The Dreaming


The chamber is unfamiliar, yet Meg somehow know it's hers. The witchlight that limns the ceiling somehow makes the angles of the room seem wrong, even sinister, but the rich furnishings and the luxurious details are somehow familiar. She can only see part of it, because she is lying flat on her back.

What woke her is that she can't breathe. Her mouth and throat seem to be blocked, and when she reaches to clear the blockage, she encounters living flesh, or something very like it. Half of what she touches is soft and fleshy, like a worm in fresh-turned earth; the other half is scaled, like a tiny dragon. Suddenly she feels pain in that hand, and she knows a sharp claw has torn her flesh.

She can feel scrabbling in her throat. The thing is crawling inside her.

Meg starts to panic. She knows she can hold her breath for a long time--which is true, Meg thinks in some way, but not in the way she believes, although that makes no sense--but if she passes out here, with this thing halfway inside her, she knows she will die.

She begins to pull at the thing in earnest, ignoring its efforts to stop her with its sharp claws. She is strong, but it is determined, and time is on its side. She can feel the thing in her throat and in her lungs, and darkness is beginning to claim her.

Then there is a blinding light and a horrible, horrible burning, from her mouth deep down into her starved lungs. After a moment of sheer agony, she can breathe again, although the rush of air over raw tissue is excruciating, almost enough to make her pass out in and of itself. She can smell and taste the ashes of the thing in her mouth, nauseating her.

There is a hand at her back, a friend's hand, helping her sit up. The gorge rises in her throat, and the pain is almost enough to make her black out. She closes her eyes ...

... and when she opens them again, she is sitting up in her bed in her own chamber, and from the pale light coming in from outside, it's not long before dawn. Her hand is unmarked, and the fresh, sweet air she's breathing in doesn't hurt in the slightest.

The feeling of choking is so close. Meg throws aside the covers and staggers from her bed to the window. Hands fumble to swing wide the window and the wooden shutters, but eventually she manages it. Light and air wash over her. She learns out into the air, lying across the sill so that it presses into her flesh, and breathes in large gulps.

It is well. She is well. It is gone.

Below her she can see her garden. And it is her garden. This is her house, this is her window, specially made with the new clear glass, this is her chamber. The other place, with the pain, and the thing, is gone.

Meg pulls herself back into the chamber and sits down on the floor. She makes the sign of the Goddess.

It was just a dream. But it has banished sleep.

Meg stands and pulls on a chemise to cover her nakedness. She wraps a shawl around her for warmth but doesn't bother dressing further. There is a jug of small ale by the bed, but she wants water. Downstairs there will be water.

Meg slips downstairs, careful not to make any unnecessary noise. Jenny and Cat will have to be awake soon enough, and for now she wants some peace.

She gets some water from the water jug and then unbolts the door to the garden. Outside she stands and sips the water, and watches the sky lighten as she thinks.

Who did the friend's hand belong to? And what was that thing? Not enough cheese before bed, must be the answer.

Indeed it must, for despite all the strange familiarity of the place and the things and even the person's hand on her back in the fevered images that are all that remains of the dream, none of it is known to her.

Perhaps a slight change in diet will ensure that the nightmare is not repeated.

After a while, the sun rises, the hustle and bustle of the day in Meg's home begins.

[Tell us what Meg does with her day.]

Meg's day is as busy as usual. After breaking her fast, she heads over to her daughter Maureen's (casting: Jacinta Stapleton) house to help out with the new baby, or rather keep the three children occupied while their mother has a few moments peace. Anna is now chattering away, and big brother Simon is keen to head over to Uncle Garth's (casting: Daniel Frederiksen) to play with his cousins. Meg goes with them, and has a quiet word with Garth's wife, Katie (casting: Kate Kendell), about a cordial for little Lousia's cough.

Then on to the market to shop, and catch up with friends and acquaintances. At the bakery, a man slips a note into her basket, and she pretends not to notice, but for an instant looks up, meets Jaimsey's eyes and can't stop a flicker of a smile.

There are a few matters of business to be dealt with, but the household is running smoothly. Today is the day all the family dine with her, and for a few hours her small, neat house fills with children and grandchildren, all talking nineteen to the dozen. It is a happy meal, with good food and talk. Meg broaches the subject of nightmares, joking about her own recent dream.

