ã€ŠThe War Within the Wallsã€‹


 Chapter 1 â€“ A Fine Day for Thieves and Beggars

    The smell of his Hell was like nothing the Captain knew in his life before. He despised it, the rot, the offal, the stench of unwashed poor burning lives away in tiny garret rooms and back alleys. As the years passed he thought of it as a ghost, a demon feeding on every inhabitants of the Barrow. A demon that would be banished only when it had finally avenged itself, its insistent tendrils pushing all men out.

    While the hired girls of the Grope dressed in bright cloth and sweet scented powders, and the brutes of the Tannery proudly wore the leathers they made from scraps of their vital work, the Barrowfolk wore the filth as a garment, a dull gray armor that unsettled those who dared to slum, and it was just as they liked it.

    He choked down a mealy apple along with a cup of weak wine, watching a one-armed juggler and his child apprentice. Entertainment that didn¡¯t involve beating or murdering each other was rare in the Barrow. Even dogs were too expensive to fight here, though there were some of the well-heeled men of leisure who would spend their coppers wagering on battles between the enormous rats they captured and forced to fight in the alleyways.

    His company for his lunch was a woman with the face of a prized rat. Pinched nose, eyes that never seemed to stop taking in the people she had grown to despise. Squab. Her name was Squab Hill, a name unlikely to ever be heard in the halls the Captain once plied his trade in. The folk of the Barrow called their children names of birds, though the Hills were the closest to Barrow royalty as you could find. The Hill family had claimed the old cemetery grounds as their family estate, and rented out the vaults and greens to the poor who wanted to sleep anywhere but the charity houses and alleys the lowest lived in.

    ¡°Lady Hill, I have told you a hundred times and will tell you a hundred more. He has a right to be here as much as any.¡± the Captain hated these meetings, but they helped to keep what little peace the Barrow found.

    ¡°I tell you he¡¯s a thief. He works with the Kings,¡± she spat on the dirt, rubbing her mess into the muck with one worn leather shoe, ¡°and he steals to make his living.¡±

    And you steal from the poor to buy those earrings you wear and pay the thug you keep as a guard the Captain thought, holding his tongue. ¡°Be that as it may, we will need proof of his theft before we can do old Sparrow in. As you can see he juggles, tells a few bawdy jokes, and the folks who enjoy his little works pay for his time in coppers they earned. If that is thievery, then I have been a thief from the Crown since I took up my club and sword.¡±

    The Lady Hill hissed, the hiss turning into a hard cough. Living with the dead seems to be bad for your health, he thought, then regretted it. Living here was a death sentence, and the Lady looked no worse for wear than any woman her age above the Bridge of Fleas. Hell, he had seen ladies who had poisoned themselves into an early grave with the powders of Kingsbridge or drink who looked terrible in comparison to Squab Hill.

    ¡°My family pays well, Captain. For your services, and the services of your men. Roust him from his shed! He rents in the Tannery, and how much must he be making to have such a fine room? On the coppers of a crippled juggler and his bumboy shouter? I don¡¯t think so.¡± she put a chubby finger to the Captain¡¯s chest, then thought better of herself.

    ¡°Lady Hill, I would love to force men to live in your beautiful estate, but Sparrow may choose whatever nest he and Oriole can fit. The boy is Tannery born, perhaps they rent from the boy¡¯s family? You know that some send their children out to the world, and a cruel place the Barrow can be.¡±

    ¡°Pah! Upriver folk thinking they know cruel! Now the Warren, those damned gobs and their filth! THAT is cruelty! The things they do to women there¡­¡± the Lady paused, her gossiping mouth not allowing her to even think of the crimes the Greens did to the valley people in their hovels. ¡°It would turn your hair white and shrivel your purse as the coins crawled up into ya like a baby boy.¡±

    ¡°As it is, my Lady, but without proof I cannot put the force of the Crown against a man on a simple hunch, no matter how trustworthy.¡±

    ¡°The old Captain would. He and I had certain, arrangements.¡± Squab leered, and the Captain held down what apple was in his belly. Even in her best days the Lady Hill wasn¡¯t the kind he would be interested in, and he knew the old Captain was probably blind drunk and half dead when he laid his poxy body on top of a young Squab.

    The Lady shuffled away from the Captain, her guard taking her by the crook of one flabby arm. As she attempted a dignified saunter away he could barely hold his mirth looking at her. Dressed up in her paste jewel finery. Appearances were all that mattered in the Barrow, and he had his own to keep. A stroll to watch the target of the Hill family¡¯s disgust would do him good, so he went to get a closer look.

    Ori loved the crowd. When Sparrow had them lathered up they gave freely, happy to watch the flash of an old man who could tell a story. Sparrow wore his old uniform when they performed in the street, immaculately clean and all arrayed proper. The empty left sleeve was rolled up and pinned shut, and the right showed the bands of his service for the King. On the left breast hung two medals, one the blood red Ribbon of Sacrifice and the golden star of the King¡¯s Honor. It¡¯s real gold, Sparrow had told him once as Ori sat cleaning the various tools of their trade. And in the Barrow it¡¯s the only piece of treasure no sticky finger filch would think of taking.

    The crowd was finishing clapping for the last trick, the Bishop¡¯s Blunder. A clever story about a priest and his proclivities for certain ladies. Everyone knew the old gossip about the high priest of Father Mountain and the Ladies of the Grope, but Sparrow¡¯s telling was funny enough to make them pause. The old man knew how to play to a crowd, and he waited until the murmur began to die before delivering the killing blow to the din. A wave of the hand, fingers splayed with three balls of different sizes and a cage in his fingers, made the crowd go silent. Sparrow cleared his throat and began to tell the tale.

    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, talented and wise, purse your lips and pop your eyes. I hope that I can make you understand a story of three men who, through no fault of their own, ended up in the Trap.¡± a head twitch and Ori was there, holding water up to the old soldier¡¯s lips as he bent down to the height of the child. ¡°Now, none among you, noble blood and breeding all, would know what it is like to be trapped in a cell¡­¡±

    Ori took the crowd¡¯s laughter and shouts of time they had served as his moment to depart from the scene. Sparrow had given him a task, and he planned on completing it while no one was paying attention. Though he had been with Sparrow for five years, this was the first time he had been given the duty of performing the Drop.

    ¡°You see, young Ori, when a boy grows to a man he must learn certain truths about the society we keep.¡± Sparrow showed his toothless grin, right after their meal of roast squab, cheese, and the small tart grapes the old man loved. ¡°You¡¯re a quick boy, you should pick up this lesson as easy as juggling, maybe easier than picking a pocket.¡±

    ¡°What lessons?¡± he had asked, eager to learn. Twelve was old enough for a man¡¯s lessons, and hadn¡¯t Ori just started noticing how good the girls looked who used to make him feel scared to touch them?

    ¡°First, always play the part. You never know who may be watching, even when you are alone. Second,¡± Sparrow paused, holding out two fingers, ¡°if you get a tickle in the back of your scalp? Listen. Get out, get gone, and run.¡± The old man paused, taking a drink of warm cider, lips smacking and a comfortable sigh finding him back in the stuffed chair. They had stolen from a rich carriage with the help of some Kings.

    ¡°And the third?¡±

    ¡°Men pay the Mother and Father to look kindly on them. Thieves pay the Watch to look kindly away.¡±

    ¡°Sir? Sir?¡± Ori put on the face of the urchin, the poor confused child or grandchild of the funny broken juggler. He tugged on the watchman¡¯s cloak, looking up with bright eyes that appeared to want attention.

    The watchman looked down at him, and for the first time Ori didn¡¯t see disgust on the face of one of the streetbeaters. This man seemed kind enough, tall and straight backed, coal black hair with a neat beard and chops. Bending down to one knee he grabbed Ori¡¯s shoulder and looked the child in the eye.

    ¡°You¡¯re the juggler¡¯s boy, Oriole. Is that right?¡± the watchman asked, his eyes looking for any onlookers who may observe the scene. ¡°Is there something I may assist you with? Are you in trouble?¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Ori played up his part, shuffling his feet while clutching the beaten leather bag in both hands. ¡°Grandfather saw a man drop this, and we didn¡¯t wish to cause any trouble, though there¡¯s many coins in it. He said we¡¯re not thieves and we needed to find someone to take it andthenirememberedthewatchisourfriendand -¡± Ori stopped, hitching his chest and letting the false tears roll down his cheeks.

    ¡°Of course, young master Oriole. I will make sure that whoever deserves this receives it if they report to the Roost.¡± the watchman bent towards the boy¡¯s ear, smiling as he went. ¡°No tears, Oriole. The less people actually see the better.¡±

    They separated and Ori was happier than he had been in a long time. A grin fell on his face as he watched Sparrow tell the tale of the fat man, the thin man, the drunk and the flying prison. The old man took his bow and swept up the coins that had not fallen in his battered warhelm. Whistling for his charge to join he walked into the crowd. Sparrow walked among them like a folk hero, touching hands and even taking a kiss on the cheek from a beauty who worked the Grope.

    ¡°If I was thirty years younger and had both arms to enjoy her¡­¡± Sparrow muttered to Ori as they walked through the press of people at the Horsebridge. False grandfather took liar grandson to the Tanner¡¯s Market, keeping up appearances as a doting old man spoiling his kin by buying sweet rolls and candied orange along with a block of chocolate.

    ¡°What¡¯s the occasion, papa?¡± Ori asked, amazed that the old skinflint would shell out for such finery as a block of chocolate without a good reason.

    ¡°You pinched the nose of the Watch today, my boy. Brazen and bare-assed in the middle of the damned street. You¡¯ll do it again and again in your life, but this time? We celebrate your first move on the man¡¯s board in the big game of hide and chase.¡± Sparrow replied, tipping his performer¡¯s cap to two rough men sharing a meal of stick meat and unknown bread. ¡°We¡¯ll get you a nice meal, sun ourselves on the Banks, then take you off for coronation.¡±

    Coronation. The first step in joining Sparrow¡¯s gang. To be introduced to the Four Kings and make a name. Ori had heard Sparrow tell tales of the Kings and their generosity, but had never met anyone other than the occasional thief who needed to hide at the Tannery shack the old man had them living in. It was as good a day as any Ori could imagine, and he hoped it only got better.

    Oriole decided to take a stroll around the Tannery while Sparrow made preparations for his coronation. The sun was going down and he loved to watch the lamplighters come by with their oil cart to keep the night at bay. The folk of the Barrow lived in the dark, and sometimes he missed those nights when Da wasn¡¯t too drunk to take the brood out on what he called the Grand Tour. He didn¡¯t realize over the three years they spent in the Barrow how much he missed the strange chemical smells of the place, the taste of the hard brown bread the bakers made to serve the cartmen and tanners who called the district their home. He even missed the blood and shit of the Stocks, where tanners bought their skins and the knockers and butchers made their coin cutting beef and mutton for the rich over the Riverbridge.

    ¡°Good evening, young master.¡± the voice was cold, and Ori turned to it just as the stick fell on his shoulder. Pain shot down his arm, fire replaced by numbness as the thug cocked back for the next strike.

    Ori looked at his attacker in disbelief? A robbery. He cursed his luck for deciding to dress up, making himself look like some jumped up son of a trader ripe for the picking. The bastard who had hit him was dressed in a shirt made of sewn leather stripes, dark black and bright white bands across the chest and running finer lines up his forearms to his shoulders. The boy thought to run, but found two other beaters cut from the same cloth as his attacker appear from shadows, each carrying the short sticks the Barrow folk called bashers. Bashers weren¡¯t made to kill, but they could break and bother as well as any guard¡¯s club, and were cheap enough to toss when you bloodied them.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t have anything for you. Please don-¡± Ori was stopped by air rushing out of his lungs. A hit to the stomach, precise, meant to drop him to the ground. It hadn¡¯t done him in, and Ori tried to strike out at the thug just as the thug¡¯s companions came up to grab him by the shoulders.

    ¡°No coin? That is a shame, isn¡¯t it Dirk?¡± the one on Ori¡¯s left said, the smile on his lips clear in his voice.

    ¡°True, Blade. It is a shame for our little lord to be without.¡± his right side said, pushing forward while wrenching the arm back. ¡°He¡¯s on Black and White land without a toll to pay? Shame what we¡¯ll have to do to him.¡±

    ¡°A simple enough lesson to learn, gentlemen. We¡¯ll just have to beat it into him.¡± He cracked Ori across the chest. His captors held him in place as the beating began, fists to the face, basher to the legs, the chest, the belly. When he threw up they forced him down, making him bow to their leader in his own sick. Ori resigned himself to the beating, hoping they didn¡¯t kill him for refusing to make a sound. Never let them see you hurt, boy. A guard dog will stop when it has you down, but a man will beat you til you¡¯re dead and a few more besides.

    Ori saw the lamplighters coming. The pump man clucked his donkeys on, passing by the dark lamp to let the business play out as it would. His captors tried to appear less of a threat, and he took his chance. Pushing off from his feet Ori spun, planting a foot in the gut of the one they called Dirk. He felt the numbness of his arm replaced by a screaming pain as he wrenched away, and the fear of further beating drove him into a flat run.

    He ran through the lamplit streets, feeling bruises coming as a slow rolling of pain. His arm hung limp, pounding a drum of pain through his side, making Ori nearly bite his tongue on one jarring leap to a high walk. They didn¡¯t pursue, and for that Ori was thankful. He was outmatched, outmuscled, and knew that he would probably provoke them to murder if they came across the defiant merchant¡¯s son they thought they had beaten.

    He lost his wind as he came in sight of the shack. Two lovers walked arm in arm, the man laughing at the drunken lordling as they made a wide berth for the vomit covered young thief. It took everything in him to get Ori to the door, and he slumped against it as he felt the last energy leech away.

    #

    Ori found himself stripped naked in the shack, Sparrow scrubbing something one-handed in their wash tub. The pain was distant, hazy, and he stared at the ceiling as motes of light played across his vision. He groaned, and Sparrow came to his bedside with a look of worry on his face.

    ¡°Young man! I see your purse, said the old whore to the prentice. Mountain and river, boy, who did you piss off?¡± Sparrow clicked his tongue, looking over the boy¡¯s body. ¡°You¡¯ll be black and blue for days, though they didn¡¯t break your coins or spring any vitals.¡±

    ¡°Mu, muharm.¡± Ori said through a mouth that tasted like old wine and sounded stuffed with gauze.

    ¡°Ish muharm fun?¡±

    ¡°Fun? No, it looks damn painful. But fine? Ya, your arm¡¯s fine. Dislocated, if I had to say anything. I¡¯ll try to set it back to true for you, but I had to dope you up to keep you under. We¡¯ll be a bit late, but the Kings are always late to a coronation, nobody¡¯ll notice.¡±

    ¡°Sthl gung?¡±

    ¡°Of course. Consider the beating a price to join our illustrious little guild. You¡¯ll need to be tough to be a King, no matter what that asshole who sits a throne may say as he hides behind his wife¡¯s skirts. We¡¯ll get you fixed up, put a loose shirt on you, clean you up. You won¡¯t be the prettiest, but you¡¯ll be among them, and that¡¯s what counts.¡±

    The pain broke through the drugs as Sparrow fixed his arm. Ori near bit through the old man¡¯s thick belt, feeling the dam break followed by blessed relief. His arm wouldn¡¯t move right, and he would be limited for awhile, but whatever drugs the old man had given Ori let him forget most of the aches. They dressed him in a scratchy white shirt from Sparrow¡¯s wardrobe, then the old man secured a twist of blood red fabric around the boy¡¯s neck that turned into a suitable cravat.

    ¡°In the style of a knight in service. You¡¯ll wear a cloak in, don¡¯t want some guard to question it. I booked us a cart to Fleasbridge gate, and some of them will be waiting.¡± Sparrow ran through the directions, putting finishing touches on Ori¡¯s outfit. ¡°Keep your mouth shut, your ears open, and do what they ask. Besides that? Enjoy yourself.¡±

    The bumps of the cart jostled Ori, but what little pain he felt through the haze was manageable. He sucked on a cloth soaked in brandy provided by Sparrow, the fiery liquer burning his throat and quenching his thirst enough to make him comfortable. The cart slowed at the gate, and the driver came to escort them off.

    ¡°Off you go, sirs.¡± Sparrow tipped the man a silver for his patience and haste at such an hour.

    The Fleasbridge wall enclosed the Barrow on the west bank and the Warren on its east. While the gates of Kingsbridge and even Horsebridge were ornate works of craft, the Barrowgate was a mere formality. The gate, by name, was just a hole punched through the brick, the hinges of the grand door the only reminder of a guard actually caring who came into the district. The gatehouse was in disrepair, with laundry hanging from its elevated posts and the sounds of a moaning woman and a loudly snoring man came down from its windows.

    ¡°Ahh, two folk enjoying two of the finest things in life. Remember Ori, food, sex, sleep, and dreaming. If you can¡¯t enjoy all four you¡¯re a broken man.¡±

    Ori looked at the hinges with curiosity, the drugs making him trace his fingers along them. Gold wrapping iron, they glinted in the moonlight as Ori heard the soft laughter of a woman. He whirled around to find its source only to bump into a towering man. Fat and balding with a face like an ancient sow, the man kept an oiled braid of the last of his hair along the back of his neck. Ori saw scars running off the man¡¯s arms and a dent in the side of his head the size of an egg.

    ¡°I know a man, says the only reason those pins are still there is the damned things are buried so deep in the stone.¡± the man smiled, grabbing Ori¡¯s injured shoulder. ¡°That man used all of his strength, no give at all.¡±

    ¡°Ori,¡± Sparrow jumped in, ¡°This is Sir Heron the Large, Knight of the Four Kings. And in all of our kind not a better skullsplitter among them.¡±

    ¡°Sir Sparrow the Lame. Fool and foolish.¡± Heron bellowed, trading grips with the old man. ¡°Though one must respect a man with a fine eye for meat and murder. Are you excited, son?¡±

    Terrified, Ori thought. ¡°Yes Sir Heron. I cannot wait to find out what comes next.¡±

 Chapter 2 - Chance Meetings and Royal Beatings

    Sparrow hoped it went well. He had never brought a prentice to a Coronation, but he had experienced enough of the events in his time with the Kings to know the lay of the land. Men dragged the kids away, played silly tricks. Dunking them on stools, Drinking til they couldn¡¯t see straight. ¡®Torture¡¯ with pokes and prods. He though of Ori riding the back of some young initiate and chuckled. It was a young man¡¯s game, the last bit of humor before a life spent on the run.

    That life¡¯s payout surrounded him in the dim chamber. He sat with the elders and cripples, gathered in their highly regarded room behind the throne, drinking and playing tiles while youth rioted. Better to earn a spot where you¡¯re a burden than to hang.

