Michael Sullivan - The Crown Tower

All she needed to do was forget about her mother’s dying wish.

Should have been a simple thing. What value were the demands of a dead woman in the face of slavery? Maybe if her mother had known … but that was the problem. To anyone else, prophesies were flimsy things, silly things, childish fantasies. Gwen and her mother knew better. Illia had abandoned everything. She’d given up her family, her home, her very life to get her daughter to Medford-and Gwen knew why.

Her mother had known. She’d read Gwen’s palm and understood the price her daughter would pay. Illia had sent her just the same-made her promise. If she couldn’t trust her mother, who could she trust?

Besides, Gwen had seen him herself. She’d looked into that man’s eyes, understood who he was, and seen the truth. No matter what, Gwen had to stay in Medford, to survive any way possible. Nothing else mattered, not her comfort, not her safety, dignity, or even her life. Those coins were meant for something more than just food.

Wait until it’s absolutely necessary.

This must have been what he had meant. But autumn was no time to declare independence. She should have started planning sooner, done some research, and lined up a place to go-a real place, not this pile of wood. Stane might have murdered Jollin if they hadn’t left, but Gwen could end up killing them all.

Then Rose spoke, and the sound of her voice was music.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked, pointing at the fireplace with the tongs, wielding them like a sword. Her tone was almost giddy. “This is going to be great.”

Gwen looked at Rose’s cheery face and started to cry. She crossed the room, threw her arms around the smaller girl, and hugged her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Pulling back, she was met with Rose’s puzzled expression. “They’re just tongs.”

“They’re a start. And yes, we can have a fire, so we won’t freeze.”

“What are we going to eat?” Abby asked, staring down at the pile of bird droppings with a grimace.

“I’ll go buy some food,” Gwen replied.

“Grue won’t sell us any,” Jollin said. “And if he says so, no one in the Lower Quarter will either.”

Gwen nodded. “We’ll do our shopping in the Merchant Quarter.” She looked around. “We’ll get blankets and some tools too.”

“Tools?”

“We’ll need to fix this place up.”

“What kind of tools?” Etta asked, though with her missing teeth it sounded more like, what kind of thules , and she looked worried, as if Gwen planned to have them rebuild the foundation that afternoon.

“A broom would be nice, don’t you think? We don’t want to sleep in this dirt.”

“But we can’t just stay here,” Jollin said. Her hands had moved to her hips and the smile they had shared was already a distant memory.

Gwen hadn’t determined anything yet. She hadn’t thought any further ahead than that they could camp there for at least one night, but the moment Jollin said it-maybe it was the way she said it-Gwen made a decision.

“Why not?”

“They won’t let us.”

“Who are they ?” Gwen asked.

“The city. This isn’t ours.”

“Whose is it?”

“I don’t know-but I know they won’t let us just live here.”

“I don’t intend to just live here .” Gwen was angry. She was tired of having all doors closed to her. Maybe Jollin was right, but she wasn’t about to give up, not now that it seemed like she was finally able to make her own way. What came out of her mouth next was more spite than sense. “Grue made a fortune off us. We’ll do the same thing on our own, right here, and we won’t have to walk around in rags.” She looked at her dirt-caked feet. “And we are going to get shoes, damn it!”

Jollin rolled her eyes.

“No one is using this place,” Gwen protested, as if Jollin had just laid out a careful argument. “No one has in years. Why would anyone care?”

“That doesn’t matter. There are rules about businesses.”

“What are they?”

Jollin shrugged. “I’m a stupid whore. How should I know!”

“Well I’m sick of rules!” Gwen shouted. “Do you want to go back? Then go! I’m sure Stane is still waiting. He wasn’t there for me, you know. Have you forgotten about that? Grue promised you to him. I could have sat downstairs and listened to the rhythm of your head bashing against the bedroom floor. You want to be another stain that Grue needs to hide from the customers? Is that what you want? Is it? Is it?”

Jollin didn’t respond.

“I’m the one risking four gold coins! And Grue promised to keep Stane away from me. But not you-oh no-not any of you. He was going to feed each of you to him. Why not? Look at the profit he made from Avon’s death. You’re just whores, just dirt, and there’s plenty more out there. I’m trying to make this work … I’m trying to save everyone, and all I’ve heard is complaining!”

Gwen saw it then, a small quiver of Jollin’s lower lip. She was breathing through her nose, her chest rising and falling at twice the normal speed, and there was a growing glassiness to her eyes. She wasn’t fighting because she was angry; she was panicking. She was terrified for the same reasons that Gwen had hoped to rely on her-Jollin was the most sensible.

Gwen softened. “It’s okay,” she said, taking Jollin’s hand and rubbing it in both of hers. “It’s all going to be fine. You just have to trust me.”

“But you don’t know how to start a business. You don’t even know if we can-if it’s allowed.”

“I’m actually a bit tired of what’s allowed ,” Gwen growled. “What’s allowed is for men to beat and kill us, to keep us as slaves and make money off our humiliation. I’m tired of being kept barefoot and in rags-that’s what’s been allowed. I’m sick of it. Sick to death … if that’s what it comes to. They taught us the one thing we can make money at, so that’s what we’ll do-at least for now. And we’ll do it in Medford because we know this place. We already have paying customers and only one enemy. But you’re right. We don’t know everything we need to yet, so we’ll find out. When we go to the Merchant Quarter, I’ll ask. They all have businesses-they can tell us.”

“It’ll cost money. A lot of money, Gwen. I have no idea how much.”

Gwen considered the gold coins nested between her breasts. She had always thought they amounted to a fortune and each held the magical power to grant any wish, but would they be enough?

“Why don’t we go find out?”

The city of Medford was divided into four parts, five if you counted the castle in the middle, but that was like including the bone in a cut of meat. No one had much use for the castle or the king. The Gentry Quarter encompassed the city’s main northern gate. The Merchant Quarter was where the gentry went to shop and entertain themselves, the Artisan Quarter did the work of the city, and the Lower Quarter was the sewer.

Gwen had never spent much time outside the Lower Quarter. Here the lanes were wider and bustled with carts, horses, and people carrying baskets on their heads or shoulders. She heard the shouts of men, the squeal of pigs, and the nonstop hammering of commerce. Everyone had places to be and rushed to get there. They paid little attention to the group of women dressed in rags and lacking shoes, who moved slower than the current, unsure where to go. On the occasions when others did notice them, Gwen caught stares, scowls, and smirks.

The lady behind the woolen goods counter, however, didn’t give Gwen a dirty look. She didn’t look at all.

“I’d like to buy seven blankets,” Gwen declared.