Polite Society: Chapter One

Credence woke to the floor moving beneath her, jostling and bouncing her about in an uncomfortable rhythm that made her instantly nauseous.

Her head was full of pain, throbbing with an ache that was somehow both dull and sharp. She bemoaned to herself that life was becoming one fall into darkness after another. Worst of all, her escape from Lilith's horrid abuse proved pointless—she had run from the claws of danger only to be snatched up by something just as hideous.

Or was it?

Where was she now, where the ground moved with a great shudder?

She wasn't touching dirt, it was wood, damp and slightly giving under the weight upon it.

The smell around her was near unbearable. It was the stench of hot, unwashed skin.

She was in a room, a moving room—

No.

A cart pulled by horses. The driver must have struck a tender flank, for one of the animals cried in sudden pain.

A single lantern hung from the ceiling of the cart, giving just enough light to faintly illuminate several humans, some sitting up, some laying down, in various states of dress and cleanliness. Every last one of them, Credence included, had a sheen of sweat born from the stifling heat.

Credence guessed she was the cleanest of the bunch, and a few of her cart mates gawked at her with a mixture of confusion and jealousy and questionable intent. She sat up and rubbed her head, still groggy and desperate for fresh, clean air. She moved carefully on her hands and knees toward the back of the cart, brushing against several disgruntled bodies, but when she reached the wall her fingers touched iron bars and she realized she was trapped in a cage with a heavy blanket thrown over it. The fabric could not be lifted through the grating, so the cart's occupants would have to remain in the choking stench until someone outside thought to remove it. Credence slumped against the iron wall, struggling to hold back tears.

Her throat screamed for water.

If only she had a cup of Lilith's poppy tea to calm her rattled nerves.

She was trying not to think on recent events, where she had almost given herself to the Collector.

King or monster, it didn't matter.

He murdered Ma.

Would Credence ever see him again? Would she ever get the chance for revenge? It didn't seem likely from this prison.

But she'd unintentionally caught the attention of someone in the cart.

A girl, little older than Credence, was staring at her with malice. The girl was filthy, her long hair was matted and stuck to her face with sweat, and her stained and tattered clothes hung loose on her body. There was a clear outline of her clavicle poking sharply against her skin, an indication the girl hadn't lived a life well fed. Her face matched the rest of her, with a nose a little too small and eyes far too big for her head, and the snarl fixed on her mouth made her look nothing short of savage.

She looked very much like a shaved boar, though Credence guessed no one would ever dare say that to her.

The girl was moving towards Credence, angry determination in her soulless eyes, and Credence instinctively bristled, tensing for a fight she didn't have the strength to win.

"You's a princess, squat?" the girl asked in a thick accent, her voice little more than a grunt. "Or is you like t' play a' it?"

She fell against the iron wall, taking a pose that mimicked Credence.

She was too close.

Credence imagined the girl knew that and had done it purposefully.  She had no idea what the girl had said, so she stared ahead, trying to ignore the stench of foul breath on her face.

Her refusal to speak only fed the fire of the strange girl's pugnaciousness.

"No preen-tense 'ere, dainty lass," the girl said. "We's all th' same populace! No need t' fan yer airs, no matter 'ow fancy was the 'ouse you come from!"

She reached out with a grubby finger and pulled on Credence's dress.

"Mus' be very fancy, oh yes. Kind where's they dress ya in silks 'n laces. Where's they can afford t' put it on afore pullin' it off!"

The girl elbowed Credence hard in the side and made a sound that was half laugh, half donkey bray.

"I don't know what you're saying," Credence whispered. "Leave me alone."

"Leave—alone? I mean t' be the only friend you got 'ere!"

She pulled at Credence's dress once more, tearing a scrap from it and lifting it to her nose. She inhaled deeply and her eyes closed with a pleasured shudder.

"I's 'ad the sniff o' soap once. Dinnit 'member it bein' so sweet." She held the scrap in front of Credence's face. "Mind if I's keep it? For the smells?" Credence nodded. "If you'da said not I'da beat you bloody."

It was a quiet threat, implying the girl was going to stop at nothing to get a rise out of her cart mate, but Credence had more than enough practice deflecting arguments with Lilith, so she turned away and lowered her head to appear submissive.

