Intermezzo I

  Marghe

  Marghe felt the cold on her round cheeks and buried her head back into her puffy pillow. Among the children who lived in The Red Carpet, she was the only one with her own room in the rear house. It wasn’t too large, but she had her own bed with a duvet, a mirror, and a closet full of whatever she wanted. She knew she couldn’t hide under the soft warmth for too long – the morning was nearly over already.

  Crawling out of bed in her linen smock, Marghe trotted over to her table and the cheval glass next to it. She didn’t look at herself and poured water from a clay pitcher with colorful flowers on it into a basin of equal making. It was frozen, and the young woman gasped. Today was the fifteenth of Bull, the day she was given her name, and she remembered that it wasn’t as cold when she was small. Using the cutlery from the previous night, she stabbed the ice with great effort to melt the chunks in her palms. Marghe finally felt awake and looked into the mirror with rosy cheeks.

  It was time to comb her strawberry blonde hair. She lost herself counting the strokes, taking her time. Usually she loved namesgiving celebrations, especially her own, but today was different. Marghe had dreaded her sixteenth for the last year.

  “Knock knock, sweetheart.” A soothing voice reached out to Marghe from behind the door, and did as she said: knock.

  “I’m awake, Warda,” replied Marghe with her head leaning to the side. The waves of her hair returned with each stroke down to her bosom.

  A tall, thin woman in a black kirtle over a chemise came in. Her shoulders and neck were free, as flowed her grayed dark hair. Revealing your true self to the Stars wasn’t very pious outside a temple, but women like her weren’t expected to look pious. Warda carried a wooden platter with a sundry of bottles and small boxes. She pushed the door shut with her bottom after she entered.

  “Your mother wants me to help you,” said the tall woman.

  Marghe sighed and stopped brushing herself. “Thank you.”

  “Today’s the day, huh?” Warda placed the platter in front of Marghe and hugged her from behind. “You’re a woman now.”

  Rolling her eyes, the young woman placed her hands on Warda’s arms and leaned her head against them. “Under the Stars, I have been for two years already.”

  The tall woman took a vial of rose water, mixed with cloves, and let it drip into her hands. “You weren’t ripe yet,” she said, as she began massaging the scent into Marghe’s hair. Warda smiled into the mirror where the two women’s eyes met, giggling even before the younger one could reply.

  “That’s what my mother said,” replied Marghe. She looked down into her bountiful bosom, then mustered the older woman’s thin, flat one. “We know she’s lying. Everyone knows.”

  When Warda was done with Marghe’s hair, she ruffled through it to bring out the volume of the young woman’s waves. Her expertise showed in how gently she handled it. “No need to look at me like this, young madam. I may not be blessed with the right rotundity, but men appreciate my company,” she said, smirking, and handed Marghe a ball of soap.

  Marghe relished in the older woman’s treatment of her hair. Her long nails scratched all the right places. “Don’t call me young madam on my first day. I am well aware men seek you out, and what for.” She got fresh water from a flask poured over her hands and cleaned her face and neck with the soap. “Treat me as a colleague from now on, yes?” she asked. “Please.”

  “Alright,” nodded Warda and grabbed a pair of tweezers. Squatting next to Marghe, she looked up into her face, looking for weeds to pull. But she only smiled and stood up again. “You really are blessed, Marghe. Young and unruined,” she said with a faint gloom. “Did you sleep well? Good sleep is important for your skin and hair.”

  “I did.” Marghe put aside the soap and wiped her hands off on a kerchief from her table. After inspecting herself thoroughly, she tapped her round cheeks and pinched them. It drove the paleness of the winter’s cold out. “Had a weird dream, but wasn’t disturbed.”

  “No, don’t.” Warda reached for the young woman’s face and hands to stop her. “Next is the cream, then I’ll powder you. Men like a good pallor. Don’t act stupid, you know that.”

