Prologue ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... 7 ... 8 ... 9 ... 10 ... 11 ... 12 ... 13 ... 14 ... 15 ... 16 ... 17 ... 18 ... 19 ... 20 ... 21 ... 22 ... 23 ... 24 ... 25 ... 26 ... 27... 28... 29... 30 ... Epilouge ... Glossary

Part 1:  Innocence

…Impartial observations reveal so-called scientific explanations for phenomena that have been as-yet unexplainable outside the fields of magic.  We can find case studies of this in areas as vast as the nature and shape of our world itself.

Current conventional wisdom dictates that should you travel the distance from the Fire Hell to the Ice Hell—the absolute north and south limits of the world—you would traverse approximately 12,000 miles.  The church-sanctioned position also maintains, should you travel east or west, your journey would be endless, as the world has no limits in those directions.

However, this creates a puzzling incongruity.  Traditional lore also indicates the Hells to be single points—poles in effect.  In practice, if both theories are true, you could stand at one of those points, and turning a complete circle, effectively face an infinite number of positions before returning to your starting point.

Implications for travel are staggering.  By marching only a couple hundred miles north, an army could effectively travel thousands of miles east or west!

The contradiction lies in the statements of the Medianist church.  The Hells cannot be polar points if the world is a cylinder of infinite volume and circumference.  Such a cylinder’s volume could be calculated by the formulae (please excuse the Synesi notation):

V=2pHR
where H=6,000 and R=∞

Denizens of the Seven Kingdoms lack current first-hand chronicling of the nature of the Hells (short of Guiot the Virgin, who failed to document his accounts of Hell), and we are left to conjecture:  Are the Hells single points in space (polar theory), or are they circular plains of infinite area (cylinder theory)?  Without this information, we are unable to calculate the exact dimensions of our world.

One could perform an experiment, however.  By travelling north a specific distance, west that distance again, and then south that distance again, you will find your distance east back to your starting point to be a new value…

“Analysis of Measurable Criterion In the Physical World”
Count Sykes of the Green Shores
Published Grey Season, 14th year of the rule of Superbus Tyrannus Valven.
Ordeal administered, Frost Season, 14th year.
Executed in Melt Season, 14th year.

Chapter 1: Craig the Fisher

There is no meaningful recollection of her birth parents. Esmeree’s earliest memories are of dirt and hunger, poverty and fear. Daily, she scrambled to do the bidding of the fishers when they felt generous and hid from them whenever else.

As a fry, she worked for a greasy little man named Craig Papolous, who worked for a beautiful Lady named Andelliza, who worked for a scary Brack named Tata Hair Thumb, who worked for… well, Esmeree isn’t really sure.

Craig tended to hunch his skinny shoulders, and that made him look shorter than he really was. As well as being Esmeree’s fisher, he was also in charge of the fry who let grownups touch them for money. Craig was real proud that so many of his fry grew up to be whores. Craig’s fry became the best whores in the entire Mill. He tells Esmeree that one day, she’ll be a good whore too.

The wharves of Cliffs Reach stink from the big Brack River and snag many unwanted things floating down it. Yellow and orange foam boils noxiously in the muddy fens where the fresh water of the Brack meets the salt of the Skudd. Mornings fill the air with thick, fetid mist, which down in the Heap never really burns away. Bad things seem to happen up the Brack River, and what was left always washes down to Cliffs Reach and into the Skudd Sea. Lots of soldiers would march up that river, but most of them would float back down.

Somewhere about her sixth year, Craig found Esmeree and pressed her into service as a fry of the Mill. He would send her to the docks to wade naked through the oily waters beneath the piers and collect anything of value caught down there. She found wood, pieces of boats, houses, and furniture–she found toys and clothes, torn and stained with blood and river mud–and she found bodies, dead people and livestock and things. Very bad things had happened to them, and the river water made them swell and stink.

Esmeree got sick frequently, like many of the fry that had to wade the Brack–those who got sick too often or stayed sick for too long would disappear–but somehow Esmeree never stayed sick for very long. Whenever at her worst, there would be a tingling warmth in her chest. She found that rubbing it would make her feel better.

Sometimes, a body would suddenly vanish from the surface of the water with a great splash. The big river gators like their meat well seasoned and would suck the fat ones under without warning. Esmeree’s greatest fear was that one of those monsters would confuse her for a body and take her too. As she searched, she would imagine the teeth and jaws crushing the bones in her legs and then rolling her around and around and around until all her air was gone. Every time a body would go under, she would scream in terror and refuse to move for several minutes. Watching from the shore, Craig and his friends found it all great fun and would holler out false warnings and empty encouragement: "Hey, lookout there, inigena! One’s comin’ up behind yä!" "Whoops! Was just a log!" "Can never quite tell them apart, can yä?" "Hey, hurry up, yä boduus slut! Can’t be more than 15 or 20 gators in the water with yä! What’s yä worryin’ about, uh?"

One time, something terrible must have happened because the river was filled with lots of broken things. Swollen naked bodies cluttered and bobbed around the bases of the piers like giant white maggots. Craig made Esmeree wade through them, poking and prodding the debris for unseen treasures. The bodies were especially important to Craig because sometimes they still wore jewelry. Whatever killed them didn’t care about things like that.