When the evening draws in they all head home in the soft night air. Meg oversees the cleaning up, then the locking up of the house. She retreats to her room and changes for the night. She takes off her head covering and brushes out her hair until it is free of tangles. In the soft light it is like long brown silk, completely free of grey. Then she slips downstairs again and opens the back door for Jaimsey (casting: Robert Lindsay).

When he has left again, she finally sleeps.

Meg is in a wine cellar with two strange men. She doesn't know them, even though she knows them, but the one she's listening to is a pompous windbag and she'd just as soon be doing something exciting like wash her hair as talk to the fellow. She despises the fact that she has to tour this fellow around her home.

There's a rumbling, and Meg notices the wine racks are shaking. That's wrong, terribly wrong, and Meg knows it. It fills her heart with fear. Then there's a loud crack and the room is collapsing around her. She shoves the pompous windbag out of the way of the falling door frame. Then there's a terrible grinding pain that knocks her off her feet.

Then she is in the darkness, and alone. She knows that time is passing. The pompous windbag is dead, she thinks, and the other man, a loyal friend, is weak. He may die too. They may both die, and maybe her children have died too, and the other guests and kinsmen.

Her friend is telling her to hang on, that someone is coming for them, he can see it, but she's not sure she believes him. Then there's a light, and she knows she's not going to die. She's going to live.

And then Meg wakes up in her own bed again. She's lying on her back, not her stomach, and her legs don't hurt and she knows she can move them. She would have thought that the busy day and the late visit would have left her too tired to dream, but she would have been wrong.

At least this time she doesn't wake up gasping. It is almost a comfort. Meg lies still in bed. To dream of death two nights in a row is not for the faint of heart. But they are not truly dreams of death, she tells herself. Both times she thought she was dying, and yet did not. Not so bad really, she tells herself, and believes it enough to return to sleep until morning has properly arrived.

When the day begins more conventionally, Meg deviates slightly from her normal plans. Today she'd planned to buy cloth for a new dress for herself. Instead she'll head to StTrista's Church, next to the orphanage. She is due to visit the orphanage this week anyway, and she can stop in there after lighting a candle to the Goddess.

When Meg arrives at St. Trista's, she sees that a family has brought a new baby to be blessed by the Goddess. The young mother is proud and happy, and her husband supports her as she brings the infant forward to be blessed by the priestess.

The entire family is gathered, and as Meg lights her candle, she can see them all. There is the new mother and her husband and their chubby-faced blond children, the husband's parents and his sisters and brother, and the mother's mother and an older woman who is probably the matriarch. All the women in the mother's family look alike, almost like one woman caught in a succession of portraits, with the blonde hair that peeks out from matronly headgear fading to iron grey and white in the older women.

They pass her on the way out, and Meg hears the mother-in-law tell the new mother that her husband had the same trick of grabbing any finger put in his way at that age.

Meg smiles automatically at the baby and the happy family around. The tilt of the head held at the same angle, a turn of phrase, the same expression chasing across different faces. Family shows in so many ways.

It is a pity... It is a pity that is has not been appropriate for her to have children of her own. But there were Peter's to look after and she loves them like her own.

Meg quashes the brief regret as unworthy of her, especially so in a church of the Goddess. She has not lacked for family, what she did not have, she built herself.

Meg spends a few more moments in prayer and reflection, and then collects up her basket of little gifts for the children and heads to the orphanage.

Sister Verity shows Meg to Mother Prudence's office. Mother Prudence was a young Sister when Meg was a girl. It takes her a long time to rise from her chair and come to embrace her favorite of the house's daughters.

Meg bustles in and times her approach to give Mother Prudence just enough time to comfortably rise. She hugs her close, but gently, and then takes her hands to subtly feel how much strength remains in them, and to impart a bit of warmth.

"Sit down," she says, "and tell me what you've been up to."

Mother Prudence has time to chat, Meg knows, because Sister Charity, who was a novice when Meg left the orphanage, does most of her work now. If Mother Prudence steps down, Sister Charity will take her place.

