The room was small. Barely big enough for two, so mom sent Francesca away whenever she had customers. Men she had met in street corners and brought back home. They always paid in advance and mom would mail the money to herself in case they ran into coppers on the way home.
Coppers were like cats.
They liked an easy meal and playing with their food. If they caught mom in a client’s arm and with money in her pocket, they would rob her before arresting her for streetwalking. But if she mailed the money to herself first, the coppers would have no case against her.
No money to steal, no crime.
Mom always had so many cheap envelopes on her that she was called the Mailwoman. Antoinette the Mailwoman. Once mom had only taken clients when Francesca was at school but while school was free, schoolbooks were not and that was a choice between reading and eating. After Francesca had learned to read, write, and count, the choice between food and schoolbooks had been an easy one.
Both mother and child worked.
Mom took clients to the apartment and Francesca spent her days cleaning bars. Whenever Francesca looked up from her work, she could see the Red Palace. It was hard to imagine that she lived in the same city as a king but that was Leoden for you. She and the king were two sides of the same coin. The king sat on his throne while she cleaned up previous night’s vomit in bars so the usual patrons could again drink too much the next night. The work was filthy and didn’t pay well but drunken patrons always left something behind them. A wallet or a watch. Something worth taking. Selling forgotten things was the real pay.
But nothing worth having was kept easily.
Just like mom had to be worried about being robbed by cats, Francesca had to be worried about being robbed by the people whose messes she cleaned up. Being robbed by the mice. Young girls made for easy prey and after being robbed once, Francesca had started carrying a knife with her everywhere she went. Someone always forgot their knife after a night of debauchery and Francesca never hesitated to claim it for herself. Not that it would be enough when the robbers came.
A young girl with a knife was still a young girl.
So Francesca worked hard cleaning bar floors and did her best to protect what little she could keep for herself. She worried that this was her lot in life until the end of times and this was the life she would pass on to her children if she had any. But strange encounters could send life careening into strange places.
“Hard at work, are we?”
The question caught her off guard while she was mopping the bar floor. She looked up from her work and saw a man standing by the bar door. He was a very peculiar man, dressed far too well for a place like this. He wore a black leather greatcoat over a blue pinstripe suit and recently polished brown shoes. His leather gloves were brand new and when he took them off, Francesca caught a glimpse of silver cufflinks shaped like roses.
The expensive clothes looked especially out of place for someone who clearly came from Primavera Street.
The man had the dark skin and the dreadlocks of someone whose ancestry could be traced back to the Spring Islands. He had a neatly trimmed black beard with grey stripes in it and when he smiled, the white teeth shined in the dark face like snow during a sunrise. Despite the grey in his beard and the lines in his face, his hair was still completely black, and he looked lean and muscular under his clothes.
“We’re closed.” Francesca said.
“Not to me.” The gentleman from Primavera Street said.
The man walked deeper into the bar and looked around. The walls reeked of tobacco smoke and the old tables were so soaked in stale beer that even Francesca could not wash the stickiness out.
“Not exactly glorious work but beats slaving in a factory, eh?” The gentleman said.
Francesca just nodded and tried to make sense of the gentleman. Could he have been the bastard son of some noble family? Although she was sure that the gossip would have reached her if a noble had acknowledged an illegitimate child born in Primavera Street.
“You don’t talk much, eh?” The gentleman said and flashed her another pearly smile: “There are worse habits. I appreciate silence.”
Francesca decided it was best to keep quiet and just nod when the owner rushed downstairs. He lived in the small rooms above the bar he owned, and the smell of cheap beer had seeped into his very bones.
“Sir!” The owner said and suddenly Francesca was afraid.
She could see someone from Primavera Street making enough money to dress like a man of leisure but someone like bar owner calling him sir? That made him a man to be feared. The bar’s patrons and owner used slurs as a point of pride, and more than a few customers belonged to the Guild of Fire. And some of the Guild of Fire members were also coppers. For some reason the Guild of Fire had always attracted coppers and not so they could arrest them.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” The owner said and Francesca could sense how nervous he was.
“Don’t be. Francesca kept me company.” The gentleman said.
Every muscle in Francesca’s back tensed up and her hand inched closer to the knife hidden under her dress. How did the gentleman know her name? It was almost like the gentleman had read her mind and he smiled at her again.