Esmeree pushed through the water, silently sobbing with terror, trying to keep an eye out for the river logs that moved and ate things, while Craig and a few other fishers barked orders from dry land. Fingers and toes, split like boiled sausages, caressed her skin as she searched the limbs for rings and bracelets. When she rolled the bloated bodies over, flukes and other parasites would drop off the graying meat and dart away into the water.

Then, Craig took up some kind of slingshot and began firing lead pellets at the fat bodies. When hit just the right way, their stomachs would burst with a rush of putrid gas and effluvia. One shot was particularly well placed, causing the woman Esmeree was searching to explode, showering her with rotting muck. The terror of the gators and the eyeless stares of the bodies overcame her, and she completely lost her nerve. Shrieking, she fled from the water and refused to go back until Craig beat her into compliance.

Esmeree decided then that she hated Craig Papolous.

***

Tata Hair Thumb doesn’t like fry very much, and he gets rid of them as quickly as fishers like Craig can catch them. In Cliffs Reach, Craig only needs to cast out his nets to pull in replacements.

Like bodies in the Brack, people drift into Cliffs Reach. They look strange, they talk strange. Lots of them are hurt; most of them are poor. Bad things happened to them in the north. Sometimes, to reach the safety of the Seven Kingdoms, they sell their children to fishers like Craig. They line their pockets with just enough copper to get what’s left of their family a little further south.

Sometimes Craig just finds the fry in the street–no one knows where they come from.

By her second year in the Mill, Esmeree has learned this well. She knows she is easily removed and easily replaced. She tries very hard to stay away from Tata Hair Thumb and to make Craig happy. But this is a difficult thing to do. Today, she knows that somehow she failed at both.

Craig told her to trust him, but now she supposes this was just to make sure she wouldn’t run away. As soon as she was in reach, he slapped her across the face and tied her hands behind her back. Now, she sits in a dark storeroom with a collection of other fry. Now, she realizes she’s been picked to go away like the others.

Like just about the rest of the Mill, this room is dark, with deep shadows and rotten wood. It is a warehouse off the main Mill, and the two buildings share a common wall. The bulk of the Mill dwarfs this broken place. People don’t often come in here, so Esmeree wonders why they’re meeting here tonight.

The scourged wood of the floor digs into her ass and heels, leaving thick splinters in her skin. It is damp, and rats and kobolde rustle in the large stack of debris in the corner. She eyes the subtly deeper darkness at the base of one wall.

Small shadows on the floor tremble and whimper. She doesn’t recognize everyone; Tata has lots of fry. Most are naked, toothless waifs, not much younger than she is. Few are strong or brave enough to keep their heads up long enough to meet her eyes. All them know they’re going away forever, but they don’t know why. They can only guess at what their futures hold.

Will they be ground up into meal for Hair Thumb’s dogs? Drowned in the Brack? Enslaved on an Ulbandi pirate galley? Turned into ahrounoi automata to work in Hair Thumb’s horrible factories? All the rumors they had so eagerly spread just days ago come back to haunt them.

The possibilities thrill and terrify Esmeree, but she’s not too worried about her fate. This has happened to her before–she’s been caught and bound before–somehow, the tingling always saves her. Instead, she wonders why this bunch of fry was picked. Sometimes it’s the sick children, other times it’s the smart ones, or the strong ones. Today…

Outside the door, she hears Craig talking to the Lady. Fry around her stir with terror, and Esmeree wriggles against her bindings. The tingling’s taking longer than usual. She begins to become concerned. When the conversation is joined by the voice of Tata and then of a man Esmeree does not recognize, she realizes that she is running out of time and begins struggling harder.

Slowly, the tingling begins at last, like an itch beneath her breastbone. It spreads through her arms and into her fingers. Hairs stand out on her arms and on those of the children around her. A horrified gasp fills the room as the fry struggle to get away from her.

As the door opens, the leather thongs binding her hands unwind with a hiss. Like a mouse, she scurries into the dark hole in the wall as Craig and the others walk in.

Esmeree is proud of her knowledge of the Mill. It usually keeps her one step ahead of the fishers. One of the keenest among the fry, it affords her near-complete access to almost every part of the ruined building. Sooner or later, she knows, she will grow too big to fit everywhere, but for now, all but the most secret places are open to her.

She pulls herself into the adjacent room inside the Mill, and scrambling over some ruined furniture and tortured wood, she squeezes through a hole in the ceiling. The walls here are rotten and ruined, and it allows Esmeree to make her way back into the warehouse, near its ceiling. Climbing easily through the rafters above the darkened storeroom, she sees Craig, Andelliza, and Tata below, standing among the bound fry. A new grownup stands with them, examining each child.

He shuffles from fry to fry, peering intently into their faces. His floor-length robes snag against the rough wood, so he moves with staggered steps as the fringes catch and snap free. A thick hood hides his face. One at a time, he directs a long, bony finger towards a child. With each selection, Craig lifts them to their feet, stripping away any rags that may be covering them.

The stranger examines each emaciated body, front and back, and that single finger efficiently dismisses each one.

Esmeree tries to watch everybody in the room. Now that she is safe, she finds it all so interesting as she tries to discern the fate they have in store for these fry. Who is this old man? What is he doing with the Lady and Hair Thumb?

Lady Andelliza watches from the doorway, radiant and beautiful. No amount of dirt from the Mill can mar those porcelain fine features, and Esmeree’s heart beats harder just looking at her. As Craig and the stranger work through the room, rejecting each bound urchin, Hair Thumb begins to fidget. Something about this meeting has the fat Brack nervous, and he begins to chew and pull on the long black hairs sprouting from his digit.

