Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
The guild master approaches her, a short, elderly human with a very loudly colored vest and garishly expensive clothing. He gestures at the others, indicating they should pipe down, and moves to the woman’s side. “My dear, my name is Rooster. I’m the head guild master in charge here. Please don’t be alarmed. I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”
“I’m glad we agree,” she says, her chin lifting. Even though I find her annoying, I’m impressed at her bravado. “So where do I sign up?”
“I’m afraid it’s not possible,” Rooster continues. He holds a hand out to take the pamphlet from her, but she folds it and tucks it back into her dress. “It wouldn’t be correct for a woman to join a team full of men, even for training purposes.”
She looks down her nose at him, and Rooster only comes up to her chin, which I find rather amusing. Her shoulders are stiff and back, and she looks ready to go to war. “If that’s your only concern, then you need not worry. My friend—who goes by the name Wren—will be joining me. We both wish to learn.” She makes a benevolent gesture with her hand. “You may assign us anywhere. We are not choosy.”
Raptor snorts, glancing over at me with amusement. It’s not often these sorts of meetings are worth the time, and the entire crowd is now focused on the dripping woman in brown standing up to their leader.
Rooster still has that patronizing smile on his face—I’ve seen it many times directed at Taurians—and shakes his head. “Women do not join the Royal Artifactual Guild. Everyone knows this.”
“Do they? Because I have read your pamphlet from back to front, and nothing is mentioned about gender in the slightest.” She tilts her head at him, regarding him in that withering way that the holders seem to use. “Might I remind you that twenty years ago, Artificer Magpie located the greatest find of our generation? And every treatise and book I have read quite clearly shows Magpie to be a woman. So you see, Cockerel, you are mistaken.”
If it’s a slip of the tongue, it’s a clever one. Rooster’s florid face turns three different colors and he straightens his clothing. “My guild name is Rooster. And Artificer Magpie is different.”
“In what way?” She waits, the tip of her umbrella dripping water on the floor, and holds on to the thing like a cane, her hands delicately perched upon the curved handle.
“She doesn’t wear skirts,” a man catcalls from the crowd, and they erupt into laughter again.
This doesn’t faze the woman. “So if I take them off, you’ll let me attend?”
More laughter floods the room, and Rooster looks as if he wants to choke someone. He fiddles with the ornate buttons on the front of his guild dress coat—a ridiculous concoction that no one who ever goes into a tunnel would wear—and adjusts his bejeweled sash, the material the deep gold color of the guild leader. “Madam, you are mistaken. It does not matter how you dress. Women have not proven themselves to be valuable members of our guild. Magpie was an aberration. She is not how we prefer to represent ourselves.”
I grit my teeth, thinking of Magpie, who’s no doubt curled up in a pool of her own vomit in her bed, reeking of spirits. No, I can’t imagine that anyone thinks she’s a good representation of the guild. Even so, they can’t kick her out. As long as she’s an active member, they’re stuck with her. It’s another reason why I can’t leave for the Conquest Moon. If I abandon Magpie’s side and word gets out that no one’s teaching her students, she’ll be removed from the guild for certain.
I’ll definitely have to resort to sex workers, I realize, and the thought is as unappealing as it is impersonal. Raptor wouldn’t understand how I feel, though. He’s perfectly happy to share a bed with anything and anyone willing.
I can’t let my guard down enough to do the same. My hand flexes again, phantom pain fizzling at my fingertips.
“But Artificer Magpie—” the woman is saying again.
Rooster clears his throat, shaking his head again. “I don’t know what sorts of ideas you’ve gotten into your head about who we are and what we do, but I assure you that a job with the Royal Artifactual Guild is as difficult as it is dangerous. It’s not a place for young women who cannot find a husband and think they can take on men’s work.”
“Excuse me!” Her nostrils flare with anger, her eyes narrowing, and for a moment she looks utterly magnificent in her ire. “Do you know who I am?”
That response—and the confident, almost arrogant way she carries herself—makes me wonder.
“I do not,” Rooster declares. “Who are you? Tell us.”
She pauses, and then her demeanor changes, losing its confidence. “My name is Sparrow.”