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

Chapter 8: Rat Face the Synesi

Esmeree and Squirrel stand on their seats and yell at the slaves below. The slave auctions are always a lot of fun. People come from all over Cliffs Reach just for the spectacle. Almost no one is here to genuinely shop for livestock.

The auctioneer sweats–less from the Low Summer sun than from the tirades of the crowd–and he hopelessly tries to find a way to sell the pasty male currently on the block. He knows he has to clear his inventory. Soon it will be High Summer, and come Wedding Day, no one will be in the buying mood.

The pale, fat slug on the block doesn’t understand EroBernac, Palpin, or even Brack, and when he speaks, he gibbers in a tongue not even Esmeree has heard of. His arms are twigs, his eyes are squinted, and his cock is tiny. No one is interested in him, and all the autioneer hears are catcalls and obsenities. Esmeree whistles at the auctioneer and offers to take him only if she gets paid. The crowd roars with laughter, and finally the dejected Söderkarl auctioneer herds the slug into a corral with the rest of his unsellable produce. They’ll ultimately be sold off in bulk for dangerous mining or hard labor jobs.

Esmeree claps and cheers loudly as the next merchant brings out his selection of slaves. It is just as she is getting settled that someone reaches around her from behind and gives her nipple a squeeze. The unexpected contact fills her body with surprise and sudden fear. Her ember flares, and time-honed Mill instincts nearly kick in. Just before she draws her knife however, she turns to check her target.

She exhales quickly with relief when she sees it’s Eclipse. Into the spirit of things, he’s even bought himself a scrap of glazed meat on a stick. He grins at her like a boy caught cheating and proud of it. "Hells, yä scared the shit out of me!" she gasps.

Squirrel laughs and shoves Esmeree.

Eclipse smirks and shrugs. "Sorry."

"Umm," she nods as she takes a bite from his sweetmeat-on-a-stick. "Where were yä? Me ‘n Squirrel were lookin’ fer yä!"

Eclipse shrugs his shoulders and scratches at his stubble. Like his deeper voice, the facial hair is a new development for him–it’s just begun to grow within the past year or so–and he’s still getting used to it. It reminds her of Candy. "I was with Lucius…" he mumbles almost inaudibly.

Esmeree nearly chokes on her snack. She rolls her eyes as she laughs, "Rat Face? By Gock, he’s got it bad fer yä! Pretty soon, that funny walk of yers will be permanent."

Eclipse sighs. "Yeah, well… I don’t hear yä complainin’. He lets yä and Squirrel stay under his roof."

She laughs as she slaps him on the shoulder, "True! The sacrifices yä suffer on our behalf!" She kisses him suddenly, "We are eternally grateful!" She gives his ass a squeeze, and he flinches slightly. Squirrel leaps up and kisses his cheek as well.

The crowd goes wild. A collection of young women and their children are being out. The slavers are always eager to display female stock with their children; it serves as proof of their fertility. These women are breeders, euphemistically called "household maidens." Each is systematically stripped and displayed for the buyers. The crowd loves every humiliating moment.

While the visceral appeal is there, Esmeree watches primarily for the children. The breeders will most likely be sold–but few households will want the slug children–they are more mouths to feed, and it takes a long time before their labor can make up for the hassle of raising them. Almost all of these children will become fry on the streets of Cliffs Reach, and some of the first people they’ll meet will be the fishers, looking to snap them up for a quick and easy profit. It’s been several weeks since Esmeree and her friends have been fishers–but old habits die hard–and when it comes to earning Guilders, grabbing fry is easier than running bay or working on your back.

After the aution has ended, Esmeree, Eclipse, and Squirrel compare notes on the best fry as they head back to Rat Face’s tenement. As they pass a familiar alley, Esmeree slows. She is reminded of her encounter with a Crimson Rraakk boy some years ago. It took several days for the dogs and kobolde to find the body. She peeks down the alley, wondering if the bones are still down there.

Just a couple years ago, the guards would never have allowed Esmeree and Squirrel so close to the slave arena–the children’s disruptions would have been silenced immediately–but a lot has changed since then. United in their quest to become sellâria, Esmeree and Squirrel have refrained from squandering their few spare Guilders on such frivolities as bay and alcohol and gambling. Instead, they’ve invested in proper clothes (Esmeree’s never worn more than her pauper’s smock before), shoes and sandals, perfume, and jewelry. They bathe and groom regularly, just as Myrdd has always advised. This, combined with Esmeree’s ember’s tendency to cleanse Esmeree and everyone around her, has produced some surprising results. She and Squirrel have begun drawing wealthier customers from a choicer cut of society. The laity have become less wary of their approach, making petty theft and graft much easier.

