The Rose's Garden and the Sea

by Jackie McCarthy

  He spat on the beggar’s outstretched hand and kicked him away.

  * * * * *

  “So, Auk…what can we expect to find in this lovely rock of a town?” Jas inquired, gesturing to the docks and town that had, at last, appeared between the towering spires. The soaring pinnacles of the inlet continued into the city.

  “Well, the city ain’t what it used to be,” Auk spoke as he worked. “I reckon a lot of good boatmen will be looking for a quick way out. Families are a tight-knit bunch here. Trouble is, when ye lose yer family, there ain’t nowhere to go, and there’s a lotta folk misplaced causa pirate raids ‘long the rivers.”

  “Pirates? Here?” Jas looked back at the almost impassible labyrinth of stone spires through which they had barely managed to squeeze unharmed. “Why would they endanger their ships at the rear end of the kingdom?” He added quickly, “No offense.”

  Auk’s brain churned visibly. “No, that’s fair,” he said. “Way I figure it…well, ye couldn’t buy a bushel o’ grains for a gold piece after the pirates burned up the farms in Hartshire, and ye couldn’t buy a decent plank of wood after the pirates burned any ship going in or out of Mallory. I think they be hitting us here in Kentshore cause, well, cause we sell fish and meat to all the duchies and they need it. Punch a guy where it don’t leave a mark, it don’t mean ye won’t wound him something dreadful.”

  “That’s a very keen analysis,” Jas said with respect, scratching at his chin.

  * * * * *

  Rose settled back into her own body. Her speed did not let up, however, as she charged through the forest of begging hands.

  Rose felt as though she was careening out of control—unable to stop, even if she willed it so. Her head ached as real and imagined worlds began to flicker so rapidly that they lost distinction. She could no longer be sure of who was speaking, no longer sure of what any of the conversations meant, no longer sure if she would ever find the boy and the tree and the riverside.

  “Benson!” Rose yelled into the streets.

  “Ye aren’t supposed to be here!” a voice called back.

  She agreed and ran on.

  * * * * *

  “So,” Fenric fought his skepticism and asked of the slave girl, “tell me how to find him.”

  “He is the flower of the mountains—”

  “If you’re going to speak in riddles, there is no point in—”

  “He is Piknuk Dreosh. Many Faces.”

  “Many…faces?”

  “He is not what he says. Few will see his worth. But you will. You must go.”

  * * * * *

  “You can’t stay,” Benson insisted. “You’re needed elsewhere.”

  “Needed?” Rose scoffed. “Sara spends every other moment rolling her eyes at me. Mama doesn’t even notice I’m there. The last thing I am is ‘needed’.”

  “‘Wanted’ and ‘needed’ are not the same thing.”

  “No one ever needed me besides you!”

  “Typical Rose,” Benson smiled. “You still assume your actions have no impact on anyone else. Trust me, everybody needs you.”

  * * * * *

  “I need them,” cried Aunt Lea.

  “Worthless girls! I need ‘em like a rope tied round my neck. I ain’t paying to marry ‘em off! So, what’s left for ‘em but to be a burden?”

  “I can’t lose them. Please, no!”

  Oric raised a giant hand. “I’m finished talking about it. Unless ye want some new bruises, so are ye.”

  * * *

  “Wait, that can’t be it,” said Fenric, as the slave girl got up to leave. He attempted to stand slowly, testing his weight on a crude crutch. “Where do I go?”

  “Where you need to. Let your memory be your guide.”

  “If you will not help me to find him, why should I believe he exists?”

  “I am helping you. His fate is entwined with yours, but you must make the connection first. You will feel what is right.”

  “But his name—”

  “His name is not a thing I can tell you. I do not know it.”

  * * *

  “His name’s Teyler—my old friend. Goes by Tavern Tey these days. Known the ugly arse since we was boys. He’s made a name for himself as a middleman since then—knows all the folks round about looking fer work. He’ll do right for ye, I’ll make darned sure.”

  “How do you figure? What’s his cut?”

