The Crown Tower

CHAPTER 6

For two years Gwen had looked out of the windows of The Hideous Head Tavern at the dilapidated building, but until that day she had never gone into it. Many others had. When their strength ran out and the cold of winter came, the desperate always sought shelter in its ruins. Many died there. Every year Ethan dragged at least one frozen corpse from its fallen timbers. The Lower Quarter was the bottom of the city’s sink and the dead end of Wayward Street was the drain. As Gwen stood in the ramshackle remains of the old inn, she wondered how long she had before the drain’s whirlpool sucked them all down.

Two walls were solid; one tilted inward, warped into a wave, and the last was mostly missing. Part of the second floor had collapsed, as had a good portion of the roof. Through the gaping holes she could see clouds drifting past. At least three small trees, one four feet tall with a trunk as thick as her thumb, grew up through the floor.

“This isn’t too bad,” Rose said.

Gwen looked around but couldn’t see her. Since crossing the street, the girls had wandered the ruins like ghosts. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know … the parlor?”

The parlor? Gwen almost laughed. Not just because of the absurdity of the statement, but because of the way Rose had said it, her voice as carefree as a cloudless sky. Gwen spotted Jollin circling the shattered staircase, her arms folded tight, head bowed as she shuffled through the debris. Their eyes met, and the two shared a smile that conveyed the same thought. Only Rose would see a parlor in this dump.

They all moved toward the sound of Rose’s voice and found the only room with four walls. Shattered remains of old furniture were scattered on the floor as well as a thick layer of dust, dirt, and animal droppings. A family of swallows nested in a pile of twigs set on the rafters and the floor beneath it was thick with white and gray splatter. What caught everyone’s attention, however, was the fireplace. Unlike the timber and plaster walls, the fieldstone chimney ignored the ravages of time and looked nearly perfect, even elegant.

“Look!” Rose said, spinning around with a pair of iron tongs in her hand. “I found this under that stuff in the corner. We can have a fire.”

Up until that point, Gwen was all but certain she had made the biggest mistake of her life, which just happened to be the same as her last biggest error-leaving Grue.

On her first day after finally achieving her mother’s dream of reaching Medford, Gwen thought she was both blessed and outright lucky. Not only had she finally made it, but she had also landed a job that very afternoon-as a barmaid at The Hideous Head. Grue provided her room and board. The room was shared, of course, so she hid her coins in the floorboards in the little room across the hall-one of the rooms with just a single bed. She should have realized that Grue wasn’t extending kindness. No one had been kind to her in the north. She was different, and the farther she traveled the more looks she got-all of them loathsome. When she’d discovered that barmaid meant “whore,” she had tried to leave.

Grue beat her.

After that, he kept a close eye on Gwen, never letting her near an open door. Weeks later Grue became careless. She was alone at the bar, the door left open. She ran. Her coins were still under the floorboards, but she was free. At least she had thought so.

Gwen wandered the city looking for work, for handouts, for help. She found indifference, and in some cases hatred. They called her things she only understood as insults-names for lowborn Calians. After more than a week-she never really knew how long-of surviving only on bits of food she found in piles of trash, she discovered she couldn’t walk straight or see clearly, and she even had trouble just standing up. Like Hilda, she went to other brothels and received the same refusal. This was how she knew the rumors about Hilda weren’t rumors at all. That’s when Gwen became terrified. That’s when she realized she was going to die.

Wait until it’s absolutely necessary.

She couldn’t think of a more dire circumstance. She had to use the coins … only she didn’t have them. Hunger drove her back. She had to chance it. There was no hope of sneaking in, and she expected Grue to beat her again. Maybe this time he’d kill her, but she had no choice. She would die anyway.

To Gwen’s surprise, Grue didn’t kill her. He didn’t even beat her. He just stared and shook his head sadly. He sent Gwen to bed and ordered food brought up-soup at first, and then some bread. She told herself she’d get the coins when she was better. She ate and slept, and slept and ate. Days went by. The other girls visited, hugged her, kissed her, and cried about how happy they were she was all right. It had been the first time since her mother’s death that she’d felt a kind touch. She cried too.