One of the most significant changes has been their departure from the Mill. While they still wanted to keep their Black Ember contacts, Esmeree felt it was time to move into a new neighborhood. Their success had been modest–no one anticipated the surprising cost of living in the Guilders or Marble Town–and ultimately, they settled for living in Rat Face’s rundown tenement in the Foreman Neighborhoods. Esmeree gets a discount so long as Eclipse keeps baring his moons.

CC and Eclipse have played their parts as well. Eclipse has begun catering to a more exclusive clientele, and while CC remains as foul-tempered and intoxicated as ever, she still enjoys her friends’ more comfortable lodgings and superior food.

When Esmeree was 8, she became the Black Ember guild’s first fisher. And now, 6 years later, she and her friends have become the Mill’s youngest sticks. Fellow guild members have not overlooked their rapid progression–and many have tried to interdict forcefully and violently–but Esmeree’s ember and CC’s ferocity have always evened the scales in every confrontation.

Esmeree and Squirrel storm into the open-air tavern that occupies the ground floor of Rat Face’s building. Eclipse trails in behind, always worrying about what his pretty friends are going to do. Rat Face glares at them from behind his crude bar–an old door laid across some empty barrels–and growls warningly at them. Several lidless amphora stand behind him, containers for the sick alcoholic melange he serves. Esmeree inspects the contents of the nearest one, inhaling deeply. "Mmmn! Whatcha got today, Rat Face?" She dips in a finger and has a taste.

He swings a heavy ladle at her–iron pocked and crusty from the alcoholic slurry–and she skips away, giggling. "At least spare me the insults in my own bar!" he barks.

"Sorry, Lucius," mumbles Eclipse. An old Synesi mercenary, Lucius has always wanted his Mill name to be Luscious. Considered anything but by just about everyone (except possibly for Eclipse), Lucius’s efforts have only earned him the less dignified (but visually more appropriate) name of Rat Face.

The battle-scarred old man glares at them, "Why do you paidia darken my door? You’re bad for business, and if you’re not fucking my customers, you’re chasing them off! Begone, you connus whores!"

Esmeree flashes the sign of the fig at him–a fist with her thumb wedged between ring and index fingers. "Fuck you, afron!" She suddenly points brightly at Eclipse, "Wait a minute! You already have!"

Eclipse rolls his eyes, "Easy…"

Rat Face spits an epithet even Esmeree hasn’t heard before and throws a wooden mug at her. Laughing, she and Squirrel duck up the stairs. They run all the way up to the top floor and collapse onto their bed. CC is snoring loudly in Eclipse’s. Much slower, Eclipse measures each step up the stairs.

Esmeree enjoys the warmth of the sunshine beaming into their room. Just a couple years ago, they watched the Wedding Day procession outside those windows.

"Easy," Eclipse moans wearily as he drifts into the room, "Maybe yä should be nicer tä him."

The girls laugh and shove at each other. Esmeree rolls onto her back, "Oh, come on! What’s he going tä do about it? Kick us out?"

Eclipse collapses on the bed with her and sighs, "Maybe!"

"Nage! He wouldn’t dare. He wouldn’t risk losing yä."

He rolls his eyes as she pinches his cheek. "Easy… I might not be around forever…"

"Ugh!" snorts Squirrel, "Please! Where’re yä goin’ tä go without us?"

"Will yä boduus assholes shut-the-fuck-up!!!" CC bellows from under her blankets. Esmeree throws one of Squirrel’s boots at her.

CC’s eyes are red-rimmed and heavy from bay. Scratching her head, she slowly drags herself out of bed and begins pulling on clothes. "Yä gonna die fer that, uh?" she mumbles.

Esmeree leaps to her feet and pulls Eclipse up with her. "Sure," she says, tossing the rest of CC’s clothes to her. "But first, we gotta get tä work."

CC sits slowly back onto the bed and rubs her face groggily. "What? Why?"

Eclipse drops to his knees and helps CC on with her sandals. "Because we found a bunch of fry at the block today, and we need tä get them before the others do."

CC moans, "Ach, fuckin’ fry. Fuck the fuckin’ fry. I ain’t na fisher na more."

Esmeree tousles her hair and dodges a poorly aimed punch. "How many Guilders do yä have fer this week?"

Smacking her lips, CC feels around her blankets. "Uhh…"

"Hmmn," moans Squirrel as she rolls around in bed.

"Think I already spent everythin’."

"OK, then. Either it’s the fry, or yä can begin yer new career in the factories."

"What? And work until I fall apart like some cheap automata?"

"Yä could always spend next week as the Lady’s oainjyr?" Esmeree offers.

Squirrel snickers, "I hear a whole galley of Mynyddi is supposed tä come in. They’ll have been at sea fer a couple months!"

"Oh, fuck that," groans CC. She finds her feet and leans against Esmeree for balance. "Let’s get those cuall fry."

