The Pass Phrase: Chapter 1

The clearing stank. It was heavily shadowed but she could just barely see the outline of a figure hanging down from the tree, abandoned like a broken toy. The other refugee was face up and gasping brokenly. His spine was bent so that his hips faced down.

Their guide was face down, still on the log she’d been trying to scramble over when caught from behind. But she was not dead. Not yet.

There was a gleeful, wicked laugh. The monster wheeled into the clearing and plunged its scythe into the dying man. He screamed. The shrill sound cut into the air. She was trembling. The scythe went in again, again, rapid and cheerful. And WET.

The guide was stirring.

Hidden in the brush, Little gritted her teeth, feeling sick to her stomach. The monster clearly caught the motion, saw that the older guide was still alive, and leapt to the downed woman.

Little couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. It would make a sound.

This time, there was no stabbing. The monster landed in a crouch and twisted, claws gripping Little’s senior. This was supposed to be a training trip for her. She supposed that it was indeed educational.

Little closed her eyes. Looking wouldn’t help anything, it would only make it harder for her to be quiet. She heard a horrible squelch and the sound of a body flung - into a tree? Against the ground?

She opened her eyes in time to see the monster throw back its maw in a hideous laugh. She tensed, wondering if it knew she was there.

It bounded away, in the direction that the guide and downed refugees had been running. It was surely looking for the rest of them. She didn’t move until it was out of sight.

Of course, that took only seconds. It could be back just as quickly if it wanted to. It felt prudent to wait longer, but it wasn’t. They needed to move quickly, before the thing realized the tracks ahead were a diversion that doubled back.

Little stood and raised a fist in silent order to the people crouched behind her. The spell she’d been holding flickered away, weak as it had been. She indicated for them to follow her to the log that her peer had just barely reached. She ran her fingers along it, looking for a particular knot. When she did, she pressed on it, leaned in, and ever so quietly told it the password.

The log cracked open, to a sunny place far away that smelled fresh and clean and good. She ushered the remaining refugees in. When they were all in, she cast one look back at the clearing. It was still, aside from the quiet drips coming from the trees. “Thank you,” she said, to the woman who had paid for the clumsy loudness of that stupid walker. And then she closed the portal.

___

It was now Little’s third year as a guide, and she had a concerning amount of seniority. She tried not to think too deeply on her future as she went about the worst part of her life, the part that she was born to.

Clink.

Mechanically, she placed a clean plate to the side and put her hands back into the hot water. She barely reacted to the heat, although it was painful.

Clink. Clink.

She took a step over, the sound of her heels scuffling barely audible over the kerfuffle of the kitchen maid and chef preparing for the Servant’s tea time.

Sissy’s familiar childish voice sounded out in the room, passing a message from the butler to the chef. Little drank in her sister’s voice but blocked out the words, knowing it would get them both in trouble if she slacked off her work to interact while they were both working.

She moved on to rinsing the clean plates by dunking them in icy cold water drawn from the well that morning. Her back ached, both from hauling the water and from bending to wash dishes at a sink designed for someone shorter.

Her mother had done this job. So had her aunt, and her grandmother. If she was so fortunate as to live long enough to marry and have a girl, that child would also wind up a scullery maid in the household that had total control of her family’s livelihood. More likely, her little sister would break her body at this sink once Little was promoted, to a parlormaid or even a kitchen maid, if she was lucky.

‘That’s why I need to get out of here. I need to get us all out.’

A distant bell rang. Little didn’t have to think. She drew her hands out of the water and dried them on her apron, which she immediately untied and hung up. Her clean apron was waiting on a peg. She pulled it on and joined the crowd heading to the main hall for morning prayers.

There was a cold breeze from the main hall’s door, propped opened to let fresh air in. Little did wince when it hit her. Her hands were raw from scrubbing dishes and the very air hurt. She couldn’t put them in her apron pockets, however, well-aware it would earn her at least a scolding. She kept her head down and her expression pious. The family joined them at the last second, gay laughter trailing off when the priest signaled for quiet.

She hated them. Not just the family, but the whole city.

Only the spiteful knowledge that she was undermining their lie helped Little keep a placid expression. The priest gave thanks to the nobility who protected their great city and maintained order that kept them all safe from the horrors outside.

It was undoubtedly true that it was safer to live inside the city walls. The things that hungered for human flesh could rarely get in, and when they did, it wasn’t a significant threat to the guards. The nobility had years of training in magic, and the guardsmen were basically a charity job for their second and third sons, to make money off of hard working people’s taxes to supplement the glut their families inherited. The priest was just the same, another noble son working to glorify his family and families like it.

