Shit, shit, shit. What is happening? Thought Clem as she ran hard towards the Warehouse.
Clem always used to run everywhere, one of the reasons she got her nickname Mouse. People said it looked like she was scurrying, but she had always found it more fun to run rather than walk. Her running now was panicked.
Dame Cora had been found dead that morning, and Clem was sure no one had slept in twenty-four hours. It couldn't be helped. Clem had heard the news directly from Sol, who had found her.
Clem told Granny immediately.
"Sol says Dame Cora is dead." The earlier chaos calmed her composure. Granny slammed her hand down and marched out the door to see for herself. Clem followed, and they silently made their way to the Lady Luck. Both seeing Dame Cora, appearing unharmed physically but without a heartbeat. Sol said she collapsed right after closing the till, preparing for the next shift. Guillaume saw it happen and was the only one working then.
Clem and Granny looked her over. No injuries.
"We need to get this cleaned up now. We'll put the body with the boy. The funeral at the same time. "Go get the Pigeons." Clem could sense Granny's panic. Something she rarely sensed from her. She looked at Dame Cora; she didn't yet feel the loss but knew Granny must.
"Granny…." Clem thought Granny was missing key steps.
"Just do it. We'll talk tonight."
Clem had done as Granny had asked. The Pigeons worked without question. Meg helped them this time but left Sal back at the office.
Clem was good in a crisis but hadn't dealt with two back-to-back in many years. She felt like she had helped calm things down recently. Now things were unravelling. As she appeared at The Warehouse again, Dal jumped from behind a wall.
"What the hell happened, Mouse?"
"Saints Dal, go to bed. It's been a full day now."
"Everyone knows Dame Cora is dead. Who did it? What are we going to do?"
Clem turned on Dal.
"Dal, I'm going to meet with Granny. You have two hours to get some sleep. I won't leave you out of any planning. Now, go!" Dal looked mutinous but nodded and ran off. Clem knew they likely wouldn't sleep, but they would learn to stay low, to know when to act.
Clem turned and opened the door to the Bank. It was half full, and Zelda wasn't behind the bar. Clem nodded to the workers on shift but walked past them towards the back door. She made her way to the upstairs office. The door was locked. It was an easy lock to pick; every safe inside only had around 200 Kruge. A way to deter criminals, that's all they would get—enough of a challenge that they would feel rewarded, distracting them from the actual prize held elsewhere.
Clem stepped inside, and the room was empty. She had already been running late; it was rare for Granny not to arrive first. She took a seat. Breathing becomes more unsteady in a moment's rest. Clem hoped Granny would come soon. If she stopped, then she would have to feel her feelings. Isir….Now Dame Cora. What is happening? Clem knew they had to be connected. Maybe not directly, but something was trying to eat away at the Widows. Clem wasn't sure if it was just the Razorgulls.
Granny stepped in, looking determined. She took a seat directly across from Clem.
"Sara will take over running both Luckie's and Lady Luck. We're not going to wait on our expansion. The market is right to purchase a larger building, and one should go up for rent soon. Lady Luck is the priority. Fara can help her, and we're going to pull in the Widows who are a bit older but have been taking more of a backseat." Clem nodded, Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Dame Cora had family, so we will notify them of what happened so they can come to the funeral." Clem was puzzled; Granny never thought of extended family members.
"Granny, we need to discuss how Cora died."
"Dame Cora to you."
Clem rolled her eyes.
"Fine, Dame Cora. What are we going to do?"
"What? You want me to call in the master of time and yell at him for Widow's aging?"
"Granny, she died exactly like Nula. Since Nula was older and less healthy, we didn't question it. Dame Cora was still very healthy; there was no indication her heart should just give out. Don't you think we're being set up?"
Clem felt further puzzled. Usually, Granny's thoughts ran more nefarious, while Clem thought more optimistically. "Also, with this attack on Isir, we need to assume it was planned."
Granny paused, fiddling with the rings on her fingers. Not a good sign.
"We'll have Meg do an autopsy."
"How?"
"She'll extract different elements from her body. See if there's something in there that shouldn't be." Clem's eyes widened.
"You think she'll be able to?"
"She better be with all that training I paid for her." Clem thought this was a stretch. Another Alkemi had rarely trained Meg, and they always focused more on Clem than her.