The alleys behind the slave auction are in disputed territory. Fishers from a variety of gangs lurk back there, waiting to fight over scraps.

CC fearlessly leads the others as they approach the wrangler’s entrance. They are watched by the jealous glares from fishers of several other guilds. Ever since the Rraakk’s inn burned down, other street gangs have begun to crop up. While none are as powerful or organized as the Black Embers or the Crimson Rraakks, they are united under the singular goal of pecking away at the big two’s power base.

Esmeree drifts away from her friends as CC pounds on the wrangler’s door. A boy she knows from the Rraakks catches her eye and approaches. The smaller fishers give this beefy Brack a wide berth. She smiles as they embrace, "Josidy!"

"Easy!" He smiles and then nods at the brooding fishers around them, "Word got out, I guess, uh?"

Esmeree eyes them too and shrugs, "Little fishers tryin’ tä act tough."

Ever since she spared his life at the Rraakk inn, Josidy Noose and Esmeree felt they’ve had an understanding. They’ve agreed to be friends and sometime lovers, so long as it doesn’t interfere with the larger goals of their guilds. However, Esmeree knows she’s already broken that rule for Josidy several times and suspects he’s done the same for her.

She looks back at him, "Yer here alone?"

The boy shrugs. Josidy’s big for his age, a fine Brackish specimen. Even though he’s alone, the other fishers would think twice before challenging him. "I’ve laid me claim on the slugs," he says with quiet confidence.

Esmeree raises her eyebrows, "Really? Then we have a problem. We’re here tä take them too."

Josidy growls and scratches at his already full beard (Eclipse is so jealous). "We have a problem, yäh."

He watches CC argue with the stables’ wrangler, and Esmeree knows he’s already evaluating scenarios for possible melees. Eclipse and Squirrel aren’t much for fighting, though he knows Esmeree would defend Squirrel to the death. His biggest problem is CC, who while smaller than he is, is certainly crazier. He turns and eyes the fishers of the other gangs. They would most certainly descend upon the victor and, in all likelihood, then turn on each other.

He sighs, "All I want are the Brack mosacs."

"And the inigenas?"

He shrugs, "Yäh, of course, if yä’ll give ‘em tä me, but I’d rather have the Chroani mosacs."

"Yä get the boys, we get the girls?" Esmeree frowns. "What’s wrong with girls?"

Josidy shrugs and scratches his beard, refusing to defend the patriarchal biases of his people.

Esmeree thinks, trying hard to remember how many fry there were in total. At last she says, "Yä gets the Bracks. All of them. We take the rest." Josidy frowns, but she raises a hand and continues, "If yä wants more, yä’ll have tä give us three inigenas fer every mosac."

Josidy curls his lip, showing blackened teeth, and then slumps. "Kirze. Yä got a deal, yä boduus bitch."

Esmeree laughs and kisses him. Sensing defeat, the other rival fishers grumble and begin to disperse.

CC storms over. "Get yer hands off that courmi-sotted oainjyr’s mosac!" Eclipse and Squirrel follow but keep a discrete distance. Some of the rival fishers pause to see how this turns out.

Esmeree carefully places herself between her and Josidy. If things get ugly, she can still dive out of the way. "What’s happened, CC?"

"The wrangler says this filthy Rraakk claimed all the fry!"

Esmeree raises her hands, "It’s OK. We’ve come tä an agreement. He gets all the Bracks, boys and girls, and we get the rest. If he wants more boys, he agrees tä buy them from us."

CC looks from Esmeree to Josidy and back, clenching and unclenching her fists. Finally, she relaxes. "Fine. Good. Whatever. Got a fuckin’ hangover, and I don’t feel like fightin’ anyway."

Esmeree embraces her friend, and with Josidy, they proceed to the wrangler’s door to collect their fry.

"I don’t serve no fucking Bracks in this place," Rat Face snarls, "You know that!"

Esmeree looks incredulous. "Rat Face, this place is a fucking sty! The Mill is cleaner!" Josidy fidgets slightly as he sits with her friends. His eyes dart around, constantly wary.

Rat Face crosses his arms. "No Bracks."

Esmeree points dramatically at CC, "You serve CC! She’s a fuckin’ Brack!"

"Shut yer fuckin’ mouth!" she bellows.

"Well, yä are!"

"Yäh, but yä don’t have tä tell everybody!" she grumbles. Josidy looks at CC with new interest. She sneers back at him.

Rat Face looks a little stunned. "Ah fuck, Esmeree, that’s different. She’s, well…" His voice drifts away as he struggles for words. At last though, he gives in. Grumbling, he takes her coins and ladles his slurry into five mugs. Rat Face doesn’t brew or distill his own beverages. Instead, he pays other taverns for whatever partial barrels they may deem too old to serve. The combined mixture of courmi beer, mead, uinom wine, gin, and other spirits makes for a truly foul drinking experience. As Esmeree gathers up the mugs, he levels a warning finger at her, "But if he wrecks anything or does any of those disgusting Brack things, you’re paying for the clean up, hear?"

