Michael Sullivan - The Crown Tower

“Then I would like one of those.”

“What kind of business do you intend to operate?”

“A brothel.”

The assessor tilted his head down and peered first at Gwen, then at Rose. “I see.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Do you have any family near Cold Hollow?” he asked Rose.

“Yes,” Rose replied. “My mother-I buried her there last year.”

“And your father?”

“If I had one of those, I’d probably still have a mother.”

The man nodded with a solemn expression.

“And you?”

“My parents are dead as well. That’s why we need to start a business.”

The old man pursed his lips and shook his head. “It will cost you two gold tenents for the certificate, plus eighteen copper din for the filing fee. Do you have that much?”

“Ah … yes. Yes, we do.” Only two!

The man appeared surprised and showed her a slight smile. He took a parchment and, dipping his quill, began to write. “You will hereafter be assessed taxes relative to the income you accrue. If you fail to accrue any income within the first six months after the issuing of your permit, or if you fail to pay the required taxes within one month after the last assessed period, to be conducted henceforth on a biannual basis, you will be evicted with no reimbursements of investment.” He spoke rapidly, reciting with a bored tone. “Do you have the two tenents and eighteen din with you now?”

“Oh-yes.” Gwen pulled the purse out from between her breasts.

“The certificate will stand valid for one year. After that, you will need to obtain a new one.”

“We can start living there right away-today, right?”

“You can do whatever you want so long as it is legal, doesn’t threaten the security of the city or kingdom, provides taxable income, and the king approves.”

“The king will visit?” Gwen asked, shocked.

The assessor looked up and chuckled. “No. His Majesty will not be paying a visit. But someone from the Lower Quarter’s merchants’ guild will.”

“And if he approves of what we’re doing, we get to keep it?” Gwen held out the coins.

“You get to use it,” he corrected. “Be aware that any improvements made on the site will become property of the king and that your certificate can be revoked at any time by a royal writ.”

Gwen snatched back the money. “What does that mean?”

“If the king wants to, he can kick you out.”

Gwen looked worried.

The old man leaned forward. “Be successful, but not too successful.”

She nodded as if she understood and let go of the coins, feeling both relieved and terrified. She’d just secured a home for all of them; she’d also just handed over most of their money in return for a broken-down hovel.

“It’s ours,” Gwen told them all when she and Rose returned.

The rain still poured, but Gwen didn’t mind as much. The building was theirs, every ugly rotting beam. The day had warmed, but the rain continued, which Gwen saw as a benefit. Just like with Ethan, the downpour would keep people indoors. Until she was able to get the place sealed up, she felt they were as exposed as mice in a field. While the rain was a nuisance, it had the added benefit of grounding the hawks, allowing her time to dig a burrow. Puppies, cats, ducks, and now mice, why she always thought of them in terms of small animals she had no idea except that such things were cute but also often a burden.

“A man will be by in a few days, and if he approves, this will all be ours.”

“All this?” Jollin said in a sour tone.

While Rose and Gwen were gone, the remaining girls had only managed to clear away a small bit of refuse and block a few holes with flimsy boards. More of the wind had been shut out, and rain stopped pouring into the parlor, but beyond that the place was still a disaster of fallen timbers and open walls.

“It will look better,” Rose assured them. “We just need to fix it up.”

“Going to be cold and wet tonight,” Mae said. “And all the sweeping in the world won’t help that.”

Gwen nodded. “Need to get that chimney clear and the fireplace cleaned out before dark. We’ll burn scrap wood to help clear the clutter. I have money left over, enough to buy some lumber, but we’ll need to reuse as much as we can.”

“But we don’t know anything about carpentry,” Etta said. “We’re never going to be able to fix this.”

“And me and Abby tried to move some of them bigger beams.” Christy pointed at what must have been a brace beam that had fallen across the stairs. “We couldn’t budge them.”

“We’re going to need help.” Gwen began nodding slowly as she surveyed the wreckage once more.

“No one’s gonna help us,” Jollin said. “No one cares about a bunch of runaway whores so dumb that the farthest they got away was across the stupid street.”

Once again Gwen was thankful for the rain, which poured loud enough to mask the silence that followed. They had reached the moment of real decision. The day before had been fear driven. No one had time to think clearly. Left to themselves all day, forced to work hard after a lifetime of making a living on their backs and facing another night sleeping in the cold and wet, they had the opportunity to reflect.

Gwen hadn’t done anything to instill confidence or offer hope beyond picking a spot to sleep and providing a bit of food and some thin blankets. Right across the street the Head loomed, whispering of warmth. Gwen had ideas, but what good were ideas compared to dry beds?

“We’ll need someone strong,” Rose said. “Someone who will work cheap.”

Maribor love her , Gwen thought, and then she said, “Or for free.”

“Like that will happen.” Jollin sat down on the wooden step of a stair that went nowhere except up into a fist of splintered wood. “Why don’t we all just kneel and pray for our troubles to end. That has just as much chance of success.”

“We’ll see,” Gwen said. “You get everyone digging out that chimney and moving all that junk away from the fireplace, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Gwen plans to make this into a palace,” Rose told them all.

At first it sounded like a joke, the cruel sort, only the tone was wrong. “We saw this house in Gentry Square and we’re going to make this place like that. And what a place! It had a tower and everything.”

Gwen smiled at her sadly. That house was likely the home of a baron or sea captain. It had probably cost chests of gold bars and maybe even favors from the nobility. All they had left was a single gold coin and the combined life savings of each, which amounted to a handful of dins and ses. A lovely dream, but impossible. Rose suffered from the faith of innocence.

“Medford House,” Rose said.

“What?” Jollin asked.

“We’ll call it Medford House. Can we, Gwen? It will be the finest in the city.”

No one laughed. They should have. Jollin of all people should have guffawed until she was blue, but she didn’t.

“Medford House it is,” Gwen agreed. “But we’ve got to get this place cleaned up. We’ll need to open for business as soon as we can.”

“How long do you think we have?” Mae asked.

“I don’t know.” Gwen stared out at the gushing rain that made the puddles in the street look like they were boiling. “Everyone help Jollin. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Gwen left the skeletal shelter of the ruined inn and stepped back out into the deluge.

Unlike the Gentry Quarter, Wayward Street lacked fancy gutters and always became a brown pond on days like this. If the rain came down long enough, the water would reach the level of the bridge’s trench and the streets would be swimming in the stench of horse apples and drunkards’ piss.