It had been a long two weeks.

Annie November, back and still catching up on lost sleep from her trip out to Dorhaven, knocked on her editor's door and walked in. "Jonas Barnaby, it's been so long! Listen, Joe, I've got here a hot one. It's so hot, you might actually need to call it on me. Whaddya say?"

"Let me guess," came Barnaby's voice, ringing sarcastically through the still-closed door. "You want to publish a piece on Dorhaven?"

The door swung open and Annie saw a very sweaty, very nervous-looking man looking at her.

"It's no use, Annie," he said, his voice filled with malcontent. "They've slapped a censor on us. Your bits on that mousey girl got the gollies all fired up, and your follow-up didn't help matters. We got a new 'crew member' downstairs. Assistant Secretary of Liason, or something. Someone who's real good at putting big red exes on anything remotely controversial. Figures." He spat, crossing his arms.

Annie was shocked. "You kiddin?! Half of every word we print's got somebody's goat. What am I gonna write about now, the latest birthin of osta kittens?!"

She crossed her arms across her chest, eyes narrowed in roiling hatred. "Don't they know nothin 'bout rights to know and all that? They don't own this paper! You do! It's been passed down from generation to generation in your family! They can't tell you what you can and can't do with what you rightfully own."

Annie gave Jonas a sideways look. "Can they?"

Jonas sighed, sitting down heavily in a nearby chair and putting his face in his hands. His usual frustration and ire seemed insignificant compared to the weight of what he was feeling; seeing Annie's youthful hope and indignation reminded him strongly of his own past self.

"I'm afraid," he said, with a heavy heart, "that they can."

He looked up at her, wincing. "Can't do anything about it right now. We're forbidden from talking about the D-word. Can't mention nothin' about the ball, either. Or that...that girl, whatserface. From the issue after the hangin'. They said something about her...know what that's all about?"

Annie could feel her blood boiling beneath her skin. "Emme? What's she got to do with this? I'll tell you what she's got to do with this: NOTHIN'. Not one gorram thing!"

She jammed her fists onto her hips, pacing the office a bit before recrossing them across her chest.

"Why, I got half a mind to write my own paper! See how they take to that! No, even better..." Annie marched over to the office door, threw it wide and shouted out into the rest of the building, "DORHAVEN! DORHAVEN, DORHAVEN, DORCLOCKINGHAVEN!!!" She slammed the door, and the sound of something tinkling in the hallway could be heard. Continuinger her pacing, she fumed.

"They just don't like it when people know more'n what they think they oughtta. Well, the public's got a right to make an informed decision, doncha know! Ye can't just go 'round tellin errybody the sky's bright orange with yella polkadots when we can clearly tell it's blue! 'Tain't right!"

"Calm down, Annie!" yelled Jonas, putting an arm out to stop her pacing. "Clocks, you're gonna get us shut down! You're a loose cannon! There's a time and place for rebellion, but this ain't it. The world knows about Dorhaven already, they know who caused it. If we're gonna throw caution to the winds..."

There was a slight clump-clumping sound - boots coming up the narrow stairs to the office. A creak, then silence - then the door swung open, revealing a rather short galdor with a shock of bright red hair and round glasses. He was frowning sternly.

"Barnaby," he said, his voice crisp and reserved, "control her." He glanced at Annie without moving his head. In fact, he was uncannily still. Most people move a lot, swaying back and forth or twitching, but this man seemed like he was carved out of wood.

Jonas snorted, refusing to smile or nod in response; his head gave a sort of noncommittal jerk.

The galdor looked once again at Annie, and smiled placidly.

"Let's not cause a fuss downstairs," he said softly. As a writer, Annie could tell there were all sorts of levels of meaning to his phrasing.

Annie closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. "Yer right. I'm sorry. It's just...we ain't sposed to be caterin to nobody, no matte what race. The humans get a big t'do on, we talk about it, and the same for us wicks and the galdori. Everybody's fair game!" She snorted. "And not everybody knows what happened. Least wise, not from first hand accounts. The real story needs tellin, Jonas."