  “Can’t imagine he’d be charging, seeing as he owes me a favor.”

  * * *

  “Will you at least tell me where you are?” Rose sighed, desperate to be thrown a bone.

  Benson smiled from the rail of the small rotting boat. “What does it matter? Can’t we just be glad that we’ve found each other?”

  “Have we? I can’t know how to find you if I don’t know where you are. Just tell me.”

  Benson looked at the broken boat he sat upon, “A pirate ship, it would seem.”

  Rose smiled at this specific knowledge, though her brother had already flickered from her mind.

  * * *

  “Damn it all! Where is that sneaking coward who calls himself a scribe?”

  “Can’t find him anywhere, Cap’n.”

  “We’re on a boat. A boat. Go ahead, tell me again how you can’t find him anywhere.”

  * * *

  “You will find him, and I will help. But there are things I need.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t. You must find them for yourself. You must go.”

  * * *

  “Ye, girl—ye ain’t supposed to be here!”

  *

  “Some things you will forget.”

  *

  “Papa just has to let ye stay.”

  *

  “I suppose a walk around town wouldn’t kill me.”

  *

  “So…our reception is likely to be pleasant?”

  *

  “Please! Reconsider. For me. They’re my only family!”

  *

  “Stay on this ship. Don’t move. They’re wary of you.”

  “Like fire.”

  “Welcome to Portridge.”

  “Times is hard, we do what we must!”

  “Well, let’s get this over with.”

  “Where are my sons?”

  “You will find him.”

  “I do wish she hadn’t gone out there alone.”

  “Let’s see what this place has to offer.”

  “Ye ain’t supposed to be here!”

  “But you will remember me?”

  *

  “I will remember you, brother, long after I forget myself.”

  * * * * *

  Rose, wholly focused on sending these final words far and fast enough to reach her lost brother, ran headlong into an immovable force.

  Knocked backwards, Rose felt the barriers of her mind slam back into place. The storm of magical energy moved past her, trying to maintain its orbit, but losing shape and dispersing as it circled into the sky. By the time the falling Rose hit the hard stone street, she was alone again in her mind.

  Looking up, she locked eyes with her destiny.

  *

  Chapter 5:

  The Stone City

  * * * * *

  Law the First

  The Laws of the City of Portridge as they Pertain to the Absence of a National Guard

  Composed and Ratified by the Portridge Council of Elders

  *

  WHEREAS by observation of the human condition and in reference to the grievous assaults that have plagued our city, the Council of Elders finds once and for all that it is the duty of the male line to guide and protect the weaker sex against any and all who wish them harm, including themselves; and

  WHEREAS we find it to be self-evident that the women of Portridge, in response to the influence of the Western Provinces, have been degraded without said guidance and have engaged in the following uncouth behaviors: displays of vanity such as immoderate grooming and the coveting
of attire; exposure to the opposite sex before marriage and without the appropriate oversight; holding of work positions after marriage (thus granting such weak-willed women of child-bearing age to the easy access of men other than their husbands); and acts of blatant provocation, including but not limited to the willful exhibition of long hair, display of the feminine neck and wrist (and the lewd behavior in keeping with such unprecedented exhibitions), and the cinching of bodices to accentuate such curves as incite the basest instincts of man; and

  WHEREAS the men of Portridge, finding themselves unequal in the resistance of such pernicious and beastly temptations, are hereby absolved of all fault in these recent assaults, and call upon the leaders of educated society to put things aright by recalling women to their modest natures; therefore be it

  RESOLVED that the following structures be put into place: No woman or female child shall be seen outside her home without a full veil; neither shall she wear form-fitting or brightly colored gowns excepting in privacy. Should she be invited to a private function in which displays of color are acceptable, she may change into such a garment only after she has been safely conveyed thereto. When outside of her home, no woman shall be without the accompaniment of a male guardian.

  She who knowingly defies this rule shall be considered the mistress of her own demise, and shall be given no aid.

  Thus speak we.

