The Echo of Broken Dreams

by CJ Archer

  "I'm Marnie," she said between pants.

  I smiled to reassure her. "You haven't dilated much, Marnie. How close are the contractions?"

  "Not very, but they're painful." She spoke well, as if she'd had a good upbringing with some education, unlike many in the slums. "My back and hips are sore."

  "She can hardly move," Dora said. "She's been bed-bound since she came here two weeks ago."

  "You're not from Mull?" I asked.

  Marnie shook her head. "Vytill. Port Haven on The Thumb. My husband had a good job there, operating a crane on the docks. We had to leave after The Rift."

  It was an all-too common tale these days. "He doesn't have work here?"

  "Not yet, but he's hopeful." From the tone of her voice, she'd lost all hope.

  "That's where he is today," Dora said. "Looking for work. Any kind of work. The crane companies aren't hiring right now."

  "No one's hiring," Marnie bit off. "Not Vytill folk, anyway. I wish we'd never come here. I wish we'd stayed in Vytill. He might not have work but at least we'd have a better roof over our heads than this, and we'd still have our savings."

  "Did you spend it all to come here?" I asked.

  "We had to give it up at the border. We had to pay the Glancia authorities to live in this country, and what was left was confiscated by the Vytill authorities. They say it was Vytill money, earned in Vytill and should stay in Vytill. It'll just go to the king's coffers. All we had left was that trunk with some clothes, brought here on a cart. We sold the cart, but the money's almost all gone now."

  I sat back on my haunches. "You can't even keep your own money?" It hardly seemed worthwhile to come here at all, yet so many of them poured across the border.

  "My husband wants work, Miss. He only knows how to be a crane operator, and docks are the only places that have cranes. He didn't want to stay in Vytill and learn a new trade. There aren't many jobs there anyway, except mine work and that's a fast way to an early grave. So we came here. He thought he'd get hired straight away, on account of his experience, but it's too late. All the jobs are gone."

  "There's plenty of construction down by the docks," I said. "Could he find work as a laborer there?"

  "He's trying but the men of Mull got the best jobs and the first wave of immigrants from The Thumb got the rest. Now, there's nothing left, only scraps for beggars." Her face crumpled and a silent sob wracked her. "We have nothing here," she said through her tears. "What hope is there for our children?"

  Her tears turned to those of pain as another contraction ripped through her. It lasted several excruciating moments. By the end of it, she was sweating and panting and crying again.

  Dora handed her a cup but I took it from her. I smelled it then tasted a drop. It was clean and I gave Dora nod. She had heeded my earlier advice about the need for fresh water.

  "Can you do something for her pain?" she asked in her soft, fragile voice. It was easy to forget how young she was, since Remy was eight, but she couldn't have been much older than me.

  "You say it hurts your hips and back?" I asked Marnie as she drank deeply.

  She nodded. "We walked here."

  "All that way? In your condition? Merdu, no wonder you can hardly move."

  "When they got here, her husband had to carry her inside," Dora said.

  "If it weren't for Dora," Marnie said, taking Dora's hand again, "I don't know where we would have slept these last nights. She saved us."

  I felt Marnie's hips and found the dislocation. It was surprising the pain hadn't caused her to pass out. The birth would be excruciating.

  I pulled out a bottle of Mother's Milk from my pack and measured two drops onto a spoon. I didn't like using the strong pain reliever on pregnant women, as it was important they knew when to push, but Marnie's condition left me no choice. I couldn't let her go through childbirth if there was an alternative. I measured out precisely the number of drops and no more. Too much would make her throw up as the effects wore off, but more importantly, it was my last bottle. The liquid was complicated to make, the ingredient list long, and some of those ingredients were rare and expensive. I couldn't afford to make another batch.

  "This will take effect very quickly," I told her as I spooned it into her mouth. "Your body will feel numb and you may feel drowsy, but try not to succumb to sleep. I want you awake so you can push when I tell you."