    Harrow was the game of choice among the elder Kings. Played for coppers on the point, the game was quick and required strategy. The raised tiles felt good in his hand as he shuffled them back and forth, looking at the men at the table.

    ¡°Been a long time since you showed to a Coronation, one-arm.¡± his Harrow partner said between tricks. Sir Mole Hill the Blind, the greatest of the Barrow¡¯s fences. Every thief old and young knew if you needed to get rid of ill-gotten gains you went to his dark chambers and let him feel your wares.

    Born of the Hill Family and cast out after doing wrong, his missing eyes didn¡¯t weaken his humor, nor remove his nose¡¯s keen sense for bullshit.

    ¡°What, you haven¡¯t seen me around Mole?¡±

    ¡°Fuck your mother, you one winged birdshit.¡±

    ¡°I missed you too.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re about the only one worth talking to at these damn things.¡± Mole sighed, setting down two closing fields in succession. ¡°And definitely the only one to partner Harrow with. Full field gentlemen, and lady.¡±

    Their partners, old Dove Roost and the peglegged and unfortunately named Cock Tanner, cursed the blind man and got up from the table in a huff. Even in their anger they paid their coins and gently kissed the blind man¡¯s cheek. Mole¡¯s lip curled as Cock put his heavy arm around those thin shoulders, waving the cripple off with a smile.

    ¡°Tiles are a vice, easier to handle than cards. Any man can shake a bag, it takes two hands to shuffle a deck.¡± Sparrow said, gathering the coins and placing them in front of his partner.

    ¡°If any man could do a one-handed shuffle it¡¯s you. Seeing spots is damn difficult without eyes. If only the cards smelled as poor as that one-legged shit Tanner I would be the greatest gambler since old Sharp Tananger.¡±

    Mole pushed the tiles over the table to let Sparrow sweep them up into their bag. Mole sipped a glass of sweet fiery Takrim brandy, the dull cataracts of his eyes staring into his partner. They passed the minutes in quiet companionship before Sparrow responded.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to talk about my juggling, nor card sharping, Mole.¡±

    ¡°Oh? I had hoped to learn. A blind juggler seems even more impressive than a broken one. We could travel round, make ourselves rich, start putting on airs. You know I¡¯ve always wanted a girl of the west country. Skin like honey, those dark eyes, smell as sweet as spicewine.¡± Mole¡¯s lips curled in a knowing smile, forcing Sparrow to look away.

    ¡°You still have a mouth on you, don¡¯t you boy?¡±

    ¡°You never beat it out of me, even when dear old Squab sent me out to fend for myself. When was the last sweet thing to warm your bed, Sparrow Tanner? I have a few, you know. Could be a Takrim prince, keep them all in a little house of rooms. Roam about. None could complain if I grab the wrong one if I make them all wear that same perfume!¡± the blind man cackled, in love with the joke. Mole Hill may love a roll as much as any man, but everyone knew his true love was buying and selling.

    ¡°You were a terrible apprentice, but a great beggar. I still hold the sack of coins the Coinkeep gave me to trade for ya. Better merchant than a thief.¡± Sparrow tapped a coin then spun it across the table, watching the silver ladies on each side dance together in a dervish.

    ¡°True, tra. Ya got a fine coin, but you still miss me. If only for the conversation, right?¡± the blind man grabbed the silver up mid-spin, making it disappear down his sleeve. ¡°The real question is, of course, why you have come back to us.¡±

    ¡°A bit of gossip? Some words with a friend?¡±

    ¡°The only person your lies play true to these days is yourself. So speak, and let¡¯s have it done.¡± Mole¡¯s face went blank, his eyes closed like a man listening for birdsong and lies.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°You know I live in the Tannery due to my trade and at the service of the Kings.¡±

    ¡°Ay. And how much service have you done lately? You make the Roost drop, fine. You proved that the carriages could be robbed, sure.¡± Mole finished his drink, wincing at the dregs. ¡°You earned well when you came back from the war. No one believed a cripple could do what you did, yet you proved them wrong. Hell, you even served us well in some dirtier business. Now, I must ask, what do you plan on doing with a newly minted Knight and no plans to earn his place?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps you have an idea?¡± Sparrow clenched his jaw, picking up a stray tile from the tabletop. ¡°If your majesty could provide me such largess, of course. I know you run your own little band.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s true. My boys are skilled, but they¡¯re not smart. I trust them for smash and grabs, highway jobs, a beating from time to time. Some men don¡¯t want to take what I offer, and nees taught a lesson.¡± Mole smiled, tenting his fingers. ¡°Now, a boy taught by Sparrow? That¡¯s a boy who could go places. That boy could learn a trade and make a neat sum.¡±

    It was then that the horn blew, and the room began to empty to greet the new members of their band.

    ¡°We¡¯ll speak later, sweet Sparrow. I believe our charges have come to kiss the cock.¡±

    He was small. He was sickly. He was injured and they wanted so much from him. The two boys and one girl who joined him on his coronation were Barrow squabs, grown big and lean and strong. At twelve Ori was the youngest by three years, and even the next shortest towered over him by nearly a full head.

    He only knew one of them by name to start the night. Owl Crypts, a boy who had been the only fat child in Lady Hill¡¯s lands. The Crypts had been home to Ori for a few weeks when he ran from Sparrow, wanting to find his own way in the world. Those weeks had shown Ori how much better his chances would be with the crippled man.

    Owl worked with the Ghouls, a gang of grave robbers that paid fealty to the Hill family, and even now that he had grown from fat to muscle Owl still had the sickening smells of winding sheets.

    ¡°Ey, Oriole! I remember you. How¡¯s life outside?¡± Owl¡¯s shake swallowed Ori¡¯s hand.

    ¡°We get by. I thought you were ghouling?¡±

    ¡°The Ghouls sold me out to Mole Hill. Blind man, you¡¯ll meet him later. He speaks of your master well. Old blind fuck makes me run every day, has me working at the docks. The girls seem to like it, some of the river men too. I do work for Mole, and Mole feeds me, and he keeps me in my place.¡±

    Most buy a child for what they lack then make the child a foil. A weak man buys a thug, a strong man buys a thinker. Some¡¯ll buy a catamite, a little piece of meat to slide in his covers and bugger until he¡¯s satisfied.

    Why did you buy me?

    You? I needed two hands and a mind that don¡¯t asks silly questions.

    ¡°Sure sounds like a sweet deal. My master makes me sing and drop the take.¡± Ori cast his eyes down, knowing the others had done far more dangerous work than he had ever come close to.

    Ori looked up at the children gathered round him and saw looks of shock and incredulity. Owl¡¯s eyes was soft, humoring the boy. The other boy¡¯s were hard, ready to call out a liar.

    ¡°Nobody would trust a kid with the drop.¡± the girl said. Shaved head, flat chest, and a hard smile, the girl had bright eyes and a scar across her left cheek. Ori only knew she was a girl because her master had put her in a dress.

    ¡°Old Sparrow¡¯s a liar sure as any, everyone knows that. Maybe it rubbed off on you.¡± said the tallest of the boys, a scarecrow wearing a noble¡¯s suit of clothes with an empty sheath.

    Ori decided to not pick a fight, and waited in judging silence for the next step. He remembered Sparrow¡¯s advice to listen and stay dumb, and decided to take his mentor¡¯s words to heart. The others all chatted casually about the heads they cracked, the things they stole. The girl, whose master happened to be Heron of the scars and braid, talked about her work sewing up her master¡¯s clothes, his cuts, and how she collected the goods when he went robbing.

    The kids got quiet when she came in. Ori thought she looked like a statue he had seen when Sparrow took him to a temple. The body had been wrapped in red cloth, a woman trapped in stone. She had been one of the most beautiful things Ori had ever seen, a mixture of curves and muscle holding back a two-headed snake. The woman in front of the children had more muscle, and a face shaped by fighting. She kept her hair piled atop her head under what looked to be a cloth bag, and she wore leathers with a shirt of fine chain mail over an ensemble of mixed leathers. A hatchet hung off a belt loop, and she had the crooked nose and broken front teeth of someone who didn¡¯t wear armor for show.

    ¡°All¡¯s well? You ready? If you want to cry off, call your peace. The first part of your prenticeship is done, and you have all rights to walk out the door and into the night, our luck to ya.¡± she spoke the words slow and solemnly, as if remembering a script. ¡°You¡¯ll never be a King, just another thief alone in the world. What say you?¡±

    The children looked down, around. Owl coughed into his hand, while the girl pulled at the ruffles in her skirt. The scarecrow, decisive and haughty, gave a curt nod as he marched through the door.

    Owl bowed his head, muttered, then spun twice before walking through. The girl, looking to the hard face of their leader, walked through just a bit too quickly to be casual. Still Ori waited, looking the warrior in front of him up and down for awhile before regaining his voice.

    ¡°Is -- Is it worth it?¡± he heard the childish tone and wanted to crawl into a hole to pull it over himself.

    ¡°You want to be part of the best gang in the city? We run the Barrow. You¡¯ll fear no Ghoul, no Black-and-White. If you need aid and succor you¡¯ll have a family to stand by you. We¡¯re all the bastards of the Barrow quick enough to steal and smart enough to dodge the rope. The Ladies will love you, and the Cold Brothers will pole your boats. A man fears a thief, but the thief fears only the Kings.¡±

    Ori thought, then smiled as the words came. The boy bowed to the woman in front of him, extending his hands out as if holding a sword. If Sparrow dresses me as a knight, then I will play the part.

    ¡°Lead on, my Queen. I ask only that you allow me your favor.¡±

    The woman¡¯s stern face let a smile slip over, a bit of water over a stone dam wall. ¡°Oh, I think I will like you, Sir Oriole Tanner. Your people are waiting. Best not keep them.¡±

    As the door closed putting them into darkness Ori questioned his decision.

 Chapter 3 - The Court of Kings

    In all, Ori thought, it couldn¡¯t have gone worse. He fell from the back of the scarecrow as soon as Owl bumped into him during the joust. His body screamed in pain, but he gritted his teeth and kipped up as soon as his former friend offered one giant hand. When they dunked them two by two he threw up onto Heron¡¯s prentice, water and chocolate and candied oranges all over her thighs and legs. Owl and the scarecrow had to ride the waters in the floating scrim of Ori¡¯s sickness.

    Hands from the darkness in between chambers harried them on with slaps and pinches. The one Ori called his Queen was cruelest to him, batting him around the legs, even clipping his coins at one point with a backhand that made his gut clench up. The harriers forced the children into tight spaces, so tight that even Ori had to force himself through the gap holding back from crying out in pain. They gave them scalding hot cider to drink as they shivered in a cold room, stomping feeling back into their feet and wriggling their fingers.

    ¡°Sorry for the hit back there, Ori.¡± Owl said sheepishly, grabbing the younger boy around the shoulder. Ori winced, and Owl seemed even more downtrodden, looking down in shame as he let his once friend go.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Kid felt like he wanted you to win. Say, did you have to churn up all over my dress? It¡¯s the one nice thing Heron lets me wear.¡± the girl asked, twisting her skirts and letting water flow from the soaked mess.

    ¡°I¡¯m just not feeling well, okay!¡± Ori shouted, backing away to stand in his own corner to wallow as the others talked. After a few minutes the scarecrow came forward, a mawkish look on his face.

    ¡°Are you sick? River fever? The Chills? You¡¯re too young to have the pox unless you¡¯re mother was a wh-¡±

    The tall boy didn¡¯t finish before Owl was on top of him, pressing his thick arm into his neck and choking the life from him. The scarecrow reached for his empty scabbard as his eyes rolled back in his head, and Owl drove a knee into the thin side of his opponent.

    The Queen was on the boys seconds later, pulling them apart and boxing their ears like the unruly children they were. Both flinched, and even in the low lamplight Owl¡¯s embarrassment played red on his wide face.

    ¡°You don¡¯t hit brothers, or sisters. The next one to raise a hand loses the damn thing.¡± the Queen touched her hatchet as she finished, and the two boys looked down sufficiently chastened.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Owl said, wiping blood from his face. His opponent huffed, standing away and working his jaw while stretching his leg. The matter settled, the Queen shuttled her charges through the small passage in front of them, reaching a grand hall. Taking a key from her belt, the Queen opened a door carved with scenes of a garden in bloom, and Ori was stunned to see each tree, flower, and fruit made of finery. Silver branches and jade leaves, gold and ruby apples, creeping amethyst heather and water made of flecks of lapis.

    ¡°It is a beauty, isn¡¯t it?¡± the girl asked, touching Ori¡¯s shoulder. The touch was so surprising that Ori didn¡¯t wince, though he felt a slight heat creep into his arm and through his cheeks.

    The door opened without a sound to a hall open to the sky. The night was moonbright and warm, and the place smelled of sweet floral notes and a touch of something earthy. Ori stared into the sky and saw the Five Sisters, the constellation that sailors used to find their way home. He saw the Thief, a bright star that passed over and hid the Queen¡¯s jewel in the sky during the winter. The Hunter, the Guardian, the Cat and Mouse.

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    They sprung on the party at once.

    Ori spun into his attacker, striking out with his hands just as another assailant grabbed his arms to twist them behind. Owl was surrounded by three attackers, too small for the bull of a boy to not fend off. Ori looked towards the girl, who had produced a short basher from somewhere in her skirts and squared off against one of them. It was only then that Ori noticed the sacks over each head, and the tittling laughter from the scarecrow who went down and was held by a sleek figure who laughed along.

    ¡°Cry off! Owl! It¡¯s a j-¡± Ori shouted, before a hand went over his mouth. He allowed himself to be dragged to the ground as he saw Owl grab one of the attackers by the arm and toss the fool right into his partner. It was only the Queen creeping behind the big man to deliver a swift kidney punch that dropped the boy, and then the girl went down soon enough.

    More of the bagheads appeared from out of the corners and alcoves. From his vantage place Ori saw the shirt and missing arm of his master, holding onto the back of another who seemed ready to keep walking past the line the group had established. The bag wearing his master¡¯s clothes turned to him, removing his hand from holding the fool to wiggle fingers towards him, before making a quick motion across an unseen face. Keep mum and listen.

    Now that he had stopped, Ori felt the drugs Sparrow had given him kicking in. A haze fell over the moonlight night, and he saw a single woman standing smiling at him from behind the masked men. She stepped behind a taller, broad thief and seemed to disappear. In his mind she looked like his mother, though Ori knew that was only the drugs speaking lies.

    Out of the ranks of masked men came one with the potbelly of a clerk and the hard arms of a killer. He wore the short, thick blade known as a cutter, just within the law against a peasant carrying a true sword, but still a hanging offense to be used.

    ¡°Close your eyes, peasants. I am your King, and I demand satisfaction.¡± the fat tough jiggled forward, walking from end to end of the line of children. As he sat in self-imposed darkness Ori worried. He heard the sputtering of others, the laughter of the masked men. When they came to the girl at his side he heard a struggle, some quiet whispering, then the same strange gurgling.

    Ori felt the men on top of him tense, and then the sensation of someone in front of him. There was a pause, and the presence pressed something warm against his lips. The crowd laughed, and Ori smelled the smell of coriander and sage in his nostrils.

    Ori felt the belly of the man settle atop his head. It shifted over him, and Ori was overwhelmed by the smell of cheap wine. The man whispered to Ori, just enough for the boy to hear him.

    ¡°Kiss it, son. Kiss it and satisfy your lord. Drink it all in.¡± The lord¡¯s voice was right in his ear, his hot breath filling. As the man pressed forward, Ori laughed, and opened his mouth to take the presence into his mouth.

    Oriole bit down, hard, and tasted the warm fat and gush of juices. A sausage? The men around him began to laugh, and as Ori opened his eyes he saw the fat man hopping up and down with a wineskin in one hand holding the sausage in the other.

    ¡°The bastard! The whoreson! He dared to bite my cock off!¡± the lord kept dancing back and forth as the masked men laughed, then turned towards Ori smiling as he poured the wineskin over the new King.

    It was warm, disgusting. Ori felt some of the liquid fall across his open mouth, took in the taste. They had filled a bladder with khash, the cheap liquor favored by the gobs that spread through the Barrow like wildfire. Tasting of dirt and raw, the sip burned the cuts in his mouth and made his stomach roll over. The fat man sprayed the rest of the warm sickening swill over the boy, laughing as he shook the remnants. The lord bent down to Ori, lifting him up then coming close to his ear.

    ¡°Nobody¡¯s done that in a few years, boy. Clever, or just not willing to have meat on your lips. You¡¯ll serve well, with a purse like that.¡± the man patted Ori¡¯s sore shoulder then turned to the rest. ¡°Will you have these fools among you?¡±

    The crowd cheered, and Ori looked to his mates for their reaction. Owl looked sickly, ready to vomit. The girl was soaked through and seething, her hands clenched at her sides as she stood. The scarecrow seemed the best of them, barely drenched and picking at the dirt on his clothes. More thieves entered from all points of the chamber, hailing their new companions. For a moment Ori looked around, hoping to learn what comes next.

    Then the torches came, and the real Kings entered.

 Interlude - The Thief

    here once was a bird who stole the moon on her wedding day.

    It¡¯s an odd place to start a story, but a story needs a beginning.  Some come slow and quiet, like a thief making a grab.  Others roll over you hard and fast, a battle between the words and your mind.  This tale comes from a time before the gravediggers made the barrows that gave the place its name, and long before the valley folk.

    Shared tales are tricky, as each person tells it a bit different.  The choice of words, the strange inflections, make each telling a unique piece.  Stories are not plays, nor are they prayers. Stories are the creation and the created, and impart their wisdom in different ways. Now, the folk above the Bridge of Fleas tell this story to warn against the thieves who wear bird names, while The folk of the Barrow tell the tale as a man who was a bird, or a bird who was a man.

    No one asks the River Folk.  If they did they would learn the truest form of the legend, and understand why it¡¯s so important to know.

    How can you steal the moon? The valley folk know the moon was a gift given by Father Mountain to Mother River on their honeymoon, one that came somewhere between the golden fields to dress Her body and the rainbow to wear upon Her brow. The men before, or so those who study them say, called the moon a second sun, a dead sun that glowed in the heavens like a smith¡¯s dull coal, and when the ember finally goes out the great beasts of the dark heavens will devour us all. And all know the moon is still in the sky.

    No one asked the River Folk, because they could tell you the moon was once a bride.

    She was a beautiful bride, her hair braided,skin pale and sweet as milk. She was locked away from the light of her mother, the fiery sun whose name is never spoken.  It was a cruel man who stalked her down by the river, springing a net to catch her as she looked upon her reflection.  He swore to wait until she grew old enough to wed, for he was a thief and a kidnapper but not some monster.

