Hold of the Haniv
This story - Hold of the Haniv was written in 2018. It was written for the fictional world of Escafeld, which I co-created with Mathew Presley and Chris Joynson for Sheffield Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Group to use as a shared world to set anthology short stories in. I have listed the world prompts that I used in the story at the bottom of the story. The group no longer uses this world and the anthologies are no longer available.
Please note, this is my last version I used before it was submitted to the anthology - so any errors in it are mine. Also please note, this story is NOT young adult. I hope you enjoy it.
Hold of the Haniv
The call came the same way as all the others did. The gangs had something on everyone in Pauper’s Vale, the only question was whether they wanted you and how much of your debts were real or invented.
The old clock struck eleven as the knock came, three sharp wraps on the door, followed by a pause and another three knocks. Maggie shared a look with her husband, Bertie, and she got to her feet, crossed the combined kitchen and living space in two strides and stood at the door. She knew the matter that was about to take place only too well; Tom and Billy may have signed up willingly, convinced that helping out the Felder gangs would get them the answers that they wanted, but she had still been forced into this deal twice before. Once to get an insurance payment when Bertie was forced out of the mines and the second time to pay for her mother’s medical bills. In Pauper’s Vale, if you needed money, the gangs were the only way to go. They formed the protection and support needed, but all of that came at a price.
Maggie held onto the door and her life. One hand on the handle, slow seconds passed, she held on. Ignoring the facts that Felder gangs did not like to be kept waiting, she held on. Minutes passed until she finally took a breath, gathered her courage and opened the front door. It wasn’t as if holding her hand on the door would make them go away. Three figures, two men, one woman, and all dressed head to toe in black leather, entered the room and took seats at the small kitchen table.
Maggie studied them. They were all Haniv. This wasn’t going to be a small gang bartering for her girl. That was at least one small mercy. The three Haniv members sitting at her kitchen table weren’t the young chancers you saw the coroners fishing out of the river. All three had reached their forties, possibly even their fifties, which was two decades older than the average gang member. That meant that these three were smart, ruthless and not people to barter with.
The first man turned to Bertie, “Go get us a drink, tea or something stronger if you have it,” he placed a file on the table, “we have paperwork to discuss.”
Maggie watched on, just like she always did. No matter their age or her own, they were still her children and Pauper’s Vale was a dangerous place to grow up. It wasn’t just the floods, the permanent smog that they were encased in and the slum housing that could collapse if you breathed on the wrong part of it, but the very real possibility that not all your family would return home in an evening. Children would go missing, her oldest son, Tom, was still on the hunt for his missing friend, Ellie, who not been seen for at least seven years now and had most likely been swallowed up by the more established gangs and then there were the mines. Hundreds were lost to those, every year. But then there the Pauper’s Spirit, the Rustharker Street Festival and the fact that people loved down here.
With the burning of paper snakes over and amble amounts of beer and sausage consumed, the festival had truly taken over. People were smiling, laughing, dancing and indeed drinking more beer. It was quite the spectacle to watch, better than any Imperial Ball, but Maggie’s eyes still focused on her children. One would have thought that they had long grown out of these games. Four, no as of a week ago, all five had left school and were no longer considered children, at least not in the Pauper’s Vale. No matter how she might try to stop it, children grew up so much faster here.
Her children all worked down the mines now and along with Bertie she held her breath each day to see if they would come home uninjured. Goldharkers saw people as so much more replaceable than their precious machines and gave them all of the back-breaking work. Her middle boy, Billy, had once left the mines with burns that had gone through several layers of skin and left his left arm red and tender one night, and had been sent home with a discoloured bandage and instructions not to be late the next day. Her oldest girl, Nell, had two of her fingers removed and told that she should be grateful that she had not lost her hand when it had stuck in a cage. And her beloved Bertie, like many his age had been forced into retirement as a physically broken man, taking away his much-needed income.
