The Crown Tower

CHAPTER 4

After the beating, even the weight of the empty buckets hurt Gwen’s back and shoulders as they swung from the yoke. Grue had been hard on her for involving Ethan. He’d left no marks, though; damaged goods were sold at reduced rates.

Reaching Wayward Street’s common well, she dropped the pails and sat on the edge, looking back the way she had come. It was still early, the sun just peeking between the bent roof of the tavern and the lopsided one of the building across the street. Avon had told her it was once an inn, but that was long ago. She could almost picture it. No one stayed there now, except for the rats and the dogs that ate them. The state of the inn was indicative of the whole Lower Quarter, Wayward Street especially-a dead end in every sense.

For as long as Gwen could remember, her mother had spoken about Medford and how they would one day make it their home. Gwen imagined it must be a beautiful place, full of fine carriages and stone houses. She had dreamed they would live in one of those beautiful homes with a fountain outside for water and market sellers who would sing and chant like those in Calis. Even as she sat on the stone lip of the well, Gwen marveled at how different her reality turned out to be.

Did my mother have any real idea about where we were headed?

Her mother had been dedicated to a single purpose-reaching Medford. She had spoken of the city for years. Looking back, Gwen now saw things that a child missed. They had traveled alone. A woman with a child in tow would never set out to cross a continent on her own, without a good reason, even if they were headed for a paradise. Besides, Tenkin women never traveled unescorted.

Strange as well was the name Illia had picked for her only daughter: Gwendolyn. Her mother was born to the Owanda tribe, and custom dictated Gwen should have been named after an ancestor, but surely no one in their bloodline had ever been called Gwendolyn. A pretty name, but it wasn’t Tenkin.-Gwendolyn was a name given to pale, blond-haired girls with blue eyes. Gwen hadn’t even seen blond hair until they had reached Vernes, and even there it was rare. Not until years later, when Gwen finally reached the north, did she meet other girls with similar names. Still, even this concession had not been enough to find her acceptance in the foreign lands. All the light-skinned travelers and shopkeepers eyed her with contempt.

In Calis, people were equally suspicious of pale visitors. Most Calians thought the foreigners were ill, but that didn’t prevent Tenkins from doing business with them. The same could not be said in the north. Even in Vernes, Gwen and her mother were shunned.

They might have died of starvation if not for her mother’s gift. Vernes was rich with Calian immigrants. They had settlements in the hills outside the city, a large camp with colorful tents just like in Dagastan or Ardor, and the camp leaders understood the values of a seer. Illia was able to find work reading the palms of fellow Calians delighted to have such a fine fortune-teller among them.

The talent was always passed from mother to daughter, and Illia had taught Gwen everything she knew.

“You can’t read your own future,” Illia had told her, “any more than you can see your own face, but just as you can sometimes see your reflection in a darkened glass or calm pool, you can find your way in the stories of others.”

She had taught Gwen to read, to see, using customers’ hands. “What do you see?” she had asked while holding out a man’s weathered palm.

“A boat, a big ship with sails,” Gwen had answered.

“What color?”

“Blue.”

“That is likely the past.”

Gwen had looked at the man whose hand she held, and he nodded. “I arrived by ship yesterday.”

“Recent events are the easiest. They’re the strongest,” Illia had told them.

At first all she could see was the recent past, and her mother completed her readings so that the customers wouldn’t become annoyed. This was how all the lessons had gone, and Gwen wondered why her mother had never offered her own hands for practice. Initially, Gwen thought it was because they were too closely related for it to work, but as Gwen’s skill increased, Illia took to wearing gloves.

Eventually they joined with a caravan headed north, but they had to leave it when Illia became sick. Gwen had brought her mother into a city where it had taken days to find a doctor who would see her, but nothing helped. Knowing her mother would die, Gwen finally asked all her pent-up questions. Why did we leave Calis? Why did you give me a northern name? And most importantly, Why does it mean so much to you for us to go to this mythical place called Medford?

Stubbornly her mother had refused to answer, except to say that God had told her to go. When Gwen asked which god, her mother had replied, “The one who walks as a man.”

Gwen had used nearly all their money paying for the cramped room where Illia ultimately died. For days Gwen had done little more than wipe her mother’s head with a damp rag while Illia lingered without opening her eyes or speaking a word. Then one morning she had stirred. “Promise me … promise you’ll go to Medford as we’ve always planned. Promise me you won’t stop until you reach it and that you’ll make a life there. You must do what I failed to do. You must be there for him.”