Eventually Grue came. “I didn’t have to take you back. You know that, right?” he had said, standing above her, arms folded. “You’re young and stupid, but maybe now you see what’s really out there. No one’s going to help you. No one gives a damn about you. Whatever terrible things you think about me or have heard, let me tell you this-most are true. I’m a bad man, but I don’t lie. Fancy people, people with good reputations, they lie. I don’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thinks of me. I haven’t cared for a long time. So believe me when I tell you, I wouldn’t cry a tear if you died, and I didn’t lose a minute’s sleep when you ran. But the truth is I can make more money with you than without you, so that makes me the only person in the world who cares what happens to your sorry ass.

“I’m not going to lock you up like before. I’m not going to watch you either. You want to leave, go ahead. You can crawl away and die like all the rest.” He turned and reached for the door latch. “Starting tomorrow, you go back to work.”

That night Gwen didn’t sleep. She could have taken the coins and run. But a week on the streets had proved that all doors, except the Hideous Head’s, were closed to her in Medford. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to go back south. Four coins were more than enough to reach Vernes or even Calis. And while northerners would charge her with witchcraft for reading fortunes, she could make a small living among her own kind the way her mother had.

All she needed to do was forget about her mother’s dying wish.

Should have been a simple thing. What value were the demands of a dead woman in the face of slavery? Maybe if her mother had known … but that was the problem. To anyone else, prophesies were flimsy things, silly things, childish fantasies. Gwen and her mother knew better. Illia had abandoned everything. She’d given up her family, her home, her very life to get her daughter to Medford-and Gwen knew why.

Her mother had known. She’d read Gwen’s palm and understood the price her daughter would pay. Illia had sent her just the same-made her promise. If she couldn’t trust her mother, who could she trust?

Besides, Gwen had seen him herself. She’d looked into that man’s eyes, understood who he was, and seen the truth. No matter what, Gwen had to stay in Medford, to survive any way possible. Nothing else mattered, not her comfort, not her safety, dignity, or even her life. Those coins were meant for something more than just food.

Wait until it’s absolutely necessary.

This must have been what he had meant. But autumn was no time to declare independence. She should have started planning sooner, done some research, and lined up a place to go-a real place, not this pile of wood. Stane might have murdered Jollin if they hadn’t left, but Gwen could end up killing them all.

Then Rose spoke, and the sound of her voice was music.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked, pointing at the fireplace with the tongs, wielding them like a sword. Her tone was almost giddy. “This is going to be great.”

Gwen looked at Rose’s cheery face and started to cry. She crossed the room, threw her arms around the smaller girl, and hugged her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Pulling back, she was met with Rose’s puzzled expression. “They’re just tongs.”

“They’re a start. And yes, we can have a fire, so we won’t freeze.”

“What are we going to eat?” Abby asked, staring down at the pile of bird droppings with a grimace.

“I’ll go buy some food,” Gwen replied.

“Grue won’t sell us any,” Jollin said. “And if he says so, no one in the Lower Quarter will either.”

Gwen nodded. “We’ll do our shopping in the Merchant Quarter.” She looked around. “We’ll get blankets and some tools too.”

“Tools?”

“We’ll need to fix this place up.”

“What kind of tools?” Etta asked, though with her missing teeth it sounded more like, what kind of thules, and she looked worried, as if Gwen planned to have them rebuild the foundation that afternoon.

“A broom would be nice, don’t you think? We don’t want to sleep in this dirt.”

“But we can’t just stay here,” Jollin said. Her hands had moved to her hips and the smile they had shared was already a distant memory.

Gwen hadn’t determined anything yet. She hadn’t thought any further ahead than that they could camp there for at least one night, but the moment Jollin said it-maybe it was the way she said it-Gwen made a decision.

