The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 11:

Ribbon and Trim

It was Monday evening, and the washerwomen were finishing up the cleaning for the day.

Amanda dumped a pile of chemises next to Moth. “All the hems are stained with grease or something.” She pursed her lips and glanced over her shoulder, seeing Tully on the other side of the room. “You almost done with that?”

Moth pulled the blouse out of the water; it had a small blood stain on the collar. “No. It’s fighting me.”

Amanda smirked. “Say water.”

“What?”

“Just say it.”

“Water?”

“God your accent is thicker than brick. You said you’re from Tiding Range?”

Moth bristled. “Amanda–”

Amanda straightened a pin in her glossy hair. “I’m trying to look out for you, Mere. Be careful getting home tonight, okay?”

Moth rolled her eyes as Amanda sauntered away. She’d been a buzzing gnat in her ear since she arrived – but at least she spoke to her. Most of the other women either ignored her or teased her inability to follow their fast conversations and slang.

“Clear out,” shouted Swelle.

Moth mouthed along to the next words. “Dump the coppers and tubs, all unfinished laundry back in their bags. Hang the rest.” It was a song to her.

The washing house was cleared out and the workers paid. Moth stood waiting for Tully to finish up with Swelle and lock the laundry away.

Tottering out the front door, Tully rubbed her eyes and groaned, “Moth I feel as though I’ve been under the posser all day. It’s only the first weekday. I want bread.”

“Is Salvia baking?”

“No, I want bread filled with chocolate and custard that stuffs up all the aches in my body,” said Tully, looping her arm through Moth’s and setting off down the street in the opposite direction of home. “We’re going to the bakery.”

Moth hurried to match Tully’s long strides. Moth had been in Magden more than a week and had seen nothing but Tully’s home and the wash house – she barely remembered her journey to Mercy Avenue.

As they trailed from the riverside and deeper into Magden, the streets became less dirty and cramped, spaced further apart to allow breathing room and light. These buildings were iced with trim and lacy designs on their eaves and shutters, and the colors were fresh, bright hues of pink, blue, and green.

Hidden on another street, Moth heard music float over the rooftops. They passed through the colorful streets and came to a round open plaza circled with shops, and Tully cut straight across to a bakery with a cake-shaped sign.

The door jangled when they entered, and a large man with enormous arms greeted them from behind the counter. “Sacherd, what’ll you have?”

“A dozen coffee and pistachio cream puffs as fast as you can.”

“Liza, you heard that? One dozen.”

The man disappeared into the back, and soon an elegant girl emerged from the back with a box of cream puffs. She had an angular face and wideset eyes, and

it all twisted into a grimace when she saw Tully; she dropped the box onto the counter and wrinkled her nose at their work clothes.

“You know the price, Tully,” said Liza, tapping her fingers.

“By heart.” Tully carefully picked out her coins and slid them across the counter. Liza pulled back her head to avoid the pungent odor of soap and cleaner that wafted off Tully.

While Tully gathered her change, Moth picked up the box.

Liza slammed her hand down on it. Startled, Moth dropped it and jerked back.

“Excuse me, tinner,” said Liza loudly, causing other customers to glance over at Moth. “Don’t grab what’s not yours.”

“She’s obviously with me,” Tully said, annoyed. She slid the box towards Moth. “Moth, grab it again, won’t you?”

Cautiously, Moth took the box as Liza glared at Tully and Tully smirked down her nose at Liza.

Tully finished gathering up her change, counting it carefully. She held the door open for Moth and, about to go, Tully shouted over her shoulder, “You can pick up your laundry tomorrow, by the way. Moth here got all those stains off your bloomers.”

Moth didn’t dare to see Liza’s face as she hurried out of the bakery with Tully.

“You really need to try this,” said Tully, grabbing a cream puff from the box and casting reverent eyes upward. “I try not to buy a box more than once a month, but it is hard on rough days.”

“Why was she so rude?”

“I broke her friend’s finger.” Tully smiled, trying to wink through her bruised eye; it was healing every day but still obvious on her face.

“Was her friend a martinet?”

“Yes. Do you have them in Hiren? What do you know about them?”

“I don’t believe there’s any in Hiren. I know little about them, but I heard they’re a group of people who don’t like ferriers. They’re against them in some way?”

“Are they?” asked Tully. She shrugged. “That makes sense. They’re obsessed with death and their dead. They don’t bury them, they ‘preserve’ their family members. They think they’ll come back to life, in some way – I don’t know the details, they refuse to give any info about it unless you join them. A death cult.”

“They keep their deceased family members in their house?” asked Moth, her stomach clenching.

“If they’re poor, then yes. The richer ones have above-ground mausoleums in the yard, or a separate room attached on the side of the house to keep them in.” Tully was getting hot in the face. “Freida – Liza’s friend – and few other martinet neighbors on our street kept hounding me about Aunt Rena, asking how we had buried her and what we intended to do, and if we buried her there was still time to exhume her body and preserve it. Freida told me the martinets could help us see Aunt Rena again if we just trusted them. I lost it.” Tully clenched her fists, and Moth saw the scrapes on her knuckles. She sighed heavily and ate two more cream puffs.

Moth squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t try and make me feel emotions while I’m eating pastries, it won’t work.” Tully gave her one and pointed to a road that led out of the plaza. “That leads to most of the dress shops and fabric stores. Want to take a spin through before we go home?”

“Yes!”