As the stranger scrutinizes a girl with long black hair not unlike Esmeree’s, Craig freezes. Esmeree crouches lower behind a rafter until only her eyes are peering over. He’s found the leather thong that bound her hands. Keeping both Hair Thumb and the stranger in view, Craig casually sidles over to the thongs and kneels to scratch his ankle. With a smooth, practiced move, he snaps up the evidence and stands, disposing of it somewhere in his clothes. He does his best to conceal his sudden anger, but Esmeree can sense the rage rising from her fisher as he scans the room for likely hiding places.

Tata and the stranger didn’t notice the sleight-of-hand, but Andelliza now watches the fisher carefully, thoughtfully, as she slowly turns a medallion of the Holy Medianist church in her fingers.

The stranger finishes his circuit of the room. The naked fry cluster in a damp corner, and Esmeree wonders at how many there are. Certainly more than the fingers on each hand.

"This very disappointing… Hair Thumb." The stranger’s voice is old and unkind. He says Tata’s name as though it soils him. "For the price I paid, I had hoped for a much better selection."

Slowly he turns to face the Brack, and Hair Thumb abruptly stops his noisy chewing. He fires a nasty look at Craig who looks busy examining a tear on his jerkin.

"Lady Andelliza," Hair Thumb growls, "Please excuse us fer a few minutes."

Andelliza finally looks away from Craig. "I beg your pardon?"

Her voice is musical, yet cold, like sleigh chimes blown by Hard Winter sleet. A chill runs down Esmeree’s spine. The tension in the room rises palatably. Andelliza is not used to being dismissed.

"This is somethin’ that must be discussed privately, Andelliza." Esmeree wonders if Tata will explode in one of his famous rages. "It is a matter of some… sensitivity."

Andelliza turns the circular Median silently and then regards Craig. "Very well. Come, Craig."

"Nage. He stays too."

Craig withers beneath her stare. His shoulders hunch even more. Sweat collects across his top lip, and he licks it away.

An emotionless smile spreads across her face. "Yes, of course." Turning gracefully on her slippers, she leaves the room. Craig hustles to close the door behind her.

The room is silent except for the small, frightened noises coming from the fry. Hair Thumb clears his throat and speaks first. "Me apologies, but I do not understand yer concerns. Yä has what we offered, uh?"

The stranger produces a Medianist charm not unlike Andelliza’s–a bisected circle of iron–and slowly traces its shape with a finger. "I was promised slaves of a particular quality, possessing of a particular quality. I see no evidence of this."

Craig cowers under Hair Thumb’s glare of seething rage. "It is an imperfect science, yä understand. We delivered what we could. We have what we have, yäh?"

"STONES!" the stranger bellows, and even Hair Thumb flinches, "It is NOT an imperfect science! They either have them or they do not." His words are clipped, efficient. He turns away from Tata and looks at the fry, "These… creatures are of little use to us."

Hair Thumb hesitates and then takes a step forward, gesturing to Craig, "Me fishers did as yä requested, and picked those most likely tä possess the stones. We are not as learned as yä." The hint of sarcasm is not lost on the stranger.

"Of course not." He sighs. "But these are no use to us. You may take them back."

"That is not possible, considerin’ they have witnessed our dealin’s," Hair Thumb growls. The stranger sighs with exasperation, and Tata adds, "This was part of yer requirement, odocos."

"Yes, yes, yes," waves off the old man.

"Somethin’ must be done with the pektus," Craig says quietly.

"If yä do not want them, we can sells the meat. We know of a trader who barters with the traellern in Truemmerland…"

The stranger waves the suggestion away. "No, I will take them," he says. "We will find uses for them. We always do. However–"

Hair Thumb interjects quickly, "We deeply regret the misunderstandin’. We cannot return all yer money, yä must understand, but in the interests of future dealin’s, I shall return, say, one copper Guilder per head, uh?"

The hood regards Hair Thumb for a moment and then nods. "So be it, by the Ice."

"By the Fire," Craig mutters automatically. He flinches and glances nervously at Hair Thumb, but the fat Brack doesn’t react to his guilty piety. Instead, he turns and opens the door.

"Come then. Craig will prepare yer slugs. Let us retire tä my chambers and drink tä our deal and tä our continuin’ relationship, yäh?"

The stranger moves. "I care not for your drink or your company, slaver. However, I will take my money."

Hair Thumb bows as the robed figure drifts through the door. With the stranger gone, Hair Thumb’s placid salesman’s face turns into a mask of fury. He closes the distance between him and Craig with long strides and grabs the small fisher by his tunic. With a quick jerk, he plunges his knee into Craig’s groin.

"Cuall! Yer incompetence nearly ruined EVERYTHING!" Hair Thumb hisses as Craig crumbles. Sweat runs rivers down the sides of his face and the back of his neck. A long gully knife materializes in his hand.

Craig gasps and heaves as he tries to pick himself up. "Please! I’m sorry! She was here! I swear! I put her in this room!"

Hair Thumb’s small black eyes glare at Craig with sudden calm. "Where did the inigena go then?"

"By God, Tata," Craig wails desperately, "She has a stone! She probably escaped! She probably used it tä escape!"