Esmeree smiles and carries the mugs to the table, pausing midway in thought. What disgusting "Brack things" did he mean?

Sitting with her friends, she observes Squirrel openly flirting with Josidy. CC is too, in her own antagonistic, alienated way. Esmeree isn’t sure who to be jealous of. "Damn," her inner voice mutters, "That’s what you get for mixing business with pleasure."

The day was profitable. In all, the Lady acquired 15 healthy fry (mostly girls), while the Crimson Rraakks got about 6 boys (4 Bracks, 2 Chroani). The sale of the fry to the Mill just about brings CC up to meet her marker. She might have to blow one or two Mynyddi sailors by the end of the week, but that’d be good for her.

By the end of the night, Josidy disappears with CC, Eclipse beds with Rat Face, and Esmeree takes comfort with Squirrel. And that’s just about the best way she could imagine it all turning out.

***

"Hold him still! Hold him still!" Esmeree tightens her Synesi wrestling lock on the Chroani man, and he groans with pain. With a grimace of rage, CC kicks downwards. Bones crack, and blood and teeth cough out of his mouth.

Esmeree stands as the body goes limp and wipes her hands on her blouse. "Afron Chroani," she spits, shaking her head, "Like he thought he was goin’ tä get some without payin’."

Esmeree just doesn’t understand the thinking. So many men–the Chroani especially–seem to think that as soon as they get off, the payment suddenly becomes negotiable.

CC is equally baffling. This was a bad idea–they have to be in Marble Town soon–but CC just can’t pass up a proposition if it seems genuine. "Damn," her ember whines, "It was only for 5 coppers!"

She looks down at her clothes, "Shit. Yä got blood on me." This is her best outfit.

CC hardly looks up. "Sorry."

Esmeree sighs and gets to work. This is the price of doing business in Cliffs Reach, she supposes. As Esmeree searches the man’s pockets, CC squats by his head, picking through his teeth. "Na gold," she says irritably. Passersby glance down at their activities and then hurry away. Even in the Foreman Neighborhoods, this sort of thing is frowned upon. The city watch will be here soon.

"I’ll take the teeth, anyway," Esmeree says quickly. Andelliza has taught her some interesting things she can do with teeth.

CC looks up, "Really? What’d yä want them fer?"

Esmeree shrugs. She has yet to divulge her ember or her apprenticeship to her friends–the memory of the Burning Time is still fresh with her–and she sees no reason to begin now. "I collect them."

CC makes a thoughtful face and shrugs. "OK." She scoops up the teeth, wiping as much of the blood as she can on the Chroani’s clothes, and hands them to Esmeree. She takes another peek inside his mouth. "Hey, there’s still some in here. Yä want I tä kick them out?"

Esmeree shakes her head as she pockets what she has. "Nage. Let’s just go. The fucker wasn’t carryin’ any money."

CC sneers and kicks the body viciously in the stomach. "Well, they certainly bleed well enough."

"Na more than most people, I imagine." Esmeree inspects her friend, helping her straighten her clothes and rearrange her long hair, piled high in Muttese fashion. She is still presentable for their plans. "Yä look good."

In turn, CC quickly looks Esmeree up and down. "Yäh, yer mirain too, blood and all."

Esmeree rolls her eyes and smiles, "Bratos."

They slip down a narrow street and head out of the Foreman Neighborhoods. "Damn, worthless Chroani!" CC sighs, "Where are all these walkin’-dogs comin’ from anyway, uh?"

"From the north and west, I hear. Up beyond the Bracklands."

CC scowls, "What’s wrong with them stayin’ the fuck up there?"

Esmeree grunts as they duck behind some tents to avoid a squad of running guards. Guns drawn, they were probably responding to their mugging, "Rraakks."

"What? The Crimson Rraakks?"

"Nage, the real kind. They’re causin’ a lot of problems up north. Chroani and Bracks are fleeing intä the Abaisd Territories and the Ymyl Gwland Baronies tä get away from them."

"This a new thing?"

Esmeree thinks back to her time wading the Brack River as a little girl. She remembers the clouded eyes in those bloated bodies, the horrible wounds. "Nage. It’s been happenin’ fer a long time."

CC takes a practice swing at an invisible rraakk. "Should just kill all the fuckin’ things."

Esmeree shrugs as they slip into the Guilders. "I’m sure it’s been tried. It ain’t that easy."

"Why not?"

