Episode 39

The system of power turns like a wheel

You can rise to the top through money or steel

You could lift up others or leave them in muck

But it’s the poor who will suffer when the wheel becomes stuck

If the problems aren’t met with any solution

The wheel must turn in bloody revolution

The vermin will rise as the predator sinks

Let’s see then if the fox can outsmart the lynx

Of all the reactions and emotions that Lilian had expected the silver hand brooch to produce, sadness was the last. Her new friend, Genevive Katz, a noble woman and daughter of a minister, was sitting opposite her in the family home behind the palace court walls. The brooch, perfectly shaped down to the creasing in the knuckles, lay on the table between them. Genevive wiped the tear off her cheek and picked it up, turning it over in her hands as if seeing it for the first time.

“I made them all.” she said, softly. Lilian’s heart was still beating quickly in her chest. She glanced over at a large knife wrack on the kitchen counter top and readied her body for attack. Now that Genevive was openly admitting her role in the plot she was becoming unpredictable and Lilian had to be ready for anything. But instead of feeling threatened, Lilian began to feel something else. Not anger or hatred at someone who was clearly involved in making her life miserable, but pity. Genevive set the brooch back down.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed loudly, trying to regain control, “I did not expect to see this just now. May I ask where you got it?” Lilian remained silent, not wanting to give anything away. Genevive looked at her with apprehension. “My goodness, what you must think of me. Please…” Suddenly, Genevive was standing. The sound of her chair legs scraping against the stone floor shocked Lilian into jumping up. Genevive slowed her movements down.

“Lilian. Please. There is no danger I… I can explain. Please, follow me.” She turned and headed over to the large standing bookcase that Lilian had been admiring moments before they’d sat down to drink their tea. Lilian kept her eyes trained on Genevive, still not fully trusting that she wished her no harm. Genevive approached the bookcase and reached up to fetch a large, leather bound tome on the second shelf from the top. Lilian couldn’t read the title from where she was standing but it looked heavy and boring. Confused, Lilian watched her hostess pull the book off the shelf. Instead of the book coming away completely though it abruptly stopped when it was halfway out and Lilian heard a loud click coming from somewhere within the wooden structure. Lilian then stared in wide eyed amazement as the entire unit shifted open on hidden hinges, revealing a small opening in the wall just large enough for someone to squeeze through. Genevive turned back to her.

“Come, see. I promise I will explain everything.” And with that, she was gone, the hole in the wall had swallowed her up. Lilian glanced at the hallway and contemplated leaving. She had her answer after all, she knew who made the silver hand brooches. Did she really need to put herself in further danger? Lilian being Lilian though, could not resist the call of mystery and found her feet stepping of their own accord towards the secret door.

The first thing she felt when she put her hand through the hole was softness. She had expected cold, hard wood or stone, but the wall was spongy. She ducked her head down and stepped through the gap to see that the walls inside were completely covered in woven hessian. Not only that, but the hessian was stuffed with something, possibly wool or wood chips which made the walls crease when touched. A light flared up ahead and Lilian saw that Genevive had struck a flint, igniting an oil lamp. A warm glow filled the space which Lilian quickly realised was oppressively hot. She marvelled at the work that must have gone into creating such a room. The walls and ceiling were all covered in soft, stuffed hessian. There were workbenches all around the edges and a vast array of tools and materials scattered around. Lilian saw sheets of what looked like iron, a large silver breastplate and even two or three swords hanging on the walls. In the corner she spied the silver coronet and bracers she had seen Genevive wear to the ball, they were resting on a sort of mannequin which although beautifully decorated, was looking a little worse for wear. As for the tools, Lilian saw hammers, tongues, files, vices, pincers and even a small anvil. Genevive watched her take it all in.

“This is where I work. As you can see it’s more than just a hobby.” When she spoke, her voice was clear and quiet. Lilian realised that there was no echo in here, any sound was completely absorbed by the walls. Her eyes fell on the hammer and anvil and suddenly she understood why she had not been able to place the mysterious ringing bell. Any noises coming from within this room would be swallowed up completely, making them difficult to detect even when in hyper focus.

Lilian was having trouble finding the right words. On the one hand she still felt animosity towards Genevive, but on the other, this room was just too exciting. She looked up to see a row of shining helmets, some mid construction. On the wall to her left was a peg board adorned with a hundred bracelets, amulets, rings and all manner of sparkling things. Finally, Lilian spoke.

“You made all this?” Genevive nodded. A small smile appeared on her face, a hint of pride.

