The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 15:

Petratic Miasma

Summer cooled into autumn.

Moth was grateful for the weather change, as she no longer wanted to dip herself into the water while doing laundry, and soon the mood of the wash house calmed down and the women were more gracious with one another

Unplugging her sink so the gray water would drain, Moth jumped to grab her bucket and go to the pump and paused to admire the stack of stainless clothes she had already finished – she was getting faster at getting out stains. The muscles in her neck and shoulders, and especially in her hands, were strengthening, and she could get more bags done and more money from Swelle at the end of the day.

Tully hurried by, carrying a bag of clean laundry to be handed off to its owner at the door. She paused briefly and said, “You’re getting through your Tiding Range, Moth.”

“Isn’t it marvelous? Half the mountains are gone and-Oh, Tully,” said Moth, pointing, “you’re hurt.”

Tully cursed, looking at her forearm. “I cut it on some wire yesterday, I guess it reopened.” Setting down the laundry, she wrapped her arm in her apron to stop a trickle of blood while Moth got a clean rag to tie it up.

“I can’t wear this while I hand out the laundry,” said Tully, exasperated as she looked down at her bloody apron. “Mothball, please swap with me for the day, I beg you.”

Moth quickly gave Tully her apron and took the bloody one, saying, “I’ll just get the stain out, it’ll be good as new.”

“Thanks girlie, I’ll buy you cream puffs later.”

Taking her bucket, Moth plopped the apron in and strolled to the water pump outside, soaking in the clear blue sky and the soft breeze that crimped the top of the slow-going river. Feeling the sun on her skin, Moth closed her eyes and for a moment she could pretend she was in Hiren, on the grassy hillside sitting with Ama.

Moth worked the pump until the bucket was full. She swished the apron around to get the fabric fully soaked; the stain was so fresh it was already feathering out into the water.

Knowing it was almost lunch, Moth sat down next to the bucket to wait out the last few minutes, feeling sleepy in the golden light.

“Tulip, can you hear me?”

Moth snapped her head up.

“I can’t get over, the waters too strong, he won’t let me leave.”

“Hello?” Moth stumbled up, looking around, then hurried down to the edge of the river where the cement ended and dropped steeply into the water. “Where are you? Are you alright?”

There was no answer, but the slow wash of the river, and the cry of sparrows fighting on the rooftops.

Moth stood, unable to move, looking over the water at the buildings. She began to fear she was hearing things that no one else could.

“What are you doing?”

Moth whipped around only to see Amanda standing further up the bank, holding both of their lunchboxes.

“You’re eating, aren’t you? Or about to go for a swim?”

Clearing her throat, Moth smoothed back a tuft of her hair that had gotten loose. “Thanks for bringing it to me.”

Amanda handed her the lunchbox and then sat with her on the side of the river, opening her box very decidedly. “Well, sit down.”

Moth shakily obeyed, taking deep breaths.

“Is that all for you today?”

Looking down at her meal, Moth saw it was stale biscuits with relish and three boiled eggs. Financially, that week had been tight – the prices of produce and meat had gone up.

“Well-”

Amanda slid smoked chicken and an apple into her lunchbox.

Moth hastily started to take it out, “Amanda stop it!”

“You’re getting scrawny and it’s not appealing. It’ll be hard enough for you to find a husband with your ugly accent – and being poor as the dirt you farm – your figure is all you have to recommend you.”

Snatching the food from Amanda, Moth bit angrily into the chicken.

“Speaking of farms, have you heard the news about the lower regions?”

Moth stopped eating and looked up.

“I heard about it at the tailor’s this morning. The farmers burned down a Sentry outpost.”

The food was heavy in her mouth, but Moth forced herself to swallow. “Which region?”

“I don’t know. The lower regions?” Amanda tapped her chin to remember. “Aldur?”

It’s not Hiren. Oh, thank god, Moth thought, her throat tightened. But Aldur is so close.

“Aldur? Does that sound right?”

“Yes, yes, Aldur, it’s just north of my family.” Moth put her lunchbox down, feeling sick. “Who told you this?”

“We had a man who had just come by train last night to start working in our shop. He was from some farm region nearby – I don’t remember what he called it – so this news is probably just now being spread.”

Moth drew her knees up to her chest. Her voice quavered as she said, “It’s going to kick off more revolts.”

“Right. I hope the sentries stop the farmers soon, this is ridiculous – the price of any decent produce is going to get higher and higher. Why are the farmers so angry, anyways? Do you know?”

Moth, stunned, looked at Amanda. “What?”

“Well, from what I heard, some of them are mad because the petratic miasma ruined their farms – so why would they blame the sentries?”

“Petratic miasma?”

“You are from the farming region, how could you not know about the miasma? It’s a gas that rises from the ground, calcifying the organic matter of crops, and polluting the ground.” Amanda smirked. “Really, you should be reading the scientific journal from Magden University, its all anyone discusses these days.”

Moth felt her neck getting hot. She rubbed her mouth, but said “Do you still have the journals? I would like to read them.”

“Oh, I think so. I’ll bring it tomorrow if I remember.”

Moth returned to the wash house, unable to eat her lunch.

