When I woke up, there was a dress draped across the chair. It was a plain affair, solid brown with a low waist, fairly rough to the touch. But it was a dress, something everyone would be used to seeing, which no one would think about. It would buy me precious anonymity. Hurriedly, I discarded my old clothes and slipped the dress on. Then I noticed that on the table was a little note, on a folded-up piece of paper.

Bea's handwriting was a neat, little scrawl, which read, 'I had this old thing just lying around, and it doesn't fit me anymore. So I figured that you could probably use it more than me. Enjoy.'

I smiled at the innkeeper's words and turned my attention back to the dress. It was a bit too wide and a tiny bit too short, but all the same it felt better to blend in with my surroundings. In fact, everything looked a bit better in the morning light. I don't know why. I was just as helpless and lost and confused. But for some reason I felt hopeful, too.

There were no shoes to accompany the dress, so I would have to wear my sneakers. But still, it was preferable. I balled up my old clothes and hastily attempted to comb my hair with my fingers. I wanted to thank Bea for everything that she had done for me last night, and I wanted to look vaguely presentable when I did.

I carefully walked downstairs, savoring my sudden, unexplained optimism. I didn't know how long it would last, but I would enjoy it while it did. Bea was in the main dining room, serving up breakfast to the few customers who were awake.

"Hey," I called as I walked up to her. She looked at me and smiled.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes. Much. I just wanted to say thanks. For everything."

"Don't think twice about it. I'll get you something to eat." Bea sauntered off, leaving me to think that she must have an extremely dominant "feed-people" gene. When she returned, she carried a plate with a thick piece of warm bread and a cooked egg. She directed me to the table and placed the meal in front of me. I started eating without a second thought.

Bea gingerly took the seat in front of me, and as she opened her mouth, I saw her countenance darken. Bad news, I thought.

"Tell me, Ella. Where are you going from here?"

I looked at the table for a moment, somewhat shamed that I hadn't considered this. For some strange reason, I had thought that I would simply stay there. I had taken Bea's hospitality for granted. She was kind, and all, but she had a business to run.

"I don't really know," I admitted. The maidens would want me back, but no way was I going back there.

Bea sighed. "I was afraid of that. Listen, in six days a royal party is coming to the city. When that happens, the whole town fills up, like it's a holiday. My inn will be booked solid. But, until then, I can give you a temporary job here. Six days. It's not much, but you'll have a roof over your head and food in your belly. Interested?"

The words that came out of my mouth were a haphazard flow of gratitude. Six days seemed like a lifetime, and I would gladly stay as close to this warm woman as I could. I doubt that I was coherent as I thanked her profusely, but she seemed to get the message of my agreement.

"Excellent," she told me. "What do you know about washing dishes?"

I smiled. On the whole I was a spoiled child. Most of my chores revolved around cleaning my room every now and then. But, surprisingly, I had experience with washing dishes after a small accident when my Dad, thinking he had mechanical skills, set out to fix our dishwasher, ruining both the appliance and half of the floor in the process. I was glad to know that I would, at least, be competent at the tasks Bea gave me.

As it turns out, Eldicott Inn had a lot of dishes and they piled up very quickly. I had never washed a dish before under such time pressure, and I found myself sloshing water all over my skirt in an effort to keep up. Washing dishes had always seemed like a very relaxing activity to me, but now it seemed like a race.

Working with me in the kitchen were two regular employees. One was a girl about my age, who dried the dishes with such a cool efficiency that I couldn't help but envy her. She was quiet and fast, with straight brown hair and dark eyes. She told me once that her name was Emy, and didn't speak again. The other employee was a rather sharp-tongued old cook, who thought herself quite clever for having coined her own nickname: Cook. In contrast to Emy's thin stature, Cook seemed to take up all of the space in the kitchen, and she was always quick to yell at both of us. But Bea's very presence would quickly put her back in her place, so I didn't mind her much.