"And if she finds nothing, then it was natural?" Clem could see several holes in this idea.
"Then what do you suggest?"
"I think we need to assume it was a plot. Do we want to disturb her body like that?"
Granny slammed her fist on the table in response.
"We collect our dead; we don't preserve them." Clem nodded but could feel emotions stirring in Granny. She realized this topic was more complex than she was letting on. Dame Cora was Granny's best friend for well over thirty years. Ertha was her best soldier, but Granny considered Dame Cora like a soul mate. Exceedingly different but well-balanced. Granny had lost hundreds of people; her death meant Granny's could be nearer.
"I'll tell Meg to do it right away so that we don't have to push back the funeral. Did Isir have any debts?" Clem knew Granny felt no attachment to him, and thus it would be a more manageable topic.
"Some, piddling. Nothing to bother about, and there's no one to pass it to. Did you find out what happened?"
"Sol only got a good look at two of them. She said they hid their tattoos, but one was Razorgulls; the second may have been Liddies."
"Pfft, cowards. Hiding only means they're going to try to do something again." Clem hesitated but then pushed the point. One she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to.
"What are we going to do about them?"
"They think we're small, and they think we're weak. After the funeral, we'll hit them back."
"What if they attack us at the funeral?" Funerals were always held during the day, in the open, with some paid Stadwatch nearby to reduce the likelihood of a hit. It had only happened once before that Clem could remember.
"They'll likely gather information on our numbers during the funeral instead of attacking. So, let's keep the numbers smaller than they are, but enough to not suspect something. We'll only invite the members they know of; everyone else can pay their respects at their own time."
"Ertha won't like that. You know how she is about the rules."
"Rules I created? She can sod off or come and not say a word about it." Clem quirked a smile.
"I'll let you tell her, then." Granny let out a little smile. This was the relationship she knew with Granny. Business, but still able to wheedle a smile or laugh from her. Clem felt more at ease being trusted again. Maybe things have been so calm. Lately, Granny has forgotten how good I am in a crisis.
Clem waited another moment and then asked.
"Who's going to tell Hattie?"
"You mean your mother? I'm sure she already knows; Fara screamed loud enough for everyone to hear. It should be you, and maybe you can compel her to try and find out some information for us again." Clem's lip twitched. Her mother hadn't acted as their spider in more than twenty years, since a little after she was born. She claimed that Clem had ruined her hips, and she couldn't do the job anymore. Once Clem knew she could heal others remedially, she begged her mother for the opportunity to try. To make up for what her birth had done to her and her career. Her mother had always refused. Saying she would never let Clem's hands have lain on her.
Hattie, the Black Widow. The best spider the Barrel had ever seen, or so the legend goes. Even Granny admitted she was excellent. It never made Granny less ruthless toward her. Granny didn't blame Clem for her mother's injury; she blamed her mother. That didn't help with Hattie's resentment. Clem suspected Hattie's hips had already been injured from being beaten by Granny for so many years but suggested that didn't help anyone. They had hired different spiders since then, but none lasted long. They always either got caught, died or ran away. Sol had been the most promising new spider, and even her lock-picking skills needed work. And Sol wasn't always forthcoming. She was like something out of a children's book; you had to ask the right question to get the answer you were looking for.
Granny still had information on most merchants, city officials and judges. That was from her excellent connections and rarely due to the work of a spider.
"Sol can handle it." Was all Clem responded? She knew there was no point in convincing her to do any work, even if it meant discovering the plot that murdered Dame Cora.
Granny shrugged, disinterested. "You have a day. Get it done. Slow down the jobs on the side until the funeral is over." Clem nodded and stood up at the same time as Granny. They both made their way to the door. Granny paused and grabbed Clem by the elbow.
"She was the best of us. I don't know anyone who didn't like her." Clem softened at these words. She lamented that so few got to see Granny's tenderness. Her ruthlessness was rooted in her caring.
"I don't know how anyone could. If she was murdered, I know why it was poison. Because you pointed a gun at her, she could convince anyone to lower it." Granny momentarily smiled but immediately hardened her face, walking out without another word. Clem locked the door from the inside and then closed the door. She made her way to Meg in the Warehouse.
