“We’re going to need help.” Gwen began nodding slowly as she surveyed the wreckage once more.
“No one’s gonna help us,” Jollin said. “No one cares about a bunch of runaway whores so dumb that the farthest they got away was across the stupid street.”
Once again Gwen was thankful for the rain, which poured loud enough to mask the silence that followed. They had reached the moment of real decision. The day before had been fear driven. No one had time to think clearly. Left to themselves all day, forced to work hard after a lifetime of making a living on their backs and facing another night sleeping in the cold and wet, they had the opportunity to reflect.
Gwen hadn’t done anything to instill confidence or offer hope beyond picking a spot to sleep and providing a bit of food and some thin blankets. Right across the street the Head loomed, whispering of warmth. Gwen had ideas, but what good were ideas compared to dry beds?
“We’ll need someone strong,” Rose said. “Someone who will work cheap.”
Maribor love her, Gwen thought, and then she said, “Or for free.”
“Like that will happen.” Jollin sat down on the wooden step of a stair that went nowhere except up into a fist of splintered wood. “Why don’t we all just kneel and pray for our troubles to end. That has just as much chance of success.”
“We’ll see,” Gwen said. “You get everyone digging out that chimney and moving all that junk away from the fireplace, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Gwen plans to make this into a palace,” Rose told them all.
At first it sounded like a joke, the cruel sort, only the tone was wrong. “We saw this house in Gentry Square and we’re going to make this place like that. And what a place! It had a tower and everything.”
Gwen smiled at her sadly. That house was likely the home of a baron or sea captain. It had probably cost chests of gold bars and maybe even favors from the nobility. All they had left was a single gold coin and the combined life savings of each, which amounted to a handful of dins and ses. A lovely dream, but impossible. Rose suffered from the faith of innocence.
“Medford House,” Rose said.
“What?” Jollin asked.
“We’ll call it Medford House. Can we, Gwen? It will be the finest in the city.”
No one laughed. They should have. Jollin of all people should have guffawed until she was blue, but she didn’t.
“Medford House it is,” Gwen agreed. “But we’ve got to get this place cleaned up. We’ll need to open for business as soon as we can.”
“How long do you think we have?” Mae asked.
“I don’t know.” Gwen stared out at the gushing rain that made the puddles in the street look like they were boiling. “Everyone help Jollin. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Gwen left the skeletal shelter of the ruined inn and stepped back out into the deluge.
Unlike the Gentry Quarter, Wayward Street lacked fancy gutters and always became a brown pond on days like this. If the rain came down long enough, the water would reach the level of the bridge’s trench and the streets would be swimming in the stench of horse apples and drunkards’ piss.
Being completely soaked, Gwen made no pretense to cover her head or look for high ground. She walked through the pools, splashing as she went. As desperate and precarious as their situation was, she felt good. This was the first time she had walked down Wayward without feeling the suck of the drain. She was under no constraints except those she set for herself. She could go where she wished and stay as long as she liked. With an unexpected grin, Gwen aimed for the biggest puddle and stomped her way through it.
She passed the common well and walked over to the broken cart. Dixon sat next to it, elbows on knees, chin on hands, the water streaming off his face as if he were a fountain’s statue.
Gwen sat down beside him, planting herself in a pool of muddy water. She waited a minute while staring at the cart before them, then said, “Nice day for a cart-watching.”
Dixon rotated his head to look at her, and a waterfall ran off the brim of his hat. “I thought so.”
“Listen, I know you’re a busy man, but you see that old building?” She pointed. “Me and the rest of the girls who used to work at The Hideous Head are going to fix it up.”
“Oh yeah? Been watching-wondering what you all were up to. Thinking of doing something with it?”
“Going to start a brothel.”
“Good for you.”
“Yeah, well, we’re gonna be having a nice evening meal in a little while. Might even be hot if we can get the fireplace to suck smoke.” She shrugged. “Won’t be much, you understand, but if we can get a fire going-there’s that, you know?”
“Sounds nice.”
“We’d like you to join us.”
“Me?” he asked, surprised.
“Don’t get your hopes up. Even the bread is pretty soggy.”
“Oddly enough, that’s exactly the way I like my bread.”
“Then you’ll come?”
He hung his head, draining the gathered water from his hat. “I ain’t got no money, Gwen. At this point, if I had a coin, I’d flip it to see if I’d buy food or drink-with a bottle of hard liquor appearing the most sensible. Food would just extend my misery.”
“Don’t need your money. We’re not open for business yet. I’m just asking you to a meal, nothing else.” Gwen wiped the rain-slicked hair from her face. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I’d like to offer you a job.”
“What kind of job?”
“Hard labor.” She saw no reason to lie. “We have a few coins left for supplies, and if we can just straighten that place up a little-make a couple of rooms livable, get some beds-we should be able to make some money.” Gwen thought a moment and laughed. “Rose wants to make it into a palace. All fancy and pretty like the places on the Gentry Square. She wants to call it Medford House, expects it to be the best brothel in the city.”
“We are talking about the old inn, right? The one you just pointed to-the one that’s keeling over like it’s drunk and trying to lean on the tavern next to it?”
“That’s the one.”
“You know you’re gonna need a certificate, and they cost-”
“Already got it.”
He blinked. “You do?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” She clapped a hand to her chest where her copy of the document was hidden and stuck to her skin. “Signed just an hour ago over at the office of the city assessor.” Gwen nodded and allowed herself a smile. “It may be nothing right now, and it’ll probably never be as grand as Rose wants, but it’s something.”
“What do you want me for?”
“Have you ever seen Mae?”
“Little one, right?”
“Size of a songbird. Ever see a songbird lift a rough hewed oak beam over its shoulder?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“And you won’t.” She touched his arm. “You need an ox for that sort of work.”
“You want me to help you build a house?”
“I want you to help me build the House.”
He smiled at her. “The fact that I haven’t managed to fix this cart in a week doesn’t dissuade you none?”
“If you see a carpenter willing to work for soggy bread, please point him out. Otherwise, at the moment, I’m willing to settle for a strong back.”
“I got that.”
“Can I tell the ladies you’ll be visiting?”
Dixon looked back at the cart as if it were a dead body. “If you got some rope, I could clear that chimney for you.”
“I could get some rope.”
“Don’t buy it. Borrow some from Henry the Fisher at the south docks. He ain’t using it today. Tell him it’s for me. He’ll be…” He looked at her and chuckled. “How about I go get it.”
“Whatever you think is best.”
“Best not to send a woman who looks like you across town to a surly fisherman’s bar.” He stared at her a moment and shook his head.
“What?”
“You’re a beautiful woman, Gwen.”
“Thank you, Dixon.”
“What I meant is that no one should ever mistake you for a man.”