Esmeree eyes her friend, wondering if she’s being baited into a trap. CC hates it when people act smarter than her. Eventually, she deems the question genuine, "Well, the Duchy of Ehre has its own problems with the alf. The EroBernd Empire is busy tryin’ tä suppress all the Brack tribes and turn the Bracklands intä another Medianist kingdom. The Bracks are busy killin’ Medianists and cuttin’ tongues out of their bnas. And the Palpi are busy playin’ everyone off on each other and makin’ money."

CC hesitates and glares at Esmeree suspiciously. "And we’re the Palpi, yäh?" she declares, daring her to say she’s wrong.

Esmeree nods, "We’re one of the Palpi city-states, yes. Cliffs Reach."

CC looks thoughtful. Esmeree holds her breath; now is when she either gets hit or hugged. CC nods, "Okay." She slaps Esmeree on the shoulder, "Bratos."

Esmeree sags slightly with relief and quietly curses her friend. "C’mon CC. We gotta get tä Marble Town."

CC is the type who gets off on scaring people, even her friends. She loves to make slightly veiled threats, wait to see the anxiety rise, and then confesses the joke. No harm is done in the long run, Esmeree guesses, other than that one person was terrified for a few long seconds. Such habits make the older girl highly effective in motivating the fishers of the Mill.

And they make her exceptionally effective when it comes to sex. While Squirrel excels with the grace and beauty of female eroticism, and Esmeree has mastered the art of seduction, foreplay, and afterplay, no one can match CC when it comes down to simple, hardcore fucking. There is a certain physical carnality about her that makes her irresistible to the men and women she targets. People have dedicated themselves to her pleasure, and still, they pay her.

CC’s always displayed confidence with her body, even back when she was a hungry fry looking to become a fisher. Esmeree’s first clue was the Mill name she gave herself. An acronym describing the particularly sweet taste of her genitals, "CC" is the first and only name she has ever used. She’s never shared her real name with anyone.

Esmeree once complimented CC on the cleverly alliterative nature of her chosen name. The conversation degenerated into an argument over whether or not she had been insulted. It ended with the Brackish girl punching Esmeree out for showing off her wellborn wordiness. That pretty much sums up life with CC.

Being CC’s friend is much like telling the truth. It’s probably a good idea, but it is rarely rewarded.

Night as fallen, and CC seethes in her usual seat in Rat Face’s tavern. Their junket to Marble Town tonight went poorly. One noble found a gully suddenly at his throat. A musketeer will be nursing swollen genitals for days. And it will be weeks before Esmeree can show her face in those neighborhoods again.

She carefully watches CC’s body language with a certain sense of fear. Even Rat Face is keeping his sharp remarks to a minimum. She wonders if maybe the best thing to do is just let her drink herself into a stupor. The only problem is CC is a mean drunk, and she’s even worse with a hangover. Esmeree wishes they had some bay with them. That usually mellows her.

"Hey, CC," Esmeree hazards, "It wasn’t yer fault…"

"Fuck nage, it WASN’T!" she snaps. She points an accusing finger at Esmeree. "It was yer idea tä mix with those poshy wellborns! Them with all their fancy talk and their noses in the air and their fancy clothes and their big words and their fancy steps and all their books and plays and music and fucking BUACHAR! Yä takes me tä a place like that, and yer SURPRISED when I go rraakk all over them?" She punctuates her finale by slamming her hand against the table. Esmeree shrinks in her chair, and Eclipse and Squirrel cringe in sympathy.

Esmeree sighs deeply as CC drains her fourth mug. "Sorry, CC. I guess I just wasn’t thinkin’."

She flinches even before she’s finished saying it. Eclipse and Squirrel’s eyes widen in surprise. "Thinkin’?" barks CC, "I’ll fuckin’ say yä weren’t fuckin’ thinkin’ yä fucking cuall afron! Yä–"

Her tirade is cut short when a stranger shuffles into the bar. Tall and extremely heavyset, he wears the thick travelling robes of a Medianist monk. One of his massive arms twitches strangely. All eyes are on him as he stops in the middle of the room and looks around. His skin mottled and grayed with age, he is still an impressive specimen. His face is tiny, its features pinched and strange.

Esmeree’s ember tingles.

He serves as a good distraction for CC. "Hey, graney!" she slurs, "This is our place! Move on!"

Shooting CC a dirty look, Rat Face bows. "Welcome to my establishment, odocos. Please ignore the pektus. They are simply street creatures and have no more manners than the average pack mule."

CC and Squirrel flash him the sign of the fig but say no more.

The stranger nods and sits himself at the center table. The old stool creaks under his weight.

"Sä, where yä from?" calls CC. She nudges Esmeree and adds, "I only ask ‘cause me friend here’s interested in learnin’ things, seein’ as she’s kinda dumb and…" She looses her train of thought when he turns to look at her. His eyes are nearly transparent, almost lifeless.

"Nah," the gray man grunts, "Me comin’ from Lunnel Alley." His voice sounds tired, breathless.

