ARWIN

  They herded Orloff and the managers to a stone shed at the edge of the camp and locked them all inside. Then, they split into teams of two and three, each with their own assignment. Brawny Jacque and his daughter Bleu targeted the Tremblée estate. Arwin, Aoi, and the old man, Harl, ran off toward Azamont’s chateau. Others made for different noble residences and aimed to track down members of the corrupt village council and collar them long enough for the people of the region to escape tyranny and choose their own future.

  Arwin and his team followed his previous route to the wall surrounding the fabulous garden behind Azamont’s house. Aoi tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of her lovely dress and used it to gag the talkative wallflower before it could raise a fuss and warn anyone. With great care, they climbed over the wall, then snuck through the flowers and the puns to the back of the building. Wrought-iron trellis climbed part of the white wall, leading to a black, iron balcony on the second floor.

  Aoi, serious and focused, whispered to the others. “There will be guards about. We need to try to avoid them, as well as any staff in the house, or risk bringing everyone down on us.”

  Arwin was impressed by her determination. Something about their little rebellion had struck a fire within her, and it seemed to burn fiercer with each step they took.

  Harl flexed his fingers, then curled them into tense fists. He must have been sixty if a day, but his lean body was hard and strong from years of forced labour. He had a glint in his eyes and a rakish smile to boot. It seemed that he was also keen on overthrowing the system that had abused him for so long.

  Aoi took a step towards the back door and then hesitated. She gave Arwin an uncertain look, a little distrust in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Arwin asked.

  She brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. “Why are you doing this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She looked quizzically at him. “I mean, I kind of understand liberating the flowers. It was a dare, and two cute girls needed cheering up. But then going to all that trouble to free our people in the collars? And now, helping us take out the nobles and radically change our society?”

  “I shouldn’t?”

  Harl interjected. “What she means to say, lad, is that you’re a foreigner. You aren’t blue like the rest of us. You have no ties to any of us, ain’t kin. So why risk your life for people that don’t have anything to do with you?”

  He paused for thought. It was a fair question. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it much. It just…felt natural? Like the right thing to do?” Arwin shrugged. “Wealth and power inequality hurts almost everyone. Bringing down a system that only benefits selfish people sounds like a really good cause, something worth doing.”

  She shook her head, confused. “So, it’s just that easy for you?”

  He felt embarrassed. “These guys are evil. They need to be stopped. I won’t be someone who stands around letting evil happen. And, honestly, I really hate people like this.” He smiled. “It’s nice to feel like I can do something about them. So I’m with you.”

  She bowed her head in respect. When she spoke next, her voice was iron-hard. “I hate them. And I’m going to make them all pay.” Her doubts assuaged, they continued the mission.

  They tried the back door, but, cracking the stout wooden portal open, they heard voices and the sounds of a busy kitchen.

  Instead, they climbed the cast-iron trellis up to the second-story balcony. Harl managed easily enough. Aoi struggled a bit, but even though both men offered to help, she valiantly struggled up on her own despite the ungainly long skirt and the heels on her feet.

  The balcony door was also unlocked and let them into what must have been the master bedroom. The room was vast, with a purple canopied bed, a sitting area with two paisley couches, a writing desk covered in detailed carvings, and a large stone fireplace.

  Large paintings hung from the walls, depicting young, attractive women in a variety of half-dressed, languid poses as if they were prey waiting to be devoured. Yet there was something uniformly hollow or sad in their eyes, and all looked off to the side or down at the floor as if unable to meet the viewer’s gaze. Had they been painted as demure, or were the subjects drowning in despair and humiliation?

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  Arwin felt his skin crawl at the sight of the paintings.

  Aoi’s pretty face hardened. “Belles. I recognize some of them.” She pointed to one. “She’s about the age of Bleu’s father now. Works in the bakery. I heard she was popular before coming here, especially with other girls and women. She was very outgoing and friendly. Now, she lives alone on the edge of town and never speaks. Freaks out if anyone touches her.”

  Harl pointed to another. “She was cast out of Azamont’s house only six months after being taken in. Her face was horribly burned, but she wouldn’t explain why or about anything that had happened while she’d been here. She cut her own throat a few weeks after coming home. Her mother was never right after that.”

  Arwin’s hatred for Azamont rose to new heights.

  Harl reached up and took hold of a painting and told Arwin, “Give me a hand.”

  Aoi looked stricken. “What are you doing? We don’t have time for this. Someone might hear us up here.”

  Harl ignored her. It took both of them to get the huge rectangle down from the wall and lay it on the wooden floor.

