Baker and Jones Ch. 10

"Your owner is a poor evangelist," Jarl mutters from the pew behind her, snapping Annette's focus back to reality.

Annette resets quickly, muttering over her shoulder, "Supposedly all of us must possess gifts from God. I cannot fathom what his must be," she shakes her head with as little motion as possible. "Why did you want to meet him?"

"We're in a church. Let's call it ritual."

"Am I to accept weak wine from your cup as well?"

"Hmpf," Jarl snorts. "Jesus said he came to free people, didn't he? Well, that's what we're doing." His finger lightly taps on the back of her collar.

Annette slowly accepts the subtext of his statement. A small part of her had expected that this was where his task might carry her. "There are simpler ways to-,"

"It isn't about simplicity," he interrupts. "After mass concludes, tell him you must speak with him alone."

"Easy enough. He enjoys a post-homily walk beside the river," she replies.

"Can he swim?"

Annette shrugs. "Not to my knowledge."

"Good," Jarl leans over the pew, reaching past her as though to grab the Bible stashed away in the little pocket in the pew in front of her. Instead, however, he quietly and casually deposits a rail spike into her lap. "I trust you can find a use for this."

Annette shudders, feeling the weight of the iron in her hands. She quickly stashes the nail in the long sleeve of her dress, feeling her stomach churn. She was correct in her fears; initiation would require the price of Simon's blood.

"Are you suggestion that I-,"

"Straw dummies," Jarl whispers.

"I question your choice of target," she rebuts. "He isn't the same as a man such as Bembrook."

"He's a wretched owner, by your own admission," Jarl's low voice rumbles in her ear, and she bristles at her past lies. "And what is a priest but the robber baron of the congregation's souls? Empty promises about riches in heaven; meanwhile he robs their wages to toss into the collection plates. I'm not suggesting anything."

Just as she is about to reply, she hears the wood behind her creak softly, and he slips out of the pew and out of the church. She turns back and sighs, her fingertips trembling against the cool metal in her sleeve.

Is this worth it? She asks herself as Simon's homily concludes. As the deacon leads the congregation in the creed, the words of faith drop from her emotionless mouth without any voice.

Are you truly going to kill a man?

"Hear, oh Lord," Simon steps from the altar, lifting his hands to the congregation, who stand along with him, "the holy procession of your faithful. Hear, oh Lord, the cries of your people, the righteous and the sinners, the lost and the found."

"Lord, hear our prayer," comes the reply from the congregants.

If I do this, I'll share in their guilt, a voice warns inside of Annette, though the realization quickly settles inside of her, which is what they want.

"For those who are mourning, we lift our prayers to the Lord," Simon continues.

"Lord, hear our prayer."

I could stop them, if I gain entry.

"For those who are hungry, we pray to the Lord."

"Lord, hear our prayer."

Perhaps Bembrook deserved it, but does Simon? He's obnoxious, but are his sins really so great? She once again runs her fingers along the spike.

"For those without shelter or clothes, we pray to the Lord."

"Lord, hear our prayer."

This is the only way, she affirms, trying to steel her resolve.

"And for those who were lost, but have been found, we pray to the Lord," Simon concludes, once again catching Annette's eyes. He smiles.

"Lord, hear our prayer."

This is the only way.

The eucharist and the closing homily pass in a haze for Annette, and with each invitation to sit or stand she can feel her legs shaking and her blood pumping. Her skin feels as though it tingles with electricity, and there's a soft humming in the depths of her ears. As people slowly begin to file out of the church, she cautiously makes her way up towards the altar once more, waiting for Simon to finish bidding a congregant farewell.

"Miss Baker," he greets her, inclining his head.

"Simon," she croaks.

"I feel as though that was quite a good service," he raises his hands and rests them on his hips with a contented air. He glances behind her, scanning the room, and asks, "Who was your friend?"

Annette swallows through her dry mouth, trying to force herself to focus. "He wasn't a friend. Apparently it was his first visit to mass in years. He required some assistance with remembering the correct movements."

"A pity he departed before the eucharist."

"He never went through confirmation," she lies.

"Inspiring to see him return nonetheless," he smiles, then adds, "as it is with you."

"Apologies that it was sprung upon you so suddenly," she lowers her head and carefully tucks her arms behind her back, her right hand carefully gripping the spike in her sleeve.