Gwen didn’t know who her mother was referring to and she never learned any more about him from her, but she had agreed just the same. She would have sworn to marry a goblin and live on a cloud if her mother had asked her to.

Illia died two days later in that little room in an unfamiliar town far from both Calis and Medford. Gwen had been just fourteen.

Allowing her mother the luxury of dying in a bed had left Gwen destitute. She didn’t have enough money for food, much less for a burial. She couldn’t stomach turning her mother’s body over to the city guard, who had always been so cruel. Alone in the tiny room, Gwen did the only thing she could; she sat and wept. She almost hadn’t heard the knocking over her own tears.

The man at the door had been tall and thin and carried a leather satchel over one shoulder.

“Excuse me, but I am here to see Illia,” he had said politely.

“My mother has died.” Gwen wiped her face. It hadn’t occurred to her at the time to wonder how the man knew where to find them.

He had nodded without surprise. “I’m sorry.” Lifting his eyes to the bed where Illia lay wrapped in her favorite shawl, he added, “Your mother used to read my palm, and the last time I had no money to pay her. I’ve come to settle my debt.” He had placed six coins in Gwen’s hand, making her gasp when she noticed the color.

Gwen shook her head. “This is too much. Mother charged three copper dins. This is … this is…” She couldn’t bring herself to say what she had thought. Holding the metal coins was like cupping summer or sunshine. She recalled thinking, Such power should not be in such dirty hands.

“It was a very good fortune she told.”

The encounter had been so strange. This man hadn’t even been Calian, and as far as Gwen knew, Illia hadn’t told the fortunes of westerners.

Gwen had seen the smile on the man’s face-a nice face, a friendly face.

Over the years she had relived that moment a hundred times, asking herself how it happened. Part of it was his eyes, so inviting they drew her in. Another part was her desperation. Gwen was alone and frightened. She was looking for answers, not only about who he was but also who she was as well. What should she do now that the driving force in her life was gone? She had so many questions that when she looked, she took the questions with her.

Illia had taught Gwen all about reading fortunes from the lines of a palm, but her mother had never mentioned anything about what happened when a Tenkin seer peered deep into a person’s eyes. The way her mother explained it, the lines on a person’s hand were the stories of an individual’s life written by the soul. They could be read as easily as a book, but Gwen discovered the eyes were windows. There was no reading possible; no such control existed. Looking through eyes was like jumping off a cliff into a lake with no idea what the water would be like or how deep it went, and as she learned that day … it was possible to drown.

She would have too-if he hadn’t turned away. Looking into his eyes was to see eternity. Gwen had been spared madness only because he’d been quick, but she had caught a glimpse, and a glimpse was more than enough. All the strength had left her legs and she collapsed before him, sobbing.

A gentle hand had touched her head, and she heard him say, “You’ll be all right. Use one coin to see that your mother is taken care of. Be generous-she deserves the best. Use a second to pay for your expenses to reach Medford, and be frugal. Save the remaining four. Hide them away. You mustn’t spend them, no matter how bad things get. Wait until it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Why?” She didn’t know whether she had said the word or if her memory had merely filled that hole. She couldn’t imagine having the power of speech, not after looking in his eyes-after seeing what she had seen.

“A desperate man will come to you in Medford. He will come at night, dressed in his own blood and begging for help. You must be there. You must save him.”

The man had walked to her mother’s side where he stood and lingered for a moment. When he turned, Gwen had seen tears on his cheeks. “Take care of her. She was a good woman.”

That had been a lifetime ago and so very far away. The four hidden coins were holy relics to her now. She kept them beneath the knotted board in the little room at the end of the corridor, the same one with the loose bedpost. She had cherished them for five years, told no one of their existence, and prayed to them often.

“Stupid, useless, bloody piece of crap!” The sound of Dixon the carter startled her. He kicked the wheel of his wagon, whose axle was still broken, propped outside Bennington’s Warehouse like a wounded animal. Dixon didn’t look much better. While the man was still big as an ox, his cheeks were growing hollow. Wayward Street was the end of the road for many people. He paused when he saw her notice him and tipped his hat.

The gesture made her smile, and she nodded in return.

The sun had cleared the crooked roofs, painting the street in gold. Clouds were moving in, and clouds in autumn meant a cold rain. She looked at Dixon sympathetically. At least she had a roof and food, such that it was. Gwen considered her life could be worse-and then it was. Marching down the street was Stane with a bundle of wood under one arm and a hammer in the other.

