“The city. This isn’t ours.”
“Whose is it?”
“I don’t know-but I know they won’t let us just live here.”
“I don’t intend to just live here.” Gwen was angry. She was tired of having all doors closed to her. Maybe Jollin was right, but she wasn’t about to give up, not now that it seemed like she was finally able to make her own way. What came out of her mouth next was more spite than sense. “Grue made a fortune off us. We’ll do the same thing on our own, right here, and we won’t have to walk around in rags.” She looked at her dirt-caked feet. “And we are going to get shoes, damn it!”
Jollin rolled her eyes.
“No one is using this place,” Gwen protested, as if Jollin had just laid out a careful argument. “No one has in years. Why would anyone care?”
“That doesn’t matter. There are rules about businesses.”
“What are they?”
Jollin shrugged. “I’m a stupid whore. How should I know!”
“Well I’m sick of rules!” Gwen shouted. “Do you want to go back? Then go! I’m sure Stane is still waiting. He wasn’t there for me, you know. Have you forgotten about that? Grue promised you to him. I could have sat downstairs and listened to the rhythm of your head bashing against the bedroom floor. You want to be another stain that Grue needs to hide from the customers? Is that what you want? Is it? Is it?”
Jollin didn’t respond.
“I’m the one risking four gold coins! And Grue promised to keep Stane away from me. But not you-oh no-not any of you. He was going to feed each of you to him. Why not? Look at the profit he made from Avon’s death. You’re just whores, just dirt, and there’s plenty more out there. I’m trying to make this work … I’m trying to save everyone, and all I’ve heard is complaining!”
Gwen saw it then, a small quiver of Jollin’s lower lip. She was breathing through her nose, her chest rising and falling at twice the normal speed, and there was a growing glassiness to her eyes. She wasn’t fighting because she was angry; she was panicking. She was terrified for the same reasons that Gwen had hoped to rely on her-Jollin was the most sensible.
Gwen softened. “It’s okay,” she said, taking Jollin’s hand and rubbing it in both of hers. “It’s all going to be fine. You just have to trust me.”
“But you don’t know how to start a business. You don’t even know if we can-if it’s allowed.”
“I’m actually a bit tired of what’s allowed,” Gwen growled. “What’s allowed is for men to beat and kill us, to keep us as slaves and make money off our humiliation. I’m tired of being kept barefoot and in rags-that’s what’s been allowed. I’m sick of it. Sick to death … if that’s what it comes to. They taught us the one thing we can make money at, so that’s what we’ll do-at least for now. And we’ll do it in Medford because we know this place. We already have paying customers and only one enemy. But you’re right. We don’t know everything we need to yet, so we’ll find out. When we go to the Merchant Quarter, I’ll ask. They all have businesses-they can tell us.”
“It’ll cost money. A lot of money, Gwen. I have no idea how much.”
Gwen considered the gold coins nested between her breasts. She had always thought they amounted to a fortune and each held the magical power to grant any wish, but would they be enough?
“Why don’t we go find out?”
The city of Medford was divided into four parts, five if you counted the castle in the middle, but that was like including the bone in a cut of meat. No one had much use for the castle or the king. The Gentry Quarter encompassed the city’s main northern gate. The Merchant Quarter was where the gentry went to shop and entertain themselves, the Artisan Quarter did the work of the city, and the Lower Quarter was the sewer.
Gwen had never spent much time outside the Lower Quarter. Here the lanes were wider and bustled with carts, horses, and people carrying baskets on their heads or shoulders. She heard the shouts of men, the squeal of pigs, and the nonstop hammering of commerce. Everyone had places to be and rushed to get there. They paid little attention to the group of women dressed in rags and lacking shoes, who moved slower than the current, unsure where to go. On the occasions when others did notice them, Gwen caught stares, scowls, and smirks.
The lady behind the woolen goods counter, however, didn’t give Gwen a dirty look. She didn’t look at all.
“I’d like to buy seven blankets,” Gwen declared.
The woman ignored her.
“Those over there would be good.” Gwen pointed at what she hoped were the cheapest in the shop.
Again the woman refused to acknowledge her existence or even look up.
“I have money,” she said, her voice dwindling, already knowing it wouldn’t matter.
Gwen lowered her head in defeat and walked away.
“Give me the purse,” Jollin said. Taking it, she strode to the counter.
“May I help you?” the woman asked with a practiced smile.
“How much are those blankets?”
“One for seven dins, two for a ses.”
“I’ll give you three ses for seven.”
“For three ses you get six.”
“Three ses, three din,” Jollin said. “Has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”
“Three ses and six din sounds better.”
“Three and five.”
The woman nodded and fetched the blankets as Jollin pulled out a golden coin. Surprise painted the shopkeeper’s face. As the change was counted out, Jollin handed the purse back to Gwen and the blankets to another of the girls.
“She has that kind of money?” The shopkeeper indicated Gwen.
“Yes, and more. A shame you were so rude. My lady will be filling carts with her purchases today, but no more from here. Perhaps this will teach you not to be so judgmental. My lady is very generous to those who understand that true beauty is found inside, and cruel to those with little, tiny, shriveled, warped hearts and sick, twisted minds so small and-”
“Jollin!” Gwen snapped.
“Ah, you see, my lady is anxious to leave your establishment and find somewhere she is more welcome.”
“But I’-m-” the shopkeeper started.
“-a bitch?” Jollin offered a sweet smile. “I couldn’t agree more.”
With that, Jollin left the shop.
Gwen and the other girls followed, all of them laughing and patting Jollin on the back. Afterward, Jollin and Abby were sent for food while Mae and Rose set off to get a broom. The rest waited with Gwen, standing in the shade of the pottery shop’s awning watching everyone. Mae and Rose returned first and were so proud of their purchase that they took turns sweeping the street. Gwen wondered if it was the first thing they’d ever bought. Jollin and Abby came back with cheese and bread.
“Is that all?” Gwen asked.
“I don’t know if we can afford anything else,” Jollin said.
“How expensive is food? We should have-”
“It’s not that. I talked to the baker and he says you need to purchase a royal writ.”
“What? For food?”
“No-to open a business. Called it a certificate of permit or something like that. You can’t open one without it or they’ll arrest you.”
“How do you get one?”
“You have to go to the city assessor’s office in Gentry Square. They’re expensive.”
“How much?”
“He didn’t know. The baker said it would be different based on the type of business. I think we might be in trouble.”
“Well let’s not declare failure before we even start. Let’s go back to the inn,” Gwen said. She added with disgust, “Unless there’s a law against seven girls eating bread and cheese in an abandoned rat farm?”
By the time they trekked to the Merchant Quarter, bought supplies, and returned to Wayward Street, the sun had set and the cold crept in. As awful as the dilapidated building looked in daylight, the dark brought a whole new level of dread. Unlike the Merchant Quarter, where business owners lit up their storefronts, the Lower Quarter was dark. On Wayward, only the firelight spilled out of The Hideous Head’s windows to illuminate the street in stretched rectangles. Gwen wanted to kick herself for not adding a lantern to their shopping list, but it would be the first thing during tomorrow’s trip.