Ma is gone, Credence grieved silently, and I will carry the guilt of—

"Where you come from? Silver Mike's?"

Credence turned back to the girl, her brows furrowed and jaw locked into a tight clench.

The girl continued on, completely oblivious. "Silver 'as the best fancy 'ouse o' them all, I hear. Wif all the prettiest lovelies. You're mighty pretty."

She grabbed a fistful of Credence's hair.

But this was more than Credence could stand.

"I said leave me alone," Credence hissed and bared her teeth.

The girl was unimpressed, and her mouth pulled into an ugly snarl.

"Don't wan' friends," she spat back, "then you'll make a' enemy."

"You're nothing," Credence snapped, a cold boldness chasing through her veins. "I've killed worse than you."

"Dog shit."

"I'll kill you, too."

"Prove it."

Credence felt for a rip at her shoulder and tore the sleeve of her dress down her arm, revealing her skin symbol. When Ma put it there, she promised the sight of it would make any human leave Credence alone.

"You see this? My ma gave it to me. It's a protection spell, and she is a powerful witch."

Was, Credence's mind bit back, making her wince.

"I'm a witch too, and I'll curse any human who tries to hurt me."

The girl's eyes grew wide as she stared at it.  She sat back, shocked into silence. Credence gave a wicked smile.

"If you lay another finger on me, I swear this protection spell will kill you."

Angry tears rushed to Credence's eyes. She knew what she said was a lie. She didn't know what the skin symbol would do, but it was all she had to defend herself. The girl kept her distance for a moment, her eyes fixed on the skin symbol. Calmed passed over Credence. The spell had worked.

But a nasty grin spread across the girl's face, and she was uglier for it.

"Tha' ain't a proo-tection spell," she rasped. "Tha's a walker's mark. Them's ah—" She leaned in close to examine it "—Marc o' the Darkwood's shapes! You ain't come from no 'igh up place—you's belonged to gross, 'ard stock!" She spat a glob of mucus on the floor. "Oooh, I's bet you's glad Marc's dead as pig bones, ain't ya?"

Credence looked at her with the innocent eyes of a child, so the girl continued, "Dinnit see the body me-self, but I 'eard whisperin's. Marc's corpse weren't sighted dead, but the seller ain't been seen in long enough time. Towns is better wifout 'is stealin' says I! An' ever'one else says too!" She poked Credence's skin symbol with a dirty finger and nodded sympathetically. "Run off from 'im, didja? I 'eard he 'ad his heart pulled clean out by—who was it?—I dunno, but now some tramp's got it dried 'n 'anging 'round her neck!" She giggled to herself. "Like a meh-dal."

Credence shook her head, unable to comprehend anything the girl had said.

"My ma put this on me herself," Credence explained slowly, like she was speaking to a baby. "To ward off those who try to harm me."

The girl looked at Credence with genuine disbelief. Her eyes filled with something akin to pity and she pointed to the skin symbol.

"Tha'," she said with the same slow and careful tone Credence had used, "means you belong to a de-sig-na-ted seller."

She pulled up the tatters of her skirt to reveal her own skin symbol branded into her thigh, almost the exact size of Credence's, but shaped differently and more crudely drawn. They were not identical, but the markings could belong to the same family, with similar swoops and curves.

"See 'ere? It says you's is goods, an' who's paid coin for ya. But your seller's Darkwood Marc, ain't he? Your seller is dead."

The final stone of resolve inside Credence cracked. Bile rose into her throat. She could not tear her eyes away from the girl's thigh, horrified the creature had a skin symbol too, and what ghastly meaning that might imply.

"I don't understand," Credence whispered.

The girl let out a deep, snot-filled guffaw. She turned to the rest of the people in the cart.

"This one's da's a seller, an' its mam did the brandin' 'erself!"

The girl laughed again and was joined by a few spared chuckles from the other huddled bodies.

"An' she named it a proo-tection spell!"

The girl laughed until all she could do was cough, and then she coughed blood. She stopped but kept her smile.