“Why not?”

“They won’t let us.”

“Who are they?” Gwen asked.

“The city. This isn’t ours.”

“Whose is it?”

“I don’t know-but I know they won’t let us just live here.”

“I don’t intend to just live here.” Gwen was angry. She was tired of having all doors closed to her. Maybe Jollin was right, but she wasn’t about to give up, not now that it seemed like she was finally able to make her own way. What came out of her mouth next was more spite than sense. “Grue made a fortune off us. We’ll do the same thing on our own, right here, and we won’t have to walk around in rags.” She looked at her dirt-caked feet. “And we are going to get shoes, damn it!”

Jollin rolled her eyes.

“No one is using this place,” Gwen protested, as if Jollin had just laid out a careful argument. “No one has in years. Why would anyone care?”

“That doesn’t matter. There are rules about businesses.”

“What are they?”

Jollin shrugged. “I’m a stupid whore. How should I know!”

“Well I’m sick of rules!” Gwen shouted. “Do you want to go back? Then go! I’m sure Stane is still waiting. He wasn’t there for me, you know. Have you forgotten about that? Grue promised you to him. I could have sat downstairs and listened to the rhythm of your head bashing against the bedroom floor. You want to be another stain that Grue needs to hide from the customers? Is that what you want? Is it? Is it?”

Jollin didn’t respond.

“I’m the one risking four gold coins! And Grue promised to keep Stane away from me. But not you-oh no-not any of you. He was going to feed each of you to him. Why not? Look at the profit he made from Avon’s death. You’re just whores, just dirt, and there’s plenty more out there. I’m trying to make this work … I’m trying to save everyone, and all I’ve heard is complaining!”

Gwen saw it then, a small quiver of Jollin’s lower lip. She was breathing through her nose, her chest rising and falling at twice the normal speed, and there was a growing glassiness to her eyes. She wasn’t fighting because she was angry; she was panicking. She was terrified for the same reasons that Gwen had hoped to rely on her-Jollin was the most sensible.

Gwen softened. “It’s okay,” she said, taking Jollin’s hand and rubbing it in both of hers. “It’s all going to be fine. You just have to trust me.”

“But you don’t know how to start a business. You don’t even know if we can-if it’s allowed.”

“I’m actually a bit tired of what’s allowed,” Gwen growled. “What’s allowed is for men to beat and kill us, to keep us as slaves and make money off our humiliation. I’m tired of being kept barefoot and in rags-that’s what’s been allowed. I’m sick of it. Sick to death … if that’s what it comes to. They taught us the one thing we can make money at, so that’s what we’ll do-at least for now. And we’ll do it in Medford because we know this place. We already have paying customers and only one enemy. But you’re right. We don’t know everything we need to yet, so we’ll find out. When we go to the Merchant Quarter, I’ll ask. They all have businesses-they can tell us.”

“It’ll cost money. A lot of money, Gwen. I have no idea how much.”

Gwen considered the gold coins nested between her breasts. She had always thought they amounted to a fortune and each held the magical power to grant any wish, but would they be enough?

“Why don’t we go find out?”

The city of Medford was divided into four parts, five if you counted the castle in the middle, but that was like including the bone in a cut of meat. No one had much use for the castle or the king. The Gentry Quarter encompassed the city’s main northern gate. The Merchant Quarter was where the gentry went to shop and entertain themselves, the Artisan Quarter did the work of the city, and the Lower Quarter was the sewer.

Gwen had never spent much time outside the Lower Quarter. Here the lanes were wider and bustled with carts, horses, and people carrying baskets on their heads or shoulders. She heard the shouts of men, the squeal of pigs, and the nonstop hammering of commerce. Everyone had places to be and rushed to get there. They paid little attention to the group of women dressed in rags and lacking shoes, who moved slower than the current, unsure where to go. On the occasions when others did notice them, Gwen caught stares, scowls, and smirks.

