by RG Long
The two girls quickly tried on the shoes and found that neither fit them very well. They went with the least uncomfortable choice and followed the line of girls filing out through a small door.
The door lead into another room in the giant warehouse, nearly identical to the one they just came from. Instead of beds, however, this room had tables lining the floor. Candles in beaten up and rusty holders provided the only light. Benches stood on either side of the tables and looked ready to tip over at any moment.
Two lines were forming up at the head of the room, which Blume could see had a large table holding stacks of bowls.
"Are they going to serve us breakfast?" Abigail asked in a small squeaky voice. Blume didn't have to look back to know that her friend was fighting back tears.
She also didn't have to answer either.
"I suppose you could call it breakfast," the girl in front of Blume said underneath her breath.
"Every meal here looks the same. And if I were you, I wouldn't complain if you want to eat."
Blume quickly glanced back at Abigail and saw everything she expected. Her eyes were bloodshot and your cheeks were red and puffy. She must have spent the whole night crying.
"Whatever it is, make sure you eat a lot," she told her.
As they got closer to the table at the front of the room, Blume could see the other line was all boys. None of them looked older than 18 years, just like the girls.
Blume copied the girl in front of her and took a small wooden bowl from the stack as well as a spoon. She held it out to a very large cook who ladled her out some broth.
"Fresh meat?" The cook growled at Blume. He let out a gurgling, vile laugh.
"Better get used to my cooking, you little wretch. It's all you'll eat! Tell me you liked it or you won't need to have any supper tonight!"
Blume look down at the broth and couldn't see the bottom of her bowl. An unidentifiable chunk or two floated in the semi brown soup but that was it. She looked back up at the cook and was about to say something about not having enough, when the little girl who had gone in front of her caught her eye. She shook her head violently at Blume, and motioned for her to keep walking.
"Something wrong?" The cook asked in a mocking tone.
"No," Blume said as she hurried to follow the girls walking back to the tables to take their seats.
Abigail set down quickly next to Blume and picked up her spoon to take a mouthful of the broth.
A bony hand knocked the spoon into her face, spilling her soup as well.
“No one eats until they've said their thanks,” said a gray haired woman, towering over everyone in the room. She was bone thin and her eyes were sunk back into her head. Half of the teeth on the bottom of her jaw were missing. Only the other half from the top of her mouth gave her a full set of teeth across.
She wore a gray dress with a plain white apron. At least it may once have been white. It was now gray and dingy.
Her hands rested on her hips as she stared at Abigail with a look of angry satisfaction. Blume could see why.
A single tear rolled down Abigail's face as she shuddered slightly.
“Well!?” the woman asked, more to the room than to Blume and her companion. “Teach these new ones how to be thankful.”
Every child who had sat down now stood. Every standing child bowed slightly, keeping their arms at their side.
They spoke in unison and their voices echoed throughout the room.
“Thank you, Miss Greer, for the food on our table, the clothes on our back, the beds we sleep in, and our work that gives us purpose.”
As one, they all stood up straight and looked directly at whom Blume assumed was Miss Greer.
The woman sneered as she glanced around the room.
“Where is he...? Hmm...” she was saying in a low voice.
No child dared move.
“Ah!” she said as she pointed a bony finger over to a table full of boys.
One of whom, was Jeremy.
“You're one of the new ones, too.”
She spoke in a shrill voice. Blume recognized it as the one that commanded her to get back in bed last night.
Miss Greer continued to stare at Jeremy for a moment. Then her gaze returned to Blume and Abigail.
“You've got a lot to learn about how we do things here at Miss Greer's Home for the Helpless. The first is that you had best be thankful. Orphans on the street get much worse than you in here.”
“But we're not all orphans,” Blume protested.
Her head smacked the table so hard she saw black spots floating in her vision. Her soup spilled down to the floor.
“The second lesson,” Miss Greer continued, nursing the hand that had hit Blume across the face. “Is that respect is our way of life. Never talk back to me again. Or you'll get much worse than a day without meals.”
She turned and walked away a few paces.
After a moment, she stopped and looked back at Blume.
“And that goes for your little dwarf friend, too,” she said with a twisted smile.
Abigail gasped. Miss Greer laughed. It was a dry, careless sound.
“Yes I know about both of your heritages,” she said. “And I could care less. If your parents aren't dead, they surely will come for you and claim you. That's all it takes to leave my home! Just let your parents know you’re here and you can leave as soon as they come for you! Until then, they're dead. And you work.”
Her hand went to her neck and caressed a piece of jewelry there.
It only took a moment for Blume to recognize it.
Her necklace!
She began to step towards Miss Greer again, but Abigail grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard.
Miss Greer smiled wickedly.
“You'll learn your place, soon enough. Maybe a day of work without meals will learn you.”
She walked off to a staircase that led to a small door on the second floor. A window next to it was dark, but overlooked the dining hall below.
Just as she reached the door handle, she looked down on the children.