"Well, little Louisa has had a bit of a cold, so I've had the others over to visit with me while she gets better." Meg happily chats about her family before moving onto other matters.

"Now, I've had a thought about Jonas and how he's always going on about being a soldier. Mistress Hannah has a cousin who's son is captain of Lord Ronde's guards in Hinton. I could have a word with her, and see if her cousin would be willing to recommend Jonas for a position." Meg rattles on without given Mother Prudence a chance to speak. "Now I know it's quite a long way away, and it's not ideal to send a boy so far without anyone to look out for him, but he's a big strong lad, with a sensible head on his shoulders, and he'll need to make his own way in the world soon. And if Mistress Hannah's cousin could be persuaded to keep an eye on him, then it might be the very thing for him. What do you think?"

Having presented her idea, Meg sits back to watch how Mother Prudence receives it.

Mother Prudence says, "It is a long way away," and pauses. "But if you think Mistress Hannah's cousin will look out for the boy, well, there's no harm in looking into it. Your plans always turn out so well, Margrathea." And she smiles at Meg.

Meg smiles a little ruefully. "Well, I'm not sure I deserve the credit, since it's other people's generosity. Just putting the idea in their heads is the smallest part." She smoothes the fabric of her skirt resting on her knee. "But I'll have a word with Hannah and see what she says."

"And how have you been?" Meg inquires.

"Well enough," says Mother Prudence. "My rheumatism is acting up again. It makes it a bit harder to get around. I'm thinking--well, between you and me, Margrathea, I'm thinking that it may be time to step down. I wouldn't mind spending my last few years in contemplation of the Goddess. What do you think, Margrathea?"

"I think," Meg pauses for a moment and her eyes don't meet Mother Prudence's. "I think time has gone faster than we ever realised it could." Then Meg smiles and she returns Mother Prudence's gaze. "I think you have been very clever to ensure that you have the option. You would be cruelly missed, but Sister Charity, or whoever they put in, could run things smoothly enough. If you want to, I think you should." Meg smile turns teasing. "I only wish I had the knack for contemplation. I don't seme to be able to sit and reflect, even when I should."

"Perhaps you should take oath and come with me. But you're so young, Margrathea." The older woman reaches out and strokes the smooth, unlined hand that rests on Meg's knee. "The Goddess lays time lightly on you." She returns Meg's smile again, with genuine fondness.

Meg chuckles. "Oh, I should be no good at that. I serve her best more actively, at least while I can."

"I spoke with the Mother Superior of our order a few days ago, to see what she might think of my retirement. I think she has someone in mind--not Sister Charity." Mother Prudence sighs, and her smile recedes. "A shame for Sister Charity, of course, but we serve as the Goddess wills and not as we ourselves will.

Concern settles on Meg's face, as she starts anticipating the challenges that will produce, and how best to alleviate the blow to Sister Charity.

"I understand the Sister they're thinking of naming as the new mother here if I retire, Sister Humility, will be coming tomorrow to look over the orphanage. I hate to trouble you, Margrathea, when you do so much for us already, but do you think you could meet her? It would ease my mind if you did."

"Of course," says Meg quickly. "I'd be glad to meet her." Meg pauses. "Is there anything special you want her to know, or that you want me to look out for?" Is there dirt I should be aware of? But not do you want her to fall down a well?

Mother Prudence's smile falters. "She has a lot of ideas for how to improve the orphanage. I know there are things we could do better, and I hope her plans will work out well for the children. But I don't know how--practical--some of them are."

Meg, by contrast, relaxes. "Well, if she's not dealt with an orphanage before, it's sure to take her a few goes to work out how things run. I'm sure we'll muddle through, and I'll keep an eye out for bumps as we go. Who can blame this Sister Humility for having plans and dreams? I'm sure she knows that dreams don't make reality with a change or two."

Meg smiles and then looks thoughtful and a little embarrassed.

"You'll laugh at me, I've no doubt, but I've had a dream to two lately, of the sleeping kind, that have left me all overset."

"Sometimes the Goddess sends us dreams, but more often, our dreams are merely phantoms of our worries. Why don't you tell me all about it, Margrathea, dear? I'll have tea sent in." Mother Prudence reaches for the bell that will summon either a sister or one of the older, more responsible orphans, who run errands for the sisters when they're not in school.

