Child

[Philomel]

Set five years in the past.

How Philomel came to have her daughter, Celandine - come inception, to conception and birth.

It began with a lone ewer of wine.

Exactly why it was alone was unclear. Within the cellar, where it had been found, where rows of empty shelves where other bottles, caraphs and decanters had sat. For some of them, for months. Caught under the dim light of a high angled arrow-slit fortress window, the sorrow of the lack of alcohol was made more effective. Dust and silence where the last torquay's companions, thus it was with regret that the faun added in a sigh, and took the bottle from the shelf.

Clomp, clop, clop went her hooves up the wooden stairs, back to the great hall they had converted into a Mess. "It's the last one," she announced ahead of her.

From the top of the stairs came a small scuffle of a noise and then a grunt. "Well," said the unsmiling man, "I suppose we will have to make it last."

Philomel appeared at the narrow entrance, pushing the partially ajar door fully wide. Her eyes focused straight past the long hall, filled with rows of benches and trestle tables over to the low row of seats collected around the fireplace. These wooden thrones, with their low backs and wide arms made up the seats for the officers, when they ate with the rest of the warriors. Without tables they acted more like lounging chairs, comfortably decked out with cushions aplenty. Philomel had her favourite, as did her handsome, strong friend Vaeron and one of a few second in commands. Currently he sat in his, facing the fire that lit the room in a hazy glory, with his face upturned to greet her.

Gently she smiled, feeling at ease. It was not often the faun who had been through so many trials and tribulations felt this comfortable. But she was in her hidden fortress, surrounded by women warriors fiercely loyal to her. And here was her dear close friend. Barely had a month passed of them being in this place, and she already felt like it was home.

Rameses Oasis Vaeron, the mage who had partially helped to create what she was now, nodded at her. He would have grinned back to her were it not for the two long scars either side of his face, those which he had gained as a priest in service to his Elven star god - those that cut right through the zygomaticus major muscle and disabled him to smile forevermore.

But she could see the sparkle in his eye. The joy of a good night. Already they had consumed what they had found in Philomel's room and ... Well. That had run out. Therefore a fresh rosy joy was in them, and this wine was supposed to last them the rest of the still early night.

"It has been a long week," Vaeron grunted, leaning forwards to grab the empty goblets off the floor. The goblets that were heavily stained already from being fresh that evening.

With a warm, agreeable, "Mmm," and a nod, Philomel sat down beside him, holding out the ewer.

Vaeron set the goblets on the arm of his chair, and took the wine from her hand. Peering at it for a while he nodded, running a finger over the roughly written label.

"Strong at least," he grunted, uncorking it with a single movement. It roughly popped and he began to pour. "It will do."

[Philomel]

An hour later and they discovered that the wine had indeed been strong. A fine aged vintage it was found, that was perhaps not all wine but maybe something more profound. Two goblet worths down and the human and the faun were on the ground before the fireplace, leaning against the chairs and each other. Philomel's eyes were half closed, caught in the hazy light of the slowly dimming fire, the cold of the cobble floor barely affecting her furry behind.

Gently she leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed long and slow.

"We've done a lot you and I, my friend."

"Hmm," came her grunting reply. "Since the ship, yes. Two years I've known you."

"And two years I've known you," she smiled, being more lazy in her drunken state than joyous.

"Fancy that," the grumbling man said. Neither was he energised and happy dosed up with alcohol. Instead he was merely more docile and grounded.

The faun let out a merry laugh. "Ah you make me crack up, Vaeron."

Simply, the mage raised his eyebrows, but a shine was in his eyes. A shine of amusement. "Princess," he drawled a little, picking up the ewer and shaking it. A small sloshing sounded, denoting a little liquid left. "I reckon you're going to be something big."

"Pah," Philomel scoffed, taking up her goblet and holding it out to him. She still didn't lift up her head from his shoulder. "Mate, I know I'm going to be big."

With a slightly shaking hand he splashed her a half filled vessel before tipping the rest into his. "Yeah you are."

She grinned, then laughed, raising her goblet in the air. "Because I'm fucking Philomel. Of the Gilded Lily, pirate, whore and bloody warrior. I was once an assassin, you know that."