    Any River Folk will laugh then, as they know the trick the moon¡¯s life played on the cruel, foolish man.

    You see, the moon is reborn anew every cycle. She is born, grows, swells with a child that is never born, then wanes, wasting away to a seed the size of a barleycorn - or, to the River Folk, a single grain of pearly white rice - only to be born again in the next cycle.

    What confusion! What dismay! The man - a great warrior or a powerful sorcerer depending on who you ask - wanders the land with a great palanquin upon which his desired lay. She grows, swells, and shrinks, and the sky is black without her in it. The stars still come, don¡¯t worry, but from where may surprise you.

    The man went to the ones the River Folk call bakti, those sullen beasts with long tails and knowing purrs. The hunters fed him fish, birds fresh from flight, and red meat raw and bloody. He asked their leader, a great queen the size of a castle, ¡°Can you make my wife stay still?¡±

    And the master of the bakti, she says to him ¡°I can wait until she is grown to whatever size you like. Then I will kill her. And she will stay the same size, at least until you eat her.¡± And so the man sought further, because bakti are foolish creatures, knowing only claw and tooth and blood.

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    He went to the hanu, those beastly folk that look like tiny men covered in coarse hair. They fed him green plants, ripe fruits he had never seen, and bugs in all the colors of the sky. He asked their leader, a hanu so wise he was said to know the howling name of all things of the ground and trees, ¡°Can you make my wife stay still?¡±

    And the master of the hanu, their lord he says to the man, ¡°she has not always been of the land. She has climbed no tree, eaten no yellow fruit nor ruby red apple. I can feed her, fatten her up, and maybe she will not waste away.¡±

    And so the man sought further, because hanu are foolish creatures, knowing only fruits and the land, and eating until their bellies are full and happy.

    He went to the garu, the great birds. Once, it is said, their wings were shadows on the earth, and all feared them. They had sharp teeth, and sharper minds. They knew the names of all that flew through the sky or were trapped in their shadow. And so the man climbed to the highest mountain, the father of all mountains. Not Father Mountain, you must see, for there are tales of the contests between the two.

    He climbed the peaks and could hardly breathe. He shook and chattered in the cold, and the animals who bore his wife froze solid to the earth. He traveled so close to the sun mother that he feared being seen, so he walked on only in darkest night, carrying his beloved on his back.

    And so he came to the leader of the garu, the greatest of beasts above or below. The garu was the size of the world below, and brought night as he chased the mother Sun across the world, trying to defeat the only threat to his rule of all things.

    And the man, this foolish man, he asked ¡°Mightiest hunter, greatest of beasts, can you tell me how to make my wife stay still?¡±

    And the garu snatched his wife, the daughter of the garu¡¯s greatest enemy, off the man¡¯s back and tucked her within the feathers of his wing. And with one mighty flap of the beast¡¯s world-wrapping wings the man was tossed from the father of mountains to the ground below.

    He survived. Men were stronger in older times, as any father will tell his son.

    The man called a mighty council. He swayed them with his travels, his words - and if some are to be believed - his magics. The words are not important, though he called to his banner a thousand thousand spears.

    And so they waited. And then the man saw his wife in the dark beat of the garu¡¯s wings, and he told the men not to hit her. They screamed and cursed, spoke spells and warcries, and threw their spears at the great beast.

    And each of their spears poked a hole in the garu¡¯s mighty wings, and through those holes man now sees the light of the heavens as a star. And as the scraps of his wings fell they learned the cries of the men, and became the birds of the sky.

    There is no garu to be seen in the world today, but their leavings are all around the world. They sing, warble, and hoot. Some are fierce as the garu, still some as clever. But one must be wary of all.

    Because one day a bird may come again and steal the moon.

 Chapter 4 - Preparations

    In the end, the Lady thought, I am a collector of stories. Sad stories, stories of loss or love turned cold. Some stories that were blood red and full of fire, others cold and distant, told through eyes that stared into the Lady¡¯s back and through her. They came to tell her a story and hope for a place, and perhaps the Lady could give them one.

    They called her Leech, and for all its worth she could see truth in it. She pulled the filth from them, sterile drawing out, a bleeding of the last dregs of their Life Before. Some healed under her care and some starved, but she was nothing if not fair. The work to be done was work that any woman born could perform, and while many questioned her choice to not hire the most beautiful or most pleasant, the Lady had her methods of choice.

    The girl in front of her wasn¡¯t telling her whole truth. The Lady knew the whole story; it was written across her body in the ink of bruises and cuts, a simple story that was as old as cruel men and foolish women. He was a sailor, a docksman, a merchant, a lord, and she had thought his hardness pressing into her was a second heart begging her to take it. She had claimed her belly to stop the last beating, and it had not been successful. And once the Lady¡¯s attendants had cared for her, shown the girl that the Ward wasn¡¯t the worst place to be, wasn¡¯t all the stories their mothers had warned of, of daughters caught in moonlight abductions and gangs of men breaking spirits, she had come to the Lady.

    ¡°You come to me, a bruised apple of a Barrow tree, and ask me for a favor. Is that what you are trying to get at, my sweet?¡± Leech smiled, and if the girl had the talent to notice cues she¡¯d have seen the hardness behind the eyes.

    ¡°Y-yes my Lady. I can cook, and clean. I have sewn, though I was fired from the seamstress for a claim of destroying a garment. I can skin a rabbit, pluck a dove or chicken, make pillows and ¡ª ¡± the Lady stopped listening. She did not keep scullery maids, though the sewing may prove useful. Leech had decided as the darling came in, not for her earnesty but the swell of her breast and hips. The girl had blossomed beautifully, and with some cleaning up she would be useful to the Lady¡¯s business. Lady Leech made a motion with her hand and the gruff man who had come for work tried to earn good faith by escorting the young girl out. She knew her sad little storyteller would be praying to the Mother for her aid tonight, a sad little prayer in unneeded hope of gaining a job as a whore.

    Fools pray, the wise wait for no god, child. The thug who had come to her rooms didn¡¯t wait. He was a man who took charge, made plans, and showed his worth directly. Tan, her assistant, had come to the Lady covered in blood and begging sanctuary at any cost, but she had wanted in. Leech hoped that she was wrong about the girl with the unlikely name of Goshawk, but these years told her she knew her businesses well.

    She had known the man from a life before any man called her Lady. Martin the Red. A brawler, probably one of the best of his age. But while the Lady had grown old in the Grope, Martin had disappeared from the Barrow. Rumor said he was in the King¡¯s army, and she had thought him gone to the grave years before. He still had those hands, and the shoulders so broad, but age had made him slack, a fat belly lay over the muscles he had shown the ladies he fancied. Even his beautiful auburn hair had run away from him, what whiskers he kept now the grey of flagstones. If he had come to the Lady for work she knew her worries had filled the wrong ears as much as the right ones.

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    The war had done her business a blow. Men were being pressed into service off the streets, and even a man who freely signed and was given the king¡¯s gold tucked that Barrow fortune away for his family. Bread was twice the cost of last year, and the thieves roamed further afield to not bring down the ire of their own people.  Her cohort, the Ladies Crow, Dawn and Hill, could accept some losses as they tended to their work, but Leech peddled only in flesh. She could stand some lean years, but it was the principle.

    ¡°Lady? If you would like I can return at a later time. You seem to be lost in thought.¡± Martin¡¯s tone was soft, his gravelly voice barely a whisper. Where had the brash man she had known as an acquaintance gone! The same place the beauty he had once chased like a dog scenting a bitch in heat had gone.

    ¡°No, no. Sit down. I was thinking of my last appointment. Tell me, Martin Stone, does she look fit enough to ply my trade?¡± she asked him with a true smile, hoping to get a rise out of the once bashful boy.

    ¡°She¡¯s a beauty, ma¡¯am. I know she would bring trade, though sewing is a skill as useful for your other work. A lot of folks with cuts these days, nasty ones from hooked knives.¡± he grimaced, sipping the drink Tananger had given him as he waited.

    ¡°You seem to know my mind, my friend. There is an individual who has been causing me some concern. Takrim, his name doesn¡¯t matter. He keeps girls in a warehouse in the Tannery. If only I knew a strong man to help a damsel in distress¡­¡± she winked at him, remembering old games between them those years ago. There, that¡¯s the blush I was looking for.  It feels good to know I still have it.

    ¡°I promise to do the work for you, if you ask. I request lodging here at the Ward, copper and silver for a few men and an outfitting. I have my own, though it has seen better days and needs repair. A man can do work with a basher, but certain work is best done up close, with harder tools.¡±

    ¡°Of course. Say, 3 gold for the provisions, given in silver and copper. A gold coin a day for yourself, ten copper for each men. And a silver per Takrim or retainer who is taught the error of their ways.¡±

    ¡°Two.¡± Martin grinned, finishing the rest of his drink and tapping a finger on it.

    ¡°One and seven, with four and seven for the place burning to the ground.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough. For blood?¡±

    ¡°Two and two for any common man you lose, to their wives and children, and five copper a month to each child until they are of age. Four and three and ten to a talented man. No skimming, Martin Redbeard, or I¡¯ll bend you over my knee.¡±

    ¡°Was a time I would have bent you o¡¯r mine and enjoyed the chance to do it.¡±

    The Lady laughed, getting up from her overstuffed chair to close the deal with the mercenary.  They shook, Martin kissing her hand as if she truly were a Lady. Flattery was not unheard of in her position, though it was nice to see someone who observed proper decorum.

    ¡°I hope you will be ready to do the deed as soon as possible?¡±

    ¡°I can be ready within the week, if you so desire ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Let it be, then. Now, I have other business to attend to, if you please.¡±

    Martin stood, looking at the woman before him. Their histories apart had not changed their opinions of each other, and the Lady wondered if perhaps she had misjudged his seeming disinterest in her long ago.

    ¡°The woman I know wouldn¡¯t have been so quick to call for blood.¡±

    ¡°The woman you knew, fool Martin, left along with you. And so here I remain.¡±

 Chapter 5 - Memories

    A lady must take her moments when they come. Running her business was a difficult proposition at the best of times, and these days the influx of new girls wanting to join her establishment was heavy. Hollow stomachs wished to be filled, and a woman could not be faulted for plying a trade. The Lady looked over the reports Tananger had written up, marvelling at the girl¡¯s precise print. The Lady had not been born in the lands of the valley, but rather in the west country far from the valley.  She recalled learning the way of letters years ago in her middle age. It had been a fool¡¯s errand, or so she thought, until she found herself here.

    The Lady had notes from a half dozen lordlings asking for extensions of credit, which were always ignored. Hard coin for soft times, a girl could not be fed on a note of credit. She saw the requests for new bed linens and winced, knowing prices were going up every moment she waited to place an order with a factor. Silk was out of the question, and even the soft spun linens of the deltafolk were becoming more and more rare as the War waged on. Soon her girls would be plying their trade on straw mats and corn husk sheets, unless something was done. And then there were the supplies for the part of the business that gave the Ward its name. Herbs, poultice makings, gauze and hundreds of yards of catgut. Soft vellum sheeting for wrapping burns, and the leeches and maggots needed fed.

    The Lady had known something of the healing arts on her arrival in the valley, and had learned more since. She considered herself a competent midwife, a skill sorely lacking in madams who would rather brew a wasting tea and let the girl kill the life inside of her. While she could be cruel at times the Lady had her limits, though if Tananger had her way the Lady¡¯s mothering girls would be out on the streets with a clipped copper and a boot to the backside. The Lady knew there were men who would pay well for a mother¡¯s touch, the deltafolk traders considered such a woman touched by their goddess Bajit, whose milk flowed constantly as the clouds in the sky and whose touch was said to save a man from siring a stillborn boy.

    The Lady kept her own counsel on choices for girls, but knew the tastes of men. Tananger, her hair the color of spring wheat and those eyes of brightest blue would be beloved in the Lady¡¯s homeland, where she would have been named after the god of merriment, the laughing blond Maruk. She loved to tell the girl of her homeland¡¯s myths and stories, and the girl would tell her Lady of this place¡¯s gods and heroes. The story of Tyn the Wise, sometimes Tyn the Brave, and his bird of a thousand colors. The love songs of Mamarit and Pardu, Mother River and Father Mountain. The girl would tell tales of her family sometimes, the silliness her young brother Oriole, lost to sickness years ago, would get up to, and how he had a small scar just where a man might cut his lip shaving.

    When the Lady once pressed for tales of their father as they sat on the Ward¡¯s roof Tan had stared into the night sky and stayed mute for nearly a month. The Lady knew some stories were too hard to tell to just anyone, and some stories meant for just one other set of ears.

    She idly ran her hands along her shelves. A set of birthing tools, reeds and potions, her perfect knife for cutting the gate when a mother was too small to bear the babe out, or the mother was lost and a child could live. A statue of a black bakti sat atop a box carved in whirling shapes. Bakti, the ship¡¯s mate hunters that of her homeland were rare as an eagle¡¯s cry in the rat-strewn streets of the Barrow. The piece had been a gift from a woman of her homeland who had born five dead children only to bring a screaming girl into the world with help of the Lady¡¯s hands. She touched the carved box and thought of a long lost girl. The Lady moved the statue and opened the box slightly, a sad smile playing across her face at the light from within.

    The knock at the door was Tananger. No other woman in the Ward would pound so loudly. She thinks she¡¯ll wake the dead, in a house full of ghosts. The Lady set the lid back gently before going back to her desk to do her business, memories of the happiest year and saddest night of her life fighting for purchase over the business of the day.

    ¡°I am ready for you Tan.¡±

    When the watchman entered she tensed. Then listened. Then grabbed for her kits.

    The compound made the Ward look small by comparison, its grounds were far better appointed. Trees ripe with the spicy pears the people of the valley called Mother¡¯s Gift and the small sour pitted berries the girls would love. Perhaps I could ask for a basket of them for payment, Leech thought. She knew the bitch would never give anything unless she could be sure to pry it out of your dead hands. Even though Leech hated the woman, the Lady remembered when a girl named Naset had come with her across the water. In her heart she could not blame her sister putting on airs as she rose to her position as Lady Squab Hill.

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    The youngest Lady had used an unfortunate watchman for her dirty work. She must have taken some sick pleasure in sending a watchman on to the Ward for her.  The Watch may turn an eye from the work the Ladies did, but that did not mean a man could roam into a brothel in full uniform without being tossed from their post.   The man seemed nonplussed by travel in the deathcoach, making the Lady wonder how deep a grip on his coins her old friend held.

    ¡°Do you know how far along she is?¡± the Lady asked, prying softly for information.

    ¡°I¡¯m just a messenger, Lady Leech. The Lady Hill is our mutual friend, and when a friend calls ¡ª ¡± the man shrugged, showing he lied by naming the Lady friend.

    ¡°May I have your name, kind sir? I do like to know the handsome men I invite into my chambers on a first name basis.¡± the Lady smiled at the guard.

    ¡°Captain Crow, m¡¯lady. At least that¡¯s what they call me in the Roost.¡±

    A captain? Surely the Lady needed her quick if she had called a captain into their work.

    ¡°I am charmed. You are so kind to use my nickname. I know we will be fast friends, Crow.¡± the Lady tried not to sneer. She could accept Leech in her mind, but there was a cruelty in its use to her face.

    The two kept quiet as the coach trundled to their destination. The Hill was quiet as a tomb, a state the Lady found fitting. She let the dusky image flow past her, passing by the obelisks and cenotaphs of a thousand dead nobles the city had long forgotten. The people of the valley burned their dead, while the diggers of long ago had left their marks in stone. The Lady wondered, and not for the first time, what those who came before the diggers had left behind.

    Squab Hill was waiting on the steps of her family home.  When Leech had known the Lord Hill he had feared for her once friend¡¯s safety. Now the Lady walked unmolested through the districts of the city in the clothes that fit a washerwoman and it seemed to suit her fine. The last two of their generation, they stared at each other on the steps for a moment before Squab rushed to Leech, grabbing her tight and sobbing into her shoulder.

    ¡°It¡¯s Posy. She decided to go riding, and she was so heavy with child¡­  she¡­ she¡¯s screaming. There¡¯s so much blood. Please for the love of ¡ª please?¡± tears soaked into the simple linen dress the Lady had chosen as Squab¡¯s grip grew tighter. The physician pried the emotional matron from her side and looked on through the eyes of memory. A full head shorter than her sister, Squab was a fat and miserly sort. The emotion worried Leech.  It was out of character.  And Posy may be in real trouble.

    ¡°Darling, I know. Come with me. Do you have another cutter, anyone who has some skill with the body?¡± the Lady brushed Squab¡¯s hair away, flinching from the oil and dirt she found streaking her fingers.

    ¡°Ma¡¯am? I was a medic in the War. And her guard, he knows something of setting bones if our reports are correct.¡± Crow spoke up, pushing himself forward.  The captain grabbed a thuggish man dressed in a chain shirt so rusty it looked ready to fall off his body.

    ¡°Aye, I know a set, can make a pot to knock out a man for a day with clean breathing.¡±

    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary. If it is as Na¡­ the Lady says, we must make haste.¡±

    They cut a path through the waiting throne. Lady Hill blubbered behind, and the sensible among the Temple¡¯s inhabitants turned a blind eye to their Lady¡¯s weakness. Rumor was the Lord Hill had killed every man in the room when his first wife had died abed of crypt cough, and none wanted a repeat if the Lady looked around to find who had seen her in her moment of weakness. Leech called out for supplies, hot water and a basin to wash in as she walked, coming to the door where muffled screams could be heard.

    The bed was a ruin. Posy laid in a pool of sweat mixed with blood and sick. Her leg was broken, sitting crooked on her body. One arm seemed to have been nearly ripped from the body, and her face was a mass of bruises. One eye focused on the Lady, and the breathing calmed somewhat.

    ¡°Uht hrssh.¡±

    ¡°I know, love. I am going to wash myself, and we¡¯re going to help.¡± the Lady turned away and looked the two men in the eye, motioning for them to come with her to the corner of the room.

    ¡°She¡¯s dying, Lady.¡± the Captain whispered, blunt as a club.

    ¡°Ma¡¯am, I know ya loved Posy, but the ratfuck cutter is right. Can ya save da beb?¡± the cutter asked, his face linen white and eyes fearpricked.

    ¡°If it comes to it, we will. If the babe is¡­ is healthy, we are bringing it out. Either way, we must try to save the mother.¡±

    They set to preparation. The guard stripped out of his mail and into a puffed shirt of fine linen that still showed his chest. A dandy¡¯s shirt, and if Posy wasn¡¯t dying the Lady would have laughed to see it. The thug looked like a fat fish dressing to meet the King. He ripped strips of cloth to bind Posy¡¯s unbroken limbs in place while Crow and Leech washed themselves thoroughly.