  “I do, and I don’t want that kind of man to seek me out,” said Marghe, and squabbled with her hands to shoo Warda’s hands away. The tall woman retorted the same way, both of them laughing for a brief moment. “At least not today.”

  “Alright,” nodded Warda once more. She pointed at the cream made from animal fats and honey. “What was your dream? The one where you’re pregnant?”

  “No, by the White Sister, not that one. Hadn’t that one in a while,” gasped the young woman while rubbing the cream over her hands, wrists, and face. “It was no nightmare, just weird. Westwatch had a dance festival, and nobody else was allowed in. There was also a cattle auction, but mother didn’t want me to have a goat,” said Marghe, taking a break to think. “It’s bad for business, she said. We got a couple of calves instead, and I think I’m already forgetting about the rest. Many of you were also around.”

  “Sweetheart, this is absolute nonsense,” giggled Warda and walked away from the mirror and table. On the other side of the room was quite the big closet, which she opened with both hands. Inside were a dozen differently colored clothes. “Do you know which one you want to wear?” The tall woman grabbed an armless, shoulder-free chemise. “Or do you want me to pick? I’ve got a pretty good idea who is coming for you today.”

  “Red bodice, brown skirt,” said Marghe, balming her lips. She stood up and stretched her neck in the mirror, getting a good view of herself from all sides and angles. “And the broad girdle.”

  “You’re not a barmaid today,” said Warda, but laid the demanded pieces on the bed. “Why not the purple one with the cute thin belt? It even has cat paws stamped into it. Folk who come to the Big House expect something extra, and this would be a dashing statement.”

  The young woman trotted over to her bed and Warda. She lifted her arms up and kept her hair in place while the tall woman pulled the night-smock off of her. Her arms reflexively went down, to hold her chest in the freezing cold, but she had to endure. It wasn’t for long that she had to stand there, the same way that the Stars had a first glimpse at her sixteen years ago. The older woman wrapped her in the fine white undergarment, and continued to help Marghe into the skirt and bodice.

  “Can you stop it?” asked Marghe. She barely was able to contain her hands from interfering. Warda adjusted the clothes to show more shoulders and bind the bodice tightly and uplifting. “This is–” A groan interrupted the dressing. “I am stressed. You’re normally not that dense, aren’t you?”

  The thin woman sighed, shrugged and knelt down in front of Marghe. “I’m not,” she said snippy, while fastening the girdle and pushing the younger woman onto the bed to sit down. “You’re not the first girl I’m helping on her first day. You’re not even the first girl that I’ve known since she was a child.” Without being told, she had chosen a pair of ankle-high shoes of soft leather, and tied the laces. “Your mother and us older whores have planned this for a long time. You’ll be safe, and it’s alright if you only pick one suitor today. Instead of worrying your pretty head off, why don’t you think about what you’re going to do with your very first own coin?”

  Exhaling, Marghe let herself fall back onto the soft warmth of her bed. “I’m sorry,” she uttered. “This isn’t your fault. Mother has been annoying these last days, and I feel like every eye out there in the streets is preying on me.”

  “Because they are.” The tall woman grabbed Marghe’s hands and pulled her up, welcoming her with a smile and a hug. “You ought to be the most delicious meal in the whole city. But your price is in silver, which they don’t have.”

  “You’re not helping,” replied Marghe, returning the smile. “Thank you.”

  “Let’s go, your mother is waiting.”

  The rear house behind The Red Carpet had been expanded a couple of times over the years to accommodate the needs of the children and mothers. It was made entirely of timber and stone, walled off and could only be entered through the big house. A sizable yard stretched out between the two buildings. There were no garden plants or flowers planted. Only a plum tree to climb on grew inside it, with a swing on it, surrounded by a chaotic mess of toys. Hobby horses, wooden animals and dolls, effigies of the Stars, leather balls and marbles were everywhere – dirty and unbothered.

