House of Blood and Bone

by Kimberley J. Ward

  There were the shopkeepers and their assistants, of course, who dressed as well as they could afford. Nobility didn’t want to rub elbows with the riffraff after all. However, they still fell short when compared to the splendidness of the highborn. Their clothing was neat and simple, often plain, but it was the best their tight budgets would allow. The rent and taxes that came alongside running a business in the Barrel were steep. The landlords unforgiving. They tried to maintain the facade of having an affluent lifestyle, and it seemed to fool most. Nessa could see the truth of it, though. She saw the hope in a shopkeeper’s eyes when it looked like there was a potential sale. She saw how their shoulders would droop if it fell through, or how their steps became lighter if it didn’t.

  Mixed in with the shopkeepers were the delivery boys, young lads who ran up and down the streets, dashing in and out of cramped alleyways, carrying baskets of fresh goods from the bakeries to the cafes, passing orders from shops to suppliers. None of them could have been older than ten or so, dressed in tidy, little, grey uniforms. That’s how the highborn liked to see things, neat and orderly. To them, appearance was everything. They didn’t want to see ruffians and dirty peasants during their shopping trips. They didn’t want beggars and the homeless taking shelter in alcoves and doorways, pleading for coins, casting a grim mood over what they deemed to be “their side” of the city.

  People who were viewed as less than pleasant were ushered from the Barrel and the High Quarter by the Watch, who ran small but regular patrols. Nessa kept as far away from them as possible. While there wasn't a warrant out for her arrest, as Margan and Shadow seemed to be keeping their knowledge of her existence to themselves, she wasn’t taking any chances. Not when it came to the Watch.

  She saw them around often, as they were a common sight in the city of Ellor, but mostly from afar. The Watch didn’t have much interest in places like the Stickworks, only doing a cursory sweep through the winding streets every now and again, making sure that the riffraff was behaving and arresting those who weren’t. Members of the Watch were easy to spot in any crowd, thanks to their black attire: chain-mail peeked out from under their surcoats, and the king’s emblem, a rose surrounded by fierce flames, was embroidered over their hearts. Usually, there was a sword sheathed at their hip. On occasion, they carried a tall pike. Nessa noticed, during her hours there in the Barrel, that they kept a keen eye on anyone who wasn’t highborn.

  Nessa was grateful she’d taken the extra time that morning to dress in one of her nicer gowns and to do something with her hair other than sticking it in a messy braid. No, today Nessa’s hair flowed in a shimmering cascade to just beyond her waist. Dainty twin braids held tresses back from her face, joined together at the back of her head by a silk ribbon. She had taken the pains of matching it to the colour of her dress, which was a deep burgundy. The neckline and skirt, which had additional gores to allow for soft pleating and a fuller shape, were edged in a contrasting trim of the most beautiful shade of blue Nessa had ever seen.

  The dress was pretty, and perhaps her favourite out of the small collection of clothes she had accumulated since arriving in the city. That wasn’t why she had chosen to wear it, though. The simple fact that it was one of the warmer dresses she owned was one reason; the other being that it was also the cleanest. Her warmest dress was currently strewn on her bedroom floor, a brandy stain running down the front of the skirts.

  Nessa folded up her list and stowed it back in the spherical belt bag that hung from a chain around her waist. She made sure that the coin pouch was still safely nestled inside, and then shut it securely, making sure that the clasp was properly fastened. The bag’s metal construction and the chain made it hard for pickpockets to, well, pickpocket her, but Nessa was still cautious. The young ones could be particularly crafty and nimble-fingered. Nessa wouldn’t put it beyond them to somehow get past the clasp, even though it looked like a piece of artwork, what with the etched patterns and the hidden latch.

  Nessa’s gaze went back to the shop’s window, trying to see inside. While the window was large, tall shelves and display cabinets stood across most of it, obscuring her view of inside. It was hard to tell, but Nessa was sure that she could see someone else alongside Sissy; two figures of a similar height were moving around, only just visible when they passed behind the gaps between display cases.

  Telling herself that having someone present that she’s met before would make things less awkward when it came to asking Orm’s very specific, very weird questions, Nessa squared her shoulders and stepped forwards.

