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“Snake Street is an area I should avoid. Yet that night I was drawn there as surely as if I had an appointment.聽
The Snake House is shabby on the outside to hide the wealth within. Everyone knows of the wealth, but facades, like the park鈥檚 wall, must be maintained. A lantern hung from the porch eaves. A sign, written in Utte, read 鈥楰inship of the Serpent鈥�. I stared at that sign, at that porch, at the door with its twisted handle, and wondered what the people inside would do if I entered. Would they remember me? Greet me as Kin? Or drive me out and curse me for faking my death?聽 Worse, would they expect me to redon the life I鈥檝e shed? Staring at that sign, I pissed in the street like the Mearan savage I鈥檝e become.
As I started to leave, I saw a woman sitting in the gutter. Her lamp attracted me. A memsa鈥檚 lamp, three tiny flames to signify the Holy Trinity of Faith, Purity, and Knowledge.聽 The woman wasn鈥檛 a memsa. Her young face was bruised and a gash on her throat had bloodied her clothing. Had she not been calmly assessing me, I would have believed the wound to be mortal. I offered her a copper.聽
She refused, 鈥淚 take naught for naught,鈥� and began to remove trinkets from a cloth bag, displaying them for sale.
Her Utte accent had been enough to earn my coin. But to assuage her pride I commented on each of her worthless treasures, fighting the urge to speak Utte. (I spoke Universal with the accent of an upper class Mearan though I wondered if she had seen me wetting the cobblestones like a shameless commoner.) After she had arranged her wares, she looked up at me. 鈥淲hat do you desire, O Noble Born?鈥�
I laughed, certain now that she had seen my act in front of the Snake House and, letting my accent match the coarseness of my dress, I again offered the copper.
聽鈥淣ay, Noble One. You must choose.鈥� She lifted a strand of red beads. 鈥淭hese to adorn your lady鈥檚 bosom?鈥�
聽聽聽聽聽聽聽聽聽聽聽 I shook my head. I wanted her lamp. But to steal the light from this woman ... I couldn鈥檛 ask for it. She reached into her bag once more and withdrew a book, leather-bound, the pages gilded on the edges. 鈥淏e this worthy of desire, Noble Born?鈥�
聽I stood stunned a moment, then touched the crescent stamped into the leather and asked if she鈥檇 stolen the book. She denied it. I鈥檝e had the Training; she spoke truth. Yet how could she have come by a book bearing the Royal Seal of the Haesyl Line? I opened it. The pages were blank.
鈥淭ake it,鈥� she urged. 鈥淩ecord your deeds for study. Lo, the steps of your life mark the journey of your soul.鈥�
聽 I told her I couldn鈥檛 afford the book, but she smiled as if poverty were a blessing and said, 鈥淭he price be one copper. Tis a wee price for salvation, Noble One.鈥�
聽 So I bought this journal. I hide it under my mattress. When I lie awake at night, I feel the journal beneath my back and think of the woman who sold it to me. Damn her. She plagues my soul. I promised to return the next night, but I didn鈥檛. I promised to record my deeds. But I can鈥檛. The price is too high.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master