Michael Sullivan - The Crown Tower

The woman ignored her.

“Those over there would be good.” Gwen pointed at what she hoped were the cheapest in the shop.

Again the woman refused to acknowledge her existence or even look up.

“I have money,” she said, her voice dwindling, already knowing it wouldn’t matter.

Gwen lowered her head in defeat and walked away.

“Give me the purse,” Jollin said. Taking it, she strode to the counter.

“May I help you?” the woman asked with a practiced smile.

“How much are those blankets?”

“One for seven dins, two for a ses.”

“I’ll give you three ses for seven.”

“For three ses you get six.”

“Three ses, three din,” Jollin said. “Has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”

“Three ses and six din sounds better.”

“Three and five.”

The woman nodded and fetched the blankets as Jollin pulled out a golden coin. Surprise painted the shopkeeper’s face. As the change was counted out, Jollin handed the purse back to Gwen and the blankets to another of the girls.

“ She has that kind of money?” The shopkeeper indicated Gwen.

“Yes, and more. A shame you were so rude. My lady will be filling carts with her purchases today, but no more from here. Perhaps this will teach you not to be so judgmental. My lady is very generous to those who understand that true beauty is found inside, and cruel to those with little, tiny, shriveled, warped hearts and sick, twisted minds so small and-”

“Jollin!” Gwen snapped.

“Ah, you see, my lady is anxious to leave your establishment and find somewhere she is more welcome.”

“But I’-m-” the shopkeeper started.

“-a bitch?” Jollin offered a sweet smile. “I couldn’t agree more.”

With that, Jollin left the shop.

Gwen and the other girls followed, all of them laughing and patting Jollin on the back. Afterward, Jollin and Abby were sent for food while Mae and Rose set off to get a broom. The rest waited with Gwen, standing in the shade of the pottery shop’s awning watching everyone. Mae and Rose returned first and were so proud of their purchase that they took turns sweeping the street. Gwen wondered if it was the first thing they’d ever bought. Jollin and Abby came back with cheese and bread.

“Is that all?” Gwen asked.

“I don’t know if we can afford anything else,” Jollin said.

“How expensive is food? We should have-”

“It’s not that. I talked to the baker and he says you need to purchase a royal writ.”

“What? For food?”

“No-to open a business. Called it a certificate of permit or something like that. You can’t open one without it or they’ll arrest you.”

“How do you get one?”

“You have to go to the city assessor’s office in Gentry Square. They’re expensive.”

“How much?”

“He didn’t know. The baker said it would be different based on the type of business. I think we might be in trouble.”

“Well let’s not declare failure before we even start. Let’s go back to the inn,” Gwen said. She added with disgust, “Unless there’s a law against seven girls eating bread and cheese in an abandoned rat farm?”

By the time they trekked to the Merchant Quarter, bought supplies, and returned to Wayward Street, the sun had set and the cold crept in. As awful as the dilapidated building looked in daylight, the dark brought a whole new level of dread. Unlike the Merchant Quarter, where business owners lit up their storefronts, the Lower Quarter was dark. On Wayward, only the firelight spilled out of The Hideous Head’s windows to illuminate the street in stretched rectangles. Gwen wanted to kick herself for not adding a lantern to their shopping list, but it would be the first thing during tomorrow’s trip.

Gwen could hear the clink of glasses and Dizzy the Piper playing at the tavern. The muffled sound of his whistle served as a musical reminder of their freedom, or was it banishment? In the dark such a thing was hard to determine. On the street, even in the ruins of the building, the gusting wind was louder as it creaked shutters and tortured dead leaves. The interior of the parlor was visible only by angles of moonlight that revealed the many holes and gaps through which the wind found reeds of its own to whistle with, the wind’s tune far more doleful than Dizzy’s.

Abby and Etta set to making the fire. The two crouched like conspirators in the dark before the stone hearth. Gwen wondered why Grue kept them on at all, especially Etta, who hadn’t made a copper in almost a year. Both had spent a good deal of time in the Head’s kitchen, Abby because she was big-boned and stocky and Etta because her looks never matched the person inside. Even Gwen had questioned the wisdom of bringing Etta. She couldn’t afford to tie their survival to so much dead weight. But excluding her could breed resentment and cause too much trouble in the long run. She’d just have to find some way for them to contribute.

In order to survive, she needed to be tougher, stronger. She looked back toward the lights of the tavern.

After the incident with the man with the gold coins, Gwen discovered he wasn’t the only one whose eyes she could see through. It took a bit of concentration, of focus, but she’d done it with others. Bits and pieces of lives were revealed-few ever pleasant-and the process was disturbing. She’d often had nightmares afterward. But in the two years she’d been at the Head, Gwen had never looked in Grue’s eyes. Not because she was afraid of the evils he had done, but because she might understand why he’d done them.

They had plenty of scrap wood, dry leaves, and twigs, and Gwen saw a flame for a while. It didn’t last, but they were all soon choking on smoke and for the first time Gwen was happy the parlor had so many holes.

“What’s wrong?” Mae asked from somewhere in the dark.

“Chimney’s blocked,” Etta said, her voice muted as if she’d climbed up inside. “All kinds of nests and leaves I think. There’s no draft.”

“Well, don’t try it again, or we’ll all have to sleep in the street,” Jollin said, then coughed to prove the point.

With no fire they ate in the dark.

Gwen had hoped for a cheery fire and a hot meal. The two might have been enough to transform the inn, at least for a while, into something familiar, something good. Instead, they clustered in the corner of the parlor away from most of the holes, huddling for warmth as they ate in silence, listening to the singing of a ghostly wind.

Jollin turned and asked her softly, “Do you think we can afford it?”

Gwen could hear it in her voice-she wanted to be reassured.

“We still have a lot of money.” Gwen tore off a small piece of the bread loaf they passed around.

“But we’ll need that to fix this place. How we going to do that?” Abby asked, her voice coming out of the darkness.

“Let’s just wait to see how much this permit thing costs.” Gwen felt cheese pass into her hands.

The smoke had cleared, but the smell lingered. The wind blew harder, and Gwen wondered if it heralded a storm. The air was cold and damp-rain maybe. Through the holes in the ceiling, she looked up at the sky. That was all they needed. They shuffled closer, each pulling their thin wool coverings tight.

“What was this place?” Mae asked. She was entirely wrapped in her blanket, with part of it over her head like a hood. She sat next to Rose and the two tiny girls looked like sisters, except Mae had blond hair and Rose brown.

“Used to be an inn,” Jollin explained.

“What happened to it?”

Jollin shrugged, a shaft of moonlight making her shoulders appear and disappear.

“The way I heard it-” Abby began.

“You didn’t hear anything,” Jollin said.