, but they were all kept stubbornly indoors.
Probably for the best, it was going to rain later.
He knocked gently on the door with a claw, and winced at the sound of splintering wood, drawing it back in embarrassment. Somebody inside squawked, or maybe more than one somebody, and a moment later a pile of blankets were thrown into the street.
Whoops. Better to stick to the outside, he reckoned, but it was nice of them to help.
It was also so nice of them to lay all the stuff out like this, so that people could take whatever they needed. Humans were so smart sometimes.
He snuffled around, looking for food, until he found a table covered in bread-goods.
That wasn''t what he called it of course, but he had come up with his own feelings for things over the years. That was good stuff, humans needed that to be healthy. He deposited the bread next to the satchel, only eating one bar of it, out of curiosity. Rather dry.
Hmm, what else...
-
He stared at the pile of goods he had gathered, hmm. Probably easier to bring Brave to the stuff, than to take it to her.
He checked back. Her friend had left pretty much the moment he gave them an exit, skittering under his body and away into the city, but she was still there, gazing up at him, one hand on the back of the dog. It had given up baring its teeth, and was now staring at him with a sort of resigned disappointment.
He gave it a look back, and it reluctantly stepped away. Brave glanced down at it as it did, and then back up at him.
He reached out a paw, and for a moment she didn''t move, staring up at him, and then with a sort of shrug, she clambered up.
A couple of minutes of packing and negotiating later, and they were off.
He was careful not to damage the city too much as he left. He was gonna have to hustle to get back on schedule.
Chapter Twentyone (83) - Littleshy
They had been on board the Clear Water for a week now, and Brightswim, as the crew had decided to name the dragon, was doing, if not better, then at least not any worse.
The full name they had given her was "Swims Through Seas Bright, as at Home in the Sea as Sky". They had also, after some debates about autonomy and anatomy and language, decided they she was a "she".
The full name was a bit of a mouthful, and they were still refining it, but for now, it was what had stuck.
She hadn''t taken any more dips into the sea as of yet, but not for lack of trying. After her third rush towards the railings, they had threatened to tie a rope to her, making it clear with simple words and gestures what they meant. They had felt sorry for her though and had instead filled an old barrel with sea water for her to splash about in.
It didn''t stop her from making a break for the edge of the ship every now and again, but they were confident she would get over it in time, once she realised the consequences of jumping off a fast-moving ship.
As for herself, Littleshy had never been so busy! The sailors had decided that if she was going to put them so off course, then she was going to muck in and do her bit. She had learnt how to splice ropes, scrub decks and how to check all the various parts of the ship for signs of rot or disease.
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The growth mage had checked her over and declared her "talentless", so that was one chore she got out of at least.
She went to bed in her little cabin each night exhausted but happy.
The last couple of months had been a big turn-around for her, and she still found it hard to believe how far she''d come. From the scared child hiding in a barrel in the back of a junkyard, to this. She didn''t even have words to describe it. Now she was on a ship, on her way to the foreigner''s land. Free.
From scut work, starving, and being indebted to the local gangs, to being completely free. Sure, she still had obligations, she had to work her way on the ship, and there was the question of what would happen to her when they hit shore. She couldn''t exactly leave, being surrounded by ocean, but none of that mattered.
She was still free.
She wondered why she hadn''t left earlier, but in reality, it had never occurred to her that it was a possibility. She had assumed that she would be followed or tracked down, her ankles broken and anything she''d earned along the way taken from her.
But that had been her mistake, assuming that people cared. Instead, it seemed that nobody had even noticed she''d gone.
She scrubbed harder, preparing the railing for a new coat of paint.
It was possible that all the people she''d known back home, all those she made payments to, all the other kids on the street, it was possible they just all assumed she was dead. It was what she would have thought anyway, if somebody she knew went missing.
There was something sad about that, that she had nobody in the world who noticed her go. Nobody.
Still, it was strange that nobody had come after the dragon.
She wondered about that¡
Chapter Twentytwo (84) - Breathesharp
They were finally ready to get moving, only one more day, and this mess would be over.
His crew had been searching for weeks, so imagine his surprise when he found out that their quarry was still loitering at the scene of the crime!
It was genius really. They had searched all over, from the mountains in the north to the small towns and villages in the west, where they knew she had grown up.
"And yet-" his voice was hard, as he surveyed his crew, "you''re telling me that none of you thought to check the very place she was last seen?"
There were a lot of bowed heads and scruffed feet, as well as a single "no sir" from one of them. probably Coffeeoil by the intonation.
He glared at them, "Well, that''s by the by. Do we at least have a location now?"
There were some mutterings and glances between themselves, and then Marmalade, an idiot with a dog''s name, stepped forward, "We spoke to one of her employers, boss, and they confirmed seeing the dragon. As of two days ago, it was still alive."
There were nods from the rest of the assembled mob, and Marmalade took a fortifying breath and carried on, "Employer said she normally does dock work on a Thursday so we should be able to pick her up there tomorrow. She leaves in the evening and then walks home around-" they took a moment to look at the rest of the crew, and there was a little bit of back and forth before he continued, "-around eight. She stops off in one of the pubs and then she''s been living in an old warehouse on North Back Mill Street."
There were more nods and a couple of claps, and with a relieved sigh, Marmalade merged back into the mass. Breathesharp stared at them and sighed like a disappointed parent.
This crew had been by his side since he was a boy, or, to put it better, they had all been by each other''s sides.
They had all grown up together, following his lead and trusting in his judgement for most of their lives. He had expected better of them, when he set them to find the missing dragon, but it wasn''t their fault, not really.
Who would have expected her to just stay exactly where she was? It was perfect, genius, completely unexpected. They had even tracked her down to her origin. Her dead mother, gone to earth years back, her sire, unaware they even had a daughter.
The small gang she had run around with hadn''t known where she''d gone, or much of anything really. She had kept to herself.
"Why was she hired in the first place?" he questioned, and there was a series of shrugs, before Bigdog stepped forward, a sheaf of papers in her hands, glancing at the others as she spoke. "As far as we can tell, she was just one in a chain of many. The dragon passed through at least three other hands before hers. She was known as a good worker and occasional thief, but mostly she did courier work, good at keeping her head down and moving unnoticed. Her prior rep was good."
She shuffled through the papers. "Seems she''s been doing odd jobs since she picked up the dragon. A couple of courier runs, but mostly day labour. Which makes sense, she''s in a new territory, she can start fresh."
"But," She flipped through the papers a little more, more for something to do with her hands than anything else, "she''s kept the dragon with her on all of her jobs. It seems she''s disguising it as some sort of big lizard. I could go into more detail, but¡"
She shrugged and looked to him for approval, and he nodded as she melted back into the crowd.
With a sigh, he looked them over. "Alright then you sorry lot, since you can''t be trusted on your own, here''s the plan¡"
Formality broke down as they crowded around him, studying the map they''d picked up, already marked with key locations. "We know where she''ll be working, and what route she takes home. Our best bet is too¡"
They discussed the plan for almost an hour, until everyone, even Marmalade, knew their positions and timings by heart. There would be no time to run rehearsals, but it should be enough.