  And almost crashed into someone.

  A hand grabbed Nessa’s elbow, yanking her back.

  Startled, Nessa’s eyes shot up, locking with a young woman’s disdainful glare. She was, perhaps, a couple of years older than Nessa, her perfect features cold and aloof, her blond hair perfectly curled and styled. Her companion was similarly contemptuous and no less elegant, even though she was surely old enough to be the young woman’s grandmother, her face deeply lined, her coiffured hair a stark white.

  “Watch where you are walking,” snapped the younger of the two, her green eyes running over Nessa with distaste.

  Nessa, too stunned to form any words, could only stare as a small voice from beside her elbow murmured a quick apology. The title of “Lady” might have been used.

  The young woman, Lady Arrabella, as Nessa now knew her to be, gave a flourished twirl of her voluminous skirt and turned away, the green brocade of her gown glinting with metallic accents, and continued down the street. While Lady Arrabella spared Nessa no further attention, her companion couldn’t resist a sharp glance back over her shoulder. Nessa could practically feel the woman’s eyes running over her features, committing them to memory.

  “You oughta to be careful when it comes to folk like them,” someone beside her piped up timidly. “If someone of the likes of us bumps into them, they’d be likely to cry thief and call the Watch on us.”

  Nessa turned and found herself gazing down at a small, upturned face. The boy couldn’t have been more than ten or so, by Nessa’s estimate, petite and as delicate as a fairy, and as pretty as one too. Big, blue eyes dominated his face, peeking out from beneath a mop of dusky hair that hid most of his face, curling around his ears and cheekbones, coming to just shy of his little, pointed chin.

  “Well,” Nessa said, finally finding her voice. “In that case, I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  “My elder brother accidentally bumped into a lord when he was late to his apprenticeship once,” the boy continued. “And that’s what happened to him.”

  “The Watch was called on him? Just for that?”

  The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, aye. The lord said that he felt my brother’s hand searching around in his pocket, so he demanded that the Watch punish him.”

  Nessa blinked, grim curiosity coming over her. “And did they?”

  He gave another nod. “They took his hand.”

  In reflex, Nessa’s hands clenched nervously. “They took his hand?”

  “Right at the wrist.”

  Nessa grimaced. “How awful. How cruel.”

  The boy shrugged. “The wound was clean, and he’s healed up quite nicely now. He says he’s gonna save up some money and get a hook fitted. Look like one of ‘em famous pirates from the stories fishermen tell.”

  “I’m glad to hear that he’s keeping a positive outlook,” Nessa croaked, more than a little disturbed. To take a child’s hand…

  “He did cry something fierce to start with.” The boy frowned. “Although, truth be told, I’m pretty sure I would cry too. There was a lot of blood.”

  Feeling a touch faint at the image conjured, Nessa cleared her throat. “Well…ah…I suppose I owe you a lot more than gratitude since you potentially saved my hand.”

  The boy shook his head. “It was no hassle, miss. And I doubt they would have taken your hand in the first instant, what with you being a fine, young lass, and a pretty one to boot. Even if you
had been labelled a pickpocket, you might have been able to get yourself out of trouble.”

  “That’s a small comfort, I suppose.”

  “It’s still best to keep a distance from the likes of them,” the boy advised, his eyes big and earnest. “Just to be safe.”

  “Of course. I certainly will from now on.” Nessa smiled gently. “Thank you…” her words dwindled away as she realised she didn’t know the boy’s name. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. I haven’t introduced myself.” She held out her hand. “I’m Nessa.”

  The boy tentatively shook it. “Astrid.”

  Nessa paused. “Astrid?”

  “Did I say, Astrid?” His cheeks flushed a vivid red. “I meant…ah…Astron. My name’s Astron.”

  “Is it, now?” Nessa mused, torn between mortification and amusement, her eyes running over the child with a fresh sense of clarity. Astrid, as Nessa was now inclined to believe, wore her disguise well. At least, that’s what Nessa told herself to minimise her embarrassment of mistaking a girl for a young boy.

