A new morning dawned over Caldraveth, the Mother was already awake—a habit inculcated long ago by the Pilgrimage. However, unlike the day prior, she was sitting with the Manager downstairs.
The café itself was strangely closed at what should have been its busiest hours. They sat away from the windows with curtains shut, speaking in hushed voices.
"I can take care of it, you take the children—" the Manager spoke timidly. His words were cut off by an incisive voice:
"No. I have to be the one. If anything goes wrong, someone has to take care of the girls. That's the role you must play; a guardrhail they can fall back on. Do this one last act of kindness, friend."
He could not shake the gnawing apprehension at the back of his mind, nor could he bring himself to refuse his friend's earnest request. The Manager's skinny frame appeared even smaller and weaker. He grabbed an object wrapped in violet fabric, and handed it to her without matching her eyes.
He walked towards the café door; standing by it, he spoke in a low tone, "I'll arrange your pilgrimage to be resumed by noon, you must leave before evening." He glanced at his friend one last time, who was sternly looking at the wrapped object, and left.
With only the shadows, chairs, and tables as her witness, the Mother whispered, "Thank you... Silas."
A name, perhaps no more than a figment of imagination, or a vestige of distant memory no longer of this world. For under the System of Nullius—another one of the Ironclad Dictums of Caldraveth—a name was a crime. The slaves were military assets, common laborers, or pleasure objects—never individuals.
The only recognition they were endowed with lay in the noble house they served. Apart from that, they were classified for administrative convenience—military slaves, common slaves, and pleasure slaves.
Before long, the siblings woke up. Unable to find their mother or the Manager-uncle, they grew tense. Their absence at this hour was very suspicious and odd. The older sibling was about to leave, when a frail figure holding parcels stepped inside King's Delight.
"Hey, girls. What's the fuss for?" The Mother asked, as she placed the parcels on a table.
"Nothing, we were just—" Brushing aside her elder sister, the younger sister ran toward the Mother, who straining her back, lifted the child and pulled her for a snug embrace.
"Girls, I have brought your breakfast and lunch. Make sure to eat everything, I don't want any leftovers."
The older sibling looked disappointed. She had expected to spend time with her mother, like they always did whenever she returned from the Pilgrimage. The upset sibling questioned, "Aren't we eating together, Mum?"
The Mother crouched, drawing both daughters close, and replied in a measured tone, "Sorry, love... Mum has something to take care of..." She broke off, taking a deep breath to recompose herself, and continued:
"Maa has to go away for some time. Manager-uncle will take you out of Caldraveth and tell you what to do. Both of you, please listen to him."
The girls nodded.
"It may be a long time before I can join you," focusing on her older daughter, she said, "so... take care of yourself and your sister, love." She turned to her younger, in a softer voice, "Listen to your sister and stay safe, love."
Wrapping her arms around them with all the strength she could muster, tears rolled down her face.
"Always love each other... and live a proud, happy life."
Sensing something amiss, the siblings too began to weep profusely.
"And remember this above all else: mommy loves you... now and always."
She kissed their cheeks and exited the café, giving them neither an explanation nor a chance to plead. Perhaps, to save herself from the weight of sentiments and yearning to stay with her daughters.
***
In the dead of night, a scheme was born of desperation and a shared bottle of liquor. Two drunkards—the Mother and the Manager—staked everything for their daughters.
Their plan was simple but robust.
The Mother's task was pivotal: assassination of an infamous noble. He was a man of predictable vices who frequented the outskirts, hated by every slave who knew him.
Afterwards, she would join the pilgrims as arranged by the Manager, and flee the city. And once it was ascertained that a Pilgrimage-bound slave was the culprit, troops will be mobilised to apprehend her, especially from the North Gate, as it was the nearest to the pilgrims.
The siblings, meanwhile, would flee using the veil of night's darkness.
Far away from the King's Delight, a man probed a humble establishment with contempt.
"Why isn't your wench at the shop today?"
The man was met with only a deferential glance before he moved on.
He was a noble from one of the ruling families of Caldraveth, the Qathir. He was also renowned for his depraved and dastardly acts; a stain on the Qathir bloodline. Though he was seldom reprimanded, let alone penalized.
Assured of his royal protection, he rarely tended to be cautious. He had made a habit of venturing into the ghettos of the city; engaging in all sorts of vice with utter impudence.
No one dared oppose him—until today. Today, he would be remembered for something else: the prey of a desperate, unbridled mother.
Donning a translucent veil, the Mother revealed just a hint of her face. Her eyes fixed on him, cold and unwavering. She had chosen this man because, apart from predictable visits in the outskirts, many slaves hated him. So, while the guards sift through that list, she could put more distance between herself and her would-be pursuers.
The Mother silently lurked inside a dingy alley, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Her trembling hands became heavy. But her resolve was firmer than any steel in the world right now.
Meanwhile, the Manager returned to the King's Delight: "Girls, have you eaten?"
The siblings nodded.
"Good. We are leaving. I'll explain everything on the way," the Manager said.
Having packed essentials and prepared themselves as best they could, they departed from the café.
"Ask me, if you have any doubts after I'm done, okay. You will use the North Gate to escape out of the city. For a certain reason, most of the patrol will be occupied elsewhere this evening, giving you girls enough time to slip out. Any questions?"
The older sibling spoke, "It matters little that the guards won't be at full capacity. If even a single guard is there then that's enough to stop the two of us. Besides, where are we even fleeing to? We don't know anyone beyond the outskirts, let alone outside of Caldraveth."
She voiced all her concerns—except one: why did they have to leave. Because she knew. Perhaps not precisely, but she was aware of her family's situation. Thus, she knew better than to ask.
The manager replied, "I'm throwing a banquet at the North Gate, you two will pose as one of the waitresses. Wait for the opening I'll create, and then leave. In any event, escaping should not be much of a hurdle; the true challenge will be reaching the Covenant of Eldara. The Covenant is known for granting sanctuary to outcasts, but locating it won't be easy; it's somewhere north-east in Glaswold. So, once you cross Cinderglaze you will have to search for it on your own."
"Hey Manager, get the drinks flowing!" a loud voice from a young soldier called out. They had reached their location, the North Gate.
"On the way, brave young man! The best drinks in all of Caldraveth coming on your table," the Manager replied.