Annabeth

CW: Sexual violence, substance abuse

A History from the Strength of Old

Erde Date: 976 (Earth 1951)

“Did the saltpeter work?” Nell asked.

Emily grimaced. “No.”

“I worried it was a myth,” Nell said. “I don’t think we’ll find anything. Men conduct most research, and control the rest. They’re looking to enhance the male libido, not suppress it.”

Emily nodded. “Thanks, Nell. Let me know if you find an alternative. How’s Gram?”

“Weak, but in good spirits. She remembered me today, and fed herself.”

“That’s good. I’m going to pop in before I head to work.”

“Okay, Em. Be careful.”

“I will.”

Gram’s room was tiny, but comfortable. Emily had found her a little oil stove. Gram liked it hot.

“Close the door. It’s freezing out there,” Gram said.

“Hi, Gram,” Emily said. She sat on Gram’s guest chair and folded her hands. Gram was propped up by feather pillows. A heavy quilt, she’d made decades ago, covered her legs.

“It’s time to put in the vegetables,” Gram said.

Emily nodded. “I put them in last week, Gram.”

“You did?”

“Yes, Gram.”

It was a lie, but Gram didn’t remember selling the farm. Usually she thought she was still in her old bedroom, even though this room was half the size and every piece of furniture had changed.

“You work too hard,” Gram said.

“I know, but it needs to be done.” She reached out and patted Gram’s thin leg.

“You’re an angel, Emily.”

Emily stood and kissed Gram on the forehead. “Try not to worry. I’ve got everything under control.”

“I love you, Emily.”

“I love you too, Gram.”

She got up and went out into the blessed cool of the hall and headed for the front door.

“Rent’s due,” Maven said.

“I know. I’ll have it in two days,” Emily said.

* * *

Emily lifted the tray for table six. She paused outside the kitchen for napkins and coasters.

Hands cupped her bottom, and she turned, nearly spilling the drinks. It was just Riggs. He was guaranteed to grab at her, but he was gentle about it. She forced a smile and moved on.

She collected a few more pats on the ass, but managed to cross the room without anything serious happening.

“Here you go, folks. Gin, whisky neat, whisky on the rocks, dark malt, and a pitcher of amber.” 

A hand slipped up her leg under her skirt. She flexed her thighs together, to keep him away from her tenders, and finished her serving pitch.

“Please let me know if I can get you anything else.”

“This is great, Em, but you seem a little tense.”

That was Norman Corry, whose only good trait was taking rejection well.

“I’m just behind, Norm. Let me know if you need anything else.”

She hurried to several strangers in the entryway.

“Good evening. Booth, bar, or table?”

They looked her up and down, and a chill went down Emily’s spine.

“See?” said a tall redhead. “They stock ‘em pretty, and they let you show your appreciation.”

He reached for her breast. Emily turned away and started walking. “Table it is, follow me.”

She managed to seat them and take an order for two pitchers of stout. At the same time she deflected three more attempts to grab her breasts and suffered through two more gropings of her behind.

Delivering the stout put her through the gauntlet again, and she was relieved when she ducked into the staff bathroom. She took care of herself, then helped Jane dry her eyes and re-apply her makeup.

“Thanks, Emily. I wouldn’t make it without you.”

“One day at a time, Jane. Something will get better.”

Jane gave her a hug, and they returned to the floor. Everything looked fine, so she went to Rogan’s office and knocked.

“What?”

Emily opened the door. “Sir, can I put Jane on dish duty and have Letty work the floor for a while?”

He shook his head. “Letty’s fat and homely. She’ll chase customers away. Jane is a dewdrop. Tell her to stop whining, and put her back to work.”

Emily paused. It wasn’t a good idea to argue with Rogan.

“Yes, sir. You’re right, of course. I just seated a table of strangers, and they have a mean look about them. I thought--”

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll come out if they get rowdy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Emily pulled the door shut. She checked her hair, squared her shoulders, and forced herself back to the floor.

A tall woman, gorgeous in a way Emily had only seen in movies, entered. Conversation paused as men noticed her. Emily went to her, leaned in and spoke softly.

