Hadley enjoyed the mild sarcasm. For her part, she didn’t mind the idea of a well-defined power hierarchy. Anything less invited chaos. Before she could pursue the topic, the foreman looked at her seriously.
“About Guill,” he said. “I’ve been working this river for twenty years. Never heard of anything like it.”
Spicks leaned in close. For a moment Hadley thought he was going to hold her hand but he evidently thought better of it. Catelyn used to say that Hadley burned too brightly for the village boys. The flame hair, the imposing stature, the rock solid confidence. It threw the poor fools off balance. But Spicks didn’t exactly have admiration on his mind.
“I fear we’ve just seen the beginning,” he said grimly. “I won’t be heading back down river until I’m satisfied the run is clean.”
Hadley felt a chill in her bones as she searched the man’s eyes.
“Have you heard something?” she asked. “Are there more elves in the Southern Reaches?”
“Not elves,” he said. “Just … reports from the Mittels.”
“The west?” Hadley asked. “There’s nothing out there except …”
“Stay vigilant in Andra,” Spicks said, moving away to see to his men. “If my suspicions are correct, you’ll need to flee further north.”
As outlandish as they seemed, Hadley sensed truth in the boatman’s words. She was dying to ask about those western rumors, but it was probably best not to dwell on fresh fears before she’d even made it to Andra.
The day was overcast by the time the barge tacked within sight of the southern dock. Wishing she had a cowl, Hadley stood silently at the prow as light rain began to fall. Smaller boats, mainly cutters and crabpot buoys, were swiftly hauled in by their owners on the east bank. An imposing bluestone wall peppered with arrow slits rose to the west. The dock itself was set into a gap around thirty yards across. The facility looked like a berth for smaller fishing operations and, Hadley suspected, black market trade. The main dock, which handled traffic from the capital to the north, lay further upriver.
The crewmen shoehorned the boat into an unlikely gap between other craft. A crossfire of shouts and robust banter erupted along the dock. These swarming men could practically smell their first cup of mead. Her heart hammering, Hadley waited until the boat was well secured before alighting. She exchanged a glance with Spicks, whose eyes were colder than she expected. He had a cargo to secure before the rain grew too heavy. She suddenly felt very alone, standing like a beacon among the grey-coated fisherman and cargo handlers. Bemused that her iron resolve had been corroded in a matter of seconds, she picked her way through the throng. Light was fading fast even though it had just ticked past mid-afternoon. A gust of wind lifted her flame hair as she considered the path ahead. A cobble-stoned street disappeared under an ornate archway to the west. Just shy of the archway, a stairwell admitted to what appeared to be a bustling fish market. A battered tavern called The Red Fish squatted directly to her left. Considering the gloomy weather, the pub was probably a sensible place to begin her search for “Grell”. She made her way into the moderately crowded bar room and stood with her back to one of three roaring hearths along the wall. Despite her rather plain clothing, she felt woefully out of place. Doing her best to ignore all the beady eyes directed her way, she hailed a pockmarked serving girl.
“Grell?” she asked, knowing this first moment was critical.
The girl simply smiled and kept walking. Undeterred, Hadley asked a taciturn man with monstrous eyebrows sitting by the window. He shook his head without recognition.
“You mean to buy somethin’?”
A grizzled, bear-like publican peered at Hadley from behind the bar.
“How much for a room?” Hadley asked.
“Three pieces.”
Hadley wasn’t nearly as worldly as she would’ve liked, but this was clearly daylight robbery.
“Know Grell?” she asked hopefully.
The man pursed his lips.
“Look, lass, are you comin’ or goin’?”
“I’ll find somewhere else,” she said.
“Suit yerself.”
The tavern was probably expecting an influx of fishermen, which explained the publican’s indifference. Unwilling to be exploited so soon, Hadley headed back to the rainswept dock. Again wishing she had some kind of coat, she followed a throng of fleet-footed cargo handlers up the narrow steps to the market. The wide expanse was packed with people despite the rain. Most of the stalls were protected by treated leather awnings and lit by glowing braziers. The malacine powder in those brass bowls was not only waterproof, but gave off a pleasant, nutty aroma. Hadley could barely see the surrounding buildings through the sheeting rain. She took a few tentative steps but seemed to disrupt the chaotic flow of humanity. The persistent rain had now soaked her inadequate breeches and she was extremely tired from her river voyage. A series of uncomfortable questions tumbled through her mind. Could she really make a life for herself here? Was she just an insignificant nobody from a village no one cared about?
