The Guild

by Jean Johnson

  “If you insist,” Rexei found herself teasing. “But I’ll require a tithe in exchange for all this warmth. Once I figure out what that should be, I’ll let you know.”

  Alonnen tried not to shiver. He hurried to the refreshing room and used it, since it was too cold not to feel the need, then returned to the stove. Peering inside, he jiggled the handle to sift the ash out of the bottom, and unburied a few peach-glowing embers. Heaving the coal bucket up to the door, he used a bit of magic to move the black lumps around, spreading them evenly over each other and the remnants of the fire. Once that was done, he hurried back to the bed.

  “C’mon, give me some room. I’m not getting out of this bed again until it’s bloody warm,” he ordered, climbing in beside her.

  She let him tug the covers over, but the cold air got to her, too. Scrambling free, she used the refreshing room as well, then hurried back. It was horribly cold in the room, not much different than her own bolt-hole would have been, but Rexei took great comfort in the fact that she didn’t have to get up and go to work cleaning the many public rooms of the temple this morning.

  “I am so very glad I got to quit the other day,” she muttered, trying not to let her teeth chatter. Tugging the bedding a little higher, she gave up trying to be polite about sharing the warmth and just rolled herself right up against the older mage’s side. “I don’t have t-to try to slog through the snow to the temple, and I don’t have to scrub any stone floors in f-freezing-cold temperatures.”

  Alonnen twisted onto his side, wrapping her in his arms as well as the blankets and quilts. Their knees bumped, tangled, then intertwined when he pulled her close enough to rub her upper arm and her back for warmth. “Neither of us have to go anywhere. Not until the roads are cleared. And as neither of us is in the Roadworks Guild . . .”

  “I was. When I was fifteen,” she added.

  “Oh, right, the brickwork medallion,” he muttered, remembering that one. “It’s hard to keep track of all the discs you’re entitled to wear . . . ah. Sorry about that,” he added, blushing and scooting his hips back a bit. “It has a mind of its own in the mornings.”

  “It’s, um . . .” She blushed herself. At his inquiring look, she blushed harder, struggling to come to grips with the odd thoughts flitting through her head. For the first time in her life—or at least what felt like it—she finally understood the “fuss” everyone made of moments like this. The pleasant sort of fuss, that was. “It’s okay. I’m not offended.”

  The way she snuck a peek up at his face made Alonnen wince a little. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Like you want me to kiss you,” he told her candidly. “Because if you don—”

  She kissed him. It was awkward, it was short, the tip of his nose bumped her cheekbone, and it ended within just a few seconds. Feeling like she was blushing all over, Rexei cleared her throat. “I-It’s okay. I told you I trust you.”

  Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Rexei, don’t tell a man that. Not when I’m trying to respect you.”

  “I can’t help it!” she argued defensively. “I don’t know how all of this is supposed to work. The only thing I know how to do is either lie or tell the truth, and since I feel like it’d be wrong to lie to you, I’m telling you the truth. I . . . like you. A lot.”

  Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily but hugged her close. A kiss on her short-cropped hair, and Alonnen returned the sentiment. “I like you, too. A lot. But we’re going to go slow and get to know each other.”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to go stomping full on the galloper-pedal on this motorhorse, when I feel like I barely know how to steer it just yet,” she muttered into his shoulder. Then mumbled, “I don’t know what romance is like. Not from the inside.”

  An odd thought made him chuckle. When she shifted in his arms, Alonnen explained it. “I can see why you picked a Goddess of Guilds, instead of a Goddess of Romance, then.”

  That got him a pinch on his ribs, which got her a yelp in her ear. They tussled for a moment, until the covers shifted, sending cold air between their bodies. Shivering, both yanked up the bedding at the same time, cuddled close, and behaved themselves while the coals slowly caught in the stove and worked on heating the room.

  At some point, Rexei drifted off to sleep again, but Alonnen stayed awake for a while. He thought about what she had said, about what had happened the previous night, and tried to figure out how all these disparate pieces would fit together in a way that would stop a demonic invasion. Thinking about demons was far safer than thinking about the fact that she wanted to kiss him, after all.