"Lunnel?" Esmeree asks, "That’s just across the Foreman Neighborhoods. What’re you stoppin’ here fer?"

Rat Face sneers at her as he serves the customer a mug and takes his coin. "Now you’re deciding who can take respite in my inn? Who’s thirsty and who’s tired, too?"

Esmeree sulks but holds her tongue. The gray man samples his drink and groans. "Me bein’ thirsty," he mutters, but he pushes the drink away. "Me bein’ hungry."

Slowly he rises, shaking his head, and Rat Face rushes to his side, "Is there something the matter, odocos? Let me get rid of these surly pektus for you! We have much good food here!" The gray man turns and waddles towards Esmeree and her friends. "You!" Rat Face points at Esmeree, "Get out! You’re disturbing my customers for the last time! Out!" Esmeree waves Rat Face off but keeps her eyes on the stranger.

The big man stops and stares down at the sticks. Finally, CC leans forward, "What the fuck are yä lookin’ at, uh?"

"Mmmn," he mutters. "Me bein’…"

"What?" asks Esmeree.

He extends a hand and points a finger at them. Esmeree notes his nails are thick and yellowed. "Wantin’ you?" he asks.

CC grins and leans back in her chair. "Ah, now we’re gettin’ somewhere, uh?" Squirrel and Eclipse laugh with her, but Esmeree is completely unnerved. Something is wrong with this man. Why can’t her friends see that? Her ember shudders harder and harder. "How much depends on what yä want now, doesn’t it?" CC asks.

The gray man examines each of them. Slowly, he turns his hand palm up and snaps his fingers. "Which bein’ youngest?"

Squirrel groans. "Ah shit," she mutters as she stands, "I hate these types. Fuckin draucus."

Just as she’s about to leave with him, CC speaks up. "Well, yä know," she says, obviously enjoying herself now, "She ain’t exactly the youngest here, yäh?"

Squirrel stops and frowns at her. Slowly, the gray man turns. CC nods her head at Eclipse. "If yer lookin’ fer the youngest… If’n yä goin’ that way?" She imitates the man’s flat mode of speech.

The gray man regards Eclipse for a long time and then finally extends his hand. Eclipse sighs, takes a mouthful of slurry, and stands. "Gee thanks, CC," he mutters. Squirrel gives him a nudge as they pass. Grumbling, Rat Face retreats behind his bar, his jealous eyes flashing.

Esmeree watches with discomfort as the robed man pinches and presses Eclipse’s arms and neck. Eclipse frowns with confusion as CC laughs, "Yäh, he’s real! Take ‘em upstairs, and yä’ll see just how real!"

With a jerk, the gray man tosses two large coins onto the table. 10 copper Guilders each. Squirrel snatches them up before CC can steal them.

As the pair makes their way up the stairs, Squirrel leans over to Esmeree, "This is a lot of money! Sä, what’d you think he is? A priest?"

"Talks like a fuckin’ cuall," CC slurs, bitter about losing the 20 Guilders.

"Yes," Esmeree says distantly. Touching her ember, she summons a charm and passes it to Eclipse. "He doesn’t sound like he’s from around here, and I don’t recognize the accent."

"That’s ‘cause yer an idiot," CC mutters, shakily taking Eclipse’s mug and downing the contents.

Esmeree frowns, "CC, I think I’m gettin’ tired of yer drinkin’. Yer unpleasant and ugly when yer drunk."

"Oh yäh?" CC leans forward, her mean eyes flashing, "Yer just fuckin’ jealous because all those handsome wellborns were throwin’ their favors my way and ignorin’ yä. That’s why yä ran us out of Marble Town sä quickly, yä dried up boduus oainjyr!"

Esmeree sighs and rubs her temples. An urgent voice pleads to just let it go, put off this confrontation for another time. "CC," she says deliberately, "The reason why we got ran out was because you thought that noble was insultin’ you. Yä drew yer gully. Yä stole his gold. When the guard ran up, yä kicked him in the calliacus. THAT’s why we got run out of Marble Town!"

"Listen tä me yä stupid bitch," CC sneers, "When a Hells-damned sister-fuckin’ posh snob calls me–"

"CC!" Esmeree screams, "bein’ called ‘comely’ is not an insult! It wasn’t a sex thing! It means he thought yä were pretty!"

CC freezes, momentarily caught speechless. With a sudden snarl, she sweeps the table of mugs, covering Esmeree and Squirrel with slurry, and surges to her feet. Staggering for the street, CC looks back, "Ah’m goin’ tä find that fuckin’ Brack Rraakk of yers… Josidy… An ah’m goin’ tä fuck his fuckin’ brains out! THEN we’ll see which one of us he likes best!" Thrusting a sign of the fig at them, she lurches into the night.