They would swarm the dock around noon and pick up the girl along with the dragon, simple as that, on the surface at least.
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Reports indicated that it was attached to her, and talks with the hapless captain who had scared her off indicated that the animal had only panicked when the girl was threatened.
Picking up an extra body was no big deal anyway. It was always better to cut clean, and the girl should be grateful if she knew what was good for her.
-
The next morning they were all in positions. Marmalade would cover the back roads, and Payback and Skithurl were to walk patrols and make sure that nobody tried to interfere or call the guard. They didn''t want trouble, their quarry wasn''t supposed to even exist, after all.
Breadapple would be on the rooftops, ready to shout and alert the rest of them if something was going down that they weren''t a part of. She was also armed with a very large crossbow, but hopefully, it wouldn''t be needed at any point.
They planned to do this clean. No need to make it messier than it had to be.
Plus, if they hit the dragon¡ Breathesharp didn''t even want to think about that. Best to lose their target and try again another day, than for that to happen.
Coffeeoil had the supplies they would need, once they caught the thing. A bag of various types of meat, a cage made from twisted copper, for if everything went wrong, and a whole bag of gold nuggets and flakes, still in their natural form.
From what they''d researched, dragons ate meat, but they also required a weekly feeding of pure gold, fresh from the earth.
Marmalade and Payback had argued with the rest of them about this, but in the end had agreed that it was better safe than sorry, and they could always sell it on again afterwards if the thing decided it wasn''t hungry.
They had tried to do their research, but there wasn''t much information out there. The postal service, as far as they could see, had never given out any information about how they had raised their dragon. Nothing, not even what they fed it on a day-to-day basis.
He would be the one to do the jump, with Bigdog by his side.
-
The girl wouldn''t be going home until gone eight, so they had time to have an early breakfast and set themselves up in their positions. Marmalade had called in a positive sighting, as she walked towards the docks, no deviations there.
He was glad. They needed this job to work out.
He was in position, seated outside a cafe on the edge of the docks, nursing a bowl of tea prepared in the old style, which was so rare around here nowadays. Bigdog was lurking around a corner, ready for his signal.
He mused about the strangeness of this job as he sipped the tea. He wasn''t even sure who was paying them, but he suspected it was the government.
Until this job, Breathesharp hadn''t even believed that there were dragons. He thought they were a myth, made up by foreigners as just another excuse to call themselves more civilised.
And Gods did they ever make the most of those excuses. But no, they did exist, and soon there would be one less shot in their rifles. One less excuse.
If they fucked up here, he didn''t want to think what it would mean. Both for him and his crew, and the country in general.
They needed their own dragon.
Rumours were that the foreigners were on the verge of civil war. That they''d soon be pulling their soldiers back to deal with the violence, leaving only a skeleton crew behind.
If they could get a dragon on their side before that happened, even if it was only tiny and half-trained, it would be a massive feather in their cap. They could build morale around that, it would help them take back what had been taken from them.
They needed this. His crew needed this. The country needed this.
They needed the win.
-
He hadn''t intended to drink the tea, only to use it as a prop, but he found himself sipping it, closing his eyes to savour the taste.
As he finished the bowl, he glanced around, spotting his prey as she rounded the corner. Right on time, with her day bag over one shoulder and the dragon over the other.
If their reports were correct, then she would settle the dragon down somewhere alongside her bag and then work until noon, when most workers took their break. She would work for another hour and then take her break uninterrupted, coaxing the dragon to eat.
They would be able to jump her at that point with minimal confrontation.
He watched as she was called onto one of the ships. It was a small ship, compared to some, but it was built for navigating the midlands and travelling the foreign routes, rather than moving up and down the coast like their own ships were, which tended to be small and fast, but less manuverable.
He held the bowl in his hands, feeling the last of the warmth leech out of it, and watched at the ship. It looked ready to sail, within the next hour at most. They probably needed some last-minute cargo fetching, a forgotten bag or something similar. He had done this work when he was young, along with the rest of his crew, there was always one last thing to fetch.
He watched as they unfurled the sails and put all ropes in all the right places, frowning as one of the sailors started to unhook the gangplank.
It was the shout from Breadapple that finally made it sink in, and he surged to his feet, throwing the bowl down and running towards the ship.
Way too late.
Ahead of him, the ship pulled out, and his target went with it. All their planning, all their working, for nought.
How had she known? Had she known? Why did she choose today to leave, they had been so close!
He wanted to cry, but he held it together as his crew filtered out of their positions, until they were standing around him like a protective shield.
Bigdog reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder, and he sighed.
"What we gonna do, boss?" The voice was Marmalade''s. He wasn''t the smartest of the crew, but he knew as much as any of them that this had been their last chance.
Breathesharp hummed, staring at the departing ship, not seeing it, no thoughts going through his mind, until he finally spoke, the words emerging from somewhere else in his brain.
"I guess we go after her."
Chapter Twentythree (85) - Sunswims
They had named her Sunswims. She knew this because they had told her, using words and gestures and pictures. "Sun," their word for the big ball in the sky which warmed the earth each day, and "swims" after her propensity to dive into the water.
She tasted the words, feeling how they melded together into one sound. Sunswims. She liked it!
She was learning other words too! Her mother''s name was¡ Small¡ Fears? She didn''t understand the second word and it seemed too complicated to communicate with either gestures or pictures. The crew looked confused, unable to communicate it properly even as a short play.
So many words. She knew all the bits of the ship and the stuff that the bits were made out of, and so, so many different kinds of food!
She still felt so very tired nearly all the time, but when she was awake, things were starting to make more sense, and she enjoyed that.
Right now, she was perched on the edge of a barrel, staring down into the water. There was a sort of big fish inside the bucket, swirling round and round.
They gave her two words, and she understood that one was the type of fish, and one was the word for fish, possibly, along with all the associated words in-between, but she wasn''t feeling up to sorting through it all today.
Instead, she balanced on the edge of the barrel and watched the fish, as it swam around and around and around.
-
The fish was bigger than she was, and she had watched two of the sailors wrestle it out of the sea and into the barrel, as it struggled and flipped on the deck. It had almost knocked one of them overboard, but they had tied themselves to the ship with rope, so even if they did go over, they would be safe!
Humans were so smart sometimes. She wanted to be that smart.
Later they would take the fish apart, and turn it into dinner, if not today, then tomorrow. They did smart things to it and made it taste so good that even if she was sleepy, she would still want to eat it.
She stared down at it.
She wanted to eat the fish.
Not tomorrow or tonight or after it was cooked. Not any of the pieces they saved for her.
No, she wanted to eat the fish, and she wanted to do it now.
She realised she was drooling, staring down into the barrel, teetering on the edge.
Around and around¡
It was only a fish, how difficult could it be?
She wiggled on the edge of the barrel, sizing up her prey, preparing to pounce.
