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Authors: Terry Mancour
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bearing.
Best yet, she found a middle-aged widow nearly the Baroness’ own age who was a bit of a prodigy, for this backwater of a backwater. She discovered Goody Candrice running a soup kitchen of sorts in conjunction with an oft-drunken monk of Huin, providing meals for many in her camp, and providing protection for as many young women as she could. She had them pooling their efforts, taking in mending and washing from town and purchasing grain and eggs with the profits.
But Goody Candrice was no pious nun. Before she wed she was a notorious unofficial disciple of Ishi, nor had she let her vows to Trygg stop her from taking her pleasure as she wished. Since the war she had constantly schemed, both on her own behalf and on behalf of those she found worthy to protect and nurture. And in turn, she had organized them into conducting some discreet whoring in the camps and in the less fashionable parts of town on their own.
Half a dozen of her older girls were already trading their favors for select clients she screened herself, either out of a tent in the back of her camp or on an on-call basis. It was such an efficient and dear little operation that, once Ishi understood it by observation, she invited Candrice to come and be her matron and cook at her house . . . and invited all of her girls as well.
The matron was shocked, and didn’t believe the offer was genuine until Elspeth reluctantly placed ten ounces of silver in her palm. But once she closed her fingers over it, the deal was done. Candrice would come to the Hall of Flowers, as Ishi had re-named the Flower Bed, and help oversee the restoration of the place. Not to mention help regulate the maidens.
Everywhere they went, however, Elspeth seemed to second-guess Ishi about her choices. The homely girl was critical, but she had a good eye, the goddess had to admit. She was adept at sums, despite her illiteracy . . . and every silver coin that left her purse made her moan in despair under her breath.
But then the first investments in femininity began paying dividends. On the fourth day of their search, girls began arriving at the Hall of Flowers with their baggage and their hopes. Elspeth greeted the first of them politely, took their names and birthplace, determined whether they were noble or common, and then assigned them to a chamber with several other girls.
By the end of the week there were more than a score crowding the hall, with Goody Candrice’s girls arriving last.
Candrice quickly took over the kitchen, even as one of the older girls – a pretty blonde name Rancine – assumed the role of clothier. Most of the girls arrived in rags, torn dresses they’d outgrown or oversize cast-offs they’d acquired in the camps. Few had had a bath since summer, and as the winter winds began to rise in the dark West, it was unlikely they’d see one before spring, in the camps.
Most of the poor wretches were half-starved. A big pot of simple bean soup and a loaf of bread took care of that problem. It was taking a good portion of her remaining savings to feed them, but it had to be done, Ishi knew. Goody Candrice was adept at turning a little into a lot, and within hours of her arrival she and her more homely girls had turned what meager fare Ishi had been able to procure into a wholesome repast – the best most of the girls had eaten in weeks.
“I know you are all wondering why I invited you here, chose you to be here,” Ishi began as she addressed the first group of girls at dinner that first night. “The simple fact is that I have seen all of Vorone, all of the Wilderlands, suffer too long under this awful war. So many fair maidens and sturdy lads have gone off to die, or be enslaved, or otherwise doomed in the darkness, and many more have suffered at the hands of the fellow men.
“But for good or ill, you have all survived and found yourself here, in Vorone. Perhaps this is the last outpost of true culture in the
Best yet, she found a middle-aged widow nearly the Baroness’ own age who was a bit of a prodigy, for this backwater of a backwater. She discovered Goody Candrice running a soup kitchen of sorts in conjunction with an oft-drunken monk of Huin, providing meals for many in her camp, and providing protection for as many young women as she could. She had them pooling their efforts, taking in mending and washing from town and purchasing grain and eggs with the profits.
But Goody Candrice was no pious nun. Before she wed she was a notorious unofficial disciple of Ishi, nor had she let her vows to Trygg stop her from taking her pleasure as she wished. Since the war she had constantly schemed, both on her own behalf and on behalf of those she found worthy to protect and nurture. And in turn, she had organized them into conducting some discreet whoring in the camps and in the less fashionable parts of town on their own.
Half a dozen of her older girls were already trading their favors for select clients she screened herself, either out of a tent in the back of her camp or on an on-call basis. It was such an efficient and dear little operation that, once Ishi understood it by observation, she invited Candrice to come and be her matron and cook at her house . . . and invited all of her girls as well.
The matron was shocked, and didn’t believe the offer was genuine until Elspeth reluctantly placed ten ounces of silver in her palm. But once she closed her fingers over it, the deal was done. Candrice would come to the Hall of Flowers, as Ishi had re-named the Flower Bed, and help oversee the restoration of the place. Not to mention help regulate the maidens.
Everywhere they went, however, Elspeth seemed to second-guess Ishi about her choices. The homely girl was critical, but she had a good eye, the goddess had to admit. She was adept at sums, despite her illiteracy . . . and every silver coin that left her purse made her moan in despair under her breath.
But then the first investments in femininity began paying dividends. On the fourth day of their search, girls began arriving at the Hall of Flowers with their baggage and their hopes. Elspeth greeted the first of them politely, took their names and birthplace, determined whether they were noble or common, and then assigned them to a chamber with several other girls.
By the end of the week there were more than a score crowding the hall, with Goody Candrice’s girls arriving last.
Candrice quickly took over the kitchen, even as one of the older girls – a pretty blonde name Rancine – assumed the role of clothier. Most of the girls arrived in rags, torn dresses they’d outgrown or oversize cast-offs they’d acquired in the camps. Few had had a bath since summer, and as the winter winds began to rise in the dark West, it was unlikely they’d see one before spring, in the camps.
Most of the poor wretches were half-starved. A big pot of simple bean soup and a loaf of bread took care of that problem. It was taking a good portion of her remaining savings to feed them, but it had to be done, Ishi knew. Goody Candrice was adept at turning a little into a lot, and within hours of her arrival she and her more homely girls had turned what meager fare Ishi had been able to procure into a wholesome repast – the best most of the girls had eaten in weeks.
“I know you are all wondering why I invited you here, chose you to be here,” Ishi began as she addressed the first group of girls at dinner that first night. “The simple fact is that I have seen all of Vorone, all of the Wilderlands, suffer too long under this awful war. So many fair maidens and sturdy lads have gone off to die, or be enslaved, or otherwise doomed in the darkness, and many more have suffered at the hands of the fellow men.
“But for good or ill, you have all survived and found yourself here, in Vorone. Perhaps this is the last outpost of true culture in the
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