Hair Thumb uses the blade to scratch at the whiskers under his chin. Thick dark hairs fall across his breast and on the back of Craig’s neck. "This is somethin’ yä should have considered, boduus! This is somethin’ yä should have predicted, yäh?" He points the gully at Craig. "Pray that the Medianists do not break off future deals with us. I will talk tä this emissary. Yä’ll be fortunate if yer mistake costs us only 20 coppers."

Craig shudders and then bows before Hair Thumb. "I’m sä sorry," he whimpers, "I promise I won’t fail yä again."

The blade rasps against Hair Thumb’s beard again. Hair Thumb likes scaring people. "I have been told, fisher, that the Medianists are lookin’ tä expand their involvement with us. In time, this might become very profitable fer me… and maybe yä. Perhaps even a placement in the church itself, uh? Such benefits I would impart upon only me most loyal and competent of sticks and fishers."

"Master," Craig shudders, "The Lady will not be pleased tä learn of these dealin’s with the Medianists. She will resist these things. I fear she already realizes somethin’ is goin’ on!"

With a grimace of fury, Hair Thumb takes a handful of Craig’s hair and jerks the fisher’s head up. "Now, yä be tellin’ me what’s goin’ on in me own Mill, uh?" he hisses. "Andelliza will be the good bitch that she is. The boduus gwrach serves me needs, and if she objects, I’ll see tä it that the Medianists warm her bones with a bonfire. Yä see, uh?"

Esmeree’s blood runs cold. She grips the wood beneath her until her knuckles turn white. Andelliza is her anchor. Andelliza is the only pure thing in this place! Fear and confusion turn to anger. She resolves to stop them.

Hair Thumb kneels closer to Craig. "Now, Craig. I believe we are clear, yäh?"

His face pressed against the floor, he sounds muffled, "Yes, Tata Hair Thumb."

"Excellent." The gully disappears back into the folds of his clothes. "Stand on yer feet. Clean yerself." Slowly, Hair Thumb turns and leaves the room. "There will be na more mistakes, uh?"

It takes a few moments for Craig to find his feet. He stands in the middle of the room, ignoring the huddled fry and nursing his punished genitals. Esmeree’s leather bindings pull through his fingers as he curses quietly in the darkness.

Esmeree wonders at all she just saw and what it could mean. Silently, she slips away.

Esmeree knows where Andelliza almost always can be found. A long time ago, the great main room of the Mill used to be filled with giant wooden and copper barrels. (Something having to do with this place being a mill, though Esmeree has no clue why. She always thought mills sat on rivers and had big paddle wheels and stuff.) Now, only a handful of the smaller barrels remain, clustered against the far wall. Cleared of most debris, the main room has become the home for most of Tata’s fishers and sticks–the more numerous fry find shelter wherever it is available–under floors, between walls, with amorous fishers, or in less occupied but more exposed rooms.

Big offices and rooms overlook the main room from the second and third stories. Craig once told Esmeree that the mill bosses would sit up there and stare out their windows to make sure their workers below were doing a good job. Like the old mill bosses, Andelliza makes her home in those rooms, where she can watch the antics of the Mill below.

Today, a couple actors try to perform an improvisational interpretation of a local favorite, "Kahedin and the Harem". Esmeree doesn’t understand all the words, and they’re not very good. But she likes it when they get their lines wrong and get angry with each other and start fighting.

Her mind filled with the people and things she witnessed in the warehouse, Esmeree doesn’t have time to enjoy the show and subsequent brawl. She knows she’s supposed to ask Craig to deliver a message to Andelliza and beg for an audience, but even under normal circumstances, she would never sure if her message would ever delivered. Always the best way to get Andelliza’s attention is to call up to her from the floor of the main room. It would interrupt the actors–and sometimes the public punishment is embarrassing–but Andelliza likes it when people make fools of themselves.

But Esmeree is afraid of who would overhear her. If Hair Thumb and Craig are against Andelliza, she wonders if anyone else is trustworthy.

Making up her mind, she darts for the tall pile of wrecked barrels standing against the wall. The old slats are used as firewood during the cold seasons. In the warm seasons, they are a home for kobolde, rats, and fry. At one time, a truly gigantic vat stood there, its base extending through the floor and into some special rooms below the ground. The vat is long gone, but the hole in the floor remains.

Swinging from board to pipe to board, she lands in the darkened basement of the Mill. Narrow windows near the ceiling let in murky streetlight, and someone has lit several torches here. A group of older boys crouch in one corner rolling bones. One of them sees her and sneers. Esmeree hesitates and then moves on, hoping they will leave her alone so long as she doesn’t interrupt their game.

At the front of the building, directly beneath most of the Mill’s four stories, is a huge, black furnace. It’s fire long gone, from its ancient cavity, pipes and chimneys circulate through most of the rooms in the Mill. Without a second glance at the group of boys, Esmeree climbs in and begins the long, tight climb up.

The oven pipes are narrow and uncomfortable. Nearly pitch black, she pushes blindly through dust and countless cobwebs. Sharp spurs of metal tear the skin on her hands and soles of her feet. Soot, charred wood, and spiders constantly rain down on her, getting into her eyes, hair, and clothes. She smells smoke in some of the side vents and knows that some people are having fires in their rooms. She hopes Andelliza isn’t cold today.

