At the edge of the Lid, not far from The Warehouse, Clem sat by the water's edge. It was dusk, and Clem had to check in with everyone soon. It had been weeks since Nula's funeral, and Clem had barely seen Meg. Her office door was always locked; only Sal left to get them meals, and she would never answer any questions about what Meg was doing. Clem turned to her left and looked at Sal's twin, Dal.
There was no distinguishable difference between Dal and their twin, except their head was shaved close to the scalp. They had joined the Widows only two years before, both orphans, wanting to join immediately. Granny only allowed Dal to receive the tattoo for protection from someone hurting or stealing them. Granny didn't usually tattoo such young members she didn't know; they were too much of a liability due to their likelihood of being taken. However, Granny saw the loyalty in Dal and therefore tattooed them. Sal, made more of a point never to leave the Warehouse alone to reduce their own risk. Granny wouldn't extend protection to someone so attached to Meg.
"So, she still won't tell you?" Clem asked with a raised eyebrow. Dal spat in response into the water. Clem held back a laugh. She knew she shouldn't have favourites among her Mice, but Dal was her's. Dal was tough as nails and didn't let anyone cross them. A year ago, they told Clem in private that they hated being called Sal's sister. Clem didn't understand but thought maybe they had a fight and did not inquire. A week later, Dal spoke again to Clem, insisting on being called Sal's sibling, not sister. Clem still did not understand or probe. She shrugged and said, 'Ok.' A week later, Clem made her third mistake and called Dal the "younger sister of the twins." Dal had bitten Clem's leg in response. Clem knew Dal would never hurt her unless she deserved it. She had dragged Dal outside as they scratched and kicked at her. Finally, through Dal's spitting and screaming, Clem understood and had referred to them as 'them,' or 'they,' whatever else, ever since, never 'she' or 'sister.'
Dal had begun to work harder out of fear they would be kicked out of the Widows. Clem had to explain that being a girl wasn't a requirement, but rarely did anyone else, but primarily girls wanted to join and sign up. Men were hired to work for them but never conscripted into their gangs. They were afraid it looked weak or emasculating. Clem could almost always calm Dal but would always spit and scream if anyone referred to them as 'sister' or 'her.'
"What do you think it is?" Clem asked; she liked to get Dal to use their mind this way. But unfortunately, Dal was so prone to minding their own business when they should have been observing their surroundings.
"Don't matter to me," Dal replied. Clem bumped her shoulder into Dals. Dal coughed and rolled their eyes. Clem eyed the large script 'W' on their neck. Every Widow got to choose the location of being marked; some wanted to hide their affiliation or make it less noticeable. Clem attempted to convince Dal to choose such a prominent place at their age. But Dal was bullheaded. She wouldn't accept being parented by anyone and would have paid anyone to do it on them if Clem had refused.
"A'right, maybe Pigeon gave up and is just gettin' drunk in there," Dal suggested. Clem considered this.
Dal continued, "But I guess Ertha or Zelda would have noticed if alcohol was missing, an' Meg don' have the Kruge to pay." Clem nodded in agreement, glad Dal got there themself.
"How's Win progressing?" Clem asked. Dal took a moment and thought.
"She's shit." Clem burst out laughing, but Dal stayed stoic.
"Come on, seriously, how has she been?"
"She'd make a great actress on the stage. She can't pick a lock, can't fight, and can't run. She's gonna get arrested by the Stadwatch soon."
Clem sighed; she had never gone to prison herself. She had never been caught. But she knew it was one of the realities of this work and that people had survived worse. Almost every Widow had been locked up at some time, even Hattie. Only Granny had also been able to avoid jail, but she never got her hands dirty.
"Can she learn?" Clem asked.
"Dunno"
"Ok, but does she run scared or just run?"
"Just run. I think she doesn't understand what can happen if things go wrong, though. She thinks she's innocent, and it's…Like it's all just a misunderstanding. She thinks we're just playin'."