‘Better off outside, it’s better to risk death than to enrich these monsters.’

After 45 minutes of standing perfectly still, her knees were aching in a way that hours of washing dishes couldn’t manage.

She was glad to get back to her pathetic station at the sink. Another maid brought over the pots and pans used to make the family’s breakfast, adding them to the dishes and pots from the servant’s breakfast. Little accepted them stoically. It was her life. She was already 4 hours into her day, and at least washing dishes was better than washing chamber pots, her first task of every morning.

She laid the table for tea—- for the servants of course, she wasn’t ranked highly enough to set a table for the rich family. At 11 she was able to sit for tea, numb to the conversation around her. Her sister was seated at the far end of the table today, too far to talk with. When everyone else left, she cleared the table and went back to washing. She finished them in time to follow around the kitchen maid with a wet cloth, scrubbing flecks of boiling food from countertops and picking up the onion skin that always wound up drifting around the room.

The day continued in that pattern of drudgery until she was finally free from her duties at 9:30 pm. She bolted out the door, eager to enjoy the precious time before curfew.

No one was allowed outside after 10:00, not even the nobility, so she couldn’t go far. Her peers were probably playing with the expensive cards that the footman had managed to buy, smoking contraband and laughing as if there was nothing wrong with the cage that they lived in.

And it was a cage. It wasn’t even curfew yet, but Little felt watchful eyes on her at every crossroad. She went past the little fields and pretended not to even see them, knowing well that showing any interest in the city’s food was a dangerous thing to do. It might look like she wanted to take more than she had been allotted, and resources were very carefully distributed. They had to be. The city was what it was and it would grow no larger. The population was not allowed to increase, to ensure that the food supply remained sufficient. Nobility could petition for the right to have a third and fourth child, but the common people knew the limit was two, unless instructed otherwise. The penalty for breaking that rule was death- not for the parents, of course. They were valuable workers. The penalty was applied to surplus children. Little had seen it happen, when she was too young to understand why her parents slept apart.

She shook off the thoughts, feeling her hair move inside the cap she had wound it under. The night air was bitingly cold but she appreciated it. It made her feel alive in a way that she desperately needed.

When she did 5 more trips, she would have earned enough to buy passage for her family to the sanctuary. Freedom was expensive, but it was the only thing that she believed in.

Little counted the trips in her mind, again and again. 5 more, just 5 more.

Her weekly rest was tomorrow. Instead of being called to work at 6:00 am, she would be free until 2 pm, time to wash the dishes from lunch.

Those were the periods in which she was free to act as a guide. Being caught out at night would be a death sentence, if the guards questioned her. Someone knew that people were being spirited out of the city, and they wanted to stop it by any means.

The foremost pleasure in Little’s life was the spire she felt when escorting refugees out of the city towards a chance at self sufficiency. When the trip went perfectly to plan, without any casualties, she felt a high that lasted weeks.

Of course, that was easier said than done. It was impossible to create a portal anywhere within city limits, which extended beyond the walls into the forest. And the city was a beacon to hungry things. Little was by now very good at moving quickly and quietly, looking for danger and openings. But there was always a chance that she’d inadvertently feed something, thereby reinforcing their decision to lurk outside of the stone walls.

She had a particularly difficult trip coming up on the next week. Normally, she didn’t know anything about her clients before she met them, for safety. However, she was expecting to help a family, which included two elderly people who could not run and a very small child, who might be a danger by crying.

With that information, Little used the time to plan. She had basically no magical training, only what was required to see and open the portals to the sanctuary. That was unfortunate, because there were certainly spells that would have put the child to sleep. With that option denied to her, she kept her eyes open on the roadside, looking for a weed. She didn’t pause in her stride when she saw it. Her heart began to pound. After a time, she turned back.

When she passed the weed again, she deliberately stumbled to the ground. Her ribs hurt where they hit the stones, but she managed to get her hand on top of the weed. The guards were looking at her. She pretended not to notice, groaning quietly as she clenched her hand and broke off the flower’s head and leaves. She pretended to brush off her apron skirt at she stood and put the greenery into her pocket as surreptitiously as she could manage.

“Watch your step,” came a warning from behind a metal faceplate. Little curtsied an apology, embarrassed smile painted on her face. She rushed back to the house and was inside a few minutes before curfew.

She was climbing the stairs to her sleeping quarters when the curfew bell rang mournfully, signaling that it was 10:00 pm and all should prepare for the night. Little moved silently around the other girls’ beds, equally respectful of the girls who were already sleeping and the ones who were braiding their hair or going through a stretching routine.

