Verity shrieked and slapped her landlord’s hand away from her chest. The foul codger looked at her in disbelief.

     “Well, my girl, surely you understand your position. I was prepared to give you time after your father died to come to me on your own, but for some reason, even though you are a female and therefore could not possibly be as good a scribe as your father, his customers still patronized your shop. So now I find that the time has come to take matters into my own hands.” He reached for her again. Verity sidestepped his groping gestures and tried to recover both her temper and her failing tongue.

     “If by matters you mean my breasts, then I refuse!  I've been a conscientious tenant, both in rent and caring for the shop. I even give you profits from the business and scribe your letters without charge! Now you’re throwing me out?” Harsher words halted on the tip of her tongue. She crossed her arms to keep them at bay, and as protection against the lecher's wandering hands.

     “No, no!  You’ll come live with me, not as a wife, of course. But you’ll have a roof over your head, and a bed-.” He waggled his thin, plucked eyebrows in a suggestive manner. Verity's stomach cringed in disgust, but she did not allow the expression to cross her plain, pointed features. Neither her eyes nor her tone could hide her contempt.

     “I am sixteen years of age, in case you’ve forgotten. It is illegal to proposition one who is not yet an adult, as I am sure you are aware.”  Icicles could have dripped from her lips, for all the frost those words carried. Her landlord was unaffected by her coldness, being particularly obtuse in his triumph. He reached for the kerchief that covered her unusual copper colored hair and slid the fabric between his fingers before she jerked away.

     “Yes, you are not an adult yet, which means that it is illegal for you to rent property or run a business. I am afraid that you have little choice in the matter. Since you have been given six months to find a guardian and you have not, I have decided to step into that role. Or, you could live in an orphan house until you turn seventeen. It would be my duty to speak with the magistrate’s men.”

     Verity’s gray eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in anger as she acknowledged the trap she’d fallen into. All it took was one moment for her world to change for the worse. She thought she’d learned that lesson seven months ago, when her father had been knifed by a footpad while coming home from the tavern for the pittance of coin he carried. She thought she’d learned that lesson eleven years ago, when her mother took ill with the blue fever and wasted away into the afterworld. And she thought she lived with that lesson every day since that time, as her kind and absentminded father began to find comfort from the sorrow of losing his wife in the bitter foam of alcohol, and she slowly began to take over her father’s business at the tender age of eight.

     Yet even when he was at his worst, her father had protected her from the landlord’s advances, protected her from a much worse fate by simply being alive. For the first time since his death, Verity realized her vulnerability, only far too late to prevent this new, unfortunate turn of events. As she looked at the round, fat-lipped, smirking face in front of her, Verity’s temper flared as suddenly as the red highlights in her copper hair did in the sunshine.

     “I will never live under any roof of yours again, even if the whole world crumbled and your house was the only one standing!”  She vowed. “Eviction is far better, even the orphan house is preferable to remaining in your presence even a moment longer!” The fervor in her voice finally made an impact. The landlord’s eager manner chilled, the greedy brightness of his eyes dying as cold anger sank in.

     “I thought you might answer to that effect. You are a stubborn bitch, always have been. But I would not risk the legal trouble it would take to break you to bridle, so in return for me not calling the magistrate when I evict you, you will sign over all the possessions you own within the shop and the personal rooms. I took the liberty of drawing up the papers.” He pulled from his vest pocket a sheaf of documents. Verity blanched. Everything she owned? Her mother’s silver, her father’s chest of belongings, her own things – the expensive paper, the gold-leafed inks for the special commissions.  It was worth four hundred ells, at least! In monetary value and in memories – an absolute fortune.

     Yet what choice did she have? If he called the magistrate, she would be locked away in a slave house where children were sold into service at the factories or the brothels – or worse. If she accepted his offer, then she would be bound to this man until she reached legal adulthood. An image of his smug, smirking face looming over her flashed with lightning speed, causing a violent shudder to course through her. No. He repulsed every fiber of her being. There was only the one thing she could do, even if it ripped away the last shred of her childhood and made her a pauper.