  Slowly Marnie's body began to relax. I knew the moment the full effects of the Mother's Milk had taken hold because she released Dora's hand and sank into the mattress. With the mother calm, I was able to place my ear trumpet to her swollen belly and listen to the baby's heartbeat. It was strong and steady.

  "Were your other children born quickly?" I asked.

  "They took their time." She even managed a smile. "They're still like that. Still dawdlers." She glanced at the hole in the wall.

  "I'll fetch them," Dora said, rising.

  She returned a moment later with the children and Remy. Marnie reassured them and told them to be good until their father returned.

  "Can I send them on an errand with Remy?" I asked. "It'll give them something to do."

  Marnie hesitated. "They're young."

  "Remy will take care of them," Dora said. "He's very responsible."

  "It's not far," I reassured her.

  Marnie nodded.

  "Remy, take the children to the house directly opposite where I live," I told the boy. "Tell the woman who answers that I sent you, and that I'd like her to give you something to eat."

  "No, no," Marnie protested, trying to sit up and failing. "Your neighbors shouldn't be bothered with our troubles."

  "They won't mind. Besides, the family owes me dozens of favors. They've never paid for my father's medical services."

  Dora encouraged the children to go. Marnie protested but it was unconvincing, something I'd counted on. No mother would put pride before her own children’s welfare. Meg and her family would see that all three were well fed and probably washed too. Meg's mother would give the clothes off her own back for a child.

  My own stomach growled. It had been some time since I'd eaten, but at least my last meal had come that same day. Marnie and Dora probably hadn't eaten decent food for some time. Either they didn't hear my stomach or they politely ignored it.

  "It's not healthful for you or the children to stay in here all day and night," I said, taking a proper look around the room. A little light filtered through the cracks in the roof, but those cracks would not be a blessing when it rained. "You need light and fresh air."

  "It's safer in here," Marnie said.

  Both women cast anxious glances toward the hole in the wall, no doubt worrying that their children had left The Row without incident. While it was a dangerous place for outsiders, The Row tended to leave their own alone, so Dora once assured me. Seeing their anxiety, I wasn't entirely sure if that was true now.

  With the Mother's Milk taking effect, I talked to Marnie about life on The Thumb between contractions to keep her awake and pass the time. The conversation naturally progressed to the stark differences to her life in Mull. It wasn't just the poverty they faced here, and her husband's frustration at the lack of work, there was also the animosity from the Mullians.

  "He's been spat on, shouted at, sworn at, and had to run from an angry mob once," she said, almost in tears again. "Every day he goes out, I worry he won't come home, or if he does, he'll be battered and bruised. The Row might look like a nasty place, but he feels safer walking the streets in here than out there in the so-called respectable parts of Mull."

  "The Row is filled with migrants from The Thumb," Dora said. "And those who were here before The Rift know what it's like to have nothing, and be despised for it. We're all the same in The Row, and The Row protects us, in a way."

  "The locals are afraid of losing their jobs." Even as I said, I heard how hollow the argument sounded. "But you're right, there's no excuse for how you're being treated."

  "Why don't your law
men do something about it?" Marnie asked, rubbing her belly. "Why don't they stop it before it gets out of control?"

  "There aren't enough lawmen to stop them," Dora said.

  "Then employ more. That way you give jobs to those in need and keep everyone safe."

  "This village spend more than it has to?" Dora snorted. "There are a lot of things the governor could have done to feed and house the needy but he hasn't lifted a finger."

  "Doesn't your king live nearby? Wouldn't he want peace in the village? I would think he'd worry about an uprising."

  She was right but I wasn't sure if King Leon was aware of the situation in Mull. Dane certainly was, and I had to assume he informed the king and his advisers.

  The children returned, sporting clothes that had probably once belonged to Meg and her brother before they grew out of them. It was just like Mrs. Diver to hold onto them for sentimental reasons or for future grandchildren. The children's faces and hair were also clean, and each carried a pack of provisions that they eagerly showed to their mothers. I finally sent them out again as Marnie's contractions came closer together.

  Her husband arrived shortly after the birth of his son. Despite his exhaustion, he cradled the newborn gently and quietly sang him a song from his homeland. I left soon after, with a promise to return to check on mother and baby.

