Cameron To Candy

Whipney Dragontail frowned at the street sign. Verse Alley. That didn’t sound right. She glanced behind her. She had left a friend’s house perhaps ten minutes earlier. The afternoon had slipped away faster than either of them realized. Whipney and her friend had spent nearly an hour laughing over the latest episode of The Gilded Gaggle, before conversation drifted, as it so often did these days, to rumors filtering in from Cleavendale.

According to her older brothers, every passing trader seemed to have a new story from outside Paddkewick. Some told of Queen Carmella outpacing other monarchs. Rumor had it Travis Tithe had beaten a boob fairy. And not just any fairy, Balconette. Boob fairies didn’t technically have a singular leader, but if they did, it’d be Balconette. Still, the most disturbing by far was the urban legends growing around the scry network. People said they were seeing a beast, maybe a demon, behind the surfaces connected scry artifacts. A flicker from magic mirrors, a shadow in a crystal ball, and so on. It made her glad she lived in Paddlewick where that kind of GS didn’t happen. Though there had been an increase in coyote sightings lately…

By the time Whipney finally stood to leave, promising she’d visit again soon, the sun had already begun settling behind Paddlewick Prime’s rooftops. Her family had only moved to this district a few months ago from another part of Paddlewick Prime, and while she’d thought she remembered the route home… Apparently she had not.

The afternoon sun had dipped lower, painting the rooftops in warm pink and gold. Lantern crystals were already beginning to glow beneath their enchanted glass covers. Whipney sighed. “Wonderful.” She turned slowly, trying to remember whether she’d come from the left or the right.

Despite the situation, she wasn’t frightened. Concerned? Certainly. Embarrassed? A little. But afraid? Not really.

Visitors from other nations never quite understood Paddlewick. Most women outside the kingdom couldn’t stand visiting. There were too many rules. Too many expectations. Too many little customs governing how a woman dressed, spoke, sat, walked, curtsied, or addressed her husband. The punishments ranged from inconvenient to humiliating to genuinely painful, and most women left with a sore bottom for one reason or another.

But there was another side to Paddlewick that outsiders rarely appreciated. Women here walked the streets safely (minus the government-sanctioned corrections). Not because crime didn’t exist at all; things happened, but violence against women rarely did because the men had been raised from childhood with one lesson repeated until it was instinct: Women may be corrected; women must be protected.

Every citizen knew it. Every officer enforced it. Every man, teen and boy believed it. A system like Paddlewick, which demanded women submit to men, likewise had to demand men, as a collective whole, be worthy of that submission.

And a truth, less embraced but still nonetheless quite real, was that men caused a lot of problems. Notably concerning safety for women. Sure, there were animals, monsters, witches and warlocks, fay and so on to worry about. But in civilized cities across the world it was mostly men that women had to worry about. Paddlewick's founders knew men needed discipline. They needed the military training and the responsibility of being the head of a household to keep them in line. It wasn’t the only reason by any means that they’d set a system to train men’s minds for rigidity, but it was one of them.

Viridicus, god of truth, sometimes laughed and shook his head about it. Most Paddlewickians would tell you women submitted to men for their own good. That they needed a man’s hand to guide them for their benefit. If only they all knew what those acts of submission really did.

But a result of Paddlewick’s peculiar cultural norms meant random assault against women was almost unheard of. Any man foolish enough to try generally didn’t survive the experience.

Whipney reached up and touched the crystal hanging from the silver colored choker around her neck. Every woman carried one. Some preferred bracelets, while others wore necklaces. A few had rings.

The crystal itself was the important part. Most people associated them with ministry tracking. They recorded fines, reported serious misconduct, and reflected a woman’s legal status. But they were also rescue beacons. If the Ministry needed to find a woman, they could. If a woman needed the Ministry, she simply had to tap the crystal in the correct sequence.

One pattern silently transmitted her location. Another activated flashing lights and an audible alarm. The strongest emergency signal did something even more dramatic. Much like with a royal announcement, every linked crystal nearby became part of the warning. Street lamps, household mirrors, crystal balls, bracelets, certain pocket watches; anything connected to the civic network. The entire neighborhood would point toward the woman asking for help.

Response time inside Paddlewick Prime averaged under five minutes. Whipney considered using it now. Not because she was in danger, simply because she was lost. This was allowed, though tended to be a bit embarrassing. She smiled to herself.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she muttered. “It’s too soon for that. I can figure this out.” A voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Evening, pet.”

She turned. The man approaching was tall, broad-shouldered, and almost handsome in his way.

“Good evening, sir.”