She moved her tail into position, predicted the movements of her prey, eyed it up and knew it for what it was and would ever be, which was her dinner, and then, she struck!
There was a splash as she hit the water, and she had to remember to seal up her nose, to stop her breathing and to cover her eyes, but all that happened in an instant, and then, she was hunting!
She darted towards her prey, only a little constrained by the tight space within the barrel, but if she was trapped, then so was it!
There was a lot of splashing as her dinner reacted to this intruder in its barrel, but she didn''t give it time to flee! As she skimmed her teeth against its side, a part of her realised that maybe this wasn''t going to be as easy as she had initially thought, but she ignored it, she was a hunter now.
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Sunsims went in for another bite, moving in opposing circles to the fish, but her teeth skittered off and she received a tail slap across the face in punishment. For a moment she was underwater, unable to breathe or see, but she pulled it back, going in for another round!
She had this!
Her teeth skimmed over the scales for the third time, but then finally caught on the tail, as the fish went in for another slap. With glee, she clamped her jaw shut. This was it!
There was no blood, and she was firmly in the untasty bit of the tail right now, but it was purchase, she could work with that!
The fish, however, was not quite as happy about the situation as she was. It broke from its path and tried to flip her away, whipping its body from side to side, doing everything in its power to free its tail from her jaws.
She was a little rattled by this, but she had a grip now, she couldn''t give it up. She would win this, she just had to¡ Adjust it somehow, and get to the more fleshy parts.
As the fish rammed her into the side of the barrel again, she realised that she was slowing down faster than it was, and her grip, for all the joy it had given her earlier, wasn''t really injuring it. She needed to move.
As the fish rammed her into the side of the barrel again, it took all her willpower to hold on.
The fourth time, she was almost ready for it, but while she was prepared, the barrel was not.
In a rush of water, both the dragon and fish washed out across the deck, the flowing water pushing them towards the railings, the fish flipping and writhing the whole time, still trying to shake her off.
She needed to change her grip, but to do that she would have to hold the fish down somehow. She had to do something before it escaped, or both of them ended up in the sea!
She could feel the vibrations of feet as the crew ran across the deck towards them. That wasn''t what she needed!
If she could have bared her teeth at them and hissed, she would have, but she was a bit occupied. This was her fight! They were to stay out of it!
The fish flipped again, throwing her upwards, and she finally unclenched her jaw, letting go of the tail and flying across the deck.
She rolled several times and then skidded to a halt, using her wings both to slow the momentum and then to push herself back, hurtling towards the rapidly escaping fish.
She threw forward, using everything in her power to move, skidding around the grasping arms of a sailor and between her mother''s legs, jumping a coil of rope, and again, slipping her teeth across the scales of the fish.
She dodged another sailor''s arm and another flip of the tail, and this time her teeth caught, perfectly around the top of the body of the fish. The fin cut into the top of her mouth, but that was a small detail, filed away for later.
She could feel its thrashing slowing down her mouth was filling with blood. She wasn''t sure how much of it was hers and how much belonged to the fish, but that didn''t matter. All that mattered was that she was winning, that she had won!
One of the sailors, she thought their name might be SailWater, ran over, presumably to help. They had a big knife in their hand, and they were looking to take her kill!
She bared her teeth at them, as best she could around her death-grip on the fish, and he paused mid-stride, knife held high. A breath later, he placed one foot on the head of the fish and held it down as it struggled.
She hated it, she hated him! This was her kill! But she was so rattled and beaten about that she was secretly glad of the help, gulping down the blood as best she could.
She bit deeper into the fish, until with a snap her jaws met, and the prey stopped moving.
She swallowed the meat, savouring it. Her own kill! She had done it! She had won!
She bared her teeth again at the watching crowd, and struggled back to her meal as they watched, suddenly exhausted, struggling to stay aloft.
One of the sailors said something, and the others laughed, but she knew it wasn''t in a mocking way, and she eyed up her fish. She had managed to get one bite out of it, but how on earth was she to do a second? Her instincts were telling her to swallow it whole before anyone else could steal it from her, but that¡ That didn''t seem at all feasible.
She eyed up the sailor with the knife again. They had taken their foot off the head and stepped back, but they were still watching her, one eyebrow raised.
She made exhausted eye contact with them, the flush of battle washing out of her much like the water out of the barrel.
The sailor shrugged, and then knelt in front of her fish, using the big knife to cut it down into more manageable pieces, which she gulped down one after the other.
Humans were so useful. They didn''t have beautiful scales or sharp teeth, but they made their own, which did just as well.
She made it halfway through the fish before she could eat no more. Every instinct screamed at her to hide the rest, to bury it, to sleep and then to come back later and feast again, but her rational mind, what she could pull up through the clouds, knew that wasn''t right.
Unable to even keep her eyes open, she nudged the last of the fish towards the few sailors who were still watching, snatched one last bite as a late-night snack, and then headed off to sleep.
The barrel would make her a nice den. It was hers now.
She curled herself up around the slice of fish and drifted down into sleep.
She had won.
Chapter Twentyfour (86) Windwashes
He made it all the way home, without anyone catching up with him, which was a miracle, he realised later.
Drifting along, not feeling his feet against the floor or the wind against his face, he was as surprised as anyone when he found himself standing outside his own front door.
His partner opened it a moment later, although he didn''t remember knocking. Her face was tight and worried as she reached for him, and he fell into her arms, breathing in her presence and allowing her to guide him inside.
She was speaking, but although he could hear her words, they washed past him, waves against the shore.
He was simply glad to be home.
-
He came-to an indeterminate amount of time later, sitting at the table in the morning room. There was a cold cup of tea in front of him, and somewhere in the distance, he could hear a rhythmic banging. When he thought back, he was aware that it had been going on for a while, but it hadn''t registered with him until now.
Turnsvoice was sitting across from him, her face grave, her hands wrapped around a much fresher-looking cup than his own.
He studied her face, from his strange, faraway vantage point, and was struck by how much older she looked. He hadn''t had a chance to look at her lately, and her appearance clashed with his memories.
Her hair was still the deep pink it had always been, but she''d had it cut short at some point, and the way it was tied gave her face a severe look. Her skin had a grey tint, which was new, and there were wrinkles around her mouth and eyes which he hadn''t been there the last he looked.
She stared at him, her mouth tight, and his heart lurched, the look instilling him with a sudden urge to bolt. He didn''t want to have this conversation, he didn''t want to be here.
Then it was gone as rapidly as it had arrived. He was home, and he was safe. She would understand.
During the week of convalescence, he hadn''t been up to speaking about what had happened, and even now he felt dreamy and lost, but it couldn''t be put off forever. He was waking up, and he had things he needed to say.
The pool of ink in his heart frothed and churned, but he held his hand over it and didn''t let it go. This wasn''t a place for anger, only cold, quiet grief.
He stared down at the table, surprised to see a mug of tea in his hands, stone cold. Where had that come from?
"I¡"
He took a deep breath, trying to meet her eyes but actually staring past her in the attempt. "I''m sorry, I didn''t mean to leave, I don''t want to leave¡ But..."