“Buyin’ or sellin’?” barked a voice behind her.
Dressed in rags and bare-footed, the boy couldn’t have been more than eight. He exuded a roguish charm that was easy to like. Hadley wondered if he was one of Andra’s famous urchins.
“I’m Hadley,” she said.
“You can call me Sinner,” said the boy with a wink. “Fucking parish priest made it stick.”
Hadley blinked at the language but nodded understandingly.
“I have work for you,” she said. “But first I need to know where Grell is.”
“Of course,” Sinner said obligingly. “Right this way.”
Her head spinning, Hadley followed the urchin through the crowded market. Surely it couldn’t hurt as long as they remained in the open? She was breathing heavily within minutes - that boy was quick!
“He’s within five yards of us,” Sinner said cryptically, crossing his arms and grinning. All Hadley saw was a wall of hooded townsfolk. She realized the boy was waiting for a payment before delivering the vital intel.
“A crown?” she asked, digging into her pocket. Nothing there but panic - her coin bag was gone. She made to grab the boy but he chortled and hared into the crowd. She had no chance of tracking him. Numb, Hadley just stood in the driving rain for several moments. All she had left was her ridiculous black sphere. She would sell the fucking thing at the first available opportunity. Not here, though - there would be specialist antiquities dealers further into town. Finally broken by the day, Hadley began to shiver. Where could she go? She couldn’t believe she’d been duped so easily. She really was a yokel, a useless, pampered nobody who should probably just crawl back into the smoking ruin she came from.
It made sense to head back down the steps to the dock. Hadley didn’t have the appetite to explore more of the town - at least not today. The only thing she could do to ensure her first day in Andra wasn’t a total disaster was survive. The Red Fish was unlikely to take her on credit. She wandered past the tavern and down a side alley. A thick-set man was just leaving a building to the rear. He didn’t bother locking the doors. Hadley waited until he was gone before peering inside. The space was dark and reeked of horse manure, but it was dry as far as she could tell. There appeared to be no horses at that moment, which might’ve explained the lack of security. In any case, Hadley was grateful to have a roof over her head. She shut the door behind her, blocking out the cold and the drunken din from the tavern. A pile of hay and a pail of scummy water beckoned from the nearest stall. There were dark smudges on the floor but the light was so bad she shrugged and resolved to make the best of the situation. Ignoring her sodden clothes, she lay on the wooden slats. Those ‘dark smudges’ turned out to be pellets of horse shit, which were now smeared all over her shirt. Stifling the urge to cry, she jammed her eyes shut and focused on the morrow. Gradually she became aware of the rain’s distant caress. The reassuring sound calmed her frayed nerves and eventually lull
ed her into a light sleep.
Soiled stables do not make ideal beds, and Hadley endured a restless night. Still, by the time she was woken by a wide-eyed stable boy at the crack of dawn, her clothes were damp rather than saturated and she’d recovered a sliver of verve.
“Apologies,” she said to the tongue-tied lad as she left. “Think I took a wrong turn. Here, take this as payment.”
Feeling more than a little cheap, she fished the lead-lined box from her oil-skin bag and instinctively removed the sphere before handing over the container. Gods knew what the boy was going to do with it, but Hadley was determined not to act like a common vagrant. She pocketed the sphere and left sheepishly.
The sky was overcast but yesterday’s rain had cleared. Hadley hugged herself as she crossed the dock and ascended the stairs, wishing she could hide her soiled shirt. Ringed by malacine bowls that fizzed and spat like fiery wraiths in the gloomy dawn, the fish market was in full swing. Today, more of the town was visible. Sloping, terracotta roofs and hundreds of lazy smoke trails melded with the blue-grey morning light. Above the sprawling clutter of The Bend, the Sanctum Wall rose imperiously. Beyond that, further up Baler’s Hill, fingers of grey cloud threaded the cathedral’s imposing spires. The Governor’s keep was all but lost to the sky.