"Not at all," he rests a quick hand on her shoulder, then removes it just as fast. "It was a welcome surprise to be sure. Would you care to join me for a quick stroll, and then we might see about settling your things into my home?"

"I would be delighted," she eeks out.

She follows him out of the church in a trance, each step feeling as though it carries her into a terrifying new oblivion. As she crosses the threshold of the church, she wonders which of her sins will eventually weigh heaviest on her scale.

"So," Simon begins, setting upon his favorite walking path along the Fennes river, "tell me more about your decision to leave your prior condition. Did something occur that prompted you and Miss Jones to change your mind?"

Annette nods timidly. "Lady Deveroux and I parted ways," she answers, and swears that Simon has to restrain a grin. "My performance in my duties declined as a result."

"One part of me mourns your despair," he tells her, looking out over the water, "While another celebrates the potential of something holy emerging in its stead."

Annette quietly takes a glance behind her, and shudders to see that Jarl was indeed following them. He remains a significant distance back, but it is enough to affirm the necessity that she follows through. She swallows her displeasure.

"Your homily was an improvement upon the last," Annette recounts.

"A joyful improvement indeed!" He grins. "I look forward to one day earning your uncontested approval."

It's too crowded, Annette decides. She would have to wait until they were a little farther along the path. "It is not readily given."

"I'll not expect it to be," Simon nods, a pep in his step. "It shall keep my pursuit of excellence honest and ongoing."

"I shall include 'critic' amongst my duties, then."

Simon looks at her and smiles once more, affirmed by the implication that she would be staying. "Sister Pullwater will be so delighted to hear the news of your return. I regret that she feared you to be a lost and forever wayward soul."

"Might I be the one to tell her?"

"I'm sure she would welcome it."

Annette takes a deep breath, once again scouting around to see if the moment was right. A little longer, she pledges. "Is there any news of the young twice-born girl at the orphanage? Do you know what her new name is?"

"Judith," Simon confirms, and Annette feels a little patter of gratitude in her chest. "I would encourage you to visit her and inquire about her well-being yourself, though I am afraid Sister Pullwater would likely deny it. I fear she will require you to earn back trust before such a moment."

"I'm glad she's well nonetheless," Annette looks over her shoulder once more.

"Are you alright?" Simon stops, gazing back to follow her glance. "You seem apprehensive or concerned about something."

Annette pushes down her nerves. "Simply burden with past guilt."

Simon pauses, placing his hands into his pockets. "Annette... I believe this arrangement will be far more successful with your full honesty and cooperation."

She releases a tense breath, meeting his eyes for a horrified moment. She feels the rough iron up her sleeve, trying to find the capacity within herself to act, only to come up short. Staring into his eyes, Annette can't bring herself to do it.

"Simon, I need you to trust me," she cautions.

Simon shakes his head. "If this is about your sexual immorality, then I'm adfraid I cannot-,"

"It isn't," she interrupts, looking back down the path to confirm Jarl was still a sizable distance away. Annette turns back to simply and hastily asks, "Can you swim?"

He scoffs. "I don't see how that's-,"

"Please. Can you swim?"

"I suppose."

Annette nods, trying to once again build up her courage. She needs to act soon, lest Jarl grow suddenly suspicious. "I need you to hold your breath for as long as you are able," she commands.

"Pardon?"

She steps closer to him, circling her fingers around the spike. "We need to be far downstream, understood?"

"What on earth are you-?"

Annette pulls the spike from her sleeve and slashes it down at Simon, careful to catch only the folds in his holy garments and not his body. As predicted, Simon panics, quickly scrambling to defend himself from her attack. She tries again, only for him to grab her wrist and grip it tightly. She struggles for just a moment, then throws her whole weight into Simon and tackles him over the railing, sending the two of them plummeting down into the water.

She'd underestimated the shock of the cold water, but it immediately knocks the breath from her lungs. It's deep in this section of the Fennes river, and with the ten-foot drop into the water she plunges under the surface. Simon kicks and pushes against her, trying to break free, but each movement is sluggish and slow from his clothes dragging in the water. Annette feels the same struggle as the soaked fabric of her dress pulls her under, and she makes the quick decision to rip it from her body.

