Cameron To Candy

The Paddlewick Women’s Defense Hall always smelled of sweat and sawdust. The floors were lined with old stone that had absorbed a hundred years of blood, sweat, and kinetic energy. Plus there was the miracle of miracles, pants! Candy tugged her cropped training trousers into place under the pleated practice skirt and felt the same small spark of relief she had felt the first time she stepped into this hall and discovered the kingdom allowed them here.

She was early today. Not overly so, but enough to help unroll the mats and avoid getting assigned to haul the heavier dummies. Lady Bertha Sternwell was already there. Bertha did not stand in a room; she occupied it. She was tall, broad-shouldered, and had her sleeves rolled to her elbows. She spotted Candy, grunted, and tossed a rolled cloth across the hall. Candy caught it on instinct.

“Morning, girl,” Bertha called. “You look less miserable than I expected. I heard how you feinted at the bathhouse.”

Candy snorted as she wrapped her knuckles. “Passed out. Feinted makes me sound like someone said ‘bad girl’ in earshot and I went all dramatic about it.”

“Ha! Good call. You don’t want to be a paddle princess.”

Candy smirked, hesitated, then stepped close. “Hey, just wanted to thank you again for signing the form a bit ago. I heard back last week. I start shield-sister training next month.”

“Good. The more military training the better. If it were up to me, just about every woman would get it. Can’t be too careful. Just look at all that Bellefemme shyte.” She shook her head. “Speaking of shyte, I gotta hit the privy. If I ain’t back in five warm 'em up for me.”

Behind them, the other women started filtering in: wives in training skirts, hair pinned up, cheeks pink from the cold outside. A few gave Candy careful looks. Some looked relieved to see a familiar face. One girl, Marla, the pale brunette Candy had been paired with on day one, gave her a tiny wave.

Candy froze. “You want me to…?”

“Stretches: ankles, hips, legs, shoulders. The usual. Don’t overthink it.”

“You sure?” she asked, already knowing the answer, already feeling the old muscle memory ready to go.

Bertha started walking backward toward the corridor. “You got this. But if you embarrass yourself, I’m not stopping anyone from laughing at you.” And then she was gone.

Candy turned slowly toward the room full of wives. Twenty pairs of eyes stared at her. Candy cleared her throat.

“All right,” she said, clapping her hands once, loud enough to echo. “We’re stretching before Lady Sternwell returns and decides to stretch us by force.” A few nervous giggles slipped free. Candy pointed at the front row. “Feet shoulder-width. Don’t lock your knees. If you lock your knees, you could get knocked down. If you hit your head and faint, she’ll —”

A wife in the back cut in, “Slap us awake?”

Candy nodded once. “Yeah, that.” The group laughed again.

Candy demonstrated the first stretch: neck rolls, shoulders, wrists. She kept it simple. The same style Cameron had learned in barracks was about what Bertha taught, though the women were generally more flexible. Then she moved on to karaokes, then high kees.

During hip rotations she got a bit stuck. “If someone grabs you…” she froze. Should she teach them anything from a man’s perspective? It might be useful. Then she looked at the group, staring at her.

“Crap, what was I saying again?” she thought. “Come on Cand—Cam! Gludge! Did I just call myself… no! No, just a slip-up. Just—Oh, right, they’re still looking…” Then she faintly heard herself say aloud, “Your job isn’t to win a duel. Your job is to make space and leave. Survive the bad moment.”

A few women nodded, serious now. One young lady looked incredulously.

“What Rosaleen? What’s that face about?” Candy demanded, heart still beating fast.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just… Win a duel? It um, felt like a weird way of saying that is all.”

“Uh, yeah,” Candy admitted, trying to rebound. “It just seemed like something Bertha would say.” That got a few laughs. “Now break into pairs before I throw you myself!”

“Well, THAT sounded like Bertha!” another woman from the back yelled to a larger round of laughter. Candy shook off her reservations as she felt something settle in her chest, something that had been missing for months: purpose coupled with competence.

Bertha returned loudly. She strode in, took one look at the room moving in sync, and barked a laugh.

“Well, look at that,” she called. “You made it through.”

Candy turned. “So far.”

Bertha grinned and took the class back over. “All right, ladies, today we’re doing weight shifts. Focus on momentum. It's how you beat a man three times your size who thinks you'll be an easy target.”

Candy paired with Marla again. Bertha demonstrated with a volunteer: one hand on the wrist, one on the shoulder, a pivot like a door swinging open. Then the woman dropped with a yelp, landing safely but humiliatingly. Candy and Marla practiced the pivot together. The first attempt was clumsy. Candy’s petite frame still sometimes lied to her about leverage. But the principle was familiar, with the angle, timing and knowing not to push but rather redirect. On the third try, Marla stumbled but completed the move, eyes wide

“Oh gods,” Marla breathed. “That worked.”

Candy grinned, breathless. “Yes. It’s annoying, isn’t it?”

“What’s annoying?”

“How right that old broad can be.”

Bertha barked from across the hall, somehow hearing everything. “Elwood! Less talking! More hips!”

Candy snapped, “Yes, Lady Sternwell,” then muttered to Marla, “Good hearing for her age.”

