Vivienne Archer poked her upturned nose out of the carriage that ran wildly through the bustling port city of Ennis. The sights and smells were achingly distant, yet familiar. Though she had spent the greater part of her short life in a boarding school in the countryside, she remembered the warm spacious house on an elite avenue of Ennis from her early childhood. Her piano lessons and doll toys and going to the theatre with Mim and Papa on very special evenings came flooding back to the surface of her mind. How exciting life had been before her sixth birthday, of course, that is how it always went, once she finally got used to a particular manner of life, she had another dreadful birthday and was shipped off to complete the next phase.
Vivienne withdrew her face, framed by honey blonde ringlets, from the window that revealed the tall red buildings and pedestrian-filled sidewalks of Ennis in order to properly slump in her seat. The Artistry was only a short matter of time away, and though it heralded the beginning of her future, it also brought an end to her past. Oh, what tragedy for a girl who had only just begun the phase of life in which she was truly allowed to have fun! Maybe if this damned carriage wasn’t so bumpy, and my seat cushion so sparse, thought Vivienne, I’d be able to enjoy my last moments of freedom. Of course, this manner of thought was only that which colors all children of status who have never learned to see the world as a place which does not exist to cater exclusively to high society offspring. She had never wanted for nice things; the Archer family was affluent and respected by all, so that even at those periods in time in which they had suffered monetary disadvantage, which were very rare, the allies of the family had allowed them to retain their social standing.
The Artistry, for all its mystery and reputation, seemed to Vivienne the worst possible fate she could encounter. The school earned its prestige by taking girls and the occasional boy aged thirteen, shrouding them away from society for five years doing god knows what- probably embroidery and the like, she imagined, dreadful stuff- and when schooling was complete, threw the pupils into the highest ranks of society. At least that was what she supposed. How tragic, thought Vivienne, that I shall spend all my time learning when really I ought to be attending parties and being courted. Everyone knows 18 is much too old to begin the debutante season. Of course, Vivienne had never actually met anybody who had attended the Artistry. As far as she knew, Artistry graduates were far-removed, wives of Council members, people with power and influence, who did not attend the same sort of functions of frivolity that Vivienne and her family frequented. But of course, this was just speculation. No one really knew. She supposed she should be grateful for her opportunity; the Artistry was known to be highly selective with its pupils. But still all she could think of was the social aspects she would miss out on- finishing school and champagne and the dresses she would wear. It was hard to imagine happiness at a school she knew practically nothing about in a city she barely remembered.
Her carriage came to an abrupt stop. Vivienne let out an undignified “Ouf!” and promptly righted herself in all her stately grace. “Your destination, Miss,” came the signal from the carriage driver as the door opened. She took one hand out of her white fur muff and offered it to the driver. He looked at it, confused. “Help me out of the carriage,” she whispered venomously through clenched teeth. She did not want to be treated commonly in view of the Artistry, and more importantly, the people surrounding it. They were all dressed finely- it was high noon, and she supposed many of them had important lunch dates to attend to. The driver hurriedly grasped her hand and she stepped out of the carriage. “Right, I’ll just get your trunks then.”
As the driver hurried round the back of the carriage, she gazed up at the school that would be her dwelling place for the next five years. The school, in contrast with the red brick of the rest of Ennis, was built of light grey stone. Burgundy flags painted with the golden winged emblem of the Artistry cascaded from its highest point. Tall and almost cathedral-like, with stained glass windows and high spirals indicative of steeples where crosses once had been, it was not what she had expected it to be. For starters, it was smack-dab in the middle of the street. Her old country boarding school had been very secluded so as not to interrupt the studies of the girls. This, in contrast, was grand and exciting- to be in the middle of where things happen! Though she supposed they would not get out much.
“Set, miss?” The carriage driver looked like he was altogether struggling with her two, admittedly enormous trunks. She regarded him with disdain briefly, before lifting her ivory skirts and turning briskly to the wide doors of the school.
“Of course. Come on.”
She could see that the driver clearly had his hands full, so she raised a delicate gloved hand to knock on the looming mahogany herself, and paused. With this one simple gesture, she was selling her life. She could run away right now and live on the streets of Ennis, beg for food, fuck in the alleyways like the lowlifes did. But then, who would wear all her fine silks and laces? She knocked on the door.
Though the door swung rather too auspiciously for her tastes,Vivienne peered into the dim lights to find her eyes met by a head of tousled hair peeking from behind the grand door. It looked so small next to the mahogany giants. Vivienne stood at the threshold, unsure of what to do, what the custom was. She had heard of places where men who entered a woman’s residence without permission were murdered upon sight. And while she was far from a man, and this was technically her school and home for the next 5 years, she decided it would be quite difficult to get bloodstains off of her new white dress. Much more so if she lacked a head. She swayed slightly.
The head at the other end of the door gave a nearly imperceptible jerk inwards. Vivienne squinted, glanced at her carriage driver, who was struggling with her trunks, and whispered, “To hell with it.” She stepped into the dimly lit room. The carriage driver battled with the trunks for a brief moment and departed quickly after a few gracious silver coins were placed in his hand. In a flash, he was gone.