  Marghe’s room was at the center of the second floor. The only one up there without sloped ceilings and a window towards the yard and big house. The youngest children were usually already up to something at this time of day. The older they got, the less likely it was that they were still living here. After crossing the narrow corridors between the rooms, down the stairs, the two women left the rear house. A small girl and boy were sitting in the cold. They wore their temple-dresses, throwing snow at each other with sticks in their hands.

  The girl gasped, caught. “Dinner!” she screamed, and pointed at Marghe.

  “Dinner?” asked the boy, turning around. “Yay, dinner is there!”

  Raising a brow and tilting her head, Marghe looked after the children as they ran inside. “We’re having a feast?”

  “Damned you be, little idiots!” yelled Warda, lifted her dress, and sprinted a couple of steps to chase after the pair. She then stopped and turned around, seeing Marghe lift her skirt as well. Both clenched their arms against their ribs to stay warm. “Don’t ruin this for your mother.” She also tilted her head.

  “You really think I didn’t get any of your preparations for today?” laughed Marghe, as the pair trudged through the snow. “I’ve rehearsed my surprised gaze since last Double Full. Not just for this.” She smirked.

  The backdoor of The Red Carpet led straight into a sizable kitchen. Another two women stood there, keeping the stove and pans warm. One was a small woman with plenty to offer, wearing an apron on top of a blue gown that squeezed out every last inch of her. Her long brown locks were tied up so they wouldn’t get cooked too. The other woman looked rather unimpressive if it weren’t for her slender face and the most aquiline nose. Paired with her strict black hair and eyes that could drown a man, she was a rather imposing figure.

  “There she is,” said a woman, sitting at the kitchen table with her legs crossed. Her hair was the color of copper, even in her mid-forties. Like Marghe, she was round where it mattered and otherwise narrow. The freckles on her cleavage and shoulders did not extend into her face. “My gift of the Stars!”

  She stood up, adjusted her wide silk bodice, straightened the red, frilled skirt beneath, and approached Marghe with open arms. She wore no blouse beneath, and her knee-high laced boots made a distinct click with each step.

  “Do I smell rabbit roast?” asked Marghe, embracing her mother. They kissed each other on the mouth. The madam took her daughter over and led her through the kitchen by her arm.

  “Firstly, best wishes on your special day,” said her mother. She walked through the corridor underneath the staircase to the upper floors. Warda had taken to the back, as three could not walk next to each other here. “Secondly, you look stunning. A rustic charm!” She halted, placing one hand on the door knob to the parlor room, and guiding Marghe to the front at the same time. “And thirdly…” With one final push, the door swung open and her daughter stumbled forward. “Surprise! Everyone’s here, and I made sure to have plenty of your favorite food and drink!”

  About a dozen women had rooms in the big house. Their combined children outnumbered them by more than double. And all of them were clapping. Marghe knew about them, but didn’t expect them to be so loud. Her heart pounded, and she held her mouth shut to not be overjoyed.

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  “Thank you all,” she uttered. Her words didn’t break through the noise, as her mother pushed her towards the tables and into a seat. “Thank you so much!” Marghe grabbed her chest, seeing all the plates and cups.

  The children from the yard were kept in the background by a frustrated mother trying to clean them. Another girl stepped forward with her hands behind her back. She was close to being regarded as an adult under the Stars, in a plain light blue dress. “We’s got you a gift,” she said with a bright smile, and handed Marghe a leather-bound book.

  “Oh no, don’t waste your hard-earned–” The young woman halted her speech when she saw the title. ‘The Red Sister Walks by Day’, was an old Lecture tale, rarely heard preached by an Auror. It was Marghe’s favorite. “See what you’ve done to me, Lynner,” she said, with tears in her eyes. The girl handed her a kerchief to save the makeup.

  The parlor room had been cleaned by the children like they did every day. They still had a couple candles worth of time before business opened in the afternoon. A citole, a dulcimer, two vielles, two shawms and a couple of bells and simple flutes laid on the small stage, opposite to the bar counter. A particularly small woman carried a platter with plenty of wine and a bottle of mead. She placed the latter right in front of the honored one.