But it wasn’t just the days to be worried about, as the light turned each evening, worries of broken bones changed to worries over disappearance as the oldest of her four children, wore black, recruited to one of Escafeld’s most exclusive gang, only to rise the next day, tired and back to the mine. No matter what people might say tonight as they had fun at the festival and lost themselves in gallons of beer and good spirit, the Vale was dangerous.
Maggie forced herself to smile as the music died off briefly and Nell dressed in green feathers appeared on the makeshift stage. Tonight, was not for her worries, every other day could cater for those. Today they were just like any other family enjoying the festival. The music started again and Millie familiar laugh caught her attention, her youngest two were back teasing each other as Leo took his sister’s beer. A quick jab to the to the stomach and kick to a leg and Millie had regained her prize without spilling a drop. Millie smiled, took a sip before the glass of beer ended up in Billy’s hands as he claimed that she was ‘too young and he’d help to get rid of the evidence before anyway saw,’ and Mille’s hands were clasped by Leo behind her back. She wrestled herself free from her brothers in seconds, showing the same level of agility that she had in any game of Escafeld bulldog. Once free, Millie kicked out at both of her laughing brothers, hitting them in the shins, gave them a mouthful of her more colourful language and walked off to get another drink. Maggie chuckled to herself, her children could look after themselves, much more than those grew up on Sensations Court. Maybe there was something to be said for the Vale after all.
Bertie’s hacking cough drew Maggie’s attention away from her children and the fight over an innocent beer, Tom flirting with one of Agatha’s girls and Nell enjoying the attention in her role as Festival queen. Maggie turned and smiled as Bertie’s hands slipped into hers, just like it had always done. The mines had taken its toll, he had his cough, he walked with a stick, yet her would still always make the effort to be just the man that she had married in her teens, twenty-four years ago. He still had the same smile, the same twinkle in his eyes and would still take her hand into his at any opportunity.
“We didn’t do half a bad job did we,” he said as her squeezed her hand.
“Perhaps not, I just wish that we could offer them more.”
“They are happy enough, Mag, we are all happy enough. Working, courting, living, loving, what more could a man want for his family. There is plenty who don’t get that.”
Maggie rested her head on his shoulder as her attention turned from her family to three Haniv gang members, dressed in black leather and huddled in a corner, deep in discussion. “I just want them to be safe as well as loved.”
“What do ya want?” Maggie demanded as the three gang members sat at her table as if they owned the house, “We’ve done nothin’ to earn your visit.”
The woman looked at the other two, that superior look on her, as if she couldn’t understand the fact that she was being questioned and orders were not being obeyed. Families and people maybe insignificant to those but Maggie could remember that look. The men maybe different, but that women come two years ago to sign up Nell, just the day after her seventeenth birthday and just six months ago for Leo’s signature. And both those times she had that look of her face that as she was part of the Imperial Family and should just respect that. Well, that woman may view herself as Fender gang royalty, but she was on Maggie’s turf now. And she would be damned if she would lose out to those gangs again.
The smile stayed fixed on the woman face, the same thin lined lips with that smirk in the corner. The men looked equally unimpressed even if they did not hold themselves in same superior manner. The first man, the one who had spoke before, appeared to be the woman’s deputy, at least his eyes kept flicking to her for reassurance. Whereas the second man, was there as muscle. He was twice the size of the other two and the only one that was showing visible scars on his face. But all of that meant nothing when it came to her family.
Maggie stayed on her own feet, crossed her arms and sent the three Haniv members the same glare that made everyone else that entered her house, back down within seconds. “What do ya want?”
“Maggie,” Bertie spoke in warning tones as he placed the bottle of Escafeld’s finest malt whiskey, that the children had bought him for his birthday, and five glasses down at the table. Bertie took his sit and waited for her to do the same. Slowly, Maggie sat down and took a sip from her glass of whiskey, she was going to have to pick her battles to win against the gangs. “How can we help you?”
“There’s your problem with the debt on your house, repayments to the Goldharker were not made for the last month,” the first man took a drink, “so we have decided to help, look after our Vale own,” he smiled. “We wouldn’t want you to lose the house, not when you have a family to look after, so we have a proposal for you.”