As the door swung shut, the room became lit with the kind of light a young girl dreams about in fantasies of ballrooms- glitter and gold, the reception hall was illuminated. Vivienne let out a small gasp. She was standing on polished marble as clear as a mirror. Broad, curved staircases with black rails trimmed with carved gold leaves of incredible detail stood on either side of her, leading up, up and away. Some distance in front of her was a towering wall with a gargantuan portrait of a lovely young man that covered its entirety, framed by heavy velvet curtains. The fashion in the painting looked oh, several centuries old. She surmised he was probably the original patron of the place. The walls were similarly covered, inch by inch, with paintings, famous, old paintings. She could see why it was called the Artistry. There was The Prince in Contemplation, Agony in Red, Contortion ….the most prized works in the world stood before her. Vivienne circled slowly, taking it all in. She had never seen something so decadently grand before. This surpassed every ball she had attended.
“Ahem. Ah, miss…” Vivienne jumped and whipped her head around to face the other person in the room. The tousled head of brown hair turned out to belong to a pale,bespectacled young man who stood as straight as humanly possible. He did not appear to be breathing and he seemed rather afraid of her. “Ah, um, your name is…?” he stammered.
“Oh.” She blinked. “Archer. Vivienne Archer. How terribly rude of me. I got…swept away…” Vivienne gave a hasty curtsy and held out her hand to be kissed, as was the custom. The man looked quite unsure of what to do. He fiddled with the pen and paper in his hand. He grasped her finger uncomfortably and gave it a small shake. He seemed to sigh with relief as the awkward exchange ended. After their contact had ended, he wiped his hand on the leg of his trousers.
She waited for him to speak for what seemed like ages. Shouldn’t he be telling her where to go, what to do, helping with her trunks? Although he did not seem like he would be very useful with that. But he just stood there in his suit and stared at her uncomfortably.
“And, you are?” She figured she might as well break the silence.
“Oh, oh, oh!” He seemed to have forgotten she was there at all. He began to fiddle violently with the cravat at his neck, struggling to keep a hold on the paper in his possession. “I’m, ah, Sebastian. I’m, ah, what am I called, technically, well, I’m, ah, something of, a keeper, I suppose. But technically, I, ah, I watch over books, but, ah, somebody needs to deal with new students, too, yes, ah that would be me. Oh! New students, new students, yes that’s you, ah, isn’t it.”
Vivienne nodded with a tinge of pity.
“Right then, just follow me, right. You’re, ah, the last of the recruits to arrive. Though I don’t know if that’s ah, such a good name, a recruit…”
“Pardon me, sir,” Vivienne interrupted, “but…I can’t carry my trunks on my own.”
“Oh, quite right, quite right, I suppose, no you’re quite small for that…I’ll, ah, have someone see to it. Just, ah, follow me now.”
Sebastian led her up the left staircase. He had a walk almost as nervous as his voice. She wondered if he ever left the Artistry. Though she could see only the back of his black suit, his hands were a ghostly shade. As she walked, she scanned the side of the wall. She was face to face with paintings she had heard about time and time again, had dreamed about seeing, paintings that were worth more than all of her previous schoolmate’s fortunes combined. They were breathtakingly detailed. It was art of a kind she had never seen before, the kind that makes you feel alive.
Sebastian walked so fast that she did not get to properly observe any of it. He led her down a long corridor, lined with exquisite carvings of gargoyles. All of the corridors were like this, while all the rooms they passed through had lush burgundy carpets and drapes, vaulted ceilings, every inch was covered in rare and prized paintings. They went up several more staircases, each as grand as the first, though the stairs narrowed as they ascended. His babbling had subsided, fortunately, but his legs were so long and spindly Vivienne practically had to sprint to see which turn he would take next.
After it felt like she could climb no more staircases and her armpits were becoming distinctly damp, Sebastian came to a halt. Vivienne almost ran straight into his back but caught her self just in time. At the end of this staircase was a sleek black door. Sebastian gave two rapid knocks. “I, ah, I’m coming in. Uh, it’s, ah, Sebastian. Please make yourselves decent.” He waited for a few moments before opening the door. “Ah, ladies, this is, ah…this is…” He motioned for Vivienne, who had lingered in the hall. “This is.”
“Vivienne,” she said, “Vivienne Archer.” Vivienne stepped around Sebastian into the room and gave a sweeping curtsy. She looked up to find herself facing a crowd of about twelve girls, she estimated. All of the faces were unfamiliar, which was shocking. She had expected at least one of her childhood friends to be here; after all, they had the best breeding, the best money, the best social status. She felt a brief stab of insult. The crowd of girls facing her was similarly disorienting. Most of them were quite plain. They did not fit in with the grandeur of the Artistry, though this room was rather different. The floors were wooden, for example, and there two shoddy couches, a few armchairs, a small table, and a fireplace. There were 3 black doors on the back wall, which most likely led to bedrooms.