I threw myself into the work, with utter devotion. I don't know if I was just anxious to prove to myself that I wasn't worthless, that I could survive here. Or maybe I was trying to convince Bea to let me stay. Nonetheless, I devoted myself, wholeheartedly to the dishes, and when the dishes ran low, to sweeping to floor or cleaning the tables.

All the same, it appeared that I had been overconfident. As much as I tried, I found that I could not match Emy's incredible working pace or live up to Cook's standards. Every few minutes, I would check over my shoulder, for some indication of approval. There were none.

By the end of dinner, I found that my knees were aching from standing so long. My feet were sore and my hands and arms felt raw from being submerged in water for hours. As I dried my hands for the last time, I stretched my shoulders out, trying to get rid of the horrible knot that had grown there. Emy gathered herself, put the last dishes away and fled from the kitchen, presumably to go home.

Cook watched me stretch and shook her head. "Haven't you ever washed a dish before?"

"I have," I answered defensively.

"Sure doesn't look like it. You've never worked a day in your life, have you?"

"No, I have. I do. I work hard," I protested, thinking about the hours I devoted daily to school, only to realize how utterly useless the hard earned knowledge was in a situation like this.

"I doubt it," she snorted as she left. "Spoiled brat."

That night I planned out my strategy to attack the dishes the next morning. I would show her, I thought to myself. For the first time, I found myself thinking that I could do this.


Four days later, Bea peered through the kitchen at her latest employee. She had to hand it to the girl. She was a skinny-armed thing, but she sure tried. And she had improved greatly. Ella worked much faster. She was louder and much less timid around the customers. Once or twice, Bea had even heard her laugh. Bea smiled. She had seen this happen before. Cook could inspire anyone to accomplish anything, through pure spite if necessary. She watched as Ella scraped a pot clean with a fury. Spite was a powerful motivator.

The door to the inn opened and Bea turned away from the kitchen to welcome the newcomer. She had made her reputation by welcoming each and every person who crossed the threshold, no exceptions, so her personal thoughts had to wait.

The visitor wore a light brown dress and a red kerchief, but Bea recognized her all the same. She walked forward and Bea beckoned her upstairs without a word. She followed the innkeeper out of sight, attracting a few confused stares from customers who noticed Bea's odd behavior. But no one would guess who they had really just seen.

Once Bea and the girl were safely upstairs and hidden, Bea turned back to her and said, "Lara. It's good to see you."

Lara smiled, and pulled off her kerchief, revealing her pure white hair. "And you. It's harder to get out of the palace these days. But, in some ways that's nice. A kerchief and a different dress and no one so much as recognizes you."

"Indeed. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" As much as Bea loved Lara, she could not help but be the least bit suspicious of her presence. A visit from the white maiden was rare, but in light of Ella's appearance, Bea doubted that Lara had arrived just to be friendly.

"I'm sure you know."

"It's about Ella, isn't it?" Bea asked. She used the girl's name deliberately, to prove to Lara that Ella trusted her. That she wasn't about to give her up, even to another friend.

"Yes." Lara paused and reached into her pocket. "I brought you some money, to pay for the girl's upkeep."

She handed the innkeeper a few purple rupees. Bea took them in her hand and considered them suspiciously. "You don't need to pay for her," she protested, "Ella's earning her keep."

"Take the money anyway. There are dark times ahead. It can't hurt to keep a nest egg."

Bea nodded slowly and pocketed the money. "Thanks, Lara. We may not always see eye to eye, but you are a good friend."

"You too, Bea. And I don't want to hurt you."

Bea closed her eyes and asked, "What do you need?"

"How much did Ella tell you?"

"Only a little bit. But you didn't tell her too much either, did you? I had to explain who you guys were to the poor dear. She was frightened out of her wits."

"I know Bea," Lara sighed. "Do you ever feel like you're fighting a losing battle?"

Bea smiled sadly. "Almost every day."