The lady behind the woolen goods counter, however, didn’t give Gwen a dirty look. She didn’t look at all.

“I’d like to buy seven blankets,” Gwen declared.

The woman ignored her.

“Those over there would be good.” Gwen pointed at what she hoped were the cheapest in the shop.

Again the woman refused to acknowledge her existence or even look up.

“I have money,” she said, her voice dwindling, already knowing it wouldn’t matter.

Gwen lowered her head in defeat and walked away.

“Give me the purse,” Jollin said. Taking it, she strode to the counter.

“May I help you?” the woman asked with a practiced smile.

“How much are those blankets?”

“One for seven dins, two for a ses.”

“I’ll give you three ses for seven.”

“For three ses you get six.”

“Three ses, three din,” Jollin said. “Has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”

“Three ses and six din sounds better.”

“Three and five.”

The woman nodded and fetched the blankets as Jollin pulled out a golden coin. Surprise painted the shopkeeper’s face. As the change was counted out, Jollin handed the purse back to Gwen and the blankets to another of the girls.

“She has that kind of money?” The shopkeeper indicated Gwen.

“Yes, and more. A shame you were so rude. My lady will be filling carts with her purchases today, but no more from here. Perhaps this will teach you not to be so judgmental. My lady is very generous to those who understand that true beauty is found inside, and cruel to those with little, tiny, shriveled, warped hearts and sick, twisted minds so small and-”

“Jollin!” Gwen snapped.

“Ah, you see, my lady is anxious to leave your establishment and find somewhere she is more welcome.”

“But I’-m-” the shopkeeper started.

“-a bitch?” Jollin offered a sweet smile. “I couldn’t agree more.”

With that, Jollin left the shop.

Gwen and the other girls followed, all of them laughing and patting Jollin on the back. Afterward, Jollin and Abby were sent for food while Mae and Rose set off to get a broom. The rest waited with Gwen, standing in the shade of the pottery shop’s awning watching everyone. Mae and Rose returned first and were so proud of their purchase that they took turns sweeping the street. Gwen wondered if it was the first thing they’d ever bought. Jollin and Abby came back with cheese and bread.

“Is that all?” Gwen asked.

“I don’t know if we can afford anything else,” Jollin said.

“How expensive is food? We should have-”

“It’s not that. I talked to the baker and he says you need to purchase a royal writ.”

“What? For food?”

“No-to open a business. Called it a certificate of permit or something like that. You can’t open one without it or they’ll arrest you.”

“How do you get one?”

“You have to go to the city assessor’s office in Gentry Square. They’re expensive.”

“How much?”

“He didn’t know. The baker said it would be different based on the type of business. I think we might be in trouble.”

“Well let’s not declare failure before we even start. Let’s go back to the inn,” Gwen said. She added with disgust, “Unless there’s a law against seven girls eating bread and cheese in an abandoned rat farm?”

By the time they trekked to the Merchant Quarter, bought supplies, and returned to Wayward Street, the sun had set and the cold crept in. As awful as the dilapidated building looked in daylight, the dark brought a whole new level of dread. Unlike the Merchant Quarter, where business owners lit up their storefronts, the Lower Quarter was dark. On Wayward, only the firelight spilled out of The Hideous Head’s windows to illuminate the street in stretched rectangles. Gwen wanted to kick herself for not adding a lantern to their shopping list, but it would be the first thing during tomorrow’s trip.

Gwen could hear the clink of glasses and Dizzy the Piper playing at the tavern. The muffled sound of his whistle served as a musical reminder of their freedom, or was it banishment? In the dark such a thing was hard to determine. On the street, even in the ruins of the building, the gusting wind was louder as it creaked shutters and tortured dead leaves. The interior of the parlor was visible only by angles of moonlight that revealed the many holes and gaps through which the wind found reeds of its own to whistle with, the wind’s tune far more doleful than Dizzy’s.

