Wheel of Time MUD

When I closed the door, I held some clothes, some food, and a small surgical knife. I left the herbs - I couldn’t have made much use of them. I left Nerbin. I took what money was left but it wouldn’t have been enough to cover the rent. I know he had more hidden away but I never bothered trying to figure out where. I didn’t know how to explain what happened and I didn’t know what would happen to me once people thought I was an orphan. So, I left.

I wasn’t willing to go to an orphanage. Too many of the ne’er-do-wells that graced our little operatory opened up about their childhoods when they thought they were breathing their last. All too often, an orphanage somewhere featured prominently.

I slid a note into the jamb of the landlord’s door. I had written it as best I could, but it wasn’t as though I’d had proper tutelage. I slipped into the shadows that deepen before they scatter into dawn.

Turns out, a wisp of a boy had found my rooftop hiding place. I left him there undisturbed. He slept too soundly, but it was a good spot. I wandered a bit, feeling confident that the streets would be mostly safe as the earliest of workers began making their way toward the docks.

I had grown a bit and let my hair go without a cut in a while. I wasn’t thinking straight or I was still too naive or whatever it is that makes a young girl forget to constantly be looking for an exit. A soggy lump of a man rose up from a midden, roused by my steps on the cobblestone. The moon was behind me and apparently my silhouette was enough to get this drunk’s blood up. He began to shamble after me like some risen corpse, noxious gases escaping from both ends.

“Hey! Hey hey!” I kept walking, listening to his steps in case they got faster. “Ol’ Hingo jus wants ta give ya a lil somethin’. Or a big somethin’.”

He laughed. I froze. I knew I was supposed to run or kick or anything but that. I felt a hand grab my shoulder and spin me. I wasn’t breathing. I tried to make myself small, though the Light knows why that would have been helpful. I watched his eyes light up as he got a good look at me. Young, clean, and alone. I panicked and meant to scream, but instead I hurled words at him in some kind of order. I know I said something about sewing an ear to a butthole, or at least I was trying to, but judging by the confusion on his face, it may have been nonsense. He rocked back, his head tilting, brow scrunching as he tried to muddle his way through the drink to understand what I’d said. I turned and ran.

In my defense, I was trying to repeat something a smuggler once said to his…friend? Accomplice? Smugglebuddy? It had sounded incredibly threatening at the time, I just couldn’t remember exactly what it was.

The cool light before the sun rises makes every shadow deeper, softens corners, and distorts shapes. That was the light on the docks that morning as I walked toward the sea. I noticed two coolies stop and stare at me. They weren’t leering. They seemed apprehensive. I looked down at myself and realized I had dropped everything but the surgical knife. I was stalking, my arms stiffly at my sides and the knife clenched in one small fist. I collapsed onto a coil of thick rope tied to a mooring post. It felt harder and rougher than wood beneath me but I relished the discomfort. It gave me something to focus on aside from the thought of going back to Qaim, having lost everything.

I wish I could paint the scene of me elbow deep in someone’s innards, too focused on keeping my patient alive to acknowledge even my father’s entrance. Sometimes I reimagine the scene with me yelling at him to grab the boiled bandages without even looking up. His words would die on his lips as he saw the severity of the situation and the competence of his daughter.

The actual patient was a street thug with a minor cut to his head. He’d come in because despite, or maybe because of, multiple knocks to the head, he couldn’t remember that scalp wounds typically looked a lot worse than they were. I’d been dabbing blood as Nerbin stitched. I could handle that, I just couldn’t get used to the feeling of pushing a needle through flesh. The banging on the door didn’t startle Nerbin as he tied off the string. I led the thug to the second exit, the one without a handle on the outside. When I returned, I stopped in the doorway, unsure if I should flee or run and hug my father.

He was in the middle of saying he knew I was there when he looked up and saw me. I know some part of me was happy to see him, but all I can remember is the fear. It was a juvenile assessment of the emotion as I didn’t have the awareness or knowledge to recognize the anxiety. It was that feeling of being caught, of knowing you’ll be in trouble. The expression on his face was angry, but when he saw me, the contortion of his features vacillated between anger, surprise, concern, and joy, finally settling back to anger. That anger he directed again toward Nerbin.

It took a lot of explaining to get my father to calm down enough to listen to how I had come to be there. Allaying his fears that I had been kidnapped for innumerable nefarious purposes required Nerbin going into the back room so my father could rapidly whisper questions at me. Then, he explained his multiple trips to Illian to seek me out, finally leading to a tip about Nerbin’s apprentice. Eventually we reached the topic of me returning home.

