08-21-2013, 11:23 AM
They had only been blankets, but they gave Aeva an idea. So many refugees like herself lived here, some far worse off than she, since she had no children to worry about and she wondered how her father had managed when he first started out - making contacts, trying to improve people's lot. The gods did not seem very close down here and in a cynical frame of mind, Aeva didn't blame them.
But her father had started with precious little, too. Just the house, four kids and a garden... but he had managed. There was no employment in the ruin of North West England; people scavenged and salvaged, traded and travelled. So he had started small, as would she. Her own foraging had brought a few precious bits and pieces; much she was able to trade at the market for food, as well as her skills - sitting behind some stall, out of sight, mending clothing. It was not exactly big business, but it kept her fed and nobody was demanding rent in the old railway tunnel where she slept. Unfortunately, it didn't give her money to fling about, either.
Then, in her investigations further down the tunnel, she found storerooms. There wasn't much in most of them - or rather, there wasn't now. Most had held food that had been eaten by rats (she hoped it was rats; Aeva didn't like much like the idea of anything bigger), but one had held a lonely crateful of blankets.
She would achieve something by taking them to one of the immigrant camps of which there were simply too many, but the prize may be too tempting, and she wasn't sure the residents there wouldn't sell them - something they would regret, come winter - or that others would notice and raid the community, despite the husbands, brothers and older boys who tried to set up a guard. Not a very efficient guard, either, since she had been able to sneak in more than once. Always with that chill feeling under her skin.
However, she was a seamstress; and a good enough one to come up with a basic little pattern. Come winter, there were going to be a lot of children with odd little tartan coats and grateful parents who could at least be satisfied that their children were warm. Winter could kill, and she suspected that many had not realised that, yet. So with a hand-held machine, a power-point in one of the larger storerooms, once she had cleared away some of the debris, Aeva set to work each evening after coming back from the market.
She traded her skill for curtain cord, so each coat had a little belt, and she didn't have to worry about adult thieves; the gangs of large brutes who would barely fit a toe in one of the armholes! Off-cuts and scraps were patchworked into new, smaller blankets that would do for infants were any unfortunate enough to be born into this subterranean hell. At least the community had a midwife with whom she could leave those!
It took Aeva weeks, but eventually she was out of blankets and there was nothing else to do but deliver the products of her labours. Perhaps, if she could do enough, it would earn her a bed sometimes. It might be nice to sleep with something other than fear to keep her warm!
Nervous, she slipped past the two unlikeliest guards she had ever seen; one a zit-ridden youth and a toothless grandfather who peered at everyone suspiciously through cracked glasses. How she managed with the enormous trolly of wool, she wasn't sure, but while many heads whipped around at the noise she made, their eyes slid disinterestedly over Aeva and her burden.
She began at the end furthest from the entrance. A few families had a little room, others slept in the corridor, and a few dozen children would not go too cold, this winter.
But her father had started with precious little, too. Just the house, four kids and a garden... but he had managed. There was no employment in the ruin of North West England; people scavenged and salvaged, traded and travelled. So he had started small, as would she. Her own foraging had brought a few precious bits and pieces; much she was able to trade at the market for food, as well as her skills - sitting behind some stall, out of sight, mending clothing. It was not exactly big business, but it kept her fed and nobody was demanding rent in the old railway tunnel where she slept. Unfortunately, it didn't give her money to fling about, either.
Then, in her investigations further down the tunnel, she found storerooms. There wasn't much in most of them - or rather, there wasn't now. Most had held food that had been eaten by rats (she hoped it was rats; Aeva didn't like much like the idea of anything bigger), but one had held a lonely crateful of blankets.
She would achieve something by taking them to one of the immigrant camps of which there were simply too many, but the prize may be too tempting, and she wasn't sure the residents there wouldn't sell them - something they would regret, come winter - or that others would notice and raid the community, despite the husbands, brothers and older boys who tried to set up a guard. Not a very efficient guard, either, since she had been able to sneak in more than once. Always with that chill feeling under her skin.
However, she was a seamstress; and a good enough one to come up with a basic little pattern. Come winter, there were going to be a lot of children with odd little tartan coats and grateful parents who could at least be satisfied that their children were warm. Winter could kill, and she suspected that many had not realised that, yet. So with a hand-held machine, a power-point in one of the larger storerooms, once she had cleared away some of the debris, Aeva set to work each evening after coming back from the market.
She traded her skill for curtain cord, so each coat had a little belt, and she didn't have to worry about adult thieves; the gangs of large brutes who would barely fit a toe in one of the armholes! Off-cuts and scraps were patchworked into new, smaller blankets that would do for infants were any unfortunate enough to be born into this subterranean hell. At least the community had a midwife with whom she could leave those!
It took Aeva weeks, but eventually she was out of blankets and there was nothing else to do but deliver the products of her labours. Perhaps, if she could do enough, it would earn her a bed sometimes. It might be nice to sleep with something other than fear to keep her warm!
Nervous, she slipped past the two unlikeliest guards she had ever seen; one a zit-ridden youth and a toothless grandfather who peered at everyone suspiciously through cracked glasses. How she managed with the enormous trolly of wool, she wasn't sure, but while many heads whipped around at the noise she made, their eyes slid disinterestedly over Aeva and her burden.
She began at the end furthest from the entrance. A few families had a little room, others slept in the corridor, and a few dozen children would not go too cold, this winter.