    ¡°You did serve. Ever open a man up?¡±

    ¡°I cut my fair share of limbs, cracked a skull to relieve pressure. Put the Lord Somethingorother¡¯s guts back in, though,¡± he paused, his face flushing, ¡°it didn¡¯t work out as well as I would have hoped.¡±

    The Lady finished cleaning herself, then stood for a moment in silent prayer.

    Hsith, Beauty of the Reeds, Mother of Mothers, Keeper of the Gates of Life, let me bring this woman and her child back from the brink of Your brother¡¯s lands. Steady my hand, guide my knife and spare these under my care.

 Chapter 6 - The Birthing Bed

    ¡°Look away, gentlemen.¡±

    The two assistants had served well, checking over wounds and cleaning. Posy had screamed, sure, but the sheets were stripped by the cutter and the captain without disturbing her too bad. They quickly washed her top half, and the Lady washed her bottom. The girl¡¯s sex bled heavy, and her stomach was wracked with contractions.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to go inside of you now, Posy. I need to check for injuries, and the baby. See if the passage is ready.¡± Leech wasn¡¯t sure the woman heard her.  Posy had passed out moments before, but her pulse was still strong and her breathing as steady as could be expected.

    The Lady felt the clots, the blood pooling. The way was narrow, seemingly closed nearly tight. She had hoped for better.

    ¡°Is she opened up, physic?¡± the Captain kept his eyes turned, and the Lady sighed. ¡°My daughter came on the road, was the only skilled hand.¡±

    ¡°No, she¡¯s not dilated. The child is behind a wall of blood, may be drowning.¡±

    ¡°If¡¯n you can give her a relaxer?¡± the thug tried to help, his voice soft and questioning.

    ¡°It would kill her. In better condition, with more time I could do something, but we must make a way. For the child.¡± the Lady stopped, looking over Posy.

    Naset had loved Posy like the jewel of her life. The girl had been born early, the third and last child. Squab had come to the Lord Hill with three bastards and a barren womb, but the Lord had fallen for the stuttering baby charms of his adopted daughter as hard as her mother¡¯s wit and skill. The hard man had doted on Posy before his death, purchasing a pony from the traders in Horsebridge so fine that a Barrow man would need to work a lifetime or steal for a tenyear to buy him. The little girl had been their companion in the new land, not like Naset¡¯s twin boys Egg and Hatch.

    When Egg had caught the river fever the women had mourned together. Hatch had caught an alley bolt in a war between the Ghouls and some upstart gang going for the Hill¡¯s position, and even if they had not spoken since Egg¡¯s pyre the Lady had sent her lost friend her condolences.

    She won¡¯t survive losing Posy. Either she¡¯ll start a fight or kill herself. Maybe she¡¯ll just fade. But she won¡¯t survive. Give me this one Hsith, Snakecharmer, keeper of the two heads of life and death. Turn the left head away, give me the poison that heals, the fire that cleanses. For one of your daughters born in your land and her daughter born in this valley of thieves and cruel circumstance.

    Leech picked up the knife and hoped.

    #

    ¡°Da, why do your hands look like that?¡± She always asked questions, and Martin loved her for it.

    ¡°Remember when that boy Wren who liked ya fell from the stairs and broke his arm?¡± he scrubbed her back, making sure not to get her hair wet from the bath.

    ¡°He does not like me.  Said so hisself.  And I will not marry him.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Well, I will tell you that there are times when you cannot be sure of how your heart will go, Lil.  May be you don¡¯t marry him, but may be you¡¯ll love him someday.¡±

    ¡°That is not true!¡± Lil splashed her father, smiling at the old man as he looked aghast.

    ¡°I say it¡¯s true, but no one listens to me in this house.¡± he put away the coarse brush and pulled her up from the water.  ¡°Now, young Lady Lil, I must ask you get dried and dressed.  We have to take you to your uncle Finch and aunt Lark, and I must be to business.¡±

    He left her to get dressed and packed his kit.  It never got easier. Each time Martin had to leave he wished it would be the last.  Perhaps Leech will hire me on, give me a place in her guard.  Safety, keep Lil in a spot where she can be around women who can teach her lady things.

    He smiled as she came down, breeches and a clean shirt, a cap covering her red hair.  She would soon be in dresses, and these times would be behind them.

    ¡°You never told me why your hands are crooked, Da.¡± Lil put her hands to her sides then raised them, her way of saying now get to it.  Her mother in her.

    ¡°I hurt a bad man, hurt myself as I did it.¡±  he ruffled her cap, and the little girl laughed and swatted at his hands.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna hurt bad men too.  Beat them and make them fear the Lady Lily o¡¯ Winter!¡±  she smiled at him, hanging off his arm and lifting herself up to kiss his bearded cheek.

    ¡°Not if I can help it, little Lady.  Will you climb your noble steed then?¡± Martin bent down, hearing his knees pop and feeling a twinge in his back.

    Lil grabbed her father¡¯s cheeks, looking him in the eyes then blowing out her cheeks. ¡°Da, I am too old for that.  Let¡¯s walk.  It''s not that far!¡±

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    She¡¯s already growing away.  Please, Guardian, give me the strength to return and the wisdom to lead her right. They walked through the evening streets and men and women of the Barrow waved and smiled. Lil, always the entertainer, was a little queen, accepting the pats and kisses and a small sliver of shard candy as elegant as Martin¡¯s manners training could carry her.

    He hoped she would be everything her mother had hoped. That brought the thoughts of her, and the old soldier wiped his brow as if the touch could burn away a memory.  They came to their destination before he could fall into those thoughts, and Martin stood outside ready for the next step.

    ¡°Hello, house! I have brought the Lady Lily to sup and sleep!¡± Martin announced, his booming voice causing a rush and clatter.  Three children, the twins and the little one Finch called Young Martin, rushed out to greet their playmate.

    Finch came in his rolling lurch.  Good leg forward, peg stomping down.  The boy had a father¡¯s gut, though it suited him as a butcher.  The kids were plentiful, and Lark was still out gathering wash for the nightly soak.

    ¡°Martin.¡± Finch said, extending a hand.  ¡°Yew! Willow! Get the girl to supper, have Yarrow serve.  I need to speak to Uncle for a while, keep yourselves away.¡±

    The twins ran, holding hands of their quarry and singing children¡¯s songs to carry them into the home.  Martin was unsure for the first time in a long time, and took in the face of his eldest son.  A face like his own save the lack of beard and the scars on his face.

    ¡°You need to give Lily a better life, you old fool.  She can wait here as much as you like, but how long til you don¡¯t come back for her?¡±

    ¡°A butcher? Lecturing me?  Remind me, how would you keep this house without having the luck of Tyn to find a woman foolish enough to stay with you after?¡± Martin stood tall, shaking himself out of a resting stance.  He wasn¡¯t going to fight the man before him.

    ¡°Ya, ¡®strue.  You had a good woman, we called her Ma.  She loved you for all your shit, and you left her.  Left us to go to war.¡±  the eyes were his mother¡¯s, but the look Martin knew well enough from times looking in a mirror.

    ¡°I wanted to make a life for you, and your brothers.  Make a title and a name.  You were old enough to help her but you left as well.¡±

    ¡°I wanted to be you, Da.  I wanted to be a man of action.  They took me on as a butcher.  Then they took my leg and sent me home, and when I got home Ma was sick and the boys were caught up in the gangs and I hated you for it.¡±

    ¡°For you making a man¡¯s decision? You can¡¯t lay that on me, boy.  Not here, not now and you know it.¡± Martin started towards the door. ¡°Let me see the children, and we can discuss this when I return.¡±

    ¡°What if, Da?  Are we going to leave this as a fight for another day? Are you that much of a coward that you ¡ª ¡± the boy was startled as his father grabbed him, pushing him against the side of his home.  ¡°Stop!¡±

    Martin let his son loose, looking down at his hands. ¡°I¡¯m no coward, Finch.  Don¡¯t you think I know all you say is true?  I¡¯m trying, making a safe place to keep Lil and a wage with time home.  It ent ideal, but better than a tenement garden to play in.¡±

    ¡°You said the same when her ma died. You left your daughter with the croaking cough to go fight down at the docks, didn¡¯t come back for a week.  A week!  She could have died, you hardhead.¡±

    ¡°Did she?¡±

    ¡°Nah, but it was close.  Fever, she couldn¡¯t keep anything down. It has been five years and we have never,¡± Finch stabbed his stumpy fingers into his father¡¯s chest, ¡°ever heard one kind word for it.¡±

    ¡°Ya, well, thank you for my daughter¡¯s life.  I guess I will not be enjoying supper with my grandchildren then?¡± Martin said, pulling away and walking off.

    ¡°Da, don¡¯t go.  Come on¡­ ¡± Finch hobbled as he could but Martin began marching, and the butcher stopped to return home.

    He climbed the stairs and opened the door, seeing Lil at the window.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re my brother, ya know.  He slipped one time.¡± the little girl fidgeted in place, looking to her toes.

    ¡°You¡¯re a smart gal, did you know?  Keep quiet round the others, they¡¯re not as quick as us.¡± Finch smiled, putting his hand under her chin and pulling up a chair.  ¡°Do you know why you¡¯re called Lily o¡¯ Winter?¡±

    ¡°Da said Ma chose it, but she got sick after havin me.¡±

    ¡°Well, I know why.  It¡¯s an old story.  Once, an old man loved a beautiful woman.  She lived by the river.  She would wash clothes there ¡ª ¡±

    ¡°Like Lark?¡± Lil asked, sitting down and hugging her knees to hear the tale.

    ¡°Just like Lark.  She had bright hair the color of new copper, and the old man would walk by the river and tell her stories and give her gifts.  And during the winter, when the ice covered the water, he broke it open to get her water for washing and built her a fire.¡±

    ¡°They stayed in for the winter, him helping her and her falling in love.  When Spring came she knew she had a baby, and she grew in summer and got big as the moon in Fall.¡±

    ¡°Lark doesn¡¯t get that big.  Maybe as big as Fat Pigeon, but not as big as the whole moon!¡± Lil looked to Finch with the incredulity only granted to the very learned and children.  ¡°Don¡¯t lie in your stories.¡±

    ¡°Fine.  She grew heavy with the baby.  Then Winter came.  It was cold, so cold the river froze solid, and then a storm came and the snow fell.¡±  Finch made the noises of wind, pulling off the little girl¡¯s cap and playing with her hair as if it were being torn by the violent storm.

    ¡°The Mother never freezes solid. Da told me that! And we go down and there¡¯s only maybe a little ice.¡± Lil grumbled, pushing Finch¡¯s hands away.

    ¡°This is a story from another place.  The old man tried to help, and couldn¡¯t do anything.  The woman bled, and bled, and he couldn¡¯t find the baby.  So he ran into the snow, to the river, and begged the goddess of the river to give herself to his beloved and let the baby be born.

    ¡°He returned, and the baby was born but its mother had died.  The old man, covered in blood, ran to the river to pound on it. As if he could harm a god.  And where the mother¡¯s blood fell sprang up the lilies of winter, that bloom in the cold of that place, pushing through warm through the snow and ice and pretty as any redheaded woman.¡±

    Lil smiled with tears in her eyes.  ¡°That is a good story, Finch.¡±

    ¡°See? Sometimes stories help us to tell the truth.  Now come in and wash, the kids have supper waiting.¡±

 Chapter 7 - The Counting

    They came in their finery, surrounded by retainers. The bagheads took their knees one by one, and Ori felt the hands of his captors on his back. Sparrow had taught him well, and the boy dropped to one knee and lowered his head as he was taught to act toward the high nobility. The girl went into a curtsy, her wet dress spread before her as she went fully down, while Owl hung his head lower, his face pained as he dropped down in supplication.

    The Kings were as varied as their subjects. Short, tall, thin, fat, they wore masks of silver limned with gold with designs as varied as their bodies. The first Ori saw, a tall man thin and lanky, had a mask marked with the holy symbols of the Mother and Father, along with dozens of other sigils the boy assumed were for other gods. He wore the robes of a priest, and around his neck were relics of a hundred faiths.

    A fat, rolling King had hands drawn across his face, running in lines around the mask¡¯s edges and across the brow. He was dressed in traditional robes of the king of the stage. Cloth of gold, shot through with notes of red, silver, and purple. He was a clown of a king, who wore his crown and several others as bangles around his wrists and a choker around his neck. His hair was white, a braid of it hanging down his back and beard braided in a royal plait.

    The next was dressed in a long robe of black, a strange oily opalescence playing in the folds. This mask was marked with small, strange symbols packed tight, making the face appear wrinkled and wizened.

    The last was a tall King, whose mask was carved with the features of a skull. The robes of this King were all grey, his mask wrapping the entirety of his head. The King was faceless, nameless. Ori felt a wave of fear as he stared at the death mask, and froze completely as the skull turned to him and seemed to stare through him.

    The Kings came forward and sang their praises. Reedy, profound, loud and quiet, their voices varied as much as their speech.

    ¡°We are the Kings of the valley! I am the King of the Mob, controlling the masses! Swear fealty to me and I will teach you the ways of the rabble, to scrap and scrape, to take and return. Stand before me and be a knight of the people.¡±

    ¡°I am the King of Kings! I rule over the noble, the birthrighted, the damned fools who fear the common man! Swear fealty to me and seek riches and honor, loot and plunder, to tax and return. Stand before me and be a knight of swindlers.¡±

    ¡°I am the King of the Gods Themselves! I rule over churches and temples, prayers and spirits. Swear fealty to me and learn the ways of the holy and the Art. Stand before me and be a knight of the lords.¡±

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    The wizened face stared blankly to the crowd, the face turning to each before looking towards the skull.

    ¡°You know me, and who I serve. You know my business, and know my fealty. All will stand before me, but if you stand today you may be in my service.¡±

    ¡°You walk your own path, Oriole. I will not tell you where to tread. I will tell you I have served with all of these kings in my life, and each is kind and cruel at his face.¡± Sparrow turned away then, leaving Ori to it.

    You are for me, and you know it. You are meant for me, and I for you. Come to me. Come to me and find peace. Ori looked around to each of the faces, only to settle on the final King. The King extended his hand and crooked a finger to Ori. As if in a trance the boy walked to Him, and stood beside the last King. Are you sure you¡¯re ready for me? I am jealous for those in my service.

    I¡¯m ready.

    Then you have chosen a great master. You¡¯re hurt, are you not?

    Yes, but I will manage.

    Then show them how hurt you are.

    The King reached to Ori¡¯s shirt and drew one finger down. Ori saw the finger had a bladed ring, and gasped as the King cut through his shirt. Gingerly the King helped him out of the shirt, and the room went in an uproar.

    ¡°Sparrow you crippled old son of a whore! How dare you beat this boy so badly!¡± one voice in the mob cried.

    ¡°He brutalized him! Look at his arms, his back!

    ¡°The old bastard cut him as well!

    ¡°Call a summit! Let the fucker burn for it!¡±

    The Kings looked to each other, trapped in a silent conference. Sparrow was being held by Heron and the Queen, both ready to do the mob¡¯s justice. Sparrow looked to his prentice with eyes filled with tears, then bowed his head ready to receive the sentence meted out.

    After a few moments The King of Kings came forward, a sad look on his face. He spoke to Sparrow, gesturing wildly to the crowd, Ori, and back to Sparrow. The old man looked dumbstruck, resigned to whatever fate the Kings set forth for him.

    They will be hard on him. Cruel and unfair. You will speak at the calling, and I hope you can save him. Fairefaced Sparrow Hill is a good man, and a useful tool to Us. It will be a fine game as any to play.

    I¡¯m sick, tired, soon to be drunk, and you want me to defend him?

    You¡¯ll be in far worse conditions doing far more dangerous things soon enough. Are you not up to the challenge before you, Oriole Tanner?

    Ori felt the fear for his mentor and his own honor rush through him. Of course he would do whatever is necessary to fix this, but he needed proof. He felt the rush of the booze, the haze of the medicine Sparrow had given him kicking in.

    Dirk, Blade. They wore striped leather shirts. They beat me with bashers, tossed me into a wall near the Yards. They would have killed me if a lamplighter hadn¡¯t found me. They ripped my arm out of its place. Please, for Mother and Father send someone to find them.

    The presence was out of his head the next moment. Ori felt the whirling of the ground and the pulse of the blood in his chest rising to his temples. The voice had kept him up, and as he fell into unconsciousness the boy prayed the voice had listened to him.

 Chapter 8 - Hunting Rats

    Ori had watched as they accepted his version of the events, felt for holes in his story left to protect his mentor, and found that each thief wanted to believe anything but a Sparrow who would beat a child. They accepted his claims wholeheartedly, marked Sparrow blameless to all, and now the old man stood with a group of toughs and the newly minted members of the Kings. Heron and the Queen stood out, but Ori knew none of the others but by their look. Thin and fat, old and young, these men had the face of killers, those who used fists and feet and weapons of all types to drop men low for slights.

    ¡°An aggression like this cannot stand. Upjumped thugs attacking a boy under the hand of a King? Even if the child was just brought into our family, he has had our protection since Sparrow brought him to heel.¡± Heron the Large said, pointing towards Ori with one of his sausage thick fingers. ¡°We¡¯ll need to be quick, and quiet, and get this done by dawn. Burn the damned fools out of their holes and give them a beating they¡¯ll not forget.¡±

    ¡°While I am not one for blood, the fat man has a point.¡± the blind man Ori knew as Mole Hill responded, his grip hard on Owl¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°A blind man calling me fat? Has your woman told of how well I fit her bed?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need a story, Sir Heron. The broken spars tell the tale well enough.¡±

    The two laughed, Heron putting an arm around the blind thief as they whispered in confidence. Mole seemed to look around the room as they whispered, a smile showing his dead front tooth playing across his face. Heron¡¯s face went from smiling to frown, then a low growling chuckle came from deep in the warrior¡¯s chest.

    ¡°The new blood will spill blood today. Owl, Ori, Crane, and the tall boy-¡±

    ¡°... Wisteria. Wisteria Brave.¡±

    The room went quiet as the thief who had brought the boy came up. Even Ori knew Rose Brave, the greatest of the King¡¯s thieves. Born in Kingsbridge the daughter of Duke Orchid Brave, she was said to have fallen in love with a Barrow boy and ran away. When you saw the Braves together you saw the resemblance; features too fine for the people of the streets, the black hair plaited.