     “Give me the papers.” She said, her heart sinking like a stone in the sea. He moved to hand them to her, and as she reached for them, yanked them away vindictively. His wounded pride and anger were displayed in this bit of pettiness, but Verity merely held out her hand with patience, her gaze hard and bitter. Realizing she wasn't going to play his game, he slapped them into her palm. She turned to the wooden writing desk of her father, the only decent piece of furniture in the whole shop, and the one she would miss the most.

     Verity quickly she scanned the paper as the landlord cataloged the belongings he would take, her anger growing by leaps and bounds. Oh, he was well prepared. He had probably been planning for this occasion for quite a while, using his spare key to let himself and whoever scribed this wretched document in to paw through her and her father’s belongings. She hated him. She hated everything about him. The smell of rose water mingled with sweat, the way he'd made comments, even when her father was there, about her growing body when he came to pick up the rent, the abuse and disrespect he heaped on his absent wife, everything. There was not one trait that he possessed that she did not despise. While she uncapped the ink on the writing desk and cut a quill to write with, she said in her mind the worst curses she could think of.

     May he grow boils on his behind for many moons. May all his enterprises turn to dust and fall away. May his many crimes be revisited upon him. May his manhood shrivel from an exotic venereal disease.

     These words formed a mantra in her head as she signed and dated the papers, blew the ink dry, and handed them to the landlord. He smirked.

     “Are you sure you will not accept my protection? Too long on the vine will change your ripeness to rot, and there's lads out in the street that will pluck your fruit swift enough.” He sneered, ogling her breasts, which had given her more problems than she'd ever wanted. Developing early in puberty was a torture, and invited all sorts of ill behavior from the opposite sex. Even the legality of her age was a meager protection against assault and insults.

     “If I remain a virgin my entire life, never marry, and stay a withered spinster until my death of old age, I will never regret the loss of your company.” Verity forced him to meet her eyes, and allowed all of her disgust and rage to show in them. The landlord stiffened.

     “Get out, you hard bitch!  Take nothing that was in the papers and get out!” His face grew red, and he gestured violently to the door.

     Verity walked over to a wall, thanking the scribe for his meticulousness, for in listing the shop’s assets they had missed one thing. For certain, every piece of her clothing that was not on her body was on the list, and every trinket and knickknack, of value or not. But they did not find secret lock-box of coin hidden in the recessed shelf of the chimney. Verity reached up into the sooty brick and pulled the box from its hiding place, ignoring the landlord’s gaping face, and grabbed her bag, (which was also not on the list, thank the five heavens,) and walked out the door. It slammed behind her. That final sound severed her from nearly every tie to her past. She was now homeless.

     She was now free.

 
     Well aware the landlord would not let her get too far before sending someone to grab the box she now carried, it was with haste that she made her way deeper into the city, farther into the market district. As she walked swiftly through the bustling crowds, she noted that the area went from moderate prosperity to more seedy surroundings. She decided she would stop in a corner somewhere and shove the box in her bag. So she hustled over to an overhang out of sight in an alley, and opened her bag and placed the box inside. She was careful not to wrinkle the paper she kept for her small booth she set up on the weekends at the market, which is what the bag was for.

     Again, she blessed the providence that allowed her to keep her satchel and the inks, quills, and papers inside. They would allow her a livelihood for a sennight, if she was careful and made no mistakes. The contents of the box would also further stretch the meager funds-as long as the law did not catch her. She hoped she did not need to resort to the box. It had always been far too risky for her taste, but her father had insisted on keeping it, and training her in its use. Verity sighed, then secured the latches on her satchel and slung it across the front of her body. She knew the tricks to keep from having her pocket’s picked, having lived in the city her whole life.

