Tales of Ethshar

Me.

There have been others in the past, though not for several years, and they wouldn’t mind more in the future, but right now, there’s just me.

I guess it’s a great honor, but I wonder whether it might get a bit lonely. It’s going to be hard to fit in.

I mean, right now, I’m writing this while sitting alone in the North Barracks. I have my own room here, since I’m the only woman in the Guard, but even if I didn’t, I’d be alone. Everyone else who’s off duty went out. I asked where they were going, you know, hinting that I’d like to come along, but when I found out where they were going I decided I’d stay here and write this letter.

They’re going down to the part of the city called Soldiertown, where all the tradespeople who supply the Guard are. I’ve been down there — to Tavern Street, and Sword Street, and Armorer Street, and Gambler Street.

Except tonight, they’re all going to Whore Street.

Somehow I figured it would be better if I didn’t go along.

Well, I guess that’s about everything I had to say. I’m a soldier now, and I’m fine, and I hope everything’s fine back home. Say hello to Thira and Kara for me.

Your loving daughter,

Shennar

* * *

Dear Mother,

I’m sorry I haven’t written sooner, but I’ve been pretty busy. The work isn’t all that hard, but we don’t get much time off.

Well, I could have written sooner, but...

Well, anyway, I’m writing now.

Everything’s fine here. I got my uniform completed — the armorer had a lot of trouble with the breastplate, but he got it right eventually. Or almost right; it’s still a bit snug.

I’ve been here for two months now, and mostly it’s been fine. I don’t mind standing guard at the gate, or walking the top of the wall, or patrolling the market, and so far I haven’t had to arrest anyone or break up any fights. Not any real fights, anyway — nothing where picking someone up and throwing him away didn’t solve the problem.

And my time off-duty has been all right; most of the men treat me well, though they’re a lot rougher than I’m used to. I don’t mind that; I can be rough right back without worrying about hurting anyone.

But I’m not sure I’m really fitting in. I mean, everyone’s nice to me, and they all say they like having me here, but I don’t really feel like I’m part of the company yet, if you know what I mean. I’m still the new kid.

And it doesn’t help any that once every sixnight, all the men in my barracks hall go down to Whore Street, and the whole place is empty, and I can’t go along.

The first time they did that I just sat here and wrote to you, and then tidied up the place, and kept busy like that, but the second time I was determined to do something.

So I tried going downstairs to one of the other barracks halls — I’m on the fourth floor of the North Barracks — but I didn’t know anybody there, and they were all busy with their regular off-duty stuff. The only way I could see to get in on anything would be to join the game of three-bone going on in the corner, and I’m not very good at dice, so I didn’t.

Then I tried going into the city, but I went in uniform, and the minute I walked into a tavern everyone shut up and stared at me. That wasn’t very comfortable.

I thought maybe they’d get over it, so I bought an ale and sat down at an empty table and waited for someone to come over and join me, but no one did.

It wasn’t much fun.

When I finished my ale I came back here and sat around being utterly miserable. I felt completely left out; it was as bad as when the village kids wouldn’t play with me because I was so big and strong. I didn’t exactly cry myself to sleep, but I sniffled a little.

The next day all my barracksmates were back, laughing and joking and feeling good. I made some remarks, and Kelder Arl’s son said, “Well, Shennar, at some of the houses there are boys for rent, too.” And everyone laughed.

I didn’t think it was very funny, myself. And I certainly didn’t take it seriously. I don’t understand why the men all go to the brothels, anyway — they’re mostly decent people, and could find women elsewhere. Some of them have women elsewhere, but they go to Whore Street anyway.

Men are strange.

But it did get me thinking that what I needed was some nice young man I could visit every sixnight. It wouldn’t really do to bed with one of my fellow soldiers; I wouldn’t feel right about that. Besides, most of them aren’t that nice. I wanted a civilian.

So I started looking for one. I wore my civilian clothes and went to the most respectable inns and shops and tried to act like a lady.

Honestly, Mother, you’d think that in a city this size, it wouldn’t be hard to find a good man, but I certainly didn’t manage it. For sixnight after sixnight I looked, and I found plenty of drunkards and foul-smelling wretches, and big stupid oxen, and men who might have been all right if they weren’t so small I was afraid that I’d break them in half if I ever hugged them.

And, well, I gave up, and here I am writing this letter while the men are at the brothels again.

What is it that makes them so eager to spend all their money there?

Mother, you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to seal this up for the messenger, and then I’m going to go down to Whore Street and ask someone. Not one of my barracksmates, but someone who works there. I’ll just ask why the men all go there every sixnight.

Maybe if I can figure that out, it’ll give me some idea what I should do!

Love,

Shennar

* * *

Dear Mother,

I met the most wonderful man! And you’ll never guess where.

I’d gone down to Whore Street, the way I told you I was planning to, and at first I just walked up and down the street — it’s only seven blocks long — just looking at the brothels and listening to the people. But after awhile that wasn’t getting me anywhere, so I got up my nerve and went up to one of the doors and knocked.

This woman who wasn’t wearing anything but a chiffon skirt and a feather in her hair answered, and took one look at me, and said, “I’m sorry, but you must have the wrong place.” And she tried to shut the door.

Well, I wasn’t going to give up that easily; I was afraid that I’d never be able to get up the nerve to try again if I once backed down. So I put my foot in the door and pushed back.

I tried to tell her I just wanted to talk to someone, but she wasn’t listening; instead she was calling, “Tabar! Tabar, quick!”

I pushed in through the door and I tried to catch her by the arm, since she wasn’t wearing any tunic I could grab, but I couldn’t get a solid hold, and then this voice deep as distant thunder said, “Is there a problem?”

And I looked up — really up, Mother! And there was this face looking down at me with the most spectacular mustache and big dark eyes.

“She wouldn’t let me in,” I said, and I let the woman go. She ran off and left me face to face with this huge man — we’d have been nose to nose if he hadn’t been so tall.

“We don’t accept women as customers here,” he said. “You could try Beautiful Phera’s Place, two doors down.”

“I’m not a customer,” I told him.

“If you have a complaint you can tell me,” he said. “Though I don’t promise we’ll do anything about it.”

“It’s not a complaint, exactly,” I said, “but I’d like to talk to you.”

He nodded, and led the way to a little room off to one side.