"You still are," he clanked his drink against hers with a slight hiccup. "You still are, so much. Not free from Lichensith, never ever."

"Man I'm going to be something so big."

"Yup," he agreed, tipping back his head. "Yu-up."

"I should..."

"You should cement it with a legacy," he finished for her.

Philomel lowered her goblet. In her drunken state she paused, and then looked confused. It took her a long time to express her feelings. Almost a full minute.

"Ehhh?"

Vaeron grinned at her with everything but his lips. And he chugged back a huge gulp of his wine. Then, quite promptly, he turned to her and looked at her directly in the eyes, speaking in a very lethargic voice.

"You should have a child."

Drunk Philomel stared, head cocked, annoyed to be shrugged off his shoulder.

Once, twice, three times she blinked.

And she pulled a face. "A child, Vae. That is a bit extreme."

He shook his head, "The mightiest empires all had one thing in common - a bloodline. You are forging an empire here, Princess, and ... kid."

"I can adopt, Vaeron," she shook her head, slightly disgusted.

"Yeah, bu' who else would have your blood? Who else," and he stuck a finger in the air, "Who else would Drys bless."

Philomel paused and frowned. It was a good point. Her power did come from the goddess, who had taken an unusual shine to her. Anyone of her direct bloodline would have her magic running through them, surely. It was a high likelihood ... or at least a high chance that Drys would look very fondly on them.

"But that means I need to get pregnant. Just who would ..."

Cold. Wet. Alien. Sweeping forwards, Rameses Vaeron swept forwards and planted a full kill in his Princess' lips.

[Philomel]

The resulting next few moments were some that many could only dream about. Or have nightmares about.

First Vaeron pulled back and wrinkled up his nose. A shiver ran down his spine as his whole body screamed in horror. What was he doing? Across from him Philomel sat stunned, absolutely still, bemused. Raising a hand she touched her mouth.

"Bu' ... Bu' I though' ..." She said, for the first and likely only ever time dropping some constenants.

"I am," he said in an unusually high and confused voice. "I am."

"But ..."

Downing the rest of his wine, the last dregs and the last few drops, Vaeron threw the goblet to the side. Luckily it was made of metal and it clanged off the edge of the stone fireplace. Grabbing Philomel by the hand he pulled her closer and suddenly began working on her belt, strewing the many folded fabrics there aside.

"Hang on, hang on!" She began to yell, waving her hands to fight him off. "Vaeron, this is ..."

"The right thing," he muttered. "What you need to do and I'm the only fucking man you're allowed to have a kid with."

"Says who?" Philomel said, her eyes large. It was not that she found Vaeron unattractive - quite the opposite. He was a well built man, with years of archery training gone into creating a fine chest and muscular structure. However, Philomel knew that Vaeron enjoyed the company over women, she knew it like she knew the subtlies of her own body. It was what made them such compatible friends, such close allies. It was what allowed her to be safe in the knowledge he would never make an advance on her.

That was until now.

"Says me," the drunken man said, hastily trying to work on her fabrics as she fought him away. "You could easily fall pregnant with any other man, but that means they would have a hold on you forever so you don't let that happen. Instead, I'm not going to even be bothered with raising the thing, I'm your friend not your lover so," he hiccupped, "So this works. Much better. Much nicer."

He reached out and grabbed her breast. As his mouth twisted up into one of disgust Philomel shoved her elbows between them and pushed him back.

"Vaeron," she said, sobering very quickly - though a wall of full awareness was in the way for some ours still. "Vaeron, seriously, no. This-"

"Just do it," Vaeron said, sliding back forwards, leaning his face towards her. "Quick and painless. In and out. This is ..."

He grunted and looked at her for a while. His eyes glazed over slightly as he tried to reason with himself.

"This ... You need this. You need an heir."

Solemnly she looked at him. And the idea and the realisation and the knowledge that what he said was absolute truth hit her. Heavily. An heir. If she wanted to build an empire she needed an heir. Yes she had some great women in her side, yes one of them could do, but a true, full blood heir, born of her own flesh and raised in the same way that she was. A faun. A child of Drys. An ...