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    ¡°Do you not trust my boy, Heron? Mole Hill, I have known you since you were Clever Mole Hill, and never questioned your judgment. My son is trained to the blade and basher, and can fire a true bow as well as an alley bow. He will do the honorable thing, and go with the other little thieflings to take blood.¡± her look across them all was harsh, and Ori near felt the need to bow and scrape for a true Lady among the Kings. Mole looked towards the family arrayed there then turned his head to the gathered children.

    ¡°Tis settled then. Four against three. Bloody them up, I want no murder to bring the damn striped nits down on us. We¡¯d win, but we may lose more than the victory was worth. If they run, let them. If you have a chance to burn them out? Do so. Don¡¯t go torching the whole damn Tannery, but don¡¯t come back without proof. Understood?¡±

    ¡°Yes sir.¡± they replied, all but Wisteria in unison. The tall boy seemed out of place now, having been called to heel and ready to answer. Wisteria looked towards the others gathered and gave a sheepish grin. ¡°I¡¯ve done some hunting with my father, but I¡¯ve never gone after people.¡±

    ¡°Well, most people are smarter than an animal. Slower. But they have weapons.¡±

    ¡°Seems fair to me,¡± Owl said, ¡°we¡¯re bringing our own.¡± The stout boy, appointed to King Mob, tapped a basher Heron handed him, as the thug passed them out to the rest of the crew.

    ¡°It¡¯s not about fair.¡± Ori said, pausing to look around them. ¡°They wanted to kill me. This is about surprise. Shock. And making sure we leave a message.¡±

    Heron whistled then, looking over the group. He walked to Ori, holding out a shirt to the young man. It was too big for Ori, but the material felt cool and soft against his skin, seeming to fall across his frame as pleasing as possible. Heron took a basher and with a quick strike slammed into Ori. His new shirt let out a sound like a ringing bell, and Ori found he was still conscious, a great surprise to all who saw it.

    ¡°It¡¯s hardsilk, boy. Can take a hit like a suit of plate, feels as soft as a kiss. I don¡¯t got another, so don¡¯t let them burn it or spill anything unless it¡¯s blood if you can help it.¡± the miserly thug laughed, shaking Ori¡¯s hand. He leaned into the boy¡¯s ear, whispering low. ¡°You see son? You¡¯ll come out of this well, make sure the rest of them keep. You¡¯re Sparrow¡¯s boy, and they already know you¡¯re leading this riot.¡±

    Ori smiled back, glad to hear the man¡¯s words. I¡¯ll lead them, and bring them home. The least I can give for getting them into this damned mess. ¡°I promise I¡¯ll bring them back safe, sir. On my honor.¡±

    ¡°Your honor? You¡¯re a thief, boy. Bring them back on your life.¡±

 Chapter 9 - In Pursuit

    They took the sewers to the Banks, quick as they could manage. Ori was the turtle to the others hares. While the booze seemed to rouse the others to rise to the occasion it left the beaten thief sore and woozy. Halfway through the tunnels Owl tried to tak Ori on his back to the consternation of their companions.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be dawn if we wait for him to catch up and you know it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care if it will take the time, if he walks we all walk.¡± Wisteria sneered, rubbing his eyes and stomping his feet against the chill of the storm sewer. ¡°There¡¯s a mission to do, and we all rise or fall based on it.

    ¡°Owl¡¯s got it right.¡± Crane said as she stretched against a wall. ¡°They¡¯ll probably be in their cups by now celebrating the attack on some lord¡¯s boy. If we can catch them on the street, in an alley? This will be quick work. If we have to track them home?¡± she paused, her hand raised as if in a question.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, don¡¯t worry. I can hustle along, get us there in half the time. No need to let me worry you, Owl.¡± Ori said, trying to push his stout new friend away. Owl stood sturdy, and Ori realized it was like trying to push a tree and tell it to move.

    ¡°You¡¯ll do as you¡¯re told. If I¡¯m going to take a knife for your beating, I¡¯m going to take it tired from carrying your ass or tired from waiting for it. Might as well let me make my own decisions, you¡¯re no King Oriole.¡± Crane¡¯s words cut him, but Ori took her words to heart and accepted the ride.

    They ran over the Banks, the light of the Mother¡¯s flow illuminating all in a pale green glow. They hopped past a group of riverfolk dancing their strange dances. Ori kept himself from being sick by focusing on the dancing. They carried what looked like baskets of flame, the women raising and lowering them in dizzying patterns, tossing the fires out from them then pulling them back in. It was controlled danger, each girl taught from walking to carry the bowl, to toss and dance with it. The fires stayed inside, always threatening to spill to the earth.

    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful. I love when they do it on the water, pouring into the Mother. The whole river alight, dancing with all of those shades and flames.¡± Crane said, looking to the tight group as they spun again, breaking into two circles hopping and twirling about.

    ¡°It¡¯s a heresy, what it is. The priests would cull them all if they didn¡¯t ply the river, and keep the Takrim to their trade boats and the cove. Fool people with fool ideas of our gods.¡± It was the longest sentence any of them heard from Owl, and they saw his eyes in the flickering light and decided not to press the issue.

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    The Banks had sleepers and lovers, qishi addicts and traditional drunks lining them. Some said sleeping on the Banks used to be dangerous due to large beasts who called the old valley their home, but no one had seen one since long before the children¡¯s memory. There were still terrors for the people who slept rough; the swelling of the river led to washouts, and the fear of theft or abuse from those preying on the people of the Banks was a constant fear. Every hundred feet the children passed another guard, self-appointed, his or her eyes wide from taking the pulverized roots of the trees that grew in the high mountains..

    ¡°Damn Wakers. Don¡¯t they know they¡¯ll die?¡±

    ¡°Everyone takes Wake from time to time Ori. Nothing wrong with it.¡± Wist replied, brushing by one of the twitching fools. They were paid in Wake for their troubles, and ate themselves to death in their constant vigil. ¡°If they decide to overindulge it¡¯s their business.¡±

    ¡°E¡¯s right, you know. They make their bed, now they refuse to sleep there. No skin off of us for them making poor choices.¡± the stoic Owl said, huffing through the sand. On cobbles or dirt Ori was easy to bear, but on sand the poor ghoul turned King had trouble not being borne down into the waste.

    They passed another Waker, this one dressed in finery fit for a Tannery wedding or a day above the Kingsbridge. By the light of the Mother they saw her gnawed fingers, the twitch of the jaw, the hollow eyes. This one was on her way out, and for the first time Ori how a family could take a twig of a member and cast it off to burn in the Barrow.

    ¡°A mask! A mask and a trickery! The soft white moon and the grey of his soul! The cries of the children and the moans of the men! Fire, burning, and through it She walks carrying a dead lover¡¯s bauble! Once dead, twice-dead, the one who has an empty head, the folly of their works and the work of the folly, to tear the sky and pull her down through soft words and power!¡±

    ¡°Well, I believe she¡¯s gone round.¡± Wist said, putting himself between the group and the odd former maven.

    ¡°She¡¯s babbling, sure. Maybe we should do something?¡± Ori asked, looking to the others. When they didn¡¯t move to do anything the boy reached into his pants, breaking a hidden seam. He tossed the silver to the wasting woman, and they ran off into the night.

    ¡°He hears them in cups, in holes and pipes! They find him when he¡¯s weak, he hides when they are strong! A lord born in blood, a child born free! The fool is a killer, and the knight is a killer, and the lady a killer! They dance together, and she wants no partner for time has taken them! They come to burn the children, and they come to run from their sins, and they brace against it all but only the shadow remains, all go and the shadow remains, all goandtheshado-

 Chapter 10 - In the Den

    ¡°Maybe we won¡¯t find them.¡±

    It had been two hours in the Tannery and the lamps were flickering. Soon true dark would fall, the taverns were letting out to the crowds and the district would be Barrow dark. For the children it would be an advantage, but they had to hope that the bastards could be caught out. They had seen plenty of toughs, gangs and killers but none of the ones they needed. They had no coin to bribe anyone, no muscle to beat it out of anyone, and Ori was so sore that he felt like an old man trundling along with his grandchildren.

    ¡°This is hopeless and you know it, Oriole.¡± Wisteria said, looking into the crowd. ¡°Even if we find them we¡¯re never going to have the energy to take them. ¡°We can return, claim that we failed, and come back and tune them up when you¡¯re healed up.¡±

    ¡°No. We were sent on to find them and we will find them Wist. I have no time for whining, so you can stay, take to your feet, or to my fist.¡± Crane whispered, grabbing the taller boy and wrenching his ear.

    ¡°Fuck! You bitch! If you weren¡¯t a girl I would -¡±

    ¡°Run away, most likely. Or beg me to not beat you again, and again¡­¡±

    They continued their hushed argument as Ori looked, trying to spot his attackers. A glimpse of another striped shirt made him pause, but then he saw by the weak light the shirt was not black and white but blue and some sort of gold. He saw the lights flicker, then muddle into a whispering haze, the faces going blank in the crowd only to form into a new scene.

    They were circled around each other dicing. The one called Blade seemed to be winning, and Dirk wasn¡¯t too happy with the situation. The last of the oil was running out, but they had carried a small globe with them for light. He knew the globe, a smith¡¯s prentice, an ironwork that held some strange magic from the Folly. The men must be respected, as anyone in the Barrow with a prentice would find it stolen and sent off to one of the gang¡¯s hideouts.

    East. East to the dog and bear, then down the alley.

    Ori shook his head, wondering where the voice had come from. Owl had stood between the bickering thieves, his hands locked on Crane¡¯s shoulder and around Wist¡¯s belt.

    ¡°Ya alright Ori? Been out of it for a moment there.¡± Owl¡¯s face showed concern, while the other two just looked peeved at asking the question. ¡°We need to get moving and find the pricks who tried to kill you, remember?¡±

    ¡°East. I¡¯m feeling east. Who¡¯s with me?¡± Ori clapped his hands, hoping to the Mother and Father that he hadn¡¯t just gone around the bend. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to come, head back. If you want glory come with me.¡±

    They walked down the street, dodging the vomiting men and the qishi addicts too dazed to not stand in the middle of traffic. Two men were fighting in the center of a circle in the middle of the street, and Ori was nearly knocked down when the crowd tried to open to let them take the fight to the board walkway. The jouncing knocked Ori¡¯s head to the sky, and he saw them. A bear rearing on its haunches surrounded by three hounds on a sign outside of the tavern. Even now Ori saw the light of the prentice in the alley, and waved his cadre to the mouth of the alley.

    ¡°Is that them Ori? You lucky son of a bitch.¡± Wist whispered, producing his basher from a place behind his back. ¡°What¡¯s the play?¡±

    ¡°We can rush them. Four on three, we¡¯re buzzed but they¡¯re drunk. May get lucky.¡± Owl replied, his fists disappearing the full length of his basher between them. ¡°I¡¯ll take front, Ori guard¡¯s the mouth, and we crush them to the wall. ¡°

    ¡°Or we think like thieves. Smart, with our heads and not our coinpurses.¡± Crane quipped, looking up and around the buildings. ¡°Wist, come with me. Owl, douse that lamp then stay back, guard the mouth. Ori? How well can you act like a wounded kid looking to save his pride?¡± #

    The boy came towards them. He looked closer to death than when they had left him, but in a nice new shirt. The little lord had decided to come and challenge them, and they wouldn¡¯t be members of the Black and Whites if they weren¡¯t ready to take the fight to some upstart cockless kid trying to challenge. The boy held a basher in his hand, its rough wood looking out of place with his bright white shirt and lordly grace.

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    ¡°Gentlemen. It took me awhile to find you, but I wish for satisfaction.¡± the little lord said, tapping the wall with the stick and hobbling forward. ¡°If you¡¯re all man enough to give it, I shall say.¡±

    ¡°Oh, hear that Stab?¡± Dirk asked, elbowing the one who had near ripped the brat¡¯s arm out off his body. ¡°Little boy wants a bit more fight.¡±

    ¡°Looks like he¡¯s got one more punch in him. Best make it count, you cocksucker.¡±

    The lordling walked on, closing the distance. Thirty feet away he began coughing, a wracking cough that seemed to shake his entire body. ¡°Little pissant is gonna die before he gets here!¡± Dirk said, his hands still empty and his voice hard and telling. They weren¡¯t going to just beat the boy this time. Not after what he had tried to do. No, this was going to be a true victory, the little boy brought down by three men and tossed off the Banks to float to the river.

    Right after I take that too big shirt from him, thought Dirk.

    The boy was back, and closing. Twenty feet and Dirk saw the cold in the kid¡¯s eye. Did he have anything to worry about? The lantern was dark out in the mouth of the alley, and the three cutters turned dicers were in a dead end. None of the Bearbaiter¡¯s patrons would come calling, even if they cared about any screams other than their own as they fucked and drank themselves into a coma. The nearest walk was twenty feet above them, and the landings were clear except for the little catamite who had come to pass out on the railings before the boy came calling.

    Ten feet, and he saw a glimmer on the shirt. Glam? The boy¡¯s father¡¯s shirt, maybe some trickster work thrown on the thing. Protection, but there was an exposed head and all below the waist. A squeeze of his coins and a bit of a twist and the lordling would be a young maid, and they would finish him in seconds. As soon as the little cock got into kissing distance, tried his first swing.

    Blade heard the whistle as well as Dirk did, but the bottle caught Stab right in the top of his head. Ale poured over his head as the thug dropped, a clay vessel broken over his head. A look to the railings showed another figure, looked like a man, with an alley bow and quiver at his side.

    ¡°Aha. Well, I guess I forgot to mention there were others. If you wouldn¡¯t mind backing against the w-¡± the lordling¡¯s speech was cut as Dirk charged him, a tackle taking the stick thin kid down. Dirk felt the pain in his shoulder then heard the thump of the bow¡¯s firing, saw the fletching sticking clean through to his breast.

    ¡°You fuck. You play a man¡¯s game, now pay a man¡¯s price.¡± Dirk surged forward, the pain in his shoulder not overcoming his rage. He stepped to the area where Blade had driven the lordling, finding his best man down on the ground wiping at his eyes while the boy stood with his hands wrapping his slightly too long basher.

    ¡°Hotfoot. Good to mix into oil to rub into sore joints, but a thief knows it¡¯s real use is to blind. We¡¯re one for one now, Dirk. You seem to have sprouted feathers. Don¡¯t you know only Barrow folk claim to be birds?¡± the boy¡¯s smile was bloody, but the thug had seen those eyes before. They were driven eyes, the eyes of someone ready to do work and damn the cost. ¡°I¡¯ve got others with me, guarding the alley, and my two retainers on top of us. What¡¯s your plan, you thincoined childbeating little weasel?¡±

    Dirk bolted toward the alley mouth, looking for a way. He felt a thump against his leg, the little crossdealing cocky brat had thrown his basher. If the others were there maybe there were others at the mouth, but he could scream for help, and staying here was a death trap.

    Fifteen feet and he heard the boy laughing behind him.

    Twenty, and he stumbled against a cart, and lucked out from taking another alley bolt to the throat.

    Twenty five, and the alley was opening to him.

    Thirty, and he was home free, off to the Hide, rouse the boys and come back in a fury for -

    The one waiting out in the street was big. Near big as Stab, but he was still a boy. No fuzz on the cheeks, and only a basher to take on a wild animal set to run. He was steady, set into a crouch Dirk had seen in the fighters of the Barrow. Someone had trained the boy, but Dirk had fifteen years of street dirt and brawling to a bit of training. Dirk pulled his knife and dropped low, holding his namesake like a pick and ready to stab his way out.

    ¡°Sir, you need to stop or I¡¯m going to have to brain you.¡± the lummox said, so proud and sure of himself. Dirk loved taking down a sure man, and the gods had placed one in his way while his friends lay in pain for a bunch of skullduggery.

    ¡°Be a shame to have to kill you son.¡±

    ¡°I agree. Be a shame to see you die, sir.¡±

    It was a standoff. The boy never let him make a space to run, the blows of his stick striking out at Dirk. They began at easy to block, but as the bolt dug further into Dirk with each move the kid seemed to be getting warmed up. A strike to the side took the thug¡¯s wind, and the boy¡¯s next strike, a lazy sidearm towards his skull was barely dodged. He stabbed out with the blade only to feel a rap on his knuckles, to feel the blade drop as the power of the boy¡¯s strike made his hand go numb.

    ¡°Now, sir, I insist. Down the alley, or meet the Mother as your sins are washed away. Your call.¡±

    Brats and retainers. I get taken down by brats and retainers.

 Chapter 11 - The Dregs

    They bundled the shirts together and slung them over Wist¡¯s back. It was his bright idea and a silver in his boot that got them the alley bow from the publican, and so he would be their standardbearer to return as valiant heroes. Owl tied them to the alley post that held up the walk, using their belts and pants for their bonds. It was Crane¡¯s idea to soak them down with the remaining clay vessels they had got from the tavernkeep, and now the three brutes were soaked to the bone in the chilling air.

    Just as the children got their work done the rain began. Anyone who had lived in the valley long enough knew this wasn¡¯t a sprinkling, but the start of the great rains. Floods would come to the streets, and while it would be a piss warm rain soon, now it was a rain to give chills.

    ¡°We¡¯ll remember this. You know that, right? You little shitmouthed brat, your prized pig beater, and that cunt of a boygirl you brought with ya will go down. But it¡¯s the one carrying our kuttes who will get it worst of all.¡± Blade croaked, trying to see through tear bleeding swollen eyes each of them in turn as he fought his improvised chains. ¡°Those are the sign of us, and anyone who steals from a Black and White will earn their death.¡±

    The lordling smiled, then looked up to the sky to catch the rain. They all smelled boozy, but they seemed so quick. Dirk hated them for it, and knew Blade would be ready to murder them if it took burning the Barrow down. They had to be Barrow rats, cryptsleeping little asses who decided to come uptown and start trouble. The lordling was probably trying some new con, moving in on their territory.

    ¡°The rain. The Father¡¯s tears falling onto Mother¡¯s body. Now, to think I had forgotten to help the Mother.¡± the brat said, reaching for the laces of his britches. He unlooped them then, pulling himself out, and began to spray the soldiers of the Black and Whites. ¡°Ahh, that does feel better. When we get back to our place we¡¯ll do the same to your little shirts, and then we¡¯ll bury them in a cesspit. It¡¯s only right, as the Black and Whites are only fit to be shat on by a King.¡±

    At this Stab jerked up from his slumber. The Kings. The largest gang of the Barrow, ready to strike out at the Black and Whites? Dirk knew he had fucked up, and cursed his rotten luck. One dumb beating and now he had made war without consulting the boss. And if they decided to try to fight, the Kings would kill them down to the last man like a prisoner peeling potato pots, and no one would remember their gang in a year.