Meg smiles and waits for the tea to arrive. As Mother Prudence passes her a cup, she begins.

"The first dream was a horrid thing, but now I've had time to ponder I wonder if perhaps it wasn't as black as I thought it." Still, Meg shivers. She takes a sip of the tea and feels the warmth flow her reassuringly open throat.

"Something was crawling down my throat. Something scaly and with terrible claws. It filled my throat and I couldn't breath at all. It crawled all the way to my lungs, and then it was like it lit on fire and burned up." Meg thinks over what words to use. "Like a phoenix, that burns itself up and turns into something else. It was like it burn up into something else, and me with it. And then I woke up."

Meg takes another sip of tea and then puts the cup down with an audible thud on the desk.

"I didn't think on it at the time, when I woke up, I was too pleased to be able to breath and have no creature crawling in me. It seemed like death, and waking up like release from it, but it wasn't really death, but some..." Meg searches for the right word, "transformation, or rebirth."

Mother Prudence listens to Meg, occasionally taking a sip from her own cup of tea as the younger woman tells her story. After Meg finishes, Mother Prudence shakes her head. "That's a very strange dream, Margrathea. Tell me about the other one, and then we'll see if we can make some sense of the pair of them."

"The other one was this last night and again, I thought I was dying. A building fell on me. Like when Master Weaver's new house in Shaw Street collapsed because that..." Meg reviews her repertoire of swear words and dismisses them all as too shocking for Mother Prudence, but her anger whips out sharp and disgusted, "...fool used faulty joints in the beams. But this was a grand house, of stone, with cellars and rooms cut deep into the rock, like secrets. And in the dream, it was my home." The word takes Meg by surprise and she blinks before speaking on.

"So, as I said, it fell on me and I was crushed but not killed. I waiting for so long with the dead around me, and all that separated me from them was a little time. But then help came and I knew I'd survive. I woke up before they dug me out though," Meg shrugs. "Just dreams, no doubt, but the second one got to me a bit. In the dream, I gave up and that wasn't right."

Mother Prudence says, "No, that's not like you at all, Margrathea. I can't imagine you giving up on anything." She shakes her head. "I assume you've ruled out all the usual causes of strange dreams: rich food, too much wine with dinner, and the like. If you were married, I'd ask if you'd spoken to a midwife." She smiles at Meg.

Meg chuckles at the thought.

"I could speak to Sister Chastity, and have her make up a sleeping draught for you. That might keep the dreams away."

"Oh, no I don't think I need go that far. Just talking about it has settled my thoughts. It's probably just me feeling like a change. Despite your teasing about me bearing my years well, I am getting old. The children are all married and settled now that Jacob's got himself sorted. I've spent so much of my life being needed by them, and I'm not anymore, or not as much. So it's just another change. A good one, really. And it doesn't mean that I've nothing to do, for I've as much to do as I'm willing to take on." Meg smiles.

Mother Prudence smiles. "I'm glad I could be some help to you, dear. You do so much for St. Trista's; the Goddess surely rejoices in any good we do for you."

"Don't worry, I get my own recompense." Meg finishes her tea. "It was good to talk to you, but I should be off and getting things done." She stands and collects herself together. "I'll be by tomorrow to talk to Sister Humility." Meg squeezes Mother Prudence's hand gently, and after farewells heads out of her room.

She makes her way through the orphanage, stopping for a friendly word with those she passes, and clandestinely passing over tiny packages of sweet cakes to any of the children she meets.

Then she moves on to her other tasks for the day.

Meg finishes her day without incident. [OOC: You may elaborate on her routines as you like]

Does she do anything special or different with her bedtime routine?

Meg sets in motion the various parts of her scheme for Jonas; talking to Mistress Hannah, chatting with the priest whose cousin is squire to Lord Ronde, writing to a former orphan from St Trista's who's now married to the housekeeper of the parish priest of Mistress Hannah's cousin's son. Until the various wheels are set in motion to ensure that the poor captain of Lord Ronde's guards will have pressure to be charitable from all possible directions. People are so much better at being good when you ensure that they have no other options.