She stared at him, unmoving for a moment before responding, "But?"
Her eyes flicked towards the banging, and then back to him.
He shrugged, trying again to look at her face but feeling his eyes slide past, "I fucked up." He pursed his lips, finding it easier to speak than he had expected it to be, "I think they''re gonna hang me."
She raised her eyebrows in surprise, "Well, I wasn''t expecting that one. What on earth did you do?"
He had meant to be forthright about what had gone on, but saying it out loud¡ It sounded ridiculous, and her frank reaction wasn''t helping matters.
"Uh¡" he winced, "I stole a¡ The... I stole a, the, I stole The dragon?"
She blinked, and he smiled a sheepish smile. "It was just sittin'' there, you know."
"I''m sorry, that was a lot to take in, you stole a dragon, a full sized one?"
He laughed under his breath, "it was dragon day and" he shrugged, "you know me."
"I do," she said, her voice quiet and only a little confused. "Go on."
He took a second to collect his thoughts, and then dropped all his words at once. "Something happened down south. A city taken to plague or¡ Something. I only saw it from the air, later. But they wanted to send the dragon to look," he took a breath, "but they needed a rider. They wanted to send a child, an orphan they''d picked up from somewhere or other. They spoke as if they were disposable, just¡ Just something to use for their plans and then throw away afterwards."
The sea in his heart churned, and he shut his eyes for a moment, holding back the tides. Across from him, Turnsvoice reached out and laid her hand over his. He realised he was trembling.
"I can''t let them do that. I couldn''t¡" he stared down into the mug of tea, not moving his hand away but also not acknowledging the touch. He couldn''t, not yet.
"You did the right thing." Her tone was stronger than he had heard it in a long time, before it turned questioning. "Ok, but did you give it back, or do we own a dragon now?"
She hummed to herself, not giving him a chance to continue, "There are that many orphans in the city, that they can do that?"
"Apparently." He twisted in a sort of embarrassment, loosening his hand from hers, "I never realised. I never even thought about it. I gave the dragon back, not that I could''ve done otherwise, he was his own person."
He stared into the middle distance for a moment, and she waited for him to come back before she spoke. "Well. I reckon that''s gonna be trouble, but you did the right thing. We can do something for them, at least."
"You don''t get it. I''m going away. If they leave you with anything, you''re gonna be fighting those very orphans for it."
He sighed, "That banging is, I assume them, trying to get through the front door?"
She shook her head, "They gave up on the front hours ago, they''re trying the back now. But we have the shutters locked, and I sent the cook out with a rolling pin, every time one of them tries anything," she grinned with a sudden savageness, "well, let''s just say there''s gonna be a few broken fingers amongst them tonight."
She looked into him, gripping his hand tightly again. "I''m not gonna let them take you. Even if I have to go out there with the rolling pin myself. Just you watch."
He smiled back a broken smile. "I can''t hide in here forever though. I... They''re gonna-"
Whatever his next words were going to be, they were swallowed by a sudden crash of broken glass from the first floor. There was a brief moment of silence, and then a lot of shouting, swearing and clattering.
Windwashes looked up, watching as the floorboards above him shuddered. They had never put a proper ceiling in here, he had liked the rustic look of the exposed beams and the way the heat travelled up into the room above, but it did mean you could see and hear every footstep on the floor above.
There was another crash and a lot more shouting, and then a lot of screaming and swearing.
Turnsvoice stared up at the ceiling alongside him and laughed quietly to herself, but there was a bitter note to it now. "I guess whoever that is, Cook has caught up to them. I guess we couldn''t stave them off forever."
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Windwashes sighed and shook his head, pushing the cold tea away from himself and standing up.
"Let him go!" he shouted at the ceiling, and the sounds paused for a moment. He shouted into the brief gap, "cook,-" he realised he didn''t know her name "-bring him down here, please."
There was a longer pause, and then a grumbling of voices, a lot of creaking and only a small amount of swearing as the intruder was dragged down the stairs and thrown bodily into the morning room.
He entered with a stagger but managed to keep his feet beneath him, only taking a few hops before righting himself. It was amazing what a low centre of gravity could do.
Windwashes gave Brickwrath a brittle smile, and gestured across the table, as if this was a normal encounter, "my partner, Turnsvoice. I don''t think you''ve met."
He looked from Brickwrath to her, "This is, uh, my mentor, from early in my army days. He''s caught up in the same mess. I kinda found him on the road, and got the dragon to bring him and his friend back."
He was struck by a sudden thought and stared back at the man, "wait, how did you get through the first floor window, anyway?"
-
A few minutes later the three of them were settled around the table, fresh tea in front of them. The banging still hadn''t abated, but it had slowed down.
"What on earth did you do to get those doors." Brickwrath grunted, "I didn''t think they fitted doors like that outside of castles under frequent siege."
Windwashes laughed, "designed them myself, actually, then got a couple as a freebie at the end of the job. Never figured we''d actually need them, but I thought they looked nice. How''d you find us?"
Brickwrath puffed over his tea, "Figures. It wasn''t so hard, we just followed the circus."
He took a sip, and then got right down to business, "well. Do you wanna talk about that farce earlier?"
Windwashes made a sort of half-shrug. "I guess," there was another bang from the back, and he winced, "I guess that''s them coming to take me away?"
"Took ''em ten minutes to even notice you''d left." Brickwrath shrugged. He looked over the shuttered windows and then continued. "They ain''t gonna execute you or anythin'', if that''s yer worry. They can''t even fine you, not for any amount that matters. Might get you for abandoning the court room or somethin'' though."
He grinned, the combination of steam and dim lighting making him look like a creature from a play, "Turns out they can''t fine you for more than horse theft, and you not only gave the horse back uninjured, but were doing a needed service. So they can''t even complain about that."
He laughed shortly, "I got a lawyer friend on board, once you left. If we''re lucky, we might even convince ''em to give you a reward."
"There''s nothin'' in the books about Dragon Theft. They never bothered to codify it, and technically the dragon is their own person. It doesn'' even count as kidnapping, cause he went out on his own the second time. Maybe coersion?"
He took another sip of his tea and gave an appreciative sigh.
Windwashes started across the table, as the churning in his heart slowed. Molten rock solidifying into black obsidian, washed over by the slow waters of relief.
He laid his head down on the table and didn''t hear the next sentence. A moment later he frowned at the wood and then cocked an ear towards the back door. "The banging stopped."
Brickwrath nodded, matter-of-fact, "That''ll be Elegantlillies then. I don''t know what she got up to in the past, but-" he shook his head and then tapped the side of his nose, "better not ask, me thinks."
Windwashes nodded slowly, he had met people like that before. He had almost been one of them himself a couple of times, but had thankfully managed to dodge those bullets.
Turnsvoice looked confused, and Windwashes shook his head at her. "I''ll explain later," he bit his lip, "if there is a later."
"Damn right there will be! We''re not gonna let ''em take you anywhere." Brickwrath interjected, gesturing somewhat carefully with his mug.
