"Do you have any idea how long it's going to take you to make up nine-thousand septims?"

 

Sloan couldn't answer. All she could do was gape. She barely noticed when the chains came off of her wrists and ankles, although the removal of the collar helped shake her from a little of the shock.

 

"I...what...you..."

 

"That's all you have to say?" Seb laughed, jumped forward, wrapped her in a huge hug. "Welcome back! Ooh, you stink. We need to get you to the baths."

 

"I...what...you..." Sloan still couldn't get a sentence to form. Her eyes took in Marie and Kira and the other girls and guys of the Vixen, all laughing and chatting and smiling at her. She wrapped her arms around Seb and buried her head in his silk robe and found herself sobbing as despair turned to hope and relief. She turned her head, though still keeping it pressed to Seb's chest, and gave Kira a watery smile. "I don't care how long it takes, ma'am. I learned my lesson. I'm never leaving here again."

 

The Matron smiled, then turned to the rest of the people gathered around. "Okay, show's over. We have a business to run. Seb, will you help her to the baths? Thank you."

 

Sloan soaked for over an hour, shaved all over, and soaked again, and still didn't feel clean. She wasn't sure she ever would feel completely clean again. When she hit the bed, she didn't wake up for half a day, and even then, she just ate and went back to sleep again. It was not until two days had passed that she felt ready to rejoin the land of the living. She put on her outfit - a smaller size than the previous, she noted with rueful humor - and went back to work, and when she laughed at the stupid repetitive jokes, the laughs were genuine, even if they didn't technically relate to the subject at hand.

 

Then, a week later, she had a sudden flash of memory when one of the girls said something about the orphanage. Aventus' face popped into her head, and she stood up from the dining hall table with enough force to knock over several girls' bowls. She ignored the cries and bolted to her room. It was, she decided, quite fortunate that it happened to be her night off. She dressed in her darkest town dress and pulled on black arm and leg stockings, then wrapped herself in a shawl and grabbed her fur muff. She was on the way out the door when another thought struck her and she turned back.

 

The kitchen was mostly deserted - another stroke of good fortune - so she was able to slip a butcher knife into the muff without garnering attention. A light breeze sent delicate ripples across the canal, and Sloan smiled as she made her way along the walkway. She barely noticed the smell any longer, except for those times when the wind caught a fresh pile of refuse at just the right angle. She climbed the steps to the market district and glanced around. A guard was strolling along one side, going the opposite direction she wanted to go.

 

Good. No one else was about at this late hour. She turned and slipped through the locked market stalls then across the narrow bridge that led to the government district. There were more lanterns here, and a few more people about, mostly silk-garmented government bureaucrats scurrying home, by the looks of them. None paid her any mind as she walked toward the orphanage.

 

The front door would be locked, of course. Grelod had had a dozen bolts of varying kinds installed after Arentino's escape. Fortunately, that hadn't been his means of egress. Sloan slipped around the side of the building to the garden, then got on her knees and crawled - which, she discovered far too late, was not easy in a dress; she had to hike it up over her thighs, and even then it kept slipping down - but eventually she got to the loose board that led to the cellar. It was, she found to her delight, still loose. It was not, she found to her dismay, as large of an opening as she remembered. Apparently she had grown a bit in four years. It took a bit of a struggle, and she ripped the fabric of her dress and lost a couple of buttons, but she eventually made it through.

 

The cellar was dark, but laid out exactly how she remembered, so she was able to maneuver to the ladder without difficulty. She cracked open the trapdoor and peeked into the room above. It, also, was just as she remembered - a row of beds, each with a slumbering child. A dim light shone at the far end of the room, coming from Constance's room. Mianne's was the room after that, and then Grelod's. In short, Sloan would have to sneak the entire length of the building.