Sebastian gave a curt nod. “Right then, I’ll ah, I’ll leave you girls to it then. I trust that you will, ah, properly, ah, acquaint, Vin…Vic…Nina…” He trailed off. “Right. Ah, goodbye.” He was gone before Vivienne turned around.
The crowd of adolescents was still gathered, simply staring at her. She gave a small smile. “Er, well, I’ve already introduced myself. Does anybody know when they’ll bring my trunks up?”
“So you’re the last of us, then?” A heavily accented voice from the side of the crowd piped up. Vivienne rested her eyes on a small girl dressed in an ill-fitting frock with mousy brown hair.
“Well, yes, I suppose, that is what he said.”
“Wasn’t what I were expectin’,” piped up another from the back- this one tall and stocky. Her face had several scars and, Oh, God- was she missing an ear?
“Oh, toss off, Piper, they’re never what you’re expecting,” said a voice from one of the couches. A girl with exquisite ebony skin had draped herself over its arm.
“You wan’a argument, Alia? I’ll give you a feck’n argument across your feckin’ face.”
Vivienne’s eyes widened. Piper’s speech clearly defined her as that wretched class, referred to by members of society as denizens, that lived nowhere and ate from trash in alleys. What was a girl like this doing at the Artistry, a place of status and distinguished pride? Vivienne gave a small, disgusted scoff. Alia, however, did not seem phased. “Go pour some cold water over your head, I think I can see the steam coming from your ear,” she said lazily.
“Sorry about them, they can’t stand each other,” came the slightly accented voice of a pretty girl with fine dark hair and a tanned complexion that reminded Vivienne of her favorite tea, taken with two sugars and two dollops of cream. While about six of the other girls had taken little interest in Vivienne and gone back to their business, the remaining four had gathered around her in a crowd. The pretty dark girl took her by the arm while the other three cooed over her lace gloves, her white dress, and her ringlets.
“I’m Dasha,” said the pretty girl. “Welcome to the Artistry. They don’t really tell you much, do they? These are our girl’s rooms, well, for the next two years at least. Then we get our own rooms, I think.”
“No, we don’t,” piped up a pixie-like creature from behind Vivienne. “Hello there, sorry, I’m admiring your dress. I never seen such a thing!” She was clearly from the North, or at least somewhere far away from Ennis, judging from her fascination with Vivienne’s bustle. Her “hello there” had come out “hee-loo thar.” “Oh, sorry, I forgot! I’m Penny, and that’s Rosita, and that’s-“
“Rrrrrrosita,” interrupted a girl with a proper mane of black curls. “You never say it the right way, Penny, you have to roll the r’s. That’s how we say it in my country.”
“Oh, I don’t care,” came a soft-spoken reply. “Really, Ana, it’s fine, my father’s the only one who ever says it like that.” The girl was slightly chubby and had a face so plain Vivienne could have practiced her letters on it. She was beginning to become very confused with the amount of conversation and names and people touching her at any given moment.
“I’m terribly sorry, girls, but oh would you stop touching me for a moment!” The girls all withdrew suddenly. Vivienne took a sharp, haughty little breath and exhaled, “Will someone please tell me when my trunks will be here? And what, for God’s sake, is happening? And when the hell is the next meal?!”
Dasha, Penny, Rosita and Ana blinked at her. Even Piper and Alia’s bickering fell silent at Vivienne’s outburst. She was rather afraid Ana was going to hit her for a moment, but then Dasha gave a good-hearted chuckle and let Vivienne to one of the doors on the back wall.
“All right, then, these are our rooms. Four to a room, rather crowded if you ask me, but it’s what we have. The only empty bed is in here, so you’ll be with Piper, Rosita, and Miri. Is Miri….oh, she must have disappeared again. There’s a toilet in that room over there,” she gestured to the back of the room. There were four lush beds, with canopies, thankfully, on the same plush carpet she had seen on the way to the dorms. They were arranged so that each headboard was pushed against a wall and faced the center of the room. A dark mahogany wardrobe stood on the left side of each bed. The girls who had arrived before her had made themselves quite at home already. One of the beds was quite messy, while the other two were made and neat. The room, Vivienne noticed, was windowless.
Dasha let Vivienne to the untouched bed closer to the door. “This’ll be you, then.” Her dark eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were a cobra judging whether or not to attack. Vivienne smiled slightly and plopped down on the bed.
“Oh, I am tired. Traveling wears you out, you know,” she said, rubbing her calves. “When do they bring the trunks?”
“Oh, you won’t get your trunks,” Dasha said absentmindedly.
“What? But- my clothes-“
“It’s quite alright. You’ll get new ones.”
“Then why go to all the trouble to bring them?” asked Vivienne, positively bewildered.
“Well the Artistry certainly didn’t ask you to bring them. That was your decision. I thought it was common knowledge you don’t bring things to the Artistry.”
“Well, nothing much about the Artistry is common knowledge around here,” murmured Vivienne.