This worried Clem. Was Win playing a game? Clem knew Dal was young, but their judgement on the job was unlike anyone else's. Clem also knew that Dal trusted very few and was arrogant like a young person. Therefore, Win might need more experience.
"Stick to it; it's only been a few weeks." She advised.
Dal got up off the edge of the water.
"I'm workin' my shift; I got runnin' to do."
"Better not let Granny wait," Clem said with a grin. Dal shuddered and walked towards The Warehouse; they had to clean all lavatories and bedrooms. Granny had also bought two houses in the Zelver district when they needed to hold meetings in a more upscale space. These spaces also needed cleaning. Unfortunately, they could not always trust this task to a regular maid. So, Dal was on cleaning duty, calling it 'running' as they tried to do it as fast as possible. Dal would also practice picking a few pockets from those in the neighbourhood before Win would join them. They wanted to be the best at it.
Clem continued to stare out into the water when she heard a scream coming from behind her. It wasn't filled with fear but with anger; it was Dal. Clem jumped up and ran as fast as she could, entering the corner of the street of the Lid next to the Warehouse. She saw Dal being jumped by four boys; they looked around 12, and two had Razorgulls tattoos on their arms. Clem shouted to get their attention, and they looked up.
"Leave them alone!" One had held Dal's arms behind their back, and the other three had been punching and slapping them. They looked to Clem and smirked; one laughed. Clem hid her hands behind them, compelling the boys to lose their aggression. Clem lowered her voice.
"Please, let them be." She said it gently; the one boy let Dal go, and they shrugged and walked off. Clem smiled and walked over to Dal. Dal had taken out two switchblades and went to go run after them. Clem put a hand on their shoulder to stop them.
"You, ok?" Clem asked. Dal spat again.
"We should go and get them together. The Razorgulls are gettin' too cocky, and I'm sick of it." Clem shook her head.
"Let me clean your cheek; they cut it open." Dal wiped their face, not stopping the bleeding but smearing the blood on their face. They glared at Clem until they walked away. Clem felt a twinge of guilt as she tried to soothe Dal's mood before they were too far off. They didn't like compelling them without saying, but it would be better for them. Dal had to learn that only some fights had to be fought. Dal wanted the old ways, while Clem was confident she, Meg and the other Mice could change the Widows.
Clem considered the Razorgulls boys; they were confident to move on Dal, knowing they were part of the Widows. She stowed that knowledge away for later. Some of her childhood friends had joined the Razorgulls, which gave her the confidence to speak with them. She entered the Warehouse.
Their day shift wasn't over, and machines were loudly going as they poured dyed jurda into papers and then let it be automatically rolled in a device that ran on the power of individuals peddling. They were more precise and faster than doing it by hand, but it subsequently forced an individual to get very powerful calves. They had hired two more rollers in the last two weeks, their numbers up to ten. The Widows always found cheap labour without using forced labour through indentures. Granny hadn't liked the idea but had relented to Clem. The compromise was finding young workers who were either half or entirely deaf. Their job prospects were low, and their family typically abandoned them when they lived with those who couldn't afford another mouth to feed. They were immediately taught Hand by a Widow for an hour a day and reported to Meg. This work would lower her indenture to Granny.
Meg's father had run up gambling debts all over town. He was a simple baker who loved gambling away the money he didn't have. Meg wouldn't hear a word against him, and Clem wouldn't speak negatively of him, but she knew he had ruined her life. When almost all her family had died, Meg and one of her sisters had taken on his debt. Granny had been merciful in allowing Meg and her sister to work it off. They were given good work, and when Meg was discovered to be an Alkemi, Hand was developed, and she was allowed to train. Clem knew Meg resented Granny for her indenture, but Clem knew it had saved her life.
Jays had begun doing very well, and individual shops that sold jurda for chewing had also started to inquire with Clem about selling their product. Granny was pleased that Meg was not out with Clem celebrating.