“We are willing to pay off the existing debt and to take over payment of the rent,” the woman said as she pushed a piece of paper forward, “Just sign here, and I can assure that we won’t take your home.”
“What will you take then?” Maggie said, holding her stance and not willing to touch the piece of paper, which had been left hanging in the nanesmanelande of the centre of the table. “You already have our children, Bertie is not fit your services and I would rather not be further in your debt.”
“We are better than the Goldharkers, we do not hold our debts as ransoms over people’s heads. As we said we will not throw you out.” The first man said. “There is no harm to sell your debt to us, you should know that by now.”
“And,” the second man smiled, “we do not have all of your children, the youngest, she looks fit and flexible. She would suit black so well.”
“She is a child,” Maggie said.
“Not in the Vale, she is not,” the woman said, “but if you are not interested then we could always leave your debt with the Goldharkers, I’m sure they would be very understanding.”
Maggie turned to her husband, he had that sad look of resignation that she had seen on his face twice before. Maggie shook her head, adding empathise to her words and trying to shake reality back into her husband. “I am not signing that, she’s too young, she’s my baby, she’s not an adult.”
Soft footsteps came down the stairs, so lightly that if you had not spent a lifetime listen after children sneaking around the house, that you wouldn’t have head them. And that turn in the staircase was perfect for listening in from, as long as you remember to avoid in the squeak of the second from top step. Millie had made it an art form, to dance around the house undetected, allowing her to listen in on conversations that she had been thrown out of for being too young or spy on older siblings.
Millie looked even younger than her sixteen years as she stood there, in Nell’s hand-me-down night shirt, bare feet and her blonde hair in plaits. Maggie cursed, she should have known better when the gang arrived, her children always attempted to listen in on their secrets. Millie drew herself to her full height and stared straight at the Haniv members, she may look young but she was going to show them that she could handle this.
Maggie drew in breath, trying to get some oxygen, back into her lungs. Her youngest child wouldn’t back down here, she never did and never had, not since she had learnt to talk and demanding to be taken seriously. She could still remember, rushing out to scrap outside the house, where a nine-year old Millie had taken on Tom’s friends when she had seen her oldest brother upset and being teased by them. She may look young, she maybe young, but Millie wasn’t going to backdown, she took after her mother, and it wasn’t in her nature. She had the Vale spirit, and gangs were always going to value that.
Bertie turned to look at Millie, “how long have you been up there.”
“Since I saw them out the window.”
“And you kept that quiet,” the woman said.
“Wouldn’t have learnt much if I didn’t,” Millie said, “now where do I sign.”
“No,” Maggie said, she maybe fighting a losing battle, but she had to try, “she’s not old enough.”
Bertie took his wife’s hand as Millie snatched the piece of paper and without a moment’s hesitation signed her name, “In the Vale she is.”
It had gone midnight, when Maggie left her position of watching for the sides of the festival and quickly headed home. She had been tempted to collect in the children, but they were adults and they were having fun, who was she to deny them that. The festival happened just once a year, and they all had day off from the mines tomorrow. Even the Goldharkers knew better than to call their staff in after the Rustharker Street Festival, too many accidents and loss of Goldharker profits the next day had led to the holiday as good will gesture.
Maggie settled herself back at the table and pulled out her copy of The Whispering Mask and poured herself a glass of gin. Taking a sip, she flicked through the pages, ignoring the ghost stories and settling her attention on the latest update on ‘the lost heir of Lhandasa’. Quickly, she let herself become engulfed in the story and the fairy tales of better lives. Ten minutes into the story as just as the kidnapped plot that took the heir out of Lhandasa, through the island of Tallenc and smuggled into Charuband, dressed as sailor, when the front door opened. Maggie dropped the magazine and picked up the knife, that lay on the table for protection, before dropping it again as she saw her daughter.