     Now, her first priority would be making enough money to buy a room for the night. She headed toward the part of the marketplace where the booksellers were. Often, one or two initiates into the priesthood would come to offer their services as a scribe to make a bit of pin money. The only other people besides the priests who knew how to read and write were nobility, magicians, high-ranking army officials, inventors, and scribes. Of course, most scribes were by-blows of nobles, or like her father, initiates of the priesthood who never took their final vows due to some reason or another. In her father’s case, he married her mother. Verity was his sole inheritor of those priestly skills.

     Verity scouted around for a spot that looked promising to set up her makeshift writing desk. As she did so, her busy, practical mind churned in agitation. Besides basic survival until her supplies ran out, what could she do? She couldn’t live with her Uncle, her father’s oldest brother who owned the family farm many leagues away. His family was far too large, and he would be sure to try and marry her off to one of her numerous male cousins. She knew that life wasn’t for her, and her eventual husband was to be sure to resent her skill with pen and ink. Since it was an unwritten understanding that in matters of marriage a man would look to the church for guidance rather than the law, a resentful husband would be sure to beat her without repercussion, cousin or no.

     As for her aunt, she’d only met the woman once, and she’d been completely terrified of her. Her Aunt Noriko, as far as she understood, was a witch who lived in a very remote area of the Kingdom of Falnia, though her witchery was mainly some type of foresight that wasn’t magic at all. Verity didn’t really understand it, but her aunt had a habit of saying some really scary things, and for all that Verity was vulnerable in the city, she did not want to leave the place she where she grew up to live under the mercy of an insane old bat who probably wouldn’t even welcome her.

     If she wanted to move to another kingdom, she could probably join the priestesses of Felicity, but Verity didn’t really believe in the gods. She wasn’t exactly an atheist, but she was pretty certain that if there were gods, they didn’t really pay too much attention to people, priest or no. She could try to continue scribing, but she would have to take a position with a scribe house, where she’d make little money, or be the lackey to some noble-but she had no connections to get her into a noble household.

     No, she chastised herself as she grew more tangled and worried. Think of today first, let tomorrow take care of itself, she lectured silently. After all, tomorrow might by chance have a complete turnaround. So, just look for a place to do a bit of scribing. A place far away from where her former landlord might try to find her. A place where people would need a scribe.

     Then, as she headed further eastward, it came to her.

     In the center of the city lay the governing houses and bodies. The Duke’s palace, the Magicians Collegium, the Council buildings-and most importantly, the Army garrison. Now, there were army scribes who would take down messages for the soldiers in the fields from their loved ones, but only at an exorbitant price which did not even count the cost of posting. If Verity was careful, she could set up her writing desk a short way away and underwrite the more expensive scribes. As long as she was careful to not be caught, then that would be a sure way to gain customers. The army scribes knew how to break arms as well as take down words, and did not look kindly upon interlopers.

     Still, a female was not expected to be a scribe, so that might give her some leeway with which to play. Verity started to trot. It would be a good mile further within the city to reach the garrisons, and the day was past half gone. Finally, after she was covered in sweat and dust from the dry spring day, she saw the walls that denoted the garrison training grounds and barracks. She smiled in relief and took a look around. Immediately she spotted the recruitment stalls, where a few young men loitered, considering the prospect. Beside them was the much longer line to the scribe’s tent. That was rather unusual. Why was there such a long line? She edged closer and pulled her sleeves down over her ink-stained fingers that would proclaim her a rival before she ever said a word.

     She came to the back of the line, and joined the people who were gossiping, mostly women. She spoke to one who hung back apart from the others, wringing her hands in agitation.

     “Good woman,” she asked, “Why is the line so long?”

     “Ach, there is but one scribe today for the others were taken up to Parliament.”

     “Parliament? Why?” Verity did not have to feign her confusion.

     “They say that we may be going to war with Spura, so now every noble must have a copy of the treaty to be sure it is indeed broken. Meanwhile, we’re down here with this lazy layabout who dares to raise his price because demand is so high!  Of course demand is high!  We want to make sure our sons are safe, and send them word out there on the battlefield!”

