dustinzgirl
Mod of Awesome
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So, in the sense of keeping you all aprised (or whatever) of this story, here is the second chapter in all its not so glorious glory. Again, many changes from the original version. Again, very long.
The Merchant’s Homecoming
It was evening in Three Springs, and Tenwick Goldenbottom was beginning to feel the tiredness of age. Ten years ago, his three month long merchant caravans to the south would have left him wet for more adventure. Now, the aged man was glad for the warm and welcoming lights of his home.
Gardenia, the eldest of Tenwick’s five daughters, rode beside him. “Race you home, old man?” She jested.
“Ah, daughter! I fear I’m too old for my saddle. You run ahead.” Tenwick smiled at his seventeen year old.
“How about I just ride with you, father?” Her smoky eyes were bright with adventures to come, the exotic places she dreamt of seeing, but for now she would be content to ride beside her beloved father.
Tenwick had not the heart to tell her that this was his last year of travelling. He groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, smiling at the joy of his life.
The merchant had built a good life for his family. The son of poor dirt farmers, he had vowed long ago that his own family would never suffer hunger or pain. Tenwick could not swear in court that all of his monetary gain was legitimate, but he paid his taxes and was generally overlooked. That was the secret, he often told Gardenia. Pay your taxes, keep your mouth shut and stick to your word.
Tenwick was well enough off that his entire street had been named after him, and he owned half the homes on his block. Respected by both the nobility and the underground traders, the only thing he never did was deal with the slavers; they left a bad taste in Tenwick’s mouth.
“Garden!” A small voice cried from the lit porch. “Papa!” The youngest daughter came running out, her dark braids bobbing in the dim light. “You’re home! Mama!”
“Hey, Belle!” Gardenia said, leaning over her horse to sweep the young lady up. “Have a boyfriend yet?”
Belle giggled, “Oh, you know mama won’t let me have a suitor until I am thirteen.” The youngest blonde looked very serious for a moment. “And never call them boyfriends, Garden. Mama says only tramps and poor girls have boyfriends. We have suitors.”
“Oh, well then we must be very important indeed!” Garden grinned, touching noses with her sister. “Jump down and help Papa with his horse.”
Gardenia led her own steed to the stable. A large mare, Gardenia had eloquently named her Mare. The horse was a good horse, a gift from her father. The young woman handed Mare to the stable boy. “Be sure to give her a good rub down Isham. She’s had a hard day’s travel.”
“Yes’um.” The boy replied, not making eye contact.
Gardenia had known the boy since he was ten years old and her father bought him from a certain death from slavers. Her mother had been none too happy, and admonished the boy to sleep in the stables, but he had been well fed and cared for, even by Gardenia’s mother.
“Look at me Ish.” Gardenia said, pulling the boys chin towards her. “Who did this to you?” She asked, seeing his puffy, bruised eyes.
Isham turned his head away. “It’s nothing, Garden.”
“Who?” Gardenia’s voice trembled at the first hint of anger.
Just then Belle and Tenwick entered the stables. “What’s this?” Tenwick said, noticing Isham’s bruises instantly.
In place of Isham’s silence, Belle offered her childish voice. “Oh Papa, you should have seen Mama. I’ve never seen her in such a fluster! Those Betram boys beat poor Isham a few days back. And you know Mama’s never been one to raise her voice, but boy did she ever scream at them! I thought if she had a sword she would have sliced their heads clean off. She grabbed the maid’s broom and chased those boys a whole block, until a footman stopped her. Mama almost got a fine for causing a public raucous, and the Betram’s got two lashes a piece.”
“Did she now?” Tenwick laughed. “Well, that’s your mother, a lady born and bred but if she gets her gander up the whole world is a cooked goose. That’s where you get your temper from, Garden.” Tenwick finished, “You and your mother are a lot more alike than you would imagine, dear daughter.”
“I doubt that father.” Gardenia said.
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss your mother, child. Let’s help Isham with the horses and then we can all go in for dinner.”
Marta Goldenbottom was hurriedly trying to set the table, finish the meal, and keep her three teenage daughters and one elderly maid on task. It was not an easy feat, and she had not been expecting her husband until well past dark. Marta was the kind of woman who prided herself on caring for her husband and family. She kept an immaculate home and placed great importance on meals. Her cooking was well regarded throughout the town, and many a business partner and nobleman begged her to teach their wives to cook.
“Delia, put the rolls in the centre of the table and cover them with cheese cloth. Not the dinner napkin child! The cheese cloth, please. Alma, set out the good porcelain for your father please. Miriam, help Mrs. Fenton with the stuffed pork. Mind your fingers child!” Marta was a bouncing bubble of controlled enthusiasm.