Windwashes laughed, "Still looking after me, even after all this time."
There was a click from the adjacent room, and they all paused, looking over at the closed adjoining door. A moment later there was a slight scuffle, some shouting, and then the sound of an extremely heavy door slamming back into place.
They waited for a heartbeat, and then Elegantlillies was escorted in by one very flustered-looking cook. "I don''t get paid enough for this," she griped, "this one let ''emselves in, you people can deal with it, I''m going home."
With no further ado, she turned and left, and Turnsvoice winced pushing herself up from the table, "give me a moment."
She hurried out of the room, giving a brief nod as she passed to Elegantlillies, who was already pouring herself a cup of tea from the pot in the corner.
"I haven''t had this stuff in years," she said sniffing it. "Bit rich for my blood nowadays, but," she nodded to Brickwrath and then gestured around the room with a nod, "you have some fancy friends!"
"How''d you get in?" Brickwrath enquired, curious, and she shrugged.
"Can''t give up all my secrets now can I."
She took a sip of the tea, and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing it in, before heading towards the table. Windwashes pulled her out a seat. "Nah, convinced the idiots outside to go home and then just picked the lock. You gotta buy better hardware, mate."
He blew out through his nose, "I think rain got into the locks a couple of years back and we replaced ''em with something off-the-shelf. I guess we need to do it again."
She nodded, still breathing in the tea, "was good enough to keep out most anyway." There was grudging respect in her voice, and he got the impression she had been about to elaborate, but had stopped herself.
She opened her eyes a moment later, to find them both staring at her. "What?"
They shook their heads in unison, "not my business," they both conceded, and she nodded.
They sat quietly and drank their tea until Turnsvoice came back.
"She wasn''t as annoyed as she seemed," she said, helping herself to a fresh cup and frowning at the nearly empty pot, "just upset you broke her rolling pin in half. There was no need for that."
Elegantlillies laughed an easy laugh and nodded a greeting. "I''ll buy her a new one, once we''re out of this mess."
They chatted for a minute, exchanging names and such, refilling the pot, and somewhere along the line a tray of small cakes appeared from the kitchen, slightly stale but still good.
It was the most human he had felt in a long time, and Windwashes appreciated it. If he didn''t focus too hard, he could almost imagine them as friends, here for a day out in the city. Ok, it was a strange party, as somebody had locked the shutters and the cook was refusing to cook, but still.
He looked at the empty cake plate, devoid even of crumbs now, and across from him, Elegantlillies leaned back on her chair, making it creak alarmingly.
"So we set up to meet our lawyer at the town hall tomorrow morning -that''s the place you ran away from by the way- are you ok with that?"
He nodded at her, "Yeah, yeah, just as long as it''s not sprung on me like this morning¡"
She gestured back in agreement. "That was dirty. The only reason they separated me out was they knew that shit wouldn''t work on me. They put me up in a nice room, gave me breakfast, and only then dragged me to that farce. But don''t worry¡"
Her grin was predatory. "We can do them for that, too. They didn''t even tell you what you were in for, just locking you up like that. It''s kidnapping, at best."
She nodded to Brickwrath, who made a sort of ''who, me?'' gesture, "and you, you''re not even a citizen here, which means they had even less right to do that. It should have been a civil matter, but¡"
She went on for some time, and Windwashes got more and more impressed as she did. He hadn''t thought much of her back on the road, a hulking figure in the gloom, afraid of the dragon and worn down by weeks of hardship. But here, after a good bath and a few nights'' sleep, she was in her element.
"I''m coming with you." Turnsvoice slotted in as the spiel wound down. "I let those bastard take my daughter from me, I won''t let them take him too."
Elegantlillies raised an eyebrow at her, but shrugged, lifting her empty mug in a gesture of agreement. "No idea what happened there, but why not. More voices on our side isn''t a bad thing."
Turnsvoice licked her lips, and placed her mug on the table, her lips pursed. "We had a daughter, she went away to school, they were meant to take her there safe and then bring her back, and instead she died."
Elegantlillies and Brickwrath blinked, and after a moment he spoke up, "You trying to say the Dragon killed her, or one of the postal workers?"
Turnsvoice shook her head, "Nobody knows what happened. She made it to the school apparently, but after that, nobody knows."
She glared down into her tea, and if looks could boil¡ "But it was them that convinced us to let her go, they even paid for the trip. That should have looked after her once she was there."
She stared down into her tea, and Windwashes reached out, giving her his hand, as if he could take on her grief for the both of them.
Nobody had anything really to say to that, and after some more small talk, they headed off to bed in the guest rooms, and the two of them were left to clear up the mugs and plates. The servants could always have done it, but they were long ago abed and besides, both of them had come from humble backgrounds, so it wasn''t a chore.
"You did well," Windwashes said quietly, stacking the small plates atop each other, "I never knew how to word it¡"
She didn''t look at him, collecting discarded mugs, "It was easy. I just spoke the truth."
He winced. "They never said she¡"
She cut him off. "She''s dead, Wind. Maybe they never said it, but they implied it. The people they put in charge of investigating it as much as confirmed it. She''s¡"
Her voice broke for a moment, but she took a deep breath and carried on, "She''s dead. She was our little light, and now she''s dead. But there are other children out there who aren''t. We don''t have to do nothing."
She pushed open the door to the kitchen, but let him go through first, following a moment later. "You did the right thing, not letting them exploit some poor kid like that. The three of you, the four of us. We''re strong, we can change things. We can stop it happening again, in places where there''s nobody like you to step in and do the right thing."
He gazed at her, seeing her again for the first time, before abruptly realising he was staring and nodding in agreement instead. "Alright."
Chapter Twentyfive (87) - Health & Pearl
The carriage house, from where the children and Southshore left, was a hive of noise and activity, and by the time they were on the road, both children felt like they had weathered a storm.
They had both been awoken at first light, which wasn''t unusual, but they had gotten out of the habit since they had landed on shore, and now, as the sun was finally staking its claim to the sky, they both felt sleepy and battered.
Southshore had set everything up, busying them along chatting incomprehensibly and incessantly as he did.
They were in for a long journey.
-
The first couple of hours on the road were calm, if not quiet. They all ate their breakfast on their laps and slowly recovered from their early start.
After the first twenty minutes though, Southshore got bored. And when he was bored, he talked.
And talked.
And talked some more.
In between bouts of talking, he invented stupid games, but that wasn''t so bad. The one they ended up playing for a few hours was some sort of guessing game. He was thinking of a word, something in the carriage or outside that he''d seen, and they had to guess what the word was.
Language barriers did not make it easy, but as it went on, they had managed to teach Southshore almost as much of their language as he had of his. None of it useful, mind, but it was something, and he was an enthusiastic student.
Once he bored of the games, and the two of them became too tired to continue, he crawled outside to annoy the driver, leaving Health and Pearl alone to recuperate.
Health leaned back, staring out of the side, into the passing trees. "You ever seen so many trees before?"