For a moment, a poignant silence hung heavy in the air, like a curtain between them. Then Lara finally told Bea, "Ella is my losing battle. She won't acknowledge it, but she is the heir to the yellow maiden's legacy. We need her, and she won't listen to us. I don't know what to do."

"Have you tried talking to her?"

"I tried, but I had to threaten to call the guards to keep her still. And then she panicked, and it was all lost."

"Can you blame her?" Bea asked, looking into Lara's eyes, seemingly amused.

"No. I can't. But there's no other way. We need her, and only her."

"You'll just have to give her time."

"We don't have any time to give!"

"What do you mean?" Bea asked suspiciously.

"Haven't you noticed? I think most people have, even if they won't acknowledge it. There's a darkness, falling slowly over everything. Crops are dying. Animals are falling sick. And people are starting to panic. They may not realize it yet, but they dread something that's coming. Soon."

"This is about that seal of yours, isn't it?"

"Yes. I think it's cracking. And we need Ella to seal it again."

"But aren't five maidens enough?"

"No. Five maidens can slow down its decay, but we need a full council of six to repair it. We need Ella."

"So why did you come to me? What do want me to do?" Bea asked solemnly.


The kitchen was busier than ever. I stood with my back hunched over a tub of water, scrubbing at a large pot furiously.

"Damn soup," I muttered to myself, "Get burnt and stick to the bottom of the pot, will you? I'll show you." My elbow ached as I scraped at the iron with my nails. Emy smiled a little bit as she watched me struggle. I shrugged when I caught her eye. She was a nice girl, I decided, if a bit quiet.

This whole place was nice. Comforting. In the five days since I first woke up, I hadn't found another place which felt so much like a home. It was amazing how fast I found a routine. Amazing how good it felt to be comfortable somewhere.

I refused to think about what would happen when the six days were up. I prayed, and half convinced myself that when Bea saw how hard I worked and how dedicated I was, how desperately I needed this, she would let me stay. For the first time, I thought that I could make a life here.

That's not to say that memories of home didn't still hurt. At night, when it was quiet, it was easy to remember just how alone I was. With nothing to occupy my mind, I would think about everyone I loved, who I would never see again, and then I would fall back into my depression.

But when it was daytime, and my hands were moving and my mind was busy, I could forget all that. I could even feel happy.

The caked on brown scum at the bottom of the pan was not coming off easily. I could tear it off in bits and chunks, but only by latching my nails onto it and pulling, lodging the brown filth underneath my fingernails. It was slow moving and frustrating. I heard Emy laugh just a little. How much easier, I thought, would this be if these people had invented scouring pads.

"Scrape it off with a pocket knife," she whispered, so Cook couldn't hear. "Bea will give you one. Just don't let Cook see. If it scratches the iron, she'll get mad."

I looked at the girl beside me. This was perhaps the first multi-word sentence I had heard from her. I whispered my own, quiet thanks and Emy just nodded.

I stood up and stretched and left the room on the premise of a bathroom break. Cook narrowed her eyebrows but didn't say anything. Even she couldn't object when someone needed to empty their bladder.

Bea wasn't in the dining room or behind the bar. She wasn't anywhere downstairs, so I figured that she must have gone upstairs to tidy up the rooms as she sometimes did. Sneaking upstairs required a bit more subtlety, since I had to tiptoe past the kitchen door again, while Cook was looking down at the stove, but I managed it without incident. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emy shake her head in disbelief.

I quietly climbed the steps, anxious that Cook wouldn't hear me. At the top of the stairs I could hear voices. One I recognized as Bea's. The other, I didn't want to ever hear again.

I poked my head around the corner just a little bit, so I could just see what was going on. I could see the back of Bea's head. Her arms were on her hips as she looked at the girl in front of her. She didn't seem angry, exactly. Just wary.

The girl was calm. She wore different clothes, but I could recognize her all the same, by her freakish whiteness. Lara.