“Never mind your fingers Miriam! Where’s that pork!” Tenwick shouted behind Marta, causing her to jump.
“OH! You wicked man!” Marta flung her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses. “I’m sorry; dinner’s not quite done yet.” Marta’s eyes landed on Gardenia, but they did not stay long. Her lips turned down for a moment, and then the tall blonde woman was bright smiles again. “Isham, your face is looking much better child. I have another poultice for you, boy.” Then, almost as an afterthought, Marta added: “Gardenia, it is good that you are home. By gods, daughter, what have you done to your beautiful hair?”
“I cropped it short, Mother.” Gardenia gave her mother a curt nod, and then was surrounded by her younger sisters.
“What were the boys like down south?” Delia asked.
“Oh, forget the boys, what were the jewels like? Fire rubies I bet!” Miriam chattered.
“Pah, who cares about boys or rubies? Were there pirates? With ships and black flags in the wind?” Alma nearly shouted. “Did you see any damsels in distress? Knights? Dragons?”
“You read too many books little sister.” Gardenia said, tugging one of Alma’s braids. “And of course there were boys, but no rubies.”
“Didn’t you bring us anything?” All the girls said at once.
“Of course I did, but not tonight. Go on now, help Mama finish the table. Poor Mrs. Fenton can’t do it by herself.”
Dinner was a joyous affair, the younger girls were buzzing with excitement, and each regaled the most important of recent events.
“Oh, I almost forgot. We have all been invited to Lord Bartholomew’s party tomorrow night. We must go pick out dresses for the gala.” Delia shrieked with excitement. “That is, if we can go Papa?”
“I told the girls we would wait for your return and approval Tenwick.” Marta interjected, cutting her pork into the tiniest possible pieces. “It would not be becoming for all of us girls to arrive unattended. That means you too Gardenia. If your father approves it, of course. Lady Esmeralda is expecting the entire family.”
“I’m not going unless Papa says I have to go, Mother.” Gardenia replied, stuffing her mouth with a huge slice of pork. She wiped the juices from her chin with the back of her hand.
Tenwick was caught between the stares of the two women, as he usually was. He found himself wanting to bow to his adoring and beautiful Marta, but he also found himself wanting to grant his darling Gardenia her every wish. More so, he wished that just once both women would be wanting the same thing, and not trying to pull the poor man in either direction. “It will not harm you, Gardenia, to attend a gala.” He said simply, and suppressed the urge to cringe.
Stuffing an unusually large slice of pork in her rather small face, Gardenia took a swig of wine and let the juices run down her face. She left the table in a huff that irritated her mother and awed her sisters, stomping out the door. Outside, Gardenia leaned against the wide columns and strained to hear the conversation.
Marta rose to go after her, but Tenwick stopped her. “Let the girl be, Marta.”
“She can’t be out this late without a companion, Tenwick. Think of the muggers!”
“Wife, I know you haven’t had as much time with our oldest daughter as I have, but be assured—the muggers should fear her, not her fear them. That girl has my stubbornness mixed with your temper, and she can hold her own in a fight.”
“This is entirely your fault for raising her like a boy, Tenwick. For Gaia’s sake, you have her running around with hired men and doing gods’ know what at all hours of the night.”
“I do not want to have this argument again, Marta.”
“I just think she should be sent to a nice finishing school.”
“She doesn’t want to go, wife.”
“I want her to go.” Marta replied, pushing her plate away. “She is a bad influence on this family and has no manner of respect for our home.”
“I was no different when I was her age.”
“You were a man at her age! You have her running around in trousers, husband. Trousers! Her lovely golden hair all cut short, she looks like a common peasant boy!”
“ENOUGH!” Tenwick finally shouted. “Let us finish our meal in peace. In the morning we will shop for this party, and yes, Gardenia will be in attendance.”
With a clenched jaw, Gardenia walked towards the inner area of town, not wanting to disturb Mare for a late night ride. Less than an hour later, her head cleared from the walk, she found herself on the lower end of town, entering the rowdy Boar and Bull Inn. She was not unknown here; many times her father and herself had met here for a business meeting with gentlemen who preferred more anonymity than could be offered at any of the prestigious inns. Inside, it was dark and loud, which suited Gardenia’s mood just fine. She pushed her way through the rough crowd, and sat silently at a small table for two.
“Buy you a drink lass?” A scraggly fellow asked. His bearded face was thin and pocketed with severe acne.
“No.” Gardenia said flatly.
“Oh, c’mon now. I haven’t seen a girl as fresh as ye in a long time.”
“And it’ll be much longer if you don’t leave me be.” She was already fingering the short knife that hung at her hip. Not a grand knife, but it was the only one she had. Gardenia wished she had thought to bring her short sword, but the young woman had been so irritated with her father that she forgot.