  I was speaking to Dora outside when Marnie's husband squeezed through the hole in the wall. He was tall and had probably once been well built but his clothes now hung loosely from his wiry frame.

  "Take this as payment," he said, pushing one of the packs at me.

  I shook my head. "You can pay me when you find work."

  He looked relieved. "I will. Thank you."

  "In the meantime, if you need any medical assistance, come to the house with the sign of two cupped hands. Dora and Remy know the way. I'll give you credit until you can afford to pay me. Unless it's a midwifery issue, don't tell the authorities."

  It didn't matter if he paid or not. I couldn't let children go without medical help. Besides, it would give me something to do and give me a reason to brush up on my doctoring skills.

  He walked with me out of The Row, his presence acting as security. From there, I headed home alone. Clouds blocked the moonlight and darkness blanketed the village. The air was dense with the promise of rain, and I was soon sweaty from my brisk pace. It would be a warm night, not conducive to sleep, particularly for those of us who didn't dare leave a window open.

  It wasn't late, and I expected to see others out on such a warm night. But no couples strolled hand-in-hand, no one hurried home after working late or drinking at the taverns. The hushed silence felt as thick as the air and just as expectant.

  Then I heard it. A shout, followed by several in response. Another shout, louder, then a crowd's roar. Drums pounded in a rhythmic marching beat while others clanged in random, tuneless thwacks.

  The drums and shouts drew nearer, rising and falling like the tide. I paused, unsure whether to continue home or see what was happening. My curiosity warred with common sense and common sense won.

  Or would have, if I hadn't met Ingrid Swinson.

  Chapter 12

  Ingrid, her father and brother headed toward me. Her brother gripped a piece of wood like a club.

  "You coming to the protest march, Josie?" he asked.

  "What march?"

  "Some folk have organized a protest against the Vytill scum coming here and taking our jobs."

  "Hurting our families," Gill added, placing an arm around his daughter's shoulders.

  "Taking over," Ingrid chimed in. "Come on, Josie, come with us."

  "It doesn't sound safe," I said. "And there's no proof that a Vytill man hurt you. It could have been a Mullian."

  "You know it ain't." Her brother smacked his club against his palm. "Come on, you need to get your voice heard or nothing will change. It'll get a whole lot worse if we don't."

  "The governor needs to know how we feel," Gill said. "He needs to know how angry we are that Vytill folk are allowed to come here and turn everything to shit."

  "Forget the governor," Ingrid said, linking her arm with mine and marching me off. "I want the king to hear us. I want his golden walls to shake from our shouts!"

  I allowed her to sweep me with them. We marched along the street, joining others emerging from their houses, drawing ever closer to the song of protest. "Who organized this march?" I asked Ingrid.

  "Don't know," she said. "Doesn't matter. Everyone in Mull will be there."

  When we merged with the main group of protesters in the central village square, I could see that she was wrong. Not even half of Mull's original population had turned up. There were no shopkeepers or craftsmen and few construction workers. It was mostly dockers and fishermen, and men at that. I recognized Ivor and Ned Perkin near the front, punching their fists in the air, inciting the crowd with chants that blamed the Vytill migrants for every ill befalling the villagers.

  "They take our jobs!" Ned shouted.

  The crowd roared in agreement. Those with clubs smashed them into bollards or walls or simply against the ground at their feet.

  "They drive the prices up!" Ned cried. "They rape our women!"

  I felt Ingrid tense, but she shouted her agreement along with the rest of the crowd. Perhaps word had spread of the attack on her, despite her wish to keep it private, or perhaps Ned had simply made it up to incite the crowd.

  I was contemplating slipping away when Sheriff Neerim arrived with both of his men on horseback. He called for calm, urging the crowd to disperse and go home.

  Ned refused. "We will not! Not until you take action, Sheriff! We want them gone from Mull! Every last one of the scum should be forced out. This is our home! Our village!"

  "You know I can't do that," Sheriff Neerim bellowed in a deep, sonorous voice that commanded attention. "You can make as much noise as you want, Ned, but it won't make a lick of difference. Legally, they're allowed to stay."