Dasha turned, rather sharply for a girl who walked with such grace. “Well, don’t let it get you down. The other girls and I, we’ve been here for about a week and half. And we think there’s something odd here. We don’t think the Artistry is entirely honest with us about its graduates and what they do, exactly.”
Vivienne propped herself up on one elbow. “What do you mean? Everyone knows that the Artistry is the best school to go to.”
“They know that the Artistry is the best school- but for what? Think about it. What exactly is the Artistry known for except for being the Artistry? Have you ever met a graduate? Have you ever even heard of a confirmed graduate?”
“I suppose I haven’t,” admitted Vivienne.
“I don’t know about you,” said Dasha, with a steely tone to her voice, “but I’m not content sitting around waiting to find out. I’ve been here for two weeks now. We’ve been waiting for you to arrive before we began lessons, so it’s been lots of wandering around in the gardens and churchgoing and lazing around in this godforsaken room. But we’ve seen hardly any other students. Everyone here is from a different part of the world. And we all have one thing in common. No one knows what’s going on.”
“Are you sure you aren’t being irrational? It’s rather paranoid to presume-“
“I was expecting ball gowns and etiquette and excitement. To be frank, and please excuse my language-” Dasha’s eyes sparkled as the forbidden word fell from her mouth. “-it’s shit here. And I’m quite intent on changing that.” Vivienne laughed. At least someone would be fun. As her blonde curls bounced around her, Dasha smiled wide, gave a foreign goodbye that looked rather like a salute, and exited the room. Vivienne succumbed to restless sleep until she heard a sharp rap on the door, accompanied by a shrill cry of “Dinner!” Dasha poked her head into the room where Vivienne lay, atop her sheets and fully dressed, and said abruptly, “That’s Mrs. Quiln. We’ll have to be getting on.”
They exited the room, and fell into a single file line. They were escorted out the door and down the stairway by a stout woman with a monstrous bosom, who apparently waited until the last girl had left the room to exit. As Vivienne approached, the woman commanded, “Stop! You’re new.” The other girls turned around and peered up the narrow stairway, excited by the commotion.
“Yes, ma- Ms. I’m Vivienne Archer.” The lady peered down her nose.
“You’re quite late.”
“I..didn’t know,” Vivienne mumbled awkwardly.
“Well, you’re here now and I suppose that’s all that matters. But you must remember that punctuality is of great importance to the Artistry. I am Mrs. Quiln, I am responsible for you and your classmates’ schedule for the next five years. May I inquire as to who answered you at the door?”
“Ah….I believe he said his name was Sebastian…”
Mrs. Quiln’s eyebrows knit together momentarily, but then she nodded. “I suppose he did not debrief you. It’ll all have to be taken care of after dinner, then.”
The woman ushered Vivienne along and fell into step behind her. It was all Vivienne could do not to gawk after the plain and narrow passageway she was being led blindly down bled out into the main hall. The Artistry had no rival in terms of grandeur. Intricate gold leaf and valuable paintings lined every orifice of the building, which seemed to have no end. Vivienne admired the architect who had designed it. Though its city front was larger than most, the Artistry certainly appeared ten times larger inside.
The girls in front of her came to an abrupt stop, and, as her eyes were still on the ceiling, Vivienne released a small “Ouf” as she slammed rather hard into the girl in front of her, who was several feet taller. The chain reaction was not too severe considering the small amount of girls, but as the girl turned around to give Vivienne a nasty look, she noticed the telltale mark of an absent ear.
“You’ll pay fer that,” Piper spat.
Despite her better training, Vivienne’s distaste with Piper mingled with confusion as to why she was here in the first place led her to retaliate. Leaning forward to the side of Piper’s head with the ear, she whispered softly in her most refined voice, “At least I can pay.” As the girls filed into the room, Vivienne smirked to herself. Piper’s ear, ever so slowly, was turning red.
—
What Vivienne supposed was the dining hall was equally as extravagant as the rest of the school, which in truth resembled more of a palace. The table was long and dark, made of a heavy, polished, dark wood. There were plush chairs for each girl on the sides of the table, and the places were adorned with all the proper silverware. Two more ornate chairs were at the the heads of the table. Vivienne assumed that Mrs. Quiln would sit at the end closest to the door they had entered from, but was surprised when she made a quick and sharp exit. Vivienne glanced across the table at Dasha, who looked as confused as Vivienne felt. The room erupted in whispers.
Vivienne’s classmates fell silent as the doors on the far side of the room swung open, and staff with shaven heads, dressed in loose scarlet garments, carried out hot platters of steaming food. Vivienne could not tell if they were male or female. They avoided eye contact and set the platters in the middle of the table. Vivienne recognized some of the dishes, roast quail, the smelt fish the boys had caught in the rivers at her previous school, the familiar scent of pickled greens she had so hated in her childhood. Other dishes were quite foreign. There was rice as red as blood, and something that appeared to actually be blood that Alia was delighting over. Rosita, as well, was overjoyed at a dish on the platter nearest to her, which appeared to be large, heavily boiled leaves. Upon further inspection, Vivienne noticed that there were shellfish embedded in some sort of cornmeal contained within them. She turned to the girl next to her, who was already shoveling food onto her own gold-trimmed plate. “I suppose no one is going to serve us, then?”, Vivienne asked.