Those little schemes, family, and the normal tasks of life take up the rest of the day, and Meg happy to sit quietly after supper. But before bed she has one last task. She mixes up the bitter herbs that she has used to prevent pregnancy all her life and stirs them into wine sweetened with honey. That doesn't completely disguise the taste, but it is such a routine that Meg no longer notices. Trying to prevent a pregnancy is a sin in the teachings of the Goddess, but that does not make it any less common. Meg reflects that sometimes you have to choose your sin, and this has always been the lesser sin for her; and then to bed.

Well, after all, the Goddess does help those who help themselves.

She dreams again. In her dream, Meg is wandering in a garden. It's dark, and her vision is very blurry, but the scent of the flowers and the trees is very sharp. She is barefoot, and she can feel each blade of grass she walks on.

Her son is gone and she cannot help him.

She wanders in the garden of her castle--yes, she can see it behind her--for some long time. Finally, she comes to a reflecting pool. When she looks in it, she can see that she is tall, with wavy red hair, not at all like her Meg-self.

While she stands there waiting, the men come to her, as if they have just ridden hard and not bothered to refresh themselves because they carry an urgent message. The leader is a tall hawk-faced fellow. Meg knows him and loves him, but she knows she doesn't know him either.

Looking at him, she knows her son is dead.

And she knows she'll never forgive him.

Meg awakens in the middle of the night, alone.

Meg sits up and hugs the blankets around her. She thinks of a son. Children grow up, and go beyond your reach. If you raise them right. But still beyond your reach. Tears drop from her cheeks and soak into the blanket. She puts her face in her hands and cries silently. She wipes her eyes, and catches a lock of her hair between her fingers. She stares at it, then smiles and twists it around her hand. Then she wipes her eyes again and returns to sleep.

When she wakes again, it's is morning proper and her day starts as usual. She bustles through her regular routine to get done quickly, for she is meeting Sister Humility at St Trista's Orphanage today, and she has no intention of being late.

Meg arrives some time before Sister Humility, in time to see the last of the sisters' efforts to make sure the place and its inhabitants are scrubbed thoroughly and completely presentable. Sister Charity is with Mother Prudence, helping her get things ready.

The children are excited and nervous at being put on display for Sister Humility. They're going to sing a song of welcome for her before they go on to their daily activities.

St. Trista's has been put in tip-top shape for the visitor. Meg can't remember when she's last seen such effort put into things. While St. Trista's has always been a good place for children, thanks in no small part to Meg's own efforts of late, today's visit is obviously something special.

Meg checks the room where the orphanage records are stored, just to make sure nobody's got rid of them in a crazed fit of tidying. If they're still in their chests and cupboards as usual, she doesn't mind if those same chests and cupboards have been dusted, but if they're gone she'll raise a stink.

Otherwise, that's it.

The chests and cupboards are still intact, but cleaner than usual.

Sister Humility is a tall, long-faced woman coming to the middle of her years. (Casting: Lisa Gerrard). She smiles a little, but it's hard for Meg to tell whether she means it or whether she's just being polite.

The welcome for Sister Humility goes very well. The children are in tune and enthusiastic and mostly on key, the sisters are pleasant and appropriately deferential, and the inspection--for that is what it is--appears to find everything in order. Mother Prudence, shuffling along on Sister Charity's arm, looks pleased and a touch relieved.

Meg is not the only dignitary present for Sister Humility's visit. She is seated for the children's performance with a number of significant donors to the orphanage. She is, however, the only one invited back to Mother Prudence's office for tea.

Meg shows her pleasure in the children's success and, as they make their way to Mother Prudence's office, makes chatty conversation about the children's behaviour during the visit in a way that indicates her knowledge of all of them and their personalities, and which also serves to slow the progress to a pace Mother Prudence will find comfortable.

"And I just had to bite my lip at the sight of little Posy looking so serious and intent as she sang. Like a magistrate contemplating his dinner. You'd hardly believe what a bundle of mischief she is from the expression on her face! But I hear she's doing very well with her lettering now, so that's grand news..." And so on. Meg makes use of her full knack for seemingly affable conversation.