Clem caught Meg asleep at her desk in her office. Sal was sleeping on the floor below her. Clem felt jealous when she saw them and considered taking a nap herself. Her brain was beginning to buzz with exhaustion. She had been compelling more people recently too. Although it made her feel alive with connectivity, it also sucked her energy quickly.
Clem focused and raised Meg's heartbeat, waking her up.
Meg's eyes fluttered and then opened. She looked around and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Clem.
"Thank God it's you."
"You might not feel that way so soon….Granny has a job she needs you to do." Meg's face stayed impassive. Clem could feel her anxiety rising. "We think Dame Cora's death may have been a murder. We need an autopsy. We need to know if there's poison in her body."
Straight to the point, the way Meg appreciated.
"No medik we can pay? I don't think I'll be able to manage this."
"You know the medik don't have the skills to do this. Also, they may be paid off themselves. It's you, Meg. You must do it in a day." Meg understood when orders came from Granny and not Clem. Clem would give leeway for time, capacity, or even energy. Granny called her too soft, and Clem thought it had better results.
"Do I bring the body here, or do I do it there?"
"There, we can't let anyone see this. We want people to think it was natural unless we know it's not."
"What if I can't?"
Clem didn't respond but just stared. Granny could never understand the limits that could come with being an untrained Grisha. In some ways, telling Meg to have better hearing miraculously would be kinder.
"Just focusing on trying for now. Take a pack of jays, food, wine, whatever you need. We need to know." Another pause. They had no time to waste.
"This would be a good time to try the version of parem I made. I know the za vee mixture I made will lower the addiction." Clem couldn't resist; she was curious now.
"How?"
"The za vee suppresses; I've harnessed it so that if you line your nostrils with it, it's like a gel, and sniff only a tiny amount of the parem I made, it will work. So, you'll be advanced in your capacity, but for a shorter time, it will be less strong and maybe less addictive."
Clem stood; she was thoughtful. Her desperation had risen since all of the chaos, but she was not yet at that point.
"No. I'm less against it now, but we're already testing one thing; let's not test two." Clem could feel Meg beginning to resist. Clem walked around her to assist her in packing a bag but also compelled her to be more compliant while she was behind her. Then, finally, she could feel Meg become more at ease. She opened drawers, took out supplies, and packed a second bag.
"She's underground?"
"With Isir, yes." The Widows rented out space in the morgue when there was a death. They had to wait before they could honour it with a funeral. It was costly, but Granny liked to style herself closer to a merchant than a Barrel rat and felt certain members should not be forgotten.
Clem handed Meg a small stack of kruge from underneath her trousers, where she had a pocket sewed on her undergarments.
"The morgue knows someone is coming; they'll leave you alone if you give them a quarter of this stack at a time. But, unfortunately, this time tomorrow, you'll be out of time."
Meg took the money and motioned to Sal.
"What about her?"
"May as well wake her and take her. If she wakes and you're not here, she'll look for you everywhere. She may even get snatched; the crowds are out. Slavers are getting cocky again too."
Meg crouched down and woke Sal. She woke slowly and seemed almost happy. Clem shook her head. I do not understand how Dal chose to stick to me and not Sal. She is much more my temperament than Meg's. Clem thought, admiring her peaceful temperament.
Clem, at that exact moment, realized that might be precisely why the twins had chosen to stick to either of them. Clem didn't want to waste a moment and saw Meg explaining what they were doing to Sal. It was more difficult for Meg, not being able to work with their hands and talk simultaneously.
Clem walked towards the office door. Before stepping out, she took one last turn and spotted Meg putting a pouch in her apron pockets. She could feel Meg's guilt and knew it must be the parem.
Clem sighed; she would have to trust Meg not to take it.
Hours later, after food, water and several jays, Clem spotted Sol near Granny's house in the Zelver district. Clem felt disappointed in being able to see Sol, despite her attempt at being unseen. Sol was good, but Clem knew there was better. She motioned for Sol to come toward her while being jostled by the waking crowd. The evening was beginning, and despite the steady rain and the heat, calm waters ensured the tourists kept coming.