  * * * * *

  Moments after Rose collided with an immovable force, Captain Kaille—often considered an immovable force by some of his crew—looked down in shock at the girl who had tried to run directly through him. She shook her head roughly, raising her eyes to meet his steely blue gaze. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

  Their shared gaze held for many moments as Rose let the Captain’s existence sink in.

  Kaille was the first to speak, or rather, to yell. “Damned child! Watch where you’re going!” He brushed non-existent debris indignantly off his doublet.

  Rose, looking away, felt mounting unease. She took in the sailors who accompanied Kaille, recognizing several of them as well. She looked past them with fearful, wide eyes, to see a majestic sailing ship carved to look like an eagle in flight.

  Jas Hawkesbury lowered himself to a knee and extended a hand to Rose, speaking soothingly. “Don’t listen to him,” he encouraged, “he’s a monster. Let me help you.”

  Rose eyed his offered hand. Try as she might, she couldn’t deny how real it was. She let out a frightened wail. With another terrified glance at the ship, Rose pushed herself upright and rushed back the way she had come.

  Jas, still kneeling, slowly retracted his hand. He looked at Kaille with a question in his eyes.

  “Actually,” Kaille shrugged, somewhat mollified to have his prejudices proven right, “I rather expected to find a city overrun by lunatics.”

  Auk McRae snorted, submitting no rebuttal. He began walking once more. It was not that he lacked pride in his hometown, but he certainly had been given ample reason to leave those many years ago. The place had, he could tell, gone downhill a bit since then.

  Captain Kaille—encounter with the insane local already fading from his mind—listened merrily as his boots clicked satisfyingly on the cobblestone road. The solidness of the earth was immensely satisfying. Travel by sea is an uncertain enterprise in every way, so much so that the simple act of walking becomes an adventurous game of trust. Each sailor gambles with every step that the deck below him will remain where he left it. They grow used to this, of course, and after months at sea, it’s the constancy of solid ground that becomes foreign.

  As he reveled in the sensation of his sturdy steps, Kaille let himself look around. Portridge—then, as now—was a city of towering black rock. Like the maze of stone they had sailed through to get there, the city too was made up of harsh stone spires that shot skyward. The local architecture mimicked this, with buildings anchored into the pinnacles. Each structure was the work of many generations—a new level built precariously upon the first when more space was needed. The effect was slip-shod and somewhat bleak.

  Before long the distraction of sightseeing grew boring and Kaille became lost again in his own thoughts. As a welcome change, since he was not focused on the ambush at sea, but rather upon the nickname of their new contact.

  “Tavern Tey?” he finally blurted to Jas. “It’s neither intimidating nor masculine. I don’t understand it at all.”

  “Does it matter?” Jas asked. He had many other issues he would rather discuss with his Captain, but so far Kaille had ignored every attempt.

  “Of course it matters. Not all men are born with such naturally ambrosial names as Jas Hawkesbury,” Kaille explained. “If a man opts out of his given name, the resulting chosen name must then indicate how he would like the world to view him. Tavern Tey? What man who is not bleary-eyed and cousin to a ground rodent would call himself something so inane?”

  “Interesting…point,” Jas feigned interest. The Captain’s shift of mood was a welcome change, he supposed. Jas decided to raise the stakes. “Do you think that, based on his name, you could pick him out of a room?”

  “Why certainly,” said Kaille, taking the bait, “and what’s more, I can tell you how he is to be dealt with.”

  “Tavern Tey?” Jas asked, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Indeed!” The Captain smiled, having finally reached his ideal level of distraction. “Besides having slightly blurry vision, he will be sociable and shrewd. And twitchy.

  “And this intuition helps us how?” Jas laughed.

  “Well, for one thing,” Kaille said, “when dealing with a shrewd man it’s always best to lay all your cards on the table, lest he sees you’re hiding something and concludes that you’re not to be trusted.”

  Jas made reluctant noises of agreement.

  “Also,” Kaille offered, “twitchy: no sudden movements, or he may bite.”

  Jas chuckled, “That is ridiculous.”

  “You won’t think that once you’ve lost a finger,” Kaille teased, wiggling his own.