The bar is quiet for a long time. Eventually, Rat Face materializes to gather up the spilled mugs and then disappears again. Small in her chair, Squirrel watches the tears stream down Esmeree’s face. "What happened, Easy?" she asks quietly, close to tears herself.

Esmeree wipes at her eyes, streaking her makeup. "She was hurt that we were takin’ on better customers, moving intä better neighborhoods, wearin’ nicer clothes." Sobs threaten to overwhelm her. She wishes Myrdd was here. "Sä I thought I’d take her with me tä Marble Town. Yä know, see if she could become a sellâria with us…" Her voice trails away.

Squirrel touches her shoulder, "Oh, Easy. I’m sorry." Rising out of her chair, she holds her friend. "What’s goin’ tä happen now?"

Esmeree shakes her head as she cries, "I don’t know. She’s embarrassed. I don’t know what happens next."

"Maybe we can get her some bay and, yä know, make her feel good…"

Esmeree shakes her head violently, "Nage! We can’t do that anymore. It just doesn’t work anymore! I don’t think we can just make it go away anymore!"

"Oh, Easy," Squirrel dabs at her tears, "What going tä happen now?"

Esmeree buries her face against her friend’s breast and weeps. Suddenly, a horrible sensation fills her ember, and Esmeree jerks away. Squirrel stares at her with shock, "What is it? What’s wrong?"

Esmeree wipes at her eyes as she explores this new sensation. What does it mean? She gets a sudden image of grinding teeth and blunt claws. Blood runs red. "Oh, Hells," she whispers, "Somethin’ horrible is happenin’ tä Eclipse!"

"What?" Squirrel screams, sensing her fear, "How do yä know?"

Leaping to her feet, Esmeree screams, "Lucius! Lucius!"

As she bolts for the stairs, Rat Face emerges, "What? What is it?" He too senses the panic in Esmeree’s tone.

"Somethin’s happenin’ tä Eclipse!" she shrieks as she takes the stairs three at a time. Squirrel is close behind her.

The rooms on the third floor are where they usually take their customers. Squirrel and Esmeree knock open doors in a panic. Each one is empty. Squirrel shoulders into the last one and stops hard. The door doesn’t budge. Esmeree pounds on it with her fists, "Eclipse! Are yä in there?"

Pressing her ear against the wood, she hears guttural crushing, sucking noises.

Rat Face jerks both girls aside, "Out of the way, paidia!" His heaviest ladle held like a weapon, he bellows and kicks the door hard. The worn leather hinges snap, and the door spins across the floor. Esmeree’s ember shrieks.

The monk’s robe is piled forgotten on the floor. Eclipse lays naked across the bed, one hand outstretched towards the door. Something not quite like the gray man bends over him. As Esmeree and Rat Face run in, its head snaps up and tiny black eyes focus on them. Eclipse’s other arm disappears into its amorphous lips just below the elbow. Blood and marrow runs down his white skin as it sucks and grinds on his stump. As they watch, its gray body seems to grow bigger in size.

Rat Face and the girls freeze at the sight. The ladle falls to the floor forgotten.

Eclipse blinks and his mouth works soundlessly. His remaining hand ineffectually pushes against the creature’s pebbly gray skin. "Oh God," Squirrel whispers, "He’s alive!"

"No!" Rat Face bellows. Flexing his hands, he charges, though the creature is now more than twice his size.

It chews single-mindedly on Eclipse until the last second. Just as Rat Face leaps, one huge hand snaps out, swatting the old Synesi mercenary away. Rat Face skids across the floor and fetches up against another bed. Spitting out Eclipse’s arm, the beast rises to its full height and bellows. Inside its mouth are row upon row of hundreds of grinding teeth. Odd muscles roll and snap across its rounded back as it steps off the bed and approaches the senseless barkeeper.

Rat Face shakes his head as it grabs his leg. Looking at the girls with panic, he screams, "It’s a traellern! Run for help! Quick!"

Slowly, deliberately, it sucks his foot into its mouth, sandal and all. Rat Face screams as the grinding begins and fresh blood fountains onto the floor.

Esmeree blinks and touches her ember. Traellern are Fée. She looks down at Rat Face’s ladle. Through the slurry patina, she knows it to be iron.

Scooping it up, she screams as she charges. The traellern watches her blankly as it chews, but when it tries to slap her away, she meets it with the ladle.

The impact is harder than she expected. There is a loud snap and a flash of blue-white light not unlike lightning. A sensation of freezing pain charges through every joint in her arm. The traellern pulls back and howls in agony.

Esmeree wades forward, swinging the ladle blindly. All she perceives are the shocks and the traellern’s roars. With each blow, pain wracks her body, but she keeps swinging. Behind her, somewhere, she hears Squirrel screaming.