“Lumber,” Gwen said to Grue after Stane carried his burden up the stairs of The Hideous Head. “Where did he get lumber?”

“Don’t know and don’t care. He’s fixing the doorframe. ’Bout time too. Probably doin’ a lousy job. He’s a fisherman or a dockworker or some such thing, not a woodie.”

Gwen found it odd that Grue didn’t know Stane was the net hauler for the Lady Banshee. Maybe he did know but was playing stupid to distance himself. Grue was like that-not the type of man to stand beside you when the weather changed. Of course, it was possible he really didn’t know. After all, Grue only served the bastard drinks. He didn’t sleep with him or have to listen to his chatter afterward.

Grue was wiping slop from the surface of the pine-plank bar. She wondered why he bothered. No one cared. The men who came each night would hunker down along the sewer out back so long as Grue continued to serve the drinks. Still carrying the filthy rag, Grue crossed to the base of the steps and yelled, “That door better open and close without sticking!”

The only reply was the sound of hammer on wood.

“So he’s been paid?”

“Seems that way.” Grue returned to the bar and rocked the kegs to determine how full they were. “Everyone working the docks gets their due on the new moon, and last night was pretty dark.”

“How much? How much did he get paid?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“More than eighty-five?”

Grue paused, turned to her, and shook the bar towel in her face. “He paid that already.”

“I know. And now he has more.”

“So? That’s good for us. He’s got the coin to fix the door and pay for drinks.”

“And women?”

“What are ya getting at, ya stupid tart?”

“You can’t sell me to him, Grue. You just can’t.”

“The man paid his debt.” Grue walked over to the slate and tapped it, his wet fingers leaving black dots among the list of names and the amount each owed. Stane’s entry was gone, leaving a blank space. “His slate is clean.”

“If he has the money, he’ll kill me. He knows he can get away with it now. He even knows the cost-how much you charge for the pleasure.”

Grue huffed. “That’s not true. What happened was an unfortunate accident. You make it sound like Stane is a monster and kills girls for fun.”

“He does!”

Grue frowned. “No, he doesn’t. He’s bought you several times, and you’re still alive. Why, he’s had every girl in here a dozen times. Stane’s always been a good customer. You just have to understand, men like him-fellas who spend day after day dealing with stinking fish and taking orders from boat handlers and dock foremen-they need a break. They need to feel like men, so they like to roughhouse a bit. Grabbing a girl by the hair, giving her a little shake, it gives him the sense he can control something-anything. And that’s what he’s here for. That’s what they all come for, to see what it’s like to be in charge of their own lives.”

She folded her arms and shifted her weight.

“It was an accident, Gwen. Besides, do you really think I’d put up with him-with anyone-killing my girls? That sort of thing’s not very good for business. Not only do I have to find a decent replacement, but also people don’t like the disturbance. I lose customers, and then there’s the need to scrub the bloody floor. Trust me, if I thought Avon’s death was anything more than an unfortunate accident, Stane wouldn’t be allowed in here.”

“But he has done it before. He told me there was another girl in Roe.”

Grue rolled his eyes. “And why would he tell you that? Next thing you’ll be accusing him of spreading the plague and drowning puppies. By Mar, Gwen! I know you’re still upset, but Stane’s not a killer. And I had a long talk with him. There won’t be any more trouble-understand?”

Gwen certainly did not but didn’t see the point in saying so.

“I told him that if he rented a horse and then broke the thing’s leg-”

“A horse? You compared us to a horse?”

Grue smirked. “It’s what he understands.”

Gwen was pretty sure it was what Grue understood too.

“Stane agreed to behave,” Grue said.

“He’ll kill me, Raynor.” She hoped that by using his first name her plea would sound more personal, as if she were talking to an old friend instead of the man who had forced her into prostitution. “He wants me dead because I ran to the sheriff.”

“Well, I guess ya shoulda thought about that before, don’t ya think?”

She didn’t answer. How could she answer that? If she were a man, she’d give him the beating of his life, but if she were a man, she wouldn’t need to.

Seeing her face, he softened slightly. “Look, I’m just saying ya bring things on yourself. Besides, if Stane really did want to kill you, he wouldn’t have to come here to see it done. But it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s getting Jollin.”

“He asked? And you agreed? You’re actually going to sell another girl to him?”

“Ale, gambling, and women is how I make my living. That’s all there is to it.”