  Most celebrations of a namegiving happened on the first day of a Constellation. For the commonfolk to know the exact day on which they were born was rare. Patricians or those who aspired to buy themselves up the ladder did so to imitate the nobility. Thus, those of low birth celebrated their personal anniversaries in bulk. Usually on the same day that their patron Star was celebrated; one year after they were born.

  The women and children of The Red Carpet refrained from playing their instruments and singing the usual Lay-Songs of the Bull. If anyone would hear music on the outside, they might think the establishment had opened early. And the muscle that protected them had not yet arrived. But it was far from a quiet celebration. Laughter accompanied the dining on well-roasted rabbits. It sat in a wine-sauce made with apples and onions with no shortage of bread.

  One of the bells rang from the stage, and heads turned towards the front. “Hear, hear!” shouted the madam and rang the bell once more. “I want to say something, on this here special day.”

  “Mother…” sighed Marghe and put aside her cutlery.

  “At least let us finish the feast, Asthra!” yelled the short woman, laughing.

  “Shut up, Arole, you can eat and listen at the same time,” replied Asthra with a raised finger. “This is my house, and I speak whenever I want. Come up, sweetheart, show yourself.” With one hand on her hip, her hand movements turned into a wave. The way she nodded when Marghe made eye contact with her mother was not a question, but a demand. Slouching herself onto the stage, Marghe inhaled once, and stood tall next to the madam. “That’s the way, make your breasts stand out even more,” laughed Asthra, and put a hand on her daughter’s back.

  Marghe closed her eyes before turning towards her mother. “I don’t want to make you look too old though,” she smirked.

  “Oh sweetheart, the men who come to see me aren’t swayed by sheer youth,” said the madam and stepped back and forth on the stage. “They value skill. But keep up that sharp tongue of yours, it will kill many men from this day onwards.”

  “Get to the point, none of us are going to fuck you after the show!” howled the plentiful woman, who had left the apron in the kitchen. She was breastfeeding a three year old girl while holding a cup of wine.

  Asthra waited a moment and stared the other woman down, until both of them smiled. “You can consider yourself lucky that many men crave your fat ass, Teggy,” she said, and turned towards her daughter. “I really want to share with all of you how happy I am. I longed for the day that you’d join us – join me – in the family business. I have planned this day for so long, and I want to assure you that all of the girls have your back.”

  “I–” Marghe halted her speech by pressing her lips together. Her eyes met each and every one of the older women in the room, and some of her childhood friends’. “I appreciate it. I appreciate all of you so much.”

  “Our trade may be of ill-repute, but I want all of you to know how proud I am,” said Asthra and folded her hands in front of her chest. “Twenty years ago, this house was small and easy to miss. Before that, Madam Hora managed the shacks under constant pressure and threat. But she fought vigorously to get a permit to build on the ruins of Moonshine Shean’s tavern, which she saw burn with her own eyes. I’ll be forever in her debt for trusting me with her legacy.”

  The older whores in the room raised their eyes and hands towards the ceiling, praying in silence. Even Warda stopped making eye contact with Marghe and joined in. The smallest children imitated them. Even though they had no idea what the madam was talking about.

  “Red Cat Alley is as safe as never before. And we’ll continue until even the small houses are,” continued the head whore. She looked outside through the colored glass of the entrance’s door. Wrapping one arm around her daughter, she returned her gaze to the parlor room and smooched Marghe on the cheek. “And one day, you’ll make this place even greater. I–”

  “Mother, I am only starting to work here,” sighed Marghe, shaking her head. “Can you tone it down? I’m one of the girls now, nothing more.” She waited a couple of breaths, looking into her mothers dark, blinking eyes. Ever since Marghe was a child, she had been told that hers were like emeralds. Among many other euphemisms for other parts of her. “A common whore,” she uttered, grabbing her mother’s naked shoulders.