  • • •

  “Oh! Uh . . . sorry,” Rexei stammered, taken aback by the sight of a woman in the Consulate’s talker-box room. “I thought this was empty.”

  “I take it you need it?” the older woman asked, swiveling to face the door. She started to say more, then held up her finger, listening to the cone held to her ear. Turning back to the machine, she spoke into it, some sort of confirmation and a request for more people.

  Rexei wondered idly if the woman’s conversation had to do with last night’s meeting. Possibly, from the sound of things. She studied the other woman, taking in the dark wool trousers and thick-knitted sweater, not much different from Rexei’s own, save for a subtle pattern down the front and along the neck and cuffs. The smaller rooms of the Consulate were heated by those new boiler-fed pipes, so the woman wasn’t wearing a cap or bundled up in a coat. Her ash-brown hair had been pulled up into a bun; from the size of the knot, it looked like it would be fairly long when unwound.

  Absently rubbing her own short, dark locks, Rexei wondered if she’d ever get a chance to grow them out without fear. Probably not for a long while. Not until we’re so firmly a new kind of kingdom and Guildra is so firmly our Goddess, that She has the power to flick away the old priesthood like I’d flick a bug off a fence rail.

  “. . . There we go. Do you know how to operate a talker-box?” the woman asked, turning back to her.

  Nodding, Rexei pulled out her necklace of discs and sorted out one of the three medium-sized coins. The other woman raised her brows at the sight of so many coins, then slowly nodded.

  “I see. So, you’re Master Longshanks. Or rather, Guild Master Longshanks. Gabria told me about you last night.” The woman smiled with one side of her mouth and held out her hand. “I’m Marta Grenspun, Clockworks Guild and Precinct clerk. Today’s my rest day, so I came here. I was going to use the Precinct’s talker-box to start making calls on behalf of this new kingdom idea you’ve tossed out there, but the Hammer of Heiastowne put his foot down.” Her half smile gained a wry wince to it. “It’s not Precinct militia business, so out I had to go.

  “So. Here I am, networking with my fellow clerks and kinsmen, trying to spread the word of Guildra and Guildara. On your behalf,” she added, pointing a finger at Rexei.

  That took the younger woman aback. Blinking, Rexei asked, “You’re not afraid of . . . of Guildra’s manifestation? Or of me, for summoning a Goddess?”

  The smile Marta gave Rexei was wry, and only on one side of her mouth. “I’m not Gabria. In the ‘m’ sense, as well as by personality—she’s my dearest friend, don’t get me wrong, but she’s the shy, creative type, while I’m a natural-born organizer. And you, young lad—or lady, whichever you prefer—need organizing.”

  Rexei blanched. She quickly shut the door to the talker-box room, hissing, “She told you that?”

  Marta blinked. “What? Oh no! Gabria would never betray anyone else,” she denied firmly. “No, I figured it out for myself, the moment I saw you just now. I’ve met many women who dress as men, particularly those who work in the factories and among the militia ranks. In fact, I tend to do it myself. It makes dealing with the men in the Precinct offices easier. Speaking of which, what sort of militia-based role do you see wo
men accepting? Strictly clerical and other forms of support, or do you picture them taking up arms and defending this new nation of Guildara?”

  Caught on the spot, Rexei stammered. “I . . . that is . . . uh . . . I-I don’t think a . . . a member of the Holy Guild should . . .”

  “I think you should think about these things. Remember, we suffered in part because what the deity is all about, the kingdom becomes,” Marta told her. “Now, since I have personally seen it, I know that women can be just as effective as men in combat, if they are given training appropriate to their strengths and their reflexes.”

  “But women aren’t as strong as men,” Rexei stated, bemused by the turn of conversation. She had come in here to use the talker-box to contact other Consulates to find Gearmen apprentices willing to serve in the new Holy Guild, and . . . Marta was shaking her head. “What?”

