Jean Johnson - The Guild

“Mekha is gone , and that means we have to rescue every single prisoner before those ex-priests in there change their minds and decide they want to keep draining these poor people. Men and women who can’t even remember how to speak right now—and mark my words, the priesthood will want to keep their power and their prestige. We must deny them that chance. Stow your anger, and go put your energy to good use.”

The burly, round-faced man lifted his chin at her. “Who are you to give us orders? You’re just a boy!”

Oh, again with the “boy” this and the “boy” that! I think I am finally growing tired of being young in everyone’s eyes . . .

Rexei dug a hand under the high neckline of her tunic, pulling out a chain necklace and a leather thong. The chain held a single engraved medallion, denoting the Servers Guild, but the thong held a long column of stamped discs. Four of them were larger than the rest, and she sorted out the one on the far right, pulling it up on its own so that he could see for himself the three interlaced gearwheels embossed on its surface.

“I’m a journeyman of the Gearmen’s Guild, and that means I’m a Sub-Consul with the right to speak on behalf of any Consulate. And it is not overstepping my rights as a Sub-Consul to tell you that these men and women need our help right now .” She lifted her chin and her voice, looking at the others. “ Who has kept our people safe from the priests all this while? I ask you that, and I tell you that the guilds have kept our people safe. The guilds have looked out for each other all this time, ensuring that the priests could never take too much of our money or our goods or even our people . And it is the guilds of this land that must stand strong.

“Mekha is gone,” she repeated, clinging not to that thought but to the tokens of apprenticeships and journeyman ranks she had earned since fleeing her parents’ house at the age of ten. Clinging to the memories of all the help she had been given, because the Guild System worked . “And Heiastowne will not crumble into madness and lawlessness. Put your faith in your guild, each of you! Remember how it gave you a place to work and a trade to learn. Remember how when you had a problem, you could take it to the Consulates—made up of representatives from every guild in town—and know that you’d find justice from our hands, when the priests would give us none!”

Engines rumbled in the distance, first purring faintly, then growling louder and louder as something approached from the west. Rexei kept talking, because the crowd wasn’t quite calmed down yet. That was more important. None of these shift-clad women were her mother, would never be her mother, but each man and woman who had been drained was her mother, because they were fellow mages.

“Mekha is gone, and that means we must take over the leadership of this town—but not as a mindless beast. We are not a mob! We are guildmembers . . . and we have laws , and we have rules , and we have responsibilities that we will not set aside.” She panted a little, grateful that the heat of her speech was keeping her warm, though she knew it wouldn’t last. “Now . . . take these men and women home. Give them comfort.

“Get the Apothecaries to look at the women, for I promise you, each and every one has been raped repeatedly by the priesthood, and they will need care and compassion—and have them look at the men , too. There are bastards in that temple who’d piston a man’s bottom as surely as any woman’s front,” she said bluntly. “As they would’ve pistoned mine , if they didn’t have to answer to the Servers Guild for it—as you all know well they still could try! Any one of us could have been one of these mages, save for the grace of distant Fate . . . and many of us have lost kin and friends. It is our responsibility to take care of them and make them feel whole once more. If we do not, then it is we who will be metaphorically pistoning their bottoms a second time. They don’t deserve that!”

Her crude words made a few people blink and eye her askance, but Rexei didn’t care. The dangerous energy in the crowd had ebbed too low to be easily stirred as they strained and listened, as they passed along in whispers to the rest what they heard. At least, until an odd stirring rippled across the crowd from the west, from where the rumbling of engines was. With the sharp winter sunlight angling in from that direction, it was hard to see what was causing the commotion until the whispers reached her.

“. . . militia . . .”

“Precinct men!”

“. . . the captain?”

“No, it’s th’ leftenant . . .”

“The guards are here?”

“I’ll not go without a fight . . .”

She had never met the leftenant of Heiastowne and had never wanted to meet him or anyone like him. Not even a mere private, let alone a sergeant or anyone ranked higher. For good reason, too; the military was ruthless, taking in lads of seventeen or older for five years of mandatory service. Not everyone was taken, but criminals were at the top of the conscription list, so staying out of the militia’s notice was a necessity. Escaping once one was inducted into the service was extremely difficult and extremely dangerous. Runaways were hunted down and whipped the first time, flogged heavily the second, and hung on the third failed escape try.

Between her slight frame, beardless cheeks, and careful acting, Rexei had always passed herself off as fifteen to sixteen at most. She had also taken care to heed the laws and cause no trouble, for the Precinct guards were also the town guards, and they drafted the troublemakers first and foremost. Women could serve in the Precincts as auxiliary members—clerks, cleaners, cooks, even as mechanics, helping keep the various machines running—but it was the men who had to serve in combat positions.

That was the last thing she could let happen. Guardsmen bathed together, and she was no boy in truth. The one good thing about the approach of the militia was that it would give her a chance to vanish into the crowd. The one bad thing was that she would have to wait until everyone’s attention was elsewhere to successfully vanish.

The engines cut off, leaving an odd sort of near-silence in the square.

“By order of the Precinct captain,” a strong male baritone called out, “the citizens of Heiastowne are to disperse and return to your homes, shops, and guildhalls. There will be no rioting in the streets. No disorder. The Precinct will investigate the claims that the . . . God of Engineering . . . is indeed gone, and we will maintain order. Anyone who riots, strikes out in violence, or attempts to loot anything at this point in time will be clapped in irons and dragged off for quarry work at the rate of one month per hour you cause trouble . . . rounded up .”

The crowd quickly started dispersing. Rexei turned to follow the nearest clump out of the square, but a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder. The burly man dragged her around, his deep voice calling out, “Here’s yer first troublemaker, Leftenant!”

“Oy!” Gaping in shock, Rexei glared at the man. “I’m not a troublemaker!”

“Shaddup!”

He felt harsh and dry to her senses, like an overbaked cracker, not slimy. Worse, his big hand had a firm grip on the flesh underneath her knitted sweater. He added to it a grab at the waistband of her trousers when she tried to squirm free anyway, hiking them up so that she was forced to walk on her toes while he hustled her west through the rapidly departing crowd. At least the others were taking the spell-shocked, shift-clad mages with them as they moved off. Unfortunately, she couldn’t vanish with them, for the burly troublemaker—the real troublemaker, not her, in this matter—marched her on toe-tip right up to the quintet of motorhorses and the pairs of men astride them.