"I don't know how I feel about this, Lara," Bea was saying.

"I'm not asking you to force her to do anything. I just want you to hint that she should come back to us."

"I don't think that that's really my place."

"Look Bea, if you don't tell her to join us, she's just going to pick up all the gossip on the street about the maidens. And then she'll never trust us, ever. And you know what will happen then."

"But Lara, surely if you just spoke to her."

"She doesn't trust me. She trusts you."

"And you're asking me to betray that trust."

"For the good of everyone, Bea. So much depends on this."

"I just don't feel right playing with her like that."

Lara looked her straight in the eye and answered. "Sometimes you have to do what seems wrong to do something even better. You've seen what happens when you let fear get out of control."

"You want me to lie to her."

"Not lie. I just want you to tell her our side of the story. Is that so wrong?"

Bea sighed once. "I don't like it. But I'll do it. If you think it's really that important, I'll do it."

Lara smiled slowly. "That's all I ask."

For a few moments, I couldn't breathe. I had trusted Bea. And she would strike a deal with that demon, Lara. Bea, the woman I loved like a mother, would choose her over me.

The truth didn't register with me for a time. Their words seemed like white noise, while my brain tried to process what this meant. Finally, my rage came out of me in a choking sob, something like a cry, when what I really wanted was to scream so loudly, the walls would ripple and the air would tear around me.

Lara and Bea snapped to attention at the sound.

"Who's there?" Bea called, looking around wildly.

"It's just me," I answered softly.

When Bea saw my face and the tears forming in my eyes, her mouth opened and her eyes widened.

"Ella! Ella, what did you hear?"

"Enough."

"Please, wait, you just have to listen to me."

I stepped away from her as she pulled closer to me. "I trusted you. And you work for her. Don't you? You've always worked for her! I should have known." I was crying now. I could see Lara in the background. She had closed her eyes and lowered her head in shame.

"Ella. Ella, no. Lara's my friend, just like you are."

"I was never your friend! I was your puppet. I thought you cared about me."

I turned and started to run down the stairs. I didn't think about anything but leaving.

"Stop," Bea called, chasing me, but I didn't pause. The pounding of my feet on the stairs echoed through the room. When I burst into the dining room, I could feel the silence that followed us.

Bea caught up with me just before I reached the door. She grabbed my shoulder and tried to hold me back.

"Don't leave, Ella. Not like this."

"I'll leave when I want, Bea."

Bea grabbed a few rupees out of her pocket and jammed them into my hand. "Then take the money, at least. Don't go out there alone. The streets will eat you alive."

I knew the truth in her words, but my anger was too great for me to listen. "I don't want it," I told her, throwing the money on the floor. "I don't want anything to do with you or your lousy world."

I pulled her hand off my shoulder. Behind her, I could see Emy peeking out of the kitchen. She mouthed my name in confusion, and I felt a tiny pang of regret at my outburst. But my anger at the betrayal swallowed any objections I had.

I spun on the spot and slammed the door as I left. Nobody stopped me. I stormed through the streets for about five minutes. But then the worst part of rage showed its face. You can stay angry for a while, a few minutes, a few precious minutes where you know you're absolutely correct.

And then the fury fades, and regret sets in. When those few minutes were over and I cooled down a little, the fear came back, strong. I didn't know if I had wrecked my only hope of a friend in this world. I didn't know if I would ever find another one. Looking around, I saw that I didn't know where I was and I didn't know how to find my way back, even if I wanted to.

The street I was on looked pleasant enough. The houses were freshly painted, and I could see a family walking happily. I sighed in relief that I had stumbled into a safe neighborhood.

Thank God, I whispered in my head. I didn't know what to do if I found myself in some dark alleyway. I didn't even know what I'd find in there. My impression of a dangerous, dark alleyway consisted largely of vague, shadowy figures coming straight out of television shows.

I leaned against a nearby wall, breathing deeply and trying to gather my thoughts.