The strangled looking fellow kneeled beside her, placing his hand on her knee. “C’mon then, lemme have a bit of a kiss!”
Janit, the Inn’s house server, came to take Gardenia’s order. Janit was just on the cusp of greying hair, and Gardenia could tell from the wrinkles on her brow that her sad blue eyes had seen far too much wrong in the world. “Graham, you might want to leave this one be.” She said. “That’s Goldenbottom’s daughter you know.”
“Did I ask you wench?” The man said, pushing the woman back as he stood. “Leave us be.”
Graham’s attention had turned for just a moment, but that was all Gardenia had needed. She pressed the tip of her blade almost delicately against the bottom of the man’s throat. “Apologize to the woman.” Gardenia said.
“Bugger off, wench.”
She pushed the blade upwards just enough to bring a small drop of blood. “You will apologize. No one here will care if the tip of my blade goes all the way into your sorry little brainpan. Now apologize, and be gone with yourself.” Her voice did not shake; it was cold and empty.
“I am sorry miss.” The man said with an agitated wobble. “I uh, meant no offence.”
Gardenia let the blade go and shoved the thin Graham away. He lunged for her throat, a knife suddenly in his hand. In one smooth movement Gardenia’s knife plunged deep into Graham’s neck. His blade hung in the air for a moment, then fell to the floor as his face quickly paled. The skinny man fell to the floor in a sad heap of scraggly hair and blood.
“Martin!” Janit shouted. “Martin! Someone finally off’ed Graham!” Janit smiled at Gardenia. “Anything you want tonight is definitely on the house. That idiot’s been harassing the girls for months. His money’s good, he’s just an ass.” Janit turned her attention back to shouting. “Martin, where the nine hells are you boy?” She hollered towards the kitchen. Finally Martin came out, an enormous man with a soft, childish face that contrasted with his girth.
“Take this carcass outside and leave it in the alley. I don’t want his blood stinking up the place.” Janit ordered, adding a kick to the dead Graham’s ribs.
“Yes ma.” Martin replied.
“Ma?” Gardenia said. “You can’t possibly be his mother.”
“Poor soul’s addle brained. When he was a babe, his mother was raped and killed right in front of him. He thinks every woman is his ma, and he can’t say much more. Matter of fact, for the first few years I knew him, Martin didn’t say anything but ‘ma’—getting a yes or no out of the lad is a great feat indeed. Now, how about tall mead and some warm bread?”
“Just the mead, Janit.” Gardenia smiled. She watched as Martin lifted the Graham with one arm, a rather amazing show of strength considering it was dead weight. It was not the first time Gardenia had killed a man, but as always it left a rusted taste in her mouth. She planned on getting extremely drunk tonight.
“Hey Garden.” A familiar voice stumbled towards her, startling the young woman from her drink.
“Well I’ll be sniggered. How are you doing little Willie?”
“Ha ha.” Will Boots was two years younger than Gardenia, and already enlisted in Lord Bartholomew’s service as a town footman. “I’m not little Willie anymore.” His voice slurred a bit. “See, I got a sword and a badge and all that. Enlisted three months back, right after you all left for the south. I’m a man now.” The dark haired boy thumped his chest for emphasis. “A man you know!”
“Ah, of course.” Gardenia raised her empty glass for a refill. “In that case, shouldn’t you be saving your money for Delia’s ring and a house, and not drinking it away like a fool?”
“Oh, Delia, Delia, the world is darker without ya!” Will began to sing loudly. “Oh, Delia, a poor soldier’s wife ye’ll be! But that’s the life for you and me! Delia!”
“Oh for pity’s sakes, sit down before you hurt yourself.” Gardenia said flatly, not realizing how much she sounded like her mother. “Singing is for church and battles, boy.”
Looking slightly flushed, Will took a seat across the small table. “Just so you know, soon to be sister, I ain’t bought a single drink tonight. The Captain’s been buying them all for me!”
“Oh, how’s that? Old Captain Sharem isn’t too well known for his generosity.”
“Well, that just goes to show how little you know. I single handed—heavily—headedly.” Will stopped for a moment and cleared his head with a loud belch. “I caught a thief, red handed. I got a bonus and I met Lord Bartholomew in person.”
“Good for you. Let’s celebrate your prowess at foot soldiering.” Gardenia smiled, and finished her glass. “Let’s have another. Hell,” she jingled her purse, “let’s all have a round!”
There was a raucous braying and the mead flowed freely well into dawn.
Just after dawn came, Gardenia Goldenbottom was just finishing an exhausting, drunken stumble home. Her head pounded and she smelled of mead and meat. The scent of herself was enough to make her vomit, but as she entered her home the smell of fresh eggs frying sent her running back outside.