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    ¡°Gentlemen? We have no further quarrel. Take your beating today, as it was delivered. Tell your leader you lost your shirts to four children. Keep it quiet, scream it loud, but soon all the right folk will know you lost your way.¡± the tall one smirked as he spoke, his hands at his back like a true lordling. ¡°You can die tomorrow, or next week, or in a month. That is, if you decide to fight further.¡±

    ¡°Or,¡± the girl came in, ¡°you can shut your whoremothered mouths and take your medicine, then keep out of the Barrow until the last of us is in the ground. Then, and only then, will you live to see nightfall on our land.¡±

    ¡°All is clear, ma¡¯am.¡± Dirk said, bowing his head in defeat.

    ¡°And now, Lord Oriole, I believe these men struck you? I guess it would be your turn to take satisfaction.¡± the girl handed the boy her basher, and he began his work. By the end Dirk had a broken knee, bruises all up his ribs, and was missing teeth. Blade fared little better, though the kid was beginning to tire. Stab was the safest from his blows, though the fat one busted his nose with a nicely done headbutt and then made him cry like a child with a swift and full kick to the coinpurse.

    ¡°Now, our work is done. The light comes, and we go. Go in peace then, friends, in the Tannery. Cross the Fleasbridge, take her gate, or ever attempt to send one, and we will find you. We will find your women, your children. And as the Father as witness I will burn you all to the ground.¡± his voice was harder than the boy Dirk heard before, and the kid¡¯s eyes seemed to gleam with hatred and some other passing something. As they walked away Dirk thanked them silently for their beating, then passed out against his bonds hoping someone would see him before emptying the chamber pots on his comrade¡¯s heads.

    He came quietly on them. The kids had done good work, but some work needed to be done by men.

    The swollen faced one was first. His head was at just the right angle, and it took only one swift stroke through the heart to take him. A hand over the mouth and bracing against his struggling form and he was out. The blade was wiped clean, and he moved to the next.

    In all it took ten breaths, shorter than a child¡¯s game. They bled like pigs, and he had to wipe the blood away on a pile of rags that laid beside the midden heap for the tavern. Three deaths, a tally not too bad. And if it started something? Well, there was work to be done, and a war to be won, and he¡¯ll find what he seeks as soon as the fool pokes his head over the wall.

 Chapter 12 - At Peace

    The wailing of the women of the Temple told the tale. The cries of the tired, the weak, the beaten by life who lived within the estate of the Hill family was repeated in every crypt, grave, and green where a woman resided. It was a cry that had been heard in the valley since time immemorial, before the children of the valley were ousted by the grave leavers, long before the current residents took away the land from those whose dead lay beneath the keening.

    If anything the Lady Leech could say that Posy passed into the land of her mother¡¯s peacefully. The women of the river, last of the gravediggers, said the Lady greeted Her children as their ashes fell into Her holy embrace, and a mother who died on her childbed would be reborn as one of the silvery beasts that lavished themselves in the water and followed rafts and boats as they took their way downriver. If these crying women had their way they would burn the girl whole, and she would be forgotten into the waters.

    And so the two women of another land, once friends and now cold acquaintances bound by the life and death of a girl they had both loved spoke in their own tongue as the death cries rang.

    ¡°What is your decision, Naset? Do we give her to her father¡¯s gods or to the gods of her mother¡¯s heart?¡± the Lady asked calmly, washing the body beside the Lady Hill and using her secret name.

    ¡°The people of the valley, they do not respect our ways and gods. Sure, you keep to your Queen of the Reeds, and others may speak to the Potter or the birthing moon, but when have you danced the hsithantha with others to celebrate a victory against the snake? When have you burned the cakes and wine for one of your girls giving her body to a man?¡± Squab Hill, Naset, wept into the crook of her arm. ¡°This place pollutes the mind, hardens our souls. I don¡¯t believe our gods can hear us from so far away, sister.¡±

    Leech, once known as Hsith, kept her council as they continued their task. She performed the traditions of the valley folk, sealing the doors and windows from the soul escaping before its release in fire, the weighing of the eyes with a set of river stones to bind the spirit further to its vessel. The meat cooled and moved, little motions of the body tightening as they brought the body into the tucked position of the blessed child returning to her Mother.

    A mother to be burned, and so the line of Alonkahsith dies on this broken shore. A cursed womb and a cursed birthing, no woman will sing the songs of the land. Here is the land where even the Mother¡¯s priests are men, who cast their eyes upon our gods and goddesses in the lust of conquest. Hsith placed a stone in the girl¡¯s hands, kissing the cooling cheek as they wrapped the fine muslin.

    ¡°I had bought this from a trader, you know. My shroud, used on my only daughter. Was that my curse? To bring the cloth of the dead into the house of the living?¡± Naset looked for validation, her words begging for any answer that made her thoughts sacrilege.

    ¡°She had a turned birth. The child will live, and you¡¯ll need a nurse for him to thrive. He has all of his fingers and toes, and the screaming? He¡¯ll be a trouble for you until you end up in your own cloth.¡±

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    The cries stopped, women woken from their dead slumber would be standing outside. They would bring whatever meager gifts they have to burn for the late Posy Hill, and give the girl their pride. It was a sorority that women paid their gifts in hope of never belonging to it; the sisterhood of the bleeding bed. They warded away the pain and suffering with charms and chants, some burned dung or skins covered in the writings of mystics to keep the serpent away. In the end too many would see that cruel face strike as they lay at their most vulnerable.

    ¡°I will not display the body. It is a barbaric practice for these people. I will go to accept gifts, as it is my right and it keeps the peace.¡± the Lady Hill grabbed at her sore back and sighed. ¡°However, if an aunt who is foolish to the ways of this place were to speak the words and do the deeds I would not turn her away.¡±

    The tears told Hsith that this was the most she would get. The Lady Hill left the room with her head hanging low, the proper posture of grief. And the Lady Leech began the work, knowing there was not much time. She took up the candles, a clump of the girl¡¯s hair, a bit of her blood and the sheets of her deathbed. With these she would bind the spirit of her sister, her daughter, her child to carry with her until she could bury it at the true temple of her goddess.

    Naset was to be the priestess. She had spent her time at the temple, learned her letters and the secrets. I know only the words of the goddess who failed me, the goddess whose works I have failed tonight. May I perform the task before me, and give this daughter of our land peace.

    It was a simple prescription, she thought as she wove the hair and melted the wax above the incense burner. Blood for life, hair for form. In their homeland they would bring the dying to the sands and the blood would fill, but Leech hoped that sand and linen could be interchanged. The priestesses would know, but she had to make this right.

    The wax melted, and the thin strips of linen mixed. She sang the song of Posy, of Squab Hill, of the girl who had been called Naset, born with the name of a warrior queen whose sister had been Hsith, the lesser daughters of Alonkahsith, sent abroad with three of their friends with a tutor and his wife to learn the ways of the valley folk. She sang of the day the tutor¡¯s wife had passed, and the tutor, wanting nothing more to do with the land of her birth, had sold them one by one to people. She sang the secrets, the abuses and triumphs, fears and pride of those daughters of sand and sea, how Naset had been forced to her name of Squab by the fat Lord Hill. Of the battles of the Barrow that made her father¡¯s name, and the great feast her mother had made to lull the Lord into taking poison and giving over the keys of his graveyard kingdom. She even told of the making of that poison, by the hands of a girl then known as Serpent, and the two women swearing to never tell another living soul.

    The Lady Leech sang the secrets of her generation and those that came before to the meat and wax before her, shaping the effigy. In the end it did not show the true artistry that she had seen in their land; no gravekeeper would paint such a symbol to appear as the dead had in life, nor would they make a bronze case for it. The priests of this place frowned upon old practices, and she hoped only that her sister had the foresight to procure such a work on the sly. The last words she had heard recited twice; once for her grandfather, and another for the boy who had first kissed her, killed in a silly duel that led her to want to take up an offer to run away.

    ¡°And this is the breath of you, the life that you leave. Here now, so charmed, your spirit shall lie. A thousand thousand years, in time a grain of sand, shall you be so bound until your soul can rise to meet those of your people in the lands of their birth. In this I pray, and give you peace to sleep.¡± The Lady Leech, once Hsith Alon, placed the effigy on the chest of her soon burned niece. And if the hard woman wept in silence it is not for our eyes to see her do it.

 Chapter 13 - Sleep, Dreams

    ¡°Barley for the poor man, wheat for the king, the wheat make you meek and the barley make you sing¡± they sang their way home from the battle, every song they each knew together. Barley and Wheat, Ori¡¯s favorite song for Sparrow to sing, had many verses the old man had neglected to tell him. It was during one of those verses, about planting a rich man¡¯s wheat in a poor man¡¯s field, that the troupe came round the Roost.

    The great tower of the Roost had once held a beautiful garden of birds, or so the legends said. Now it mostly held pigeon shit and the meager detachment of watchmen given to the Barrow. Ori knew the Captain, and a kind thin watchman with a chubby wife and truly fat babe named Rod, but the others were just to be avoided. It was one of the avoided who was standing watch on the tower, a fat bellied one who stole as much as any King when his boss wasn¡¯t looking.

    ¡°Ay! Children! There¡¯s a curfew out! Don¡¯t make me roust you!¡±

    ¡°Bugger yourself, Pigfuck! Come down and I¡¯ll tell the Captain what you did to that boy up in the Crypts last year.¡± Owl shouted back, throwing up his hands in a universal sign of what the watch could use for his buggery. The boy dodged a rock thrown from the tower height, then the cadre ran into the night back to their masters.

    ¡°What was that with the guard?¡± Wist asked, rounding the bend to their rendezvous.

    ¡°Oh, just common knowledge. The watchman knifed a boy over a dice game. No one would care about it, only eyes on the scene were his and a handful of Crypt trash.¡±

    ¡°We could do something about it, right?¡±

    Ori chimed into the discussion.¡°You truly are of the blood aren¡¯t you Wisteria Brave. Hit a watchman? Kill a watchman? The whole of the Kings would get strung up unless it¡¯s done the right way, and even then it¡¯s a close chance.¡± The crew stopped short, staring at the little boy among them.

    ¡°My master tells me stories. He knows quite a bit,¡±

    ¡°Well, let¡¯s see if he can tell us any more. We are conquering heroes, aren¡¯t we?¡± Wist smiled, grabbing Owl and Ori around the shoulder and walking with purpose into the courtyard of the Kings. The shouts of the members happy to see their first work done were musical, and while they would have a headache in the morning from the booze of the King¡¯s cock Ori knew the thieves had wanted them to be loose and prepared for the peppering they were now receiving.

    Sparrow was off with some of the old timers so Ori was passed among the rest of his new family. The hierarchy of the Kings was a confusing blur even with his years on the street working with them, but Ori enjoyed those he met during the night. Mole Hill, the blind thiefkeeper and Owl¡¯s mentor, cornered the boy during one of these sweeps, a vice grip on Ori¡¯s sore arm, his breath reeking of the cloudy liquor they called father¡¯s milk.

    ¡°You¡¯re to stay a night with us at some point, Oriole. Sparrow and I worked it out. You know, until you¡¯ve seen the Barrow as a King yaself? Ya don know¡­ Father, I am drunk. Owl! We¡¯re going to head out, where is tha, boy, Ori? Ori? Where is Owl?¡±

    The boy guided the blind man to his charge, then waited. Quiet and unassuming, Ori felt as if he blended into the background.

    Two men playing a game of knives, dancing sharpened coins across their knuckles. The coins would scrape the skin like a shaving razor if done right, or open a vein if you slipped at all. The woman Ori had called Queen danced with old Heron, their large bodies counterpoints to each, making them appear to be dancing in a room of children. Crane and Owl took up the dance as well, while Wist spoke to his mother and two other Kings dressed in finery.

    You listened, and for that I am grateful. The voice in the back of his mind, Ori turned to find who had been speaking. He found her there, a tall woman with the braided hair of the river folk, her mouth full of some pastry the Kings had stolen to bring for this beggar¡¯s banquet.

    Come to me, Oriole Tanner, and we will speak of many things. You¡¯re a clever boy, but I am far more clever. Her voice seemed to mock the child, and his scalp tickled, the sensation crawling down his back. Ay, the spider is more clever than a fly too, boy. Run. Run for your life. Sparrow¡¯s lessons steeled his resolve, and Ori readied to move, only to feel her hands upon him.

    ¡°Oh, you little bird. Feel your heart beating in your chest. Your little feathers pimpling your skin. You¡¯re drunk, addled to the gullet on poppy. And still you have fought. Vicious pretty bird, you are mine and your master should know it well.¡± the woman¡¯s smile was sweet and sad, though most of all possessive. She reminded Ori of the little creature one of Sparrow¡¯s fences kept, a furry manbeast called a hanu that smiled that way when Ori tried to pet him.

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    Sparrow had told him. Some creatures smile, Oriole. Some just bare their teeth to show you how sharp they are. Hanu teeth, snake teeth, she wants me for some reason and Sparrow isn¡¯t here to save me.

    ¡°What is he to save you from? You are mine, as soon as you smiled at me. We are friends, partners, married to each other. You are as much my family as my children, my father, my sisters and brothers all. Do you want to walk with me? Learn my secrets?¡± the woman smiled, her teeth stained red by the wine and cakes. At least that is what Ori hoped.

    ¡°Some day. May I have some time?¡±

    ¡°All have time, though none know how much. You promise to come to me, don¡¯t you? When you¡¯re ready? When you need me? Of course you will, won¡¯t you? All men come to me in need and hide from me when they want me to stay away.¡±

    ¡°Until then?¡±

    ¡°Yes, until then. May I give you advice, my little bird?¡±

    ¡°Of course ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t drink and drug. Your head will need clear headway or else others will find you. Our brothers and sisters, long before you ever touch me. They¡¯ll learn who you are, and make you find me. They¡¯ll take me, and murder me, and cast my body to the sea. And then?¡±

    Then there will be nothing but death. And I will not have time to spend with my sweet Oriole.

    She was gone, and the whole place seemed darker. A cloud played over the moon and Ori found the whole world a little darker for it.

    ¡°Ori? Did you finally pass out?¡± Crane elbowed him, and he felt himself rise into the pain.

    ¡°I think so. I was dreaming nodding off, a beautiful woman.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Well, I didn¡¯t know I was waking you from a wet dream. Carry on.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t like that, and you know it.¡± Ori struck back, but his body was too weak to really do much but brush his companion back. ¡°She was beautiful like, like the summer storms. Beautiful like fire from the sky or the great winds.¡±

    ¡°A woman like that and you came back from death to speak to me? Well Ori, you may be a fool after all.¡± Crane¡¯s smile gave away her intentions, and she grabbed his hand to make him stand. ¡°Do you wish to dance or eat? I need a partner in crime, and the others have all paired off.¡±

    ¡°No. I think I need to spend some time alone, get my head together.¡± his smile gave a lie, the lie that he didn¡¯t want to be alone but Crane was not the company he wanted to keep. ¡°I think I may walk home, try to get things going.¡±

    ¡°Heron lets me keep my own place, you know. I could walk you there. The fools who attacked us may be down for the night, but what if they have friends?¡± Crane took his arm, and Ori let her make the decision for him.

    He thought of Her in the light and in the dark. Every change of light that came over the dark streets seemed to draw his eye, looking for the woman who threatened him and made him feel this way. He knew nothing, he knew too much. The walk sobered him, and Crane was quiet, his moping uninterrupted. Through the Barrow, right up to the Fleasbridge gate, past Heron¡¯s rooms and up into the loft of the gatehouse.

    ¡°Do you share the space here?¡±

    ¡°Heron and a few beaters. I¡¯m the only permanent woman in this place, though they have their dalliances. A bachelor¡¯s house with one poor lady to keep them in line.¡± Crane smirked, pushing Ori into her room as she unlocked the place.

    It was well appointed and nothing like Ori had expected. Pillows piled in a corner with furs and roughspun blankets hanging from a post near them. A wooden half wall divided the whole large single room into four compartments, each with a smaller pile of pillows and various tables, cabinets, and artifice. Ori even saw a few baubles of the Art, including one of their strange spherical ovens that sat on a tripod of iron legs.

    ¡°This is yours? All of it?¡¯

    ¡°You keep acting so surprised, Master Tanner. Heron found me and I was already a holy terror. My brother and I fenced half the south Tannery before Heron was paid to come find me, and then he clouted me and taught me how to fight and keep quiet. Now that my brother is in the Trap? The place is all mine.¡± Crane lost her smile, then brought it right back as if to ask Ori to defy her and say it had left in the first place.

    ¡°You can show me all of it, but I am sore and wish to sleep. Where is your brother¡¯s bed?¡± Ori took the boots off, tapping his feet for feeling and stretching his back as he finished the process.

    ¡°We slept on the pillows, a makeshift thing. If you promise not to try to poke me you can sleep there as well. I¡¯m not one for foolish boys, or boys at all.¡± Crane pulled him to the pile, and they distributed a harem bed of comfort. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get ready for bed then.¡±

    ¡°I am ready for bed, Crane.¡±

    ¡°You sleep in all your clothes? Is this a Tannery custom? In the Barrow we sleep in the clothes the Mother gave us. If you need some peace I can avert my eyes, but you don¡¯t have anything my brother had before you.¡± she smiled at the boy then. He stripped himself quickly, breeches and shirt, and hoped he didn¡¯t seem to thin or mottled to share a bed with. Crane made it a game, shucking off her own clothes piece by piece, tossing them over Ori¡¯s head to form a pile as she readied herself to bed.

    She was Barrow born, if the scars and scrapes said anything. The light from the drowsing moon fell through the windows and dappled her skin, making Ori think of some beast leaving those marks in the dark. One long slash across her belly arched up to just under her ribs, another across a hip. The worst crawled up her wrists and forearms, irregular cuts, the training scars.

    She¡¯s beautiful, but not for you. I am yours, and you mine. She is warm meat, and I am what I am. She¡¯ll die soon enough, the lover she¡¯ll choose to do her in. Why try?

    ¡°You¡¯ll swallow a rat.¡± Crane joked, wrapping herself in one of the blankets as she sat down beside Ori. They sat in the dark, quiet for minutes, until Crane¡¯s hand entwined in his. ¡°Did you like what you saw?¡±

    Ori stayed silent. Crane laid down with her back to the boy, curving herself like a crescent, the least amount of her to possible touch him.

    He tried to wrap his arms around her as he heard her sob, but she slapped him away. The time seemed to have passed for whatever Crane had wanted, and Ori went to the window, peering out into the moonlit Barrow. He heard the laughter in his head as he stood, right until he fell into the pile of pillows and the sun rose over the valley.