"Rupee for an old man?" I turned to see a figure sitting on the ground beside me. I hadn't noticed him, which was unsurprising. He was tiny, he seemed to sink into the ground. The dirt on his clothes was almost camouflaging. His clothes were messy, but his gray hair was short and his beard was neatly trimmed. Across his face was splayed a big nose and his eyes turned up in the center of his face.

"I've got nothing," I answered. "Tapped out."

"Ah well. It usually works pretty well." He shrugged.

"Funny," I replied, "This doesn't seem like a usual neighborhood for beggars." The second the words came out of my mouth, I realized how rude it sounded. In spite of the situation I blushed and looked down.

The man just laughed. "Most bums don't come here. I never understood that. Why ask for money from other bums? Beg from the rich, that's my motto. Makes me the richest bum around."

I smiled a little bit. "I think you're right. I'll keep that in mind. Seems to me like this is where I'm heading," I answered darkly.

"A life of begging? Really?"

"I don't have anywhere left."

"Ah, sorrows. We all have them. Well, sit down and we can swap a few." He stretched a little bit and gestured to the place beside him on the wall.

"I don't know…" He seemed nice and he didn't look dangerous, but I had always been taught not to trust strangers. Especially bums on the street.

"Would you feel more comfortable with a regular bum?"

I thought for a few seconds and nervously sat down, leaving about two feet of space between us, in case I needed to make a quick getaway.

"So, you're awfully young to be on the streets. Ran away?"

"Not exactly. Not from home anyway."

"Oh? Wait, let me guess before you tell me. You ran from… a bad apprenticeship?"

"In a sense."

"You miss your home?"

"Every day." He heard the sadness in his voice and nodded.

"And you don't think you can go back."

I nodded too, and sadly answered, "You're very good at this, you know?"

"It comes from experience. You know, when you carry a heavy burden, it helps to share it. Care to try?"

I looked at him and his wry expression. "You start."

He laughed again. "Never ask an old man his life story," he warned, "They never stop talking. And me, I've seen just about everything. War, peace, family, loneliness. Anything you've got, I've lived through it."

I paused for a moment, waiting for him to continue before a thought struck me. "You've lived a long time?"

"Seventy six years."

"Have you lived in this city long?"

"All my life."

"What do you know about the maidens?" I asked and his face darkened.

"That's a dangerous question, girl."

"You know something?"

"More than I'd like to."

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't need to know. I can't explain exactly, but it's very important."

The man looked at the ground for a moment and then sighed. "You seem desperate enough. I've never known an idle bystander to care so much about anything."

"Oh, please. I know we just met. Do you know something? Anything, really, that's all I need," I begged

He looked down, at the ground. "I've had experience with the maidens before. It was a long time ago, and I don't like to think about it."

I could see in the seriousness in his eyes. I couldn't help but wonder what memories were bouncing around his mind. Whatever sadness he had in his past, it was hurting him. Suddenly, I regretted pressing him for information.

"I don't want to hurt you," I began.

"It's nothing. Will it really help you?"

"More than anything you could guess."

"Alright. I can't say no to a pretty, young girl. It began about thirty years ago. I was younger then and I didn't know anything. I was acquainted with the then purple maiden."

"You were friends?"

"Something like that. For a while. Then life got in the way."

He closed his eyes and I thought that I saw tears coming from them. "What happened?" I asked quietly after a moment.

"There was a war. No, not exactly a war. A rebellion. The people took to the streets against the maidens."

"Why?"

"The maidens have an ancient duty, one most people don't understand."

I nodded rapidly. "I know. They guard the seal."

He looked up at me, confused. "That's right," he said slowly. "How did you know?—never mind. I don't want to know." He waved his hand at me. "A lot of people don't care to learn about the maidens, either. They don't trust them. There are always rumors about dark magic coming from that palace, and of slaves which the maidens create by bending the mortal mind to their will. Scary stories.