Clem saw several people she recognized while waiting for Sol to join her. Clem always had a unique ability to remember names and faces. Growing up in Ketterdam allowed her to get to know many people. Granny would parade her around parties at different class levels, and Clem got to dress up and pretend she belonged at each one. stadwatch, merchants, artisans, Barrel rats; Clem knew people in every group and tried to stay amicable with each of them. Many of them saw Clem as either the cute little girl, who was allowed to come to parties, or the girl who could sneak them alcohol.
Sol reached her, and they walked together. Clem knew it was harder to overhear in a crowd. However, they could speak in Hand if they felt especially threatened.
"Anything?" She asked Sol, her volume above a whisper.
"Some things, yes."
Clem sighed, she usually had the patience to accept Sol's inability to be forthcoming, but it could be infuriating in a crisis.
"Can you tell me what they are? In order of what you think is important."
"I have heard talk, people bragging about humiliating us and killing Isir. So many are taking credit, but it seems it was only the Razorgulls and Liddies. I think I have recognized all those who were there. However, I am not completely certain. They do not yet understand why we were targeting za vee. They have boasted about stealing our haul but have never correctly stated what it is." Sol and Clem seamlessly weaved among the growing crowd, walking purposefully toward the Res in the Staves.
"I do not think they are connected to Dame Cora. They are boasting loudly about Isir while barely a word has been said about Dame Cora. Only older members have been heard discussing her end. It seems more out of respect than boasting."
Clem hadn't considered that Dame Cora's death might be natural. Is this just living a life in the Barrel? Does death find you and take you if nothing else has? She wondered. It felt impossible. She wondered how she would react if Granny dropped; could she accept it as another natural loss? Maybe we never see natural loss; we can't trust it when it comes.
Their pace continued. Sol and Clem worked well together due to the simple fact that they could keep up with one another. Onlookers would only suppose they were late for an appointment.
"There's one last thing, but I am unsure how relevant it is." This perked Clem up; Sol had good intuition.
"Go on." Clem kept her tone even; Sol could clam up if you seemed too interested.
"There's talk of a new bill passing into law. Several councilmen are bringing it forward; it has a lot of support. However, I am unaware of where it was conceived." Clem was puzzled by this. Council members would introduce new laws to clean up the Barrel; this wasn't the sort of thing that would pique Sol's interest.
"Any woman found to be making an intentioned attempt at terminating a pregnancy will be thrown into asylum until the birth of the baby and then prison after the birth."
Clem stopped walking abruptly.
"Ghezen and all the saints" was all Clem could whisper out. She turned to stare at Sol, whose expression was hard and steady. Clem took outs a jays and lit it frantically. She inhaled and exhaled it twice, looking around and then staring back at Sol.
"What about those aiding in the termination?" Clem asked.
"No word about any punishment for them. They're only trying to make a profit. Punishment is only against those seeking the service." Clem ran her tongue over her teeth in anxiety. She suspected Granny was pulling a bigger deal, but she hadn't anticipated this.
"Who else knows?" Clem asked, knowing she should begin walking again, but felt her feet unable to move forward.
"Does anyone in the Widows make a habit of following changes in the law?" Clem blew out smoke, unsure if Sol was trying to be funny.
"I mean, have you heard about it from anyone on our end? Has Granny mentioned it to you or anyone before all this chaos?"
"No. I would have told you." Clem's eyebrow lifted at this.
"Would you? Behind Granny's back?"
"I always understood that you two shared the same back." Clem was grateful for Sol's observation, despite receiving information proving the opposite. Clem began walking again, and Sol followed in step.
"This needs to stay between us for now, Sol. People will need to focus on Dame Cora and Isir. Speaking of which, you cannot attend the funeral." Sol stopped this time. Clem copied her.
"Do we not retrieve our dead so that we may honour them? Is that not our rules? Isir died with me leading. I will be there and honour him."
"We retrieve our dead to show our enemies that we will not forget one of us. To show that there is a risk of killing us. The right to honour them comes down to luck." Sol's nostrils flared. Her training as a soldier made it so that she hardly defied any orders, but her nostrils always tended to give her away.
"Speak, Sol; we rarely hear your unfiltered thoughts." Clem took a final drag and dropped her jays on the stone below, stepping on it with her leather boot.
"When I was being raised and trained as a soldier." Sol moved in close to Clem, whispering. "We learned what happened to our enemies when they would cross us. We knew the repercussions. I have been here for over a year and am unsure what it looks like when you cross the Widows. And I am trained in observation. Specially trained." Clem stayed close to her, cursing herself for not hiring people who were only interested in kruge and had no curiosity.