  "Then the law must change!"

  "Aye!" the crowd shouted.

  "Go home, Ned," the sheriff said. "Don't give us trouble now or there'll be consequences."

  "Get out of our way!"

  "So you can go where?"

  "To The Row where that scum are living! We're going to clean out that neighborhood since you're too scared to do it."

  Merdu, no. Marnie was in no condition to flee a mob. I had to warn her, warn them all. But if I did, there might be a riot and a brawl. The sheriff might look assured, sitting atop his horse, but his men couldn't stop them. The crowd might not be large, but three against fifty wasn't nearly enough.

  "Get out of our way, Sheriff!" Ned shouted. "Or we'll make you!"

  The sheriff's only move was to put his fingers to his lips and whistle. A dozen horsemen emerged from the nearby lanes and streets and spread out until they'd hemmed the crowd in. I didn't need to see their crimson doublets to know they were palace guards. I recognized them all, including the one wearing black with the gold braid at his shoulder.

  Dane claimed he had no jurisdiction in the village, but perhaps an angry mob gathered a mere five miles from the palace was considered enough of a danger to the king to involve his guards. The numbers were still stacked in favor of the crowd, but the sight of the armed men on horseback was enough to see it dwindle more and more with each passing moment.

  Ned continued to rant at the sheriff, but his tone was edged with uncertainty, and the protestors at his back drifted away. It was time for me to leave too, but I couldn't do so without being seen by at least one of the guards.

  I bowed my head and made my way between the two nearest. Unfortunately, one of them was Erik.

  "Josie?" His booming voice seemed to echo around the square, bouncing off walls, directly to Dane's ears.

  The captain's head jerked toward us and his eyes narrowed upon seeing me. Thankfully he didn't approach.

  "What are you doing here?" Erik asked, sounding angry enough for the both o
f them. "This is no place for you."

  "It's a peaceful protest," I shot back.

  "Because we are here now. Otherwise, it could be bad."

  "I wouldn't have stayed if it got bad." I glanced at Dane again, now facing forward, his back rigid. "In fact, I ended up here by accident."

  One of the riders at the end approached. I could tell from his stocky silhouette that it was Max but I couldn't see his face until he drew closer. "Josie, what are you doing here?"

  "Getting a lecture, it seems. I'm on my way home."

  "Not alone, you're not. There are too many men about. Angry men. Captain!"

  Dane joined us, but his gaze did not settle on me. He scanned the square, keeping an eye on the mob to insure it didn't gather again. Only Ned, Ivor and a handful of others remained, talking in a group.

  "I don't need an escort home," I said. "I don't live far and I know all of these people. They wouldn't harm me."

  Finally Dane's gaze met mine. I wasn't sure what I expected, but I didn't expect it to be devoid of emotion. It was as if the man I knew was nowhere in sight. Was that how he always looked in charged situations that required his attention?

  "Erik, inform the others to disperse among the streets in pairs," Dane said. "Make sure the peace is kept. I'll remain here. Max, you'll disperse in the direction of Josie's house."

  I marched off, not waiting for my escort, which, despite Dane's words, was precisely what Max was. He walked his horse behind me all the way, only stopping at the end of my street when Meg ran toward me from the opposite direction. Her brother trailed behind, not in quite as much of a hurry as his sister.

  "Josie, where have you been?" Meg cried, pulling me into a hug. "We were so worried. We knew you were seeing to your patient, but didn't think much of it until Lyle came home from work and said a protest march had been organized."

  "I didn't hear about it 'til late," Lyle said, joining her. "When Meg said you were out, we got worried. The Mull folk won't hurt you, but who knows about the others."

  "Not you too," I said on a groan. "I've just come from helping a woman from Vytill give birth to her third child. The entire family lives in squalor, afraid for their lives in The Row, and afraid for the husband's safety when he goes out looking for work. He came here to find a way to feed his family and give them a better future than what they faced on The Thumb after The Rift destroyed their livelihood. Why can't you see that, Lyle?"