Still dressed in green feathers, Nell stepped into the room, she paused and offered her mother a smile. Nell gave her mother a small turn, her smile growing as she did so. Tonight, she looked like that she didn’t have a care in the world. Her brown hair was completely impractically loose and fell down her back instead of being twisted up into a knot. There was a twinkle in her blue eyes, and there was no way that she would have been able to run down the cobbled streets in those shoes.
Nell took the emerald green crown off and placed it down on the table, her face changing from smiles to that solemn look that she was forced to wear too often. “Look after this, Ma.”
Maggie looked from the crown and the fun of the festivals, back to her daughter and the practicalities of the Vale taking back hold of her family. “What ya doin’ home? When I was crown, I was still out there at sun rise?”
“You weren’t an Haniv, Ma, duty calls.”
Nell disappeared upstairs, without allowing a debate to take place about tonight being the festival and their night off, then reappeared just minutes later. Bright green feathers had been replaced by black leather, her heals switched for boots, the makeshift emerald crown swapped for knives and her brown hair was back up in that practical knot. Her fun-loving teenage girl back to her prematurely adult self. Instead of rushing straight out house, like the whirlwind she was, Nell paused. She stood stock still, as if she was debating whether or not explain what was on her mind
“Ma,” Nell started, paused, “it doesn’t matter.”
“Out with it,” Maggie said.
“It’s not important.”
Maggie sent her daughter the look, that despite the fact that she was dressed for combat, made her instantly step back. Her daughter maybe an Haniv, but in this house the Haniv had nothing on her and Maggie would always get her answers. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Ma,” Nell paused again, before her words rushed out altogether. “When I was told, that I was needed tonight, they asked about Millie and if she had left school.”
Maggie hand moved across the table and rested on the knife. “And what did you say?”
“That she’s just sixteen, Ma.”
“Good.”
“But, Ma,…”
“Shh,” Maggie got to her feet and crossed the room and wrapped her daughter in a hug, “just come back home safely. Now don’t you be late, we wouldn’t want to upset the Haniv.”
Nell paused for only a moment longer, two years as part of the Fender gangs had taught her not to keep them waiting, as much as you may want to. Maggie waited for Nell to close the door the front door, before she knocked back the glass of gin and poured herself another. Once the gangs had shown interest in recruiting someone, then it was only a matter of time until they came knocking. Her last child was now on countdown. Unless, she could find a way to buy her freedom.
Another couple of hours later, and another four glasses of gins and Bertie came home, leaning hard onto his stick as he crossed his way into the room. The smile on his face dropping as he saw the half empty gin bottle. Maggie looked straight at him, her plan starting to take shape.
“Have we paid the rent yet?”
“Na, it’s not due ‘til secondday?”
“Good, we need to give it to the Haniv, to buy Millie’s freedom.”
“They want her?”
Maggie nodded, “They were asking Nell questions at the festival, and thought I saw that woman who came to the house, watching her. It’s not happening Bertie. I can’t lose her to the gangs, not yet. The mines were enough. The Haniv’s can’t have her.”
“And the Goldharker’s rent?”
“We have time to find it again.”
Bertie offered her a smile, “Of course we do, and we’ll manage Mag, we always do, so don’t you worry. Na, let’s get you up those stairs, the kids ain’t come back any time soon, not when the festivals still going.”
“Bertie…”
“I’ll sort it,” he offered her his hand as she got to her feet, “we aint having our family broken.”
Just one night later and glistening tears fell down Maggie’s pale, drawn, resigned and prematurely aged face. A face that clearly showed the effects of the Fender Gangs had taken its toll on it. Her eyes were downcast and her heart heavy and sorrowful as she stood in the doorway of a room and watched. Watched a single figure, lit by the dust light that was shining through a small window as she readied herself for their latest mission. Once the gangs had got hold of your children, they never gave them back.
Maggie took in a breath as she remembered Bertie’s words as she had sobbed herself to sleep last night. They had been lucky that all her children had been picked into her Haniv. It had broken her cousin, Agatha’s heart as much as it had physically split the family when her children were recruited to different gangs, and family was the one thing that you had left in Pauper’s Vale.