“I did. It’s strange to show someone else this place. I am in here alone most days. I was told that I could never tell anyone and that I had to make whatever I was asked to make. In return, I would be left alone and my father would be safe.” Lilian shot her a quizzical look. Most of her fear and worry had disappeared upon seeing this hidden workshop.

“Your father is in danger?” she asked. Genevive took a long, deep breath.

“How much do you know about the people who wear those clasps? The silver hands.” Lilian reached out to pick up a ring in the shape of a badger’s head. It was perfectly crafted down to the hairs and beady black eyes.

“I know they’re not to be trusted.” she spoke bluntly but reminded herself not to give too much away. The comment came out as a little more accusatory than she had intended. Genevive looked down at her hands, avoiding Lilian’s eye.

“Well, you are correct there. To tell the truth, I have been waiting for many years for someone to bring me back one of my hands. I never thought that it would be a young girl I met at the Summer Ball. But if you have one then that means you have dealt with the guiding hand, and that usually means that you have been hurt or wronged in some way, yes?” Lilian stayed quiet, allowing her silence to confirm Genevive’s suspicion. She nodded solemnly and continued. “Perhaps you are here for revenge. Maybe for answers. I do not know what happened but I promise I will give you what you need just…” she faltered for a second, glancing around at her many creations as if searching for inspiration, “Just please don’t tell anyone I told you. If it gets out that I am working against them then…” she trailed off, obviously implying some terrible fate. Lilian put the badger ring down and stepped towards Genevive. It was time for her to get what she came for.

“My friends and I have been hurt, hunted, beaten and accused of things we never did. Whenever we look for answers, your brooches show up.” Lilian was trying to keep anger out of her voice, but she could not help but spit the words. “Who are The Guiding Hand? What do they want and why are you working for them?”

“Many years ago, when my father and I first arrived in Freedos, he was approached by a man from the palace. He was kind and generous, giving us welcoming gifts, explaining that the Empress would help us solve the problems in our community back home. My father came here as a representative and this man assured us that our concerns would be dealt with. The towns and villages where I grew up are very poor and receive no help from the city so this was all good news. But weeks passed and nothing happened. Every time my father requested an audience with the Empress he was either denied it or it was pushed back further and further. He became desperate as he started running out of money. I knew no one in the city and so I started making little things because I was so bored. Some of them I sold, but we made nowhere near enough money to cover our bills. My father asked the palace if he could borrow some and they were very happy and quick to oblige. And so we fell into debt. My father had to work in Laga quarter every day just so that he could keep up with payments. He became very tired and sad, a different man from the one who arrived in Freedos with dreams of helping his home. He began to drink and to gamble. At first I hated him for this but now I think I understand. This behaviour was encouraged, anything to force him deeper into debt. One day the man from the palace returned and demanded payment in full. This was impossible of course, the sum was far too great. But then he noticed that I had been making bracelets and brooches here in this little room. He said that if I made him what he needed, when he needed it then we need not pay him the money. The first thing he asked for was the top of a cane, then there was the first brooch.”

Genevive picked up a cloth and began to absentmindedly polish a bronze signet ring. Lilian had watched her body change during the telling of her story. Each word caused her shoulders to relax just a little, as if the weight of a great secret was being lifted. She looked up from her hands and Lilian saw that her eyes were stained red.

“I’m sorry. I barely know you and perhaps you are here for revenge and I understand that. You can destroy my workshop, I don’t care. Hit me if you wish, that’s fine. Strangely, it just feels good to tell someone. I’m…” A word caught in her throat and Lilian felt her own emotions welling up as well. “I’m just so very lonely. I saw you at the ball and you seemed like you were out of place as well. I was around your age when I arrived here and I really could have used… a friend.” And there it was. The final piece of a puzzle that Lilian had been building in her head. A pronunciation here, a turn of phrase there and Lilian finally realised why Genevive felt so familiar.

“You’re from the Titan Woods,” she said. Genevive’s face looked shocked. The comment had come out of nowhere and she had not expected it. But she smiled.

“I am! Well, nearby. A little place north of there called Rindton. You know the woods?” Lilian smiled widely at the memory of her time there.

“I’ve been to Hundsberg.” Genevive laughed.

“Ha! Very funny. This place is not real.”

“It is! They sound like you and everyone has a dog and it’s big but hidden in the forest. And I met someone from the hundred who has your accent too. Her name was Solveig.” Genevive’s face was the picture of incredulity.

