"Spring's comin' early to Rhy'Din, didja hear?"
"It's bloody freakin' Rhy'Din, Kenton. That sure don't come as no surprise to me."
Most of the Marketplace was abuzz with the latest rumors today, but none seemed quite as exciting to Wen as the one about a party happening tonight. Miss Madge the washer woman was keeping busy. With spring on its way, a large number of the local population was turning out their homes to get the warmer weather linens washed and dried in time for sunshine and flowers.
Wen had come by like she did nearly every weekend now. The money someone had slipped under her door months ago had yet to deplete itself, and she kept it locked up safe under a board in the floor of her room. Though she hadn't been out in the evenings very often, and therefore hadn't seen any of the people she had come to meet in her first days.
There was one name, however, that she was starting to hear more often than not: Silas Greyshott. Several of the rumormongers were linking his name to the message that had flashed in the night sky last week. Wen had come to learn through listening that GAME was somehow connected to the very nice man she had met late one night in the Red Dragon Inn, the one who had offered to tell her stories.
"All this hulaballoo stirring up the square," Miss Madge complained. "How'm I supposed t'get these knickers clean when there's dust pourin' in outta the street. It's chaos out there, I tell ya."
"Oh, Madge," said Kenton, chuckling. "It ain't half as bad as it were during that Propersition business. All's I'm seein' is some spitfire of a red'ead out there bossin' 'round a bunch o' stage 'ands t'get things set up fer that band."
Miss Madge snorted. "Ain't never heard of no Sgt. Shamrocks," she muttered sourly.
Kenton grinned and turned around to give Wen a wink. She was creeping up to the window to peer outside herself, and Mr. Kenton was right. The whole Marketplace was bustling with activity, more than she had seen all winter long. That was no real surprise, though. Sure, it was still cold outside, but spring was on the way and people were starting to get excited about the promised warmth and fresh air. "I think it sounds exciting," Wen said dreamily.
"O' course ye'd think that, Poppet." Miss Madge insisted on calling her that instead of Wen. "Ye're a little girl. Everything's fun and excitement ta little girls." Then she turned to shake a finger at Mr. Kenton. "But I tell ya, Kent. Ain't no good gon' come from a machine what fusses with the weather. Mark me on that."
"What harm c'n there be, Madge," said Mr. Kenton, turning to look back out the window again alongside Wen. "People've been cooped up indoors for three long months. A little early warmth without all this chill and meltin' slush is a rare treat if y'ask me."
"Ain't no good gon' come of it," Miss Madge repeated bitterly, and that was that. Wen had come to learn that when Miss Madge put her foot down about something there was no changing her opinion at all. And sometimes it was a little unsettling. A statement like that filled the storefront with a sense of foreboding.
Wen looked out the window and up to the sky, as if it might shed some light on the subject, but the sun was tucked tightly behind a haze of pale gray this late afternoon. Mr. Kenton didn't argue any further, because once Miss Madge was decided on something you just didn't argue anymore. There was something ominous about those final words too; they made the little hairs on the back of Wen's neck and arms stand up.
I wonder if I'll get to see Mr. Greyshott? she thought as she watched the lot of workers prepare for the night to come. Dozens of people were skittering through the Marketplace hanging up streamers and decorations, all mostly in golds and greens. She was looking forward to it all herself. Wen, like all little girls, did so enjoy a party.
"It's bloody freakin' Rhy'Din, Kenton. That sure don't come as no surprise to me."
Most of the Marketplace was abuzz with the latest rumors today, but none seemed quite as exciting to Wen as the one about a party happening tonight. Miss Madge the washer woman was keeping busy. With spring on its way, a large number of the local population was turning out their homes to get the warmer weather linens washed and dried in time for sunshine and flowers.
Wen had come by like she did nearly every weekend now. The money someone had slipped under her door months ago had yet to deplete itself, and she kept it locked up safe under a board in the floor of her room. Though she hadn't been out in the evenings very often, and therefore hadn't seen any of the people she had come to meet in her first days.
There was one name, however, that she was starting to hear more often than not: Silas Greyshott. Several of the rumormongers were linking his name to the message that had flashed in the night sky last week. Wen had come to learn through listening that GAME was somehow connected to the very nice man she had met late one night in the Red Dragon Inn, the one who had offered to tell her stories.
"All this hulaballoo stirring up the square," Miss Madge complained. "How'm I supposed t'get these knickers clean when there's dust pourin' in outta the street. It's chaos out there, I tell ya."
"Oh, Madge," said Kenton, chuckling. "It ain't half as bad as it were during that Propersition business. All's I'm seein' is some spitfire of a red'ead out there bossin' 'round a bunch o' stage 'ands t'get things set up fer that band."
Miss Madge snorted. "Ain't never heard of no Sgt. Shamrocks," she muttered sourly.
Kenton grinned and turned around to give Wen a wink. She was creeping up to the window to peer outside herself, and Mr. Kenton was right. The whole Marketplace was bustling with activity, more than she had seen all winter long. That was no real surprise, though. Sure, it was still cold outside, but spring was on the way and people were starting to get excited about the promised warmth and fresh air. "I think it sounds exciting," Wen said dreamily.
"O' course ye'd think that, Poppet." Miss Madge insisted on calling her that instead of Wen. "Ye're a little girl. Everything's fun and excitement ta little girls." Then she turned to shake a finger at Mr. Kenton. "But I tell ya, Kent. Ain't no good gon' come from a machine what fusses with the weather. Mark me on that."
"What harm c'n there be, Madge," said Mr. Kenton, turning to look back out the window again alongside Wen. "People've been cooped up indoors for three long months. A little early warmth without all this chill and meltin' slush is a rare treat if y'ask me."
"Ain't no good gon' come of it," Miss Madge repeated bitterly, and that was that. Wen had come to learn that when Miss Madge put her foot down about something there was no changing her opinion at all. And sometimes it was a little unsettling. A statement like that filled the storefront with a sense of foreboding.
Wen looked out the window and up to the sky, as if it might shed some light on the subject, but the sun was tucked tightly behind a haze of pale gray this late afternoon. Mr. Kenton didn't argue any further, because once Miss Madge was decided on something you just didn't argue anymore. There was something ominous about those final words too; they made the little hairs on the back of Wen's neck and arms stand up.
I wonder if I'll get to see Mr. Greyshott? she thought as she watched the lot of workers prepare for the night to come. Dozens of people were skittering through the Marketplace hanging up streamers and decorations, all mostly in golds and greens. She was looking forward to it all herself. Wen, like all little girls, did so enjoy a party.