Andelliza’s room is clean and opulent by the Mill’s standards. While Hair Thumb doesn’t allow the Lady many luxuries, she makes due with what she can. Windows overlooking the main room occupy one whole wall. Esmeree supposes there used to be glass in them, but it was scavenged long ago for other needs. A long couch is set right up against the window, and Andelliza reclines on it while looking out over the rest of the Mill below.

Esmeree pulls herself out of the tight wall stove and falls to the floor with a quiet grunt and gasp. When she gets up, Andelliza is looking at her.

Andelliza is part mother, part bogeyman to the fry of the Mill. It was her suggestion to use the children for the dirtiest jobs and for the fishers to care for them. For this, just about every child of the Mill owes their lives to her, and for this, they also owe her every misery, every pain, and each lonely death. People say Andelliza is a witch, a demon. Others say she is a princess. Esmeree wonders if she can be both.

As Esmeree stares at her now, she is unsure if she should be terrified or exultant. She must be a cuall to be here–surely the Lady will send her off to the factories for this–but the Lady doesn’t seem angry. Her ageless beautiful face seems more surprised and curious about how her stove could have given birth to this tiny, soot-covered girl. Andelliza’s transparent gowns are wispy, hinting. A thin eyebrow arches, waiting for explanation.

Esmeree steps forward, but when she sees that she is leaving bloody, sooty footprints on the threadbare rug, she stops. She stares into Andelliza’s cold, blue eyes, and her knees lose all their strength. Collapsing to her hands and knees, she bursts into tears. Unsure of the correct thing to do, it is all she can think of. Never has she dared approach anyone more important than Craig, and now she’s sure she will be punished for it.

"I’m sorry, I’m sä sorry," she bawls.

She hears Andelliza move, "Yes, I’m sure you are."

There is a tight buzzing in her ears. The lump in her chest throbs, but the sensation is muffled, almost as though it is a long ways away. Looking up, Esmeree sees Andelliza standing before the window. Despite the nighttime hour, sunlight spills into the main room, framing her with a holy glow. The Lady smiles and extends her hands, "Come to me, child."

Esmeree can’t believe her good fortune. Snuffling, she wipes away her muddy tears and stands. "I… I’m sorry fer comin’ in…"

"It’s OK, child. I forgive you." Andelliza smiles even wider, offering a wide hug with her arms.

Esmeree wipes her nose and smiles. She steps quickly towards her, "Mam’a, please don’t be angry with me!"

She tilts her head and laughs, "Poor child, to worry about such things! Of course I’ll be your mommy. How could I be angry with you?"

The pressure in her chest throbs, but it is too far away, too weak to notice.

Esmeree rushes to embrace the mother she’s always wanted and needed. She wants to bury her face in that dress and hold on for her life, to feel those strong arms cover and protect her. "Matir, I just wanted tä tell yä about what Hair Thumb and Craig were do–"

A strong hand grabs her arm and jerks her to a sudden stop. The image of Andelliza just a few feet away fades and is replaced by the wide-open window and the sight of the main room far, far below. One of Esmeree’s bare feet stretches out over the void. The other stands just barely on the sill. A drop of blood falls on the actors below.

"What was that you said?" Andelliza asks quietly.

Esmeree turns her head and looks at Andelliza still lounging in her couch. She is momentarily shocked and confused, and the tears begin again. Andelliza shakes her once, sharply, "Speak."

Esmeree finds her tongue. "I–I just heard Hair Thumb and Craig the fisher talkin’. They were goin’ tä sell me tä a bad man."

Andelliza’s expression looks a little disappointed, and Esmeree fears she’s about to shove her out the window. "I alsä heard them talkin’ about yä!"

The expression softens slightly, and she gently guides Esmeree away from the window and onto the couch with her. "Tell me, dear. What did they say?"

The window is still very close. Esmeree does her best to swallow her tears and spit out the words. "They… they were talkin’ tä a strange man. He was wearin’ an old robe."

"Yes, child," says Andelliza, already sounding bored, "I was there."

"Nage! But, after yä left! I saw them talkin’! He was lookin’ fer fry with somethin’ called stones! Or embers! Things! The stranger got angry when na one had any!"

Andelliza eyes Esmeree closely, "Do you know what kind of embers they were talking about?"

Esmeree first shakes her head no but then bows her head guiltily and says yes.

"Hmmn… Now, child, how would you know of such things?"

Esmeree avoids her eyes and shrugs, not sure why she feels guilty.

"I see. Go on."

Esmeree looks up at the Lady. She is leaning back in her couch, one finger cradling her face as she listens. "After the stranger left, Hair Thumb was very angry with Craig. He said he almost ruined everythin’ with the church people. He said they were goin’ tä join the church, that they were goin’ tä make yä join, and if yä didn’t like it, they were goin’ tä kill yä and burn yä! And he called yä a witch bitch!"

Andelliza stares at Esmeree for a long time. She feels as though those eyes are scouring away her skin and burning her bones. Down in the main room, the show has degenerated into a general brawl.

Andelliza’s eyes pin Esmeree beneath their stare. "A conspiracy? How delicious. Don’t you agree, Drake?"

A voice, deep and earthy, answers from the shadows behind Esmeree. "It could present some problems for us, Lady. It depends on how entrenched these Medianists are… and how loyal the Mill is to Hair Thumb."

"Nonsense. We’ll just have to move things along a bit. And I know just the man to help us." Andelliza tilts her head as she examines Esmeree. "Such a lovely child. Beneath all that dirt, I wonder what flower waits to blossom?"