She's become so focused; can she even see a win when she gets one? Clem thought. Clem felt a closeness to Meg, unlike any other Widows. She had helped raise her. However, part of maintaining that relationship was allowing Meg to have and maintain her defensive walls. Clem could feel a new wall growing between them.
Clem walked up to the office door and knocked loudly. Certainly, no one would hear above the noise of the machines. Clem waved in the window to get Sal or Meg's attention. Meg paced, and Sal followed behind. They didn't acknowledge her; Sal was purposely avoiding her gaze. Clem banged on the glass. She needed an update on the business, and Granny wouldn't accept a no. Meg looked up and communicated with both her hands,
'One more day, please.' Clem shook her head no. Meg walked to the door, opened it, left it open, and returned to her desk. Sal continued following her every step. Clem closed the door behind her while entering the room; she could smell wafts of something sweet, possibly the smell of ginger.
"Meg, what have you been doing? And where have you been?"
"Working, I'm so close, Clem. I can't explain." Meg was using a rolling pin and combining bits of paste. Clem eyed Sal: Sal looked down sheepishly.
"Meg is working on something to increase our strength and profits."
Clem gave her a sympathetic smile. Like Granny, she loved observing loyalty and admired Sal's attachment to Meg.
"Translation, Meg?" Clem asked impatiently. Meg sighed and put her rolling pin down.
"One more day, keep Granny off my back. jays sales have gone up; tell her I'm trying to figure out how to produce them more cheaply." Clem hesitated and then nodded; she eyed three empty bottles of wine on the counter behind Meg. Was Zelda was keeping her alcohol stores secret? Clem thought, reminding herself to do an inventory count afterwards.
"Ok, I'll try to buy you a few days, but are you good?" Clem's eyes narrowed in on Meg, trying to sense her heart rate from her distance. It remained steady but fast. Finally, Meg just nodded and got back to work. Clem bit her lip and turned out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Clem was counting the bottles of wine, noticing Zelda came up short four bottles. Zelda had been with the Widows since Granny had formed them and knew she had never skimmed cash off a deposit. I guess Granny will want someone fired. Clem thought. She would rather talk with them, but she knew Granny's preferred method of punishment was more violent. Firing would be easier without letting her know the specifics.
Clem made a silent wish that it wasn't Win. No one had thought she would last, but she was more resilient than expected.
Clem finished at The Bank and headed deeper into the Barrel to check on Granny's small gambling den and pleasure house. The Fjerdan sisters were responsible for running them under Dame Dame Cora's tutelage. They had both shown consistent business and management skills, despite their conservative, Fjerdan ideals around Barrel businesses.
Clem noticed the streets becoming busier, rowdier, and darker as she walked down them. The rain had started to fall into a drizzle. Clem knew she had time before it got hectic. She felt someone grab her arm and saw two young men wink at her. Clem smiled back in reply and gave a small wave. One turned around to follow her, and Clem stopped.
"Hey boys, looking for fun tonight?"
"We were about to get breakfast before our day started, classes are almost done before exams, and we thought we'd have some adventure. So where are you off to?" The most innocent look crossed Clem's face as she opened her big, impressed eyes.
"Oh, you also study? My friends told me to meet them at the Study Hall for dancing, but I have an uncle I need to visit, and I thought this was a shortcut." They gave her directions to Zelver district when she described his house, as they both insisted, she promised them to dance at The Study Hall. Clem said they had to promise back that they would dance with all her friends. They agreed, exchanged names, and went in separate directions.
Clem sighed with relief; she discovered early on that men would stay less violent if promised something better later. It wasn't a certainty, but it could buy time. She walked deeper into the Barrel and passed a gambling club that had a large black Crow on the outside of it. Clem slowed.
The Crow Club. Kaz Brekker's gambling club. The youngest, newest hotshot of the Barrel. Granny hated him but also admired him. So many new members of the Widows had been compared to him. Granny demanding similar tenacity and guile. Dal constantly screamed they'd be the one to kill him. Clem worried Dal would look up to him, so she didn't deter them. But she also knew Kaz wasn't Dal's to kill; he belonged to Meg.
