Paper Cities, an Anthology of Urban Fantasy by Ekaterina Sedia Page B

Sister.
    “No.” Biggest Sister smiled. “But my Sister Nurse always did say I was a fool and a dreamer.”
    Big Sister held the bag. She already knew what was in it, just by the feel — her old sharkskin scourge. With her old name coiled in copper round the handle.
    “There’ve been three sisters take the hardest way these past two years,” said Biggest Sister. She folded her hands around a cup of kava, but did not lift it to her lips. “In that same time, four Big Sisters have gone to rest beneath the stones, and one has taken the blue in deference to her age.” The cup twirled slowly in her hand. “I am sure you have studied arithmetic.”
    “Yes,” said Big Sister. “I can count.”
    “We are not dying away, far from it.” Another twirl. “We are at some danger of losing the edge of our blade, becoming in time nothing more than an order of monials ministering to the poor and the victims of the state.”
    “And if we did not run bawd houses and guard the dark pleasure rooms and take money from the cash boxes of the petty merchants?”
    Biggest Sister sipped this time before answering. “We
protect
, and we aid. That is not the same thing as bettering. If we did not do these things, someone else would. Someone else always will. Someone male, who does not care for women, who will not trim the balls off those men who prey on children and break the pelvises of whores. Someone who will simply count the money and throw a few more bodies to the sharks. And they would not give hospice or teach beggar children to read or make sure the potshops have meat in the soup kettles.”
    They would not beat bloody the girls growing between hinge and post, either
, Big Sister thought, but she kept her words within. As she had always known, there was a sad wisdom to everything the Tribade did.
    “There is…more,” Biggest Sister said. “You have not reached this lore yet, but believe me, there is more. Much sleeps beneath stones and behind walls in this City Imperishable that is not seen in daylight. And for good reason. Along with others, we guard those secrets. Only the Big Sisters, though. And you must past this final test before your title is more than honor.”
    Big Sister drew the sharkskin scourge from its bag. Though it loomed huge in her memories, the thing seemed small in her hand. A toy, almost. She’d wielded worse straining at pleasure with some of the other sisters who had a taste for the rough trade.
    But never used such a thing on a child.
    “This,” Big Sister began, then stopped. She took a deep breath. Her hand shook as it held the scourge. “This is what is wrong with us.”
    “No.” There was an infinite, awful gentleness in Biggest Sister’s voice. “That is what is wrong with the world, that we must raise some of our Girls so in order to be strong enough to stand against it.”
    They were quiet a moment as a waiter passed with a basket of hot rolls, spiced with cardamom and sea salt. He didn’t see the scourge lying in Big Sister’s hand, and he never would. It was why some among the Tribade met here to talk from time to time.
    “Hear me now: there is a greater wrong to come,” said Biggest Sister. “This last test. A distillation of our way. You must give life before you can take it. This you have done. Now you must take life before you can have power over the life and death of others. You must kill for the City Imperishable, for the Tribade, for yourself.”
    “With this?” Big Sister asked. “It would be a sad and messy business.”
    “With that. So you come full circle, releasing the last of your name.” Biggest Sister put down her mug. “If you do not do this thing, you will still be a Big Sister. In other times you would have remained a Gray Sister, but our need is too great. But you will never rise to Bigger or Biggest Sister, and you will never see the inner secrets that we guard. And you will never wield the blade against someone’s neck, either in your hand or by your