“You should run home now, Francesca. I have a feeling your mother needs you.”
Francesca stared at him… and then was sure her mother was in danger. She let the mop fall out of her hand and she was out of the door before it hit the stained floor. She ran through the streets of Leoden like the Infernal Emperor was after her. She didn’t stop running until she was back at the apartment complex, she lived in with her mother.
When she got to the stairway, she could feel something was wrong immediately.
The apartment complex had been built cheaply and maintained poorly. The rooms were small and cheap. They couldn’t keep in heat or secrets. If someone had an argument, the whole complex heard it and would gossip about it the next day.
What she heard was not an argument.
Someone was screaming with murderous rage and her neighbors were glancing out of their rooms, paralyzed by fear. Terrified by the screams coming from her room.
“Mom!”
Francesca ran up the stairs two or three at a time. Her hands were shaking when she tried to open the lock to her home, and she had to will the trembling away. When she burst inside, she found mom naked and curled in the corner.
Trying to protect herself with a kitchen knife from a naked, screaming man.
He was broadly built and hairy, with pink, blotchy skin. There was fleshiness to his frame that would turn to fat with age and his eyes were small, hard, and close set. A pig’s eyes. He was bigger and stronger than Francesca or her mother put together and the scars in his knuckles told her he didn’t hesitate to turn his strength against anyone he pleased. Even if they were smaller and weaker than him. Especially if they were smaller and weaker than him. Despite all that Francesca did not think.
She acted.
She drew the knife hidden under her dress, stepped forward, and without hesitating slashed the man across the buttocks.
The man kept screaming.
This time from pain.
It had to hurt to get your asshole slit open.
All the fight went out of the man, and he could barely grab his clothes while holding his bleeding ass. He limped out and Francesca slammed the door shut and bolted it behind him. Mom just stared at her dumbly, knocked senseless by shock while holding the knife and pointing it at the world.
“Mom… give me the knife.” Francesca said and held out her hand.
Mom just stared at her like she didn’t know who she was and for a moment Francesca was afraid that something had broken inside mom, and she would never be the same again.
“Mom, its me.” Francesca said.
Mom blinked and the usual sharpness returned to her eyes.
“I know it’s you, Franz.” Mom said and put down the knife.
Francesca cleaned the bruises the man had given mom the best she could and then they washed the blood off the floor together. Mom shook her head when she squeezed the blood out of the rag, she had used to scrub the floor.
“That might not have been your best play, Franz.” Mom said.
“Next time I see him, I’ll slit his cock to match his ass.” Francesca said.
That night mom kept vigil by the door armed with a knife in case the man decided to return while Francesca tried to sleep. The cold made it impossible. Winter was coming to Leoden, and the small room was not meant to protect anyone from the winter. Her and mom had to keep each other warm to survive the freezing nights. When Francesca left for work the next morning, a few of her neighbors peeked out of their rooms.
Francesca paid them no heed.
If she had looked at them, they would have seen her disdain for them on her face. One of their own had needed help and they had done nothing. They had just hidden inside their rooms and hoping it would be all over soon.
Cowardice was the most despicable sin.
Going to work cleaning bars without a wink of sleep was a dreadful thought but at least the dirty bar was warm. When she got inside, she was surprised to see the gentleman from Primavera Street there again. He was sitting by a table, reading the newspaper, and sipping a cup of coffee.
“Morning, Francesca. Rough night, eh?”
Francesca just nodded while going for her mop.
“I can tell. You look like death warmed over.” The gentleman said while turning a page.
Francesca started mopping the floor while looking for any goodies left behind by the patrons.
“How do you know my name?” Francesca asked: “How did you know mom needed help?”
The gentleman smiled at her over his newspaper.
“Call it a hunch. I know a lot about a lot and a little about everything.” The gentleman said: “For example, I know how mice can eat a cat.”
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Francesca raised an eyebrow at him.
“What?”
“Some food for thought.” The gentleman said and went back to reading his newspaper: “Don’t let me keep you from your duties.”
Francesca started mopping the floor while the gentleman read his newspaper. Francesca could never shake the feeling that the gentleman was looking at him but whenever she glanced at him, his eyes were glued into his newspaper.
