Kinnoo watched as Baltar secured the door behind the messenger. Returning to the table, the commander unrolled the paper, revealing a jumble of code to decipher.
The key was the messenger’s tattoo. The Council had nine messengers in reserve, one from each clan, for delivering secret information. Each bore a tattoo of their clan totem on their forearm.
The messengers thought that the symbols they wore meant they were representing the pride of their homes. They weren’t aware that the Council had secretly assigned a number to each tattoo. These numbers were changed every year during the Council gathering at Kazan-On-The-Water and this knowledge was given only to the primary clan leader, Baltar, and his second-in-command, Kinnoo.
Baltar worked the code, counting every fifth letter until the message was translated:
Fifth village raid this year. All blackweed taken. Investigate Eldervost.
Kinnoo looked at the message and poured tea. “Bad news.”
A statement more than a question.
Baltar got up and threw the scroll into the stove. “Damn the council! They aren’t willing to send any of their own warriors out for this.”
He opened a cabinet and took out a wineskin. Sitting down, he took a long swallow and passed it across the table. They sat in silence, drinking.
Kinnoo finally spoke, “The previous messages said the last village raided had a survivor, correct?”
Baltar nodded, “Yes. A hunter coming back to his village said that there were humans dressed in black loading their boats with the village’s store of blackweed. He hid until they left.”
He shook his head, “Everyone else was killed in their sleep.”
“All the raided villages were blackweed farms,” Kinnoo remarked. “There’s likely going to be shortages in Kazan-on-the-Water and Chainek.”
Baltar nodded and the older bugbear continued, “We will have enough blackweed in storage to last us through the winter and a good surplus crop as well, if it continues to grow as it has begun. We should send some to them.”
Baltar smiled but shook his head. He admired his companion’s compassion but had better plans for their crop. “No, whoever deems our blackweed worth the most will get it. We’ll send someone to Eldervost with half of our stores and see who buys it.”
“Half!” Kinnoo shouted, “What will our warriors do? They’re hard enough to command! Bad enough that rationed blackweed will lower morale, but when they’re blood begins to boil from not having it…”
“They’ll just have to cope!” Baltar snapped back. “As will we. Start rationing them tomorrow. Half our blackweed is enough to act as bait and will distract whoever is raiding our settlements. We want them to pay attention to us instead of our unprepared villages.”
“And who are you going to send to Eldervost? The humans hate us. Who would you entrust with this task?” asked Kinnoo.
7
Lore flung open all the windows on the second floor, signaling the start of a long day of work ahead of her. It was a beautiful spring morning and she relished the cool breeze that ran through their small courtyard. She breathed deeply and smiled as she hung out of the windows to hammer the clotheslines into the gray and weathered window sills. The last of the snow had melted away earlier that week and she could hear the robins and pigeons making their nests on the steep rooftop.
After stripping the bed, she rested the laundry basket against her belly, carrying it downstairs to the kitchen. There, on the table before the hearth, was another pile of dirty laundry from the merchants’ wives, threatening to spill onto the floor. Her work for the day.
Lore looked forward to the challenge though, especially after such a long winter. She felt confident that she was capable enough to complete daunting of a task and knew that she would be paid well for her efforts. They should soon have enough coin for a month's meals, maybe even enough to add some tomatoes to the garden.
She opened the windows downstairs but didn’t stop to savor the breeze. No time to waste! Checking the stove, she was glad to find the fire she started was finally heating the water enough to melt the washing soap.
She took out a bar of Warden Baumwolle's Pure Human Washing Soap from the cupboard. The wrapping paper always gave her pause when she looked at it. She never understood why a bar of soap needed runes on the packaging. But the soap bore the Seal of the Assembly, which meant it was, according to the print on the wrapping, Approved and Expected For All Human Cleansing. She shrugged. That was good enough for her.