Once freed, she desperately paddles for the surface of the water, feeling the powerful current of the river drag them far from their entry place. She waits for as long as her lungs can tolerate before breaking through the waterline and gasping for air. Annette's eyes race across the shoreline, trying to gauge how far away they were from their fall, then searches the water for Simon. He remains under the surface, and she takes a full breath and dives under to find him.

Annette is lucky that the search doesn't take long, though resents that its conclusion is brought about by Simon grabbing hold of her ankle and trying to use her to rise for air. She reaches down and pulls him up into her arms, paddling fiercely to bring him to the surface. Even after she fights to bring him out of its depths and he sucks air into his chest, Simon continues kicking and swatting at her.

"Stop fighting me!" She yells, smacking him back.

"You tried to kill me!" He screams back.

Annette dodges a swing from his failing arms, and grabs ahold of it to steady him while his robes drag against the waves. "I saved you," she asserts, tightly maintaining hold of the rail spike in her free hand. "Now shut up and stop fighting me!"

Simon gives in after a few more moments, though it seems less the result of trust than out of the realization that she was a stronger swimmer than he was. It likely wasn't true, she hadn't swam in ages, but without the hindrance of her heavy wool dress pulling her back, she's far more mobile than he is. Annette lets the fast current carry them for as long as she's comfortable, then quickly paddles to a nearby shoreline, hopeful that it's far enough away from Jarl that she might escape his watchful eye.

Her feet finally settle upon the muddy floor of the river, her boots kicking up the muck, and she stumbles down onto the bank of the river, shivering from the cool air meeting the treacherous water on her skin. Simon follows suit, collapsing onto the rocky beach and coughing up water.

"What... What on earth were you thinking!?" He chokes out.

"I quite simply cannot explain it all to you," she spits back.

Simon continues sputtering into the rocks, laying down and trying to steady himself. "Is this some sort of revenge?" His hands pound the gravel softly, and Annette notices that his glasses must be lost to the river. "D-do you want money? Because I d-don't have money!"

"Shut it!" She stomps her wet boot, plopping down onto the rocks as well. "For Christ's sake, just listen for once."

Simon pulls his face up from the beach and glares at her, only to quickly avert his gaze in a panic. "Where are your clothes?"

Annette looks down at her soaked undergarments, surprised that the immodesty hardly bothers her. It's an unusual look, a nightshirt, panties, and boots, but she shrugs and orders, "Just give me your undershirt."

"How immodest would it be for me to-,"

"Simon," she scowls.

He shakes his head and fights his flowing vestments. His body wiggles and squirms as he carefully removes his black, buttoned undershirt, meticulously ensuring that he doesn't remove his outer robes as he does so. He tosses the wet garment over to her and she slowly puts it on, solely for the sake of avoiding nudity. It actually makes the cold air worse.

"Are you going to kill me?" Simon whimpers.

"Ask another question and see if I remain attached to my decision not to," she threatens. "We don't have much time."

"Are you in dange-," he begins, only to quickly cut himself off.

Annette continues. "You need to go to the police, and tell them your collar tried to kill you with this," she holds up the rail spike. It had taken a great effort to keep hold of it in the river, gripping it whilst fighting Simon, but she sets it down on the beach in front of him. "Tell them I attempted to use it on you and then escaped. Ensure they put out a warrant for my arrest."

"W-why do you want this?" He asks, then sighs and relents. He continues averting his eyes; while the large shirt covers most of Annette's hips and upper thighs, the rest of her legs surely are far too exposed for his comfort. "Okay," he concedes. "Okay."

"Thank you," she struggles to stand up.

Simon does as well, his wet hair sticking to the sides of his face. He looks down at the floor, not meeting her eyes. "So... you've not decided to repent?" There's a moving amount of disappointment in his voice, and Annette grumbles at the sincerity of his concern.

"Just... just go to the police," she sighs.

Annette slogs her way up the rest of the bank, carefully peeking up to the street to see if there's many people around. They were lucky enough to emerge in a quiet, residential zone of Bellechester. She pulls herself up, feeling her hands numb and buzzing, and slowly works her way through the streets. She's lucky once again to notice a large robe dangling from a clothing line set out to complete drying, and throws it over herself. She shivers inside of it, and prepares for the long journey back.

