Journey of a Girl

Polite Society: Chapter Two

The cover was ripped from the wagon, creating a great whoosh of cold air.

Pleased murmurs rose from the prisoners as they took their first clean breath. The night's chill was a blessing until a man, one of the captors, put his hands on the iron bars and shoved his face against a gap.

"Time to stretch those legs," he said with a smirk. "One after the other, if you please, an' we'll get this done quick an' easy. Try to escape—" He turned his head and the people in the cart followed his stare to a young man with a hard face who was aiming a bow at them. "Then he's got to take you down. We mean to have us a nice, quiet evening, so find your manners."

Wonda's croak split through the air, "Find manners up your arse!"

A few of the others in the cart snickered at her insolence. The man looked at her, dark amusement dancing on his face.

"I'll have one for you, froggy, when we meet outside." His eyes fell upon Credence, and he noticed her arm trapped tightly in Wonda's grip. "You made a friend of the little lady, I see. But she'd do best to stay away. Her kind's too good for vermin like you." Wonda snarled and rushed towards him, but the man only laughed. "A lesson you want, a lesson you'll be then."

His expression grew dark. He turned to the rest of the cart and held up iron chains.

"Next one makes a fuss, I'll gut them myself."

Wonda pulled Credence in front of her, and one by one people filed out of the cart. Just before they hopped down, heavy shackles were locked around their ankles, connecting everyone in a single line. When it was Credence's turn, the man placed a kiss on her ankle before closing a shackle around it.

"Ladies must be treated with gentility," he said. "They fetch a pretty price when they're sweet. Are you going to fetch a pretty price for me? Eh? You going to be sweet?" Credence nodded blankly at the foul man, and he patted her foot before helping her down from the cart—a courtesy he hadn't extended to anyone else.

"Good lass," he said and pulled her towards the chained line.

Something caught his eye, however, and he paused with his hand still gripping her tightly. 

"Oi!" he called loudly. "Have a look at this!"

An older man with an unkempt beard joined them, and Credence's arm was held up for his inspection. She realized her skin symbol was the cause of disruption. 

"Darkwood Marc," said the man who helped her from the cart. "Should we...leave her?"

A small thrill raced through Credence. The older man snorted and shook his head, killing her hope.

"Darkwood's dead," the older man said.

"Tha's just rumor," replied the other. "I heard Marc comes with the night to snatch up them what belongs to him. And only after he drinks the blood of those that crossed him. Maybe we should—"

"You're full of piss today," the older man chided. "Never took you for a cow's ass—where's your salt an' spit?"

"Where it's always been, right here."

"Darkwood Marc is dead. Tha's a fact, pure and simple. I met the man who slit his throat."

"Liar."

"Call me that again and I'll be the man who slit yours. I met Marc's killer at a tavern—he showed me the heart and ears."

An air of quarrel passed between them, and there was a threat of violence that hung over both their heads. As quickly as it came, it withered, and the man holding Credence relaxed and shrugged.

"Fine then," he said and pushed Credence towards the line of prisoners.

The older man left, and it was Wonda's turn to exit the cart.

"We's a bonded pair," Wonda announced as the man shackled her ankles. "Don't mean to sell 'er wif-out yours truly."

"Ah, so it's time for a lesson. I did promise you, yes?"

He yanked Wonda out of the cart, dropping her to the ground with such force that it pulled on Credence's ankle chains and made her stumble back. Wonda rose from the dirt and spat.

" 'ands off the merchandise," she said with a grin. "You'll spoil the goods."

"You're not goods," the man replied and backhanded Wonda across the face, sending her to the ground again. "You're just some trash got mixed up with the goods." He stood over her, daring her to stand. "Might serve me better to chop you right here an' be rid of any fight later on."

"I's properly trained, though," Wonda groaned. "Know all the forms an' poses. I mean to train 'er too."

"You're trained in nothing, little frog, except how to bite an' jump out of windows. You think I haven't heard all about your last to-do? Stranger gives good coin an' you repay with treachery!" He kicked her hard in the stomach, then again in the chest. "You know how much that little show cost?!"

He pulled back to kick again but Credence cried out, "Stop it, please! You'll kill her!"

The man looked up at her, fire in his eyes, his breath coming out in ragged pants.

"Oh, aye, my lady." He gave a mocking bow before turning back to Wonda, who was cowering in the dirt. "Saved by a princess, maybe you do got brains after all." He grabbed Wonda's arm and pulled her to her feet. "But too little too late. It's not the Auction you're headin' for, Wonda the Frog. This time it's the Chopper. Now everyone'll watch you put on a last show."

Wonda's eyes grew wide and she opened her mouth to argue, but the man shoved her towards the line and turned to the next prisoner in the cart.

A trickle of blood ran from Wonda's mouth and her gaze fell to the ground. She was eerily silent, all the wind beaten out of her, and when Credence looked at her she saw nothing left of the proud, fierce beast from the cart.

In its place was a frightened, bleeding girl.

"Why didn't you stay quiet," Credence whispered. "Why didn't you just do as he said?"

Wonda sniffed.

" 'Cause I's not a frog," she said in a low voice. "An' I don't take orders from no one. Never again. Least of all me own rat brother."