“The hundred I know of course. A few of them are from my town. Where I’m from you either herd cows or you learn to fight, that’s about it. I actually made a helmet for one of them once. They all have to earn their animal and his was a beetle.” She turned around and pulled open a drawer. Inside were reams of parchment filled with sketches. She took one out and showed it to Lilian, sure enough it had pictures of a helmet in the shape of a stag beetle’s head, it’s chitinous plates formed the bulk of the dome and two terrifying mandibles protruded from the front. Lilian’s eyes widened. The sketch was extremely detailed, down to the tiny dents in the carapace that made it seem more organic than mineral. Lilian looked back to Genevive. She was smiling.

“I thought you were some noble girl out for revenge, but somehow I don’t think that is right.” Lilian shrugged.

“Revenge is close, but I’m no noble.” She handed the sketch back. “Genevive, thank you for showing me this place and for talking to me. I’m sorry about what you and your father have gone through. You must miss your home.” Genevive nodded solemnly. “I know what it’s like to be far from your people and to have to keep secrets. I came here today for information and you’ve given me so much already. I hate to ask more but… that man from the palace. The one with the cane. Who is he?” Genevive took a deep breath. She had already crossed so many lines, given away so much that she was supposed to keep secret. This one felt different though.

“It’s alright.” Lilian could sense her hesitation. Whoever he was, this man with the cane was clearly dangerous. “I won’t let it come back to you or your family. I just... I need to know as much as possible if I’m going to fight them.” Genevive’s forehead wrinkled in disbelief. She took a second to think before speaking.

“You are so young, yet you say you’ve been to a legendary village, survived an encounter with The Hundred and now you talk of fighting The Guiding Hand? Who are you really?” Lilian smiled her most supportive and reassuring grin.

“I’m no one. I’m from a small town in the eastern mountains called Benlunar. I’m the daughter of builders and a friend of sorcerers. My name is Lilian Lausanne, and I’m going to help you.”

After two more hours and three more cups of tea Lilian had the name. It came as all secrets do, quietly and with trepidation, unsure whether it would be welcomed or shooed away. She did not recognise it but was glad to have it. It came with warnings of violence, with a history of extortion and dark deeds. Whoever he was, this man, the one with the cane with the scorpion stinger top, was close to the Empress. He was not a bumbling politician or some sycophantic civil servant, but a shadowy power unelected and unchallenged. By the time Lilian had finished learning all she could about him the sun was high above the hill and her stomach was growling at her to leave. She hugged her new friend and whispered a promise to keep her secrets safe and to only share them with those that wished her well. Genevive, her problems shared and therefore halved walked with a new lightness. As she waved goodbye from the front door, Lilian saw her real smile for the first time. Like a child’s silly grin, unburdened by the troubles of adult life. It made Lilian happy and reminded her of why she was doing any and all of this. Soon, she thought, all the citizens of Freedos would smile that way.

“What are you doing here?” Suddenly, a voice, sharp as cut glass appeared to Lilian’s left. She had been distracted by her victory and so focused on leaving the court gates that she’d failed to notice the young woman glaring at her from a few feet away. Lilian turned uphill towards the palace to face her inquisitor. For a split second, she had to make sure it was indeed her that had been shouted at. She did not recognise the young woman who stared at her with dagger eyes.

“What’s the matter?” she continued, “fox got your tongue?” And then Lilian realised who it was. She no longer wore sharp white feathers but her words cut just the same.

“Miss Bellaswan,” Lilian, emboldened by her successful mission, replied in her most obsequious tone, “how delightful. I would have let you know I was visiting court today but I assumed you would be off playing croquet with The Empress.” Miss Bellaswan scowled at the comment. She wore a fine blue dress with white lace detailing around the cuffs and neck. Lilian noticed then that she was not alone but had broken off from a small group of young nobles who seemed to be waiting for her to catch up. They gawked at the scene like fish peering out of a pond. Lilian didn’t mind. She had been intimidated by the crowd at the ball but now she relished having an audience. Miss Bellaswan’s lip curled as if she was being forced to breathe in a bad smell.

“Croquet was cancelled today, although I’m surprised you know the game. Don’t they just throw rocks into holes in the ground for fun where you come from?” This was met with a few titters from the group, Lilian didn’t care.

“Yes but the holes are filled with dung. You forgot about that part.”

“My mistake.” The young noblesse performed a fake curtsy by means of a fake apology. “I hear you’re the Benbublar dung pit champion, you must be so proud.”

“Oh indeed,” replied Lilian, past all pretence of caring, “I win every year. The prize is dinner with a young noble woman but of course I refuse it, as I would rather jump in the holes than spend an evening having to talk to someone duller than the rocks we throw.” Lilian smiled her cheesiest grin and for a split second she thought she saw the corner of Miss Bellaswan’s mouth curl into a smile as well. But as soon as it appeared it was taken over by a scowl. She looked as though she was about to launch into a tirade of abuse, her face was even turning the colour of cooked beetroot but before she could utter the first cutting word she was interrupted.