He grabbed her by the hips and with the strength of forty years of experience he pulled her towards him. She could see the hidden disgust in his eyes, that which he was trying to hide. And she could only but adore him for it. Here he was, trying to rid himself of his very nature all for her.

"Vaeron ..." She said uneasily, a serious tone in her voice.

"Don't take your herbs in the morning," he spoke over her, cutting off her thoughts. "And take advantage that I'm honestly drunk right now. If it doesn't work ... Well we'll order more wine." He began to work on the knots of her material again and this time she did not resist. He looked down and continued his work. "I can get myself ready, you just need to ... Yeah ..." He grumbled under his breath incoherently.

Philomel felt a lump grow in her throat but she didn't fight now. She didn't look away. Instead she just kept her eyes down, watching as he flung away her various fabrics, pushed aside her hidden knives with a clatter to the stone. Jangles of metals rang to her ears and she stomached it all as he cleared a direct pathway to her underside, then immediately he switched and began working on his own coverings.

"It'll work better if you get yourself ready," he said in a low voice. "And I'll do it for me."

Slowly she raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. "You want me to kiss you more?"

"No way, that was disgusting," she replied dryly.

A shine in his eye showed a brief glimpse of amusement. "Hey, I can do better," he replied in a voice much more sober now. "I can try."

[Philomel]

They did it on the hearthside, in the fading light of the dying fire. The long, empty stone room echoed with the sounds of their grunts and mutters of effort, broken by silences of forced kisses. When they were done they lay there, side by side, friend by friend, staring up at the glorious beamed ceiling, broke with splinters and odd carvings. No hand lay in another hand, no hearts hammered, save for the expense of energy. Instead they sighed, knowing what they had done should be sufficient.

True to his suggestion, Philomel did not take the herb that was green, budded and pleasant to smell - that which prostitutes of the world swore by. The Whore's Herb it was nicknamed. She did not take it for two weeks, but when the time of her moons came Vaeron drunkenly staggered into her room again. This time he took her in her room, on the chaise lounge, with the briefest amount of contact time possible. No kissing, and no hesitation. Again, she took no herb. However when another month passed and no event occurred the two of them shared looks and knowledge, breathing a deep, shared breath.

When she began to regret her decision, she had a dream. It was of a green field and an azure sky, young saplings all around. Buds were coming from some of those young trees, heralding the beginings of spring. A warm sun beat down and soft clouds floated in the sky, promising later rain. Though the trees looked as if they could be of an orchard, they were not in straight rows, and thus nature was attributed to this happening. Nature, life and -

A glance down and there was a belly, swollen to full term. It felt good, actually, an abundance within it of life and warmth. The child inside was waiting to come out, but had patience. Two hands, two Philomel hands, were wrapped over the bump and she stood there for a while, in that place of succulent plants and early blooming, simply watching down at what would be.

Then a third hand calm into view. Skin the colour of light bark, veins like knotwork. Philomel blinked, and she looked up, furrowing her brows as she looked into the eyes of ...

Drys. Lo and behold. Her goddess. Full grass-green gown, growing into the earth. Massive moth-like wings made of tendrils and transaparent leaves, holding the body aloft. Golden hair, cascading like a waterfall down as her hands were held out before her, towards Philomel. The skin perfect, smooth, beautiful ...

No words. But a single smile. And a slow nod. Hazel eyes met those of steely grey, and a smile flickered onto the goddess' mouth. Her wings beat - once, twice - sweeping up in the grass into a frenzy and she leant forwards, to place a fine hand comfortingly back onto Philomel's bump.

The goddess' eyes closed. And she was happy. And Philomel could simply feel the power coursing through her as Drys gave not only her to have the strength to carry this child, but also the child itself to receive the strength. The willpower. And ... the blessing.

*~*

Thus it was that Philomel van der Aart began to draw apart from her society. After three months she disallowed any lovers, male or female, into her hallowed bed. Even when she was on her great brothel ship, the Feisty Fox, she behaved as a host and that was all. She gave more tasks to her secretary, Gosling, and it came down to Henrietta Starr, the mighty sea captain who had joined the ship, to organise the voyages the Feisty Fox undertook. Philomel withdrew from much of her public life, and it was only when faced with her mother that anyone dared guess what was really going on.