     “That is a shame.” Verity said, gleefully crowing inside. But the woman’s words had broken like a dam and came spilling out like floodwater.

     “And I don’t have the money to scribe a letter for that much and pay posting, and I’ve just received a note from my son, but he’s also charging more to read it!  Now, when I get to the front I shall only have the money to get my son’s letter read, but not enough to have mine written!”  The woman seemed near tears, and Verity felt a brief pang of guilt for her greed, but she couldn’t help but be happy that the market was so ripe for competition. She turned to the woman so her back was to the front of the line and shook back her sleeves, lifting her hands.

     “Well, today you are in luck.” Verity whispered. The woman’s eyes latched onto the ink stains on the girl’s fingers. “I am a scribe, and I will read your son’s letter for free, and give you a better price for a writing than you would have by that thief.”  She jerked her head at the scribe who was sloppily taking a dictation from a matron. The woman nodded eagerly.

     “Come with me around the corner, and I will take care of this for you. All I ask for the reading is that you tell the others in line, discreetly, that I am here. But if the scribe should find out I’m taking custom away, he’ll send soldiers after me. So just send the poorer ones, who can’t afford his price gouging.” Verity took the woman’s arm and they ambled away from the line slowly.

     “Certainly!  Oh, thank you so much!  You must be a blessing from the gods, to come at this time!” The woman gripped Verity’s hand in the friendship hold.

     “Perhaps you are the blessing to me!” A smile quirked on Verity’s lips. The woman laughed.

     Under the shade of a tree beside a large wall, Verity plopped down and opened her bag. She withdrew a backboard that had clips, a sheet of paper, a pot of ink, a penknife and a quill. The woman looked at these tools with gratitude. Those who couldn’t read were always at the mercy of those who could, and it was difficult to tell the shysters from the real deal when all words looked like scribbles.  But not everybody who was a cheat had the proper accoutrements.

     “Here.” The woman handed her son’s letter to Verity. Verity took it gently and unfolded it. Clearing her throat, she read the cramped script of one who had written many such letters.

     “Dear Father and Mother,
     “It had been many weeks since last we fought the Spurans.  For a brief time, us soldiers hoped that peace might be behind the respite. But lately the fighting has grown worse, with more vicious frontal assaults and sneak attacks during the night. Our forces have been reduced by a fourth, the greatest amount since this war has begun. It is strange, looking around at my comrades and noting the absence of so many familiar faces. There is now a surfeit of supplies that the dead have left behind, when before all we could claim to our names was a pair of boots, a weapon, and our bedrolls. Should this war continue with such fervor, I fear I will not be home in the fall to help with the harvest as I’d hoped. Please write; I want to know how my brothers and sister fare, and if you were able to get all the planting done, Father. Thank you for the new socks and gloves you sent this winter, Mother, I was the envy of my regiment. You don’t know how much I appreciated having warm hands and feet in this cold place. I love you all very much. Tell Jonas in thanks for taking care of my pony, I now give her to him. I’ve grown a few inches while I’ve been gone, and am tall enough to ride a horse. I doubt you shall recognize me if I return.
     Your loving son,
     Frederick.”

 
     While Verity read the letter, tears leaked from the front corners of the woman’s eyes. She mopped them away hastily, and Verity pretended not to notice. What kind of world was this, where a woman could scarce afford to send her son a few loving words? In the midst of her own troubles, the girl still felt sympathy for a mother who feared for her son. Mixed in that sympathy was a little envy that this faceless boy far out on a battlefield had ones who loved him enough to worry about his fate, and a little helplessness. The only thing she could do for this woman and her pain was what she already was doing. Verity steeled herself and her whirling emotions, feeling very tired, despite the earliness of the afternoon. It had been a horrible day, and this woman’s tears were unbalancing her already wobbly psyche.  But there would be many more letters such as this, once others knew she was here, so Verity gritted her teeth, took in a few deep breaths, and waited for the woman to compose herself.