 Chapter 14 - The Pit

    Martin laughed as he watched the warehouse burned, sending its poison smoke climbing into the dawn sky. He had been laughing for nearly a half an hour, his throat raw. The bodies in front of him were a study in blood and brutality. The last of the thugs was crawling from the burning warehouse, a smoking body dragging broken legs. Martin looked on the sight of the man crawling through the blood and filth of the man¡¯s companions, leading him to yet another laughing fit.

    ¡°K-kill me. You son of a bitch. Just¡­ just end it.¡±

    And Martin obliged. It was among the bodies that the Watch found him, and there they placed him in chains, dragging him to the Trap for all of the crimes he had done.

    And as they locked him into the dark room, his throat torn, they could still hear the huffing rhythm of his laughter.

    Martin had brought three men with him. They were strong men, loyal but of no great talent. In the end this raid was just another day, a simple task of breaking heads and taking loot. The best of them, a giant Sariani who the other men called Thunk, wore a silvered hammer over his shoulder and had the wild eyes of a Waker. The others, Finch and Wren, were true Barrow men, coming with alley bows and bashers. Wren added to his kit the stubby stabbing sword favored by the King¡¯s army, and Martin was sure he knew how to use it.

    ¡°We¡¯ll go in at nightfall. The work is being done for the Ladies, and you¡¯ll be paid well. I doubt it will take more than tonight, but if all goes well I will get you all a week of pay. Forty copper. Anyone you take down is worth ten copper, so keep your counts and make them honest. Don¡¯t kill unless you have to, but if you must, make sure to curse the bastards to whatever Hell they believe in.¡±

    They scouted the place in the evening, looking for the best place to strike. Men and girls came in through the front door of the warehouse, and only the men came out. Martin noted the striped uniforms the bruisers wore, counting the faces as he sat in the room he had rented from a kind little woman who had seemed to know he was coming. Their provisions came in a covered carriage along with the lamplighters, and Martin went down to the stable to see what his coins had purchased. His man, a sallow merchant known as Burly, met him to check marks off of the slate.

    ¡°Pitch and fire salts. Twenty hand irons. A battering ram, and enough oil to do the job ten times over. The carriage will take bolt fire, but a strongbow will punch a hole through it. The carriage is fitted to ram, reinforced wheels and axles. I got it off of a man who had hoped to use it to ram and raid a merchant¡¯s house, died unexpectedly of too many questions.¡± the black merchant smiled, and Martin handed over the gold he had been given.

    ¡°Forgotten?¡± the warrior asked, looking for a further pinch.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take a dray from the stable I had a boy bring in. Such a rush job? There hasn¡¯t been enough time for my memory to fill in. Remember, Martin Redbeard, that if you are found¡­¡± the merchant raised his hands to the sky, ¡°that you found this all fallen from the sky itself.¡±

    ¡°I consider all of the debts I owe you wiped, Sir Martin. Thirty five gold, plus these three. The wagon will sell for six to the right buyer, or four back to me. The rest of it was gained at a steep discount from certain shipbuilders and an alchemist¡¯s stores, so get rid of it all when you burn it.¡± The merchant sighed as Martin paused extending his hand. ¡°If you gave me a week I would have kept it cheaper. As it is? The Takrim anger me, and their own work in this city has been reprehensible. They bring qishi and Wake and poppy into the market, and many folk¡¯s businesses have suffered.¡±

    ¡°Fine. Deal. Your debts are cleared, but expect any further work to be at a higher rate.¡±

    ¡°I would expect nothing less, hedge knight.¡±

    The men loved their new toys, and were excited to hear Martin¡¯s plan. The warehouse had a door for loading and unloading, and the heavy locks would never hold up to the battering. The small ram would do for any doors within, and then it was only a matter of getting the women out and the fire in and it would be wrapped up with a neat hand.

    ¡°Easiest silver I¡¯ve ever made.¡± Wren said, checking his gear as they sat in the rented rooms. ¡°Do you think we¡¯ll get more work like it?¡±

    ¡°As much as I can get. The Lady is quite free with her purse, when the need is there.¡±

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    Finch finished his piss, cinching his breeches back to place and leaning into the conversation. ¡°All that traffic, and they¡¯re not letting anything out? What¡¯s the point of this whole venture? Are they breaking them in?¡±

    ¡°Ya, and more besides. Takrim like pliant girls, and if they¡¯re anything like what I have seen you¡¯ll revel in a bit of mayhem on the whoresons.¡± Martin finished his bottle of watered down wine and went to take his own constitutional around the block.

    It had been a fight, but Martin had seen worse in the War. They got the carriage up to speed in the alley, driving the horses to speed on hand leads. Martin cut the collars as they came over the turn at full speed, using the guides to get the cart to gently turn. They lost almost no speed as the impromptu ram hit, and Wren and Finch were out as Thunk guarded the stores and Martin laid about with his basher.

    Six guards, all in the striped uniforms of their gang, went down within thirty seconds. One attempted to run but was struck down with a bolt from Wren to the upper thigh. Irons on every set of arms and the men were subdued. They had only a short time before the nosy got into the fray, and Thunk had the barrels unloaded within minutes.

    Wren and Finch lugged the barrels two to a man, the malnutrition of the Barrow showing in their difficulty in lugging the heavy barrels around. The hay that covered the floor would be great kindling, and Martin proffered an ax to each man to crack the barrels and let the thin pitch soak in. Each man took cloths and soaked them, placing them at the beams and crossings of the wooden structure, putting a bit of fire salt at the sensitive points. Five minutes and the whole place was set to go, and they moved on to their main mission.

    ¡°There¡¯s a pit underneath the boards. Check there, and behind the goods in the back. They have to have the girls hidden somewhere, and we¡¯ll want all of them out by the time we light it.¡± Martin motioned towards the doors. ¡°Thunk? Get the doors sealed, I don¡¯t care if the carriage is torched. This is a recovery, and the Lady will tend to my needs. Now we need to keep this quiet.¡±

    Martin went down with Wren into the pit, his eyes adjusting from moonlight to the darkness of the underground. It feels like home, doesn¡¯t it? Martin thought, though he could not tell where the thought came from. He had spent time as a night raider when he was just Martin Stonefist, the brawler who would be knight. Even in his youth he had always hated the dark, and the damned place smelled of something, tickling the back of his memory.

    You know you¡¯re not supposed to be here, boy. You know that I bring her here to mind her manners.

    Martin felt his heart startle as a cold hand touched his shoulder. Spinning and ready to bash, he saw the faint features of Wren before him. Would have had to pay for him, just as he had to pay he thought, then shook his head to clear his mind.

    ¡°This place is wrong, sir.¡± Wren whispered, close enough to Martin¡¯s ear to feel his breath. ¡°I¡¯m hearing things, seeing things. We need to get this place lit and get out. Now.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll find the women, and then we¡¯ll go. Now, for the love of Mother and Father help me find them so we can.¡±

    Mother. Mother. Her face swollen and crawling with flies. Mother, who had dared to raise her hand. She was there for four days in the dark, and when he saw her the boy -

    No. Not now.

    The smell got worse as they creeped into the darkness. Martin heard Wren curse as he hit a beam, felt pitch fall sticky and warm down the back of his neck and under the chain mail he wore. Martin barked his leg on a table, cursing under his breath. The place was a tinderbox, but they needed light to get through.

    Ask and I give freely, patricide.

    The light was blinding. Fearsome light, sharp and white as a midsummer day with a hangover from three days of hard drinking. Martin saw them there; the girls, strapped down to each table, their mouths moving in a strange motion. Covered in blankets, until he realized the blankets were soil, no it was their skin and the things were growing¡­

    Martin saw his face. The face of a nobleman bloated black from the garotte, a mission for a Guard who had connections. The face of the first man he killed in the war, a boy really, his guts spilling through the fingers of his right hand as his head sat in the crook of his left elbow. Then the face of his first murder, the one that Martin had been running from.

    He had found him walking home. The bastard was whistling a tune, a drunkard¡¯s song of barley and wheat. Old Martin, once a strong man, now one eyed and cruel to anyone who couldn¡¯t raise a hand to him. The younger knew what happened when you raised a hand.

    They had fought in the alley. Old Martin was strong as a cornered boar, but his cunning was no match for the speed of his mirror image. The younger beat the old man¡¯s face to splinters, breaking the bones of his hand. Never gonna be a smith with those hands, no sir. Now he was going to be a beater, the kind of man who takes silver and brings it back soaked in blood and triumph. They called him Stonefist, and when he showed the Captain why he had done it the old man saved him from dancing the air. ¡°No one would blame you, your father was trash, and you were a good son.¡±

    You were a good son (liar, cheat)

    You were a good son (killer, raider)

    You were a good son (thief, broken)

    Come and give your old man a hug, sweet Martin Prentice. Embrace me and let me tell you of the things I¡¯ve learned since you killed me. Your mother is here with me, broken little Martin, she is mine complete. She went to the darkness with fear of me and I came to her and her cries are the sweetest Paradise I could earn.

    Come on Martin.

 Chapter 15 - Payment

    Come on Martin.

    ¡°Come on Martin. We can¡¯t save them. A clean death, perhaps. They don¡¯t respond. They¡¯re dead, good as. Let¡¯s just torch the place and let it go.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t leave them.¡±

    ¡°The fuck yourself and burn with them.¡±

    Yes, burn with them. Come to me. Remember her face? The first you couldn¡¯t save? I did that, Martin Fatherkiller. I broke her to my hand but any kennelmaster will tell you a bitch can bite you after years of service. Do you want to know what I did to her? How I broke her?

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°No? Martin, I know there¡¯s something in your head, it¡¯s here. I can see it. It¡¯s crawling all over you. It¡¯s, Mother and Father deliver me from this pla-¡±

    Martin struck his father in the mouth. The old man¡¯s hands gripped him even as he beat him more. And with every stroke the laughing kept coming.

    Kill him. Kill them. Avenge me. Remember when I would touch you, tickle you? You were mine, all mine, my special boy. Your brothers were his, but they¡¯re dead. The things he did to me, Martin. In the dark there. I would bleed for days, smiling under the bruises. I did it -

    No.

    I kept quiet for you. I love you.

    ¡°I love you too, Mother.¡± Martin said, as his dead brothers rushed him, howling recriminations. As he hit them he began laughing, laughing at the foolishness of it, the cruelty of it all.

    Martin''s arms tired as he continued the fight. Their attacks lessened, the dead falling. One of his foolish brothers, white-eyed and incapable of anything but a gurgling whimper, looked up in shock as the boot came down, and Martin giggled at the sound the contact made.

    _______

    Our retainers?

    The man stood in a dark room hearing the voices. They came to him like this, in dreams. Always the black room, always questions about the business.

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    We have what we need. Our retainers?

    ¡°They have been handled. The only one to know anything has been detained by the Guard. Your work seems to have done him in, he was laughing the whole way into the cart.¡±

    Excellent. We¡¯ve gathered what we needed here, enough to last lifetimes. It is so inefficient to gather in the normal way, and the War has not made it easier.

    ¡°It is a cruel thing, these things you asked. I didn¡¯t care about the Black and Whites, they were a means to my ends, and let them burn. But Martin? Martin was a good man. He was like a -¡±

    He felt their hands come out of the darkness, locking around his throat. He knew it was a dream, that it was all more real than his waking hours. He felt his feet lifted off the ground, felt the hands grasp harder.

    We do not accept questioning from our proxies. You have been asked to gather what we need, to find that which we seek. You have done one, and another. Soon the Takrim will fulfill their part of our business, moving into the city to defend their interests. We will be there, as always. Then you will watch, and continue to bring us our gifts until our business is completed with your foolish kingdom.

    The hands released him, and he felt the air rush into his lungs. What would his wife see if they hadn¡¯t stopped? A nightmare? Drowning? Nothing but a dead husband who ate too freely, and a ransom of gold and silver at her disposal? No, not Orchid. She would love him if he were a pauper.

    She married you for your talents. She knows nothing of your infidelities, your foolishness with sneaking out to do our work. You? You are a simple tile, a piece to be played when we need and discarded when we will. Unless you want it all known. Your crimes. Such petty earnings for such cruelties. They¡¯ll burn your home and your family, root and stem. You will be forgotten like the people who came before your own. A foul odor on the pages of your people¡¯s history.

    ¡°Yes. Please, tell me how I may serve you.¡±

    He felt the pain again, and just like every time before wondered if his brain would storm and burn out. All of the details came fresh to his mind, as if he had been told them in a long discussion. He could feel his nose bleeding, and hoped to wake up enough to clean himself before Orchid could see.

    It is an abomination, but it knows of what we seek. It must be caught, captured however you may do it. Take it quickly, as our hands cannot reach it. And once you do?

    ¡°Do you want him alive?¡±

    We want it burned. Build a pyre and burn it, but find where she is hiding from us By any means at your disposal.

    He returned to his body in a start, rushing to the wash basin to clean himself up. From his window he saw the warehouse burning, heard the cries to fire, the ringing of the bells of the Roost.

    ¡°Darling, is there a fire? Are we safe?¡± her voice was heavy, full of the poppy tincture she drank to sleep, to go about every day in a haze. ¡°Where are the children?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, love of my life. The fire is far away, the children are safe in their beds.¡± he smiled at her, knowing she couldn¡¯t see him. You can hear a smile, his father had told him, as well as see it. ¡°I¡¯ll go check on them.¡±

    He walked down the hall, the late night visitation digging into him. He hoped the horses were found. Gob brands, stolen from a round pen in the Warrens. The rest of things were easy enough to get without notice, as he was a man who could find things for a price. ¡°I¡¯ll donate it to orphans,¡± he muttered as he closed the distance. ¡°Feed them for a month or two.¡±

    He stopped at the door, the fear rising. He had dared to speak up, asking them questions. He had seen their work, the things they could do. What if? He opened the door, checking in on his sleeping children.

    His daughters were in bed, sleeping calm as ever. Their rooms were better appointed than any room they would have had if he had stayed in the Barrow. Dolls made of fine materials, their heads blank smooth porcelain. Orchid didn¡¯t believe in faces on their dolls, some rich man¡¯s superstition about the spirits of the dead. A tiny writing desk for each, in a room that could sleep eight in comfort when he was just a simple rag and bone seller.

    They had been kind to him over the years. Kind and cruel. He always wondered if they had taken his son. Or his first mistress. They loved to be petty with life, trading any who were not them like coppers in a game of tiles. Someday he might fight against them, but he knew it would mean his death and the deaths of all he loved.

    Then he saw it. On the little one¡¯s mirror. Orchid had named her Pansy, her bright little flower. A mirror like this would cost an honest man a month¡¯s wage, but here it was just a forgotten thing.

    They had drawn their symbol there. A circle with eight points marked out, forming a symbol within. And inside they had left their message:

    Remember. We know all.

    A man named Vitner, once known as Starling, woke his girls. They laughed at their silly father, smiling as he used his shirt to clean little Pansy¡¯s mirror.

 Interlude - A Girl and a Dead Boy

    Once, in the west countries, a girl sought a witch to beg for the love of a dead man.

    Stop if you have heard this one, but don¡¯t quite, it¡¯s important. The smallest things can be important, details we lose as we run through the world, dancing past sickness and injury until we finally fall as ashes into the holy river. The people of the west countries may not speak as beautifully as us, true, but this is their story to tell, and this is how we will tell it.

    Long ago, in the days before, there were many types of dead. Heart dead, head dead, gut dead. Can you believe there are fools in the west countries who believe the soul stays in the stomach and not inside the temple of the heart? Fools live in every time.

    The girl wept over her beloved man, a broken vessel. The valley folk, they believed that the body was a set of jars atop itself, and so she saw his shattered jars and hoped someone could fix him. And so she packed his wounds in soft linen and hid his body, then went to find a healer.

    The physicians laughed. To bring a man back from the dead? It is impossible! the work of the gods. So she went to the potters, who know how to repair even the most broken clay. The potters laughed. Foolish girl, the body is not a pot though some may say it so. She wandered then, asking all and every person she found. The king offered her a coin, the priest a prayer shawl. The thief gave her a stolen promise, and the warrior gave her a knife so sharp that it could make the sky bleed.

    She walked to the ends of the earth. The sun gave her a band of light to wear upon her hand. The moon gave her a crown of silver to wear on her head.

    Still, she found no person to help her. So she went to the animals. Hanu gave her an apple whose seeds would grow into apple trees overnight. The garu gave her a fright, and she stole from those thieves of the sky a song to whistle on her passage. At last she came to be a beautiful place, a tree covered in white silk and jewels hung all around.

    She asked the spider for her love. And the spider told her of the witch. They played at riddles for each letter of the witch¡¯s holy name, the hidden name that each witch or warlock holds in their heart away from the world. The girl would win a letter, but if she lost the spider would eat the girl as just another morsel who wound up in her web.

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    And nine riddles later the girl walked from the spider¡¯s nest with eight letters of a name and a fine silk purse to carry her gifts in.

    She walked with the moon and sun between her, a turn away from the path of days. She drank sweet water from a river of tears, and fought a great beast in a valley filled with mirrors. She tamed the horse of sorrow that rides before every funeral, but those are tales for another day.

    She came to the witch on the day her appleseeds ran out, the day her hunger and thirst was greater than even in her journey. The witch¡¯s hut was built as a folly, with walls too small and too straight and perfect to hold any living being.

    Still, she persisted. She opened the door, which had been drawn on the side of a wall. She walked into the rooms, as she felt her body stretch and shrink. She spoke to the guards, whose faces were crude child¡¯s work, and fought through them til they brought the girl before the witch.

    ¡°I have walked through the sands of the wasteland. I have spoken with the hanu, the garu, to spiders and kings. I have earned a knife to cut the sky, and a sack that holds the dreams of all who walk with me. I am born in the world you have left, but I have gained the gifts of heaven and earth.

    ¡°I come to beseech you, mother of magic, to give me the life of my beloved.¡±

    The old witch sat, still as a statue. Her skin was covered in whorling marks, her tongue split in two like a snake. The hair of her head was white as the silk bag the girl carried, her nails stained red as the apple¡¯s peel.

    ¡°Name him.¡±

    And the girl realized she could not recall her lover¡¯s name.

    ¡°You have strayed and dallied long away. Your lover¡¯s bones are scattered to the winds. He has been dead for years, but inside of you you carry his memory. Name him, and I will restore your love.¡±

    And the girl cried, for she did not know his name.

    The witch laughed, and blew the girl away. The girl swore vengeance, and went to destroy the witch. She learned magic, speaking to the wind, and the dead, and the fires of life itself. She walked back between the sun and moon, and burned the old crone¡¯s paper house to dust.

    She had hoped the violence would silence the pain in her body. It turned out it only made her hollow. No one remembered the girl who had come before her adventures. No one would tell her tales or bring her food in her old age.