In the corner of the Officer's cabin, Lacey van der Aart cornered her daughter.

"Okay, whose is it's?"

A short pause. A tight expression.

"What?"

Carefully Lacey folded her arms and lifted her chin. "Daughter."

"Mother."

They were alone at least, Lacey having taken the time to click lock the door and check the windows. The same ones she kept glancing at. Underneath them the huge ship swayed and swooned in the calm but still lively sea.

Folding her arms Lacey simply looked at her. Across the room, mostly wooden with the large oak table in the centre and the many maps scattered over it, stood Philomel, as proud as ever. A slant of evening sunlight cascaded through the window and caught her gorgeous violet hair.

"What?" The younger faun stood her ground, resolute in her silence and denial.

"Daughter, I have been a whore longer than you, remember," Lacey lightly stomped a hoof in frustration. "I know what pregnancy is. More than others. I had you!"

"Does not mean that I am."

"I know you, child," Lacey suddenly shouted back. Philomel raised both brows in surprise. In response, knowing she was losing her temper, Lacey shook slightly, then pulled in a groaning breath to try to ease back her anger. "I ... I know you," she said much calmer. "I am your mother. You have been acting strange now for over a month, and are always ill in the morning."

To that Philomel tightened her jaw and looked away, straight at the darkening light. "Mother," she said in a warning tone.

Lacey pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. "What?"

"It was a decision I have to live with. And that I made. This is my kingdom I am building, not yours."

"You are still my daughter."

"Yes, and that is why you will respect my wishes and remain silent about all of this."

It took time for the older faun to answer. She stood there for minutes, gazing at her own child that she had struggled to raise, been so cautious about. With a strong backbone, Lacey had never been one to let another walk over her, but that trait she had passed down to Philomel. Someone who hadn't had the pain of an abusive husband, nor been too afraid to kill the pimp that ran their brothel, and burn it to the ground. For even strong women get raped. Even strong women can be afraid.

"At five months people will start noticing," Lacey rolled back her shoulders, finally looking away. "You should come up with some excuse if you are keeping this silent."

"I've already though of that," Philomel said in a quiet voice, finally openly admitting it. "Training. With the Crimson Hand."

Lacey nodded slowly. "Some project or other. I'll make it believable."

"Henrietta will be in charge of the ship," Philomel said, "It can take time away from being a brothel, some pirating should help." She brushed a hair back from in front of her face. Dreadlocked, it was thick and matted. "And Gosling will work on the administration side."

Lacey bobbed her head more. "Very well. And -"

"Vaeron will stay behind too," Philomel spoke fast.

There was a pause as her mother's eyebrow rose. "Ah, I see. But I thought he was ..."

"He is," Philomel sighed, "And this was all his idea. So work with him well, knowing he is the father of your future grandchild."

*~*

[Philomel]

Two months later.

"Don't worry," his strong voice grunted. "Your empire will be fine."

Looking into his eyes Philomel felt the pain of saying goodbye. Though she did not love him - love for her was nothing more than a falsehood that others told themselves to make them feel happier, anyway - she still felt the pang of not seeing her best friend for such a long time.

For that is what he was for definite now. The man who had stomached through his own distastes to give her an heir.

He squeezed her hand tight and she saw the familiar sparkle in his eye. Quietly she sighed and looked down again, nodding. "Just ... Don't let it fall apart. I respect my mother but ..."

A small throaty chuckle came from his unsmiling mouth. "Don't worry. I will not her have too much power."

They stood on the end of the jetty. The wooden platform stretched almost a quarter of a mile out to the sea. On a private beach to the south of Radasanth this had been a place where the Gilded Lily had begun to rest the Feisty Fox when it was not in business. Ever since the misadventure with setting up their island base - and then opting rather the fortress in Concordia forest - the ship had been more in harbour.

Gently she removed her hands from his and looked over to where her ship was moored. Or, more rightly, the Pirate King Malachi's ship, which she hired on a permanent basis. Certainly the Feisty Fox brought in a great amount of revenue for Malachi's kingdom. She sighed a little, knowing full well that the next four months at least would be set far away from that world, that she was going to be spending a lot of her time exploring Akashima like she never had done, and then would head to that small island base that had never really become a base. Pursuing her lips she looked back to Vaeron and nodded at him.