“’Ere you are child.” Mrs. Fenton said, holding Gardenia’s hair back and handing her a glass of fresh pressed juice. At least it resembled juice. “Drink up now, and go to your room quickly. I’ve already got a bath running for you child. Your ma is still asleep, but she’ll be in a fit if she thinks you’ve been out carousin’ all night.”
Gardenia took a slow drink of the thick orange liquid and instantly tried to spit it out. Quickly, Mrs. Fenton grabbed the girl’s nose and nearly drowned her with the concoction. “It’s a medicine my ma made for me brother’s growing up. It’ll surely cure all your ills from all that evil brew in your body. Drink up now and hold it in.” Mrs. Fenton smiled gently, but her hand had a fierce hold on Gardenia’s mouth and nose. She let go only after the young woman swallowed the nasty elixir down.
“What in the name of all the gods is that?” Gardenia asked, breathing heavily and gagging.
“Egg yolk, chicken blood, boiled cow hooves, crushed barrow’s root and cinnamon.” Mrs. Fenton stated as she walked away. “Hurry up to your bath now child, then come down for breakfast.”
“Yes, Mrs. Fenton.” Gardenia said, defeated. Oddly however, Gardenia could not deny that the bubbling and nausea had stopped. She could even see and walk straight, an amazing thing considering the amount of mead she had drunk last night.
After breakfast, Isham hitched up the coach and the family made their way across town to the market. The girls, all but Gardenia, were talking about the colour and style of dress they would buy. Their incessant chatter made Tenwick long for the days when they were babbling babes, bouncing on his knee and looking at him as though he were the hero of the universe. Since the youngest turned eleven, all that mattered now was clothing, jewellery, and of course, boys. This was enough to bring Tenwick closer to his grave, but such was the way of fathers who cared for their daughters.
"Men want wives, Tenwick. Not business partners and hunting buddies." Marta said, ignoring her eldest daughter’s glare.
"With no sons to inherit our fortune, do you not think it best that she learn all she can of my business, before I grow old and die and leave you with none to care for you?"
Tenwick's wife could hardly dispute this logic, but she liked it even less for that. “She belongs in finishing school, dear husband.”
“Not now, Marta. I am tired and I just want to buy my girls some gifts, if you don’t mind. Let’s enjoy this day with absolutely no bickering.”
“Yes, husband.” Marta said, but her tone was showered with frustration. “As you wish, husband.” Somehow, Marta managed to say husband as if it were a curse. The woman could turn any word into a curse, and Tenwick simply shook his head in response. They were silent until they reached the Merchant’s Square, a bustling inner town area where only the finest of goods were sold.
Beside Tenwick and his lovely wife Gardenia stood, silent and brooding. It annoyed her that her own mother looked down upon her, and raised her silly and gabby and far too gilded younger sisters above her, at least as far as the house goes. Gardenia could barely stop herself from rolling her eyes as her sisters picked the most extravagant and most expensive masks from the vendors, and silken dresses that they would surely freeze to death in.
Gardenia's mother made the final decision on their purchases, often commenting that only a floozy would wear this dress or that only a peasant would buy such a mask, until it was finally decided, purchased and fitted. Gardenia wondered if Tenwick would put himself into debt to make her little sisters and mother happy.
“Gardenia, aren’t you going to buy something?” Marta asked, almost nicely. “Come, please. I rarely get to see you in something pretty. Just this once?”
Gardenia felt suddenly sorry for her mother, though she could not explain why. “All right Mama. You pick out any dress and I will wear it for you gladly.” Where did those words come from? Gardenia asked herself, Mrs. Fenton’s elixir did more than cure her hangover; it had turned her into a sop. “Any dress, Mama.” Gardenia tried to hide her grimace, but Tenwick caught it and gave his daughter a wink.
“This gray one will match your eyes, and look—it’s loose enough that if you have to kill any brigands you can still move easily.” Marta joked, a rare event for the reserved woman.
“Are you all right, Mama?” Gardenia asked as her jaw dropped.
“Your father asked me to make this a decent sort of day. Regardless of my personal convictions, I will do as he asks, and you will also, for his sake.”
Gardenia nodded, pushing her irritation down. She would be a decent daughter, if only for one night without bickering with her mother. For her father’s sake, she would. As she tried on the grey silk, Gardenia realized something she had not before. Regardless of her and Mama’s arguments, they both loved her father, and would do anything to keep him happy. If that meant swallowing her pride and wearing a (damned) dress, then so be it. She looked at herself in the tall mirror and decided that the dress was far too elegant. It flowed into her bosom, wrapped softly around her waistline, and smoothed around the bottom of her feet. It certainly did not match her muscular frame or short hair. The neckline was low enough that the red scar from where she had been knifed a few years back showed in a glaring contrast to the silken gown.