Not one had moved since they stood to say thanks. None moved to defend Blume, Abigail or Jeremy. Of the fifty or so kids who stood with their hands at their sides, only a few seemed to have any life in them at all. And three of them had only arrived last night.
“You're welcome, children. Eat up. Work begins in ten minutes.”
With those words, Miss Greer opened her door, walked inside it, and slammed it shut with a bang.
***
BLUME WALKED BACK AND forth between the giant loom on one end of the room and the stacks of thread on the other.
The air was cool and would have smelled of autumn, were it not for the dust that invaded her nostrils. Bits of string and cloth littered the floor. Children ran all over the room. Some threaded the loom with the string Blume brought them. Others hauled the giant sheets of cloth that were made from it over to giant sewing tables. Still others worked needles tirelessly.
Abigail was sewing one sheet to another. The needles were tough and the thread was strong. Blume was curious what it was they were making. But a second red mark on her face had taught her that asking questions was not encouraged in this workshop.
A man who had given her instructions and referred to himself as 'the boss' carried a three foot rod with him to encourage any who fell behind the breakneck pace to keep up.
Several children worked with constant tears streaked along their cheeks. Crying was permitted. Not working was forbidden. For hours on end they toiled at the white cloth. Blume brought string to the loom. Those working the loom weaved it into fabric. The fabric was carried to the sewing tables. The fabric was sewed together and then placed on carts. Boys carried the carts out of the large room into another space that Blume couldn't see. Every fifth cart, Jeremy came in hauling a cart with another boy.
His face showed great strain.
Though his race was known for their hard work, Jeremy had been one who favored books ove
r labor. He was visibly struggling and twice received the rod in Blume's presence.
The first day passed without further incident or meals. The three were forced to sit at the table and watch others eat. Blume licked her lips and yearned for the broth and the extra treat that came with dinner: a crust of bread. She knew, though, that it would do little to satisfy the hunger she felt in her belly.
Abigail, however, sat with her hands in her lap. Her eyes were downcast. As Blume watched others consume their paltry dinner, Abigail made no attempt to look up.
Instead, she massaged her hands.
Blume couldn't see Jeremy over the heads of the other children, but she could only guess how he felt.
With each passing moment, Blume hated Miss Greer and her Home for the Helpless. And with her rage grew the desire to escape.
***
AFTER DINNER, THEY were marched back to their dormitories for what Miss Greer called 'reflection time.'
It was the first free moment of the day where quiet conversation was not met with a rod.
Abigail sat on her bed with her feet dangling over the side. Blume lay on hers, starting up at the mattress above her.
“How was your first day, newbies?” the girl who had warned Blume about complaining about her breakfast asked.
Blume rolled in her bed to get a good look at her.
She couldn't have been more than ten years old. Her dirty blonde hair was almost the same color as her stained clothing. Her face was hardened by what must have been years of work in the home. Her hands were bruised and one of her cheeks bore a scar from her ear to the corner of her mouth.
She was a plain girl, by all accounts. Except her eyes.
In the girl’s eyes there was a fire that Blume was familiar with. The fire of a life that refused to give up.
“To tell you the truth, it was pretty terrible,” Blume replied as her stomach grumbled. She rubbed her empty belly. “I'm achy all over and I'm starving.”
“Thought you would be,” the girl said. “I'm Katy. I nicked this for you two.”
She threw two crusts of bread on the bed beside Blume.
“New kids never eat on the first day. It's how Miss Greer works. Eat up.”
Katy turned to walk back to her bed, but Blume called out.
“Hey, wait up!” she said.
Katy turned around and looked back.
“What?” she asked.
Blume reached for the bread and then stood on the floor. She handed one to Abigail, who took it quietly without eating it.
“What's your story?” Blume asked. “And what's really going on here?”
Blume had always been inquisitive, even as a child. Her father had always said she asked a hundred questions before dinner was on the table.
Now that she had a chance to talk, she was going to get answers to the questions she had been thinking on all day.
“You heard her this morning,” Katy said as she came back to their bed. She sat on the unoccupied mattress across from Blume's. “This is Miss Greer's Home for the Helpless. More like workshop for the kids they find on the streets. She makes us work for the broth we eat and tell her thanks. She sells the stuff we make to the highest bidder and lives in a fancy house somewhere uptown. But when she's down here, all she wears is that plain dress. Doesn't want her nice clothes getting dirty.”
Katy emphasized her last words by shaking her own garment, which gives off a cloud of dust from the shop.
“You get used to breathing the stuff in sooner or later,” she says with a dismissive smile.
“How about you? Are you really orphans or did they just snatch you when you were on the wrong side of town?”
“What? They do that?” Blume asked.
Katy laughed.
“Yeah, that's how they got at least ten of the girls. Maybe a few of the boys, too. Anyone who wanders away from their parents and gets lost may end up with Miss Greer. And she says if your parents come claim you that you can go home. That's mostly true. Problem is, anyone who goes asking where Miss Greer's is and they'll get taken to a nice little house uptown. And a few orphans live there. Well-fed and prettied up. But they're just a rouse. Anyway, after some parent sees their kid isn't there, they just give up.”
