The Wise Women

Part 1: Chapter 1

'Your Ma and I miss you very much. We hope you'll be back from the front to see us soon. Love Pa.' Nesta's quill scratched across the paper.

'All done, Mr Hill. That'll be two copper, please.' She smoothed blotting paper over the page, folded it in half and tucked it into an envelope. Her ruddy-cheeked customer dug his fat fists into the pockets of his breeches and pulled out a handful of coins.

'Thank you, young lady.' He pressed the warm metal into her palm. 'I'll see you next week.'

'See you next week.' She smiled wearily as he turned to leave, taking in the queue behind him which snaked all the way to the post office door.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

'How can I help you today, Mrs Brewer?' She blinked twice and leaned across her writing desk to focus on the frail old woman who'd just taken the seat opposite. Red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes stared back at her out of a pale, lined face.

'It's m- my grandson, Roger, see,' the old woman stammered, gnarled fingers worrying at the collar of her threadbare tunic. 'He's been camped at the border with Frailing for weeks now, waiting for the Empress's order to invade. Well, it got too much for him, see. He was always such a delicate, sensitive b- boy.' She wiped her nose on her sleeve and took a ragged breath in, her bony shoulders shuddering. Nesta could feel the waves of fear radiating from her. Her stomach tightened in sympathy.

'He made a b- break for it, he did,' Mrs Brewer leaned forward in her chair. 'He was trying to come home to me, but the Imperial Guard caught him and- and threw him in prison.' Her voice was higher now, choked with emotion. 'He's facing a court martial. My poor Roger. . .' She dissolved into sobs.

'Don't worry, Mrs Brewer.' Nesta reached over and squeezed her customer's shaking hands. The pressure stilled the trembling in her own fingers. 'We'll write a plea for clemency to the Empress, shall we?' Mrs Brewer nodded several times, took out an embroidered handkerchief, and dabbed at the tears which ran in rivulets down her creased cheeks.

Nesta stretched her facial muscles into a reassuring smile. This would be the fifth plea for clemency she'd written that day. She hoped for her customers' sakes that Empress Sapphira would at least hold the Appealing this week. Her Imperial Majesty had cancelled the previous one at the last minute in favour of an impromptu hunting party after hearing that a white stag had been spotted in the forests near the castle.

Nesta dipped her quill into the half-empty inkpot and watched the royal blue liquid soak into the feather's shaft. The Empress had outlawed the use of any other coloured ink a month ago, and now supplies were running short. Mrs Brewer took a juddering breath. Nesta's felt the woman's anguish mirrored in her own body. A spasm of pain squeezed her heart. She winced, gripping the quill so tightly it bent in half. Her unsteady hand groped for another one and jabbed it in the ink. She spoke the words aloud as she wrote them.

'O Gracious Empress Sapphira, Protector of the People. All Your subjects bask in the sunlight of Your kindness and magnanimity.'

Her head was swimming. The words blurred together. Nesta raised her eyes from the page, blinking hard. She looked into Mrs Brewer's bloodshot eyes. Instantly a tide of anxiety flooded over her. Nausea rose in her stomach. She forced it down.

Focus, Nesta! Her smile stiffened into a rictus. She cleared her throat and forced out the words.

'My grandson, Roger, has always been your most loyal and . . .'

Nesta ran out of breath mid-sentence. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. The room was closing in on her.

'. . . devoted servant. Spare him, O Merciful Majesty, and he will humbly dedi- dedicate the rest of his life to your serv . . .'