The other girl, the only one whose name Vivienne did not know, replied cheerfully through a mouthful of poached duck eggs, “I’ve never been served before in my life. Better get it while it’s hot, though!” Vivienne sighed and looked away disdainfully before helping herself to a small amount of the roast quail that lay in front of her. It was indeed delicious. The wine that had been surreptitiously been poured into her goblet was equally perfect. The tastes were rich and vibrant, hot and cool at once, and spiced to perfection. She scarfed it down and went in for all the familiar dishes on the platter closest to her. The grand room was heavy with the comfortable silence of those too preoccupied with a good meal to waste their mouths on company. As the dinner courses dwindled, the staff reentered the room once more, whisking away the platters and setting down delicate trays filled with tiny, appetizing desserts. This time Vivienne helped herself.
The fine confectionery was better than any she had ever tasted. The marzipan was sweet, the chocolate cake was cold and firm and filled with strawberries, and the macarons melted in her mouth like butter. She fancied if they ate like this every night, she would become as chubby as she had been in her childhood. As the meal drew to an end, each girl leaned back in her seat with a satisfied sigh. Vivienne was no stranger to fine dining, but this was a level of excellence she could have only dreamed the existence of the previous day. The girl on Vivienne’s left leaned toward her and whispered into her ear with a small giggle, “I feel fuller than I have…well, ever! Let’s hope there aren’t any boys around, or we’ll have to tell them we simply can’t part with our meals in order to please their eyes.” Despite herself and her inner yearnings to shy away from the common girl, Vivienne laughed along. I may indeed grow to like it here, she mused. Stuffed with satisfaction, she closed her eyes and fell into a deep, warm, sleep.
CHAPTER TWO
When Vivienne awoke, her hands were bound around a pole in back of her. The room that contained her was dark and humid. Panic swelled in her throat only to find that she had been gagged. Cold, gripping fear seized her. She thrashed and kicked with her dainty heels for some time before she gave up. The smell of the room was treacherous. Hot tears streamed down her face; she made no efforts to conceal the sounds of her sobs.
This is the end. I’m going to die. She had come to the Artistry for a bright future only for it to end today. Miserable! Vivienne slid down, hands still tied, until she sat on the dank floor. The sound of water dripping in a far corner steadily increased in volume. The heaving of her shoulders made the sharp wood of the pole somewhat painful. Oh well, she silently lamented, if I’m going to be murdered, I may as well get used to the pain now.
She waited.
Who would want to kill me? Her father was rich, yes, but he had no real political influence. Her mother was the daughter of a Parliament member, but Vivienne had never met her grandmother after the falling out between them. She couldn’t imagine anyone would try to use her to bait her apathetic, aging, grandmother. Everyone at the Artistry she had only just met. She racked her brain for every teacher she had every had, every speaker at her first school, every guest they had ever had over for dinner in her parent’s house. She could not think of a single enemy who hated the Archer family enough for this. Perhaps it was ransom her captor was after. Her life, her, Vivienne Archer, tragically ended at thirteen!
Vivienne tried to recall how she awoke in this dark, dank room in the first place.
While the motion of her sobbing shoulders remained the same, the wetness from her eyes dried. That sound of water dripping became maddening. It was her only comfort. It would drive her mad before someone eventually killed her. It echoed all around her. She could taste her gag. She sighed heavily, resigned to her doom, and rested her head against the beam. She closed her eyes, not that it made a difference.
Something ran across her foot. Vivienne shot up sharply, only to be met with pain as a shard of wood sliced the tender skin of her hands. The rope was caught on a piece of the wooden beam that bound her. As the familiar wave of panic began to wash over her, she forced it down. Slowly, she moved the rope back and forth on the wood. If it was sharp enough to slice her skin, perhaps she could break the rope. Not allowing hope of escape, still choking on her gag, she moved the rope back and forth underneath the bit of wood. She could feel the blood running down her hands. After some time the rope began to burn from movement. It was quite tightly bound and it cut into her skin. The blood from her cut had at least come to a halt. She clenched her teeth and tapped into an unfamiliar desperation. She was Vivienne Archer, for the love of all things holy, and she would not die like this. She moved her hands back and forth vigorously until she could feel the the rope begin to wear thinner. When it became lax enough, she pushed her back against the beam and pulled her hands back with all the might she could muster, trying to break the stretched bond of the rope. The first few times, the rope did not break. On her fifth try, the rope snapped.
Vivienne gave a jubilated whoop through her gag. Entirely delighted with herself, she quickly pulled her hands to her front and unraveled the rope, rubbing the places where it had chafed grooves into her tender milky skin. She hastily pulled the gag from her mouth, which did indeed cause her to gag several times, and spat in a manner both her mother and etiquette teachers would be ashamed of. The joy of escaping her bonds overwhelmed her. She danced around the miserable room until it occurred to Vivienne that she had no idea where to go from here.