Clem peered in; it was still early and relatively empty. However, she didn't see the person she feared sitting in their usual seat. She spun and came face to face with a woman in all black with silver hair. She had lined kohl under her eyes, which looked like it had been there for thirty years, and she had kept sleeping with it on and reapplying it.
"Oh!" was all Clem could say. She was taller than her, but not by much.
"That was your speech for Nula? You know people had actual feelings for her; you could have said something instead of whatever the hell you just said," she spat while she spoke. She had several holes pierced along her earlobe. Six on one ear ad five on the other. Clem cowered under her gaze. Hattie bullied Clem whenever she could. Clem understood why Granny had chosen her, her granddaughter, over her daughter. Clem would have been hurt too, but then she was certain Hattie tortured her before Granny had made the switch.
Clem wasn't part of Hattie's plans, but Granny had ordered it. Granny said you could only trust business to family and that Hattie's siblings did not want to be in the industry. So, Hattie got pregnant. She slept with every Barrel boss who would have her, and three months later, it was confirmed. Hattie would tell Clem that when she had found out, she tried to drown herself and prayed to Ghezen to take this child away, but Clem was insistent on coming into the world. The pregnancy was ten months, though Clem doubted Hattie's ability to count accurately and was told she nearly killed Hattie in childbirth. Nevertheless, Hattie would say to her the story every chance she got.
As she stared at her, Clem was flooded with her most prominent memory of Hattie.
"I was Queen of the Barrel, you know. The Black Widow, they called me. Ketterdamn had never seen a spider like me, not before and not since," Hattie had yelled at her while at the Bank for the eighteenth thousandth time, many years ago.
"What about the Wraith? I hear she's developing a reputation," Clem had responded.
Usually, Clem would automatically cower under Hattie's gaze. Hattie, and all abusive people like her, would typically abuse less once they saw their victim relent all power. Give them their feeling of power, and they get bored; their entertainment is with the pursuit. This was how Clem had learned to navigate all the predators of the Barrel.
However, Clem couldn't resist this time and hadn't been looking directly at her and thus forgot to act afraid.
"What was that? The Wraith? Have people been saying that? If I find you haven't been defending the Black Widow's honour, I will-" Hattie had cut herself off mid-sentence, grabbed Clem's arm, and put it behind her back. Clem had immediately cried out in discomfort, squeezing her eyes so that tears would fall. She was attempting to ensure that Hattie would lose interest.
"You told me not to tell anyone I know the Black Widow; you said our association would embarrass you," Clem had whined, struggling for show.
"You still defend the legend, you worthless, no good-" Hattie cut herself off again to push Clem's arm higher up; it felt close to breaking. Ok, maybe I'm a little afraid of her. Clem had thought. Hattie spat on her, letting it land on Clem's neck. Clem shuddered in revulsion. Everyone knew being spat on was worse than being hit. The intensity of the insult stung much more, especially when it was from your mother, and you were her only daughter.
"You ruined me, giving birth to you, injured my hips forever. How good is a spider who can't climb? You ruined a legend." Hattie finished saying. She would always repeat those words when she was done hurting Clem.
Clem stared at Hattie now, making herself as small as possible. The Mouse.
"I know, you're right," was all she said, and Hattie rolled her eyes in disgust. She looked around, doing a check to see if anyone was watching. Then, unsatisfied with her assessment, she walked away and yelled.
"Don't ever bump into me again, trash!" She walked into the Crow Club and took her usual seat. They served her a drink without taking an order and began her cards. Clem checked herself and realized she had only brought a small switchblade.
Hattie had beaten her before for not carrying a proper weapon, telling her she was getting the beating she would have received on the streets. The Black Widow would only stop to scream that her hip was causing her pain and then would begin shouting about how Clem had ruined her body forever. Telling her she never valued the life she gave her. Finally, she would return to ignoring her, which Clem always admittedly found worse.