It took her a moment to realize his shadow was following her.
Even when the gentleman sat still, his shadow was in constant movement like it was a restless spirit sown to his feet. Francesca knew she should have been scared but the way the gentleman’s shadow lived its own life was intriguing. When the gentleman stood up, his shadow fell back in line.
“Excuse me for a moment.” The gentleman said.
The gentleman stepped into the backrooms, and he had barely left when another man barged in.
A fleshy man with a red face and small, hateful eyes. He limped while he walked like someone whose asshole has been slit in half yesterday. It would have been comical.
If he hadn’t been wearing a copper’s blue uniform and steel helmet.
When the copper saw her, his small eyes flashed with hate Francesca had no words for. It was like he had gone past murderous rage and come out of the other side as deceptive serenity. Only the spit on the corner of his mouths and the pulsating vein on his forehead betrayed the inferno raging inside him.
“You little bitch.” The copper growled and grabbed Francesca by the hair: “Get ready for a proper skull-fucking.”
The ruckus summoned the owner down but when he saw a copper’s uniform, he backed off immediately. The copper watched the owner flee before dragging her outside and into a barred horse wagon used to collect drunks that had passed out in street corners. The copper threw her inside and since he couldn’t sit, he held on to the bars while the driver began steering the carriage. They took her straight to the most feared building in all Leoden.
The police station.
The old stone building looked like a gate to hell because that’s what it was. It had a long and bloody history of people going in but not coming out. It had been built under the orders of the Red Swan where she could torment captured fae and their allies.
To purify them through pain.
The very stones that had been used to build it were soaked with blood and used to hide unspeakable crimes. Over time, her inquisitors had transformed into the police. Although torture had been outlawed, it was an open secret that the police still used the Red Swan’s tricks to coerce confessions. Francesca was dragged out of the wagon and into the police station by the copper whose asshole she had slit open. The other coppers working inside wouldn’t spare her even a glance. This was all business as usual to them. The copper’s grip on her wrist was painful but she knew that it was only an appetizer for things to come. On the top floor, the police station looked like a regular office where people were working hard to file paperwork that kept track of the city’s criminals and made sure innocent people were kept safe. It was all very respectable and clean.
The lower floors revealed the truth.
Cells that had been built to imprison the fae were now used to contain the city’s petty criminals and drunks… or just people coppers didn’t like. It was common saying in the streets of Leoden that coppers would arrest you first and figure out what law you had broken after the fact.
Francesca was surprised to see a clown dressed in a motley of blue, pink, and purple among the prisoners.
The clown had been sitting away from the usual collection of drunks but when their eyes met, the clown jumped on his feet and ran to the barred steel door. His face was painted in a motley, but it could not hide his righteous fury.
“Hey! What are you doing to her?! Let her go!” The clown yelled.
The copper didn’t even slow down when he pulled out his baton in one practiced motion and smacked the clown over the head between the bars. The clown fell on the dirty floor without a sound while Francesca was dragged to an interrogation cell. The chains used to bind the fae still hung off the walls to prove that the interrogation cells original use had never truly changed. Instead of purifying fae it was now for hurting suspects until they confessed to whatever crime was pinned on them.
If hell was real, it was being left in a room like that for all time.
There were no windows in the interrogation cell so no curious eyes could see in. The walls were thick so no sympathetic ears could overhear the screams. A room like this was built to hold secrets. Just being locked on could be torment. A week in total solitude where the only entertainment was staring at the empty walls could drive a person mad enough to bash their skull against the wall until it broke.
She could already see what would happen.
The copper would take his revenge out on her.
Lose control completely when he got started.
Drunk on violence and power.
And beat her to death.
After that she would just be another missing person whose name would be lost in paperwork.
Thinking fast, Francesca bit her tongue. Hard enough to draw blood. The copper had taken off his coat and brandishing his baton while Francesca let the blood mix with her spit. He was putting off the beating like a connoisseur might put off a good meal and like a pig he was planning to gorge himself.
“Did you think you could attack a police officer and get away with it?! Huh?! Did you, you little bitch?!”
In response, Francesca started coughing and made sure to get as much blood on her lips and hands as she could. The copper was taken back by her coughing fit and stared at her alarmed, worried that whatever she had might jump on him.