“You’re my child and you will do as I command.”

“What will I do there? I’m not an artist and I’m no good at carpentry. I’m old enough to be apprenticed so I’ll be sent off anyway. I’m helping people here!” I left out the part about the people being criminals and the occasional soldier or sailor that didn’t want their drunken escapades reported to a superior. “I’m learning something I can do when I’m on my own. Maybe I’ll even come home and open up shop there.”

I don’t actually know for certain what fueled my refusal to return home. I like to think it was that I had seen and done enough to realize the island was too small for me. I can’t imagine that was true as I hadn’t even left the poorer quarter of Illian. My world was still so small. I can only guess that I was too stubborn, or more likely, I was afraid. I was afraid of the embarrassment of returning home as the girl that ran away. I was afraid the rest of my life I would be seen as someone who lived too long among the shorebound and their odd ways.

The argument didn’t so much end as it paused. A banging on the door signaled the reprieve. A hurried promise to seek out my father at the docks the next day and he agreed to think about the issue until we could speak again. Also necessary was a short, watered-down version of what Nerbin’s “practice” actually was.

I spent the rest of that night in a fog. I worked like I had let something take over my body to fetch bandages and herbs while my mind raced through various versions of the next conversation my father and I would have. My resolve turned to steel and I began to layer reason upon reason that I would not be returning to Qaim.

I don’t think my barely-blossomed logical talents or my carefully planned pleas to reason were as effective as the simple fact that my parents had focused so much on finding me and bringing me home that they had not given much thought as to what I would do once they had done so. When we began discussing the terms under which he would agree to not dragging me back forcibly, I knew I’d won.

My promise to return, only for the first of many visits, was one I wholeheartedly meant to keep. I only asked that I be allowed to secure the passage on my own and I could return as someone to be proud of. We returned to the shop and my father and Nerbin discussed a wage, although it would not be customary. Then again, nothing about my so-called apprenticeship was customary. Nerbin agreed, this time he needed the private conversation with me.

Nerbin made it clear he assumed I was an orphan when he took me in. He had never asked and I had never offered to discuss it, so he just figured the worst. Now that he knew I had a home I could return to, he couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t. He made it clear I was welcome to stay, which I interrupted him to take him up on, but urged me to go, only for my own sake and not his.

I walked my father to the docks. The only conversation was when we passed a stall and he asked if I needed some item or another. Our goodbye was awkward. I thought he was going to walk off without a word after quickly hugging me, but he stood there staring down at me with brow furrowed and lips pressed together. Then, he told me he was proud. He also told me how worried they had been, but ultimately, seeing how I had managed without a copper to my name, a part of him could rest easy. I didn’t know how to reply. I don’t think I even smiled. He kissed the top of my head and boarded the ship.

My mind kept wandering that night. I began thinking about the future, beyond the next meal or next day. I knew a time would come when Nerbin would pass away or have to close shop. He would need a real apprentice if the practice was to continue and I clearly was not going to be able to fill that role. I knew of a tavern or two that would let me wait tables but from what I’d heard, there was a reason they hired girls as young as I, and a reason the patrons encouraged it. Then, of course, my mind spiraled around the seedier occupations in the city, until I heard a peculiar knock. Three, then one, then three. Gridder came in, supported by Spang.

Gridder had fallen from a rooftop and broken several toes. Despite his pain, he grinned at me and joked about cats landing on their feet.

“We don’t treat cats here. Well, I guess we could. We just haven’t so far. Cat burglars, however, are our specialty. Nerbin, why don’t we treat cats?”

“Probably because they act all purr-snickety.” The words came through Gridder’s clenched teeth. “And I bet having one clawing up the bandages would be a catastrophe.”

“Because cats can’t pay. Now, make a splint for three toes.” Nerbin deadpanned his reply. “And we may need to treat a fever. The patient is delirious enough to think he’s funny.”

The door boomed as something heavy hit it twice. Nerbin jumped partway out of his skin before his body reeled his spirit back in and he scurried to the door. He opened the door a crack and had a whispered conversation through it before closing it again. He rushed Spang and Gridder to the other exit, pressing supplies into Spang’s hands with hurried instructions. They didn’t argue, nor did I as Nerbin waved me into the back room.

