A Street Copybook | Graycrown This Solstice Month: A Few Small Things the Lower City Will Not Touch

(This is a street copybook, taken down by word of mouth in the teahouses of Graycrown's lower city; unverified.)

Crimson Ring Year 1218, Solstice Month. The snow came to Graycrown earlier than in other years, and the lower city says that this year the gentry have more taboos than in other years too.

There is no name on the copybook. Few can read it, and fewer still can carry it out past the city wall. What follows was picked up by the copyist in 4 teahouses, 1 stable, 2 pawnshops, 1 tailor's shop and 1 gambling house. Hear it and let it go. Do not carry it up to the upper city.

One. Another Heir Has "Died of Illness"

This winter the upper city has already held its third funeral. The causes given out were, in order: a fall from a horse, an old ailment, a duel gone wrong. Nobody in the lower city believes it. All 3 were young, all were heirs standing near the front of some great house's line, and all died inside their own residences. The old groom at the stable said one thing and would say no more: "The order they died in is the exact reverse of the order they stood in to inherit."

Two. A Servant Who Forgot His Master's Name Overnight

A residence in the west of the city dismissed an old servant who had followed it for 20 years. The reason given was perfectly respectable: age and failing health. But the pawnshop keeper says that when the old servant came to pawn a silver clasp his master had given him, the keeper asked in passing who his master was, and after thinking a long while all he could produce was "a man who wears a house crest" — he could not even recall the surname. The keeper lowered his voice: "That is not senility. There are households that can take away even what you remember and what you do not."

Three. The Black Markings Under the Sleeve

The tailors' shops of the lower city have lately taken in a good deal of work from above, and it is always the cuffs being altered. One embroiderer says privately that these gentlefolk often have black markings running line after line from the back of the hand to the wrist, like a burn and like a tattoo at once, which will not wash out and can only be covered by a sleeve. "They call it the family's price," the embroiderer said, "but nobody has ever made clear who the price is paid to."

Four. The Gambling House Will Not Take Certain Bets

The gambling house on River Street laid down a new rule this month: from anyone wearing a certain house's crest, no bet will be taken at all. The proprietor explained only half of it — people of that house, staking on the dice, can change their minds before the dice come to rest. "Gambling with them, I lose to time, not to luck."

Five. The Pawnshop Is Taking No Mirrors This Month

The pawnshop on River Street has hung out a sign: no mirrors taken in Solstice Month. Those already on the shelves are all draped in cloth, and the cost of the cloth comes out of the pawn price. A customer asked on what grounds it came out; the keeper pointed at the sign and did not say a second thing.

Six. The Midwives Look at the Back of the Hand First

The midwives of the lower city changed their practice this month: once the delivery is done they turn the newborn's hand over and look at the back of it first, and only then say whether it is a boy or a girl. Ask them what they are looking for and 7 midwives give 7 answers.

Seven. Do Not Answer the Second Knock at Night

A saying has gone round the south of the city this month: if someone knocks at night, one knock need not be minded, and the second must certainly not be answered. To answer is to give your own name, and a name once given out is hard to take back.

Eight. Funerals Are Going Round by the West Gate

The funeral processions of the lower city have all gone by the West Gate this month, 3 li out of their way. The porters say the guards at the South Gate have been checking closely of late, and that even coffins get tapped.

Nine. An Old Saying

On the last line of the copybook the copyist added one more sentence, said to be what the old groom at the stable muttered as he left. The copyist did not understand it either, and only felt that it ought to be written down:

All laws are flawed — everyone in this city knows that much; it is only that nobody dares finish the second half.

— And there the copybook ends. Whoever has read this far, take it as talk for a winter night. Do not ask who the copyist is, and do not ask what that second half says.