"Anyway, one day, the rumors… solidified. The people of the city finally had enough. They revolted. The maiden's council fled, throughout the kingdom. Most of them." He closed his eyes and his shoulders shook. Impulsively, I put my arm around him.

"It must have been hard to see the people turn against your friend. I know it's not easy to stand up to a crowd."

"No," he answered, "No it isn't. It's just so much easier to believe the rumors."

"I understand."

"No," he said, with real hate in his voice. "No you don't. I have innocent blood on my hands from that day." A pause. "I chose the wrong side."

For a moment, neither of us speaks as the truth washes over me. "You killed your friend, didn't you?"

"Not directly. I don't know who did the deed. But I might as well have. I could have saved her. I could have fought for her. But I didn't. A quarter of a century later and I still can't forgive myself." By now he was crying, and I hugged him.

"Why did you tell me this? I'm a total stranger."

"I told you, when you carry the same burden for years, sometimes it's nice to share it. I hope my poor story helped you."

"Do you know what exactly it is that the maidens keep sealed away?" My breathing was quicker now as I sensed the answers to some of my harder questions coming.

"I couldn't tell you, exactly. But I do know this. When the council split up and fled, strange disasters began to occur. Winds raged through villages and storms devastated the countryside. Most people accused the maidens of unleashing this magic. But I think differently. I think that whatever was inside the seal sensed their weakness and was trying to get out." He slumped defeated against the wall, as though all of the energy had evaporated from him.

I let him cry a little longer, before I asked the question that was really bothering me. "You called your friend innocent. Do you really believe that?"

"She was the purest soul I knew," he answered, sounding offended. Quickly, I tried to calm him down.

"I don't mean to accuse her of anything. All I mean is, did you trust the maidens then?"

"Yes."

"Would you trust the maidens now?"

"With all my heart."

"Thank you," I told him, "You helped me to make a big decision."

He looked into my eyes. "Really?"

"A very big one," I assured him. "And it will be for the best, I promise."

"I hope you're right, girl."

"I can't do much for you right now, but I can do this." I looked around for any people who might be listening before I whispered, "My name is Ella. It might not mean much right now, but someday soon it will mean a lot more."

He looked at me, the beginning of comprehension dawning in his eyes. "And," I continued, "if you take it to Bea, the innkeeper at a place called Eldicott, I guarantee you that it will get you a free meal, at least."

He smiled a little. "Thank you," he bowed low to the ground, "my lady."

I stood up to walk away, but he grabbed my skirt lightly. "Thank you for forgiving me."

I smiled sadly, feeling tears prick at my eyes, "Any time."

As I started to walk away he called to me one last time. "When you see Jeanne, tell her I love her."

I promised solemnly to do so, although I didn't know who Jeanne was. Somehow, I knew that I wouldn't forget my promise to the old beggar man. As I turned the corner away from him, I prayed that I would see him again, when I could help him more. Someday.


Ten minutes later I found myself in front of the one place I thought I would avoid for the rest of my life. The palace was taller than I had realized, and I had navigated the city simply by approaching its huge spires, which towered over the surrounding houses. I shook a little as I stood before it, but my mind was made up.

Slowly, trembling, I took my first steps towards the door.


And thus concludes the unusually long chapter 3. Part of me feels like I should have split it up, but then I would have felt like I was giving you two chapters that would be too short. Plus I didn't want to end another chapter with Ella storming away angry and upset. She seems to do that an awful lot.

Anyway, I hope that the rest of you were happy to see her be a little bit happier this chapter. I for one was glad to be able to write a few paragraphs with no crying involved. Hopefully we won't see that much depression again for a while. It's just so much nicer to write about happy people. (Maybe I should begin writing children's stories- those are usually filled with happy people, who are often happy for no apparent reason. Much nicer.)

Anyhow, as always, read, enjoy, review. You all know the drill.

Anyone else notice that every paragraph in this author's note has started with an A?

-Ornamental Reciprocity