  “Never say that again,” replied her mother, baffled. Asthra grabbed her daughter and hugged her tight. “Did someone call you that?”

  “Leave the girl be,” said the strict looking woman, whose posture never faltered. She put her cutlery aside, according to etiquette, and placed her hands on the table to emphasize her objection. “We talked this over, Asthra. Marghe’s got enough weight on her shoulders.”

  “And her back,” laughed Lynner nervously. Her eyes wandered left and right, but only the other children giggled.

  “Not now,” said Warda and placed a hand on Lynner’s.

  “I know what we talked about, Melbeth. This is my house, and my daughter.” The madam stomped on the stage and let go of the young woman, pressed at her chest. “I want her to know how happy I am and how much I love her. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.”

  “I know that.” Marghe’s voice pitched up, as she flailed one hand into the air in frustration. “We all know that. Nobody doubts it. You’re telling me that ever since I was born, and I love you too. We all love you. Why can’t you let me have a nice meal with my family before I’m getting deflowered by a stranger?”

  “Sweetheart, as if none of the boys out there–” grinned the madam, also flailing her hand up to wave the young woman’s concerns away.

  “I told you!” interrupted Marghe. “I haven’t.”

  “And I told you that I do not like to be lied to. I see how they look at you. Who do you think I am?”

  “That’s enough, Asthra!” Towering over everyone, Warda rose so fast that her chair fell over. “You never know when to shut up. The deal was that we all keep an eye out for her, let one suitor approach her and then she’s free for the day. Why do you have to ruin this? It’s unusual enough that we let a fledgling into the big house.”

  “I don’t need to be–” The young woman on the stage raised her voice and hands, but was shut down by her mother.

  “She is special.” Asthra stomped her feet again. “And you know that! Simply look at her. She is a perfect gift from the Stars, and that’s why she’s the only one I kept,” she said, becoming more and more quiet, ending in a mere murmur. “I paid good coin for her tutors and let her fate be read in St. Greodor. She’s brighter, better and prettier than any of us. Her future is our future, and this here house will become a beacon and haven when she takes over! Every–” The madam stopped and looked at Marghe who had folded her arms in front of her chest and held her own arms. With a couple swift steps, Asthra hopped off the stage and joined the other women below. She looked up to her daughter. “One day, every shack out there will be a big house. Take a good look at her. Take a good look at yourself, sweetheart. You can play all these instruments, recite poems, and write and read as well as you can sing. Your face will make them melt, and you’ll run circles around everyone with your hips and head.”

  “Mother,” said Marghe, looking down. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, rubbing them nervously. Seeing all these eyes locked onto her, she became small and stared at the floor. No words followed, just a sigh.

  “Warda, Melbeth,” said Asthra and looked at her fellow whores. One shook her head, the other one rubbed her temples. But neither of them avoided looking at Marghe. “Look into her beautiful eyes and tell me I’m not right.”

  Marghe felt like dying. This wasn’t the first time she heard these things. She felt the gazes outside, and she was the only child in the big house that had a proper teacher. All her life, she wished for folk to be jealous and treat her like that. But her mother’s beliefs were convincing, and the other children treated her like a big sister or surrogate for it. And all she ever wanted was to be one of them. Go outside and be treated like a child of sin, or common whore. But everyone knew who she was, and not even the guards or thugs harassed her. If she could simply be someone else…

  A hard knock startled Marghe and a couple of the children. Heads turned towards the door, some confused and others in anticipation.

  “Open up,” commanded a rough voice, and knocked again.

  Lynner was sent to open the door, and an entourage of men swaggered into the parlor room. Welcomed with open arms, they spread around the table and counter. Each of them found either a drink to take care of or a woman that took care of them. Only one of them, accompanied by a boy of Marghe’s age, made his way straight towards the madam and pulled her into a kiss. In an instant, Asthra’s and his hands were all over each other.