“Serena!” an older woman was marching towards them from across the courtyard. She wore a crimson dress and had her hair in tight curls. She was so smartly dressed that Lilian assumed she was on her way to a gala or royal function. Miss Bellaswan’s face lost all its redness at the sound of her name. She turned to look at the woman.

“Mother dearest,” Lilian watched her composure shift completely. The young, confident woman was suddenly a despondent, chastised child. Her gaze fell to her feet and her shoulders slumped.

“Don’t ‘mother dearest’ me,” snapped the approaching woman, “I send you to pay your respects to Mrs Chiltern and I find you dallying with your friends.” Serena Bellaswan tried to protest,

“Mother I…”

“Enough!” her mother cut her off, “you will do as I ask and then you will go straight home and practise your lute playing. Please apologise to this young lady for taking up her time.” Lilian watched the scene unfold. Colour was returning to Miss Bellaswan’s cheeks, not from anger this time but pure shame and embarrassment. Her eyes widened in shock at the suggestion. She turned her gaze back to Lilian and fixed her with a stare so ice cold and terrible that Lilian could feel her heart freezing from pure hatred.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your journey Miss Lausanne. May we meet again soon on an equally pleasant day.” She spoke softly, barely able to contain her spite. Lilian dared not reply.

“Very well. Now off with you,” her mother barked at her, “and no more of your laziness or I shall be forced to send you to your aunt’s for the winter.” And with a swish of red material Lady Bellaswan was off, striding towards the palace doors in a whirlwind of pompous anger.

A part of Lilian wanted to gloat, to tell Serena Bellaswan to follow her mother’s advice and leave, but something held her back. There was no sport in kicking someone when they were down. So she kept quiet. Serena must have known what was going on in her head though because she fixed Lilian with a murderous glare before twisting on her heel and rejoining her group of friends. Lilian had entered the interaction in high spirits, despite having to verbally joust with someone she’d rather have avoided, but she left the scene feeling sad. She had promised to help Genevive with her problems, but perhaps she was not the only noble woman trapped in an unhappy situation. Lilian headed for the court gates and briefly turned her head to the sun as she walked. Its heat was just as pleasant here beyond the palace court walls as it had been at the base of the extinct volcano. The thought reassured her. The sun did not care where you lived or how much money you had, like the moon it shined regardless. Lilian breathed in a warm, calming breath and made a quick mental note to not stay out in the midday heat for too long, lest her eyes become dazzled and her skin burned.

After stopping at a food cart that sold sweet steamed buns Lilian headed straight to Mr Twitchett’s basement to tell Mr Attorcop all about her morning’s discoveries. She was conscious of having left Fritha at home alone for quite some time but decided that getting food and information to Mr Attorcop was more important. Her pace quickened each time she passed one of Mr Attorcop’s ‘wanted’ posters. Thankfully her journey was void of Weardian officers or snooping palace guards. She checked over her shoulder more than once before making the turn down the alley to the squat structure that housed the basement trap door. Ever since Bried and her mannerless company had discovered the hideout Lilian had been nervous about spies. She was confident that Bried would not disclose the basement’s location to the Weardian, there was some honour amongst thieves after all, but she could not say the same about the odd bystander who witnessed a young girl creeping around back alleys and acting strangely.

Lilian felt her body relax as she shut the trap door behind her, confident that she had not been followed, only to have it tense up again tenfold when she looked into the underground room and saw Mr Attorcop standing with someone she’d hoped never to see again for the rest of her days. Her train of thought was derailed and her body's reaction was so extreme, she nearly dropped the steamed buns entirely.

“Lilian, welcome back. How was your morning?” Mr Attorcop spoke with a frustrating calmness.

“What is SHE doing here?” Lilian bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger as she spoke. The woman who Mr Attorcop was speaking with smiled, she was as tall and beautiful as Lilian remembered her. Her green eyes reflected the patches of sun streaming through the small grated windows.

“Good afternoon Miss Lausanne, it’s a pleasure to see you too.”

“Hello Kissandra,” Lilian spat the name with as much contempt as she could muster. Memories of this dangerous stranger flashed into her head; the sight of her masked and hooded face outside the tower window, the image of her frozen in place in the middle of the chalk circle on the stone shelf where she and Mr Attorcop trained. Kissandra the assassin stood leaning against a table twenty feet from Lilian as cool as a cucumber. She wore a dark leather breast plate and a sleek, dark blue half cape, the hood of which hung down behind her.