The yawning market didn’t seem so intimidating today. The stall holders called and harangued with shrill enthusiasm and townsfolk went about their business with grim efficiency. Spending a night on the street wasn’t exactly ideal, but in a strange way it defused some of the mystique that so confounded Hadley on her arrival. The town had already landed a blow, but she’d risen from the canvas, ready for more. Despite her fatigue she felt searingly alive as she joined the throng. This time she moved with the flow and felt more at home. In the short term, she needed money. Crowns. If she couldn’t find Grell, then she’d force Grell to come to her. And yet her only asset was the black sphere lying uncomfortably in her hip pocket. She was tired, hungry and looked like a cheap whore. An unwanted thought assailed her - that was one of the few ways a destitute woman in the Southern Reaches could earn quick money. And yet … it was a huge price to pay. Truth be told, she saw value in her virginity if she survived long enough to play the political game in Andra. She was fairly certain that potential suitors would be most interested in her medically-verified status. It would break her heart to throw it all away on some cheap, tawdry transaction in a lice-ridden dive. No. She would spend an hour or two looking for an antiques dealer before considering other options. Taking a deep breath, she worked her way through the steadily building tumult, fantasizing about what she’d buy with just one crown. Probably a bowl of delicious stew, a baguette and a knob of freshly churned butter.
A swarm of urchins surged through the crowd like gleeful dolphins. Hadley spotted Sinner in the thick of it and resisted an impulse to chase him. He was unlikely to be carrying what he stole from her even if she could reach him. He’d fleeced her fair and square, Andra-style. Besides, once Hadley managed to secure a few coins of her own, she’d need these urchins for other jobs. The far end of the market was bordered by a busy thoroughfare that slithered its way through The Bend like a serpent. Hadley trudged up a cobble-stoned street lined with all manner of stores. Though her shabby clothes made her uncomfortably self-conscious, she carried herself as a tired farm hand running an errand in town. It was difficult to walk with detached purpose when all she wanted to do was gawk at the amazing places she passed. Guill, of course, only had the most basic of stores. Here on Regent Street she spotted no less than three bakeries, one of them specializing in artisan bread. If she wasn’t in such a desperate predicament, exploring Andra would be an unforgettable experience.
Thoroughly overwhelmed, Hadley almost missed a grimy, unassuming shop called Ladour Antiquities. The perfect place to begin her inquires. The proprietor, a small man perched on a high stool, looked doubtfully at Hadley.
“Your price,” she said quickly, handing over the strange sphere with a minimum of fuss. The dealer’s eyes widened as he trained an ocular device over the object, winding small wheels on its side. Hadley waited hopefully, figuring his initial reaction was a good sign. At length the sphere was passed back to her with a look of haughty regret.
“Exotica,” the man said dismissively. “There’s something extremely odd about that piece but I have a policy of rejecting items I have no knowledge of. You might have more luck down at the docks.”
Hadley pocketed the sphere with a hard smile. She was essentially being directed to the black market.
“I understand,” she said crisply from the door. She spent the next two hours trawling Regent Street, asking various shop holders if they needed casual work done. Some regarded her with open hostility, others were more discreet with their prejudice. Regardless, the universal theme was rejection. Hadley couldn’t actually blame them - if she was a shop owner she’d wouldn’t be looking favorably on a disheveled young woman smelling of horse shit. Still, by the time she reached a bustling intersection, her morale had hit rock bottom. The bells of Saint Anyar suggested noon had just ticked over. A little over four hours before darkness fell. Hadley felt a twinge of panic as she contemplated yet another night on the street. She simply couldn’t do it. Physically she was sore, exhausted and in dire need of food and drink. Mentally, the prospect of another night shivering on a stone floor seemed wholly insurmountable. She needed a break and she needed it soon.
Abandoning her usual caution, she found herself drifting into a bakery and asking for the owner. A fresh-faced young man nodded courteously from behind the counter and beckoned she follow him out back. The day’s baking was complete and the kitchen and been cleared and scrubbed.