“You look lost.”

“I… yes, sir.” She laughed awkwardly. “I’ve managed to confuse myself.”

“I can help.”

“Oh!” She brightened. “Thank you. If you could simply point me toward—”

“You’ll have to come with me.”

She’d been raised to trust men with her safety, but his smile felt… wrong, somehow. She looked closer. His clothing looked unfamiliar. They weren’t Paddlewickian. His accent wasn’t either, now that she thought about it. She offered a polite smile.

“Oh… if you could just tell me the next street, sir, or the direction, I should be able to—”

“Oh no need. I’ll take you.” He stepped closer. “I’ll take you.” Before she could react, an arm wrapped around her waist. Whipney stiffened. That was far too familiar.

“Sir…” She tried stepping back. That really isn’t necessary.”

His grip tightened. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’d rather not—”

“You’ll come.” Something cold settled into her stomach. “I think you’re misunderstanding me…” She tried pulling away. He simply held tighter. “I said…” His voice hardened. “…come.”

The realization hit like ice water. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. This man had absolutely no idea where he was or what he’d gotten himself into. But his intentions were painfully obvious now. Had he bothered to learn even the basics of Paddlewick before entering the kingdom, he would have known his plan was impossible from the beginning. Every Paddlewickian woman lived under ancient chastity wards. They didn’t simply protect a wife’s virtue in one particular sense; they barred every form of sexual penetration by any man other than her husband. To outsiders, the enchantments were a curiosity, one of the kingdom’s many peculiar customs. Many said it was archaic and abusive to women. To Whipney, they were simply another fact of life. One she was glad of in that moment. Still, the spell might stop him from raping her, but it wouldn’t stop the violence he was willing to use to try.

Whipney planted both feet. She’d attended enough ministry safety lectures and self-defense classes to know to never walk willingly. He cursed, then began dragging her. When he leaned forward, swearing into her face, her training took over. Whipney snapped her head backward.

Crunch.

His nose exploded in blood. He stumbled away with a howl, clutching his face. She rolled free and sprinted. It was well executed, but her luck was terrible. She’d gone the wrong direction. It was a dead end. She stopped. He was already between her and the alley entrance, blood dripping over his hands.

“You little bitch—”

Whitney’s fingers were already moving. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. The emergency sequence completed. Her crystal erupted into brilliant crimson and sapphire light. A heartbeat later—

SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

The siren ripped through the alley. The sound was almost painful. The man flinched.

“What is that?”

Whipney, with no place left to move, shifted into a defensive posture. She might have to fight him further before help could arrive. That was fine. This time she'd be ready. She'd drop him herself if she had to.

“You should leave!” She warned.

He laughed. “What? You think a light is going to scare me?” He took another step toward her.

Then the block lit up. The crystal streetlamp at the mouth of Verse Alley erupted into alternating crimson and sapphire light. A second lamp joined it, then a third, the flashes racing through the district faster than Whitney could follow. Inside nearby homes, enchanted mirrors burst to life with the same pulsing colors. Crystal bracelets began shrieking their alarm. Pocket watches chimed. Window crystals glowed like beacons. Everywhere the emergency network reached, the signal spread until every enchanted object within several streets screamed in unison and pointed unmistakably toward Verse Alley.

The man stopped and looked around in bewilderment. “What the hells is this?”

A voice yelled from behind him. “Get the fuck away from her!”

The trader turned to see a raven-haired man stepping barefoot off the porch of the nearest house. He wore only a pair of trousers, apparently having rushed outside the moment the alarm began. Shirtless, calm, and already closing the distance between them, he carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who already knew how this encounter would end, and was looking forward to blowing off some steam.

Marcus came to a stop several paces away. “I’m not going to tell you again,” he said evenly. “Step away from her. Now.”

The stranger spat at the cobblestones. “Mind your own gods damn business!"

Marcus stared at him for a long, unnerving moment before giving a small, almost incredulous shake of his head. He cracked his knuckles.

“This is my business.” He pointed briefly toward Whitney without taking his eyes off the stranger. “You’re really in the wrong kingdom if you thought you could attack a woman and get away with it.” Around them, doors had begun to open as the rest of the neighborhood responded.

Marcuses expression hardened as he approached. The stranger snarled and reached toward Whipney for a shield. She blocked the reaching arm just enough to slip free. Marcus shoved the man back as he lunged after her, and Whipney rushed behind him. Marcus never looked away from the attacker.

“My house is just back there. My wife’s ready for you. Whipney glanced toward the porch. A petite, insanely pretty red-haired woman stood there waving frantically.