“It’s alright Lilian,” Mr Attorcop reassured her, “Kissandra is here on my invitation.” Lilian spluttered a protest,

“But, she tried to…”

“She tried to do a job. She failed. Now she is here to discuss our options which seeing as you’ve been outside today you will know are quickly dwindling.” Of all the allies she had expected Mr Attorcop to turn to, Kissandra the killer was surely the last.

“It’s fine Cromwell, I understand Miss Lausanne’s trepidation. I would not be so quick to trust me either, given our history.” Lilian said nothing but instead took an angry bite out of her steamed bun. She was still seething with rage so was unable to enjoy its warm, soft sweetness. She walked over to Mr Attorcop, keeping her eyes trained on Kissandra, as if at any minute she would spring into an attack. She shoved the spare bun into Mr Attorcop’s chest, a little more forcefully than was necessary.

“Thank you.” he said.

“Hmph.” Lilian grunted.

“Cromwell has invited me here to talk about the Weardian. It seems we share a common enemy. While I understand that you don’t have much coin to spare, I think we might be able to come to a mutually beneficial agreement.” Lilian swallowed a mouthful of bread.

“You’re going to help us take on the Weardian?” Kissandra swayed her head from side to side, weighing her words.

“Maybe not directly. But we can help you with whatever plan you cook up down here in the dark.”

“We?” parroted Lilian.

“Bana House have a vested interest in seeing the Weardian disbanded.” Lilian turned a disbelieving gaze at Mr Attorcop.

“We can’t trust her. I’ve just spent the morning figuring out who she works for, they’re not good people Cromwell.” Before Mr Attorcop could reply, Kissandra defended her position.

“I work for the highest bidder and I do what I am asked. And yes, sometimes that includes wearing peculiar brooches. I assume you’re talking about The Guiding Hand?” Lilian narrowed her eyes. “Well,” she continued, “you are right when you say they are not good people, but in my line of work one cannot afford to take such a blinkered view of good or bad.” Mr Attorcop nodded in agreement.

“That’s what I keep trying to teach her.” Kissandra smiled.

“Well then I see that the city has indeed not tarnished your kind soul.” Lilian was fed up with these two, trading jokes like they were old friends. She chewed and swallowed the last of her bun and crossed her arms in a sulk. She had returned to the basement excited at her progress but this interaction felt like taking a step back after two steps forward. Mr Attorcop sensed her frustration.

“Lilian, when you run out of friends, you turn to your enemies, I’ve done it before and I should think I will eventually have to do it again.” Lilian huffed.

“Next thing you’ll be saying we should team up with Bried.” Kissandra shook her head.

“She would never help. Strange as it may seem, keeping the Weardian around actually works in the favour for many of the city’s criminal class.”

“I know!” Lilian exclaimed, “it was a figure of speech. Twelve hells you two, I go up the hill for one morning and the world turns upside down.” Mr Attorcop’s face became solem.

“It’s been turning for quite some time Lilian, this is just the latest revolution. Speaking of this morning, did you manage to confirm our suspicion?” Lilian shot Kissandra a furtive glance, still unsure whether she could be trusted.

“It’s alright,” she said in her cool, clear voice, “Cromwell has told me all about your efforts. I have to say that following the brooches was an excellent plan. I never met the person who ordered the hit on you Cromwell, but their emissary told me to make sure I was wearing the brooch when I did the deed.” Mr Attorcop rolled his eyes. Lilian sensed one of his rants about pretentious fools coming soon. He pushed the thought to one side however and looked back at Lilian.

“Does our mutual friend make the brooches?” Lilian took a second before answering. She shot Mr Attorcop a look that she hoped would convey the phrase, I hope you know what you’re doing, before replying.

“Yes. She makes them in her home.” Mr Attorcop was about to speak but Lilian was not finished. “But she’s being forced, threatened by a man who works directly with the Empress. The Guiding Hand doesn’t have a leader but if anyone were to take the title, it would be him.” Mr Attorcop and Kissandra glanced at each other, months of plotting was about to come to an end, finally, they would have a name, and with a name there would come a plan. Lilian remembered her vow to share the secret only with those who would wish the best for Genevive, she did not trust Kissandra, but she trusted Cromwell Attorcop, and so she spoke.

“He rarely leaves the Empress’ side, he’s about your age Cromwell and he walks with a cane. A cane topped with a scorpion stinger. His name is Nicholas Telson, and he is very, very dangerous.”