Clem arrived at the small gambling hall Granny owned, the Lady Luck. Fara was working, and Clem was making the deposit for the Ketterdam bank. Granny preferred real estate and investments over gambling. Granny thought big and hated being reliant on basic incomes like gambling halls and brothels, but she couldn't deny the steady income it brought. Granny had also lived through three plagues in Ketterdam and could be called paranoid about relying on any business that required people to gather.
Clem went to their brothel, Luckie's; where Fara's sister Sara was managing. It wasn't the most high-class place, but the girls were treated well and could be counted on for their quality.
Clem had to grab their deposit. It was late to pick up a deposit, but they had recently fired their last runner, Clem had figured out he had been stealing. The safes were becoming too full, and Granny wanted it moved to their home safe before bringing it to the Bank. Clem grabbed two small pistols before leaving. Not her favourite weapon, but it was something that could scare someone off. She slung the bag full of kruge over her shoulder. Sara, the older of the two sisters, eyed her.
"I can join you." She muttered. Clem considered this; Sara was tall and robust and not easily scared. Clem saw Dame Dame Cora in the back watching the conversation and knew she wouldn't like the Mouse needing support, but Clem was more interested in the company.
"Yeah, sure, you got Gerty?" Clem asked with a grin. Sara gave a tight smile and patted her side. A large machete was hanging in a sheath. It was a gruesome weapon; she also had a gun, but it intimidated those who wouldn't succumb to her charm.
They left together, Clem keeping a steady conversation. Sara was the quieter of the sisters but took to Clem well. They had known each other for ten years, Sara being 14 when she joined with her sister, who was 12. Clem knew they shared had an understanding and as she was always drawn to quieter people. Obtaining their perspective and confidence when they shared it was an enthralling challenge.
"How're the girls doing? Are they ready for summer tourism?" Clem inquired, looking up at Sara. Summer in Ketterdam doubled in tourism and activity.
"No, we need two more girls. And they are becoming more afraid since the Wraith has not been seen." Sara responded, a slight edge in her voice.
"She was always difficult to see," Clem said with a smirk. She couldn't resist the joke. Sara could and did not laugh.
"Many girls want work, but they can't read the contracts, or they don't trust them. They're afraid it's a bad deal and that they'll be working forever. Word is spreading that forced labour is returning. Especially in the brothels." Clem considered this and then considered Sara. Sara was suggested by both Clem and Dame Dame Cora to work and help manage Luckie's. It was one of the few times they had agreed. Dame Dame Cora was old but very steady; Sara was like a younger version. Clem argued they would bring any prospective workers a calming, secure feeling. Making girls less afraid. It had worked decently well, and the girls always used their voices if they were unhappy. A sign that Clem always saw as positive, Granny disagreed.
"What do you think we should do?" Clem had her idea, but she liked allowing the workers to try their own first.
"With tourism also comes many people looking for opportunities to escape their life. So, we may have more options in a few weeks." Sara responded. Clem nodded at this. Allowing a week or two until she invoked her own plan.
"Win needs to do a shift or two with you. I think maybe Dal isn't getting through to her."
"Shhh" Sara said, stopping mid-step. Clem could sense her heart rate had quickened.
"What?" Clem asked and then was hit over the head with what felt like a brick or maybe a hefty book. She hit the ground and saw black.
Clem awoke what she assumed was soon after; Sara was fighting two boys who looked around 14. Although she couldn't see their sleeves or their affiliations, she was already certain she knew who they belonged to.
Sara hadn't pulled out Gerty, but Clem spotted her tossing one boy against the alleyway wall like he was nothing. He hit his head hard, and she saw the dazed look behind his eyes. Clem pushed herself up from all fours and ran towards them. Unfortunately, her head hurt more than she realized, and she almost completely lost her balance. While trying to regain her stance, she pawed at her head and felt the lump. She could wait to fix it.