“Ma’am, you may not be safe here.”

Blue eyes took in the room, then looked down at her. “Thank you, but I’m looking for someone. Can you find me a booth?”

“Of course, ma’am. Follow me.”

Emily took her to a back corner and seated her. Neither of them had escaped the groping, but the lady sat down with perfect composure.

“Friendly place,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, ma’am. Rogan, the owner, says if you’re going to call a place Kegs and Legs, then you have to have legs to go with the kegs.”

The lady’s eyes tracked Waverly across the floor. “And this Rogan tolerates having his staff man-handled?”

Emily pressed her hands to her stomach to still them. “Customers aren’t allowed to undress us, make us sit in their laps, or kiss us.”

“Not the normal rules one finds in a pub,” the lady said.

“No, ma’am.”

“I see a lot of darks.”

Emily forced a smile. “Yes, ma’am. Our stout is local, and popular.”

“Excellent. I’ll take a pint. And call me Annabeth.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Annabeth. I’m Emily. I’ll be right back with your drink.”

Emily negotiated the floor again, got a pint of stout, and rescued Waverly from a truck driver’s lap.

“Here you are, Annabeth. Enjoy. Wave if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Emily served several tables, berated herself for letting a patron get ahold of her tenders, and rescued Waverly again.

She got a sandwich from the kitchen, then slipped out the back for a cigarette. After a couple of minutes her hands stopped shaking, and she ate in peace. When she finished she stood with her hand on the door handle, thinking. Screams from Jane made her decide to go back in.

One of the strangers had Jane on their table and was kissing her. His friends were laughing along with the surrounding customers. Jane was in full hysteria. Emily waded in and tried to pull the redhead off, but he elbowed her and sent her staggering into Annabeth’s booth, where the blonde woman steadied her.

“Need help?”

Rogan chose that moment to come out and see what the fuss was about.

“Get your fucking hands off of my staff,” he ordered.

The redhead sized Rogan up and jerked his hands away from Jane. Emily went to her and put her arms around the girl.

“This is a pub, not a brothel,” Rogan said. “And that is a table, not a bed.”

“Sorry, sir,” the redhead said. “I didn’t know the rules.”

“Now you do. You boys gonna make any more trouble?”

“No, sir.”

Rogan nodded. “Good. See that you don’t. Jane, go get yourself back together.”

He turned and stalked back to his office. Emily walked Jane to the bathroom and left her with Waverly, then went to make sure the place kept running. Across the room Annabeth signaled for another. For once no one grabbed Emily as she crossed the pub.

“Rogan seems nice. What’s his full name?” Annabeth asked.

“Rogan Harrington.”

“Is the pub profitable?”

Emily nodded. “Yes. Not much competition nearby, and the food and drinks are good.”

“Why are you still here?”

Emily looked into those blue eyes. “My gram is in a rest home. I rent a room, and I work extra shifts so I can pay her bills. The day she passes is the day I leave.”

Annabeth stood up. “Take me to Mr. Harrington.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Emily took Annabeth to Rogan’s office and knocked on the door.

“What?”

“Customer wants to see you, Boss.”

“Fine.”

Emily opened the door and showed Annabeth in. She was surprised when the tall woman tugged on her sleeve in a signal to stay.

“Mr. Harrington?” Annabeth asked.

“That’s me.” Rogan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, eyes traveling up and down Annabeth’s body.

“How much do you want for Kegs and Legs?”

An eyebrow lifted. “Pub’s not for sale.”

“Not for a hundred thousand?” Annabeth asked.

Rogan paused and stared into her eyes. “Serious?”

“Yes.”

Rogan considered for a minute, then shook his head. “Pub’s not for sale.”

“Have a pleasant evening.”

“You too, lady.”

* * *

Annabeth was waiting when Emily left.

“Do you have far to go?”

“No, thank you,” Emily said. “Only three blocks.”

“May I drive you? I’d like to discuss an opportunity.”

Emily glanced around, but they were alone. “What kind?”

