The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Women's Quarters

"The women's wing?" Able guessed as he had followed Capstone into a lower end of the manor house and through the kitchens into what appeared to be servant's quarters where he'd witnessed female enforcers herding indentured women in from outside. "You keep the women inside and the men outside?"

"You're clever enough to figure out what would happen if we didn't," Capstone replied in that disinterested way of hers.

"I'm not questioning that, only why I am being housed here."

"The guest rooms are reserved for visitors more important than your sort, but you'll get privacy here at least, so don't complain. Also, trouble with women doesn't seem the kind you like to get caught up in." She said this like Green had told her something.

Or perhaps Able had gotten paranoid. He made no reply as she gestured to the tiny room with a bed, an end table, and the tiniest slit of window above the ground.

"Here you are," she handed him the lantern she had been carrying. "You'll know when breakfast is ready, too." She gave him a clipped nod and went back down the hall.

"Thank you," Able called after her, then closed the door behind him.

The walls were filled timber on two sides while the one at the back with the window was the bare foundation and cold to the touch. Judging from the discoloration on the side walls, it probably leaked when it rained and made a mess of the muddy floor as well.

He took the empty tin pitcher and washbasin from the end table and pulled it to the side of the bed, where he sat and pulled the thin blanket up to ward off the chill. With his donated writing materials he poured out the memorized stories as fast as his hand could manage. It was cramping from too long a rest once he was done, and he folded the pages together and hid them beneath the mattress.

The lantern still had some oil left, but he put it out for later use. He moved the end table back to the wall, then looked out the window. By his estimations, it was midnight, but he could not verify this for even if he could see more of the sky his astrolabe plate was for the wrong latitude. Still, he spun the rete in his hands a few times after he lay down, and it calmed him.

As Capstone had suggested, the noisy hallway woke him at dawn. He considered trying to get some more sleep after the servants had all cleared out until he realized they probably had fires going. He hadn't even taken his boots off because of the cold. He opened the door to see Raven Longfield standing against the wall looking at him.

"I see our pigeon has landed," not-Raven said—she was younger and even prettier than her sister, actually, with rounder lips and eyes and wider hips, though her cream-colored hair was shorter.

"I'm not a bird like the rest of you," he cracked a smile to hide that he was worried why she was here.

"Me neither-my name is Honor."

"Have you been asked to keep an eye on me?"

"No, just confirm that you got here without any complications," she had lowered her voice and glanced down the empty hall.

"Everything went fine."

"Oh good!" she nodded and straighted. "Now I can get out of this dump."

"You don't-er, that is to say you're not housed here?"

"Hah, I'd hope selling out my people would get me some perks."

"Ah," he started after her down the hall. "Is that really how you think of your position, or do you mean the others bear you ill-will?"

"Hm," Honor stopped and scratched her chin. "Who knows? I'm a simple woman with a simple goal of not getting worked to insanity or death. My sister is clever and the Sheriff has neem oil. It's working out all right."