  Harl looked around. “Ain’t letting anyone see these. Whether our little rebellion works or not, I don’t want anyone coming in here and seeing their abuse. Not right.”

  Aoi sighed in resignation. She stalked over to the writing desk and pulled open a couple of drawers, then returned with a sharp-edged letter opener in hand. “Hurry up with the others.” She dug the opener into the back of the canvas and sliced along the edge as quickly and quietly as she could.

  There were five paintings. It took time to get them down and cut the artwork out of the frames. Crumpling them up, they stuffed the fireplace full and then Harl tossed in some kindling and lit it. The oil paintings went up as if they were born to burn.

  Harl watched the flames for a half minute, then looked at Arwin and Aoi. He nodded towards the door. “Let’s go before someone comes to investigate this.”

  Aoi poked her head out the bedroom door to scout the hallway. Finding it clear, the three snuck out. They stood in silence, listening.

  An irate male voice could be heard from somewhere on the first floor. From the domineering tone, it was likely the head of the house.

  Arwin opened his mouth to suggest finding the stairs when a bump sounded from behind.

  All three whirled. Voices came from a hidden stairway at the back of the hallway.

  A low female voice asked someone, “Are you ok?”

  There was a brief pause, then a higher-pitched girl spoke. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Light laughter. “I just tripped.”

  The low voice mildly scolded, “It’s because you’re carrying too much. Give me some of those.”

  “No! I’m fine. Really.”

  Harl hissed, “Hide!” Taking his own advice, the old man threw open the nearest door. It was a bedroom. He vanished within, closing the door behind him.

  Arwin and Aoi panicked and leaped into motion in opposite directions, bumped into each other, and as they stumbled, heard the footsteps resume. Arwin snatched at the nearest door handle and yanked it open. He pushed Aoi into the dark void beyond and jumped in after her. He closed the door just as the two voices outside came into the hallway.

  The room they were in turned out to be a linen closet about two meters deep. It was dark except for a ribbon of light under the door. Shelves were piled high with sheets, blankets, towels, and the like.

  Aoi fingered some of the fabric on the shelf next to her. She spoke in barely a whisper. “In the village, we all sleep on simple, homespun linen. But nobles like this have the most expensive silks. And there’s enough here alone for a dozen families or more. Imagine how much it would have taken to buy these in a region as poor as ours. We do all the work, yet greedy people like these enjoy the rewards. It’s so unfair.” Her nails angrily dug into the silk.

  The voices outside came closer. And closer. Footsteps slowed.

  They must be maids. And they might be coming to use this very closet!

  Arwin’s pulse raced. He grabbed Aoi’s arm and tugged her deeper into the darkness. There was a pile of dirty bedsheets and towels at the back, on the floor. Together, the two buried themselves beneath it.

  Arwin found himself lying on the floor on his side, face-to-face with Aoi, their legs tangled together. He couldn’t see anything, but their faces touched, and their bodies shared warmth. He swallowed.

  The closet door opened. Someone stepped inside and sounded like they were putting things away on one of the shelves. The two women continued to chat as they worked.

  The low voice noted, “We might as well take the dirty stuff down while we’re here. Look how much there is! I swear the pile’s grown since this morning.” A hand grabbed hold of the top layer of bedding.

  Aoi and Arwin both tensed.

  Was Arwin going to have to fight a couple of maids? Could he even bring himself to do so? Perhaps he should spring out now and try to catch them off guard before they give the alarm. He tensed to rise.

  The high voice objected, “Leave it until later. We still have to strip the master’s bedroom.”

  The two maids took their discussion outside, and the door closed behind them.

  Aoi threw off the bedding and towels and rose. She put her ear to the door to listen for the maids.

  Peeking outside, they saw the way was clear and exited the closet.

  Arwin opened the door that Harl had entered and whispered the other man’s name.

  The old man slid out from under the bed and rejoined them.

  The staircase the maids had used, small, cramped, and plain, was apparently for servants. They discovered the main staircase at the other end of the hallway: a wide, curved affair with an elaborate wooden banister and red carpet.

  Halfway down the stairs, they heard the crash of a breaking dish swiftly followed by a loud slap. It seemed to come from a nearby room with a closed door.

  “Fool! Simpleton! Look at this mess. You’re ruining my carpet. Clean it up at once!” There was another loud smack.

  Arwin recognized the voice as Azamont’s. It sounded like he was abusing a member of the staff.

  They kept a wary lookout for servants and scurried to the door from which the lord’s voice had come. Pausing outside to listen, they heard a female weeping.

  Harl looked Arwin and Aoi in the eye. Everyone nodded, ready. They burst into the room.