Sister Humility nods and mmm-hmmms at all the right places, but Meg has to do most of the conversational heavy lifting on the way. When they arrive, Sister Charity prepares the tea, then withdraws, leaving Meg alone with Mother Prudence and Sister Humility.

Mother Prudence takes a sip of her tea, and says, "Sister Humility, Mistress Carper was one of our orphans, and she's taken a very particular interest in St. Trista's. We think of her as family." She reaches out and pats Meg's hands.

Meg returns the gesture with a smile.

"Why don't you tell her about some of your ideas for St. Trista's? She could be very helpful in getting the community to support you in your good works."

"Yes, I'd be keen to hear, Sister. I'm not on the council myself, but I might know how people will take things.'

Sister Humility is, Meg has learned, from the capital of Renady. It's quite possible that she's being placed as Mother here to help her advance in the Church ranks in the court of King Howarth. A few years here, and she could be placed in a better abbey, one with direct royal patronage, where she could help her family advance in court. Or perhaps Sister Humility has already tried and failed, or her family has, and this is her punishment.

"Mistress Carper, perhaps you know of the King's campaign in the east, where he's rooting out the heathen tribesmen who haven't heard the Goddess' word."

Meg raises an eyebrow. "King Howarth?" she interrupts quickly, but on receiving a nod of confirmation, listens silently again.

"The Archbishop and the King have decided that the Eastern children should be brought up in the faith and are asking orphanages like St. Trista's to agree to take in a number of them."

Meg's smile grows brittle.

"This undertaking will require us to expand the orphanage and help the Eastern children to adjust to their new lives." Sister Humility smiles at Meg. "The Goddess will bless you for your help."

It's the first time Meg has seen Sister Humility look enthusiastic about anything since she got here.

"I'm sure," mutters Meg dryly. While her family does not, many in Abford trade ultimately with the East, sending exotic goods both ways and making much money in the process. Renady's war with the East has not been a popular move in Abford and fellow towns, at worst being seen as an attempt to cut out the Abford middle men and seize the trade links with the East, and at best as a well-meaning effort with an unfortunate effect on the stability of trade.

"I'm sure the Goddess blesses all work to look after little children who's lost their parents in war," adds Meg less ironically. But this has become politics, rather than faith, and that's a whole other kettle of fish.

"Sounds like.." Meg stops reconsiders. No, if the alliance or the town council had been formally approached by Renady, then she'd have found out somehow. "Sounds like a lot of planning has gone into this already. Why is Howarth looking to give homes to these children in an alliance town like Abford, rather than in Renady? Can't he afford it?" Meg smiles to soften the blunt question, but it is edged with steel.

"Some of the children will be coming to Renady as well," Sister Humility answers, not bothered by the steel in Meg's voice in the slightest. "But the Goddess has blessed us in victory so that there are many children to bring up in the faith, and Renady doesn't have the facilities to support all of them. And the Archbishop agrees that the children will be better educated in the faith and in how to live among the Goddess' people. Don't you agree, Mother Prudence?"

Mother Prudence murmurs, "It will be as the Goddess wills."

"It sounds a great challenge," comments Meg, trying to keep her cynicism in check. "How many children are there? And what will they do when they grow up?"

"Work in trade in Abford and Renady and wherever else they settle. Children who are raised in the Goddess' ways will grow up to be good citizens." Sister Humility looks a little surprised that Meg is asking the question.

"The King hopes to send two dozen orphans to Abford."

The orphanage is designed to hold about 80 children. There are perhaps 75 here now.

Meg folds her hands and looks glum. "Have you lived or worked in an orphanage before?" Meg asks. "You seem like an intelligence and educated woman, so I'm sure your ideas are good. I don't want to explain things you that you already know, but you did say you wanted to hear my view."

"I've worked with the orphanage in Renady, but the Goddess hasn't called me to serve Her in an orphanage until now. I can see that we will need to expand to help as many as the Church would like to send here," Sister Humility replies. "A woman of good will such as yourself would be a great boon in helping us build new facilities."

She beams at Mother Prudence and Meg.