    So she sat down on the witch¡¯s crude throne, until her hair turned white and her nails were stained, and a girl came asking to bring her lover back to life.

    Is there a lesson here? Some stories are just stories, but perhaps there is a lesson here, a story in the story. But will you waste your life trying to find it?

 Chapter 16 - Flight

    The truth stumbles on like a crippled man, and rumors fly like birds. Sparrow had ended up back at the shack by dawn, helped home by two younger Kings who found the old man in the middle of a drunk. He hoped that he had not told them about his thoughts that night, and hoped that Ori had found a safe spot to sleep for the night. As he sipped a cup of warm broth and looked at the watchmen stalking the streets the old man prayed that his charge had found a safe place to stay as the raids began.

    The messenger came to him in the early morning. A warehouse in the Barrow was torched, and a dozen men murdered by some lunatic with a heavy hand. The Kings had gone to ground, but there were rousts coming for those who were out of the Barrow. Sparrow ransacked his own shack, taking all the contraband he found and pitching it into a canvas sack he had carried home from the War.

    Six years. Six years of doing the work of his masters. He had certain skills, they had said, and his anger had propelled him through plenty of scrapes.

    Truth be told, he left for the war to get away from her. A beautiful girl, exotic and happy and all his, until she changed. He found she was bedding down with some hack filch named Grackle, and decided to do something about it. Grackle never walked again, and a boy was given an old helm and a blade.

    Damn bag saved my life twice. Once in the war, once after. Sparrow cinched the draw and walked into the noon day sun, wondering what he was going to see. The Tannery was roused to arms, with the Watch out in force. Spread among the sea of yellow and white watchmen were the Guard, blue and black uniforms, their pikes standing above the crowd identifying them.

    ¡°Copper for your thoughts, Sparrow Tanner.¡± the voice was firm and lilted, a Kingsbridge voice. Sparrow tensed as the Captain stepped away from his hiding place, snapping a crisp salute.

    ¡°I was at a party in the Barrow last night. I sent my grandson off to a friend of the family, then came back for a change of clothes and some odds and ends.¡±

    ¡°Odds and ends, eh? What does a one armed juggler need for a bit of a bunk to a safer place?¡±

    ¡°The damn place is a powder keg. I heard of the mobs in the streets. I was in Uta on business. I know a city that is coming to its limits.¡±

    Uta. What do you know about it? The Grand Siege. If I told you the things I saw¡­ children caught in the fires. Women selling their children to the slavers for bread and salt. An old man fighting ghouls who wanted to eat his daughter.

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    Sparrow earned his medal and damnation at Uta, and this old man wasn¡¯t going to let watch, guard, or King make him stay again. He pushed past the Captain, who nipped at his heels for days.

    ¡°You served with a Martin Redbeard? Once Martin Stonefist? Sir Martin the Red?¡±

    ¡°Ya, I served with many men. Should have died along with many more.¡±

    ¡°Lost your arm there, didn¡¯t you? The honors I saw for you, a Sacrificial for ¡®conduct leading to the loss of limb protecting the honor of the Third Regiment at Osha?¡±

    Sparrow stopped. The watchman had done his studies, maybe even asked around about him. No one knew the whole of it except Sparrow and a broken man who would spend the rest of his life in the Trap.

    ¡°I know Sir Martin did you well, Sparrow. They say you returned to the Barrow round the same time. Or him shortly after. Take a moment with me, sit and listen you old fraud.¡±

    Sparrow stopped, taking the Captain in. A fop in the Barrow, black hairs astray. He had the eyes of a man not getting much sleep, a face that knew a bit of drink and a good comfortable life in the salons above the Flea.

    ¡°Fraud? If I tell a story that isn¡¯t always true, or make a little bit of coin dicing or playing tiles? I never con a man of his coin, though I know some men who take money from the mouths of the needy.¡±

    The Captain laughed, a cold smile to the campaigner. ¡°I don¡¯t know all of your secrets, but I know a thief when I see one. One armed or not, you work with the biggest gang in the Barrow and you brought your boy into it. My man saw him running with Blind Mole Hill¡¯s boy, and the Lady Hill has warned me of your company.

    ¡°I need you and yours, Master Sparrow. I need your help or a mostly innocent man will hang. And I can¡¯t have that on my conscience.¡± the Captain¡¯s eyes were earnest, the face of a drowning man striking at beasts in the water begging an oar or board to climb onto.

    ¡°And say to me, dear Captain, how can I help you today? You have a hundred Guards in the Tannery, twice as many prowling the Barrow, and any man I would know has gone to ground. Your suggestions are welcome.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re going to burn down the Warren.¡±

    The certainty shocked Sparrow. The Captain must have been well connected to hear the rumors among the thieves. It was a common fix, kill the alleged killers and burn the evidence. Hell, it was the way of every gang who ever went to war.

    ¡°Who is doing it?¡±

    ¡°Someone who needs a scapegoat. Someone who tried to cover the whole mess up. There were more bodies in the basement of the warehouse. Dozens. You and I both know that Martin didn¡¯t worry about killing a man, but what about women? Girls. Near a hundred, in a building paid off by an alleged Gob front.¡±

    The two men walked side by side through the Tannery streets for awhile. The Captain offered Sparrow a skin and Sparrow drank the thick sweet wine in it. Smacking his gums together he passed the skin back, letting the Captain pull off the tip as well.

    ¡°What does this have to do with me?¡±

    ¡°Nothing for you, Sparrow Tanner. But the birds say the Guard is going to pick up the children my man saw and put them to question. Shame to have your boy Ori-¡±

    It was too much. Sparrow sprinted off, hoping he was on time, hoping his silly excursion hadn¡¯t led the boy for a stay in the Trap. The Captain followed after, cursing the drink and startled at the old man¡¯s speed.

 Chapter 17 - Throwing Stones

    Ori sat wrapped in a blanket on the rooftop of the old tower. Crane had ignored him as they moved around each other, two silent spirits of the night brought into the light of day. He saw her face as she looked on his bruises, then wrapped himself in the blanket as she traced down his body.

    He knew what men and women did together. The Yards had bulls stand in them from time to time, prized specimens who bred the healthier cows who were then taken into the lands beyond to bear calves. Besides, he had lived long enough in close quarters with his parents to know that they shared each other¡¯s company often enough when Da wasn¡¯t in the skin.

    Ori thought of his mother for the first time in a long while. Ma Tanner had been kind enough to him, taking Ori ot Tan off to the scraping sheds to help her with her work. It had been a happy family until a few months after Pidg was born.

    Pigeon Tanner. The babe always seemed to whine and get sick. Ma had bought remedies for the child, draughts and powders from the root women. The little sallow thing would suckle for hours and never seemed to grow, and Ma and Da would fight over him plenty of nights as the children tried to sleep.

    ¡°He ent mine woman. We both know it. Look at the brat! He never smiles, never laughs, just moans and makes his noises. If the priests would let me pay it I¡¯d cast you out for letting another plow my fields.¡±

    ¡°He IS yours, you hardheaded bastard! He¡¯ll grow up strong as you, take on the business. I haven¡¯t let another man touch me again and you know it.¡±

    He heard the rustling, the slam of a body against the wall of their hut, the rustling of clothes and the quiet crying after. It was on nights like this that little Ori would sneak into the baby¡¯s skins and cuddle up to his brother.

    Ori loved a story. Though Sparrow told bawdy ones of prisoners and pirates and men and women in love and lust, Ori¡¯s favorites were of the Mighty Tyn.

    Tyn the Mighty, Tyn the Common. His ma was a great witch, who gave him gifts and sent him out into the word. The boy had a knife that could cut through anything, and a spidersilk coat that let him turn into a spider, a bird, or a fish. Every Barrow boy knew a dozen Tyn stories: Tyn and the Great Wolf, Tyn and the Tinker¡¯s Promise, Tyn and the Mountain Bear. Ori would tell the stories and play with his baby brother, and it seemed to him that the baby never cried as he listened.

    ¡°Copper for your thoughts,silver for a memory?¡± Old Heron had snuck up on the boy, putting his arm around Ori¡¯s thin shoulders. ¡°Know that one? It¡¯s mighty clever.¡±

    ¡°Copper for your thoughts, young sir, silver for your memory. Gold for secrets kept inside, and bone for all my enemies. The Witch and the Warder. Sparrow loves that one.¡±

    ¡°Ay, the old boy loves a good tale. I liked the old stories of the Riverman. Creeping through the night, giving over gifts to the valley folk and taking from the Cruel King Stonewall. I wonder if they ever caught him?¡± Heron spat over the roof, making a sign of the Father.

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    ¡°If no one tells the story, did it happen?¡± Ori asked, kicking his feet over the edge and slamming his heels against the wall below.

    ¡°A philosopher in the Barrow? Not much time for folks who think here, young Oriole. I once taught young men, mostly in the ways of war but a fair bit of reading and cyphering.¡± Heron¡¯s eyes seemed hazy, thinking back. ¡°I always wonder if I hadn¡¯t have beaten that lord¡¯s face in where I¡¯d be today.¡±

    ¡°You attacked a lord?¡±

    ¡°Lordling. Little swinging cocked manchild wanting to test his mettle in the street. He tried it on a child, kicked him in the coins then fell on him for not calling him Sir. Can you believe it? Some people will do plenty for propriety, young Ori. Foolish things, sure, but honor is a twisted mistress.¡±

    They sat in silence for awhile, Heron grabbing a few pebbles and tossing them at the wall. Ori smiled at a killer enjoying such simple things. Ori picked up the stones at his side and tossed with old Heron, trying to throw harder and further each time.

    They heard the shouts before they saw them. It was the Barrow Ghost, a shout that called all who heard it to attention. It was a call of the watch coming, and the cries kept coming closer. Heron felt for his arms, letting out a sigh as he found his hands on steel and leather.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why, but my neck tells me they¡¯re for you, Ori. Go down and get dressed, and I¡¯ll handle them as well as I can.¡±

    Ori rushed down the ageworn steps carved into the tower, swinging into Crane¡¯s room at speed. He dropped the blanket and had his breeches on before he saw the girl he had stayed the night with strapping on leathers and one of Heron¡¯s short stubby blades.

    ¡°The Guard is coming. We saw them from up top. Do you know a way to get out?¡± Ori begged, grabbing the strange shirt he had been given and pulling it down over his protesting torso.

    ¡°Run? I¡¯ll fight, thank you very much. Sir Heron gave me this place as mine, and if he takes on the Guard so do I.¡±

    Heron appeared at the window, putting himself into the opening and looking at the two children.

    ¡°I owe Sparrow young master Oriole¡¯s life. He slept beneath my roof, a prentice under roof of another master. If you want to swear yourself for me, then follow the boy. Get him across the wall, into the Crypts. Find Squab Hill and have her hide him.¡± the old fighter felt his pockets, producing a small bag the size of a child¡¯s fist. ¡°Hag has wanted this since I took it off of Creeping Drake when I was a young man. Should satisfy her desire well ¡®nough.¡±

    His prentice tucked the bag into her armor, then rushed the old man to hug him. Ori looked away as she made peace with his savior, seeing them whisper to each other. A peck on the cheek from the old warrior and Crane was off, uncovering a gap in the wall behind a tapestry.

    ¡°The walls are double enforced, got a gap between them for stores. These old towers could keep men fed and watered for a year if a siege broke out in a district. Now we¡¯ll use the passage to get out, if¡­¡±

    Then they heard the horn. Two blasts from the brass, the traditional warning of entry into a hostile place.

    ¡°By order of the King and His Council, we hereby request the presence of Oriole Tanner, prentice and grandson of Sparrow Tanner, and the girl known as Crane, to be put to the question for murder and arson¡­¡±

    Ori heard no more as they ducked into the gap. He saw Old Heron pile up the partition, a wooden bench, and a shelf from the room in front of the gap.

    ¡°Keep her safe, Oriole.¡±

    The warrior pulled steel and walked towards the window as the footsteps echoed up the outer stairwell. Ori felt the hand of his guide, and she pulled him down into the darkness.

 Chapter 18 - Fleas and Mothers

    The woman made their procession off of the Hill and into the Barrow. The Lady Hill had called up twenty men and half again as many women who could fight to circle their march, and the Lady Leech walked with her with a sense of dread.

    This funeral could be a war party, she thought, as the mourners dressed in their finest paced at the traditional half step. Nearly all the women of the Hill proper had come to walk behind the Lady Hill and her daughter¡¯s pallbearers, and as they walked through the streets more women joined.

    They had raised a banner to be carried beside Posy¡¯s body. Squab flew the red sheets of her daughter¡¯s death bed, as was custom in her homeland. Though the women who came did not know its meaning directly they saw the missing Posy, her mother¡¯s rich and ripe jewel, and the body on the platform and gained their understanding.

    Each of them carried a knife. It was a woman¡¯s tradition, one the people of the valley and river and even of Squab who was once Naset¡¯s homeland held to. The women too poor or too surprised by the procession¡¯s coming were each given one, all of which had been collected by Lady Hill¡¯s men. They would go down to the river and the men would leave. Each woman, whether first blooded maid or worn and wizened grandmother, would shed the blood of her breast, shear a lock of their hair, and toss them onto the pyre with a blessing to her secret god. In this way all women across the known world kept their own council, and it was thought to be the worst turn of luck to deny a mother her handmaidens to guide her spirit to the heavens.

    ¡°I still hate the smell. Forty years since the first time and I still hate it.¡± Leech whispered to Squab at the head of the long train.

    ¡°Remember our first time? Father¡¯s concubine, girl was not of bearing years but the old goat had her anyways.¡± Squab muttered, her mind trailing away as her body drudged forward.

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    ¡°Mother took us, yes. I wanted to cut my hair but she refused, saying I would do it enough times if I were to grow old that our gods would not want me to give before my blood.¡± Even with the events Leech smiled under her makeshift veil,thanking those gods that the women of the house were not to be seen until the body was done. It made her feel closer to Squab, the sister she had lost so long ago, even if the closeness was gained at such a terrible price.

    ¡°I go with the women. Some do not hold to it, they burn or even wrap and bury their dead too soon to gather. I had hoped some would come, but here there are so many to see my¡­ my little¡­ ¡± Squab broke down then, and Leech saw her racking sobs in her shoulders as they silently marched on.

    They reached the Fleasbridge without incident, the train taking in hundreds of women. Four Guards, their faces hidden behind the helmed masks of their order, blocked the path of the women.

    ¡°Ladies, I do not wish to intrude upon your ceremony, but it is by King and Council that I must ask you disperse. The Bridge of Fleas is closed to traffic as the Guard seek several fugitives associated with a conspiracy to murder and burn down the city.¡± the Guard sounded young to Leech, unsure of his words. The women pushed forward, like herd cows brought to the locked door of the Yards. Wanting to oil the waters the Lady Leech stood in front of the Guard, wanting to get them through with as little bribery as possible.

    ¡°Sir, you stand for the King, but this is the Lady Hill¡¯s daughter. She passed away in childbirth, and we must give her a proper funeral with all rites. Surely the King would not find anything wrong with this?¡±

    ¡°I understand, Mother. And if we could we would take you through. As it is the orders stand. Perhaps the Lady Hill, as you so call her, could send a writ to the Council directly.¡± she heard the smirk come to his voice, ¡°A Barrow Lady? They¡¯ll find quite good cheer in such an idea.¡±

    The women behind Posy¡¯s platform seemed to form up into a pincer around the Guard. There must have been hundreds, and the Lady doubted that they would be prevented if they went en masse against the force of four men holding the bridge. And call the rest of the Guard down on us all, more like.

    She cried out as the bolt appeared in the Guard¡¯s chest, and Lady Hill rushed forward with her retainers to take on the Guards who remained standing.

 Chapter 19 - Dreams of a Forgotten Place

    Naset.

    Squab moaned out in her sleep, though the nearest person to hear her was dead and the next nearest was far across the room with a thick iron door between.

    Naset Alon, mother of none. Daughter of a fool and a lecher. Naset Alon, I come to speak to you¡­

    She felt the dream solidify around her. She had returned to the shores of another river, one she had lived along and played by in a life long ago. She ran to the river, running for the first time since any man had called her the Lady Hill in dreams or life, putting her feet into the warm clear sandy water.

    Naset. Mother of none. Walk with me in the river. Speak close and let me tell you secrets. Secrets not meant for mortal ears.

    She saw him rising from the waters then. A boy she had seen once, a silly boy who she had thought was a waking dream. His eyes had been like green flame, his skin the color of the bronze sand squishing between her toes. She remembered his teeth, as sharp as knives and golden, and when Lord Hill claimed her wifely duties she would think of her perfect river boy and find her pleasure there.

    The boy was a man in this dream, strong and muscled like a man who had spent his life in work on the river. Naset saw the scars of casting nets on his body, where they glowed with the same green fire of his eyes.

    ¡°Have I come to the Land of my dead? Am I to accompany my daughter?¡± she spoke in her native tongue, in the voice she had years ago before living in the crypts and cold damp temple walls.

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    No. Did your father not teach you of your land? This is a place of the living, a first and second life with the River. You have lived too long beside the Mother, her banks muddy and her flow slow and steady save when the Father pours himself into her. This is the river of life, the place the holy men bring the sick to heal them. And I am the keeper of this river, a holy man among the holy men.

    She went to him then, her clothes seeming to fall away from her as she walked forward. She had her body again, the form that caught the eye of many men before the Lord Hill claimed it. Her skin was dark, darker than her sister¡¯s skin, darker even than her father. What had become tarnished in the gloom of the crypts was burnished in the blazing sun, and Naset Alon let the man of the river take her into its waters.

    They lay beside each other on the banks, spent and rejoicing in the sun. Naset felt herself stronger, ready for the terrible day to come. When she saw him sit up she smiled, tracing her fingers over his chest, down his smooth thighs. The river brushed her hands away, pulling her eyes to his and staring into Naset¡¯s very being.

    You must give your daughter¡¯s vessel to these heathen gods. No matter the price. For do not all rivers flow to me, and I them? Bring your daughter to the flame, and kill any man who stands in your way. He will be our servant when you return to the River, and I will bring your daughter back from her first death to marry a man of standing.

    ¡°She has never seen this place! She will not eat, she will not sleep.¡±

    She is a daughter of this river though you have not seen it in so long. Bring her, and we shall make ourselves a dynasty that will make the people of the valley quake in fear.

    Naset went to kiss her lover and saw his eyes flicker from fiery green to dull grey. She looked into them and saw for a moment fire, a man battling against the dead. The river blinked, his eyes returning to green, and returned her kiss.

    She woke in the morning to blessed relief. Around her bed sat several sacks tied shut with ribbons the color of His eyes.

    No one must stop you my love.

    She opened the sacks and looked within. They were filled with knives.