Lore was flooded with happy anticipation, as she was whenever she unwrapped a new bar of soap. She wasn't sure if it was the fresh smell or the crackle of unsealing the packaging. Maybe it was that each bar contained a Card of Encouragement from Warden Baumwolle himself. Once, even the Primus wrote a card to commemorate the bicentennial anniversary of the Assembly! Not that she expected His Worship to trouble himself again with the vagaries of soap now that war with Saagardell was looming.
Still, Lore wondered what message the Warden was sharing with his flock this month. She broke the seal and unwrapped the bar. A small square of paper fell out and landed under the table onto the smooth dirt floor.
Lore clucked her tongue in annoyance as she bent to place the soap by the stove. The glossy surface of the soap caught her eye. One side bore a new series of runes molded into the bar. She still couldn't read them, but curiously, they were arranged in a circle around a relief figure. It was humanoid and wearing a robe topped with a hood.
The figure’s right hand was extended out, two fingers pointed up. In the center of the palm was an oversized eye. The face was hard to see in the shadowy kitchen, so she brought it closer to the window to inspect it more thoroughly. The sunlight reflected off its sheen and it seemed that two small red points of light appeared on the waxen face. It made her uncomfortable as if it had shifted its attention towards her. As if the face saw her there in the kitchen. She wondered briefly if she was truly pure enough.
The water on the stove began to boil over. She had lost track of the time! She knew she needed to get back to her work, but she still wanted to read what was on that card.
Putting the soap down, she opened the wood box on the stove to let some of the heat escape and allow the water to settle back down to a light boil.
Then on her hands and knees, she looked under the table. She pinched the card between her fingertips and pulled it out.
What was this? More runes? And the text was barely legible.
She compared the new card to the collection she had tacked up on the cupboard doors. She enjoyed reading them on the hard days. She even had her favorites to one side, like:
Pure Human living requires us to Live according to Assembly standards which bring Purity to the World.
Or:
What you are is the Assembly's gift to you, what you become is your gift to the Assembly.
She even enjoyed the more long-winded ones:
Radical obedience to the Assembly is never easy... But in the end, such sacrifice finds its reward in the Pure Human Spirit and that is more than enough for us.
Sometimes, they were downright pithy:
The Assembly will never experience an emergency.
But this one didn't make any sense! The letters went in every direction and over every inch of the card. Some were large and others so cramped she couldn't read them unless she squinted. One block of text read:
Pure Humans bless the Assembly! Only the Assembly are Pure Chosen People! Suffering promotes Vision! Toil begets Purity! Listen O Faithful of the Pure Human Spirit! The Pure Human Spirit will pierce where might cannot! GREATER THAN WORDS! WORDS WILL FAIL! Purity! Cleanliness! Inspiration!
She wondered what the deeper meaning was of the Warden's words this time. Unfortunately, she didn't have the time to meditate on them or ponder the strangeness of the card any longer. She needed to get the washing started!
Grabbing the soap and a knife she whittled off slivers of the waxy, brown brick into the heating water. Instantly, the kitchen w
as filled with the smell of freshly cut summer grass. She adored the scent and not for the first time, she wondered how they captured it so perfectly inside the soap.
Unfortunately, with Gansel's reaction to the perfume, Lore could only use it on days where she could wash outside or with the windows open.
As the water steamed, she began sorting the crustiest of clothes out from the pile and added them to the boiling sudsy wash water. With a giant wooden paddle, she stirred the liquid and kept the stiff undergarments from ballooning up and floating to the top.
Time seemed to shift and kink, hours and minutes blending into one another as Lore boiled, thumped, twisted, and rinsed for most of the morning until every piece of cloth rinsed clear and was ready to hang out to dry.
She stuffed the tin washtub full of soaked clothes and waddled out into the garden. There she would hang the thickest of garments in direct sunlight so they would hopefully be dry by evening. Once all the clothes were hung out, she surveyed her day's labor with quiet pride. Row upon row of clean knickers flapping in the wind.
“Mama, I’m back!” She turned as Gansel called out, entering the garden, “I went to the meadows out by Meistgate and found a slew of spring plants to eat!”