"Yes, of course," murmurs the voice, sounding slightly put out.

"How long have you been with us, child?"

Esmeree fidgets and shrugs. "Two years, last Green Season?"

"What is your name, child?"

"Esmeree."

The Lady smiles, and Esmeree shivers.

Esmeree wasn’t allowed to witness the meeting between Craig and Andelliza–there was no reason to include her–but she hovered outside her doors as they talked, hoping to catch a word, a clue about their plans. The conversation wasn’t long, and she saw the expression on the fisher as he left. For just a second, their eyes met, and Esmeree knew she’d never have to do what he said ever again.

Along with the fishers, Hair Thumb has lots of sticks. Esmeree doesn’t know what they all do, but it usually requires being away from the Mill most of the time. Mostly, they fight and beat people up, steal things, break things. They mostly do bad things to other people. They are always too important to deal with the fry, that’s what the fishers are for. Esmeree knows Hair Thumb is very picky about the sticks he picks to work for him. If someone wants to join as a stick, it always helps if he knows someone already in the Mill.

The night after Andelliza spoke with him, Craig brings forward his very first recruit. A stick. The beautiful stranger stands in the middle of the main room, surrounded by Hair Thumb’s dirty sticks. His clothes are fancy but caked with old mud and grime, and his pale eyes and sculpted visage enchants Esmeree. Could this be the owner of that voice in Andelliza’s chamber? Could this be Drake, Andelliza’s lover? Her donios? To have such a man as her own! Esmeree’s mind reels.

At night, the main room is lit with dozens of coal and oil lamps. The ceiling fills with black smoke, which slowly leaks into the rooms above. Every occupant of the Mill is in the main room tonight. Tonight, this stranger lives or dies, and everyone wants to see it.

Esmeree huddles under a cluster of pews along with some other fry, peering through the legs of the fishers sitting over them. She can tell that Hair Thumb doesn’t like this man, but then, he’s a fat, ugly Brack, so she understands why. He sits in the big, ugly chair he likes so much and chews on those nasty hairs of his. Andelliza stands behind him, one hand on Hair Thumb’s shoulder, but her eyes stay on the new man.

"Fisher Craig speaks highly of yä," growls Hair Thumb, "but I’m not sure we can, ah, take on any new sticks… er, Drake?" Andelliza’s free hand traces the faint patterns on the back of his chair, and her eyes flutter.

The boys with Esmeree watch with blood-thirty anticipation, hoping the newcomer will commit some gross insult, hoping to see some kind of bloodshed. To Esmeree, it almost seems as though Hair Thumb is hoping for the new man to make a mistake. The girls, like Esmeree, have eyes only for him. She bets all the lady fishers do too. Maybe this is why Hair Thumb is being so nasty?

"Take on?" Andelliza purrs. "I can hardly see how this Drake will prove to be a liability."

Hair Thumb glances up at Andelliza and grunts. "Sä yä says."

He looks back at Drake, "What do yä offer of value, uh?"

Drake pulls up his sleeves and crosses his powerful, heavily scarred arms. "You will find me hard to kill."

Andelliza smiles.

"Fighters," Hair Thumb says to Andelliza and gesturing to his sticks, "I have na shortage of."

Andelliza shrugs. "Street thugs, yes. But this man looks to be of stronger stuff."

"Hmmn," Hair Thumb eyes his consort suspiciously, "Methinks yä look forward tä adoptin’ more than just this man’s big gun, yäh?"

When Andelliza doesn’t respond, he sighs dismissively. "I knows where yer decision lays. However," he adds, looking back at Drake, "I admit havin’ heard nothin’ of yä before."

Andelliza’s eyebrows rise. Drake steps back and turns to his sponsor. Esmeree shudders and shrinks deeper into the shadows when Craig steps forward. She flashes the sign of the fig at him. Though he can’t see it, the gesture makes her feel better, and the fry around her note her bravery.

He hunches his skinny shoulders and glances nervously at Andelliza. The Lady leans against Hair Thumb’s chair and waits. "Master," he nods to Tata, "Drake and I have had dealin’s in Nacnæ."

Hair Thumb nods and scratches his beard. "Nacnæ. I’ve never been, but I’ve heard stories. Not many Medianists there."

"Not yet," Drake smiles, his white teeth shine in the dim lamplight, "but they’re coming."

"Why did yä leave?"

"Because the Medianists were coming." His ironic tone sparks some laughter from the assemblage.

Hair Thumb leans forward in his chair. "Yä oppose the Medianists in the Abaisd Territories?"

Drake grunts, "Only as much as the next wise man. Who wouldn’t?"

"Who indeed," wonders Andelliza out loud, glancing down at her lord. Hair Thumb grimaces. Craig swallows.

"I also heard that Craig had found a good thing here in Cliffs Reach," Drake adds, "Thought I might try my hand as well." He smiles and raises his eyebrows.

Suddenly suspicious, Hair Thumb looks from Drake to Craig and back again. "Now, how would yä have heard…"

"Oh, now, really," exhales Andelliza. "This has grown tiresome. You can fight, you know Craig. What else can you offer us?"

Hair Thumb, taken aback by her interruption, looks back at Drake and nods. "Yäh, what?"

Without hesitating, Drake stalks forward, so quickly that when he extends his hand, Hair Thumb actually flinches. Embarrassed by his lapse in strength, he glares up at the stranger. "What is this, uh?"