She could think of nothing but the revolts against the sentries, and what Amanda said – was that what everyone thought? Moth wondered. It must be. They have no idea what is happening south of them.

Moth wanted desperately to talk to Tully, but she didn’t want to speak around the other washer women. She would talk to her on the walk back home – or she

hoped to, until Tully said, “I asked Swelle to close for me. It’s Salvia’s birthday in a week and I’m going to run and get something for her from the market.”

Swelle nodded at Moth. “If you wait around a while after I close, I can walk you part way home. I live in that direction.”

Moth forced a smile. She said, “Thank you; though I might hurry home so I don’t miss dinner.”

Swelle shrugged, and Tully waved goodbye to them both and left shortly after lunch.

The day dragged on and on. Moth’s mind raced with what she wanted to tell Tully, and the letter she was desperate to send to her grandfather – she imagined he was already writing her a letter giving her all the details that would never make it to the news in Magden.

At last the sun lowered, and the women put away the washing and tidied up the wash house, lining up for their pay that evening. Moth got her wage from Swelle, grabbed her coat and lunchbox, and rushed out from the wash house towards home.

The evening was cooling off quickly, and Moth tightened her jacket around her, watching a few crimson autumn leaves flutter in her wake – they had to have traveled a long distance to get so far into the city. The gold light of the evening caught the colors on the leaf and threw Moth’s shadow long and mighty up onto the sides of the buildings.

It was beautiful, but all Moth felt was rage. She had an anger in her that she didn’t like the feel of, as it sat square and iron in her stomach, and she didn’t know what to do with it; it clenched her jaw and quickened her pulse, but there was nowhere for it to go, nothing for it to do but jab her gut.

She knew, no matter what she said, that the farmers would not get their farms back.

Tears sprung to her eyes, and she clenched her jaw even more to bite back any sound. Magden would not listen to her cry. She could hear some people around the curved street, and she did not want to look like a crying farm girl; she clenched her fists and looked at the ground as she walked, passing by the group who stood on the stoop of a wheat warehouse by the river.

One of the workers gave a sharp whistle, and Moth paused, looking back.

It was a woman with prematurely gray-streaked hair; she sat on the stoop with two men and another woman. She tipped her head and said, “What you got on your toes, girlie?”

Moth glanced down at her shoes, with the thimble caps. Keeping her head down, she kept walking.

She could hear the woman start the follow her, as the others muttered to themselves on the stoop.

“Hey tinner I have some questions for you! Don’t be shy.”

Moth whirled around on the woman. “Leave me alone.”

The woman moved closer, lowering herself a few inches to be face to face with her. “I’m not starting this. You and yours started this - why are you stirring up trouble?”

Moth could smell alcohol from the woman, and she looked over her to see her friends get down from the stoop and start walking over.

“Are you just here in Magden to start problems? You think you can walk down this street with tin on your boots and not have to explain yourself?” The woman shoved Moth’s shoulder. “Because of you, this whole warehouse could get shut down; because of your idiot farmers fighting the sentries, we could all lose our jobs. No wheat, tinner – whats your plan then? You want us to starve?”

The woman was getting louder and louder. At eyelevel, all Moth could see was her broad neck.

The anger drained out of her body, and now she was left with fear. There was a rush in her ears – was it the nearby river or all the blood in her head? – she felt the desire to run, but her feet would not budge.

“Herra I know that isn’t you I see.”

Moth jerked her head, seeing Swelle walk down the street, a hand in her pocket and a bag of laundry over her shoulder.

The woman watched her. “Walk on, Swelle.”

“Sure enough my house it this way. Jump to it, Hevwed.”

Moth jerkily stepped back from the woman, not breathing, and went next to Swelle.

Fuming, Herra reached out a hand and placed it on Moth’s shoulder. “We we’re talking.”

“You’ll have to continue it tomorrow; we can’t be late for dinner.”

The woman turned her reddened eyes onto Swelle. “So you’re back with the tinners now, Swelle? You going to start dressing like a magpie and cutting your arms?”

“I’m a touch old for that now. I just don’t want my worker to be late tomorrow, you see – your sister works there too, she likes it, better than the cotton mill and all, easier on her lungs.” Swelle cocked her head. She must’ve been a foot shorter than the woman, and half her weight. “Been good for her, hasn’t it?”

Herra hovered over them, mouth stretched in a half-snarl, but she turned on her heel and stormed back to her companions, who were watching from the shadow of the building – in a group they left down the street, looking for more drinks.

Swelle sniffed and said to Moth, nodding at the sidewalk. “Sit down.”

Lightheaded, Moth slumped onto the sidewalk.

Pulling a multitool from her pocket, Swelle picked through them and flipped out a sharp chisel. She grabbed Moth’s foot and tugged it forward, prying the tin off her toe.

Moth didn’t say anything. She watched the bright pieces of metal work off the shoe and fall on the street, looking like silver eggshells.

After she finished the second one, Swelle stood to her feet – her knees crackling – and helped Moth up. They left the metal behind them and walked in silence the rest of the way to Mercy Avenue.

Once she saw Moth to the door, Swelle gave her a nod and went back the way they had come, back to her home, her small body vanishing into the shadows of Magden.