 

 It didn't work out that way, of course. One thing she had forgotten was how lightly the children slept. Three steps into the room created a minor stir from the nearest beds as small heads lifted and blinked in her direction. Sloan made shushing noises and waved her hands to try to get them settled, but her movement only provoked more reaction. Soon the room was abuzz with whispers as the children sensed something was different. Sloan cringed, still trying to get them to shut up and frantically making plans in her head if the adults should come out to see what was going on. Fortunately, Grelod wasn't one to stir herself if she didn't have to. A simple, sharp, "Everybody settle down!" was all it took to quiet the room in an instant.

 

Sloan let loose a relieved sigh and pressed forward, stepping with care around the boards she knew to creak. She reached the front beds, where the oldest children sat and watched her approach. She saw dawning recognition on their faces. She crouched near the head of the bed to her left.

 

"Hi Max," she whispered. He grinned and started to speak, but she forestalled him. "No, shh, don't say anything. Listen, I need you to distract Constance. Just for a couple minutes. Tell her you're sick or something, please?"

 

Max started to speak, then stopped himself and nodded instead, then got up and shuffled around the corner. "Um..ma'am?"

 

"What is it, Max?" Constance sounded tired. Of course, Constance always sounded tired. And looked that way as well.

 

"I...I think I'm going to be sick."

 

Sloan edged around the bed and to the edge of Constance's doorway.

 

"Well, go to the privy, then! Why are you telling me?"

 

They both spoke in habitually quiet voices - even the staff was afraid of Grelod's wrath.

 

"Miss Grelod said we're not allowed to go to the privy without asking. Please, ma'am, I'm..."

 

A pause, and then a horrible gagging sound. "It's coming!"

 

"Not here!"

 

A shuffling sound, and Sloan took the opportunity to scootch by the doorway in a crouch. She had less difficulty with Mianne's room - the old woman went down quickly and slept like a bear in winter. A quick glance was all Sloan needed to move on. Grelod was also in bed, and by all appearances asleep. Sloan paused a moment, assessing the room, but the sounds of movement behind her as Constance and Max started to leave her room pushed Sloan forward. She slid up to the bed and paused.

 

It should have been simple. Just take the knife and…stab. Or cut. Or…something. She pulled the knife from her muff and held it in her right hand, but couldn't make herself move further. She screamed at herself inside her own head, reminded herself of how Grelod had treated her, had treated all of them, she thought of Arentino's exhausted features as he chopped at the floor and prayed for the Dark Brotherhood. She thought of all of these things, but she could not make her hand finish the job.

 

Grelod stirred, turned. Her eyes opened. She blinked at Sloan, and in the dim light Sloan saw recognition bloom, and felt cold panic sweep her insides.

 

"You. What are you doing..." Grelod started to sit up as she spoke, and her voice echoed in Sloan's brain, swept her through years of abuse and neglect, woke her cold anger from the dormant ashes of time. She cried out and her hand flung itself forward. Grelod's voice was cut off as the steel pierced her larynx, her esophagus, bit into her spine. Blood spewed from the old woman’s mouth and she gurgled and fell back, eyes glazed and empty before her head hit the pillow.

 

The blood sparked another round of panic, and Sloan found herself fleeing before she realized she had moved from the bed. She left Grelod's room and saw the front door ahead, miraculously standing open. She sped through it, only noticing in passing the form of Aeyla, the second oldest child, standing behind it, holding it for her. Sloan fled into the night with little regard to her surroundings. She raced down the steps to the lower levels, but tripped as her skirts got tangled around her legs and splashed headlong into the canal. It was fortunate that there were plenty of things to hold onto, because she had never learned to swim. She gasped to the surface, then spit foul water out of her mouth.

 

The city stayed quiet. There was neither hue nor cry, as she had half-expected. Just a normal Riften night. She dragged herself out of the water and lay for a moment on the walkway trying to catch her breath. The dip in the canal erased her inurement to its smells, and she began to feel sick. She climbed to her feet and stumbled back to the Vixen. Much as she wanted in, though, she took the extra time to go to the back entrance so she wouldn't cause a scene in front of the customers. Now that her duty to Arentino was finished, she was done with anything except her life here, so she needed to make sure she didn't give the customers reason to stay away. There was no way she would ever leave again.