a prelude to

TRUE DARK
Gary Meehan

Eleanor was late.

Megan paced around the dry fountain, whose walls were caked with fibres of
desiccated algae, peering down each of the incoming roads. It felt like every other member of
the army encamped in and around Statham soldiers, priests, sisters, cooks, blacksmiths,
armourers had bustled by except the countess. Had something happened to Eleanor? Had
she been found out? Megan fidgeted with the knives stashed inside her sleeves. She should go
find her, rescue her from the trouble shed inevitably found herself in, but the city was too big
and too packed. She could search for days without success.
A hawker sidled up to Megan and dropped a sack at her feet, disturbing the dust. You
couldnt stand still for more than a second in Statham without someone trying to sell you
something, pick your pocket, or often both. This one was clothed in a simple tunic and a layer
of grime, and had the grin of someone who had seen too many fights and too few
toothbrushes.
Greetings, sister, he said, the gap in his teeth making him lisp. My name is
Bardanes. Are you looking for a little souvenir of your time in this holiest of places?
I think Ive already picked up the lice, said Megan, tugging at her robes. They were
those of a Sister of the Faith, and had been stolen from a convent by Damon, who had
displayed a surprising knowledge of the sisters laundry schedule. While they offered
anonymity and a reason for her presence among the army the sisters nursed the injured and
comforted the dying the robes were stifling in the summer heat and itched like hell.
I have something to suit all purses, said Bardanes, crouching down and rummaging
in his sack. He proffered a mummified sandal to Megan. This was worn by the Saviours.

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Both of them?
Uncertainty crossed Bardanes face. It didnt stick round for long. Very sacred, he
said. Yours for ten shillings.
Megan turned the shrivelled leather round in her hands. I dont think
Five shillings.
There was something etched into the sole. Megan held the sandal up to the sunlight
that streamed through the gap between the buildings. Monds Cobblers, New Statham, she
read.
Even the Saviours have to shop somewhere.
New Statham was founded two hundred years after the Saviours came to Werlavia.
I leave the chronological inconsistencies to the priests, said Bardanes with a shrug.
Three shillings?
Megan tensed as the grey flash of a sisters robe caught her eye. She relaxed. It wasnt
Eleanor, just an actual sister barging her way through the crowd and using her elbows for the
purpose God had intended.
Megan tossed the sandal back at Bardanes. Im not interested.
Bardanes pulled out a chunk of quartz that had the dull gleam of a dirty window. A
lucky crystal from the Kartik mountains? Itll bring you great fortune.
Its working for you, I see.
What more fortune could I want? said Bardanes. I have my wife, my six children
and the company of a wise and beautiful Sister of the Faith.
I dont have time for this.
Megan resumed pacing round the fountain. Bardanes grabbed his sack and scurried
after her. Please, sister! You must buy something! Show the charity you are famous for. How
else am I meant to feed my five children?

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You said you had six.
You see, even now they are dying. Bardanes face contorted like that of a bad actor
told to put a bit more feeling into it. Will you at least come and say the funeral prayer for my
little one?
Youre being silly.
A dead child is silly?
No, said Megan, her thoughts drifting to her own daughter, of course not.
Bardanes tilted his head, reading Megans expression. He slipped a carving out of his
sack two crude figures holding a smaller one between them and pressed it into Megans
hand. There had been a slapdash attempt to varnish it, but untreated wood still peered out
from the extremities.
You hang it over your babys cot. The Saviours will keep him safe.
I dont have a baby, murmured Megan.
No, said Bardanes, his eyes suggesting otherwise. It wasnt the most difficult of
deductions: how else did a teenage girl end up in a sisters robes if not for an unplanned
child? He softened his voice. Shall we say five pence. No, three. For a sister. And a
mother.
Megan brushed the carving with her thumb. Grains of dust had lodged in the ridges
left by the varnish brush. Cate had been taken from her mere moments after she had given
birth. She hadnt even had chance to feed her, never mind give her a present.
Ill take it.
She slapped a coin in Bardanes outstretched palm, not noticing what the
denomination was. Bardanes seemed in no hurry to give her change.
May the Saviours protect you, sister. Bardanes leant in closer. Sister Edla says
theres been a change of plan. Youre to meet her at the bank.

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Sister Edla: the alias Eleanor was using. What? Youre ? Why didnt you just tell
me that?
Fellows got to eat.
Why did she send you?
I dont know, said Bardanes. I just deliver the message, I dont provide the back
story. He held his hand out. Speaking of which
I already paid you.
Not for the message. Sister Edla said youd pay a shilling.
A shilling? said Megan, handing over another coin. Sister Edla needs to learn the
value of money.
She stared down at the carving. The transfer of ownership had worsened the
workmanship, shattering any illusion she was holding anything more than a hacked-up chunk
of wood.
She thought about tossing it away, but stayed her hand. She had bought it for her
daughter. And she was going to give it to her.