  “Longshanks, Mekha gave us all that mechanical knowledge to augment our abilities. It honestly does not matter if it’s a man or a woman steering a motorhorse. It does not matter if it’s a man or a woman maneuvering around in a motorman suit. Both can do so equally well. It doesn’t even matter all that much if it’s a man or a woman operating a cannon, save that it may take two women to easily load the munitions into the chamber, versus one man with a bit of effort or one woman having to struggle hard. But they can all load the cannon and fire it. Not that I advocate going to war, but I do strongly suggest we prepare ourselves to defend against it.”

  “Well . . . good,” Rexei agreed, seizing on that. “Because my Goddess does not want to go to war. We’ll stand ready to defend against it, but . . . but we’ll only take on those who want to join us. None of this forcing ourselves on others. That’s nonsense and does nothing to ensure that our Patron will be a strong one, capable of standing strong in the face of anything. The False God certainly wasn’t strong. We’ll accept only those cities who want Her, because we won’t be like Him.”

  That half smile came back, this time more amused than wry. Marta lounged back against the talker-box desk. “He wasn’t very strong, was He? What made you think up that antiwar policy?”

  “Because . . . well, because He was all about war and conquest, yet we’d not managed to make our borders budge any bigger,” Rexei said. “We’re lucky the Arbrans and the Aurulans and the Sundarans haven’t been interested in claiming a single inch more for their own lands. And we’re lucky the northeastern barbarians haven’t enough organization, magic, or militia to do more than hold their borders.”

  Marta winced. “Please, that’s not the diplomatic way to address them. They’re hardly barbarians. They’re just small, clan-organized, city-sized kingdoms, each with a God or Goddess no more powerful than Mekha was. Now, what do you think about setting up a new capital city? Should we do it in the same place as the old one?”

  “Where the Patriarch lives?” Rexei asked, quirking her brows. “Are you crazy? We’ll have enough problems from Archbishop Elcarei. The old capital is full of the Patriarch’s lackeys and yes-men. Besides, they only have five or seven or something Guild Masters. Heiastowne has twelve. The capital of Guildara should be located wherever the guilds are strongest, wouldn’t you think?”

  Both corners of Marta’s mouth curled up, and her blue-gray eyes gleamed with good humor. It transformed her face from pleasant and full of character to actually beautiful. Rexei hoped the woman had never smiled like that around members of the priesthood.

  “Heiastowne has thirteen Guild Masters,” the older woman corrected her. Not much older, not by more than a decade at most, and probably only her late twenties, if Rexei was any judge. “At least, while you reside in the Precinct. Oh, the leftenant sent his congratulations on your triple elevation,” she added. “Master Actor, Master Gearman, and Guild Master. Quite an achievement in just one night. Everyone will be expecting great things from you as a consequence.”

  Those words wilted her. Abandoning the door, Rexei pulled out the other chair at the talker-box table and slumped into it. “I don’t know if I can handle this . . . I mean, I believe I’ve picked the right sort of Patron Deity for us—I truly do, and it’s quite obvious, or it was last night, but . . .” She tried to gather her thoughts instead of letting them ramble. “Miss Grenspun . . .”

  “Marta, please,” the other woman said.

  “Marta . . . I have no idea what I’m doing, beyond blind faith. Master Tall set me the task of writing out ideas, but . . . I’m just one person,” she confessed. “I’ve had training as a Gearman and as a Sub-Consul, I’ve seen the workings of literally dozens of guilds, and . . . Well, you’re asking me things I don’t know if I should be discussing! Mekha’s priesthood stuck their greedy, gouging fingers into everything. I don’t want my Holy Guild to be anything like that. They were political. I think the priesthood should stay out of politics, save to try to bring opposing sides to some sort of understanding, in the hopes of them reconciling through . . . through logic and calmed emotions. By remembering our similarities. That’s hardly the formula for creating a kingdom, I should think.”