“… please… I have tuberculosis…” Francesca said and showed her hands and lips stained in bloody spit.
All the rage was drained out of the copper, and he got as far away from Francesca as the small interrogation cell would allow. He covered his mouth with his hand and pointed at the door.
“Get out! Get out, you fucking leper!”
Francesa rushed out of the room while still coughing and leaving droplets of blood behind. She only slowed down when she passed by the cell holding the clown. He was sitting in the corner and rubbing his bruised head. When he saw her, he smirked despite the pain.
“Are you okay?” Francesca asked.
The clown gave her the thumbs up.
“Boom-Boom is still standing, darling. Run now before the pig figures out that you don’t have TB.”
Francesca took Boom-Boom’s advice and left the holding cells as fast as she could. When she got to the upper floor where coppers did their best to appear civil, she did the hardest things of her life.
She stopped running.
A young girl running through a police station would have drawn exactly the wrong kind of attention, so she slowed her steps to an even walk. She forced a neutral expression on her face and did her best to look like an honest civilian who had done whatever she had come to do here. It helped that mom made sure she was always dressed tidily even if they didn’t have much money.
Even when she looked calm, her heart was hammering against her chest like it was trying to flee.
She was sure that any moment the copper whose ass she had slashed would find his courage and catch up with her. Or one of the other coppers would get suspicious and take her back to hell. She stared at the doors leading out of this terrible place and counted her steps. Only thirty more and she would be free.
Twenty-nine…
Twenty-eight…
Twenty-seven…
“Hey.”
Francesca almost died from fright when a copper called after her. She turned slowly to face him and did her best to not look nervous.
“Yes?”
The copper was a tall man in a grey suit with chiseled features, salt and pepper hair and thin glasses. The steps he took were massive when he walked up to her, and Francesca feared she would never be able to outrun him. The copper in a grey suit looked down on her and his eyes were grey and hard as tombstones.
Then he handed her a handkerchief.
“You have some gunk on your face. Clean it up, will you?” The copper said.
Francesca almost keeled over from the relief and nodded when she accepted the handkerchief.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Francesca wiped the drying blood off her lips and handed the handkerchief back to the copper who folded it with one hand and put it in his pocket.
“Off you go now.” The copper said.
When Francesca was out of the police station, she could no longer contain herself and she began to run. She ran even faster than when she’d had to go to mom’s rescue. She took a sharp turn on a corner and looked back at the police station to see if anyone was following her. No one did.
“A rough day, eh?”
Francesca’s head snapped to the right and she saw the gentleman from Primavera Street standing in the alley with her, smoking a cigarette. He glanced over her head at the police station.
“Even then you passed with flying colors.”
She had no more strength left to spare, but she was sure she could still burst out running. Her body might have been spent but her will was stronger than her body.
“Why are you following me?” Francesca said.
The gentleman smiled.
“Just keeping an eye on rising talent and you have plenty of that.” The gentleman said and offered her a cigarette: “A smoke?”
Francesca hesitated but then accepted a cigarette. She was used to smoking any cigarettes customers left behind after a night of drinking. The gentleman lit the cigarette for her with a golden lighter and then beckoned her to follow him.
“Walk with me, Francesca.”
“Where to?” Francesca said.
“Home. I think we should have a chat with your mother about you and the future.”
“My future?” Francesca said while smoking: “Are you a pimp?”
“No.”
“A criminal?”
The gentleman chuckled.
“Not a criminal either. An outlaw.” The gentleman said and looked around the city sadly: “You must be an outlaw if you want to make the world a better place. The only way to do that is outside the law. Try to do it inside the law and… well… you’re stuck playing their game and in that game, you only get played.”
“Game?” Francesca asked.
“The nastiest game there is. Civilization. A place where few guys so in love with greed and control stand on top of everyone else and convince the rest of us that getting fucked to make sure they stay fat and happy is all well and good.” The gentleman said and looked at her: “When you look how things are now, do you think they will get better?”
Francesca sucked on the cigarette while thinking about it.
“No.”
“Yeah. I came to the same conclusion myself a long time ago. Now… I mentioned the future. Your father died in the Twelve-Year-War, eh?”