Pearl shook her head. They had come from the same village, so the question was mostly rhetorical, "They''re so tall." She whispered, "Like, I thought the mountains were the tallest thing I''d ever see, now I''m not so sure."
Health nodded. They weren''t comparable to mountains, not really, but distance always made mountains look smaller than they were. The trees here were all-consuming, stretching far up into the sky, a dark ceiling somewhere far, far above.
Pearl laid one hand on the wall of the carriage, "Wish I could go out there and touch ''em, how Blanketweaving showed me on the ship. I bet they''re so old that they''re all full up on magic."
"I bet," Health murmured, and stared out of the window again for a time.
The trees passed by in a sort of green-brown blur, as they worked themselves up, preparing to speak.
"Feels like we''re just being dragged from place to place," they finally said, not moving their gaze from the passing trees. "Ever since we got sent onto the island, we''ve just been dragged from place to place."
Pearl was silent, also watching the trees.
Eventually, she spoke with a soft voice. "Is that such a bad thing?"
"I mean-" she continued, "we don''t even speak the language here. We''re learnin'', a bit more every day, but it''s gonna take a while."
She kept looking out of the window, and the silence stretched between them.
"We''re just kids, Health."
They didn''t respond, watching the trees pass by.
They heard her sigh, and a moment later she laid a small hand on their knee. "We could jump out the carriage, if you want?" She offered.
She let out a quiet laugh, "We could go live in the woods. I know how to start a fire, you can hunt for food, we''ll live off berries and-" she fell off, "I dunno, rabbits?"
She rattled at the door handle, "c''mon then, let''s go, make our own destinies, we should have enough in the travel packs to-"
"That''s enough," Health turned and glared at her, "You don''t have to mock me, you know I didn''t mean that."
She moved backwards, taking her hand off their knee and glaring back, "Well what did you mean then?! You can''t complain about our lack of doin'' stuff for ourselves and then come up with no solutions!
"We got out of our village, we got all the way to here, away from anyone who might find us. We''re learnin'' the language, we''re on our way to some sort of big fancy house in the woods. We got us a guardian, we have like, options for the future, but we''re just kids, Health!"
"I don''t know!" They squeezed their eyes shut, trying not to cry, "I don''t know what I want. I don''t wanna fight with you, you''re my best friend. You''re strong and brave, I just get scared that we''re gonna get trapped again, that it''s gonna be like¡"
They trailed off, eyes tightly shut to ward off the tears, but there was still a tremble in their voice. "Promise me we''re not gonna get trapped again?"
Pearl sighed and reached in to give them a hug, which they reluctantly returned, burying their face in her shoulder.
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"I won''t let that happen." Her voice was firm, "Not that I think it even could, they''re different about stuff here, but if we gotta run away again, fine. We can do that. It''ll be easier the second time."
She patted them gently, and then moved back to her seat on the opposite bench. "Gods this view is boring."
-
They travelled for a while, the noise of the creaking carriage and the quiet chatter of Southshore and the driver filtering in from outside.
The view never changed, only more endless greenery. "It must''ve been quite something," Health offered, as a sort of truce from earlier, "when they built this road. Think of it, how they had to cut all the trees down."
Pearl frowned, biting her lip, "That seems like a lotta work. Maybe they made it before the trees were grown?"
Health shook their head, "I think the trees''ve been here since¡ Forever! Since before people."
She thought about this, frowning with one eye on the window, "was there a time before people?"
"There must''ve been, right? Although¡"
Health shook their head, unable to imagine it. If you thought about a time before people, then there had to be a time before that, and then what did stuff look like, where did it all start?
Pearl watched their thought process travel across their face, and shook her head too, "Wild."
Health nodded in agreement, scrubbing at their cheeks with the back of their sleeve. They hadn''t cried earlier, but their cheeks still felt tight and hot, as if they had.
Pearl watched, and then resumed staring out of the window. A moment later she spoke again, her voice even softer than earlier, "You know¡"
A pause.
"If you wanna be a boy here, proper, I dun think anyone would say no?"
She kept looking out of the window, diffusion through lack of eye contact something, "I reckon we could even Change you, if I just learn a bit more. Blanketweaving said I can''t screw it up, like they said I would back home. He showed me¡" She paused and licked her lips in thought, "They lied to me a lot."
She paused for a heartbeat, thinking, "to us, I mean."
"I dunno if they lied," Health whispered, also not making eye contact, staring at the ceiling of the carriage, "I think they didn''t know. There wasn'' anyone with magic nearby, not even in the other villages. How could they."
She shook her head, "Maybe not, but what if that was a lie too."
Health looked down. Her cheeks were flushed but her face was serious as she stared through the passing trees.
"They wouldn'' have told the other villages about me, so who would tell me about them. Just¡ Make me into a Grower and pretend I couldn'' be anything else. Make me useful, make me into a tool and trap me there."
She sounded angry, and she had every right to be. It was an old wound, and one which had been inflicted on her when she was very young. "If you hadn'' made friends with me, I dunno where I''d be now."
Health gave a quiet laugh, "hey, same for me. Most likely still back at home being shouted at by my da, and hating every minute of it."
She nodded, and they resumed their silent journey.
-
They overnighted in a small village, with a room to themselves on the upper floor. Most houses back home had been one story, and the sizes of things here were a wonder. Having their own space was a novelty. On board the ship it had been too crowded for that sort of thing, and even on-shore they hadn''t thought about it, staying in the bunk house with the other sailors, a corner to themselves all they needed.
They snuggled into their shared bed and whispered by the light of a fading candle.
"What do you think it''ll be like, at Southshore''s house?" Pearl murmured, half asleep.
Health knew this game, and played along, also almost out themselves.
"I reckon," their voice was drowsy with sleep, "that it''ll have ten rooms, all connected, one to the other."
They yawned and snuggled down into the bedding, "the main room will have the biggest hearth you''ve ever seen. The floor will be made from fine wood, and will be heated from underneath, like in the bathhouse we went too¡"
They trailed off, face deep in the pillow, and Pearl nudged them on, "The walls will be made of¡ Of the rarest of woods, and even the outside''ll be plastered, so you can''t see none of the bricks."
Their voice became lower as they drifted off, "the roof will be made of the finest tiles¡"
And then, it was morning. And they were ready to go again.
-
It was scheduled to rain that afternoon, so they stopped in another small village to wait it out.
Neither of them felt like staying indoors after the previous day of confinement, so they changed into some old clothes and ventured out into the rain, leaving the adults indoors with their drinks and their chatter.
The village was built in a circular fashion with the road running through it, and in the direct centre was one huge tree, even bigger than those on the road. The road split in two to go around it, which was wild, it had been perfectly straight up until this point.
The two of them sheltered beneath the tree and watched the rain.
"You should try using your magic," Pearl suggested, "you just gotta stop tellin'' yourself that you can''t. That''s most people''s problem."
Health made a non-commital noise, and then thought better of it, and shrugged with one shoulder, "I guess if I''m gonna try any time, in the rain is best."
