The Spark by H. G. Howell Page A

His master said. “They took her, Gossimer. They took the only family left to me.”
     



 
    H er eyes opened to darkness. The heavy scent of mildew filled her nostrils as dampness clawed at her bones. She could feel goose pimples race up her arms as a draft of chilled air filtered from above. Beneath her, straw dug into her back, scratching at her exposed skin. Her head throbbed like the beating of a dance master’s drum.
    “Hullo?” Her voice cracked as dryness raked her throat. “Is anyone there?”
    “Ye shouldn’t speak so much.” A woman’s voice answered across from her.
    There was a shuffling sound upon hard stone as a shadow moved in the darkness. A gentle, but firm, hand took hold of her and eased her body into a sitting position. The woman strained to see the helping stranger, but could only discern the rough outline of a woman in the dark.
    Shortly, the cool kiss of a porcelain jug pressed against her parched lips. She didn’t care what trickled down her throat, for her thirst knew no bound; eager for a drink, she took large swallows of the sweet substance with a wild eagerness. Relief filled her as the icy fingers of liquid proved to be none other than simple water. Her thirst seemed to know no bounds as excess water sloshed over her clothing. After several deep mouthfuls, the jug was taken away.
    “There we go mum,” the mysterious voice said. “Now, let’s try this again.” The shadow sank and sat beside her. “We should start with a name I think.”
    “My name?” The woman asked.
    “Yes mum, yer name.”
    “Uhm,” the woman paused for a moment. “My name?” She sat in silence, as the throbbing in her skull made it difficult to remember. After a minute of thought she was able to say; “Katherine. Katherine Margoux.”
    “Such a pretty name t’ be sure love.” Though Katherine could not see it, she could sense the other woman was smiling from ear to ear. “M’name is Gingebelle Sharpe. A banker’s wife if ye can believe it!” Gingebelle chuckled. “But ye can call me Belle, like most do.”
    “Thank-you, Belle.” Katherine said. “For the water I mean. I did not realize I had such a thirst.”
    “Aye, nor I. ‘Twas the same when I first woke ‘ere.” Belle’s voice became soft. “Nothin’ more frightenin’ than openin’ yer eyes t’nothin’ but darkness.”
    “Yes, ‘tis frightening indeed.” Katherine agreed. “Do you know where we are Belle?”
    “Wishin’ I did mum, but I don’t.” The woman admitted. “The way I gather it is that we’re sittin’ in some dungeon or jail, or the like. But I do know they are behind it.” Belle spat in distate. “Mark me words love, I know it in me bones ‘tis them.”
    “Who has us? Who do you mean when you say they ?” Katherine’s head throbbed trying to understand.
    “Ye mean ye don’t know ‘bout the Imperial Order o’ Wynne?” Belle sounded shocked. “Any good Valvian would know o’ the Order mum.”
    “I’m sorry Belle, but I fear that I have hurt my head and it is making it hard for me to remember things.” Katherine said, reaching for the other woman’s hand. “I feel as though I should know, but I don’t.”
    Katherine took her free hand and felt the back of her head. She couldn’t find or feel any lumps or bumps, cuts or scabs to explain the pounding in her skull. Worry bubbled in the pit of her stomach, worry for not knowing what was wrong with her.
    “Not a worry mum,” Belle said comfortingly. “Them dregs callin’ themselves the Imperial Order o’ Wynne must’ve stole us.” Belle shifted to face Katherine, just a shadow in the dark. “They’ve been goin’ after right honest Valvians fer months now. Seems we’re some o’ the latest.”
    “What do they want with us?” Katherine asked.
    “Couldn’t tell ye mum.” Belle admitted. “I only know they have no sense o’ honour. Not like me poor Willard. Them bastards took me right from my bed they did. Willard he, well, he