  The men all wore rather simple attire, but each of them had a red bandage somewhere on them, except their leader. He wore a nice blue vest and chausses, with a bright red gugel and bycocket hat. His son wore no red yet, and most of his clothes were a bit dirty, with just a coif on top. Their eyes were a bright, deep green and their cheeks were round.

  “Sorry me and the boys are late,” said the man, who had been biting Asthra’s lip a bit. “Or more like…” He let go of the madam and bowed towards the stage, even taking off his hat. “Sorry to you, sweetheart. It’s your day, and I–” Patting his own clothes down, and peeking into a leather bag at his belt, he looked rather dull for a moment. Then he turned towards the boy and slapped his chest with his backhand. “You have it, Salm. Go up and give her my gift.”

  “Yes, Dad,” replied the boy and trudged away. His eyes wandered left and right, contorting his face ever so slightly when he spotted one of his father’s men. He noticed Marghe’s gaze on him, as his whole body swung left and right with each step. Stepping onto the stage, he pulled out a silver ring with a flower pattern on it, adorned with two small red stones. “Here,” said Salm and held it in front of the young woman. “My dad wants you to have this. Congratulations.”

  “Oh Ruthbert, you know we’re not allowed to wear jewelry,” said Asthra, nestling up to the man.

  The leader of the gang always had a hand on the madam, walking her over to the head of the table. This had been Marghe’s seat for today, but he sat down on it and pulled her mother on his lap with him. “Well, then don’t tell anybody,” he laughed. “Salm!” He snapped his head in his son’s direction. “Hug her.”

  “Thank you Ruthbert, but that’s not needed,” said Marghe and held her hands up as a barrier between her and Salm. “It’s more than enough that you’ve come to celebrate with us. We were about to–”

  “Fuck you dad, I’m not hugging that stupid bitch,” interrupted Salm, flinching a step away from Marghe. His eyes were jumping back and forth between the other men, who suddenly stopped groping the women. Their grim visages were fixated on him now.

  “What did you say?” asked Ruthbert, straightening up as much as he could with Asthra on his lap. A fine blade rested on his hip, as long as it could be without freemen privileges and two years of service. His men also had various knives and cudgels on them. “Don’t make me come up there.”

  “If you come up here, you can hug her yourself.” Salm turned around to face his father directly. His stance was unsteady, and he lacked the nerves to not constantly look around his other men.

  “I want you to get along,” pressed Ruthbert, but he couldn’t stand up. Asthra leaned against him, kissing him while he spoke, weighing him down. “I won’t say it a third time.”

  Marghe caught a glimpse of a cutlery knife, hidden in Salm’s sleeve. “Salm, if it’s that important to him–” She grabbed the boy’s shoulder, but got shrugged off immediately. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Ruthbert, they’re just kids,” said Warda, and stepped in front of the stage. “Let them be. We’re all here to have a nice meal before the opening, why don’t you–”

  “Why don’t you shut your mouth, skinny bitch?” interjected Ruthbert.

  “Excuse me?” The tall woman grew even taller, as she straightened her dress and rolled up her sleeves.

  Before she could take a step towards that rude man, Ruthbert jolted up with his green eyes wide open. “Ooph,” he exhaled, as his head turned to the side.

  The madam had a firm grip on his balls, as she bit him in the neck. “Ruthby, you know what your rough side does to me,” she whispered into his ear, loud enough to be heard by everyone. “Why don’t we skip the meal and go up.”

  Men and women alike were looking at each other in unease. Marghe’s eyes followed her mother and Ruthbert through the room to the stairs to the flower rooms. There was no time for Asthra to look back, but the girls nodded at each other and held onto the men who were with them. The young woman up on the stage reached out for the boy next to her once more, but he turned around before she could touch him.

  “Don’t,” uttered Salm. “We’re no friends.”

  “No, we’re not,” replied Marghe, hushed.

  Still young, Marghe and Salm stood there in silence. His shoulders slouched, and her back pressed out the way she was taught to look in front of men. Round faces and green eyes. Only one step apart. And a glimpse into their future.