"Just hold it together for me."

Completely serious he inclined his head. "I will do. This is as much my fault as yours."

"Yeah and it is too late to go back," she sighed. "I cannot believe you talked me into-"

He shrugged and gave an almost apologetic face. "As I said, any other man would then have hold over you."

It was true. She had to admit it. With Vaeron being the father it just made things simpler. He was her best friend. He would never be her heart's partner, her bed-mate. He would never be the one she thought about when she died. Instead he was the donor who gave his seed so that she might carry on the line that favoured Drys.

Her hands settled half instinctively over the small bump that now was situated at her belly. She hid it well for the most part beneath layers of loose blouses and a hand knitted sweater. Carefully, knowing that her very people were watching, Vaeron took her hand from her abdomen and spoke quietly.

"You need to keep it a secret."

Her eyes darkened slightly.

He looked more intently. "This is the best way, Princess. Keep the kid from all of us. Even me."

Philomel began to nod, looking away again to the side open sea beneath the high sun. "She'll be raised in Radasanth. I have a brothel in mind that ... The matron is a good woman. She will raise him or her as her own."

He looked at her for a while, then grunted a last time and stepped back. As Philomel huffed out to the light-strewn world she watched the sailors on the ship heave ropes and sacks. Some stood whilst others clambered up rigging like monkeys, scrabbling with artful athletics. They were highly skilled and highly trained, each an ex-whore, a feminist, a warrior or a combination of the three, most having suffered in their lives under some sort of supposed patriarchy.

And they were all loyal ... To her.

"Just don't let it go to shit," she finally said, rolling back her shoulders and standing taller. "These are all good people, and I do not want to see what I have made fail."

A small smirk twitched at the corner of Vaeron's mouth - the most he could get to the full sly smile. "Do not worry Princess," he spoke firmly. "You will still have a throne still when you return."

~*~

[Philomel]

Veridian was only lucky that he and Vaeron appreciated one another's company enough to ensure the beginnings of a friendship, and appreciation of what Philomel's pregnancy meant. Naturally he would be with the faun for her entire journey, for there was no choice in the matter. No one doubted that. And the year of practically living in the Feisty Fox previous had developed sea legs for the small creature. Though an earth spirit he had come to appreciate the sea, with its ever shifting forms and considered it as simply as part of the world he was just not affiliated with.

Philomel, however, was of the earth, and he was determined to see her safely through this. Her having a heir was wise, he considered - it made her impact on the world more absolute. And if she did ever die ... Well in all likelihood he would too. Permanently. Forever. And their bodies would be laid to rest side by side, under that ash tree where they first met.

Until then Veridian would continue to sacrifice himself for her, and bestow upon her future child the grace of a kindly uncle.

He was satisfied with Philomel's choice, just as long as it wouldn't get in the way with her loving him. And through it all, through all her friendships forged she had never forgotten him. Anyway, with her decision to have the child raised separately and secretly there was little chance that Veridian would ever be forgotten.

He knew her the closest, the best, and even though she did not ask his permission for anything except that which directly effected him, he was always willing to understand. To go along with her plans. Because that was what access to her sharp mind gave. Understanding. Knowledge. Love.

This child would be a child forged with an intense future.

He just hoped that he, or she, would be able to live up to it.

~*~

[Philomel]

"My name is Sakura," the young woman bowed, from the waist but not too low. As she rose she fixed Veridian with a wink and instantly he liked her.

"And mine is ... Just call me ... Whatever you want, I guess" Philomel huffed, dragging her heavy belly further up the stairs. She didn't want her name to be within hearing of this city. By her side Veridian trotted, tail twitching side to side. "And this is-"

"Madama," Sakura smiled at her. "And kitsune," she nodded to Veridian.

A purse of the lips, Philomel's eyes narrowed slightly at the geisha, standing there at the entrance to the Akashiman okiya - the traditional guest house. After their short journey at sea Philomel and Veridian had been on a tour around the capital city, exploring its temples and palaces over the past two weeks. It seemed in that time that the foetus within Philomel had begun to explode with life, for hardly sooner had she stepped off the ship than her belly had swollen to the ridiculous size it was now. To the extent that even her billowing shirt hardly could conceal her pregnancy.