"Yes, good will," says Meg drawing out the sounds. "That's why I asked about what the children would do when they grow up. Expanding the orphanage sounds grand, but an orphanage is more than the buildings and the staff, it's got to stand in for family. You can't just grow up and decide you want to be a baker. You got to find someone to teach you. Become an apprentice, learn the trade, build yourself up, and then you can support yourself, marry, have a family, be a member of the community." Meg smooths her skirt. "For most people, you do that through family. Your parents help you, they know people, they can pay the fee. But orphans don't, so they rely on charity too. They rely on the baker being willing to take on an apprentice without their family paying a fee, or someone donating the money for the fee."

Meg watches Sister Humility closely for signs that she understands this aspect of reality. If she's from a class to mix with the Renady Court, she may not truly understand what's necessary to acquire a trade.

Sister Humility nods. Meg feels that she has this knowledge intellectually, but she doesn't really understand it on a gut level.

"Otherwise, we spend our effort in raising these children, teaching them reading and writing, and most of them'd end up working for others and no hope of being anything but poor, or ending up on the streets. They rely on good will, and unlike Her goodness, at times that's in limited supply. We find places for six or seven each year, set them up with a chance for success. Four more places each year is a big ask. Especially when they're little Eastern children. If a man's got a choice between helping a local kid, or one who had heathens for parents, can you blame him for picking the local kid? When helping means taking them into his household for years, teaching them his craft secrets and relying on them to contribute to his livelihood?"

Meg sits back, the corners of her mouth are tight. The world is not as she would like it, but you can't blame people for being people.

"There would have to be additional stipends for the orphans, to induce people to take them in," Sister Humility says, thinking. That people are, well, people is a concept she seems more familiar with. "Do you think money would do it, Mistress Carper? Or would there have to be other incentives?"

Meg brightens at the first sign of intelligence from the woman, rather than blind fanaticism. "It would help some. But what worries me is that we'd be asking people to give more they have, if they simply don't have work for an extra apprentice. Money itself would not be as welcome as the certainty of improved business, but trade deals are a bit beyond what I can arrange." Meg smiles self-deprecatingly and waits to see how smart Sister Humility is, and how much power she thinks she really has.

"The Archbishop could be persuaded to speak to the King to bring trade to a town that more willingly took in refugees." Sister Humility gives Meg a flat smile. "Of course, there is also the matter of the work that upgrading the orphanage will bring now, and the keeping of the orphans will bring to the town, as well. I suppose we can't expect the citizens of Abford to see that the bread they bake for orphans or the stone the Church buys to build a new building for heathen orphans benefits them. Not without a persuasive local voice to convince them of it."

Meg grins cheerfully. "Oh, I'm sure the Goddess will help people see her plans as she wishes." She sits back. "Now that all sounds very interesting. And when are the children being sent to Renady?"

"Since the orphanage will need to be expanded, the Archbishop proposes to send children here in stages. The first half-dozen are due to arrive in about six weeks. More will come after the facilities are available for them," Sister Humility replies. "We hope to see them before the leaves turn."

It's spring now. Meg thinks they'll have to hurry to make that deadline.

Meg raises her eyebrows, "Well, things will be busy. Is this the official announcement, or will that come later? It won't leave much time for building work."

"I believe there will be an official announcement in two weeks. Is that not correct, Mother Prudence?" Sister Humility turns to the older woman, asking with all the apparent deference due her station.

"Yes," says Mother Prudence. "That's what the Bishop and I agreed."

[Note: the Bishop of Abford and the Archbishop of Renady are different people. That's not a slipup.]

Meg stifles any suggestion that this won't leave a lot of time. She directs her smile towards Mother Prudence. "That sounds good. And leaves some time for planning. But I better not take up any more of your time, I'm sure you've got lots to discuss." Meg turns back to Sister Humility, "I'll be busy thinking who're the best people to help out with all the work that'll need doing."

Now that she's gotten her way, Sister Humility is all gracious smiles. "Thank you, Mistress Carper. The Goddess will bless you for all the good work you do for her babes, no doubt."

Mother Prudence returns Meg's smile. "Of course She will," she tells Meg.

Once the tea is concluded, Meg is shown out and is free to go about her business.


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Last modified: 15 October 2004