The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 12:

Cawler or Tinner

“Mere! It’s time to get up.”

Moth squeezed her eyes open.

Salvia pulled open the curtains to let in a sliver of weak light, as it was so early in the morning. Once she was sure Moth was awake, Salvia went to Tully’s room to wake her sister up.

Aching, Moth sat up in bed and realized she had left her socks on last night. After work, and after the trip to the ribbon shop, she remembered nothing but a blur of dinner and then sleep. Rubbing her neck, Moth creaked out of bed and stumbled to her clothes – she felt like she had fallen asleep three minutes ago.

Dressing, Moth stared out the window in a daze, fumbling with the same button for over a minute with her dry, flaking hand. The severe soap and soda ash had dried out her skin, and her hands were constantly in the water with the stained clothes – even trying to flex her hand could make it bleed at the dried-out joints.

Moth dipped her hand into a tub of greasy moisturizer and sighed in relief, rubbing it into her hands until her joints were soothed, and went to her washbasin.

The cold water woke her up a little, and she splashed it onto her face. She clutched the edge of the washstand and looked down at her reflection.

An old, grayed face stared back.

Moth yelped. She calmed down after a minute, the sleep still heavy on her eyes, and leaned to look in the basin again, but her face returned to normal as the ripples settled.

“I wish it was Sunday already,” Moth muttered, exhausted, but realized how much time had passed since Salvia had gotten her.

Running out the door, she doubled back to grab her boots and shoved her bruised feet into them, tugging them on as she hobbled out of the room and down the steps. “Tully, I’m sorry! Tully?”

Landing at the bottom step, Moth looked by the door and saw both of their lunchboxes still sitting there. Moth pounded back up the stairs and flung open Tully’s door to see her sprawled out – fully clothed – in her bed.

“Tully!” Moth tugged on Tully’s foot. “We’re late!”

Tully started and rolled out of bed. Jumping up, she tugged on a coat and ran down the stairs and out the door – Moth had to grab both their lunchboxes and pounded after her down the cobblestones.

They were both rumpled and sweating when they arrived at the Wash House. The doors were already open, and when they crept in they found Swelle had set up all the fires and the pots of water were boiling – most of the other washerwomen were already pulling out the laundry and setting up.

Swelle turned when she heard them enter. She gave Tully a look, her arms folded.

Tully clasped her hands over her heart in penance, mouthing an apology, and Swelle rolled her eyes and got on with her work.

Moth hated the rush of being late, and hastened to set up her station at the sink and set to her pile of washed garments that needed the stains out. As she filled her sink with water, she nervously glanced at her reflection again, but felt silly even as she checked.

She’d felt off since the statue had been toppled last night – and now the atmosphere in the wash house felt tense. Whenever she looked up, she saw the other women staring – when caught they looked away but continued to whisper to each other.

Focusing on her work, Moth blocked the nervous feeling out, not noticing them when they came up to put clothes on her pile, until Amanda poked the back of Moth’s neck and said, “Well?”

Moth swatted her hand away and said, “Well, what?”

Amanda arched on sleek eyebrow. “Did you get home safe yesterday?”

“Why wouldn’t…” Moth trailed off, then realized. “The statue?”

“The statue.”

“You knew it was getting torn down yesterday?”

“I live there. I’m a Scride; my brother’s a tailor, my father’s a tailor. Really, put two and two together.”

Moth laid down the jacket she was cleaning and sat on her chair, feeling uneasy. “And because I’m from Hiren…do people think I worship the ferryman?”

“You’re a tinner, of course you do.”

“We give food for his house and guests, we don’t – no one I know – the tourists –” Moth felt herself getting frustrated, unable to force her thoughts into a shape. “We don’t worship him; just because we’re from the countryside doesn’t mean we’re cawlers.”

Amanda glanced at the other washwomen, who were chatting together in low tones over their work. “Well, that’s not what I just heard. Here, this has a weird stain on it I can’t get out.”

Moth stared at the wall, her neck getting hot and her hands clenched around the towel. Setting down her work, she hurried outside to the pump and pretended she

needed another bucket of water, but sidled to the windows, able to pick up pieces of their conversation.

They were gossiping about one of the washerwomen, Katy.

“A martinet – she had a stillborn she keeps in a coffin in her house. Can you imagine how that must smell?”

“They’re going to have to start making laws about these people. Our councilors can’t ignore how many there are in this city.”

One of the women hesitated and said, “Well, at least they’re for modernity; they dislike ferriers as much as the king does. I know they must’ve pushed for that statue’s removal.”

“The only people who were annoyed by its removal were probably tinners.”

“We got one here,” said another, and her tone was confused as she added, “She doesn’t seem upset, though. I thought she’d be howling with the rest.”

“My neighbor is one of those that worships ferriers, and he caused a huge fight in the street last night with a martinet – right outside my house. I didn’t sleep an ounce, I was sure he’d light the whole row on fire.”

Moth stole away from the window before she was noticed and grabbed her water bucket from under the pump, returned to her work at the sink.

It was a relief to hear what they were saying. Now she knew, and that was all it was, really – gossip. Amanda just wanted to stir something up, Moth thought, but she glanced at Amanda and watched her minding her own business, washing clothes.

Now that Moth thought about it, Amanda wasn’t often with the others. She only talked to Moth, and occasionally Swelle.