Creeping panic began to rise in her stomach once again, but she quickly pushed it down. She instinctively opened her mouth to cry for help, but decided that her captor was most likely nearby and wouldn’t take kindly to the realization their victim had freed herself. Her eyes were somewhat adjusted to the darkness now. She crept closer to the wall and began to feel along for cracks, a doorway, anything. The wall felt utterly disgusting, with damp moss at random intervals on damp stone. A few times she thought she felt something scurry away from her. She tried not to think about it. Vivienne circled the room fruitlessly 3 times. Ready to give up and accept her fate, she leaned against the wall with a defeated exhalation. Water splashed onto her forehead.
Of course! The maddening dripping sound had to come from somewhere. If there was water, she must be close to the port. But how would she get up to the place where the water was dripping from? Glancing around the room, her eyes settled on the beam to which she had been bound moments before. She hurried over and attempted to shimmy up the pole, ungracefully landing on her rump. This was not the expertise in which she had been trained. Mustering all her upper body strength and final scraps of desperation, Vivienne ascended slowly but surely to the top of the beam, which was closer to the dripping than she had previously imagined. She felt along the ceiling for an opening….and there! A thin separation…entirely circular….
With one arm clinging for dear life to the beam, she beat relentlessly on the surface until it gave slight way. She pushed upward with all her might, and lo and behold, an opening in the ceiling led to a slightly less black area. She slid down the beam, elated. The ceiling was not tall, but it did stand a good head above her. The hole had two openings on either interior that were meant to lock it in place, but someone had forgotten this the last time they sealed it. Vivienne figured she could use them as handholds to boost herself out of the hole. It was vital she make it on the first try. She was losing strength quickly. She shed her heavy skirt, letting it tumble to the floor, standing only in her petticoat and chemise. She would get blood on it besides, as the slice on her palm leaked scarlet. Positioning herself directly under the opening, she jumped as high and fast as she could, barely grabbing one of the handholds. Nimbly and quickly transferring her other hand, she pulled upward with all her might. As her head breached the surface of the hole, she lurched forward. She crawled out of the hole.
Remaining quiet so as not to alert her captor, she danced around the hole. No one would be kidnapping Vivienne Archer today! Suddenly alert, she glanced around. No one was in sight. Her surroundings revealed that she was in one of the underground river channels. That explained the dripping, at least. She had only to follow the river either to port and the sea or the Castle of the Commonwealth and the moat. If she was lucky, she would find one of those rare ladders used by thieves and murderers, the underbelly of Ennis. She shivered at the thought of running into a thief or murderer on the way. She decided to follow the river in the direction the water was running, and soon Vivienne was running herself.
The tunnel was monotonous until finally, Vivienne burst onto seashore rocks and was hit directly with salty air that stung, much like the salt that filled her eyes at that moment. Suddenly she became aware of how profoundly tired she was, and how much her feet hurt. She removed her flimsy heeled slippers and flung them into the ocean. Her experience in that cell would have no witnesses. She climbed along the rocks until she reached the port street that hugged the docks on one side and the city on the other, busy with a different sort of person under the black drapery of night. The denizens were out in all their glory. Drunkards reveled with whores. Pickpockets were off duty, lounging in groups, taking in the driving madness of the world when those who live by rules are abed. Even a few titled or wealthy, sometimes both, could be spotted among the crowd. Vivienne plunged headfirst into them. People usually parted ways for her when she crossed the street. In her normal life and finery, she bore the distinct mark of the upper class. This was an entirely different game. Much shorter than most in the crowd, she bumped into person after person. After the seventh person stepped on her foot, she began to wish she had not thrown away her shoes.
“Excuse me,” she shouted loudly. “Could someone tell me how to get to the Artistry?”
“Sir! Madam!” A few people looked at her disinterestedly and continued on their way. She tugged on a fat man’s velveteen purple coat, thinking him to be a constable. “Constable! Constable, I’m dreadfully lost, could you tell me how to get to the Artistry please?” The fat man turned and, at the sight of his large beard and yellowing teeth, revealed himself to be no constable. He grabbed Vivienne’s wrist with a rough hand and wrenched her to the side of the crowd. “Say, aren’t you a pretty thing? How much for the night, darling?”
Vivienne leaned as far from the man as possible and practically spat, “I am not a prostitute. And you are certainly not a constable, you…you…deceitful coward! And you would be wise to unhand me this instant!”
“Oh, you aren’t a whoring bitch?” the leering man said. She could smell the sour alcohol lingering on his breath. “It seems to me,” he oozed into her ear as his hand traveled down her backside, threatening to lift up the petticoat and explore underneath, “you’re dressed for the occasion. What’s the difference between a whore and a young lady? Nothing, it’s what’s between the legs that counts.”
Vivienne’s heart began to pound faster than it had in the room or the tunnel, faster than it ever had in her life. If she didn’t die, she was about to become victim to a crime even worse, because this way she would have to live with it for the rest of her life. In a split second, she spit into the man’s eyes, hoping beyond all hope the various peppers she had consumed at dinner remained somewhat on her breath. She kneed the looming figure as hard as she possibly could in his groin and subsequently brought her heel down hard on his open sandals. He roared and released her momentarily, reeling backwards to wipe the spittle from his eyes and comfort his aching manhood. Vivienne ran.