“You look and listen, then report to me. If anyone puts a hand on you, you tell them to stop. If they don’t listen, I’ll tell them to stop.”

Annabeth’s confidence was jolting. She didn’t think she could make it happen, she clearly knew she could.

“Go on.”

“Excellent. Hop in.”

The car had leather upholstery, wood accents, and the engine purred. Annabeth drove the three blocks. They pulled so close to the curb Emily was surprised when they didn’t scrape it. She cracked the door and looked. 

“Quarter inch?”

“Yes. How did you do that?”

Annabeth produced a badge. “Department of Antiquities. These aren’t party favors; you have to earn them. Particularly if you’re a woman.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I watched you run the place tonight. You don’t let your fear make decisions, you try to protect the others, and you have good defensive spacing and timing.

“You won’t be in danger. Just do your job, and observe. Occasionally I’ll give you assignments--deliver an anonymous message or keep an eye out for someone.

“In exchange you get a hundred dollars a month, and protection. Anyone threatens you, you call me. I’ll come down and sort them out. In the unlikely event I can’t handle it by myself, I’ll bring one of my colleagues with me.”

Emily tried to think that through. “That’s a lot of money for not much work. And why me? I’m not special.”

“Jhon Bonga, our director, says it is good to hire people who need you. It breeds loyalty. I need you to be available when I need you. That might mean skipping a shift, or missing sleep. In some cases you might need to take a train, or hire a car. Naturally I’ll reimburse you for expenses like that, but I need you to be able to afford them up front.”

“Are there limits?”

Annabeth shook her head. “No. Do what needs to be done. Don’t worry about the money.”

Emily looked at the lone streetlight up the block. “No more groping?”

“As I said, you tell them to stop. If they won’t listen, you call me, and I’ll tell them to stop.”

“And if they won’t listen to you?” Emily asked.

Annabeth laughed, a joyful sound like tinkling bells. “Hasn’t happened yet.”

“I want the job,” Emily said. “What about the others?”

Annabeth laughed again. “The rule is ‘no groping,’ and it applies to everyone. Even people you run across while you’re out and about.”

“You can’t make the whole valley suddenly start behaving,” Emily said.

“I only make promises I can keep.”

* * *

Emily woke at ten. Annabeth was parked outside, and she wondered if the strange lady had been there all night. Annabeth seemed well-rested and put together when Emily approached the car.

“Can I offer you coffee?”

“I’ll take you to breakfast. Someone can wait on you for a change.”

“Um. Okay. That sounds nice.”

It was good to be a customer. Emily smiled at Daney. “I would like the scrambled eggs, and two strips of crispy bacon.”

“Sure, thing, Hon. What’ll you have, ma’am?”

“Two servings of scrambled eggs, eight strips of bacon, a serving of hash browns, baked beans, and four sausages,” Annabeth said.

Daney’s eyebrows went up, but she handled it smoothly. “Very good, ma’am. I’ll have that out to you right away.”

Emily waited until they were alone. “Can you really eat all of that?”

Annabeth giggled. “You need to meet my partner. Now that’s an appetite.”

“Okay…” She sipped her coffee. It was practically still boiling. Annabeth picked hers up and drank it without a wince.

“What are we going to do?” Emily asked.

“Visit Rogan,” Annabeth said. “I tried professional. Today I’ll be forceful.”

“Bad idea,” Emily said. “I’ve seen him beat half-a-dozen drunk lumberjacks nearly to death.”

Annabeth downed another mug of scalding coffee and smiled. “Trust me.”

Breakfast was good. Initially she tried not to eat too fast. Then she realized Annabeth was packing it down, so she did likewise.

Back in the car Annabeth drove to Rogan’s house without directions.

“How did you know where he lives?”

“I followed him last night.”

“Oh.”

Rogan opened the door to Annabeth’s knock. His hair was a mess, but his eyes were alert.

“What.” The snarl meant ‘go away.’

Annabeth presented her identification. “Bureau of Antiquities. The government doesn’t offer badges to women. We only have them when we’re strong enough to take them.