Abby and Etta set to making the fire. The two crouched like conspirators in the dark before the stone hearth. Gwen wondered why Grue kept them on at all, especially Etta, who hadn’t made a copper in almost a year. Both had spent a good deal of time in the Head’s kitchen, Abby because she was big-boned and stocky and Etta because her looks never matched the person inside. Even Gwen had questioned the wisdom of bringing Etta. She couldn’t afford to tie their survival to so much dead weight. But excluding her could breed resentment and cause too much trouble in the long run. She’d just have to find some way for them to contribute.

In order to survive, she needed to be tougher, stronger. She looked back toward the lights of the tavern.

After the incident with the man with the gold coins, Gwen discovered he wasn’t the only one whose eyes she could see through. It took a bit of concentration, of focus, but she’d done it with others. Bits and pieces of lives were revealed-few ever pleasant-and the process was disturbing. She’d often had nightmares afterward. But in the two years she’d been at the Head, Gwen had never looked in Grue’s eyes. Not because she was afraid of the evils he had done, but because she might understand why he’d done them.

They had plenty of scrap wood, dry leaves, and twigs, and Gwen saw a flame for a while. It didn’t last, but they were all soon choking on smoke and for the first time Gwen was happy the parlor had so many holes.

“What’s wrong?” Mae asked from somewhere in the dark.

“Chimney’s blocked,” Etta said, her voice muted as if she’d climbed up inside. “All kinds of nests and leaves I think. There’s no draft.”

“Well, don’t try it again, or we’ll all have to sleep in the street,” Jollin said, then coughed to prove the point.

With no fire they ate in the dark.

Gwen had hoped for a cheery fire and a hot meal. The two might have been enough to transform the inn, at least for a while, into something familiar, something good. Instead, they clustered in the corner of the parlor away from most of the holes, huddling for warmth as they ate in silence, listening to the singing of a ghostly wind.

Jollin turned and asked her softly, “Do you think we can afford it?”

Gwen could hear it in her voice-she wanted to be reassured.

“We still have a lot of money.” Gwen tore off a small piece of the bread loaf they passed around.

“But we’ll need that to fix this place. How we going to do that?” Abby asked, her voice coming out of the darkness.

“Let’s just wait to see how much this permit thing costs.” Gwen felt cheese pass into her hands.

The smoke had cleared, but the smell lingered. The wind blew harder, and Gwen wondered if it heralded a storm. The air was cold and damp-rain maybe. Through the holes in the ceiling, she looked up at the sky. That was all they needed. They shuffled closer, each pulling their thin wool coverings tight.

“What was this place?” Mae asked. She was entirely wrapped in her blanket, with part of it over her head like a hood. She sat next to Rose and the two tiny girls looked like sisters, except Mae had blond hair and Rose brown.

“Used to be an inn,” Jollin explained.

“What happened to it?”

Jollin shrugged, a shaft of moonlight making her shoulders appear and disappear.

“The way I heard it-” Abby began.

“You didn’t hear anything,” Jollin said.

“But I-”

“I said you didn’t hear anything.”

“Why?” Mae asked. “What didn’t she hear?”

Rose, who was nodding off to sleep between Mae and Etta, blinked and looked up.

“It’s just a rumor,” Jollin said.

“What is?” This time it was Rose who asked.

Jollin looked at Gwen apologetically. “Some people say the owner murdered his wife,” Jollin told them. “And then her ghost came back for revenge.”

Gwen watched as they all looked around at the moonlight-pierced darkness that left so many patches of impenetrable mystery. Upstairs they could hear a slapping that Gwen knew was a shutter but that sounded disturbingly like Avon’s head. There was also a faint scratching somewhere, maybe a mouse, maybe a squirrel, maybe a dead woman’s fingernails.

“Good for her!” Rose said so loudly it left each of them staring. “Maybe Avon will do the same to Grue and Stane.”

Jollin looked to Gwen and smiled.

Gwen smiled back. “Maybe she will.”