“Don’t you do it! Goddammit, Grue, you can’t. You just can’t!”

“I already told ya, he didn’t ask for you.”

“I don’t care. He’ll kill her. Don’t you see that?”

“He’s got nothing against Jollin.”

“He had nothing against Avon either. He just liked seeing her scared.”

“Getting real tired of your mouth, Gwen. Drop it.” Grue shoved her roughly out of his way and returned to checking the kegs, giving the Ole Roundhouse Nut Brown a stronger rocking than necessary.

“You don’t own us.”

“Oh no?”

“Ethan won’t let you keep us here against our will. The sheriffs have to report to the high constable, who reports to the king, and King Amrath cares about-”

“What in Novron’s name do ya know about King Amrath and his thinking? Or the sheriff’s for that matter? You’re just an ignorant whore, Gwen, and that’s why I don’t have to keep ya at all. I told you that. You can leave any time you want.” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her to the door, shoving her out to the porch. “There … go. Go on, get!” He stared at her. “Where ya gonna go? What ya gonna do? Winter is coming and nights are already getting chilly. Where ya gonna sleep? How ya gonna eat?”

“I can do the same thing I’ve been doing.”

“Like ya did last time? Like Hilda? Go ahead, try again. I told ya I wouldn’t stand in your way. I just won’t take ya back this time. But you go on. You might last longer than she did. She survived a couple weeks. Maybe you can do better. I actually think ya will. You’re smarter. I bet you’ll last a whole month. Well … maybe not. She wasn’t a foreigner.”

Hilda and Avon had been at the Head before Gwen arrived. Neither one ever admitted how long they’d been there. Hilda had been bent on getting out. She’d saved her meager tips, and after a beating one night, she’d run away. Rumors said she tried to find legitimate work but couldn’t. She resorted to applying at another alehouse, but they all knew she was Grue’s girl and refused. With no other choice, she sold herself on the street, taking men into the alley behind the tannery. She survived all of two weeks. Ethan found her. She’d been robbed and strangled. They never bothered to look for the killer. It could have been anyone.

Grue stepped back, clearing the doorway. “Ya want to live? Ya stay here, and to stay here, ya do as I say.” He rubbed his feebly thin beard, which was no more than tufts of hair that refused to grow together or to a length longer than three inches. “Listen,” he began in a softer tone, “I was trying not to scare ya, but even I know putting you and Stane together ain’t a good idea. So he’s getting Jollin.”

Gwen’s eyes widened. “He did ask for me!”

“Yeah, but he’s not getting ya. Not tonight. Not until I can tell he’s gotten over this whole thing.”

“But it’s not something he’ll get over-it’s the way he is, Grue. And even if it wasn’t, he’d do it out of spite, out of revenge. He’ll kill Jollin because he knows it will hurt me. And if that’s the best he can do, then he’ll settle for that.”

Grue ran a hand down his face and shook his fist at her. “Gwen, I’m tired of arguing with ya. It’s not for you to say. He’s getting Jollin, right after he finishes the door. I’ve already made up my mind.”

“I’m warning you, Grue-”

He slapped her hard, enough to make her stagger but not fall. Still, the crack echoed between The Hideous Head and the inn across the street. “First ya threaten to leave, then ya threaten me? That Calian blood of yours is gonna be the death of you. I shoulda never taken you in. You’re more trouble than you’re worth. I knew men would find you exotic, a novelty. But if I had known how much trouble you’d cause…”

He took her by the shoulders, his long dirty fingers squeezing like bird’s claws. “Now I’m gonna tell ya what you’re gonna do, and you’re gonna do it. Understand?” He gave her a rough shake. “I want you to go wake Jollin up and get a room ready for them. Make up the little one, best not to have Stane in the one with the bloody spot. No sense giving him any ideas.”

He pulled her back into the tavern and pushed her toward the stairs. She staggered into a table and chair. “And I don’t want to hear another word.” He raised a pointed finger. “Not … a … single … word.”

Thud, thud, thud. Stane’s hammer pounded.