- - -

Annette shudders inside of the Mallet's print shop for a long while before Guy and Jarl return. They hadn't agreed on any sort of meeting place, but she had hoped that sooner or later they would think to check up on this location. She huddles against one of the wooden columns that holds up the roof, fighting for the warmth to slowly return to her body.

"Lovely day for a swim, innit?" Guy chuckles, plopping down onto the ground to sit near her. Jarl leans up against the wall near the door.

"Is he dead?" Jarl asks, his voice cold and direct. If he has any concern for Annette's condition, it doesn't show.

"I... I'm not sure," Annette hangs her head. "Once we went... Once I... ahem... I assaulted him once more in the river," she says quietly. "But the current took me away from him."

"You did well," Guy pats her leg.

"It was sloppy," Jarl cuts. "He should have been felled with your first blow."

Annette coughs, feeling the brief till of fever in her forehead. "I wasn't aware prior training was a requirement for my first murder."

Guy smiles at her, then turns back to Jarl. "Go easy on her. She's acted bravely enough."

"We'll see. At least it should get people talking."

Annette takes a deep breath and blows it out onto her cold hands, appreciating the mild warmth. "You mentioned a second task would be required of me."

Jarl nods. "Guy, bring her to Merlin."

Guy sits up excitedly. "So she's in?"

"Bring her to Merlin," Jarl repeats, his voice void of any tone. He taps his boot on the wall, then slips out of the door to the shop, leaving them alone.

"Don't pay him any mind," Guy tells her, removing his coat and handing it to her. "He's in a sour mood it seems. You've done well for yourself. How're you holding up?"

Annette accepts the coat and throws it over her shoulders. "I feel as though my body might succumb to frostbite whilst my heart is working towards cinders."

Guy groans as he stands, and offers a hand to her. "It'll be warmer in Merlin's shop."

Annette nods and accepts his hand, letting Guy help her up. They head back out onto the street, and Guy slowly guides the two of them away from the print shop and back towards the more industrial district.

"It isn't usual for an initiate to be expected to enact justice like that," he tells her, keeping on roads that avoid most of the crowds.

"It seems I'm lucky," she mutters.

"Welcome to the Mallets," he shrugs.

Merlin's shop appears to be a small masonry, with a few scattered kilns and piles of brick and dirt and cement all around the yard attached to it. Guy leads her behind the building to a small forge beside it, carefully checking to see that they weren't followed. Sitting in a comfortable wooden chair is an older man with a thick beard and a strong arm, and he rises from his seat as they enter the area.

"I take it you're Red," he greets them with his grizzly voice, his eyes darting up to Annette's red hair.

Annette smiles weakly and nods. "Is it still too late to select a better pseudonym?"

Merlin chuckles. "Scared of the Big Bad Wolf?"

"I'd rather be the wolf than Little Miss Riding Hood."

The old man lets out a booming laugh, dropping his hands to hold his belly as he does. He smiles at Guy and bobs his head for Annette to take a seat by the warm kiln. She sits down gratefully, thrilled to finally be out of the cold.

"Let's get you out of that ghastly thing," Merlin announces, sitting down beside her. He lets out a soft groan, the noise of a man who could not help but make a sound upon rising or dropping into any chair.

Annette glances down at the large robe surrounding her. "I'm not wearing much underneath this," she says, furrowing her brow.

Merlin taps his throat. "The collar."

"Oh," Annette sits upright, bringing her own hand to meet the leather. A strange amount of caution presses into her mind. "I... I wasn't aware that was what was happening."

"Jarl's orders," Guy affirms, dropping into Merlin's wooden chair. "Your owner is out of the way, so there's no sense in keeping you collared."

Annette chokes back a surprising defensiveness. "It's quite a serious crime to remove one."

Guy chuckles. "Worse than murder?"

Merlin shrugs. "Do you want it off or not?"

Annette looks back at Guy, who nods supportively. She's surprised by her own hesitancy at the suggestion of removing it. She'd had it for the better part of the last year, and while it chafed and tugged at her constantly, it was a strangely protective accessory. It did signify her place in an underclass... but it also signified that she had any place at all. People knew how to treat her and she could conduct her business within those bounds. Without it, on the street, she was just another wanderer.

She takes a breath and agrees, her voice quiet and somber. "Yes."