Gardenia decided the dress did not fit her at all.
The Merchant’s Homecoming
It was evening in Three Springs, and Tenwick Goldenbottom was beginning to feel the tiredness of age. Ten years ago, his three month long merchant caravans to the south would have left him wet for more adventure. Now, the aged man was glad for the warm and welcoming lights of his home.
Gardenia, the eldest of Tenwick’s five daughters, rode beside him. “Race you home, old man?” She jested.
“Ah, daughter! I fear I’m too old for my saddle. You run ahead.” Tenwick smiled at his seventeen year old.
“How about I just ride with you, father?” Her smoky eyes were bright with adventures to come, the exotic places she dreamt of seeing, but for now she would be content to ride beside her beloved father.
Tenwick had not the heart to tell her that this was his last year of travelling. He groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, smiling at the joy of his life.
The merchant had built a good life for his family. The son of poor dirt farmers, he had vowed long ago that his own family would never suffer hunger or pain. Tenwick could not swear in court that all of his monetary gain was legitimate, but he paid his taxes and was generally overlooked. That was the secret, he often told Gardenia. Pay your taxes, keep your mouth shut and stick to your word.
Tenwick was well enough off that his entire street had been named after him, and he owned half the homes on his block. Respected by both the nobility and the underground traders, the only thing he never did was deal with the slavers; they left a bad taste in Tenwick’s mouth.
“Garden!” A small voice cried from the lit porch. “Papa!” The youngest daughter came running out, her dark braids bobbing in the dim light. “You’re home! Mama!”
“Hey, Belle!” Gardenia said, leaning over her horse to sweep the young lady up. “Have a boyfriend yet?”
Belle giggled, “Oh, you know mama won’t let me have a suitor until I am thirteen.” The youngest blonde looked very serious for a moment. “And never call them boyfriends, Garden. Mama says only tramps and poor girls have boyfriends. We have suitors.”
“Oh, well then we must be very important indeed!” Garden grinned, touching noses with her sister. “Jump down and help Papa with his horse.”
Gardenia led her own steed to the stable. A large mare, Gardenia had eloquently named her Mare. The horse was a good horse, a gift from her father. The young woman handed Mare to the stable boy. “Be sure to give her a good rub down Isham. She’s had a hard day’s travel.”
“Yes’um.” The boy replied, not making eye contact.
Gardenia had known the boy since he was ten years old and her father bought him from a certain death from slavers. Her mother had been none too happy, and admonished the boy to sleep in the stables, but he had been well fed and cared for, even by Gardenia’s mother.
“Look at me Ish.” Gardenia said, pulling the boys chin towards her. “Who did this to you?” She asked, seeing his puffy, bruised eyes.
Isham turned his head away. “It’s nothing, Garden.”
“Who?” Gardenia’s voice trembled at the first hint of anger.
Just then Belle and Tenwick entered the stables. “What’s this?” Tenwick said, noticing Isham’s bruises instantly.
In place of Isham’s silence, Belle offered her childish voice. “Oh Papa, you should have seen Mama. I’ve never seen her in such a fluster! Those Betram boys beat poor Isham a few days back. And you know Mama’s never been one to raise her voice, but boy did she ever scream at them! I thought if she had a sword she would have sliced their heads clean off. She grabbed the maid’s broom and chased those boys a whole block, until a footman stopped her. Mama almost got a fine for causing a public raucous, and the Betram’s got two lashes a piece.”
“Did she now?” Tenwick laughed. “Well, that’s your mother, a lady born and bred but if she gets her gander up the whole world is a cooked goose. That’s where you get your temper from, Garden.” Tenwick finished, “You and your mother are a lot more alike than you would imagine, dear daughter.”
“I doubt that father.” Gardenia said.
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss your mother, child. Let’s help Isham with the horses and then we can all go in for dinner.”
Marta Goldenbottom was hurriedly trying to set the table, finish the meal, and keep her three teenage daughters and one elderly maid on task. It was not an easy feat, and she had not been expecting her husband until well past dark. Marta was the kind of woman who prided herself on caring for her husband and family. She kept an immaculate home and placed great importance on meals. Her cooking was well regarded throughout the town, and many a business partner and nobleman begged her to teach their wives to cook.
“Delia, put the rolls in the centre of the table and cover them with cheese cloth. Not the dinner napkin child! The cheese cloth, please. Alma, set out the good porcelain for your father please. Miriam, help Mrs. Fenton with the stuffed pork. Mind your fingers child!” Marta was a bouncing bubble of controlled enthusiasm.
“Never mind your fingers Miriam! Where’s that pork!” Tenwick shouted behind Marta, causing her to jump.