Eventually, she finds she’s missing more than hitting, and distantly, she hears pleas for mercy. She checks her next swing and tries to focus on what she’s seeing. Inhuman black blood covers her and the walls. At her feet, little more than a slab of twitching torn flesh, is a rather large kobolde. It holds up its ravaged paws and cowers. Her fingernails have blackened, and in her grip, the ladle is shiny and clean beneath the blood. Esmeree shakes her head. What happened to the traellern?

Sensing it’s got her attention, it squeaks, "Please, no hurtin’. Mercy. Kindness, yes?"

Shaking, she lets her arms drop. Some inner sense–perhaps her ember–guides her hands to hook the ladle to her belt rather than let it fall to the floor.

Squirrel embraces her hard, "Easy! Easy! Are yä OK?" Her friend shakes her and screams in her face, "Are yä OK?"

Gently, she pushes Squirrel away and looks down at the kobolde, "What…"

Rat Face groans, and Esmeree comes to her senses. "Oh God, Squirrel! Eclipse!"

She runs to the bed where her friend lays. His right arm is gone at the elbow. What’s left looks much like a corncob after the kernels have been stripped away by hungry teeth. Unlacing her belt, she tightens it as a tourniquet around his stump, though hardly any blood is flowing from it now. He is so pale!

Squirrel looks up at her, "He’s not breathing, Easy."

Esmeree begins to cry, pushing her hands against his chest. "Nage," she weeps, "Nage! Not yä too!"

"Easy," Squirrel says softly, touching her shoulder.

"Nage!" she bawls, shoving the hand away from her, "I couldn’t save any of them! Why can’t I save yä too?"

"Yä tried," Squirrel says softly.

"Why can’t I save yä!" she screams.

Her ember surges, and an infinitely sympathetic voice says, "Dear Esmeree, we are sorry."

The air around her skin chills. Goosebumps ride across her body. She closes her eyes, afraid of what she’ll see, denying what is happening. She clutches at her ember as she feels it burn.

And as with Candy, Baran, and the alf, it consumes the last of Eclipse’s spirit.

Esmeree sits with Squirrel on the floor by the bed. Her friend’s wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and alternates between holding her and checking on Lucius. The man sleeps fitfully on the bed, occasionally beset by violent spasms, but beyond all expectation, he still lives. They attached a tourniquet at the calf above his ruined foot. It seems to have saved his life.

Eclipse lays on his deathbed, wrapped in blankets. Blood has soaked through the pallet and pools on the floor below.

The kobolde lays tied on the floor, an iron bed frame hovering threateningly over it. All Esmeree need do is jerk away the support for it to come crashing down. The kobolde knows this, and it watches her watch it with frightened eyes.

Squirrel sits down next to her, "Doesn’t look sä scary any more. Looks just like any dumb ol’ kobolde."

Esmeree shakes her head, "Maybe that’s all it is."

"Does that mean all traellern are kobolde?"

Esmeree shrugs. It might be an interesting question if it wasn’t for the fact that this kobolde just ate her friend.

They sit together for a long time before Squirrel disappears downstairs. She returns some minutes later, cradling a large tureen of steaming liquid in one arm, and sits by the side of Rat Face’s bed. Before he descended into senselessness, his only concerns were for Eclipse. Esmeree looks at the dirty old man with new respect. She wonders if he loved her friend as much as she did.

Squirrel soaks a dirty rag in the broth and begins dribbling it into Rat Face’s mouth. "I made the broth, just as the Lady said," she mutters. Esmeree doesn’t look away from the kobolde.

She glances over to Esmeree as she works. "Why does she refuse tä help us more?"

Esmeree shrugs. "The Lady has her reasons. Sticks and fishers get hurt and die all the time. Why should she help us?"

Silently, Esmeree knows why the Lady should help them–she’s her apprentice after all–the fact that she has refused just makes her all the angrier.

"I guess we should be happy she helped us as much as she did, uh?"

Esmeree nods and shrugs at the same time, unsure of what she’s feeling.

Squirrel gestures towards the kobolde, "What should we do with that? Kill it?"

Esmeree shrugs again, playing with the string attached to the bed’s support, "I suppose."

The kobolde waves its tiny limbs desperately. Already, its body shows few signs of the injuries it sustained at Esmeree’s hands. Somehow, this makes her even angrier. Eclipse is dead, and if Rat Face lives, he’ll be a gimp for the rest of his life. "Please, no hurtin’," it squeaks.

Squirrel looks at the kobolde, "Never seen one that talks before."

Esmeree shrugs.

"Yä think the Lady would want a talkin’ kobolde?"

Esmeree nods, "Probably."

Squirrel sets the tureen aside and sits back down next to her friend. "The things she could do with it. Probably valuable." Esmeree nods. Squirrel sighs, "What should we do with it?"

Esmeree shrugs and jerks away the bed’s support.

© John Lawson 2001