For the first time, I lowered the false floor back over the hidden recess and crept to the doorway of the operatory. I didn’t look. I couldn’t bring myself to, and looking back, I can never decide if I regret it or if I’m grateful to have been spared the sight.

I heard the angry whispering. I heard the fearful whispering. I heard the pleading that wasn’t whispered. The stammering apology. The patient was too far gone and nothing short of a Yellow could have saved him. I heard the whisper of a man’s last breath. But I heard it twice.

At some point, I had swallowed a stone large enough to push my lungs against my ribs. It made it difficult to draw a full breath. It made it difficult to stand. The weight made my knees buckle as I stood in the doorway to the operatory. The stone crushed my heart and took its place. Then it crumbled to gravel.

I cleaned Nerbin’s body because it was all I could think to do. Or maybe I cleaned Nerbin’s body because he was due that much respect. He waited patiently as I wept. He didn’t begrudge the hot tears that wet his cold and wrinkled skin. He slept the night away for the first time in the few years I had known him. He deserved to rest.

Thank you for writing this! Your intimate, descriptive style is one of my favorites to read—it draws me in completely and lets me feel every part of Hadley’s story. The flow is fantastic, and I’m already invested in her journey. I can’t wait to see where it goes next!

“What did you do to her?” The voice was soft. “I didn’t tell you to hurt her.”

“I dunno. She started kicking, so I hit her. Not my fault she’s so little. Went out like a candle.”

“She’s awake.” The soft voice again. I heard shuffling coming toward me. I thought I had hidden the fact I was awake, but I suppose I didn’t do a very good job. “I apologize for my colleague. You can stop pretending now, I heard your breathing change.”
I opened my eyes and the groan escaped me. My head ached and the lamplight hurt my eyes. The man squatting in front of me was squinting at me appraisingly.

After many apologies and assurances of my safety, Cleet explained that he had wanted me brought to him for an offer. The kidnapping and assault were an unfortunate misunderstanding. I didn’t know how true that was but I didn’t have much choice but to listen.
It turned out, Cleet and his crew had been watching me scamper around on the rooftops and that aligned with their method of income. He told me I didn’t have to worry about hiding through the night and spending my days searching for scraps of food. My training was to start the next night.

It also turned out, I was a terrible cat burglar. I could climb around rooftops and balance on window ledges well enough, but I couldn’t figure out latches and I was far too loud. The crew, Cleet and his two, uh, associates, Gridder and Spang, sat me down on the fifth night.

“We had high hopes for you, kid.” Cleet said. “Our next job needs someone small like you but there just ain’t no way you can get us in quietly.” He must have seen the growing fear in my eyes. I could identify them all. I was a liability even if I didn’t know the word then. “We aren’t gonna hurt you. We’re not really the type. I mean, Gridder is a bit of a brute, but he’s not so bad in the long run. Only thing is, we can’t really keep you here. In the morning, I’ll send you somewhere safe. In exchange, you’ll forget you ever met us.”

I didn’t sleep that night. I pretended to, but I was worried they’d bundle me up in my sleep and throw me the river. When morning came, Cleet gave me directions and a bundle to deliver.

It was too early for the streets to be busy. Mostly stall workers setting up for the day. When I reached the alley, I peered around the corner, shielding my eyes so they could adjust to the dark. It was strangely clean and completely empty of people. Third door on the right and the secret knock. Three, then one, then three. The door opened a crack and a wrinkled face framed by a shock of white hair peeked out. I offered up the package, not knowing what to say.

“Cleet sent you?” I shrugged. “I could tell by the knock. That’s not a real thing, by the way. He just likes to make things sound mysterious.” He took the package from me and unwrapped the paper. There was writing on the inside of the paper and it was filled with little bundles of herbs. The old man opened the door wider and waved me inside.

“Hmm, let’s see here. Says you’re not a very good criminal. Well, that’s not quite bad news. Truth be told, Cleet isn’t a very good one either. Sure, he’s a thief, but he has a good heart.”

“Never heard of him,” I mumbled.

A laugh too loud to come out of the stooped old man startled me. He noticed and waved his hands in apology, continuing to chuckle.

“Right, right. He’s so mysterious. Well, you can follow instructions, so that’s a start. I’m Nerbin and, much like Cleet and people like him, I’ve found a way to prosper in this city that doesn’t exactly align with the law. Now, let’s set you up a pallet. It’s almost bedtime.”
I arched an eyebrow and he chuckled again.