Sara grabbed the other boy by the throat and lifted him against the wall. Clem would try to put him to sleep or make him faint. Occasionally, she could do it, and maybe Sara wouldn't notice, as she still didn't know about her abilities.
Clem felt a strong pull at the bag at her side and saw the second boy had come up and was trying to take it from her. Clem held it and was in a full tug-a-war with him. The boy released one hand from the bag and took out a large butterfly knife. He raised it over his head, and Clem used the moment to snag the bag back. She turned to get away from his knife, but he didn't bring it down on her. Instead, onto the bag straps, to cut them.
Clem realized a minute too late, and the strap was cut, hanging by a thread. Clem tried to put her arms around the bag, but the boy had his own hands back on it. Kruge began flying out.
Sara had disposed of her opponent as she had come over to help Clem by punching the boy in the face. Clem watched as he was knocked out cold, flying and landing straight on the back of his head. A crack was heard when the skull made contact with the ground.
Sara leaned over and lifted his sleeve. Clem spotted a Razorgulls tattooed on his arm. Clem automatically went to check his pulse. It was fading very fast. She had no idea how to save him.
"What are you doing?" Sara asked as she quickly picked up the kruge that had flown out.
"Shit. He's dead, Sara." Clem stated, trying to control the panic in her voice.
"Good." Sara's tone was even.
"That means the Razorgulls could seek revenge when they find him."
"So? They deserve our retaliation."
"We don't know that this was formally planned. But if he's dead and they pin it on us, the response will be formal. Is the other one alive?"
"Yes." Sara was standing, staring at Clem in somewhat disbelief. Clem looked and eyed the small W on her wrist. They had most likely seen it.
"We need to make sure he can't talk."
"Then I should kill him, too." Sara took out her machete and grabbed the unconscious boy by the hair. Clem reached out her hand instinctively.
"No!" Sara hesitated, turning back to Clem. Clem's eyes closed, and she looked around. "Let's get out of here. Now, before we get jumped again as more people figure out what's in this bag."
"Mouse…"
"Just run; if we lose money, Granny will kill us worse than any Razorgull could." Sara didn't argue further and began a jog behind Clem's frantic run. Clem knew it was cowardly. Sara would mention it to her sister, who would tell everyone. She couldn't care now, though. Didn't territory wars mean more dead Widows? We can do business and get rich without petty squabbles. Didn't Granny say to think bigger than the Barrel? Clem thought, a stitch in her side forming.
Clem knew they were already fighting against the whole world; she didn't need to add an idiot teenager to that list, who was just trying to act tough and steal some kruge that was too big for them even to know what to do with. And now, one is dead. She lamented. Clem's breathing got heavy, she was a good runner and had good stamina, but her panic was beginning to overwhelm her.
Clem was no stranger to death. It didn't help.
I should have just hired a new runner for the deposits. She thought, gritting her teeth in frustration.
They reached one of the two houses Granny owned. Zelver district had Stadwatch presence, but it was still too dark out for her liking, so she ran up the stairs. She took a chain tied tightly around her neck with countless keys on it. Clem wouldn't usually carry them on her when they could so easily be stolen, but she had gotten careless tonight and had almost paid for it. She and Sara stopped before opening the door.
"You shouldn't have come," Clem said, scowling. Knowing this would need to be settled before seeing Granny.
"If I had not come, you would have lost the money."
"That would have been my problem. Now The Razorgulls will be ours."
"All of your problems are ours," Sara said steadily. Clem knew she was using the voice she used with the girls she managed. Clem wouldn't be able to argue this with Sara. Like Dame Dame Cora, she was steady and true. But, unlike many of the rats in the Barrel, Clem had to appreciate it.
"Thanks for having my back Sara; you ok to go back?" Clem asked, her voice softening.
Sara nodded, giving a small, sympathetic smile. Clem could feel the judgement behind it. Sara turned to head back towards West Stave.
Clem opened the door. The lights were still on, and she came face to face with Dal, sitting on the floor and aiming a rifle at her.