Page 29

S he woke up wrapped in a canvas tarp. The fabric was rough against her cheek and smelled of fish, but it blocked the spitting rain. Not only was she soaked through and chilled, she was cradled in someone's arms like a foundling.

The sky was lightening, but it was foggy. She could barely see the high rock walls flanking the river.

There were boxes all around and very little room. There was nowhere else to sit even if she'd been able to.

A cough caught her by surprise, and she curled up, hacking. When she could see again, she realized she was in the lap of a greasy-haired fisherman. His few remaining strands of hair were plastered to his green scalp and he didn't smell so good.

“Easy,” he said. “We fished you out of the river last night. Lucky for you, the fish were busy with another body. Don't worry though, we're downstream and the kraken can't get through here.”

“Another body?” she asked weakly. “A man?” Her voice was scratchy.

“Seemed to be. Any relation to you?”

She shuddered. “No.”

“Well, good riddance then.” He handed her a canteen. Her chapped lips scraped against the metal lip. It was plain water, but welcome.

“We'll be in town in a couple hours. Might as well sleep if you can. We had a good catch and there's nowhere to go on this boat. It's going to be boring until we dock.”

She shouldn't have been able to sleep, but she was exhausted. She'd been dragged up the mountain by a cultist. He believed that if he sacrificed someone in the river, the mountain would open a door to untold riches.

Sure enough, they did come to a door, but it turned out to be the home of a hermit carved into a nook of the mountain. She was knocked off the tiny stone bridge and into the stream. Apparently, her kidnapper had also been knocked in, probably by the angry hermit.

The details were a little hazy. That was probably for the best.

The walls had been high and slick, and she couldn't climb them.

In her panic, she nearly drowned. She remembered something hard thumping into her shoulder and hooking under her armpit.

She'd grabbed on with all her remaining strength.

It must have been a grappling hook. She'd have bruises under that arm but it had been worth it.

Seeing that she was still awake, the goblin asked, “What's your name?”

“Lily.”

He flinched. After a long pause he asked hoarsely, “Where are your parents?”

“Dead.”

“Got family?”

“No.”

“If he died a soldier, there's benefits...”

“No!” she said more forcefully. The lady who took her to collect her father's death benefits was not good. She didn't want to end up back in her hands.

The fisherman frowned. “You're what, ten, twelve? It's a hard age to survive without an adult to help.”

She stayed silent. Adults didn't always help. Adults were to be watched and carefully judged. Some of them were okay. It depended, and there were signs.

He sighed. “Fine. It happens I need a cook. Can you cook?”

“Some things,” she said cautiously. She had bread memorized.

“Fine. And you can clean...you're a girl. You must know how. Women are always cleaner.”

“Yes.” She knew all about household chores. She'd been doing many of them from a young age. First for Dad, and then for That Woman.

“All right. Room and board. Should we say...five coppers a week? You're pretty young, but I'm feeling hopeful. Also, I'm tired of living in my own filth.”

Was he crazy? Five coppers a week was an adult's wage. No one ever gave her money, but she knew what things cost.

It was light enough now he could see her incredulous look. “Just for cooking and cleaning and probably shopping, if you can manage it. I'm not a pervert,” he groused.

She stared at him, and then realized what he was saying. She tried to scramble out of his lap. He helped her sit up, but there was nowhere to go.

“Simmer down,” he said irritably. “Like I said, I just need a cook.”

“Hur's really not a pervert,” the guy up front called helpfully. “Just a sucker.”

Lily hadn't realized there was anyone else on the boat.

“Quiet, you!” Hur barked.

“Hiring a kid for an adult wage! She'll take the money and run, and then you'll still stink like fish.”

The two in the back stared at him, offended.

“She'll take one look at your greasy shack and decide she's better off in an alley,” the pilot predicted.

She didn't. Years later, she reminded Uncle Q how wrong he’d been.

He'd laughed. “I had to make it sound like a challenge or you would have run for sure. I knew what I was doing. The old coot needed someone to look after him.”

Lily sighed. He'd been right. Here she was, years later, taking care of her guardian in a much nicer, cleaner house. They had a housekeeper now, but Lily was in charge of Uncle Hurdle’s health...a challenging task to be sure.

“Here's the pain medicine,” she said, putting a wooden tray with a cup of medicinal tea and a pill on the side table by his couch.

He glared at the medicine, but reached for it anyway. It had been days since he had broken his knee, and it was unbearable without medication.

She wasn't sure what had caused the accident, but she had her suspicions. Uncle Hurdle wasn't saying.

He settled back on the couch while he waited for the medicine to kick in. “Draw anything lately?”

She brought him her sketchbook to admire. He always enjoyed that, and her cooking.

“Looking good. How are the lessons going with Madam K? Last time I talked to her, she said you were quite talented at household accounting.”

“It's going well. She helped me to open a small trading account. I've done pretty well in dyes and textiles.”

“When did this happen?” he asked with interest.

“Oh, a couple of months ago. You know her father is a trader, and she gets the papers. It's pretty interesting.”

“Hm. Smart girl.” He wasn't very good with anything other than bashing heads or fishing, but he recognized her talent. She had potential.

Unfortunately, people like his brother were beginning to notice.