Still not willing to let go of my pack, even if the danger seems to have lessened, I keep it on my back as I ease into the chair. It’s a heavy reminder of the little I have to help me escape. After walking around for so long, my feet pulse and ache. The bruise on my leg isn’t fairing any better. The last time I felt this horrid was when the class matron caught me sleeping during her lecture on our hair, how it can never be cut and must always be in a tight bun. Enough to put anyone to sleep.
The minutes tick by as my worries increase. What is to become of me? Am I to go hungry? Where is the water closet? Am I allowed to leave this room if I wish? Or am I more a prisoner here than I was at Father’s? Even if I am a prisoner, at least it smells damp and musty instead of like rotten things.
My head nods, but the action reminds me of Nigel, and I jerk awake. Though I’m exhausted from such a wearing day and night, I can’t let my guard down enough to sleep.
Sometime later, it’s hard to guess how long with the worries distracting me, the male tarnished returns with an older woman. The tattooed slashes across her face are creased with age, but in a much more stately way than Nigel’s wrinkles. She looks wise and temperate, instead of baggy and worn. Not who I would have expected the male tarnished would return with. I was sure it'd be another male.
The whole thing is made even stranger by the clothes she’s wearing. A two piece, which is what they wear, but the colors stand out. A dark orange blouse and dusty pink skirt. I don’t know if I like the combination, but something about the way the woman wears them, the way she carries herself, makes them look good. Really good.
“You didn’t relax,” the male says.
He seems to be waiting for a reply so I admit, “I couldn’t.”
After sighing, he motions the older woman to another chair.
She sits there across from me. “Why don’t you tell me your story, dear? I’d very much like to know why you are here.”
Why am I here? I’m not certain I know.
“Why don’t you start with your owner? Who is he?”
Nigel flashes through my mind, his smell and age invading my space. I could give lies. They come easily, but the reminder of him mixed with their treatment of me so far makes me want to be honest. “No one I want to return to.”
At this, the tarnished woman smiles and places her hand on mine. “I think, my dear, that you have found just the right place.”
Chapter Six
“I’m Mary, and this is Charles.”
This means I should offer my name as well, but I’m not ready to divulge. It’s nice to know the name of the tarnished helping me. Charles. It’s a name I’ve always liked. He scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor but watches me closely out of the corner of his eyes. I quickly look away, a flush of heat spreading through me.
“You don’t have to tell us your name if you’re not ready,” Mary says. “Now how did you happen upon us?”
“My mother spoke of you.” It’s hard not to let emotion color my words. “There was a tarnished who was our friend. She decided to run, and mother said she was coming to you for help.”
“What is your friend's name?”
“Tilda.” My heart gives a sad pang.
“You’re Tilda’s little one? Or were. You’re not so little anymore.”
“She spoke of me?”
“Who is she?” Charles asks Mary.
She shakes her head at him and says to me, “Whenever we saw each other, she did speak of you. She was the best of women.”
“She was.”
Charles’s lips thin, sadness etching his features.
After a moment, Mary asks, “Who is your owner? Is he going to come looking for you?”
Is he? I hope not. “I was sold to Nigel Crowell this week. He seems pretty desperate for a breeder with a lot of magic in her blood. Which happens to be me. I doubt he’ll let me go easily.”
The lines in her face deepen as her muscles tighten. “Did you bring all of your possessions with you or did you leave something behind?”
“I don’t know.” I think back to my room, to the things I grabbed. I had such little time to pack and prepare. Everything was thrown in. I don’t have much. It shouldn’t be hard, yet I can’t be certain.
“This is important.” Her voice is still kind but strained now.
Doesn’t matter if it is important. It's no easier to remember. Besides, why could it possibly be so important? “Just a moment.”
If only there had been more time to gather my things. I rummage through my pack, mentally taking note. A spare dress, underthings, face paint, brush, hairpins, the stolen sewing kit. It’s all here except— “My ribbon is still at Father’s.”
“Just a ribbon? Or does it have more value?”
The pack slips from my hands. How could I have forgotten it? How? “Tilda gave it to me.”
Her lips shrink into a pinched line.
“Is that bad?” Why could it be? For them at least, for me I will miss the only item I had to remind me of her.
“We can’t be certain as of yet, but it bears checking into,” she says. “Charles, show her to the kitchens. I’m going to have someone keep an extra eye on things around here and send a scout to town and see if there’s news of her.”
“Sorry,” Charles says, “I didn’t know.”
Why is he apologizing? Is it because he brought me here?
“I’ll take care of it.” He winces at her words but recovers before she hurries from the room.
“What is she talking about? Why is she sending scouts out?”
“It’s hopefully nothing. We just want to be certain your owner isn’t going to be able to find you.” But he’s not looking at me as he’s speaks. It may be normal for most tarnished not to look at whom they are speaking with, but for him it seems… off. So far, he has always looked at me.
“What is it? Please tell me.”
“They could be tracking you,” Charles whispers to me.
“What?” My mouth goes dry. “With my ribbon?”