"We're not an army, Sol. We're not soldiers. And thank god we're not family because you know better than many of us how much they can ruin everything, the best." Sol pulled her back, affronted. Clem knew it was a low blow. She had also asked for it, asking for Sol's honesty.
"We're a gang, Sol. We make money, and we create and hold onto power. But you also know that sometimes you must give them enough rope to hang themselves with it." Granny's words, not Clem's, were always said when no one understood Granny's decision not to act immediately.
"That's what we're doing? Giving them rope?"
"They'll hang. They'll have to." Clem began walking again. Glad there were no other Heartrenders in the Widows who could feel her heart pound furiously as she tried to hold all the pieces together. Managing loyalty was difficult when Granny didn't include her in all the plans. This must have been Granny's plan, outlawing what we do. It can't be just bad luck. She realized it wasn't bad luck, not for the Widows. With heightened risk came more desperate patrons. Willing to sign away anything and anyone to guarantee the job and the Widows silence.
Sol waited for a beat and followed. Clem was glad her memory was good, and she knew what type of face to present to each member, what each person needed to renew their sense of loyalty.
"Funeral tomorrow. Your job is to keep your eyes out and inventory who is nearby. Honour Isir tonight." Clem whispered as they both picked up their pace. Sol didn't nod back but veered off to the right sharply. Clem took one glance at her as she sped off. Sol is so rigid. She wondered if this was how Granny and Ertha started. Never partners, but someone to maintain the rules and culture. Sol had veered off to the right as they arrived at East Stave. Clem continued her pace into the lower part of the Barrel.
Clem spotted the giant crow outside a gambling den and entered without glancing around. She approached a table with only two other customers and took an empty chair. She put down a small bet of Kruge and was dealt a hand.
Clem had no proficiency with cards. She knew the only way to win was to cheat, and her small, mouse hands could not summon any luck in her favour. She enjoyed the games, though, and went through a few hands. Her eyes glanced around the room, taking inventory of the other patrons in the Crow Club and who was working. No sign of Kaz Brekker, but Clem knew any conversation she would have here would be under surveillance. Despite Clem's reputation for being only a mouse, her affiliation was known, and it would also be reported that she was there.
She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around—Hattie's face aligned with hers, staring at her with hate-filled eyes.
"You're in my seat, rodent." Clem returned the look and the words with an innocent smile. She was trying to steady her heartbeat, slamming in her chest. Despite what Clem wanted people to think, she wasn't weak. Standing in front of Hattie made her question it.
"Your seat? Well, I can see why it brings such good luck" Clem turned and smiled at everyone else at the table—holding her cards and looking at them affectionately. She felt a tug on her ear and was led out of the seat.
"Hey, no fighting on the floor," The dealer said.
"Well, tell 'er I was here first, then," Clem said through a painful wince. The dealer, who had remained impassive to Hattie's behaviour, now looked annoyed.
"Mouse, Hattie is the better customer. It's 'er seat."
"Well, that's some incentive to come back, I guess. Can I at least play last hand?" Hattie nodded to the dealer, who nodded in reply. Hattie pushed Clem forward back to the table. Clem fell into it, laughing and picking her cards back up.
"I guess it's the right time anyway; I got nothin'." She threw her hand back down, took out jays and lit it with a silver lighter with the Widows W engraved. She blew the smoke out of the air and jovially waved goodbye to everyone in the club as she backed out. "Also, if anyone wants to buy what's in my hand, they're called jays, they'll be all over the shops, but for now, you can find 'em at the Study Hall. Tell them you heard about them from Mouse, and you get a discount." Some people laughed as she left, and tourists who didn't know better cheered. Clem's face went neutral when she was a few steps away.
Hattie had always insisted that any talk in private was talk that would be overheard. Clem had at least learned enough from Hattie to know how to slip a note in a pocket undetected. Giving her information that Dame Cora was dead was enough. Clem couldn't help but hope Hattie was impressed at her ability to deliver information and not reveal their connection. Oh god, I am just a mouse. Clem thought as she headed to the Res. To her nest to try and sneak some sleep.