It did not escape the notice of the geisha.

"And little one coming," she finished with her exotic accent, clasping her hands before her. "How may I help you?"

Philomel arched an eyebrow but gently laid her hand on the blade at her side. Elegantly, despite the bump, she bowed in response and told Sakura why they had been sent there.

"I am told by governor Tadashi that you are in contact with a merchant," she said, "Who is one of your clients ..." She looked the woman up and down, eyeing the glorious kimono, geta and pins holding up the curl of black hair. "A ... Mr Mushi?"

Sakura seemed to beam with interest. "Mr Mushi is a common guest of mine yes. He likes my voice you see."

Songs. Dance. Serving tea. What the geishas in this flower district were known for. What most of them were known for. And that was all. Opposed to rumour, only the rare few have other services.

"I see," Philomel nodded. "And we were told that sometimes you have gone to his ships to perform there."

The woman seemed to blossom like the lilies on her finely embroidered clothing. "He does indeed. And you wish to meet him to partake on a journey on his ship?"

[Philomel]

Sharp one, isn't she? Veridian spoke quietly.

Philomel smiled, a glint in her eye. She certainly is. I like her.

Me too, the fox agreed.

"I do," the faun replied to the human. "He is exactly the sort of man I need."

"Asks no questions, keeps silence?" Sakura said in a lower voice. Then she winked again, but this time at both the faun and the fox. And sidestepping she gestured, welcoming them in. "Please come in, Madama, Kitsune. Welcome to my okiya, The Purple Orchid."

With a glance to one another Veridian and Philomel realised that this really was their current only plan. The only ship that they knew of that was heading to Skara Brae for trade, and would ask nothing of a pregnant faun travelling with a fox companion. A small shrug and they entered as one, both their tails twitching in agitation.

They came through the bamboo doorway, into a small hallway lined with panelling and sliding doors. A mat before them offered a welcome greeting and a step. Both of them wiped their feet before heading in - a tradition here.

"Come ..." A gesture of the hand and a smile to an awkward man who suddenly burst through the door. A hallway behind him appeared and he fumbled for a moment before bowing low and hurrying past them.

"Ah, never mind." Sakura conducted them forwards. Philomel and Veridian exchanged amused looks, but followed the geisha at her will, soundlessly agreeing that privacy was the best policy here. They left the startled man to race down the street to the doom of the dimming sunlight.

She took them through a sliding door, along a threshed hallway that creaked and past a room with sitar music flowing out. With cream-painted walls the hallway led to a large room with cushions on the floor surrounding low tables. The thin walls were painted with a heroic scene of a warrior fighting a phoenix, alive with colour and glory. With a bow Sakura finished off her short introduction to her life and spoke again.

"Thank you for your patience," she explained. "But we can talk freely now," she bade them to sit and they did, at the edge of one of the longer tables.

"I am pleased to say that Mr Mushi is expected tonight and you can talk to him then."

[Philomel]

A tall man with greying, dark hair and small, deep-set eyes wandered into the room. A long moustache, that trailed to his shoulders identified him as unique. Currently Philomel was lounging, take full advantage of the okiya's hospitality. Spread out on her side she looked like an ancient noble, flicking grapes into her mouth as Veridian snoozed by her hip as if guarding the bump there. As the man strode in to their small but private room, Philomel looked up, slightly stunned. Lips parting she pushed herself up onto her knees and stared back at the mustached man as he stopped, stunned.

Clearly he wasn't expecting anyone.

"Ah ..."

Quickly Philomel arose, cringing slightly as she forgot the weight at her furred belly. She paused and bowed her head just a little.

"Master Mushi I assume?"

The man with the moustache paused, then narrowed his almond-shaped eyes almost suspiciously. "Who is asking precisely?"

After a short pause of awkward silence Philomel smiled slightly. "I ... Call me Lacey," she held out a hand, thinking of all things her mother's name wouldn't seem too strange to her tongue.

Slowly Mr Mushi took her hand, though there was a cautiousness about him.

"I am supposed to be meeting Sakura," he said with a voice of disappointment.