“Come on!” Candy shouted.

Whipney ran. Candy caught her by the shoulders and immediately pulled her behind the porch railing.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” she assured her. Whipney's hands wouldn’t stop shaking as she curled into Candy.

The man lunged. Marcus stepped neatly to one side, letting the blade whistle harmlessly past him. A second thrust came, followed by a wide slash that cut nothing but air. Each failed attack only made the stranger more frustrated, his movements growing sloppier as his temper took over.

Finally, he overextended on a strike. Marcus seized the opportunity, catching the man’s wrist and driving it hard into the brick wall beside them. Once, twice, then the third impact forced the knife from his now numb fingers. It clattered across the cobblestones, sending echoes bouncing down the lane.

Marcus didn’t hesitate. He drove his forehead into the man’s face with a brutal headbutt that doubled him over, then followed with a short, practiced combination. One punch crashed into his ribs, another buried itself in his liver, and a final blow snapped his head sideways. The stranger stumbled backward, barely able to remain on his feet.

By then, the neighborhood had poured into the street. The women hurried past with barely a second glance, converging instead on Whipney. Someone wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Another pressed a steaming cup of tea into her trembling hands. Voices overlapped as neighbors asked whether she was hurt, whether she’d struck her head, and whether she needed a healer.

The men, meanwhile, had spread out into a widening semicircle around Marcus and the attacker, quietly ensuring there would be no escape. Across the street, John Croplee leaned casually against his fence, watching the confrontation with folded arms. Retired Officer and current neighborhood busybody Mr. Bindlewack and his youngest son came jogging down the lane, slowing as he took in the scene.

“You need a hand, Marcus?”

Marcus never looked away from his opponent. “Naaah. I’ve had a rough day. I’ll take him.”

Bindlewack shrugged. “Suit yourself. We’re here if you need us.”

Marcus was irritated even before this guy showed up. There had been the creepy revelations at the mage guild, the impending consummation requirement, Greg calling inexplicably wondering if Cam had turned back, and weirdly Marcus was pretty sure Candy had eaten the rest of his steak at dinner when he’d left the room to take Greg’s call. And now this guy was interrupting his night attacking a woman. A woman! Marcus was a pretty measured man, but now he was pissed.

The stranger staggered upright. “I’m gonna kill—”

Marcus’s fist slammed into his throat. The words stopped, replaced with a gurgling sound. Another strike folded his ribs. A final blow dropped him unconscious. Mr. Bindlewack and his son darted forward immediately, binding the man’s wrists and ankles in tandem before he could even twitch.

“Good job, son!” Mr. Bindlewack praised.

“Thanks pop!”

Minutes later, ministry wagons rolled into the street. Mr. Bindlewack met them and filled them in on the little the crystals hadn’t. The officers loaded the unconscious trader into the back of the prison cart. He had assaulted a woman in Paddlewick. It would take the gods themselves to get him out of this one.

The story was the highlight of the nightly news, making it in just in time. Neighbors were abuzz, describing how every crystal within view erupted simultaneously. On screen, Mrs. Dovewell laughed. “I’m over sixty years old, and I’ve never actually seen the signal used before! Not that one!”

A man shook his head. “Marcus had him down in about two minutes.” He snorted. “I could’ve done it a minute sooner.”

The reporter had eventually reached Marcus, who had politely declined to comment.

Later that night, Candy looked over from the sofa as the broadcast replayed.

“You know…” she smirked. “That neighbor had a point.”

Marcus looked up from his tea. “Oh?”

“You could’ve taken him down about two moves sooner.”

Marcus shrugged. “I was playing it by the book. You know the procedure’s to assess for hidden weapons.”

“Yeah yeah.” Candy grinned.

Marcus looked at her for a long moment. “Fine. Next time you take him, and I’ll watch the girl.”

Candy laughed. “Deal.”

The following morning, Whipney received a small velvet box from the Ministry. Inside rested a bronze pin shaped like a single crimson drop.

“FIRST BLOOD”

It was awarded to women who successfully landed the first blow during an assault. She’d likely receive another defense pin at her next defense class, and she’d be given an apology and remuneration from the Ministry for allowing the attack to occur in the first place, but the First Blood pin was the icing on the cake. The blood droplet in the pin wasn’t wax, resin or paint like many pins had. It was a real ruby cut to the proper shape. The enclosed citation was brief.

You followed your training. You survived. Paddlewick is proud of you.

Whipney smiled as she fastened the pin beside her others on her sash. She had done exactly what Paddlewick had trained her to do. And because she had, she’d been okay.