In his hand are small, withered leaves. Drake smiles and glances up at Andelliza. "Bay leaves."

***

After Hair Thumb sampled the new drug, Drake’s induction as a stick of the Mill was a foregone conclusion. He became Cliffs Reach’s sole supplier. Esmeree had no clue what bay leaves were, but she was eager to find out.

In the days that followed, Drake, Andelliza, and Hair Thumb all but disappeared, intently planning their importation and distribution of bay leaves throughout Cliffs Reach. Sticks came and went on urgent business. Wagons, mules, and caravans were planned.

Craig avoided Esmeree, spending most of this time with his whores. No other fishers noticed she was unsupervised, and so she was for the most part left to her own devices.

So it comes as quite a shock to her one night, when Craig materializes out of nowhere and grabs her by the hair. Esmeree shrieks, trying to bring feet and nails to bear against him, but he silences her struggles with a slap that leaves her mouth and nose running with blood. Pulling her close to his face, he hisses quietly, "Listen tä me, yä connus bitch! Yä’ve fucked everythin’ fer me! But tonight it ends, yä hears me? I’m goin’ tä tie yä up, yä hear? And yer goin’ tä stay tied! Yä tell that fuckin’ stone of yers, if it knows what’s good for yä, yä’ll stay tied!" He punctuates each word with a vicious jerk on her hair.

Esmeree doesn’t fully understand what stone he’s talking about, but she remains silent and gingerly nods her head in agreement. With that, he turns her around and ties her hands behind her back at both the wrists and elbows. When finished, he pulls her by the hair through the Mill so quickly, her small legs scramble to keep up.

Into the same dark warehouse he takes her, but this time, he doesn’t leave. The two of them are alone with the rats for a long time. There are no other fry this time. After a while, Craig begins to pace, while Esmeree cries softly on the floor. Several times, she feels the familiar tingling in her breast, but mindful of Craig’s warning, she somehow forces it to go away. He can’t be with her forever. Sooner or later, he’ll have to leave, and she can get away then.

For the first time, she begins to think about what her future might hold for her. For the first time, she understands what those other fry were feeling.

"I wasn’t sä bad, was I?" The question is sudden, unexpected. Craig’s plea almost sounds like a whine, and it surprises Esmeree out of her depression. He is bending over her, his face a mask of sincerity.

"W–what?"

"As a fisher, I wasn’t sä bad, was I?"

Esmeree shrugs, not sure what he means by all this.

He looks thoughtful. "I mean, sure I made yä work me tool once in a while. But at least I didn’t make yä… yä know, kiss it or put it inside yä, right? Yäh? I mean, other fishers would have! I figured, yä know, wait until yer older. Teach yä right. Right? It’s all in good fun, right?"

Esmeree is taken aback and not sure of what to say. She’s never doubted for a moment that he would eventually train her on how to sell herself–and she has little doubt that she’s taken some of his lessons already–but the idea of it being right or wrong has never occurred to her.

Again, there is that tingling sensation, but this time it’s slightly different.

"How very touching. Is this some kind of moral catharsis for you, Craig?" Both of them look up to see the Lady sitting in a chair. The chair had been empty minutes ago, Esmeree is sure of it.

"Oh, how yä like tä make entrances," mutters Craig. Esmeree wonders how she got in without them seeing her.

Andelliza arches an eyebrow at the remark but says nothing.

"Watch your tongue, fisher," growls Drake as he opens the door and walks in.

Craig’s mouth twitches, and he blinks. "Tä be sure," he mumbles, "I am thankful that I shall be free of yä and this place after tonight."

"To be sure."

Drake steps aside, revealing the robe-clad emissary of several nights ago. At last, Esmeree can see his face. He is older than his voice would imply, but his face is round and smooth. When he talks, he curls his upper lip to expose his stained teeth, giving him a feral, nasty look. As he steps into the room, his eyes widen when he sees Andelliza.

"What is this?" he gasps.

Andelliza smiles and gestures towards Esmeree. "I am Hair Thumb’s associate in this endeavor. That he didn’t mention this was out of design, should you prove to be less than trustworthy."

She raises her hand before he could object. "As you can see, we no longer feel such precautions are necessary." From her lap, she raises a bisected circle of iron, "As you can see, we share similar ideologies?"

The emissary hesitates, intimidated by Drake and confused by this turn of events. Eventually, he steps forward. "I don’t care what games you and your slaver play with each other. Do not involve me. I have only one interest, and I don’t care who gives it to me."

He looks at Esmeree in a way that makes her very frightened. "Hair Thumb’s message said you found the child I required?"

Andelliza smiles and gestures towards Esmeree. Craig automatically lifts her to her feet, stripping her of her simple pauper’s smock. The emissary examines her body closely, his eyes widening as his finger traces the outline of the lump in her chest. "Yessss…"

He looks up at Andelliza. "Excellent. I will take her immediately. Well done. Tell Hair Thumb that the promised amount will be delivered to him. By the Ice."

"By the Fire," murmurs Andelliza ironically. Esmeree gasps when the emissary grabs her by the arm, but when he moves to take her from the room, Andelliza quietly objects, "No."

Silently, Drake blocks the door. Not letting go of Esmeree, the emissary turns around. "What?"

"Our requirement is payment immediately."

The man guffaws, "In no way would I carry that sum to a place like this!"