When Gwen entered the girls’ room, they were all sleeping as close as puppies on the two mattresses lying on the floor. Work at the Head rarely started before sundown, so they napped during the day. Aside from Gwen, Jollin was the oldest. Rose was the youngest-fourteen, maybe, but Gwen never got a straight answer out of the girl, so she really didn’t know. Mae was the smallest, like a delicate bird, and Gwen always cringed when she saw the girl go upstairs with some of the big brutes who had to keep ducking even after entering the tavern. Etta, who had never been much of a looker, was now worse thanks to a smashed-in nose and two missing front teeth, the remains of a beating that had left her unconscious for a day and a half. She did most of the serving and cleaning chores around the Head. Christy and Abby could have been sisters, they looked so much alike, but Christy came from Cold Hollow and Abby was a native of Wayward Street. All of them had been born in Medford or one of the nearby villages or farms. None had traveled more than a couple of miles their whole lives-except Gwen-who had come from another world.

Thud, thud, thud. “Almost done, Grue,” Stane shouted.

Gwen had crossed a continent, traversing two nations and five kingdoms. She’d seen mountains, jungles, and great rivers. She’d stood in the capital of the east and the largest city in the west, but in all her travels, nothing had ever compared to the sight she’d seen in that tiny room where her dead mother had passed-what she had seen in the eyes of the man who had placed six gold coins in her hand.

Wait until it’s absolutely necessary.

“Get up! Get up, all of you.” She shook each of them. “Gather your things and hurry!”

They rose slowly, stretching-cats now instead of puppies.

“What’s going on?” Jollin asked, wiping her face and squinting at the light outside the windows.

“We need to leave.”

“Leave? What do you mean?” Jollin asked.

“We can’t stay here anymore.”

Jollin rolled her eyes. “Not again. Gwen, if you want to try and leave again, go.”

“I can’t go alone. None of us can make it on our own, but together we just might survive.”

“Survive where? Survive how?”

“I have some money,” Gwen said.

“We all have some money,” Christy said. “But it won’t be enough.”

“No, I have real money.”

“How much?” Abby asked.

Gwen took a breath. “I have four gold coins.”

“Bull!” Abby challenged.

“Four gold?” Mae muttered. “That’s not possible. You could never save up that much, not if you slept with every man in Medford.”

“I didn’t make it. It was given to me. I just didn’t know how best to spend it … until now.”

Jollin was nodding. “I knew you had stashed some money away, but I never thought it was that much. Still, that isn’t enough.”

“Then we’ll just have to make more,” Gwen said.

“So what are you planning?” Abby asked.

Gwen wasn’t-that was the problem. She hadn’t a clue. All she knew for certain was that she wasn’t going to end up like Avon, and to have any chance at survival, she couldn’t manage on her own. Maybe together they would stand a better chance. She went to the window, looking out at the muddy streets of the Lower Quarter. “I’ve got it all worked out-just trust me.”

“No one will hire us,” Jollin told her. “A home wealthy enough to afford a girl would never employ one who has no letter of reference, even to scrub floors and empty chamber pots. And the guilds don’t take girls as apprentices.”

“She’s right,” Etta said. “No one’s gonna hire me. Who’d want to look at my face each day? I don’t like looking at it myself.”

“You know all this, Gwen. You tried and failed, remember? And have you forgotten about Hilda?”

“Hilda tried it alone. So did I,” Gwen said. “That’s what we did wrong. If we all go together-”

“Then we can keep each other company as we starve?”

“Maybe if we went somewhere else,” Mae said. “A place where no one knows us.”

Jollin shook her head. “They’re gonna want to know. Folks don’t hire people unless they know their past. We’d be strangers and no one is gonna hire a stranger over someone they’ve known for years.”

“I watched my mother starve,” Rose said. “I won’t do that.”

“No, leaving is just too risky,” Jollin concluded. “Even if we had enough means for food, we’d have no place to sleep but the street. How long before we were robbed and strangled too? Gwen, if we had any alternatives, do you think any of us would be here?”

Gwen turned from the window. “But I have gold.”

“That’s great, Gwen. Buy yourself a nice dress or something.” Jollin crawled back into the bed and reached for the covers.

“But you don’t understand-”

“I do understand. It’s you who keeps thinking there is somewhere better than this. Yeah, Grue can be a bastard, but there are plenty of things worse than him. Trust me. I know. As much as we hate it here, the truth is that if we leave, it’s almost certain we’ll die. You know this better than any of us.”

Gwen nodded. “You’re right.” She slapped her arms against her sides and nodded again. “You’re absolutely right.”

“What do you know? She can be reasoned with.”

Jollin pulled the covers over her head and used a pillow to deafen the sound of the hammering.

“Is that pounding keeping you awake?” Gwen asked. “Jollin, do you know what that is? That’s Stane fixing the door I busted.”

“So?” She lowered the covers to peer at her.