They headed down the side road to an alley of shops and stores, overflowing with lace and embroidery, bolts of fabric hung up, their color advertising themselves. One bolt of fabric was all butter yellow, and in the sun it cast a marigold glow over the narrow street - Moth could feel the color on her skin as she held out her hand.

Hung out the door of a shop, heavily beaded jackets clinked together like windchimes, and Moth was so transfixed Tully had to yank her back to keep her from walking into a wall.

“If I saved for a year, I still couldn’t afford one,” said Tully as Moth gasped at a blouse embroidered with ferns and flowers. “The ribbon shop would be more within our purse, let’s go take a look.”

Around a corner was a small shop that rippled with ribbons strung up to be admired; the door was large and stood open, with a creaking floorboard that announced their presence to a tired, graying woman. She glanced them over and continued to hang up spools of ribbons.

The ribbons were arranged by color, and Moth went down the aisle and reached out a hand to touch the very tips of them, feeling silk, cotton, velvet.

Tully bought a spool of plain, undyed cotton ribbon and wandered around eyeing the hats and ribbons with little interest, more interested in a few bolts of embroidered fabric, while Moth studied the range of green ribbons.

At last she found one of a soft mint, with a small pattern of yellow flowers embroidered on it and gestured frantically to Tully who hurried to her and said, “What? What is it?”

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It’s expensive.”

Seeing the price, Moth recoiled her fingers. “It is.”

“I like the green though. Here, let’s look at the grosgrains, they’re cheaper.” Tully showed her to heavy woven ribbons, which had a steep drop in price.

As she glanced through them, Moth was struck again by a marigold yellow color, that felt warm to even look at. She touched it, and found it was silk blend grosgrain.

“What about this?”

“It’s absolutely yellow. Good price.”

Moth brought it to the woman at the counter and bought two yards of it. She felt nervous as she reached in her pocket for her coins and counted them out, placing them in the woman’s hand and received the ribbon in return. She wrapped it around a flat wooden spool for her, and cut it with a crisp snip of his scissors.

Clenching it to her chest, Moth said after they left the shop, “I bought something with money I earned while working.”

“You’re so newborn, Moth; welcome to an industrial society.” Tully glanced at the sky and said, “I don’t want to miss dinner. Let’s cut across the tailor street and we’ll be back on Mercy in a wink.”

Moth wanted to stay and look at every blouse in every window, the shop that seemed to be nothing but workwear and aprons so starched they crackled in the wind, but she followed after Tully and tucked her new ribbon safely into her pocket as they cut around a bend and directly into a dense crowd of angry people.

Nearly slamming into a man, Tully backed up and grabbed onto Moth so they wouldn’t get separated. The crowd was swelling and getting louder, and they heard a woman shriek something.

Tully elbowed a young man. “What is this?”

“They’re pulling down the ferryman.”

Moth’s heart seized up, and she gripped onto Tully’s arm.

Tully pressed her mouth together and said, “The statue has become an eyesore to a lot of people. Who’s doing it?”

“Count Taebere ordered it, after being pressed by some of Magden’s councilors. Supposedly they were petitioned by the tailor’s guild, but I think that’s nonsense; no one’s happy here.”

Tully set her face and pushed through the edge of the crowd to get close to the center, with Moth followed tightly in her shadow.

They could see a statue in the middle of an open street. It was a shapeless statue on a pedestal, the rough-cut form of a man over seven feet in height, with one arm hung down and another outstretched, as though he were being measured for a jacket.

Ropes and hooks were being attached to it, and a dozen guards stood to keep the area clear for its uprooting.

“That’s a statue of the ferryman?” asked Moth. It had no face.

“It’s a statue of his measurements. It was used for making him clothes for offerings by the tailor’s guild a century ago; no one uses it anymore.” Tully squinted around the crowd, looking for anyone she knew. “None of the tailors here seem thrilled about this. Half their logos and signs have this statue on it – it’s good for business, its iconic.”

The guards laid hold of the ropes and began a steady pull.

“Steady.” A captain said, his arm cocked. “Keep it taut. Steady –” He raised his arm – “Pull.”

The crowd fell silent. The shapeless statue hovered in the air for one long breath, and toppled to the ground with such force that its head snapped off.

There was a cheer from the crowd, but most of the people at the front had their arms crossed and were scowling at the guards.

Moth watched them drag off the statue to a cart, as they hefted up the stone head and slung in onto the rest, the ground littered with shards.

She felt Tully’s hand on her shoulder.

“We should get out of here because people get any more riled up.”

Moth nodded and they hurried from the crowd, and in silence hastened through the back streets until they reached Mercy Avenue and were inside their house. Tully took extra care to bolt the door behind her.

“I have no idea where I put my cream puffs,” said Tully, squeezing out a smile for Moth as they kicked off their boots and hung up their aprons. “I might’ve left it in the ribbon shop.”

Moth pulled the spool of ribbon out, touching its color.

“You got a lot of it.”

Moth nodded. “I’m going to cut it into three pieces and send one to Ursula and one to Ama.”

Tully brightened at Ama’s name. “She’ll like it. Tell her I have a matching ribbon too.”

Moth gave a weak smile and headed upstairs to put the ribbon away.

Alone in her room, she let out a long sigh and sat on her bed. She unraveled the ribbon to cut them, and held the flat, wooden spool in her hand. It’d been branded with the stores name – Honor’s Ribbons and Trims – and a silhouette of the Ferryman’s statue.
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