Her eyes scanned the room until she saw Katy, a martinet woman, adding soap flakes to a boiling pot of water. Katy was watching her, and quickly looked down when she was noticed.

They’re waiting for us to fight, Moth realized, dazed. Is she…does she think I’m angry with her?

Clutching her knees and taking a long breath, Moth got up and crossed the wash house to where Katy was working. She saw from the corner of her eyes the other washerwomen freeze at their work, hands clinging to the crank of the wringer for support, their washing still dripping.

“Miss Katy?” Moth began, smiling.

Katy looked up from her work and started, her face tight.

“I just wanted to make sure you don’t have anything with stains on it I can help with.”

Rubbing at her mouth, Katy turned away from Moth and muttered something.

“I’m sorry?”

Katy’s jaw muscles clenched, and her eyes wide and fearful as she stared at the floor. “I said I don’t need your help. I’ll get the stains out myself.”

Moth could feel the wash house listening. Tully was in the corner with Swelle, shocked, while Swelle had no expression - she only looking down her nose with narrow eyes at Moth.

Uneasy, Moth backed up a step. “Alright. If you need anything I’m over there by the sink.”

The woman ignored her and returned to her work, and so did Moth. The next few hours dragged through the unbearable swampy mood.

At lunch, when Moth went to get her lunchbox, Swelle was waiting for her.

“A word,” she said, gesturing out the front door.

Her stomach hot and turning, Moth grabbed her lunchbox and followed Swelle outside to a bench.

Swelle did not sit down. “Tully wanted to talk to you but I thought it’d be best if I spoke, since we don’t know each other.”

“Talk about what?”

Looking her face over, Swelle pursed her lips. “So, you’re just ignorant. Well, that’s more forgivable. I hope you know how close you came to being fired.”

Sweat gathered in Moth’s clasped hands, and her voice creaked as she said, “Fired?”

“Martinets don’t like tinners. Normal people like your co-workers in there don’t care for either. The way we keep the peace is not grabbing a viper by the tail – you know Katy’s a martinet, so why in hell did you provoke her like that?”

“I wanted her to know I’m not her enemy! That we can get along.”

“You can’t get along. Martinets hate ferrymen, and you have tin on your toes. Tension has been hot in this city for a while now, but that statue coming down seemed to bring it out in a burst. Katy’s afraid to be attacked by people on her way home, with zealots thinking that the martinets pushed for the statue to come down. And you go up and taunt her?”

Moth had no response.

Swelle sighed. “Listen, I’m country, I get it. I know there’s a difference between a hardworking farmer who gives to his ferrier, and a cawler– but no one in Magden does. A cawler cutting themself in worship and a tinner are the same to everyone here.”

“It’s not the same though! You know that! Why can’t I talk to her about it?”

“No one here wants a conversation,” Swelle snapped. “Your attempt at building a bridge is just seen as proselytizing. The only way to keep the peace in the wash house – in our city – is so shut up and mind your own business.” Swelle pointed one long skinny finger at her. “Do not talk to her again.”

The conversation was over. Swelle returned to work and Moth sat outside with her lunch, feeling too sick to eat.

Once it was evening, Moth flung on her jacket and hurried home, going ahead of Tully by a length of street - Tully scrambled to catch up to her.

“Moth, are you okay? Swelle can be hard I know–”

“I feel stupid.”

Tully caught up to her, and Moth stopped in the street, biting her lip.

“Tully I feel like a stupid country girl who doesn’t understand anything! I don’t get why a martinet would hate a ferryman, would hate me, I don’t understand the politics of this city. I want to talk to Katy so I’ll understand, but I won’t – I don’t want to get fired.”

Tully took her hand and they walked slowly back home. “Well, you don’t need to be stupid if you don’t want. Ask me anything, I grew up here.”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath to calm down, Moth said, “Why would Katy hate me?”

“She hates tinners because they worsh-serve,” Tully corrected herself, “Because they serve the ferriers.”

“And why do they hate the ferriers?”

Tully scrunched her face to try and remember what she knew about it. “Ferriers gather the souls of people after they die, right?”

“Yes. They bring them through the door to the afterlife. Without a ferrier our souls would be stuck here in the waters forever.”

“Ah. Well, the thing is, martinets don’t want the souls of their family to be taken. They feel that a ferrier stealing the souls of something that belongs to them; they want to keep the souls here, in their houses with them.”

Moth was silent for a long stretch of their walk, the sounds of their footsteps bounding off the hollow street. “To them, ferriers just steals souls.”

“Right.”

“But they don’t steal souls, Tully. How will she know she’s wrong if no one talks to her about it?” but even as Moth said it she heard Swelle’s words float back to mind. “I think I’m just offended on the ferryman’s behalf. Maybe I’m offended as a backwater farmer. I’m angry.”

“You’re angry? Well that is good for you to feel, Mothball! Lord knows it rare enough.”

Moth shook her head. “I’m angry at myself.”

“Oh, well never mind. You were so close.”

“I’m sorry I tried to talk to Katy like I did. I don’t think never talking to her is the right thing to do, but I won’t try and talk to her because I know she’ll just think I’m trying to proselytize.” Moth squeezed Tully’s hand. “I know you don’t like martinets, but she doesn’t bother you; that’s very mature.”

“Katy doesn’t bother me because she doesn’t try and tell me my aunt’s soul is lost and trapped forever,” said Tully, with a barking laugh. “She leaves me alone, I leave her alone.”