     “Goodness. How silly you must think I am.” The woman wiped away the last of her tears with a shaking hand and accepted the parchment with her son’s words on them as Verity passed it to her.

     “Not at all. You must love your son very much.” Verity set about readying her writing case.

     “He’s our eldest. Always wanted to be a soldier, and his father could say nothing against it, having had dreams like that himself, bless him. We didn’t think...a year ago, we didn’t have all this trouble. He would have guarded some roads, some rich men’s houses...but now, it grows worse and worse. It...it’s hard to imagine my child out there.”

     “My father used to tell me that everyone walks a different path, and it is not for us to know where it will lead us.  My father used to say why worry about tomorrow? It will come whether we like it or not. So chances are just as good that your son will come home as anything else.” 

     “Your father sounds like a very wise man.” The woman smiled.

     “He was.” Verity said simply. “He once was headed for the priesthood, but then he met my mother. I guess his path took an unexpected turn.”

     “You’re right. You really don’t know what will happen on the morrow, so why worry? After all, just a few minutes ago I was agonizing over how little coin I had!  Now I will have a letter and postage both, many thanks to you!” The woman looked at the girl in sympathy. “Did your father pass recently?”

     “A few months back.” Verity looked the woman in the eye. After all, she did not welcome anyone’s pity. “But I’m doing fine!  As you can see, I already have a career. Speaking of which, what would you like to say to your son?” She effectively ended the discussion as the woman began dictating her letter. As her pen scratched across the surface of the paper, she wished for the safety of this faceless young man, this beloved eldest son. If she could have imbued her well-wishes into the very ink, she would have.

     In a short time, her first customer was well away, her return letter in hand, and Verity was tucking away the two drejits she took in payment. It was certainly less than the one bivit and three drejits the cheat of a scribe was asking merely for writing the letter. And with two extra drejits for the postage itself, that was a whole silver drim in cost! That was half a month’s wages for most of the city folk. So it was no surprise when a steady stream of customers began to approach her, and she read and wrote many other letters to soldiers in the field. With each, she wished her hardest that the bearers of these notes would be kept safe from harm on the battlefield.

     The sun had begun to dip behind the tall walls of the garrison and her twenty-second customer had just left when she stood and stretched her aching muscles only to have them seize and cramp when she heard a shout.

     “There she is!”

     Damnation!  She cursed and shoved the stopper in her inkwell and closing her writing desk, shoved it in her bag with a few swift, economical movements. By the time the man who had called out was heading toward her, she was already trotting away, trying to seem casual. When the footsteps behind her sped up, and the man cried out,

     “Hey you there, halt immediately!” Verity abandoned all pretense of casualness and began to sprint as fast as she could toward the streets that led to the more crowded areas of the city. After all, it was hard to make your living as a scribe with a broken arm, which was sure to be the result if they caught her. So no, she was not going to halt and face that rough-handed pseudo-justice the guards of the army scribe would dole out.  She did not make the mistake of looking over her shoulder, even when the man called to his fellows, and more footsteps and voices joined the chase. Double damn! A whole pack of guards on her heels, and she without a clue as to the layout of this area of the city! Technically, it wasn’t illegal to take business from someone else, just free enterprise, but she doubted that the guards would understand that.

     Please, please, please, she begged to the darkening, uncaring sky as she ran almost blind down a wide avenue lined with trees.  Please let them get bored and give up!  The coin she had snugged in her breast band jingled as she ran. She hated running, not because she grew tired, but because it caused her chest to move about in the most uncomfortable way. But apparently the avenue did not lead further into the city, and as she came closer to the end of it, she saw a woman open a gate in that tall wall at the end of the avenue and step out, with more guards emerging as well. Verity made a dash to the side of the trees, but the guards that had been chasing her had managed to get beside her, so she veered back onto the avenue. She didn’t dare slow-if she could somehow plow her way past the group at the end of the avenue and make a sharp turn...