“We work through the night and get a few stragglers in the early morning. So, we sleep during the day. Tonight, you start earning your bread.”
So, I learned. Under Nerbin’s tutelage, I learned to boil water, I learned where the bandages were, I learned the names of a few herbs. I learned Nerbin’s life story, because the man loved to talk. He had been a hedgedoctor in Ghealdan. Although he passed a long time ago, his crimes are not mine to tell, but the way he tells it, he always thought he was doing the right thing.

What I didn’t learn was whatever made Nerbin good at healing people’s injuries. They were always injuries, never sickness. His patients were the sort of people that didn’t want to be asked questions. I always stood against the wall, waiting for Nerbin to call out what he needed.
I also learned what the looks of different men, and some women, meant. I learned to curse like a sailor, growl like a mugger, and to bluff. I thought I was learning to be tough as a tarred timber, but it was Nerbin who really kept me safe. My retorts and curses were only effective because his patients understood they wouldn’t be treated if they hurt me. Out on the street, by myself, I would have likely been killed. Hopefully, only killed if luck was on my side.

There was one type of patient I didn’t help with. I hid in the back room, sometimes the entire night, when they showed up. Nerbin refused to talk about them, but he was clearly terrified of them. I asked him why he helped them if they were so bad and he usually managed to deflect. The one time he couldn’t, he told me he didn’t have a choice. He said if he saw them and refused to treat them, he was as good as dead and so was anyone with him.

That was when Nerbin took an actual interest in teaching me his craft. Unfortunately, it quickly became clear I would never be able to take up his practice one day. I could remember the names of herbs and the ingredients in potions. I could memorize treatments for injuries as he described them. What I couldn’t do was the hands-on work. The bandaging wasn’t too bad, but when he had me cut the flesh around the barbed arrowhead sticking out of a man’s shoulder, I passed out.

When we woke the afternoon after the arrow incident, the mood in the room was off. Nerbin, ever observant, needled me about being sullen, cajoled about getting used to the blood, then, finally, sat me down and confronted me about my mood.

“Are you going to send me away?”

“Why ever would I do that?”

“Because I can’t heal people. I can’t stitch, I can’t set bones, I can’t drain infections.”

“Hadley, what are the effects of willow bark?”

I hesitated, caught off guard by the swift change of topic. “Mild pain reliever and fever reducer.”

“Correct. Now, can willow bark in a poultice fight infection?”

“Not by itself, no.”

“Correct, so if the patient has an infected wound, we should throw away our willow bark?”

“Well, no, it would still fight the fever that comes with the infection.”

"Should we throw away our juniper berries because our patient isn't a prostitute with an unwanted pregnancy?"

"Well, no. And that isn't its only use."

"Correct again. I’m glad we settled that.” Nerbin patted his knees and stood up, turning his back to me to inventory a shelf of jars containing tinctures.

Once I fought through my bewilderment and the relief hit me, I realized that I loved Nerbin as much as I loved the parents that raised me. I realized Nerbin had also raised me, just in a different way. I was able to confirm that comparison when my father came through the door that night.

I knocked on the heavy door and opened it once I heard the familiar voice call out to enter. The Mistress of Novices sat behind her desk and didn't look up as I closed the door behind me. I curtseyed low, but she still didn't look at me. I knew better than to think she wouldn't notice if I skipped the motion.

"Have a seat, Hadley."

I felt my brow furrow against my will. I obeyed slowly, not sure what this new development brought. Novices do not sit in Sheriam Sedai's office.

"You are one of our oldest novices, Hadley." Was she saying my name too much? Was I being paranoid? "Ordinarily, that means the novice is too weak in the power to progress and likely will not be a danger to herself or others, or the novice has disciplinary issues. In your case, aside from some cheekiness that we need not discuss at the moment, neither is true for you. So, tell me from where your lack of ambition stems."

"I...do not believe I lack ambition, Sheriam Sedai." I was wholly unprepared for this line of questioning. I had assumed my glib tongue had run away and gotten me in trouble again. "I have seen my peers" I laughed inside a little at that, my peers were girls far younger than I, "rise and do all I can to aide the new girls in acclimating to their new environment. Having met so many, I can say my humble beginnings have given me perspective that possibly differs from theirs. My home here offers an assurance that I not go hungry. That, in itself, had been one of my major ambitions before I came here."

"Well, we do not train our girls in white to excel as maids. We will address what your goals will be. Now, let's see." She moved a sheet of paper in front of her and peered down for a moment. "Tell me where you came from. I know about Qaim and running away. I see it says here you lived on the streets of Illian before being discovered and sent here. Tell me really what drives you, for I know something does. Hunger alone did not keep you safe on the streets as a child."