“OH! You wicked man!” Marta flung her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses. “I’m sorry; dinner’s not quite done yet.” Marta’s eyes landed on Gardenia, but they did not stay long. Her lips turned down for a moment, and then the tall blonde woman was bright smiles again. “Isham, your face is looking much better child. I have another poultice for you, boy.” Then, almost as an afterthought, Marta added: “Gardenia, it is good that you are home. By gods, daughter, what have you done to your beautiful hair?”
“I cropped it short, Mother.” Gardenia gave her mother a curt nod, and then was surrounded by her younger sisters.
“What were the boys like down south?” Delia asked.
“Oh, forget the boys, what were the jewels like? Fire rubies I bet!” Miriam chattered.
“Pah, who cares about boys or rubies? Were there pirates? With ships and black flags in the wind?” Alma nearly shouted. “Did you see any damsels in distress? Knights? Dragons?”
“You read too many books little sister.” Gardenia said, tugging one of Alma’s braids. “And of course there were boys, but no rubies.”
“Didn’t you bring us anything?” All the girls said at once.
“Of course I did, but not tonight. Go on now, help Mama finish the table. Poor Mrs. Fenton can’t do it by herself.”
Dinner was a joyous affair, the younger girls were buzzing with excitement, and each regaled the most important of recent events.
“Oh, I almost forgot. We have all been invited to Lord Bartholomew’s party tomorrow night. We must go pick out dresses for the gala.” Delia shrieked with excitement. “That is, if we can go Papa?”
“I told the girls we would wait for your return and approval Tenwick.” Marta interjected, cutting her pork into the tiniest possible pieces. “It would not be becoming for all of us girls to arrive unattended. That means you too Gardenia. If your father approves it, of course. Lady Esmeralda is expecting the entire family.”
“I’m not going unless Papa says I have to go, Mother.” Gardenia replied, stuffing her mouth with a huge slice of pork. She wiped the juices from her chin with the back of her hand.
Tenwick was caught between the stares of the two women, as he usually was. He found himself wanting to bow to his adoring and beautiful Marta, but he also found himself wanting to grant his darling Gardenia her every wish. More so, he wished that just once both women would be wanting the same thing, and not trying to pull the poor man in either direction. “It will not harm you, Gardenia, to attend a gala.” He said simply, and suppressed the urge to cringe.
Stuffing an unusually large slice of pork in her rather small face, Gardenia took a swig of wine and let the juices run down her face. She left the table in a huff that irritated her mother and awed her sisters, stomping out the door. Outside, Gardenia leaned against the wide columns and strained to hear the conversation.
Marta rose to go after her, but Tenwick stopped her. “Let the girl be, Marta.”
“She can’t be out this late without a companion, Tenwick. Think of the muggers!”
“Wife, I know you haven’t had as much time with our oldest daughter as I have, but be assured—the muggers should fear her, not her fear them. That girl has my stubbornness mixed with your temper, and she can hold her own in a fight.”
“This is entirely your fault for raising her like a boy, Tenwick. For Gaia’s sake, you have her running around with hired men and doing gods’ know what at all hours of the night.”
“I do not want to have this argument again, Marta.”
“I just think she should be sent to a nice finishing school.”
“She doesn’t want to go, wife.”
“I want her to go.” Marta replied, pushing her plate away. “She is a bad influence on this family and has no manner of respect for our home.”
“I was no different when I was her age.”
“You were a man at her age! You have her running around in trousers, husband. Trousers! Her lovely golden hair all cut short, she looks like a common peasant boy!”
“ENOUGH!” Tenwick finally shouted. “Let us finish our meal in peace. In the morning we will shop for this party, and yes, Gardenia will be in attendance.”
With a clenched jaw, Gardenia walked towards the inner area of town, not wanting to disturb Mare for a late night ride. Less than an hour later, her head cleared from the walk, she found herself on the lower end of town, entering the rowdy Boar and Bull Inn. She was not unknown here; many times her father and herself had met here for a business meeting with gentlemen who preferred more anonymity than could be offered at any of the prestigious inns. Inside, it was dark and loud, which suited Gardenia’s mood just fine. She pushed her way through the rough crowd, and sat silently at a small table for two.
“Buy you a drink lass?” A scraggly fellow asked. His bearded face was thin and pocketed with severe acne.
“No.” Gardenia said flatly.
“Oh, c’mon now. I haven’t seen a girl as fresh as ye in a long time.”
“And it’ll be much longer if you don’t leave me be.” She was already fingering the short knife that hung at her hip. Not a grand knife, but it was the only one she had. Gardenia wished she had thought to bring her short sword, but the young woman had been so irritated with her father that she forgot.
The strangled looking fellow kneeled beside her, placing his hand on her knee. “C’mon then, lemme have a bit of a kiss!”