They hesitated, and then put one hand out in front of themselves, unsure.
Pearl laughed, "what''re you doing?"
Health glared at her, "Well you do it then miss fancy, you know what you''re doin'' with this stuff, I ain''t got the head for it."
She rolled her eyes and placed her hand in theirs. "You can''t just will Change onto the whole world, you gotta direct it at somethin'', something that wants to be changed."
They stared at their hand for a moment, and then looked around. "Ok, so," they frowned, "you know anythin here that wants to be changed? How do I tell? Does it have like, an aura?"
She shrugged, "Most things don''t really wanna change much, but here," she grabbed a clump of dried leaves that had been nestled in the roots of the tree, "try these, they look pretty old, so they probably wanna be soil already."
Health nodded and laid their hand over the leaves, trying to hear whatever she did within them. Maybe there were tiny voices or¡ Whatever, colours, sounds, a yearning to be soil.
"What if I can''t understand the voices ''cause I can''t speak the language," he muttered, concentrating.
Pearl didn''t answer, but she didn''t need to. Somewhere them, inside the magic stirred, gathering to a point in their heart, before all at once, the dam burst, and it flooded out of them, like the first rain after the harvest down open terraces.
Out it washed, nature itself spilling out through their hand and into the pile of leaves.
A single corner of one leaf crumbled to dust, and they looked down at it in disappointment.
Pearl clapped, "hey, you did it!"
He sniffed, "it felt like so much though, and that was all it did?"
She shrugged, "you probably weakened them in a way we can''t see," she reached over and nudged the pile, and it crumbled a little in his hands, "there, see?"
He nodded, and brightened up a little, "but hey, I did magic, look at that!"
He grinned, "What my da would say to that I reckon. Now to get real good at it, so if I ever get dragged home again and they try and make work in the fields, I can turn it all to mush beneath their feet!"
She laughed, "that''s the spirit!"
They watched the rain for a minute longer, and then Health shook their head, "nah, doesn''t feel right. Not right now."
They leant back against the tree, staring up into the branches. The canopy was so thick that only the occasional drop of rain reached them, and the ground around them was dry and dusty.
The magic was still there inside them, a small intense bead of raw potential. It hadn''t been diminished in any way by their use of it and would come when they called now. It was theirs, and nothing could take it away.
Five minutes rest, and then they''d try again.
Chapter Twentysix (88) - Rat
He was a little behind schedule, but that was fine. The next stage of his journey was only a week''s flight, but it passed over a large uninhabited area. Ok, most of what he flew over was uninhabited by humans, but there were no animals here at all for most of his flight.
Below him was a great sea of flowers, all growing and twisting around each other, reaching towards the sky. He had tried to land down there in the past, and had only escaped through magic and panic, as the thorny vines wrapped around his body and pulled him down into the mass. It had been much deeper than he had expected it to be, and the plants much more aggressive. But he had made do over the years, and found the few places where prey did manage to survive.
He had a space in his schedule here where he normally hunted and then slept for a day. There were always some good-sized cow-things living on the edges of the flowers, and one or two of them were more than enough to keep him going for another month.
There was only one place around here where he could stop and let his passengers rest. In the direct centre of the mass grew several giant trees, all twisted together like rope, and it was one of the very few places he thought of as a Home.
The trees grew twisted and gaunt, but were all still alive, reaching high, high up into the sky, much like the one at Treehome. But unlike there, nobody remained living here. There was nobody to maintain the magic to keep the trees going, and without his interventions, the place would have died many, many years ago.
But people had lived there in the past, long before he had first stopped here. They had grown the trees to be strong, to protect, and he always encouraged them to keep going, to take up water and to stand against the rain, feeding them his magic as he did so.
In return, they gave him a place to sleep off his meals. A safe area for the kids to run around in while he hunted, and a place that was solely his, not that he would have minded sharing.
He had first found it when he was very young, and it was where he headed now.
-
She didn''t have a name, but the other kids called her Rat. If she had stuck around longer, done more jobs and earned herself a Space, then the Rat King would have granted her a True name, but for now, like all the others of her status in the gang, she was simply Rat.
There was no point in naming a child before it was sure they weren''t gonna die, and also gave the kids something to aim for. To die without a name was to be forgotten. Your name would never be carved on the sewer walls, it would never pass anybody''s lips. With nobody to speak of you, your soul would rot in the waters and you would be lost forever.
This was how it was. If you wanted to be remembered, you had to earn that right. You had to work for it, and if she didn''t want to die nameless, then she would have to earn that name.
It was hard, sometimes. When she hadn''t eaten in days. When there was nowhere left for her to sleep and she ended up under the stars. But she persevered. She would earn it, soon.
She touched the rich blue fabric of the coat she was currently snuggled under. If she could sell this then she would be rich. Even one of these was worth more than everything she''d ever stolen in her life! That would have gotten her some cred for sure, certainly not enough for a Name, but it would have been a step on the way there.
Her friend, Rat, was close to earning his name, the King had promised.
She wondered how he was doing, and with a spike of guilt, wondered how the robbery had gone.
They were supposed to be doing a break in that night, the day she had left. Her and Rat were both small, the youngest of the gang, and that meant they could get into places that others couldn''t. It had all been planned out, in the big room where the King lived. The older kids would help them get in through the windows, and then all she had to do was unlock the back door and let the others in, while Rat piled things into bags. Then they would all get out, head back to the big room, and Rat would earn his name.
She wouldn''t earn hers, she was too young, but it was a step on the road, she was sure of that, as long as she kept it up.
She touched the fabric again, marvelling at its richness.
At least she was clean, so she wasn''t mucking it up. The Dragon Handlers had insisted that they were all washed. They''d even given them some new clothes and a meal. It was only soup, but it was more than she''d eaten in the two days previous, and all the kids had been grateful for it.
She wasn''t sure why they had been chosen for the job. The Dragon had come to town before and nobody had bothered them about it then, but maybe something had changed?
Some of the others had questioned it, but she hadn''t cared, she got food and a wash out of it, and that was enough. The other kids in the gang, the ones who weren''t Rat, said that the dragon was a monster that ate children, and that was why the Handlers needed them to do the work, but she thought that was dumb. If it was a monster that ate children, it wouldn''t have happened in public, and there was gonna be like, a hundred people watching.
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That sort of thing was always hidden away behind closed doors. They wouldn''t feed them to the dragon with mothers and kids watching, so there must have been other motives. Maybe it was to lure them in, and then they could be fed to the dragon later?
Who knew, that was a problem for the future, not for the now, either way.
She had enjoyed the job when it came down to it. The dragon seemed friendly, if a bit distant, and it hadn''t been much work. She was only small, so the Handlers had set her to scrubbing his paws.
She felt a little guilty that she hadn''t gotten further, but he was the one that had stopped them, so¡ It wasn''t really her fault.
He had stood up and shrugged them all off, and the Handlers had thanked them for their work and led them away, and that had been it. She had expected to hang around on the streets for the rest of the day, to try begging a little, before the robbery that night. The other kids would want to know about the dragon, but they wouldn''t ask her, they would ask the older ones.