“There's a spell they can use with objects that will lead them to the person, but only if that person has an attachment to the item,” Charles says.
“I didn't know they could track me through it. I didn't know.” My chest seems to be caving in, piercing my heart. “They're going to find me and doing so will lead them here. How could I have left it behind?” I wrap my arms around myself.
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “You couldn’t have known. They keep things from girls on purpose. I should have done a better job making sure you were clear of spells.”
Maybe, but I still should have remembered it. Whether or not I knew of the spell, it was important to me. It shouldn't have been left.
“Are you hungry?”
Starving. “Yes.”
“Let’s get something to eat then. With all the running about we sometimes do, there’s always something to eat.”
My guilt doesn't leave, but the thought of food does help distract me. “If you live underground, where do you get your food?”
“We have some crops around outside. Plus we sell items we make so we can purchase some of what we need. Really, we’re not much different from other tarnished who don’t live in a warlock’s house. Only we try to stay hidden and not let the warlocks know we’ve gathered into groups.”
My body protests my standing, the pack heavy on my shoulders as we return through the hall. The cramped and rocky-ceiling presses in on me. There has to be something else to focus on. The only other thing is the back of Charles's head, so I focus that. What color of hair would he have if he hadn’t been tarnished? What would he be like if he hadn’t been tarnished? Would he still have developed the need to help people like me, or would he have become cruel like most other warlocks? Is it the magic that makes the difference, or is it something else?
He leads me into another room with several tables and lots of chairs. The scent of fresh bread permeates the room. Suddenly, I’m ravenous instead of sleepy. He
motions for me to sit at one of the tables. While I pick a seat, I keep my head lowered but watch as he dishes some food from off a counter next to the stove. He comes over and places a slab of cheese, a loaf of bread, a cup of water, and a bowl of small tomatoes on the table before sitting across from me. Those arms can certainly carry a lot.
He slices the bread and cheese, then hands them to me before making himself a plate.
Before biting into the bread I ask, “Have you always lived here?”
“What, underground?”
I nod, mouth full of soft, chewy bread.
“No. We’ve been here a little while, about two years now. There are places like this all over Chardonia, places where we can hide. We use them as needed and abandon them when needed.”
“Abandon because warlocks discover them?” I take a bite of cheese. It's creamier than I’m used to, smooth.
“Yes. Mostly law officers, though they aren’t the real problem.”
“Why not?”
“Law officers tend to be warlocks who have enough magic to be in a good position, but just barely. They don’t usually know enough magic to be more trouble than we can handle.”
And yet, I’ve always been so frightened of them. “Who does bring more trouble?”
His eyes grow distant as if remembering something. “Warlocks with money and power, who don’t have to work, who don’t do anything except boss women and tarnished around. They bring grief to us. Money, power, and boredom are a dangerous combination. But the biggest threat is warlocks who are on the council and the Grand Chancellor.”
I know very little about the council except they rule over everyone, even the men. But I do know men of power and money. They would come into Father’s shop and order me about. Men like my brother wants to be. Men like Nigel. I want to push the last of the bread away but force myself to finish. It sticks in my throat and takes the whole cup of water to wash it down. Even after it’s gone, my throat still feels closed.
“It’s hard when you leave them,” Charles says.
“What?” I croak out.
“You’ve been owned your entire life. It's hard to change from that even if it’s what you want.”
There’s a burning behind my eyes that grows and spills onto my cheeks. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to me. After I take it, his hand lingers on mine. It’s soft. Not his skin, though. His skin is rough with callouses, but the way he touches me. Gentle, so unlike the way other men grab and pinch and slap.
“It’s clean.” His words startle me from my thoughts.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s referring to the handkerchief. I dab my tears and laugh. “I didn’t know tarnished carried handkerchiefs. I thought you weren’t allowed anything except your clothes and materials you need for whatever job you are assigned.”
He smiles, warming me. “One thing about tarnished. Always be prepared.”
“All tarnished or just you?” I offer the handkerchief but he waves me away.
“Keep it. You need it more than I do.”
I fold the handkerchief and tuck it carefully in my pack. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he replies. “Probably not all tarnished are prepared. I’m sure there are exceptions, but in general, tarnished are ready for most things. I haven’t had a usual tarnished life, living under the council’s rules, but I have to be prepared to act like a regular tarnished. We have to be prepared. We're asked to do everything, whether assigned to a job or not.”
I remember Tilda, all the things she and the other tarnished did for Father. The things they did for mother and me, whether we asked or not. I may have helped Father at the shop and taken care of things at home, but the tarnished, they truly did everything. They washed and cleaned and served and scrubbed Father’s feet and prepared for guests and took care of the water closet and so very much more. They truly did everything. Everything except gaining freedom, that is.
“There was a tarnished when I was young who was different from the rest. Tilda, the woman Mary knew. She was a friend, not something less than a shadow. She used to read me stories when Father was punishing mother for some perceived misdeed. When my mother’s screams would fill the house, Tilda would softly sing in my ear and hold me. There was no one else that took care of me like she did.” The memories prick at me, begging me to do something, but of course there’s nothing to be done. Her fate was determined long ago.
