Oddly Mount Jeremy was not built on or near a mountain or even a hill for that matter. A mountain named after a Jeremy doesn't appear to exist anywhere in this kingdom. The prison's architect simply just liked the sound of it; he also seemed to have a fondness of dread. The building consists of hundreds of large granite blocks piled on top of each other to form one great imposing granite block with a slanted top. Located an hour outside the city walls to make escape more improbable, it looks like a section of the earth some god forgot to smooth down when rounding the earth. We keep the murderers here, attempted ones too as well as rapers and particularly brutal assaulters.CrIminals from all around the kingdom get piled into that block, hundreds each year and after a few weeks of deprivation we drag them out and hang them. Only fifty or so however actually make it to that last part, some make trouble and get killed by the guards, some try to escape and get killed by the guards, most kill themselves. Truthfully I can't blame them for choosing any of those endings for themselves, the inside of the prison consists of more poorly lit boring cubes. The guards' barracks are one single cuboid ten meters wide, five high and twenty long. The denizens have tried to personalize the place with decorations, mess, vandalizing the wall but it just made the uniformity of the room more obvious. The cells are two meter cubes with no light, no heat and only your own thoughts for company. Feeling the smoothness of the walls would make one long for an imperfection, a bump or crack would be enough, something unique the impeccably straight lines would make one cheer at the indication of a curve and the way the sparse furniture lines up perfectly with the walls have prompted many prisoners to obliterate it all together.. An hour trapped within one of those rooms and I'd throw myself into the nearest blade available just to make the monotony end a few weeks earlier than scheduled.

Fortunately for all, the servants weren't being held within cells. Due to the fact that most of the evidence pointed towards them being victims of a madman's assault, the city watch figured they should be stored in an interview room designed to remind criminals of the luxuries they've lost. The servants sit upon a large couch with feather pillows and some kindly guard supplied them with blankets in case they wished to rest.

They're all rather young, the one sitting in the middle appears to be the oldest, perhaps being twenty five. Droplets of blood still stain the leftmost one's face, the middle clenches the pen she was given to write with as if she intends to ram it into my flesh at any given second and the one on the right absentmindedly picks at a loose thread in the blanket given to her.They all stare at me unnervingly, as if they're afraid I'm going to cut more pieces out of them and I don't like how only a table is between us.

"Hello," I begin. "Would you care to share your names with me?"

The middle just grips her pen tighter while the other two continue to stare, their eyes drilling into my skull.

"I know you can write," I prompt. "One of you can at least. Sir Steel can't for obvious reasons and someone had to write all those letters to his financers."

Still just more staring.

"You're frightened," I say pointing at the middle one. "Can't really be blamed for it can you? You went through unimaginable pain earlier today and now find yourself in a strange prison with a strange boy before you. In your position I'd have probably already reduced the number of staff in this facility considerably. Luckily you must be wiser than I and realize gouging something out with that pen of yours will only deliver you and your friends to the gallows tomorrow morning. You might not have deduced however that tomorrow you'll be free provided you continue to not gouge anything. On top of all that if you help me I can deliver you to a land of silk and comfort and I might be able to illuminate the path to something greater if you in turn prove useful to walk that path with."

I didn't expect a worded response for obvious reasons, the other two seem more interested in what I have to say and the middle adopts a grip more suited towards writing than to killing.

"Your name please."

Sally, written in a shaky hand and with a shoddy pen, hard to read and I dread attempting to interpret full sentences scribbled in such a way.

"Well Sally, do you have any idea where Steel would run to hide?"

A simple shake of the head.

"He never spoke of any place he fled to be isolated or-"

Sally briskly puts words on paper. It takes a second to decipher, rarely left the house.

"What of the dead bodies?" I inquire. "Did his suppliers deliver to him?"

Hesitation.

"A cripple can hardly discreetly drag carcasses throughout his home without being noticed, I know you know of the little collection he amassed. So did he have the criminals deliver the goods?"

Reluctant nodding.

"And did you play any major part in the rituals he performed?"

More hesitation to put ink on paper.

"Provided your answer is nothing but true you won't even be scratched. Refuse to answer however and I'll be unable to make similar promises."

He made us cut them.

"In what ways?"

We had to get the bones, get rid of... He took the parts he wanted to his study. Made us string our instruments with the leftovers, paint with the blood, make tools from the bone.

"What did you paint?"

Things that don't have words.

"Would you care to draw one of these things for me?"

Sally stares at me, eyes wide with something worse than fear, stronger than terror, something destructive and uncaring.

"Help me and you'll spit on Steel's warm corpse as soon as I can obtain it."

Sally continues to stare, it reminds me of the time Martin returned from his first battle. He was a few hundred meters away from any fighting and mostly just watched from a distance with the other lords. Calling it a battle was an insult to the word, a hundred pissant peasants who'd decided to revolt and stole some plate armour versus five hundred soldiers armed with finely crafted weapons and actual training. The mud was soaked with blood, peasants in their armour littered the field crushed and twisted like broken toys. Apparently those broken toys made quite the impression on young Martin. He stared at a wall for a few days, refused to eat, drink or speak. Then he came back. He came back different but he came back.

