Hope in Ruins Book III: The Fountain and the City of Salt

The Cook

"I heard her," the small girl said. Her eyes opened wide. Her hair stuck up in short and springy tufts all over her head like a hedgehog.

You scratched at the gray stubble on your chin and checked over your shoulder because someone was always watching. But no one was there. You two were alone. The long halls stretched for what felt like miles, tiled and cold and white, and the sound of footsteps would carry and carry and carry.... You would hear someone coming long before they would hear your hushed and frightened whispers.

"Heard her what?" you asked, although you knew. You had been around long enough to know all the secrets and silent sins, and you knew to keep your mouth shut. Keep your head down and your eyes shut, and maybe you'll open them again in the morning like your wife always said.

This late at night, the Eternal's Palace was emptiest. The generals and politicians and general staff had gone home to sleep while the cleaning staff, nigh shift, and standby cooks prepared for the next day. You had worked here for years, so you were used to odd hours, and the night shift never bothered you. But you were on break, and you had been going out for some cold, dark, night air. And here you were instead: soothing a frightened maid barely fifteen years old. The little maid hefted the laundry basket on her hip.

Why she seemed to like you and come to you for help, you'll never know—you: a gray-haired old man with a greasy braid and martial tattoos all down your arms. And you smelled like grease and garlic. But she wasn't scared of you like most people were, and that made you smile. But she didn't know how to keep her mouth shut, and you hoped that wouldn't get her Burned again.

"And don't you own a brush, girl?" you asked. "You look ridiculous." You resisted the urge to reach out and pat the short, flossy hair flat. The girl had downy, brown hair, just like your daughter's.

"The ghost," the girl replied, shaking with fear and not responding to the hair comment.

You pushed the small girl into a white plastered corner and towered over her, arms crossed. Maybe if she was scared of you, she'd forget about the ghost nipping at her heels.

"You heard nothing," you said. "Understand?"

If anyone caught you talking like this, you would both be Burned. You the first time, and the girl... again. Probably be the second time, but there was no way to know. If it was more, well, the brain damage started after the third Burn. You hoped this was only her first Burn.

You'd seen enough Burners in your lifetime, and this girl reminded you of your daughter. How old would she be now? Not much older than this girl here. Well, maybe she was still alive somewhere and happy. Ignorant, but happy. That was a nice thought.

"But I heard her. Who was she?" the little maid girl asked, breathless, her eyes even wider than before.

"Who was who?" you asked and crossed your inked and hairy arms over your greasy apron.

"The ghost. The ghost who walks the halls at night. Oh, I hate the night shift," she said with a whine in her voice.

"You just be grateful you work here at all and aren't picking pears on some farm out in the middle of nowhere," you said and poked her shoulder with a vicious and scarred finger. If she would just learn to keep her head down and her eyes shut, then maybe she'd be safe. But she had to learn somehow.

"But I was walking past... past our Eternal Mother's room, and I heard the ghost. She was calling for her mother."

"That's enough," you said, clamping your hand over the girl's mouth. Her words were too dangerous. "You just keep your head down, you hear me?"
She nodded, and you released her.

"But what about the ghost?" she asked, unable to contain herself. "I heard her."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did." The girl's voice rose, and her eyes went hard. She had something fierce in her, and you respected that.

"So what if you did? Who cares? You just do your job and keep your mouth shut. Please," you added. You couldn't remember the last time you said please to anyone, let alone a child.

The girl looked down into her laundry basket. "But I'm afraid. I don't like ghosts, even if they are meant to help us and protect us. Even if they do serve Loraine."

You looked down at the girl, and compassion filled you like water filling up a deep pot.

"You hear her too?" the girl asked, her eyes wide and hopeful. "Don't you?"

Of course, you did. Everyone did. You heard the woman wailing for her mother like a child awakened from a bad dream, her voice echoing down the hallways late at night. You heard the cries and the moans of sadness, and you knew those cries were not made by a ghost. Everyone knew that. Maybe this girl would figure it out. She wasn't smart, but given enough time, she might realize what was really going on.

"Of course I hear her. But it's all right. She won't hurt you," you lied.

The girl seemed to relax. She shifted the laundry basket, her hands loosening their grip. "You sure?"

"Yes. She just misses her mother."

For a moment, you and the girl stood very close and very still. Sadness passed between you two. Sadness is an old and lonely man looking for his home.

"I don't remember my mother," the girl said, her voice light and... what was that? Longing?

"My daughter is Burned."

You and the girl looked at each other and almost smiled.

"Now, go on. Get," you said. "Get that basket to the laundry, quick now, before someone catches you standing around," you said, giving the girl a gentle smack on the side of her head.

The girl smiled up at you and then scurried away. You waited until the girl's footsteps had disappeared down the long hallway, looked back over your shoulder again for watching eyes, and then hurried off to the kitchen. You could get fresh air some other time.