“What happened to her?”
I’m afraid I may need his handkerchief again. “Father discovered how close we’d become, how she hadn’t just grown into a person, but a friend. As punishment to us both, Father hexed me to scream as loud as I could whenever I saw or heard her. After she would hurry from my sight, my throat would be raw, sore and aching, but it was nothing compared to the torment in my chest.
“Mother said Tilda couldn’t handle being the cause of my pain so she tried to run. Only she was caught, and Father wasn’t going to let someone so disobedient live.” And he made every single one of us watch her die.
“I’m sorry.” He takes my hand, folds it in his own. “Words don’t fix things, but I still wish it wouldn’t have happened to both of you.”
I look down at our hands linked together. “Thank you. Not only for listening, but for helping.”
“Of course.”
I take a shaky breath. “My name is Katherine.”
“I'm glad to have met you, Katherine.”
The room grows silent, a silence that’s filled with healing and comfort and a little bit of something I don’t understand. Something I want to know more of.
Chapter Seven
Mary strides into the room. Charles takes his hand from mine, not quickly like he’s embarrassed, but like we’re ready to move on. Ready to let a little more of the pain heal and goodness take its place.
“Any news?” he asks her.
“No one seems to be looking for her yet.”
“Maybe they won’t?” He looks at me.
I shrug. I thought Nigel would, but it was only a guess. There’s no telling how much I truly matter to him. Perhaps not as much as everyone implied I did? It’s enough to make me relax into my chair. Not enough for me to let go of my bag but enough to start yawning. It must be nearing morning.
A tarnished girl enters, dishes up a plate of food, and sits next to Charles. She looks about my age, maybe even younger, but if she's tarnished she can't be much younger. No women are tarnished before their tested, and none are tested until they are at least seventeen. Her narrow face is pale beneath thin tattoos, almost a sickly color, downtrodden eyes focusing on the plate before her.
“Glad you could join us, Mavis. This is Katherine,” he says. “You’ve been with us for what? About four months?”
She nods, her eyes still lowered. It must be that she was better at following the rules than I because it’s already growing easier for me to look up and it has only been but a few hours.
“What do you think of this place so far?” I ask.
She hesitates a moment, then says in a voice like a gentle breeze, “It’s dark.”
“And closed off. I keep thinking the mountain is going to fall on me.”
She gives a half smile. “Definitely not where I’d choose to live if I had a choice.”
“Glad I’m not the only one. I’m grateful for the help but not the depressing atmosphere.” Though somehow it now feels a little more like a happy place, despite the cramped space.
“I didn’t know it bothered either of you,” Charles adds. “Sorry it’s come to that. We use whatever underground tunnels we can find. There’s many of them, so it’s hard for the council to find us in them.”
“Unfortunately, I can see the logic,” I say, wondering if there’s any way around this.
“Unfortunate it is,” Mavis adds.
“How do you cope with it?” I ask.
“By trying to be distracted. Helping do what chores I can. I like helping make bread.”
“If you
don’t mind my asking, how did you come to be here?”
“How did you?”
I suppose it’s only fair I be willing to answer what I’m asking her to divulge. “I was sold to a cruel, old man. I just couldn’t accept it, so I ran.”
She grips her bread. “I wish I had been that brave. There’s not much magic in my blood. I was only good for the eighteen years of servitude to my Father, but not good enough to be someone's wife.”
Not being good enough for Nigel sounds much more appealing than him wanting me for a wife, but I can understand how it would be difficult if you didn’t have someone to teach you better, like I did. “What happened?”
“I was scheduled to be tarnished. Only before the—” She winces “—depraver came, Father's servant took me to get clothes more fitting for my new station. Payment for my time slaving for him, I guess. Said I was lucky to have an owner who wouldn't just throw me into the streets with nothing. That’s where I met Sherry. She was really nice. Understood what I was going through.
“There wasn't anything she could do then. We could talk, but the servant was always by the only exit. After I was tarnished, warlocks didn't care as much as long as I did my job. Sherry found me then and helped me to escape here.”
“Who’s Sherry?” There was so many tarnished when I came in, I may have seen her and not even known who she is.
“One of the nicest people I know. Only when she helped me escape, I didn’t know it’d mean living underground.”
“Me either, but even though I dislike it, I probably would have made the same choice.”
We continue to converse for some time, mostly moving to topics about nothing, yet the nothing feels good. Like the words caged inside us needed freeing, and there were no others who could free them until now. Charles is not like any of the males I know, though I suppose he wouldn’t be since he’s tarnished. He feels more like a person than the other boys. More like Tilda and mother but in a different way. A way I don’t understand.
As a couple days pass, Mavis is quiet but speaks to me more and more. I sleep in a room with her and Sherry. At first it's strange. Sherry is quieter than Mavis, who always watches with careful eyes. I suppose that’s how she knows when to help people like Mavis. We don’t spend much time together, though.
Mine to Tarnish Page 4