Janit, the Inn’s house server, came to take Gardenia’s order. Janit was just on the cusp of greying hair, and Gardenia could tell from the wrinkles on her brow that her sad blue eyes had seen far too much wrong in the world. “Graham, you might want to leave this one be.” She said. “That’s Goldenbottom’s daughter you know.”
“Did I ask you wench?” The man said, pushing the woman back as he stood. “Leave us be.”
Graham’s attention had turned for just a moment, but that was all Gardenia had needed. She pressed the tip of her blade almost delicately against the bottom of the man’s throat. “Apologize to the woman.” Gardenia said.
“Bugger off, wench.”
She pushed the blade upwards just enough to bring a small drop of blood. “You will apologize. No one here will care if the tip of my blade goes all the way into your sorry little brainpan. Now apologize, and be gone with yourself.” Her voice did not shake; it was cold and empty.
“I am sorry miss.” The man said with an agitated wobble. “I uh, meant no offence.”
Gardenia let the blade go and shoved the thin Graham away. He lunged for her throat, a knife suddenly in his hand. In one smooth movement Gardenia’s knife plunged deep into Graham’s neck. His blade hung in the air for a moment, then fell to the floor as his face quickly paled. The skinny man fell to the floor in a sad heap of scraggly hair and blood.
“Martin!” Janit shouted. “Martin! Someone finally off’ed Graham!” Janit smiled at Gardenia. “Anything you want tonight is definitely on the house. That idiot’s been harassing the girls for months. His money’s good, he’s just an ass.” Janit turned her attention back to shouting. “Martin, where the nine hells are you boy?” She hollered towards the kitchen. Finally Martin came out, an enormous man with a soft, childish face that contrasted with his girth.
“Take this carcass outside and leave it in the alley. I don’t want his blood stinking up the place.” Janit ordered, adding a kick to the dead Graham’s ribs.
“Yes ma.” Martin replied.
“Ma?” Gardenia said. “You can’t possibly be his mother.”
“Poor soul’s addle brained. When he was a babe, his mother was raped and killed right in front of him. He thinks every woman is his ma, and he can’t say much more. Matter of fact, for the first few years I knew him, Martin didn’t say anything but ‘ma’—getting a yes or no out of the lad is a great feat indeed. Now, how about tall mead and some warm bread?”
“Just the mead, Janit.” Gardenia smiled. She watched as Martin lifted the Graham with one arm, a rather amazing show of strength considering it was dead weight. It was not the first time Gardenia had killed a man, but as always it left a rusted taste in her mouth. She planned on getting extremely drunk tonight.
“Hey Garden.” A familiar voice stumbled towards her, startling the young woman from her drink.
“Well I’ll be sniggered. How are you doing little Willie?”
“Ha ha.” Will Boots was two years younger than Gardenia, and already enlisted in Lord Bartholomew’s service as a town footman. “I’m not little Willie anymore.” His voice slurred a bit. “See, I got a sword and a badge and all that. Enlisted three months back, right after you all left for the south. I’m a man now.” The dark haired boy thumped his chest for emphasis. “A man you know!”
“Ah, of course.” Gardenia raised her empty glass for a refill. “In that case, shouldn’t you be saving your money for Delia’s ring and a house, and not drinking it away like a fool?”
“Oh, Delia, Delia, the world is darker without ya!” Will began to sing loudly. “Oh, Delia, a poor soldier’s wife ye’ll be! But that’s the life for you and me! Delia!”
“Oh for pity’s sakes, sit down before you hurt yourself.” Gardenia said flatly, not realizing how much she sounded like her mother. “Singing is for church and battles, boy.”
Looking slightly flushed, Will took a seat across the small table. “Just so you know, soon to be sister, I ain’t bought a single drink tonight. The Captain’s been buying them all for me!”
“Oh, how’s that? Old Captain Sharem isn’t too well known for his generosity.”
“Well, that just goes to show how little you know. I single handed—heavily—headedly.” Will stopped for a moment and cleared his head with a loud belch. “I caught a thief, red handed. I got a bonus and I met Lord Bartholomew in person.”
“Good for you. Let’s celebrate your prowess at foot soldiering.” Gardenia smiled, and finished her glass. “Let’s have another. Hell,” she jingled her purse, “let’s all have a round!”
There was a raucous braying and the mead flowed freely well into dawn.
Just after dawn came, Gardenia Goldenbottom was just finishing an exhausting, drunken stumble home. Her head pounded and she smelled of mead and meat. The scent of herself was enough to make her vomit, but as she entered her home the smell of fresh eggs frying sent her running back outside.