“I heard that too!” The hall erupted into more laughter.

They ran drills until everyone was sweating and swearing softly under their breath like wives who had just discovered blasphemy could be cardio. When it was over, Bertha clapped her hands once and called them together. She addressed the lot concerning the Belkefemme issue, reminding them not to panic but to stay ready.

“Alright, that’s it for today,” she concluded, “now out. Go home, hydrate, eat, etc. Don’t go home and start shadowboxing your husband. There’s a law about that.”

The Women tittered at that and filed out in little clusters, chattering. Marla gave Candy a shy nod before leaving with two friends. Candy stayed behind, helping roll mats without being asked, particularly out of habit, but mostly she just wasn’t ready to leave the place she was legally obliged to be violent. Bertha watched her for a long moment, then jerked her chin toward the side of the room.

“Come here,” Bertha commanded.

Candy walked over, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Uh, if this is about the old broad joke, I’d like to plead— ”

“It’s not.” Bertha crossed her arms as she cut Candy off. “I’ve got an offer.”

Candy’s stomach tightened. In Paddlewick, those words could mean anything. Bertha continued, blunt as ever. “I need an assistant. I had one. Thought she’d be back after having her baby but she keeps stalling. What with yesterday and all I can’t keep putting it off. I need a replacement now.” Candy stared at her. “I need someone to help set up, clean, keep the girls moving when I step out, demonstrate the basics and what not.” Bertha’s eyes narrowed. “You did well today. You’ll do.” Candy’s throat went strangely tight.

Bertha scratched at her jaw. “It’s not much. One copper a week.”

One copper was not riches by any means, but it was money that would be hers in a way that mattered. She remembered the respect Alyssa got at the bathhouse when she brought up her salary.

Also, Bertha was trusting her with a bit of authority. The truth was she’d do it for free, just to feel that authority again, however small.

Candy heard herself answer too quickly. “Yes.”

Bertha’s brows lifted. “Yes?”

“Yes, I want it. I… yes.” Then Candy’s face caught up to her mouth and remembered Paddlewick existed. She faltered. “Wait. Do I have to ask my husband?”

Bertha laughed, a big, honest sound that bounced off the stone walls.

“No,” Bertha said. “Not to accept. He could overrule you later if he wanted, but that's frowned on, especially with civic jobs like this. Still, let me know if that happens.”

Candy’s mouth twisted into a grin. “He won’t.”

Bertha studied her. “You sure?”

Candy thought of Marcus. She couldn’t see him stifling her, especially not with the prospect of earning money.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Bertha nodded once, satisfied. “Good. You start next week. Show up fifteen minutes early. Don’t be late. Dont talk too much to the weapon rack.”

Candy stared at her. “Was that a problem with the last assistant?”

Bertha’s smile was sharp. “Oh you’d be surprised.”

⸻

Candy practically floated home. She walked fast, almost a jog, cheeks flushed, her hair almost escaping its wrap. A copper a week was not a fortune, but it felt like the first brick in a wall she had been trying to rebuild inside herself.

When she stepped into the house, Marcus looked up from the table where he was sorting household receipts. He took one look at her face and said, “Hey… You look better than when you left. Did something happen?”

Candy kicked the door shut with her heel, grinning. “I got hired.”

Marcus paused. “Hired?!”

Candy nodded, breathless. “Bertha offered me an assistant position at the Defense Hall. I’ll help with warm-ups, demonstrations, set-up, clean-up. A copper a week.”

Marcus’s eyes lit up so fast it was almost embarrassing. Then, because he was Marcus, he tried to hide it behind a cough.

“That’s excellent,” he said, already doing the stingy math. “One copper is…”

Candy cut in. “Mine! Don’t get any ideas.”

Marcus held up his hands. “Right, right. All yours… seriously, congrats.”

“Thanks.”

Marcus looked up at her again, and the pride in his face was not stingy at all.

“Next month,” he said, “you start Shield-Sister training.”

Candy nodded. The words still felt strange, but steadier now, like they were becoming real.

In Paddlewick, women were trained to defend themselves even though the culture insisted they should not need to. The contradiction was written into law so deeply it could not be undone, for reasons that, as far as they knew, were lost to time.

“Shield training, defense hall assistant. It’s not your old life but, well, it’s not nothing.”

Candy nodded. Marcus was right, it wasn’t nothing, and after the last few days she really needed that.

***

Later that night, after a weird call from Greg and a series of well-meaning yet obnoxious female neighbors dropping off food for them¹Mostly casseroles. So many casseroles... because they'd heard about Candy fainting in the bathhouse, Marcus wondered if he should tell her he’d planned to talk to the mage about getting a potion to help with the whole consummation thing. He wasn’t sure what the ministry had meant by that yet, but there were no options he could conceive of where help with blood flow wasn’t going to be needed. Blow jobs were one thing, penetration was another. At the end of the day, no matter how much she'd changed, she was still Cam, his friend. It was a fact that made things harder concerning sexual things, and not in the good way. But he didn’t want to detract from her night. She’d had a victory today, and that didn’t happen every day. He sighed, contemplating the difficulty of being, he assumed, in the most unique marriage in Paddlewick.