Lore smiled and met her daughter by the door. In her basket, she had bundles of chickweed, plantain, and dandelions. Over her shoulder, Gansel had a short poke stalk, berries and all. Lore turned her daughter around, the berries had stained the back of Gansel’s dress. Lore sighed, “Ganny, you’ve stained the back of your frock!”
She wasn’t too mad though, she remembered coming back from spring gathering as a child, covered in nettles. Her own Grandmama switched the back of her legs and made her sit down and pick them out by candlelight with no supper. Lore looked at her daughter and shook her head, she didn’t have the heart to discipline her only daughter that way.
She took the basket from her instead and pointed to the door. “Upstairs with you! From now on, if you want to go stomping in the mud, you’ll wear this same outfit. I’ll never get these stains out! Strip down and change into something dry. You’re washing your own clothes tonight.”
“Aw, mama, I didn’t mean to get it dirty!” Gansel whined.
“Not another word! I have half a mind to make you dye the whole thing in poke juice and wear purple for the rest of the year,” she admonished.
Gansel’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Go! Get changed! Quit your goofing!” her mother shouted.
Lore watched her daughter run inside and heard her pound up the stairs in her soft boots. She sighed and chuckled a little to herself. What was she going to do with that girl? She frustrated her to no end, but with her husband long dead, she didn’t know what she’d do without her.
That thought had troubled her more than once. What sort of future did her daughter have in Port Myskatol? She didn’t have much in the way of an occupation, wash came at least once a week, but not enough to sustain two grown women. She could brew cures for folks who still used the old potions. She never sold them to anyone important though. She never wanted to attract any more attention than what she got from the Warden. She hated feeling ashamed of what her Grandmama taught her, but always being under the eye of the Assembly made her nervous and Ganny already drew enough attention to herself with her strange ways.
But she knew in her heart there was nothing wrong in what she did to survive and provide for her child. She just needed to trust in the system the assembly provided. Besides, she was sure that even the merchants’ wives had their own troubles, no matter how much money they had.
"When you get down to it," she said out loud to herself as she eyed the drab woolen underwear, "in the eye of the Pure Spirit and the bottom of a washtub, a wash woman's the same as a rich merchant's wife underneath."
"You should mind your tongue, Missus Alterblum, you wouldn't want the ladies in Hochgarden to hear you say that,” a phlegmy voice rattled from behind the laundry.
Lore cried out with a start as Warden Wulfgust stepped out between the drying garments. What was he doing here now? She couldn’t help but suspect that his intentions towards her were less than favorable. She knew that the old codger bore ill will towards Ganny and her because, despite her faithful adherence to the tenets of the Assembly, he considered her a corruptive, backwater influence. he was born in the heathen countryside, according to most people, and relied on unfashionable and antiquated alchemy to support her family. As far as he was concerned, ironclad faith and vigilant prayer were the only answers to all of life's woes.
Lore respected that, but she knew that the old ways her Grandmama passed down to her were often as effective as adhering to the Pure Human Spirit. In fact, although she knew to never share this, she believed that together the two methods could work wonders!
"By the darkness Warden!” she cried, her heart pounding in her throat. "You gave me such a fright!"
A twisted smile played on his lips.
“That was exactly what he wanted,” she thought, surprised by the cruelty their spiritual leader could employ.
"Forgive me Missus Alterblum!” he apologized, eyes wide, insincerity dripping from his reply like marsh ooze. "It wasn't my intent to disturb you so."
He looked around the yard. “Where is your prodigal daughter, wash woman? Not dutifully helping her mother in the family province? Shameful.”
“No, Warden, she’s doesn’t help with me with the washing because the soap blisters her something awful! Something in it burns her skin. But don’t think she’s slothful, I make sure she contributes to the family!”
“I doubt that any Sanctioned Product would harm one who was truly Pure in Spirit.” His eyes pierced her, reminding her strangely of the illusion in her soap that morning, “Perhaps she is merely weak in faith?”