"Yer mam proo-tected you from nuffin'. But listen 'ere—" She wiped the blood from her lips with her sleeve, then yanked Credence close with the same arm. "I'll proo-tect ya, like a...like a little caged bird, I'll proo-tect ya. An' I'll even let you keep tha' spell on your arm, an' won't make you cut it out. I's like's a good joke—an' tha' one is the best I's 'eard all me life!"

She grabbed Credence's chin, unconcerned by the small struggle that followed.

"Find a grin," the girl said. "You ain't the first bit whose da sold 'er off. Tough times all 'round. Face be damned, but I's never thought to meet true flesh o' Darkwood Marc! Bloody, nasty piece he was—an' it never struck you why them strangers came 'round? Did you see 'im do away wif the rest?"

Credence wriggled under the girl's tight grip, perplexed by every word that tumbled from her wicked mouth.

"What in sixty hells are you saying," Credence snapped, letting out an exasperated breath and relaxing her weight into the girl's hold.

The girl answered with a dark stare.

"Stupid bitch," she mumbled and released Credence's chin. "Is a dumb walker who acts the saint. Tha' mighta flown when it was Jon Dandy at Darkwood's lookin' for a bit o' innocence, but tha's not the kind we barter 'round 'ere, no-no-no. They wants 'em trained and not cryin'. You'll do good to change tha' story fast. An' I knows you're not the lady you say—look at the blood on you! You knows a good fight, aye, I'd put coin on tha'. Now tell us true: Wha's the worst you ever 'ad to do?"

Credence considered the question carefully before whispering in a cracked voice, "I've killed before."

"So? Want me to shake? Stomp off, I've killed!" The girl pointed at different people in the cart. "He's killed, she's killed, everyone's killed. I mean wif a stranger! Wha's the worst you ever did wif one o' them?"

"Stranger?"

"Piece o' rot wantin' to root for silk! 'ow can you be so dim?"

The last of the girl's patience left and she lashed out. The bones she called arms were surprisingly strong, and she held her victim down and shoved her hand under the skirt of Credence's dress.

Credence choked out a small gasp as fingers poked and pinched her body. The girl moved with the swift mechanality of a buyer appraising a calf, going from one area to the next with dwindling interest. She scoffed when she found Credence's missing pinky but quickly moved on, as if nothing was amiss about a hand lacking fingers. With a dissatisfied grunt she released her hold and pushed Credence back against the iron bars, with no more effort than it would have taken to toss a flower petal.

Fingers shot out and caught Credence's bottom lip, tugging it until her mouth opened, and those same fingers, with dirt and foulness trapped beneath their nails, slipped inside to poke at Credence's cheeks and tug at her teeth.

"Was Marc soppy 'bout 'is own flesh? Did you only sing an' dance? Make a little gold for playin' dutiful daughter?"

The girl raised a hand into the air, threatening to strike.

"They hit you? Tha' it? You's a fast healer, so's the bruises dinnit show after a 'our?"

The girl lowered her hand. She gave a final grunt and slumped against the bars, and there was a blessed moment of silence while she thought something over.

"Proo-tection spell, eh? From mam?" The girl shook her head. "Ol' mam sends little lady out o' 'ouse—for why? Dyin' I'll bet." A whimper crept into her voice, and for a few moments the only sound in the cart was the girl's soft crying. "You gettin' a life wif love. An' stranger's kept back." She sniffed a hateful sob back into her nose. "Is not fair."

Her tears dried in a blink and she turned to Credence, her eyes sparkling with a bad idea.

"Well, little bird, this ain't the old 'ome, it's the new 'ome, and I's ain't yer old mam, I's yer new mam. My rules is diff'rent from old mam's rules, and my first rule is: You need lessons."

Credence balked. What could this creature possibly teach her?

"Lessons? For what?"

"Every-fing, 'parently."

The cart abruptly stopped, gently tossing everyone to one side. Behind the covering, men's voices called out.

"Be quiet," the girl instructed. "Stay wif me an' let me do all the talk." She paused. "Wha's yer name?"

After what had passed between them, such a question was darkly humorous.

"Credence."

The girl pointed to her own face.

"Wonda. There. Now we's best mates."