She stuck her head out of the pile of coats as she felt them come in for a landing, squinting in the light. They had been flying for two days and a bit, but he was very consistent about toilet breaks and making sure she ate, maybe a bit much so. He had bought her a large dead animal on the first day, but she hadn''t known what to do with it, only having a little knife, and he had taken it away again.
It had been half an apple tree the next day, that had been better! She had loaded up the hiking pack with them and then snacked for the rest of the day.
This morning it had been an extremely large fish, bigger than anything she had ever seen before, which she had shaken her head at and he had taken away again. She didn''t trust fish, she knew what they''d swum in.
Her eyes were blurry in the light, but she could see that they were still very high up. Where before he had bought them down generally near lakes or rivers, so she could drink and wash, now he was closing in on a giant tree, bigger than the tallest building in the city, bigger than the tallest building she had ever even heard of! She couldn''t even see the ground, only a sort of pink and green blur, somewhere far, far below.
They touched down a minute later in a hollow within the tree. It looked like it had once been a much smaller entrance, but it had been broken open over the years, and she ducked to avoid any jagged edges. The tree was still alive, somehow, so it was only starting to rot near the edges, and he landed as if practised.
She slipped down from the side of the dragon, pulling the coats and satchel with her, but being careful with the floor as she stepped away. It was supporting his weight, but you never knew with this sort of place. Rat, another rat, not her friend Rat, had once put his foot through a rotten floor and the scrape had gotten infected. Within a week he had joined the river, it was that quick.
She hadn''t been sad, he had been a bully anyway, but some of the older kids had liked him and they had said solemn words as they let him away.
The floor here all seemed sturdy though, and she slowly worked her way across to the centre of the room, the dragon watching on curiously.
She glanced back at him, and then explained what she was doing.
"I dunno if you speak what I speak," she started, "but I''m checking for rotten boards."
He tilted his head at her but didn''t otherwise respond.
"You''re like a big dog, eh?" she nodded, "my mate, Rat, she had a dog once. We named him Meatpie and he lived for like, two years."
It stared at her, and she shrugged, pointing at her chest, "Rat," then she pointed at the dragon, and hesitated. She knew its name, a whole long garble of words which the Handlers had seemed to take great delight in saying over and over, but it was a bit much.
"Dragon," she decided finally, "you can have a better name later. You gotta choose your own shortname, so," she bit her lip, thinking, "you can be Dragon, and I''ll be Rat, and one day somebody will give me a long name and you can tell me your shortname and we''ll be good."
She nodded firmly, and then strode across the room, choosing to trust the floor. "I''m gonna go look about. No fish!"
He watched her go, and then she heard the noise of wings behind her as he took off to find himself some dinner.
He was a big boy, so he probably ate a lot, more than she saw. She ate enough, and she was only small!
The room she was left in was a large, empty hall. High above her, if she squinted, she could see a domed ceiling, and there were deep scratches on the floor that meant he had probably been here a lot. Was this where he lived? No, probably not, just a place to sleep.
There were bits of smashed-up furniture at the sides of the room, and after some investigation, she imagined that this had once been a big eating place, filled with chairs and tables. Maybe there had been a big window in the back wall, and he had smashed it open to get in, that would make sense.
She rummaged through the wreckage for a while, but apart from a good amount of firewood, she didn''t find much of interest. There was nothing but smashed furniture and a few scraps of cloth, which may once have been wall hangings or tablecloths, now gone to rot.
She glanced back at the hole in the wall as she reached the back of the hall. Now that he''d left, the incoming wind was fierce. It ruffled her hair even back here, and she shuddered at the thought of going over the edge. Best keep away from that.
She gave one last look, the dragon would come back, she hoped, and then exited the hall. It emptied into a wide landing with stairs leading up and down. There were windows carved high up, but the light here was reassuringly dim, and she was careful, testing each step as she ascended.
She had grown up in the city, she didn''t remember her parents, just the other rats. She had some vague idea that the King had found her lying on the streets when she was very young, but it was a hazy memory and who knew what was true.
This was the wildest place she had ever been. She had been in a lot of abandoned buildings over the course of her life, but never one like this. Room after empty room, dingy and dim, lit only by the occasional window carved into the bark of the tree, the sills an arm''s length thick at the minimum.
She was glad she hadn''t found any bodies, that always made her a bit sad, but she hadn''t found anything else of interest either. The few bits of furniture she found left behind were empty or broken, the rooms up here all seeming to be sleeping places, bare of possessions. Maybe that was what the big hall downstairs was for. You could sleep up here, then go down there for breakfast and work. It made sense, if you squinted at it.
She heard the noise of wings outside, and skittered down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, heedless of the dark. In all her exploring, she hadn''t found a single rotten board, and she was growing more confident with the floors.
The dragon was very cool, maybe he had bought back something that she could actually eat this time!
Not a chapter - New fiction
Not a chapter, but to fill space, here''s something I found in my character voices file a while back, and I kinda liked.
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I was raised by the warrior Sunrise Truthblade.
He named me- and just writing this down causes me almost physical pain- he named me... He named me Custard. That was his first mistake. I might have had a proper name, a real name, but whatever it was, there''s nobody left alive who remembers... It hurts too much to think about that, about what I lost when that bastard took me from my parents, when he broke me from my egg.
I was raised by the warrior Sunrise Truthblade.
It sounds like the name of a valiant paladin, doesn''t it. Sunrise Truthblade, hero of truth and light, the epitome of all things good. Sunrise Truthblade, the bringer of the dawn, the very bearer of the blade of truth. But no, he gave himself that name, and for a damn good reason.
Oh sure, in public he played the paladin. Brightness and love, the valiant warrior of justice, saver of damsels, slayer of dragons. Sunrise Truthblade, The Worm Tamer, they called him. Look, what''s what on the horizon, why it''s Sunrise Truthblade and his loyal mount Custard, what could be a more heroic sight!
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Bastard. I''m getting angry just thinking about it.
Yes, he played the paladin, but behind the bright facade, when it was just us, away from the noise and light of the battlefield camps, when it was just us high up, above everything. When we perched on the very edges of the world, he would let his guard down and show his true face.
Maybe I was the only one to ever see that side of him. Oh, there were clues, The Worm Tamer I said they called him, well, you don''t get a name like that without an element of fear. The younger ones, the children who''d snuck into the army in the guise of men, the offspring of the merchants and whores, the animals newly born, they all knew. But it''s a strange thing, fear, it changes as you age, and those I saw shy away from him as youngsters, those who cowered from his touch and avoided his gaze, those were the ones who always came back later. It was always them who repeated his bright words most loudly, always those who admonished most harshly the fear shown by others, always those who strove the hardest for the first place, the first kill...
Sunrise Truthlade.
Bastard.
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So this is my epitaph huh, Sunrise Truthblade, eaten by his own dragon.
Hahaha, serves me right I suppose! Good luck to him!