  The light-grey delivery boy uniform Astrid was wearing was baggy, the shirt hanging loosely from her slim shoulders, the trous shapeless. Whatever girlish shape Astrid might have had was further hidden beneath a waistcoat that was several sizes too big.

  “Yes,” Astrid squeaked. “Of course it is. Why would I lie about my own name?”

  “I don’t know.” Nessa crossed her arms. “Why would a girl run around pretending to be a delivery boy?”

  “Shh, don’t say that so loudly.” Astrid cast around, searching for any sign of eavesdroppers. “No one can find out. I’ll lose the position if anyone does, and my family needs the money.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” Nessa said soothingly. “Girls aren’t allowed to be delivery boys, I take it?”

  “No,” Astrid murmured. “We’re not. And the boss is very strict about these things. If he were to find out, he’d tan my hide and my family would be blacklisted.”

  Nessa scowled. “What an unpleasant man. What does being a girl have to do with one’s ability to run errands and deliver messages?”

  “He says that girls are airheaded and unreliable, and are better suited to sewing dresses and raising children.”

  “I don’t think I like the sound of this man very much.”

  “No one does, not really.” Astrid shrugged. “But he pays the best, so it’s worth all the hassle he dishes out. For the most part.”

  “Is that why you keep working for him?” Nessa couldn’t help but ask. “Because he pays well?”

  “Oh, technically I don’t work for him. I’m just filling in for my brother, you see? The boss don’t keep places for those who can’t work. If you’re sick, you need to find someone to fill in for you straight away. Otherwise, you find yourself out of work.”

  “I see,” Nessa murmured, intrigued by the glimpse into this young girl’s life. She was a little go-getter, someone who looked down on the rules placed upon her by society, promptly ignoring them if they went against her needs. It was a rebellion of sorts. A small, quiet rebellion, but perhaps it was all the more powerful because of that. “So you cut your hair and became your brother’s replacement?”

  “That’s right.” Astrid grinned a small, gap-toothed smile. Her left canine hadn’t quite grown in completely yet.

  “I’m impressed.” Nessa toyed with a lock of her hair, twirling an end of a loose curl around her finger meditatively. “I don’t think I would be able to do that. Is this a long-term thing or just until his hand—stump—heals?”

  “Oh, this is just temporary, and I’m filling in for another one of my brothers. He did something moronic on a dare and broke his ankle.”

  “Ohh. Your brothers don’t seem to be having much luck at the moment.”

  “Pa says that he and Ma had so many boys ‘cause the lot of them are as thick as mud. The Creator blessed them with a few extras just in case one or two of them did something stupid and got themselves killed.”

  “That’s…ah…a very unique outlook on things. I guess you have quite a few brothers then?”

  “Aye, nine of them. I’m the only girl.”

  “You’re fairly outnumbered.”

  “I guess, but I can easily take them on in a fight if need be.”

  Nessa laughed. “With nine brothers, I imagine you’d have to.”

  “I’d never get any food if I couldn’t,” Astrid giggled. “They’re worse than a plague of locusts when it comes to dinner time.”

  A sudden tightness was brought to Nessa’s stomach at the mention of food, a small grumble that threatened to turn into a loud growl. It was a sudden reminder that the hour was growing ever later, and she was running out of time.

  Astrid’s eyes widened, misinterpreting Nessa’s pause. “Oh, gosh, miss. I’m keeping you when I shouldn’t be, what with my chatter and so on. I’m sorry. I’ll stop bothering you now. That way you can get on with your business.”

  “You’re not bothering me,” Nessa was quick to say. “I’ve enjoyed our little chat. I feel like we’re becoming friends.”

  “I don’t have many friends,” Astrid mumbled, her big eyes bright with a lonely sort of hope.

  “Well, you’ve got one now. Besides, I’m not really here on business, so don’t feel like you’re holding me up or anything. It’s just a chore or two, a couple of questions a friend sent me out to ask a handful of people.”

  “You gonna see Mistress Pharawynn?” Astrid enquired, nodding to behind Nessa.

  Nessa gazed over her shoulder, peering at the shop she’d seen Sissy disappear into. “Is that who runs that place?”