“So he’s got money, and Grue plans on letting him have you.”

All the color drained from Jollin’s face. She slowly sat up. “Me?”

“He’ll beat her to death,” Etta said with a lisp that made the word death sound like deaf, and coming from that busted mouth it was more than just words.

“Yeah, he will, and she won’t be the last-unless we leave … now.”

“But you almost died when you tried, and Hilda-”

“Both Hilda and I made the same mistake … We tried to make it on our own. Plus Hilda only had a few coppers, so she was stranded on the street, and when I ran, I didn’t have my coins … They were hidden up here. With them we can get our own place-a safe place. So what if no one will hire us. Who cares! Grue makes good money from us, and Hilda had the right idea about keeping it all. We can start our own place. Individually none of us can survive-that’s what I didn’t understand-but together we have a chance. Certainly a better chance than hoping that Stane will lose his job or become a human being.”

Gwen looked around and could see them weighing the possibilities.

“Look, I’m going to get the money. Those who want to come with me, have your stuff packed, because if we are going to do this, it’s got to be now.”

Gwen rushed out of the room, as much to avoid any questions as to leave before Stane finished. Truth was, the idea had only just come to her, and she was a long way from fitting all the pieces into place.

Thud, thud, thud. Stane was on his knees hammering the pale new plank against the frame. He smiled at her. “I’m almost done here. Gonna have a little fun after I-”

Gwen stepped into the little room across from him and slammed the door behind her. She waited with her back against it, making sure he didn’t follow. She heard the scrape of a planer and guessed she was safe … for now. The little bedchamber didn’t have a bolt like the other room, which had always been a problem. She’d never checked the money in the daylight, and she wasn’t just checking this time.

She crossed the room, dragged the table out of the way, and pried up the board, praying. That she had managed to keep them hidden for so long, right under Grue’s nose, had been a miracle. The men knew to pay Raynor directly, but some of the better ones tipped. It was never more than a copper or two, and Grue let them keep what was given. But he had no idea of the fortune she kept under the bedroom floor. Had he known, he would’ve killed her for them himself.

The board popped up, and the bag was there. She’d sewn it from the sleeve that Gideon Hawk had torn off her dress the night he’d had eight drinks instead of the usual four. At last count she had had forty-five copper dins in addition to the four gold tenents. A weighty sum and more than just her life’s savings-it was a sacred treasure. She stuffed the pouch between her breasts and went back out.

Stane was swinging the door open and closed, checking the clearance as she walked past. “Tell Jollin to brush her hair but leave it down.”

When Gwen entered the bedroom, the girls were all up and waiting-every one of them.

“Gwen,” Etta said, “I don’t know what in the kingdom you were thinking when you told us to pack our stuff-you know we ain’t got no stuff.”

“Dear blessed Maribor, Gwen,” Jollin whispered. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Just follow me.”

They were all barefoot. Grue never saw the point in shoes, but seven women descending the wooden steps were about as quiet as a runaway wagon.

“What’s going on?” he said, coming out of the little storeroom near the kitchen, just as Gwen pulled open the door.

She stopped short, pushing the rest of them out to the porch, where they stood confused. The cats had turned into ducklings and Gwen their reluctant mother, standing between them and a vicious dog. “I warned you. Now we’re leaving.”

“God, you’re a stupid whore! I just got done telling ya-there’s no place for you to go. This is the only place any of ya have. But go on. You all go ahead and leave. Go wander around town awhile. When you get tired-when it’s dark and cold and you’re hungry-you’ll realize just how good you had it and will come right back. But know this: When you do, you’ll stop this nonsense and do as I say. Oh, and I’ll be getting the belt out again for causing so much trouble.”

Gwen stepped outside and closed the door.

Her hands were shaking and the tremor traveled the length of her body until she thought she might collapse right there on the porch.

“Where are we going, Gwen?” Abby asked.

“You don’t know, do you?” Jollin said.

“You wouldn’t do that to us, would you?” Mae asked. “Get Raynor mad like that and not have someplace to go?”

Rose touched Gwen on the arm, those big doe eyes focused on her. “Please tell us. Where are we going?”

Gwen stood shivering, her back to the door. The sun was finally high enough to erase the shadows cast by The Hideous Head, and across from Wayward Street stood the dilapidated inn.

“There.” Gwen pointed.

“You’re crazy,” Jollin said.

“Maybe.” Gwen nodded. “But it’s better than being dead.”