"Ah yes, we are ... Acquaintances of hers." Philomel gestured to herself and Veridian as he stretched his length, just gaining out of his snooze. "This is my companion, Kitsune."

Mr Mushi raised an eyebrow but said nothing. It led to a dull silence that the faun found herself needing to fill.

"I hear you have a ship ... Sailing to Scars Brae."

"I may do," Mr Mushi shrugged, folding his arms. "But I am here for entertainment, not business."

"Cannot both be the same?" Philomel slowly got to her hooves, pushing out one hip. Above it her belly buldged like a rounded pie. Her lips pouted and she grunted as finally Mr Mushi seemed to understand her state.

"Look," she sighed. "I need to get to Scara Brae. To an island called Erstfort. It's off the coast-"

"I'm a merchant sailor, not an idiot. I know Erstfort." The man folded his arms. "Did Sakura put you up to this?"

"No actually I paid her for this," Philomel shrugged, arms folding over her stomach. "And I have plenty of money to pay you just as much."

"Tell me, do you get on with the lord there?"

Philomel made a slight smile. "Baron Marmaduke knows a cousin of mine," she said, pleased with the lie she was weaving. "I won't tell you her name but she has gathered herself quite the reputation. She has given me hope that Marmaduke will take me in and give me a place to rest until ..." She looked down at her belly.

Mr Mushi paused, spiralling his long moustache. "Hmm. I will consider this. I am Sakura's primary customer, you know and if she likes you ..."

"She is just through there," Philomel pointed, her finger indicating a screen door, one of the paper ones that Akashima loved so dearly. "She is waiting for you."

The man seemed to blossom with that. He grinned. "Ah. I will see you later then," he said, before quickly striding out.

~*~

[Philomel]

The riot began late that night.

Later, Philomel discovered that the city had been experiencing sustainability issues, as tides of people migrated in from the surrounding lands and the community could not cope. As the number of farmers fell the amount of moving food did also, and so with the move of people from country to city with the promise of new, affordable lifestyles and fanicer occpuations, there had been chaos in terms of societal structure. Disagreements in the council chambers also had meant the welfare office had run aground in terms of producing anything regular. Jobs that had been the hope of so many migrants were not available. The fantastic lives of their dreams were simply just a mirage. And those few merchants, like Mr Mushi, who dared to import and export, were looked upon with distrust.

Philomel knew that the people of Akashima were proud, heroic and brave. She also knew, though, that they were inlooking, focused on their society and nation first. Visitors were welcomed, but treated with suspicion, and those merchants who braved the tentatively xenophobic borders, who might be the saving grace in a time like this ... to some, they were the betrayers.

Hungry and unwilling the riot that had been building for the last week, the latest it was said (they occurred on a rather regular monthly basis). Philomel had barely noticed it, with her concentration on sightseeing as well as protecting her belly, but it did occur to her that she and Veridian had seen rather many few people. And many had not even asked her about who she was or where she had come from. She had received no questions, merely looks, and this, she supposed, was because they were doing most of the talking in whispers behind buildings. The lack of words had been because of a building of anger in hearts, and though they had not acted when she was walking past, they acted now.

Bang. The door opened, revealing Mr Mushi's face in a torrent of black hair and heaped materials.

"If you are coming," he said, amid shouts outside. Many roars, many cries and crashes. "Then come now."

Hastily he was trying to tie on a belt around his long, disheveled robe.

"What?" Philomel looked at him, confused, glancing at the wall where a scream came from beyond it. Her eyebrows crushed together. "What is going on? I thought you said you would-"

"Yes, I said I would think on you coming." Raggedly he managed to tie on his clothes and he stood there, catching himself against the doorway for a moment, panting. "Are you coming or not? They hate me almost much as they hate you."

"Hate me ... who?"

Mr Mushi thrust a hand to the wall, where a faint red glow was beginning to outline silhouettes through its thin material.

"Rioters, Madama ... Lacey, whatever the hell your name is. They collate them starving with my trade, even though it doesn't make sense, but whatever. I am leaving now. Are you coming with me?"

Philomel blinked, but pushed herself to her knees and poked awake a tired Veridian. The small beast opened a single golden eye and growled darkly.

"Madama?"

"Yes, we are coming with you." She nodded.