  “I suppose we’ll have to be on our guard, then,” Jas agreed sagely. Seeing a chance to invest in this idea, he offered, “A four-penny for your bet?”

  “That I can pick him out of a room?” Kaille perked up. “Child’s play. We should at least make it a ten-penny.”

  They shook on it as Auk stopped them in front of an unobtrusive tavern door. The sign above them depicted a rat lying on its back below the words Turnside-Down Tavern.

  Looking at the rat, Kaille grinned. He felt he had won already.

  * * * * *

  Rose skirted around her uncle’s inn and, not knowing what else to do, climbed up onto the slate roof. The roofs of Portridge, being built and rebuilt as the city developed skyward, had many chimneys, corners, and gables, making them a surprisingly effective place to hide. Rose managed to find a spot behind two twisting chimneys where she was invisible to all but the neighbors across the street. They were of no concern, if anyone lived there at all, as the windows were heavily draped.

  Rose looked out towards Portridge’s craggy bay, hoping and fearing at once that she would catch a glimpse of the eagle ship. Her view of it was blocked by the spires of the city. She was nearly an hour into being alone in her own mind and was only beginning to put the last few weeks in order. Now that she was no longer pulled by the intense flow of energy, she was rapidly forgetting. Her tormenting visions, those of scribes and ships alike, seemed like a series of fading dreams.

  But the Captain and his eagle ship were not dreams, she knew. She rubbed her forehead where it had impacted the very real man’s chest. Did that mean everything she had seen and heard over the past weeks had been real? Was it true that Uncle Oric had no intention of helping them? Who was the Scribe seeking? Had that sailor really drowned? Was Benson truly sailing away on a pirate ship?

  It was all too much for Rose. She felt the heaviness of her queries eating deep into her mind. Her head throbbed painfully.
/>   A yelp came from the inn below.

  Already on edge, Rose jumped up. Looking for a way to get to the front of the inn, she climbed to the roof’s apex and peeked over.

  Four burly men clad in dark leather were pounding at the inn’s wooden door. Oric answered jovially. One of the men tossed Oric a satchel. It clinked with coins as the innkeeper caught it. He bit into the gold he pulled from it, seemed satisfied, and gestured for the men to enter.

  Rose, uneasy but disoriented, looked back towards the bay and the craggy rocks that blocked out the sea one last time before raising a leg over the front of the roof to investigate the newcomers.

  Screams came from below.

  Rose jumped again in surprise, lost her grip on the slate tiles, and slowly slipped down the sleek rooftop. She scratched at the stone ineffectually, mere moments from dropping onto the hard cobbled street far below. As she felt a shriek build in her throat, she bumped against a skinny chimneystack. Clamping her lips shut before she could make noise, Rose wrapped her arms around the flue, heart racing.

  While she hung upon the chimney, struggling silently to stay aloft, Rose caught a glimpse of her mother and two sisters being ejected from the inn. Each was held firmly by one of the burly men. Aunt Lea’s wails filled the air as Uncle Oric counted his gold.

  “Ye said there were four,” barked one of the men. “We paid ye fer four.”

  Oric looked up in surprise. “She ain’t up there?” He rushed back inside and searched the rooms for Rose, who was as yet unseen. He smashed through his own inn for some time, cursing loudly, before coming out alone.

  Not to seem a chump, Oric marched up to Rose’s mother, demanding to know where her eldest daughter was hidden. Mama, vacant as ever, stared blindly ahead. Rose heard a mighty smack as one of the burly men struck the empty woman, reading her silence as a sign of insolence. Sara screamed and Tobi cried, but their mother remained unmoved. A red handprint formed across her cheek.

  The man pulled his arm back to strike again, but Sara squealed, “I know where she is!”

  Rose’s heart plummeted to the street. Had Sara seen her struggling above?

  “And where is that, little pretty?” growled Sara’s captor.

  Rose struggled to retreat from view, using all her strength to pull herself up and over the edge of the roofline. The effort set loose a small cascade of slate tiles, which slid quickly down the front of the steep roof.