Andelliza’s eyebrows rise. "As I understand, previously you have paid in advance. Payment on delivery is the least we can expect."

The old man bares his stained teeth. "Payment in advance only when delivery was arranged in advance! And after that last debacle, you expect me to risk more money on Hair Thumb’s word alone?"

Andelliza sighs. "For what purpose could you possibly require this child so urgently?"

The man smiles and takes a step towards the door, dragging Esmeree with him. "Now, if you truly knew of my dealings with Hair Thumb, you would know that is knowledge you do not require. Hair Thumb will of course be hearing about this."

Andelliza slumps back in her chair and looks away. "Truly, that saddens me."

"What–" The emissary never finishes his question. Suddenly, Esmeree is sprayed with hot blood and thrown aside. Picking herself up, she sees Drake bending over the old man. She winces at the long, slow cracking as Drake breaks his neck.

"Craig," Andelliza says quietly, "Take the fry out of here and cut her loose."

Both Craig and Esmeree are frozen with horror. "Craig!" Andelliza’s voice is sharp, and it cuts through his trance. His hands shaking, he picks Esmeree up and hurries her out of the room.

With horror, she watches as a figure of bloody muscle and sinew steps out of skin looking very much like Drake’s and begins pulling on the skin of the emissary.

***

Esmeree later hears that Hair Thumb was called to a sudden meeting with his Medianist emissary. How this could happen when she knows the emissary was already dead, she doesn’t know. She didn’t witness this exchange, but the results of it reverberated throughout the Mill. Apparently, Andelliza and some select sticks stumbled in on the meeting in-progress, thus publicly uncovering the alliance Hair Thumb was cultivating with the Medianist church. Andelliza made it known that Hair Thumb’s intention was the eventual infiltration and enslavement of every fisher and stick in the Mill. Exposing it, she dealt with him harshly. Select supporters of Hair Thumb were likewise removed.

No one knows what happened to Hair Thumb, but everyone noticed the new charm Drake wore around his neck the next day: a desiccated human thumb, covered with long black hair.

With the Mill’s source of the wondrous bay leaves backing her, no one opposed Andelliza’s rule of the Mill. On that day, Esmeree learned a new Ehrech phrase: coup d’etat.

After the night of blood, Craig fled the Mill. Taking three of his favorite girls, he left Cliffs Reach forever.

***

Esmeree politely waits outside the door until invited in. It opens without fanfare, and Drake looks down at her. "The Lady is waiting for you."

She stares up at him with a mixture of fear and adoration as he guides her in. She’s already heard rumors that he drinks the blood and eats the flesh of fry who fail their fishers. He favors her with a smile, flashing a bit of tooth. He makes her feel very, very strange inside.

Already, the nature of the Mill has changed. Andelliza is neater, more formal than Hair Thumb ever was. Everything is cleaner, and even the building appears to be in better condition. Only the rooms on the top-most floor leak when it rains.

Her eyes only on Drake, that place in her chest that she now knows is her "ember" begins to tingle again, and she rubs it as is her custom. Something sharply slaps her hand away. Grimacing at the sting, she looks up into Andelliza’s face. "Never do that in my presence, do you understand?" the Lady snaps.

Tears welling up, Esmeree doesn’t understand, but she silently nods anyway. She rubs her burning wrist.

Drake mutters, "That’s a powerful ember she has. Well-placed too."

Forgetting about her, the Lady looks up at Drake. "I still don’t agree with this guild idea."

Drake frowns. "The Mill needs to become an organization, more than just a collection of sticks and fishers under your rule. You command the sticks, they command the fishers, and they command the fry. With the sale of bay likely to expand, what else could we be other than a guild?"

Andelliza shakes her head. "Guilds are so old fashioned, Drake."

Drake mocks a bow. "Forgive me. This Darkblood is old fashioned."

The Lady sighs and waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, very well. A guild we are. At least until I think of something better."

Drake smiles and looks down at Esmeree. She looses herself in those shadowy eyes of his. What was it he called himself? A Darkblood? The words thrill her as she imagines all that they imply. "Now that we’re a guild, child, what should we call ourselves, hmmn?"

Andelliza glances down at her. "Oh, don’t strain her. She’s limited."

Esmeree thinks carefully. "What about the Black Ember guild?"

Drake smiles and then laughs out loud. His eyes sparkle. "Perfect!"

The Lady makes a disgusted sound but doesn’t disagree. She twirls around and collapses in her couch by the window. Her interest in this conversation is over.

"We wish to thank you, fry," Drake says, "both for our new name as well as for that ugly situation with Hair Thumb. Your discretion is appreciated."

Esmeree is speechless. So much attention, and all upon her! All she can do is grin and look from Drake to Andelliza. Her heart is in her throat, and for the first time she can remember, she wants to cry without being sad or hurt.

"We know life in the Mill is difficult for fry," Drake says. "They lack the protections the adults enjoy. As a reward, we are willing to make it known that you are a fisher of this place. No longer a fry, your fate will be your own." Andelliza makes a rude noise, but Esmeree hardly notices. "It is a difficult life, Esmeree. You will be expected to provide your share of goods and money to the guild, but the fishers’ll torment you no longer... at least no more than they torment each other. What do you think?"

Esmeree rushes forward and embraces Drake around the waist.

And in this way, she becomes the first fisher of the Black Ember guild.

© John Lawson 2001