  “Yep. She’s one of the best spellcasters in the city, I’ve heard. Lots of ladies say so. Are you going to get your fortune read? ‘Cause I’ve heard she’s really good at seeing your future.”

  “That wasn’t why I came,” Nessa said absently, her mind buzzing with thoughts, with speculations. Was Mistress Pharawynn’s “gifts” the reason why Orm had sent her there? Could Mistress Pharawynn be a half-blood like him? “But maybe I will, seeing as I’m here.”

  Astrid’s eyes became misty, her gaze distant, dreamy. “Maybe she’ll reveal that you’ll catch the eye of a prince from a faraway land, that he’ll marry you and you’ll be a beautiful and kind princess, showered in gems and fine gowns, beloved by all.”

  “That’s a nice thought. Somehow, though, I don’t think that’s in my future.” Instigating the overthrow of the king seems more likely… Or riding a dragon into a battle… Nessa didn’t often allow herself to think about whatever future she might have, but the few times she did, the image always faded from the merry ideal of friendship and exploring the four corners of the world to the darkness of war. That’s what Nessa saw in her future. War, blood and death.

  At times, that’s all she saw.

  Pushing away such disparaging thoughts, Nessa looked down at Astrid, forcing a small smile. “You could join me and see if she’ll read your future if you want?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that, miss,” Astrid said. “I’d rather keep the future in the future, so to speak. Keep my dreams alive for as long as possible. I do love the jewellery she makes, though. I could look in the window for hours if I had the time to spare.”

  “The time!” Astrid gasped, her back snapping ramrod straight. Nessa jumped, startled. “I’ve dilly-dallied again and lost track of the time. I’m sorry, miss, but I’ve got to dash. I need to get this message here,” she waved a small piece of paper in the air, “to someone important. Else there will be a very displeased seamstress.”

  “Best be off then,” Nessa said, her forced smile turning into one of genuine amusement. “I hear that displeased seamstresses are the worst.”

  Chuckling, Astrid added, “Especially when they’re out of a specific fabric needed to finish a job.”

  “Especially then.”

  As fast as a whip, and with a joyful skip in her step, Astrid turned and darted away, disappearing into the light cr
owds of the Barrel, weaving between groups of people with expert ease. Nessa stared after her, hoping that she hadn’t delayed the girl too much and got her into trouble. Nessa liked Astrid and their little talk. It had made for a pleasant distraction.

  Nessa sighed. Distraction time had come to an end.

  Turning to face the shop front, Nessa’s eyes swept over the window and the honey-coloured stonework before settling on the front door. Squaring her shoulders and repeating the questions she was meant to ask, Nessa crossed the street, mindful not to accidentally bump into anyone. Astrid’s words of warning still echoed in her ears. The door was painted a deep red, matching the sign that hung above it, announcing to passersby that this was the Græceling. Around the name was a scattering of intricate symbols painted with shimmering, gold paint.

  Their shapes, the way they shimmered, made Nessa pause, her hand poised on the door handle. She peered up at them, wondering about their purpose, their meanings, at why some of them held an air of familiarity. When no answers, no memories, were forthcoming, Nessa made herself turn away, a slight frown born from a sense of ill-ease pulling her brows together.

  Time to gather more odd looks thanks to Orm’s weird questions.

  A bell chimed daintily above Nessa’s head as she pushed the door open, announcing her presence, and warmth enveloped her in a much-needed embrace.

  “I’ll be with you in just a moment,” a cheery voice called. Sissy. Nessa gazed around but couldn’t spy her amongst the maze of tall shelves and glass display cases. “Feel free to explore all the wonders we have, from beautiful gemstones to unique jewellery that’s guaranteed to bring you whatever your heart desires.”

  Nessa peered over to where Sissy’s voice came from, and locked onto a narrow archway at the very back of the shop, tucked away in the far corner, overlooked and half-hidden behind a cabinet. A heavy, golden drape was drawn across it, hiding whatever was beyond it. Nessa speculated that it was either a storeroom or where fortunes were read. Briefly, she wondered how it was done. Were cards used? A crystal ball?