     The lady put her hand in a pouch and took out a little ceramic jar. As Verity zoomed near her, she tossed its contents onto Verity. Then every single muscle in the girl’s body seized, and she dropped unceremoniously to the ground like a stricken bird.

     “That’s better. Ah, Captain Dreil, I see she gave you quite a run.” Verity could only move her eyes, as soon as the blinding pain from cramps eased, and so rolled them toward the lady as she spoke, then the panting guardsmen as they came to a standstill around her.

     “Lady Renthia...I swear...we would have caught her...in a few more moments.”

     “I do not doubt it.” The lady gave the huffing guard a smile. “Good job in finding her. It was difficult to pinpoint her location, and you did an exemplary job of narrowing down the area where she was.” 

     “Happy to do it.” The guard finally found his breath and stood straight. He unhooked a round, shining piece of silver from his belt and handed it to the Lady. “That’s a handy device. Do you happen to know if the magistrate’s guards would be allowed to have a bit of magic like that?”

     “It would be very handy for someone in that line of work.” The lady said, her tone thoughtful. “Unfortunately, this little bit of wizardry set me back quite a bit, so I don’t think that even the king could afford to give one to a garrison, much less every captain. But I will ask around to see if there is a cheaper alternative spell that will do roughly the same job.”

     “Many thanks, Lady Renthia. Please do not let my request cause you trouble.” The guard bowed. Verity strained her eyes to the left and saw the captain’s insignia on his uniform. She rolled her eyes to view the other guards, and saw they were all wearing the same livery. It wasn’t the dark blue of the magistrate’s men, or the green of the army, or the crimson of the king’s guards. It was a kind of gray that Verity had never seen before.

     “After all you’ve done for me just now? It won’t be any trouble at all.” The Lady laughed.

     “Hm. We haven’t done much. The men needed to catch up on their exercise and were tired of staying in the walls. If you hadn’t sent us on this task, we would have found something similar to do. But why, may I ask, did you seek out this girl?” Verity wondered that herself. Who were these people?  Why did they capture her?  They surely weren’t with the army, she could see that now, and she didn’t know a single one of them. And the Lady appeared quite wealthy given the fine cloth of her dress, wealthy enough to hire a scribe if she didn’t know how to write, without having to chase one down and capture her. Verity felt that she could do small movements as her muscle cramps eased just a little bit. She turned her head slowly to look at the lady, only to find that both the guard captain and the lady were staring down at her. The lady sighed.

     “The halting potion is wearing off. You must promise me you won’t try to run again, or I shall pour another dose on you and allow these gentlemen to carry you with me. Do you understand?” The lady said sternly. Verity tried to nod, but that took too much effort and pain, so instead she mumbled,

     “Yeth.” Even her tongue felt thick and unwieldy in her mouth. It was only by purest luck that when she fell to the ground, she didn’t bite the tip off.

     “Good then. We’ll stay here until the effects leave you. That should be another thirty minutes. It was a very light dosage.” Verity’s eyes widened at this. THAT was LIGHT?

     “She could be a criminal, milady, so I and four others will remain as well.” The captain nodded to the rest of his men, who bowed to the lady, then passed into the gates.

     “It was a good thing that I myself had just gotten back from the city when you came running up, captain. When I gave you your assignment, I’d returned from investigating another mysterious source of magic.”

     Verity’s brain, which had come to halt along with her body, suddenly started thinking again. Magic? Potions? Wizardry?  That meant-that woman was a magician! She gasped, and found herself the focus of far too many eyes.

     “You...do...magic?”  Verity stumbled on the words, which were barely legible. To the untrained ear, her words probably sounded like, “Oo...dloo...maahig?”

     “I am a student and teacher of magic, yes. I have some small skill as a witch, but most of my power is as an innate.” Verity understood what a witch was, that would explain the potion, but she had no idea what innate meant.

     “And you, child, are a magician as well.”