“Things are changing at Kegs and Legs. No more fondling the staff--”

“Fuck off lady,” Rogan said.

Annabeth punched him in the stomach and bent him over gasping. She shoved Rogan inside, then followed him.

“Come in and close the door, Emily.”

Emily followed in a dream-state halfway between terror and ecstasy at seeing Rogan in pain.

Annabeth stood in the center of the living room. Emily stood in the entryway, where she could peek around the corner, or go for the sheriff if things went sideways.

Rogan got control of his breathing and straightened. His eyes bored into Annabeth with lust and hate. Even fighting groups of men, Emily had never seen anything other than boredom on his face.

“I’m gonna kill you slow.”

A jolt went down Emily’s spine, and she almost ran.

Rogan lunged, swinging hard, and Annabeth slipped under the punch and hit him in the ribs. Emily heard bones break, and saw Rogan wince. He backed up and reevaluated Annabeth.

“Last chance,” Annabeth said. “You listen to me, you keep your pub, money keeps coming in, and everyone gets what they want. You take another swing at me, and I cripple you.”

Rogan growled and threw a jab. Annabeth kicked his feet out from under him, rolled him on his face, and twisted his arm behind his back. She pulled. Rogan screamed. Even over the scream Emily could hear things tearing and popping in his shoulder.

Annabeth handcuffed his hands behind him and left him on the floor.

“Do you know how much Kegs and Legs is worth?” Annabeth asked.

“Fuck you,” Rogan said.

Annabeth pulled a chair around where he could see. She sat, feet on the floor, hands on her knees.

“You have two choices. Keep the remaining arm, or lose it.”

He gasped a few breaths, then said, “I reckon it’s worth about thirty-five thousand.”

“That’s high,” Annabeth said. “For the sake of your staff, I’ll pay anyway. If you refuse to sell, I will kill you and buy the place at auction.”

“What happened to the hundred you were offering?”

“The less friendly you are, the lower my offer gets.”

“I ain’t afraid of dying,” Rogan said.

Annabeth pulled a gold and silver pendant out of her pocket. “Remember how I work for the bureau of magic items? Are you afraid of having your pecker dry up and fall off?”

The blood went out of his face. “Okay. I’ll sell. Thirty-five.”

“Thirty,” Annabeth said. “I warned you, the less friendly things got, the lower my offer would be.”

“Fuck. Okay, thirty.”

“Thirty-five if you do a job,” Annabeth said.

“What job?”

“You’re going to spend two days going around town, telling people what happened. Tell the truth. Don’t leave anything out.”

“You want me to tell them you crippled me, threatened to kill me, and dry out my pecker?”

“Yes. Make certain you tell them what happened when you tried to hit me.”

“But you’ll go to jail.”

“No one likes you, Rogan, and now they won’t fear you. The sheriff will find an excuse to let me go.”

“I don’t need the extra five.”

“Then I’ll drag you to main street and repeat this with an audience.”

He clenched his jaw. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

“Good. Two days of advertising, for five thousand. Kegs and Legs for thirty thousand. Once the paperwork is signed and your advertising duties are completed, you leave the country. If you come back, I’ll kill you. If I’m not available one of my partners will kill you.”

Rogan swallowed and nodded.

“Excellent,” Annabeth said. She stood up and stepped over him. “I’m going to file an assault complaint. Emily, my pub needs a new manager. Are you available?”

* * *

Emily left her office and studied the common room. Some tables had couples at them. Waverly threaded through the patrons to table five, and no one touched her. Emily smiled.

Jane tapped her on the shoulder. “Boss, Annabeth is on the phone.”

Emily returned to her office.

“Hi, Annabeth. What can I do for you?”

“Look for Horus Bent. Thirty eight, five feet six, a hundred eighty pounds, prematurely graying. Has a scar under his lip. If you see him, put the yellow vial in his drink, and call me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How are things?”

“Frankly, perfect. We have women coming in regularly. Couples on dates even. Best of all, I haven’t had to console a crying waitress for a month.”

Annabeth laughed. “Excellent.”