  “It’s a far better start than some,” Marta countered. Reaching for a bound notepad, she pulled it over and flipped through several pages of neatly written notes to the beginning. “Now, after listening to Gabria talking last night—ranting and wibbling, rather—I got up early this morning and wrote down several ideas I had. I like the idea of a new kingdom based on the faith we all have in the Guild System. There are many laws we should retain, and we’ll have to take some time to sort through all of them to see which ones were imposed by the priesthood for their own benefit rather than the benefit of all. But since you have the clearest idea—obviously—of what Guildra stands for, I was hoping to run a few preliminary ideas past you.

  “If we—you and I and anyone else so inclined—all agree on what the differences should be, then we can start implementing them right away. I figured, since I am so good at organizing and thinking of little details, I could come and help you figure out all of the things that will need to be settled soon,” she explained. “So. First thought: What sort of cultural gesture or ritual should we use to invoke the thought, presence, or spirit of Guildra?”

  “I . . . don’t know.” Rexei hadn’t given that any thought. Glancing down at her hands, which were knotted together, she spotted her thumb. Frowning softly, she lifted it, fingers curled in and thumb poked out sideways. “We used this symbol as a way to imagine a day when we wouldn’t have Mekha around. The thumb that we pricked our blood to sign all those petition books. Maybe we’ll keep this one? I mean, it wouldn’t do to forget where we came from, because if we forget what we suffered, we might find ourselves straying into the wrong paths again.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Marta agreed, bending over her notes to mark an additional comment with a couple of underlines. “What about invoking the Goddess by name? Any specific ideas for prayers? Benedictions? Blessings?”

  “‘In the guilds we trust,’ perhaps?” Rexei offered, shrugging. “And, uh . . . ‘May Guildra guide you in your tasks’ . . . ?”

  “Good! Short, to the point, and easily memorized. Okay, what about the role of women in this new society? Are you going to go with an all-female priesthood?” Marta asked next, lifting one brow.

  That was an easy one to answer. Rexei shook her head. “Definitely not. That’d lead to the temptation of treating men the way the old priesthood treated women. It should be a mix of both. Equals all the way.

  “We may have a Goddess, but anyone can serve Her if they believe—actually, I should change my ruling that an apprentice in my guild has to first serve in three others,” she added, sitting forward as she warmed to the subject. “Rather, to advance to the rank of journeyman of the Holy Guild, he or she should agree to co-serve in at least three guilds. To be an apprentice, they just have to serve in at least two guilds.

  “And to be journeyman rank, their service should preferably be from
at least two different types of guilds. From among those that design and inspire, those that craft and fix, those that tend and provide, and those that advance the quality and ease of our lives—the brush, the hammer, the scythe, and the gear,” she said. “And then those of master rank should serve in at least five guilds, with one in each of the four categories, and be of at least journeyman rank or higher in two of them. . . and grandmasters should have so many years and so many guilds, with such-and-such rank . . . Sorry, I’m getting off subject, aren’t I?”

  “Not to worry, I’ll just make a note of it so we can come back to it later . . .” Flipping to a new page, Marta wrote that down as well. “Right. It might be a better idea to start the apprentices with just two guilds’ worth of experiences instead of three, since you’ll have a harder time getting anyone from the more limited pool of the Gearmen’s Guild. But it’s wise to have that cross-guild understanding of how the various crafts and skills work. So. On to the next question . . .”

  • • •

  “You.”

  Waiting in the front hall for Alonnen to finish checking via talker-box on the condition of the roads, Rexei flinched inside at the sound of the archbishop’s voice. Silently in the back of her mind, she started humming hard; she hadn’t done much of it during her long conversation with Marta Grenspun because the subject had been too fascinating for her to concentrate, but now, she needed her protective meditations.

  Turning to face the middle-aged man, she gave him a bland look. “Yes, Mister Tuddlehead?”

  From the narrowing of his eyes, he didn’t like being addressed as anything less than Your Holiness or Archbishop. Still, he merely gestured sharply with a slash of his hand that ran from his assistant to her. The novice at his side stepped forward and drew a coat and cap out of the cloth bags he carried. Rexei took her cap, quirked her brows at the light brown wool of the coat, then shook her head. Flushing, the young man dug deeper. Two coats later, she nodded and held out her hand for the correct one.