“… yes.”
Mom rarely talked about him, and Francesca had only seen one picture of her father. Much to her dismay, Francesca had inherited her looks from him. He had been a tall, lanky man with a long face, but he had made the look work for him. Those same features suited a girl poorly.
“You’re the child of a veteran. I think that means you should have some say in the country’s future. Your father died for it after all and maybe… just maybe… tomorrow should be better than today.”
While they walked, Francesca realized something odd.
No one was paying attention to them.
A man from Primavera Street dressed like a lord walking with a Garuccian girl should have captured every eyeball on the street but no one so much as glanced at them.
“No one is looking at us.” Francesca said.
“Well spotted. I like my privacy. Sometimes I need to use a bit of magic to maintain it.” The gentleman said.
The gentleman looked even more out of place in the dreary apartment complex. Him just being there highlighted how cold and unwelcoming it was. When they got to the small room she lived in with mom, the gentleman smiled to her kindly. It was a strange instinct but from the way mom looked at him, Francesca thought she knew him. Or knew of him.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Antoinette. Mind if I come in?” The gentleman said.
The gentleman and mom sat around the tiny kitchen table where they ate their meager meals and mom took out a small bottle of brandy. She poured them both glasses while the gentleman talked about the future. She ate up eagerly what the gentleman was putting down and in twenty minutes she was nodding in approval at everything he was offering.
“Thank you for being so understanding, Mrs. Antoinette.” The gentleman said and handed her a card: “Why don’t you pack your things and go here? You are expected.”
Mom took the card with a smile.
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me.” The gentleman said and kissed mom’s hand: “Blessing of the Mountain upon your journey, Mrs. Antoinette.”
Before leaving them, the gentleman winked at Francesca.
“Remember to ponder this, Francesca. How do mice eat a cat, eh?”
There wasn’t much to pack which was how mom liked it. They had moved often, and mom liked to travel light. They took a tram that even they could afford that took them most of the way before making rest of the way on foot.
To a street of ill-repute where shady things were done in luxury.
It was the only part of town where prostitution was legal and sex workers did not have to worry about being harassed and robbed by coppers. They headed to what looked like a luxury hotel where the guests rarely stayed overnight. The receptionist smiled to them kindly when they entered and handed them a key.
“We were told of your arrival. I hope your new rooms are to your liking.” The receptionist said: “We will have new clothes prepared for you once you’re settled in.”
That the hotel had an elevator was an unexpected pleasure and taking it was a joy. Mom had an immediate distrust towards the elevator and would have taken the steps if it had not been for Francesca. Francesca counted the floors with delight while mom prayed that the cables controlling the elevator would not snap and send them plummeting to their dooms.
The elevator never fell.
When they saw their new home, mom burst into tears. A single room was bigger than the flat they’d left behind. There was a bed for both of them and even running water. Francesca stared at the bathtub slack jawed and could not wait to use it and just soak in warm water.
Heaven was warmth.
New clothes were prepared for mom and Francesca was shocked how much beauty mom had left. Dad’s death had hit her hard and life without him had hit her even harder, but her looks had endured. All she needed to uncover them was a warm bath, a hot meal, good sleep, and some make up. She still took clients but could now afford to turn them down and there was security monitoring the hallways if a client got too rough.
Francesca no longer cleaned bars.
Instead, she went back to school.
But this time she did not learn reading, writing and multiplication.
One morning she was summoned to the backrooms. There were other students waiting for her who all had a similar air to them. The sharpness of a hidden knife. She suspected that it was the talent the gentleman from Primavera Street had been looking for. They were boys and girls of different age but all of them seemed formidable. And for some reason all of them looked at her with respect and admiration.
“Please take your seat, Francesca.” The teacher in front of the class said.
Her teacher was an older woman with iron grey hair tied into a neat bun and she had a small figure. Despite her diminutive size there was quiet strength to her that made Francesca suspect that anyone who tried to push her around would soon regret it. It could even be the last mistake they regretted.
There was rage in the tiny woman.
Not the slobbering anger that controlled the pig eyed copper. The tiny woman’s rage was cold and patient like she was a saint of vengeance. She used her anger instead of letting it use her.
Once Francesca had taken her seat, her education began.