“’Ere you are child.” Mrs. Fenton said, holding Gardenia’s hair back and handing her a glass of fresh pressed juice. At least it resembled juice. “Drink up now, and go to your room quickly. I’ve already got a bath running for you child. Your ma is still asleep, but she’ll be in a fit if she thinks you’ve been out carousin’ all night.”
Gardenia took a slow drink of the thick orange liquid and instantly tried to spit it out. Quickly, Mrs. Fenton grabbed the girl’s nose and nearly drowned her with the concoction. “It’s a medicine my ma made for me brother’s growing up. It’ll surely cure all your ills from all that evil brew in your body. Drink up now and hold it in.” Mrs. Fenton smiled gently, but her hand had a fierce hold on Gardenia’s mouth and nose. She let go only after the young woman swallowed the nasty elixir down.
“What in the name of all the gods is that?” Gardenia asked, breathing heavily and gagging.
“Egg yolk, chicken blood, boiled cow hooves, crushed barrow’s root and cinnamon.” Mrs. Fenton stated as she walked away. “Hurry up to your bath now child, then come down for breakfast.”
“Yes, Mrs. Fenton.” Gardenia said, defeated. Oddly however, Gardenia could not deny that the bubbling and nausea had stopped. She could even see and walk straight, an amazing thing considering the amount of mead she had drunk last night.
After breakfast, Isham hitched up the coach and the family made their way across town to the market. The girls, all but Gardenia, were talking about the colour and style of dress they would buy. Their incessant chatter made Tenwick long for the days when they were babbling babes, bouncing on his knee and looking at him as though he were the hero of the universe. Since the youngest turned eleven, all that mattered now was clothing, jewellery, and of course, boys. This was enough to bring Tenwick closer to his grave, but such was the way of fathers who cared for their daughters.
"Men want wives, Tenwick. Not business partners and hunting buddies." Marta said, ignoring her eldest daughter’s glare.
"With no sons to inherit our fortune, do you not think it best that she learn all she can of my business, before I grow old and die and leave you with none to care for you?"
Tenwick's wife could hardly dispute this logic, but she liked it even less for that. “She belongs in finishing school, dear husband.”
“Not now, Marta. I am tired and I just want to buy my girls some gifts, if you don’t mind. Let’s enjoy this day with absolutely no bickering.”
“Yes, husband.” Marta said, but her tone was showered with frustration. “As you wish, husband.” Somehow, Marta managed to say husband as if it were a curse. The woman could turn any word into a curse, and Tenwick simply shook his head in response. They were silent until they reached the Merchant’s Square, a bustling inner town area where only the finest of goods were sold.
Beside Tenwick and his lovely wife Gardenia stood, silent and brooding. It annoyed her that her own mother looked down upon her, and raised her silly and gabby and far too gilded younger sisters above her, at least as far as the house goes. Gardenia could barely stop herself from rolling her eyes as her sisters picked the most extravagant and most expensive masks from the vendors, and silken dresses that they would surely freeze to death in.
Gardenia's mother made the final decision on their purchases, often commenting that only a floozy would wear this dress or that only a peasant would buy such a mask, until it was finally decided, purchased and fitted. Gardenia wondered if Tenwick would put himself into debt to make her little sisters and mother happy.
“Gardenia, aren’t you going to buy something?” Marta asked, almost nicely. “Come, please. I rarely get to see you in something pretty. Just this once?”
Gardenia felt suddenly sorry for her mother, though she could not explain why. “All right Mama. You pick out any dress and I will wear it for you gladly.” Where did those words come from? Gardenia asked herself, Mrs. Fenton’s elixir did more than cure her hangover; it had turned her into a sop. “Any dress, Mama.” Gardenia tried to hide her grimace, but Tenwick caught it and gave his daughter a wink.
“This gray one will match your eyes, and look—it’s loose enough that if you have to kill any brigands you can still move easily.” Marta joked, a rare event for the reserved woman.
“Are you all right, Mama?” Gardenia asked as her jaw dropped.
“Your father asked me to make this a decent sort of day. Regardless of my personal convictions, I will do as he asks, and you will also, for his sake.”
Gardenia nodded, pushing her irritation down. She would be a decent daughter, if only for one night without bickering with her mother. For her father’s sake, she would. As she tried on the grey silk, Gardenia realized something she had not before. Regardless of her and Mama’s arguments, they both loved her father, and would do anything to keep him happy. If that meant swallowing her pride and wearing a (damned) dress, then so be it. She looked at herself in the tall mirror and decided that the dress was far too elegant. It flowed into her bosom, wrapped softly around her waistline, and smoothed around the bottom of her feet. It certainly did not match her muscular frame or short hair. The neckline was low enough that the red scar from where she had been knifed a few years back showed in a glaring contrast to the silken gown.
Gardenia decided the dress did not fit her at all.