Annie's right eye twitched visibly. "Control me?" she asked, in an almost syrupy sweet tone. "Do I...look...like a dog to you? Do I look like an animal that needs breaking?" She stepped closer to the galdor; he stood maybe two inches taller than her. "If you're going to regard me in any manner, make sure it's one where I'm a living being with a personality and civil rights instead of some critter on the sidewalk what's spittin and hissin." Her eyes narrowed and her face considerably darkened. "Nobody controls me."


The only movement Annie made was to raise her left eyebrow. This...squinteyed, flamehaired freak of a golly had the nerve to treat her like a rabid squirrel, then try to soothe her over with a toothy grin? Who did he think he was? Walkin in here with is glasses and suit and shoes and rigidness...like he owns the joint!

Annie took half a step closer, crossing her arms over her chest for the third time. "And what, praytell, if I wanted to, hmm?"

"Then something will happen to you," said the man, unphased by her outburst. His field radiated gently, like a warm oven. Annie noticed his eyes were a rather unsettling shade of ice blue.

"Annie," said Jonas warningly, attempting to pull her back by the shoulder. "She's just tired," he said to the galdor, hoping Annie didn't think he was a wimp for backing down, though inwardly he would have agreed. "Really."

Annie's eyes narrowed to the point of barely visible and she breathed in long and hard through her nose. She didn't take kindly to threats of any kind from anybody, let alone some hardnosed golly...with amazing blue eyes.

She felt Jonas' tug on her arm, and turned back to look at him. Despite all attempts to look brave, she almost found him a coward. Almost. But he was right.

Annie stepped back, turned and walked over to the window looking out onto the busy streets of Vienda. "Well, ain't that shiny." After a moment she turned back.

"So, what's gonna be news today, Mr. Magic Man? The Queen's feeling top hole and out playin with babies?"

The galdor smiled. It was not a very pleasant smile. Turning, he left the room with hardly a sound.

Jonas shuddered. "Uhg," he said, putting a hand to his forehead and wiping away a thin sheen of sweat. "Crikey. That guy gives me the willies, no mistake. You wanna get us scragged, do you?"

He sat down again at his desk, shuffling through a thick stack of papers. Annie could see headline after headline, most with a large red REJECTED stamp on them which she had never seen before.

"The Queen's still ill," he said shortly. "And they haven't said anything about it to us, so as far as I know, it's fair game. Write a bit on that, will you? Make it sound all sad and sympathetic. Like we give a flying clock if she gets better. There's a woman who runs her laundry and bed linens working in the steel mill downtown, Eliza Nebbins, see if she won't talk to the press. The rest..." He slammed down another stack of "REJECTED" papers, presumably more tips and submitted stories. "...you'll have to do on your own."

He glanced up at her, his bushy eyebrows meeting in the middle of his head. "You can't go around bein' so obvious," he said, quietly. "You know well as I we ain't got any rights. We only got what they let us have. I ain't sayin' that's the way it should be, Annie, but it's the way it is."

As much as she hated catering to anybody, Annie needed a paycheck. "Alright, it's as good as anything." She pulled out her notebook and wrote down the name. "By time I get done with this story, there won't be a forest in the world with more sap."


"That's where yer wrong, Jonas. We got rights, and plenty of 'em. The gollies just aren't willing to admit it. One day they'll see. One day..." She trailed off. The thing about growing up so far away from everybody, raised by someone so different, is that out there you have every freedom known to anybody. You're not a wick, you're not a human, you're not even a galdor. You're just...free.

Annie shook her head and walked to the door. As she opened it, she turned towards her very sad, shaky, depressed looking editor. "Carry the banner, Jonas. Carry the banner tall."

With that, she closed the door behind her and made her way back out to the streets of Vienda. She'd carry the banner, alright, even if it meant she had to do it herself.