“A good mouse is an unseen mouse. When you do your job right, no one will know you were ever there.” The teacher said.
She was taught how to move quietly and blend in with her surroundings. If she had to speak to people, she was instructed to say just the right things that made her seem invisible and instantly forgettable. But even more importantly she was taught to listen and see.
“Treasures a lord hides in his vault are rarely as valuable as what he writes in his letters. Smuggling secrets is far easier than smuggling out gold or jewels.”
She was taught to know her enemies and expected to memorize the banners and histories of all the great noble houses in Garuccia. There was the swan of House Neri who had their claws deep in the police and the church. Both institutions were reflections of House Neri’s corrupt nature. Of their cruelty and lust for power. Then there was the lion of House Rossi. A collection of brutes and thugs that Garuccia wielded like a mace against their enemies. Both internal and external. The only house even more hated than House Neri was House Grimaldi whose banner was three golden stars on a night sky. The backbone of Garuccia’s military might and once the House all other Houses were measured by when it came to honor.
Until they betrayed House Eld and embraced the Red Swan.
The only noble House teacher spoke with any sympathy was House Ferro whose banner was an arrow piercing a heart. Out of all the noble houses, House Ferro still clung to the ideals King Eld had laid down and according to the rumors, the Ferros still worshipped the Paths.
But one house stood above them all in vileness.
House Emmanuel.
The current royal family that ruled the seas. Their banner reflected their naval power. A fierce sea serpent that all ships shivered to behold. House Emmanuel reigned over all the noble houses and at the helm of House Emmanuel was Gaspard the Third. The All-Seeing, All-Hearing King of Garuccia.
The great enemy.
The man who could keep the world as it was now. Forever. Crushing any attempt to make it a kinder, softer place. A monster among monsters. She was taught to direct her anger at the values the king presented and maintained.
And finally, she was taught to fight and if necessary to kill.
Francesca was shocked how naturally violence came to her. All she had to do was think about the copper looming over her mother and she didn’t hesitate when it came to using her fists or weapons. In a fight being willing to hurt others without being afraid of getting hurt mattered more than size or strength.
It had been a long time that Francesca had been paralyzed by fear.
Every morning, they sharpened their fists and feet on heavy bags filled with sand and their teacher showed them how to use their opponents speed and strength against them. Francesca soon realized that learning to fight was much like learning to clean. When she had started mopping bars, her hands had splintered and her back had hurt after just an hour of work, but she had endured until her splinters had turned into callouses and her muscles had adjusted to the work.
She just had to push through the pain.
This time it was her knuckled instead of her palms that calloused, and all the physical labor had already turned her body into a spring of muscles. She just had to relearn what direction to bounce.
“Remember that fighting is not about showing off. The faster you end things, the less you bleed.” Teacher said.
But what intrigued her the most was the study of magic. After their martial art training they took time copying glyphs that had been developed by the first sorcerer to mimic the Magnificent Ones’ language. With them anyone could do magic without resorting to blood sacrifices.
“Don’t become too dazzled with magic. It is just one of your many tools and more often than not the least useful.”
But no matter how much she studied; one question never left her alone. How did mice eat a cat?
After four months of training their teacher deemed them ready for their first practical lesson. In the cover of night, they stepped into the streets of Leoden. Winter had taken over the city and the streets were slippery with ice, and they were dressed in their winter clothes. The first set of hers that kept the cold at bay. They followed their teacher without a word. She seemed to know where to go and they followed her footsteps until they heard…
“Fucking bitch! Don’t you know who I am?!”
Francesca flinched when she recognized the voice. They followed the screaming and found a lady of the night being cornered by a copper with eyes of a pig. His pants were down on his ankles and Francesca saw a ragged scar running across his buttocks. When he realized he was being watched, the copper let go of the woman who didn’t waste time to run.
“What the fuck do you brats want?! This isn’t a show!” The copper screamed while trying to pull up his pants.
Their teacher just smiled and looked at them. Her students.
“Children. Do what I taught you.” Teacher said.
Without hesitation they pulled out their knives and the copper’s courage drained out of him as so much piss down his thigh. When they sunk their knives into the copper, Francesca figured out the answer to the gentleman’s riddle.
How did mice eat a cat?
One bite at a time.