She ran through the crowd as fast as she could, taking advantage of her stunted height, not caring where she was going or who she was pushing. Behind her, she could hear the false constable in pursuit, “You miserable cunt! I will find you!” She ran off of the busy port street onto a side street. Various lurkers were about, no one paying heed to the little girl being followed by a hulking man surprisingly agile for his stature. Vivienne noticed her opportunity as a night carriage began to cross a street and ran directly in front of it at top speed, passing the first horse just before it might have hit her. Rather than continue to run in the same direction, she disappeared into a side alley, slid down behind some crates, and prayed that her pursuer had not seen her. From the street she heard voices.
“Did you see her? Did you see that little whore? Where did she go? Thinks she can insult me? Thinks she can deny me my pleasure? I’ll kill her, I’ll tear that disrespect right out of her, first her maidenhead, then her feckin’ life! I’ll bet she’s down there, I’ll bet she’s hiding. No one can give me the slip!”
Vivienne clenched her eyes and held her breath, prepared for the worst.
Then a voice Vivienne did not recognize. It sounded younger than the fat man’s, older than her own. A man grown, but young. “Pardon me, good sir. I’ve noticed that you’ve been shouting for a whore. Might I direct you to the port street, where you will find many a pretty lady quite willing to oblige you.”
“Don’t feck with me, Gaillard. I don’t have the patience for this tonight.”
“But of course, Constable, I only wish that my brothers and I may have this street to our services tonight. We have, ah, important business to conduct. Which I believe you will find most profitable to you and your kind.”
“Business like any feckin’ other night. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. I will find that bitch! I will! I will not be disrespected!”
“Of course, of course. All in due time. I do not wish to interfere in your private matters. But I do believe she has effectively disappeared for tonight. And you are, in fact, disrupting my very own meticulously prepared business, which we have an agreement about. I wouldn’t want our agreement to be usurped, now, would you?”
“No, I guess bloody feckin’ not, I wouldn’t,” snarled the constable.
“Good. Now leave me to do my business, and I shall leave you to yours. If the girl shows up, I will bring her to you. What does she look like?”
The constable grunted. “Short. Curly blonde hair, though it’s dirty. No makeup. A peculiar kind of prostitute, ones that young usually look like they've rolled in a shit pile of rouge. She hasn’t got any skirt on, just a petticoat. An annoying voice.”
Vivienne opened her mouth in offense, and quickly shut it. Her voice was not annoying!
“Settled, then. Goodnight, Constable.”
“Yeah, yeah. Bastard.”
Vivienne sighed inaudibly in relief as she heard the heavy footsteps of the false constable fade into the night. She simply rested against the wall and breathed for a few moments.
“So, are you the whore to which our dear Constable was referring?”
Vivienne jumped and upon instinct began to run. A pair of strong arms caught and held her in place. “Whoah, whoah, whoah, there. Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude not to answer a question when asked?” She looked up into the face of a lean young man, perhaps about twenty years. Despite several scars on his cheek, he was handsome enough, but his features clearly marked him as lower class. With a hooked nose, skin the color of cooked clay, and dark brown eyes and hair, he was the very essence of people Vivienne had been taught to sidestep when confronted with in the street.
Fear wide in her eyes, stinging with tears, she whispered, “What do you want?”
The man chuckled. “Firstly, I want for you not to run. I’ve seen that you are quite adept at that. But I can see that you have no reason to trust me, for I have just promised to turn you over to that drunken bastard parading as constable.” He paused and considered a moment. “This is quite the conundrum. I suppose, though most people around already know me, I shall introduce myself. I am Gaillard, and if I do say so myself, the trickiest devil around. Mention my name to anyone, and they will know to whom you are referring, but it is likely to get us both killed. That’s all you need to know right now, except that I am not, in fact going to give you to that constable.”
“How do I know you won’t keep me for yourself?” asked Vivienne.
Gaillard shrugged. “Don’t worry.” He tugged a pale curl gently. “I prefer brunettes.” Vivienne relaxed in his grasp ever so slightly. He grinned. “Now, let’s change the subject to you. I am most interested in why a prostitute so young as yourself would flee from such good business as our very own night constable, fraud that he is.”
“I am not a prostitute!” Vivienne said hotheadedly.
At this, Gaillard seemed genuinely surprised. Or he was a supreme actor. “Really? What are you then?”
“I am a student at the Artistry and I’ve only been in Ennis for one day—“
Gaillard let out a howling laugh. “You? A student at the Artistry? That is a precious good joke.”
“No, really-“
“Look, no one knows who they let in the Artistry but it sure as hell isn’t the likes of you and me.” Vivienne thought of Piper, who most certainly was not the likes of Vivienne Archer. “Streets at birth, streets til death. The Artistry only takes people who look down on us denizens. Nobility and merchants and shit.”