“Just a moment,” mumbled the baker as he removed his apron and checked a log book. “Esther is in the Sanctum on business. Is there anything I can help with?”
Hadley searched the young man’s eyes. There was nothing there but polite curiosity.
“I thank you,” she began nervously. “I realize my appearance must give you pause.”
“Think nuttin’ of it,” came the instant reply. “I know quality when I see it.”
Hadley smiled, but something felt dreadfully awry. The baker must’ve sensed it, moving casually to block the doorway to the shop front.
“I was just looking for work,” Hadley said, dread crawling up her spine. “My family lives just down the way.”
“Come now,” said the baker, taking a step toward her. “We both know that ain’t true. I know everyone in this bleedin’ town. You? You’ve blown in from the south from the look of yer. You don’t have any money - anyone with a nose can deduce that. You don’t know that over a hundred folks a day are headin’ to Lakeshore for work. Me? I can throw yer a scrap or two. But only if you let me put these up yer cunt.”
The scoundrel held his fore and index fingers in the air and licked them. “Won’t take long. Norbo out there won’t hear a thing.”
Her pulse skipping wildly, Hadley wondered if this “Norbo” was someone with more honor than the man stepping slowly toward her. It didn’t seem likely. Probably just another frustrated brute.
“That’s not going to happen,” she breathed, more for her own benefit than anything else.
“How’s that sweetheart?”
Time seemed to slow down as Hadley stood frozen to the spot. This was it - the culmination of a thousand idle teenage fears. She was about to be assaulted in the worst imaginable way. Frantic, she stepped back and felt the unforgiving edge of the kneading table against her hip. It pressed against the heavy sphere in her pocket. The sphere. She dug it out and raised it in front of her just as her assailant drew close. The jet black ball made contact with his forearm and, incredibly, sank into the skin. A hideous waft of putrefaction filled Hadley’s nostrils alongside the howl of pain that assailed her ears. She took the opportunity to bolt from the room, across the shop floor and out into the street. It was only when she’d rounded a corner and found a quiet arcade
to catch her breath that she realized that she was still holding the sphere. She made to throw it away in disgust, but for the moment it was stuck to her hand like glue. What kind of grotesque instrument had she been carrying around all this time? And why had Adner been so adamant that she take it with her? Mindful of the curious looks being thrown her way, she melted into the shadows while she collected herself. At length she was able to remove her hand from the sphere and was relieved to see her fingers were present and in working order. Though it made perfect sense to fling the object into the darkness and be done with it, Hadley felt a strange sense of foreboding at the thought. Suspecting the sphere was somehow manipulating her, she pocketing the thing as a temporary compromise. There were more urgent matters to consider.
Half-expecting a host of guards to appear round the corner and accost her, Hadley headed west along Barcai Street. Her nasty encounter with the baker had been traumatic enough, but his foul intent wasn’t what weighed most heavily on her mind. If what he said was true, there was no chance of finding honest work in Andra. She’d never planned on forging a career as a lowly shopkeeper, but she needed a steady trickle of crowns to establish herself. At first glance Andra had seemed like a thriving, vibrant settlement, but in hindsight that was only her relief at being anywhere but the smoking ruin she’d taken flight from. Armed with fresh insight, she noticed for the first time the huddled figures lying like driftwood in the bluestone gutters. The noticeboards plastered not with ‘Help Wanted’ signs but help offered. The long, snaking lines waiting to receive bowls of watery gruel from Anyar acolytes in sky-blue robes. Clearly, not all was well in Andra, and Hadley cursed herself for not realizing sooner. And yet, if the humble economies of The Bend couldn’t meet her current needs, perhaps she needed to lift her gaze. She considered the ivy-covered cobble-stones of the Sanctum Wall. Thirty yards to her left, a steady stream of traffic passed in and out of the hilltop neighborhood. If memory served, Cybil had made it into the Sanctum years ago when she ran away. She’d spoken of a sprawling pleasure house called Rosebalm and been fascinated by the painted women in the street. Perhaps Hadley could also find a way of secreting herself in the Sanctum at day’s end.
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