“No, Warden!” she replied, panic edging into her voice. “We serve our community and always adhere to the Purity Laws!”
He stared at her for a long time, then said, with glee making his throat quiver, "Well, regardless of your purity, I'm actually here on the summons of Primus Sharpe who will be joining us shortly."
Her throat went dry and an empty hole opened in her stomach. "The Primus? Why?"
Warden Wulfgust looked all the happier at the response to this news. He delighted in seeing such torment in those he considered unworthy of the Spirit.
"Oh, I wouldn't be one to assume, but I can imagine that he has finally taken note of my reports about you and other undesirables in our city," he said as he eyed her home. "Perhaps I'll be able to clear out this hovel once and for all. We've never needed the services of an herbalist witch in Port Myskatol. The time has come to cleanse my Ward, I hope!"
Lore could feel her legs grow weak with fear. The Assembly couldn't turn them out! She had done her best to lay low ever since they put her husband to the sword those many years ago.
She had been reluctant to follow him to Port Myskatol, had called him mad to follow his dream of being the best brewer in Eldervost. But they had still lacked the gold to get the land for hops and the barrels and all they needed to brew in quantity.
Her husband, Gardo, had taken a small loan from the Assembly to start up the brewery, signing all sorts of scrolls. They were able to get everything necessary to brew their first batches and the local public houses picked them all up, then asked for more! Not long after they opened up their doors, they could hardly keep up with the demand.
But despite their success, turning a profit was harder than either of them expected. It worried Lore because the loan was running out and soon their debtors would come to collect. And they did.
Lore remembered screaming. Running. Falling to her knees. One hand reaching for her husband’s face, the other clutching her swollen belly. The Underkeepers ignored her cries for mercy as the kicked Gardo’s head into the dirt.
Standing now among the laundry flapping in the wind, Lore screwed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to remember that day. It had been out of her mind for yea
rs! Why was it coming back now? Life had become a gray blur after that day. She had fought to keep going and stay afloat, but now she felt like the gray was taking everything away again.
She opened her eyes to ground herself back in the present and saw the Warden sneering at her weakness. She could tell he knew where she had gone. Every Assemblyman knew, for they keep meticulous records of anyone they deemed Unfit of Spirit.
It was so frustrating, she tried so hard to meet the expectations of Assembly Law, but sometimes she felt as if it were all created to induce failure and fear.
She shook her head, she mustn't let her faith fall! So much depended on her belief! She couldn’t be found weak or lacking in the Pure Human Spirit!
She straightened her back and made her face as smooth as stone. "We are Pure in this household, Warden Wulfgust."
"Oh? Indeed,” his voice mocked her piety, "When the Primus arrives, I'm sure he would be interested in testing the veracity of your faith."
She didn't have to wait long, however, she could hear horses traveling up the alleyway to her house. Her hands went clammy with sweat. Images of Gardo falling to the Underkeepers' crossbows ran through her mind over and over. Shaking them loose, she took a deep breath. She couldn’t show fear. Fear was for the subhumans! She would remain strong in the surety of her faith and her family's Purity!
"Mama? What's happening?” Lore heard from behind her.
She turned to see her daughter in fresh clothes and standing in the doorway, "Ganny! Get inside now!"
The Warden turned and smiled at Gansel, showing yellow, crooked teeth. "No, do not my child!"He beckoned her. "Come! Join us! Let the Primus see your Purity for himself."
Lore's eyes met her daughter's mirroring one another’s fear. She motioned for Gansel to stand next to her and whispered into her ear, "Don't speak until you are spoken to."
The horses stopped outside their gate and she watched as the tall figure of Primus Sharpe dismounted and strode towards their home.
Lore grasped her daughter's hand as Wulfgust scurried over to the Primus. His movements reminded her of a crab skittering across a beach towards its next meal.
The Necrosopher’s Apprentice Page 7