Maggie watched as she stood at the door to the small room that her daughters shared. The two single beds, pushed right to each side of the walls, made maximum use of the room. The shared wardrobe was pushed open, the green feather dress standing out against all the black and grey of work uniforms, the joy among the perils of the Vale, lived on.
A teenage girl, her baby daughter, paused from fidgeting with her clothes as she studied her reflection in the mirror, next to the wardrobe. Millie had a sober expression of sheer determination on her face. Yet none of that resolve and spirit could hide the fact that she was a little girl who was preparing herself for her first duties for the Fender gangs and her final loss of innocence. What the mines hadn’t taken from her, gangs would. The gangs took from everyone, just as much as the Goldharkers did.
Maggie took in her breath as she stared on, calming herself as she examining her little girl and taking in her appearance. She could not be the one to fall apart her. She needed to be strong, and provide Mille with the strength that she would need to survive. Maggie’s chest tightened as she stood there. Millie wasn’t in the grey school uniforms anymore or even miner’s outfit. Everything felt real now. All denials were over as she was not going to be able to stop this. Just like she hadn’t been able to with the others. Millie was dressed all in black, combat trousers, boots, a plain fitted t-shirt and the leather jacket, she was in the uniform of choice for Haniv members, including all her children. She was barely an adult and she was fighting wars like many others from the Vale. Something they were far too young to be doing. Maybe there was something that Sensations Court provided, a safety her children would never have.
The sixteen-year-old girl wrapped her hand around her unique and distinguishing feature, her beautiful bright blonde hair. With a quick sharp and tight twist, she pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail before twisting it into a knot, just like Nell wore when she donned her own uniform. Gently she pulled a black hat over her head, scooping up any loose strands of hair. Instantly hiding her blonde hair, that would make her an easy target and stand her out from the masses. If you wanted to keep an element of a normal life you had to stay hidden the best you could.
“Millie,” her hoarse voice offered into the air as she stepped out from the darkness of the doorway, and took a better look at her baby girl.
Slowly her last born turned around looking so young and pure. The Vale had not yet harden her face despite the brutalities she had witnessed and the loses she had suffered. Her beauty and sense of virtue shone from her doleful face, as it showed all her little girl’s strongest qualities. Where had all the years gone? It only seemed two minutes since she was cradling her in her arms seconds after she was born. And now her baby daughter was a fierce, free-spirited and independent woman, putting her life on the line, just because she had been unlucky enough to be born into Pauper Vale.
“Ma?”
“You’ll be needing this.”
Carefully the older woman picked up a knife off the table and made to pass it over. She held on the knife for a few more seconds, prolonging the moment she let go. The strength of spirit spread between the knife as the two women stood in silence and extended from the boundaries of the wand to them. Was this going to be the last time she saw her?
“Thanks,” Mille replied softly, breaking the silence; she tucked the knife into her boot, before pausing and the two sets of brown eyes interlocked with each other. “Ma, I, I,-”
“Shh,” Maggie whispered as she pulled her baby into a hug and spoke into her ear, “just come back home safely.”
The End
Prompts:
· AGE OF HAMMERS (Steampunk Victoria gaslight horror alt-history dieselpunk gothic fantasy new weird) The northern continent is now unified under Imperial rule, and begins an age of discovery and invention. Old magic is replaced by new science, and these innovations lead to expansion beyond the southern coast; airships can cross the equatorial oceans with ease, opening up the far southern continent. The northern city of Escafeld is an industrial centre for the Empire, and fuels the southern Imperial City’s conquests. The Age officially ends when the empires finally descend into open war; with resources like coal and oil rapidly depleting, new methods of science and political movements turn Terra into a world closer to modern-day Earth.