Blume sat quietly for a moment. She took a bite of the bread, trying to think about the predicament of the children she was surrounded by.
“So, is that what happened to you, Katy? Did you wander off?” she asked.
Katy shook her head and dangled her feet from the bed.
“Naw. My parents really are dead. Went sailing on a trip and the boat was attacked. At least that's what they said happened. I was six. And since I don't have any other family in the south, I got sent here.”
She paused and chuckled.
“Well,” she continued, “That's almost true. I have an uncle up in Beaton. My dad's brother. But I've only met him once. I tried to get a letter to him, but I haven't heard back. I doubt I will. Anyway, they took me to the nice house at first. After I talked back to Miss Greer once there for mistreating a kid, she sent me here.”
“Thank you,” came a quiet voice from above Blume.
Katy looked up at Abigail.
“You're welcome,” she said. “Everybody has to eat. Even the new kids.”
Katy stretched and yawned.
“You never told me if you're orphans or not,” Katy said in-between stretches. “Not that it really matters if you ended up here.”
“I am,” Blume said, choking on her crust of bread. “My parents died a few months ago.”
“I'm not an orphan,” Abigail said weakly. Blume noticed she didn't hear the elf crunching on her own piece of bread. She could envision her just turning it over and over in her hands as she spoke.
“I have a mom. And a dad. Plus two older brothers,” Abigail said in small voice.
The words were coming from Abigail, but Blume could hardly recognize the sound. It was like the very joy of living had been stolen from her.
“I miss them terribly,” she finished with a small sob.
“Sorry,” Katy said bluntly.
Blume wasn't sure if she meant it. But she had no reason to doubt the little girl who had stolen them a piece of bread.
“Better get used to it here,” Katy said. “No one leaves once they come to shop.”
Blume swallowed the last bite of bread and cleared her throat.
“You mean no one has yet,” she said. “We're going to be the first. And we start planning tomorrow.”
Katy laughed again and shook her head.
“You're not the first to say that, you know,” she said with a smile on her face.
That smile hid a lot of pain. Blume could see it. Maybe Katy had said those words herself once.
“Bet I'm the first Speaker to say it,” Blume replied.
Katy's eyes went wide and Blume knew she was right.
Miss Greer was going to have to deal with three Speakers soon enough.
20: Ships of the Southerners
Rayg walked through the ruins of what was once the mighty elven city.
Spiral towers had been toppled and every piece of metal found repurposed.
Impromptu forges were made from the stones of the ruined buildings. Their fires fueled by the shavings from the ancient trees. In a city that was once beautiful and white, there was now black smoke rising all around. The elves had tried so valiantly to keep the divide between forest and city seamless. Rayg had to admire their attention to detail and care for the forest.
But that care had destroyed them.
Their walls were not strong enough to keep out the mighty armies of men. Their feeble war engines made from trees that had fallen naturally were too weak to repel a mightier force. One that wasn't as concerned with preservation of nature.
This force wanted domination.
The sky had once been hidden from view in the beautiful city of Talgel. Tree canopies had allowed only a glimpse of the blue above.
Now, a
s trees fell all around them, the sky canopy was opened and the clear blue sky above was visible.
The accomplishments of man were growing.
Two months ago, man came into the forest with ax and blade. Trees that had grown since the beginning of the elf settlement now lay in neat piles, ready to be made into planks.
The ancient harbor had been converted and added to. It was now a ship foundry. No less than ten mighty vessels were being constructed. Their large hulls shadowed the docks. Each ship would carry enough men to sack a city.
Another twenty-four of the mighty vessels were planned and in the beginning stages of construction. When combined with the ships that were already in Sea Gate, this armada would be a force to be feared.
This fleet would be sent to destroy a country.
Rayg breathed in the smell of freshly cut wood, smoking furnaces, and the hard labor of men.
What a glorious war this would be.
"General Rayg, sir?" A voice behind him interrupted his thoughts.
The owner of this voice was Wessel, a servant of Androlion. A scribe. He was a small man, a full three heads shorter than Rayg. Though he was young, he was already balding on the top of his head. His eyes were too close together and his face seemed to be in a constant state of dislike. Like he had something sour in his mouth, but refused to spit it out. He was a skinny man wearing large robes that threatened to consume him whole at any given moment.
The leader of the new Southern Republic had requested he come with Rayg to document the progress of construction.
Rayg was more under the impression that the scribe had been sent to spy on him. He felt like Androlion had begun to trust in him less and less.
No matter.
"What do you want, weasel?" Rayg said.
He was rather fond of the nickname he had granted this one.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rayg saw the man flinch at being called weasel. He knew that he would never correct him. Wessel was far too much of a coward for that.
"Should we get started on our report?" Wessel asked with a quivering voice.
If it wouldn't stall the plans Rayg had made, he would have been content to kill the fool right then and there.