"Yes, Sheriam Sedai." I nodded once. "Safety, hunger, fear. All these and some more things. I will need some time to tell it all."

"I expected as much and have planned for it. You may begin."

I had never talked about it before, but I began, and the words came.

*******

My first terrified, hungry, lonely nights in Illian were behind me. That isn’t to say I was some street-wise phantom of the docks, pilfering whatever my heart, or belly, desired whenever I wanted. I was just a girl, a suggestion of the woman I would someday become. I was soft, too-wet clay, so easily molded by the breath of the sea, the cobblestones of the streets, the whip of the wagon driver, the boot of the guard. I was nothing, I was the freedom taunting the smith’s apprentice. I saw it in his eyes when stared too long. At least, I hope that’s all it was. He would never dare risk the hunger, the uncertainty, but he yearned for the freedom he thought I had.

No, that isn’t right. That’s how I look back now and watch my memories. I hadn’t gotten my bearings. I hadn’t learned the ways of the world in just a few days. I was still terrified that every step would take me into the hands of whatever monster lived inside men. I looked a hundred directions at once to spot the dangers that could be coming my way. I looked a hundred directions at once and saw none of it.

Nights were the worst. My first night in the docksides was my luckiest and I hadn’t even known it at the time. The search party had stopped when the sun went down. My parents kept looking but the lanterns hadn’t been lit so they had to call an end.
I look back at the foolishness of my youth, to think my parents could have ever wished for a life without one of their children. To think seasickness in a child of Qaim meant I should no longer be a child of Qaim. We were not Atha’an Miere. We were Seafolk-adjacent. Nevermind that, I did what I did, and perhaps it could have been no other way.

I spent that first night trailing two street urchins, younger than I. I assumed they knew where children could spend the night. I was right, they knew the forgotten children of the world slept amidst trash heaps. They made their way down an alley and I slunk in behind them. As they made a hollow in a rubbish pile, I found a small niche where buildings met. I found a half a mealy apple and made it my dinner. I watched as the boy, maybe older than I was, maybe not, pushed garbage around to conceal himself and the girl. A sister? A lover? I comforted myself with the thought of the happiness they somehow found among the refuse. I convinced myself things weren’t so bad and I drifted off to sleep.

I woke to the yells of the boy and almost left my niche. He was fighting. Three sailors had come down the alley. No, one of the sailors was knocking the boy around, who was helpless against the large man. The other two had found the girl. I slowly secreted myself away and closed my eyes. I didn’t sleep and I tried not to hear.

The next morning, I crept out as the crowds grew. I walked numbly up to a stall where a portly woman was skewering meat for the charcoal grill. She scowled and told me she had nothing for me. When I told her I needed a knife, she glared at me. When I told her I needed to cut off my hair, she paused. She did it for me.

If you can’t defend yourself on the street, stay off the street. I spent days wandering, eating scraps, drinking from puddles. The Manetherendrelle was surprisingly filthy for such a large river by the time it met the Sea of Storms. It gathered all the filth of the surrounding city and dumped it into the ocean. Not realizing my part as a scavenger contributed to this fetid ecosystem, I thought I was above them. Maybe location gives perspective. I was actually above them. Small and light, I crept along the rooftops, having learned my safety lay in being unreachable. I looked down on them as I looked down on them.

Each night I crept back to my home, a place where three buildings met. They met unevenly and their overlapping roofs hid me from sun, rain, and other people. I spent my days hungry, only eating at night when I unloaded the fruits of my urban foraging. I found safety in being no one. I found my security was being unseen.

I found myself woken with a hand over my mouth, yanked backward from my tiny home. I kicked futilely until a second man punched me in the thigh. My world became pain, pushing back the fear. I looked up at my captors, wondering if I’d let my hair grow too long. Neither was large, in fact, they were both slender and rather short. I squirmed as hard as I could, but their grips were iron. I felt a blow to the back of my head and the night took me.

“Boss wants a word.” The whisper slithered into my mind through the darkness.

*******

A knock at the door. A call to enter. I saw a white dress from the corner of my eye so I didn't stand. A mug placed on the desk in front of me, and the dress disappeared.

"Like I said, I planned for an extended tale and sent for water. Continue when you are ready."

I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. I had been staring at a whorl in the wood of the desk and found it again.