· Escafeld City: Now part of the Great Calshani Empire, Escafeld’s unique position in the continent means it’s an industrial centre, with the boring matters of leadership and governance delegated to the fetid boroughs of Greater Calshan County. When the Dwarven mines were sacked, Escafeld was in the perfect position to overtake their industries; coal and iron ore are continually belched from the mountains, down to the village-sized furnaces and cogworks. Former Elf forests are now part of the Escafeld Civic Arboretum, which aims to be green and lush, but for most of the year is sulphurous.
· The Imperial Family: The ruling Calshani family became figureheads at the middle of the Age, leaving governance to a fledgling parliament. Instead, their wealth was focused on military and colonial expansion. Imperial armies are the best equipped, Imperial ships the fastest and strongest, and Imperial flags are the most readily waved and saluted by cheering Imperial crowds. Notable Imperials include the ‘Southern Queen’ Titania I, in whose honour the first Oceanic Expeditions were launched, and Prince Gustaf IV, whose medical discoveries eradicated screaming cough and the deadly Alley-Cat Sweats.
· The Goldharker Family: ‘Where there’s muck, there’s brass, and Goldharkers trade both’. This merchant family is so sprawling and omnipresent that any port or border-town without a Goldharker is considered the lesser for it. Many would have you believe the entire family were cut-throats, swindlers, conmen, smugglers and slavers; indeed, the Goldharkers only cultivate this rumour, because only poor people would believe such rubbish. That said, wherever there’s a coin to be made, there’ll be a Goldharker involved somewhere.
· Goldharker Mining Corporation: After the dwarven mines were overthrown and looted, Imperial General Magnus Goldharker was perfectly positioned to claim and reopen the mines in his family’s name. Goldharker Mining runs throughout the Copperspine mountain range, harvesting much of the nation’s coal, gas and oil; unlike other, more scrupulous, business models, Goldharker mines are often penitentiaries as well. Prisoners in the mines are released once they’ve repaid their debt to society; the Goldharkers offer prisoners chance to have their sentences reduced, but these deals never work out well.
· The ‘Goldharker Hotel’: Although Goldharker mines often run as prisons, not everyone there is guilty of a crime. Goldharker owned slums and dosshouses are notorious for gangs running ‘recruitment drives’, taking away those who wouldn’t be missed, or who can’t make rent payments. Although gang leaders are tried and convicted, nothing links them to the Goldharkers, and the Empire does nothing to regulate the productive mines. When someone mysteriously disappears, people often say someone’s ‘staying at the Goldharker Hotel’.
· The Whispering Mask: Printed on defective presses and funded by non-Imperial activity, the Whispering Mask is an underground newspaper. It prints anti-Imperial rhetoric, from valid criticism to frothy-mouthed howling, alongside stories of pure fancy. Ghost stories are rife, as are the ‘lost heir’ stories. If you believed the Whispering Mask, half of Escafeld were the displaced rulers of a long-lost kingdom of miners, pretty tree-lovers, or some other ridiculous notion. No-one remembers where the name of the paper comes from, nor the emblem on its front page; a smiling face decorated with flowers.
· Pauper’s Vale: The lowest valley that Escafeld spills into, Pauper’s Vale was land too poor to farm, too soft to build on, and prone to flooding. All these things are even truer since Goldharker Construction Company bought the land and filled it with cheap housing. Despite living under a permanently smoggy cloud, with cramped alleys and a wide variety of vermin and iniquity, the slums take pride in their close community, and keep old traditions alive. The Rustharker Street Festival, which began in the scrap iron district, is one such tradition that Escafeld has formally adopted.
· Rustharker Street Festival: Although the Empire discourages regional events, the Rustharker Street Festival is held every year on the last week of summer. The Festival has absorbed as many traditions as Escafeld has cultures. The burning of paper snakes marks the festival’s beginning, with an extended feast of beer, sausage and pickle in the middle and a night of dancing at the festival’s close. Some traditions were added to by the Turning Historic Society; apparently it’s an old custom to elect a Festival King and Queen, dressed in green feathers, even though Escafeld has no native green birds.