hide their looks. They’d concealed their lovely faces, their bright eyes and their lithe bodies under the armour of filth. Any appeal remained occult, and they found ways to live without using it. When Shaea looked at the girls and boys who sold their bodies on the streets—the ones who had food most days and a bed of sorts to sleep in, the ones who had water to wash with and kept their faces clean, hair untangled—she wondered if it had been the best choice. When she saw them in the morning after a bad night’s work, she knew it was.
Her grime was her best friend and it had been Xane’s too, until he got the apprenticeship. After that it shocked her to see him, fresh, neat, smelling of pine chips and newly cut hay. His hands were still callousedbut they were usually clean, even the fingernails. He’d filled out too, no longer looking like a rake with rags hanging off it. She knew he tried to hide his repugnance of her condition, and his guilt, now that he lived a different life, but it showed through all that cleanliness like a beacon. It should have been me, shot in the neck. I should have died, not you, Xane. You had the potential.
Should?
Rall said there was no should. Funny, coming from such a haggard witch. She sighed, her pace slowing. Her repulsive appearance was her only companion in the world now that Xane was gone. What would replace it when she cleaned up?
By the time she reached the top of the steps, she was slick with sweat and black silt, the stink rising from her skin like the vapours off a tallow pot. She headed for the main drain, a mosaic tunnel that bore straight through the mountainside and into the city. It was dark, the tiles slimy, with only a distant glimmer of daylight at the other end to guide her. Sometimes it would be blocked with mesh to keep out the rats, but not today. Thank the goddess.
She waded through the brown water towards the heart of Corsanon. It was waist high at one point but she was lucky. It didn’t get any higher, though the water was cold, the surface oily. Goosebumps rose on her arms and the weight of her treasures slowed her down as she trudged. Her skin was blue and her limbs shivering by the time she climbed out. She slunk away, keeping to the shadows, heading for her familiar alley.
Finding Rall was easy. The woman never ventured far from her spot on the corner—her begging place, she called it. It was near the bakery and served a dual purpose. Stale bread was tossed into the bins atrandom times and Rall was always close to hand. She had to be. Her lameness made it difficult for her to compete for the crusts—often they were gone before she could stand. But she was a witch and that kept others from knocking her back. It also paid to beg near the exit. People with warm bread in their baskets and small coins in their hands were more likely to toss a halfpenny her way.
Shaea spotted Rall sitting on the footpath, her back against the brick building. She was chewing on a small bit of mouldy bread and seemed not to notice her approach. Shaea sat beside her, wet and shivering.
‘Get any yams?’ Rall said, tearing off a chunk of bread and handing it to her.
‘I’ve got more than that.’ Shaea jingled her pockets and the old witch’s eyes widened.
‘You’ve been pilfering?’
‘I have.’
‘Where?’
‘The fields below the quarry. There’s been a battle.’
Rall closed her eyes. ‘There’s news that goes both ways, good and bad. I felt it when I woke. What’s happened, girl?’
‘Xane’s dead.’
Neither spoke for some time.
‘As are others, by the sound of your pockets,’ Rall said. ‘Did you bury him?’
‘I did.’
‘My shovel?’
‘I can get you another.’ Shaea’s body shook and Rall put her arm around her shoulder. The traffic on the street increased, but most people passed by as if the two of them were invisible.
‘It’s not as I thought, but fate just the same,’ Rall said. ‘What else? You’re bursting with
Her grime was her best friend and it had been Xane’s too, until he got the apprenticeship. After that it shocked her to see him, fresh, neat, smelling of pine chips and newly cut hay. His hands were still callousedbut they were usually clean, even the fingernails. He’d filled out too, no longer looking like a rake with rags hanging off it. She knew he tried to hide his repugnance of her condition, and his guilt, now that he lived a different life, but it showed through all that cleanliness like a beacon. It should have been me, shot in the neck. I should have died, not you, Xane. You had the potential.
Should?
Rall said there was no should. Funny, coming from such a haggard witch. She sighed, her pace slowing. Her repulsive appearance was her only companion in the world now that Xane was gone. What would replace it when she cleaned up?
By the time she reached the top of the steps, she was slick with sweat and black silt, the stink rising from her skin like the vapours off a tallow pot. She headed for the main drain, a mosaic tunnel that bore straight through the mountainside and into the city. It was dark, the tiles slimy, with only a distant glimmer of daylight at the other end to guide her. Sometimes it would be blocked with mesh to keep out the rats, but not today. Thank the goddess.
She waded through the brown water towards the heart of Corsanon. It was waist high at one point but she was lucky. It didn’t get any higher, though the water was cold, the surface oily. Goosebumps rose on her arms and the weight of her treasures slowed her down as she trudged. Her skin was blue and her limbs shivering by the time she climbed out. She slunk away, keeping to the shadows, heading for her familiar alley.
Finding Rall was easy. The woman never ventured far from her spot on the corner—her begging place, she called it. It was near the bakery and served a dual purpose. Stale bread was tossed into the bins atrandom times and Rall was always close to hand. She had to be. Her lameness made it difficult for her to compete for the crusts—often they were gone before she could stand. But she was a witch and that kept others from knocking her back. It also paid to beg near the exit. People with warm bread in their baskets and small coins in their hands were more likely to toss a halfpenny her way.
Shaea spotted Rall sitting on the footpath, her back against the brick building. She was chewing on a small bit of mouldy bread and seemed not to notice her approach. Shaea sat beside her, wet and shivering.
‘Get any yams?’ Rall said, tearing off a chunk of bread and handing it to her.
‘I’ve got more than that.’ Shaea jingled her pockets and the old witch’s eyes widened.
‘You’ve been pilfering?’
‘I have.’
‘Where?’
‘The fields below the quarry. There’s been a battle.’
Rall closed her eyes. ‘There’s news that goes both ways, good and bad. I felt it when I woke. What’s happened, girl?’
‘Xane’s dead.’
Neither spoke for some time.
‘As are others, by the sound of your pockets,’ Rall said. ‘Did you bury him?’
‘I did.’
‘My shovel?’
‘I can get you another.’ Shaea’s body shook and Rall put her arm around her shoulder. The traffic on the street increased, but most people passed by as if the two of them were invisible.
‘It’s not as I thought, but fate just the same,’ Rall said. ‘What else? You’re bursting with
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