Little’s sister was already in their bed, fast asleep. Her sweet little face was peaceful. Little was careful not to wake the girl as she crawled under the cover. She should have done her own stretching, probably, after the day’s labor carrying heavy water. Instead she fell asleep almost immediately after shucking her outer clothing.

Habit woke her at 6 am. The knowledge that it was her free time let her close her eyes and luxuriate in the freedom to sleep another hour. Sissy was still sleeping then, but she was gone when Little woke the second time. She dressed hastily and bolted out of the house at 7, all but running to reach the market. Her week’s wages bounced in her pocket.

Most people bought their passage to the sanctuary with actual money. That would be a lot easier if she worked anything other than the lowest tier of household jobs. But more importantly, saving was therefore a suspicious thing to be doing.

Little grinned around the market, looking for any little thing that might buy her a few minutes of happiness. She spent her money on a piece of exotic fruit, a ribbon that would be added to the dress she was slowly accumulating materials for, and a chance to watch a puppet show.

She was back in the house at 8:15 for breakfast. There was no point in wasting the food that was the most significant benefit of her employment. She had to attend morning prayers as usual, but after that she slipped away into the streets.

“Little?”

She turned to grin at the familiar voice, letting her skirts twirl deliciously. “Loud,” she answered, wrinkling her nose teasingly at her childhood companion. The other girl threw her arms cheerfully around Little. She carried with her the scent of dried flowers. That might be because she had stored some inside of her fantastically curly hair, which made a halo around her face like one of the angel paintings.

“You look cheerful this day,” Loud chirped. She wheeled away and spread her arms. The sleeves of her green dress flew out with the movement. “What shall we do, where shall we go?”

Her 3 hours of freedom stretched out in front of her and made the day seem extraordinarily sunny. “My blue dress,” Little decided, lacing her arm around Loud’s. “I want to look at fabric.”

Loud obligingly wheeled in the correct direction, but she let out a laugh. “You’ll need at least two week’s wages to get what you need,” she pointed out. “Have you been saving?”

In answer, Little dug into her apron pocket and showed her little red fruit, rich with promise. She was going to eat it before bed, to stretch out the day’s blessings.

“What is that?” Loud tilted her head.

Little had to shrug. “I don’t know, but I want to try it.”

That was how Little approached life in general. She had plans, yes, but she wanted to test out unknown opportunities when they arose.

The girls got to the shop and confirmed that the fabric to make the dress of Little’s dreams would indeed be out of reach without a few weeks of saving. She jangled the remaining coins in her purse thoughtfully, weighing her priorities.

She needed the dress. It was for her new life. She’d bring her green dress and the brown one that she wore now, of course. She wouldn’t waste. But the blue dress would be the first thing she’d own as a free woman. By the time that she finished making it she would be a citizen of somewhere better.

Little didn’t spend any more money that day. She went home and back to her drudgery as a scullery maid after lunch.  She shared her exotic fruit with Sissy before bed and they both decided they preferred the orange fruit from the week before.

She worked the next week without complaint, and she thought only of the next trip. 5 more trips and she would be done. She only had Sissy to take care of, and she could get the girl out and to a better life.

The sanctuary was better than the city in two notable ways. The first was that it was maintained to grow in tandem with the population. Little couldn’t begin to understand the magic required for that, which bothered her a little. The truly brilliant thing was that she might find out after she finished paying her passage.

In the sanctuary, she would not be a scullery maid. She would have a guaranteed role as one of the door guardians who made sure that the portal was properly closed every time that refugees were escorted in. That would mean access to other studies and techniques, because she’d be the first line of defense. Little gratefully slipped into pleasant fantasies to escape the hand-burning reality of her work.

Finally, the day came. She slipped out and spent at the morning market as she usually did, taking care this time to count how much she saved. Between this week and last’s, she was about halfway to being able to buy the fabric. After that, all she needed to buy was thread. She already owned a needle. She turned the math over in her head many times at breakfast, deciding that she would save until she could buy both thread and fabric at the same time.

When she finished eating, she left her plate with a great satisfaction. Clearing the table was her task 6 days a week and she put her chin up high as she sailed out without moving to serve the other servants. She hated being below them all. She could forgive Loud for being the daughter of a Steward, who had merited an apprenticeship at the printer instead of a sentence to the kitchens. But somehow it stung more to scrub the piss pots for people who were barely above her in society.

Her destination was the church, which was the only reason she was allowed to not participate in morning prayers. Her attendance was recorded and she dutifully made her prayers. Then she made her way to the church’s kitchen, where a very pious girl might work some hours towards the salvation of her soul.

“Might” was the important word, of course, because Little continued on to the servant’s passage and behind a door to the hidden tunnel where she was meeting her walkers.