“But I am. I’m—“ she glanced to make sure no one was listening. “I’m Vivienne Archer. Also, you should have said we denizens. And I most certainly am a student at the Artistry.”
“Right, and I’m the Grand Bishop,” exclaimed Gaillard, clearly doubtful. “Vivienne Archer, as in the daughter of high and mighty Luc Archer? The richest man in Ennis? Don’t feckin’ kid me. You aren’t even wearing shoes!”
“I threw them into the sea. I suspect you would do the same if you were kidnapped and bound for hours.”
“Look, I don’t know who you are, but you are most certainly not Luc Archer’s most precious jewel. I’ve heard rumors about Vivienne Archer, always kept away from Ennis so no one has leverage for him. There’s no way he’d let Vivienne run around like this, dressed like the most whorish of whores. It’s not possible.”
“But….that’s me…I had to take off my skirt because..it was too heavy..it’s really me…” Vivienne whined. Suddenly she remembered. “I can prove it! I can prove it!”
“You can?” Gaillard sounded doubtful.
“Yes! Let me go, and I’ll show you.”
“Only if you promise not to run.”
“I promise.”
“And your first lesson is that promises mean nothing. How about this, if you run, I will catch you and I will turn you over to the constable.”
Vivienne nodded vigorously, evidently fearful once more. “Just let me show you.”
Gaillard released her with obvious distrust. His hands floated by her arms. Vivienne’s first instinct was indeed to run, but she was too tired and weak to outrun or outfight someone in Gaillard’s condition, who almost certainly was more practiced than Vivienne at both capture and evade strategies. “I’m sure, if you are acquainted with rumors about the Archer family, you know of the tradition in which we tattoo the newest members of our family at two years of age.”
Gaillard nodded. “But tattoos can be imitated. How do I know yours is real?”
“See, that’s the thing. There is a tattoo, yes. But this small tattoo is on the ankle.” She lifted her skirt to show him the emblem of the Archer house, two arrows crossed through a crown of leaves. “You may have also heard that true members of the Archer family are also branded with a secondary emblem which no one knows. The bow is as one with the arrow, and as such, is branded on the nape of the neck.” She turned her back to him and lifted her hair.
Gaillard gasped. She felt a finger trace the shape of her brand. “Holy Nymern, it is you.” She turned back around to look him in the eyes. He stared at her with growing concern. “What the ever-living hell are you doing out here?”
“I told you,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “I was drugged and kidnapped from the Artistry. And now I don’t know where I am and I need to get back. So please, will you just help me?” Gaillard mused for a minute, the knowing smirk returning to his face.
“You know, Vivienne, you might be much more valuable to me in other ways. I’m sure your father would pay a hefty sum if he heard you were in the company of rogues and scoundrels such as myself. Or the Artistry itself, I’m sure would not want to lose such a valuable pupil.”
Vivienne began to lose hope once more. Her years of education had prepared her for dinners with dukes and business with clergymen. She had no idea how to convince a man with no morals to find the goodness in his heart and return her to where she belonged. Tears visited her yet another time. “Please…”
“Oh, don’t cry. That’s a terrible business move.”
Vivienne wiped her eyes. “Business?”
“Now, now. You’re Vivienne Archer. Think of the possibilities. You have access to limitless wealth and finery, and more importantly, you’ve got important contacts. Contacts who may prove of use to me in the future. Now, I’m going to do something for you, Vivienne.”
She flinched at his informal usage of her first name. Any gentleman would have addressed her as Miss Archer. Leaning against the wall across from her, his long leg pressed up against the crates, blocking her escape, Gaillard continued.
“I’m going to help you return to the Artistry.”
“You are?” Vivienne gasped at her good fortune.
“Don’t let on so easily. Honestly, it’s no wonder you’ve nearly gotten yourself killed tonight. But in return you will have to do something for me.”
“What is it?”
Gaillard shrugged. “Dunno yet. But I am saving your life. You would die on these streets, were it not for me.” At this, Gaillard trailed off, looking away from her. Suddenly his mind had transcended their immediate surroundings and gone somewhere far, far away. Quietly and with evident menace, Gaillard muttered, “Times are changing. Yes, big things are going to change.” He snapped back to the conversation at hand. The intensity in his voice increased as he lowered his eyes to hers and grabbed her shoulders once more. “And when they do, I will need your help. So promise me, Vivienne, promise me on your word as a member of the Archer family, as a student of the Artistry, as a very citizen of this land, that in my hour of need you will come to my aid.”
Vivienne could think of no reason why someone like Gaillard so desperately needed her help. A large sum of money, she supposed. A debt he owed, most likely. Easy enough with the amount of allowance she got. Perhaps if she was lucky he would get himself killed before he needed her. She could see no possible disadvantage. “Very well,” she agreed with a curt nod. “I will…aid you..whenever you require it. Whatever the favor may be, I am indebted to you for my life. Now, about my return.”
Gaillard grinned at her. “Of course. But first,” he glanced at her feet, let’s get you some shoes.”