The woman on the left takes the pen from Sally's loose grip and pulls the sheet closer and begins to write upon the paper. I don't see much reason to intervene so I merely observe. She spends a good twenty minutes sketching, shading and judging measurements, putting extreme care into the work. Sometimes she presses the pen down hard enough to scratch holes into the page, sometimes the tip grazes it so lightly it seems impossible that any visible lines could be made using such a method. Sally seems relieved that she no longer holds the pen, her hands sit upon her lap and her staring has decreased in intensity though madness clearly dwells somewhere within her head.

The left servant lays down the pen and shifts the sheet across the table for me to better look at. At first it looks like senseless nonsense, a chaotic mess of lines and curves, then a sliver of method arises within the madness and it does not paint a pretty picture. The lines shift and crawl across my eyes and form patterns of pain within my mind. Images of torment cleave through my body and pierce my soul like knives. Round and round and round these impossible lines and curves twist my perception, blurring everything but the sheet, threatening to break my vision until I finally summon the will to tear my gaze away. I feel a warm tear roll down my left cheek but when I brush it my fingers come away red. I take a handkerchief out of my pocket and wipe it with it off, not a large amount of blood, thorn pricks have taken more out of me.

"And what might your name be?" I ask with a smile, turning the sheet over and shifting it back to the left servant.

Katherine.

"And what instrument did you play for the Steel?"

Piano.

I take the pen and paper and return them to Sally.

"You?"

Violin.

When it's the right servant's turn to write she just continues picking at her blanket staring at me dully.

"Come now," I prompt. "There's no reason to be timid, you-"

The servant opens her mouth and tries to speak. What comes out is a mangled combination of sounds that vaguely seem like words.

"You know that won't work," I raise my voice to be heard above the gibberish. "It's unfortunate but I don't foresee speaking again to be a possibility for you."

She continues repeating the same sound over and over again. I pick up the pen and hold it towards her.

"If you write it down I'll understand it. If it's your name I'll call you by it, if it's something you want I'll try to get it for you, if it's what you are I'll employ you as one but I have to understand it."

A tear rolls down her face as she takes the pen and writes in an incredibly small script: singer

"That's unfortunate," I sigh, trying my hardest to force sympathy into my voice. It almost succeeds and hopefully my effort will be more appreciated than its outcome. "But I'm sure you will find some passion other than obeying steel's orders and singing him to sleep. I'm also certain we'll find something for you to do should you so wish. What's your name?"

Nissifer.

"Well fair ladies, I have a proposition that all of you are free to accept or decline. Should you decline I will supply you with a portion of your masters wealth and transport out of this kingdom should you so wish. Should you accept you'll reside within Castle Black as actual ladies not servants, you'll play a few bits of music every now and then and live in silk. Nod if you'd prefer the latter."

They all nod, Nissifer more reluctant than the other two.

"Now I have another proposition but before I offer it I must know that you are suited for the position you may fill."

I take the pen and paper and pass them to Sally.

"Draw me something like what Katherine drew," I request. "Not identical, but something to a similar effect."

Two hours, three sheets of paper, a splitting headache and a bloodied soaked handkerchief later I learnt all I needed. Sally struggles the most, she takes the most time to create a mere collection of hard lines and soft curves. The shapes come together to form things that shouldn't be, can't be yet they are, I know they were scrawled upon paper, I know what they were but my mind is incapable of making them. However apart from their queer formation they only supply an effect not too dissimilar to staring at the sun for a few minutes. Nissifer's puzzled me, hers were more organic looking, less geometric. I could make out a hand here, an eye there, bits that didn't belong to any animal I've ever seen. Each eye followed mine, each mouth whispered something incomprehensible in my ear, each limb groped my fingers. Something about the way they did all this while remaining inanimate made me want to obliterate them. Katherine, the youngest of the three appears to be the best at crafting these things or at the very least hers hurt the most to look at. The second image she made for me I tried harder to decipher. I made out what may have been a diamond before the other images began to dominate. They felt like knives thinner than threads gliding across my eyes, drilling their way through the skull and forcing into the brain. The third picture she drew had the outline of a man in it, then invisible claws raked through my flesh until with a great effort I looked away. That one managed to set my wounded hand bleeding a river. Had tourniquet the arm with my belt to stop the damn flow and that's when I decided to end the test. I made my proposition and they all accepted, not surprising considering there's not much legal demand for their skillset anywhere else in the kingdom and my offer promises a much better life than that of servitude.

Now we ride away from the prison together in a carriage to Castle Black. I smile politely at the women despite the pain. The taste of blood refuses to leave my mouth, my vision is obscured by two white dots and there's a pressure building in my head. The musicians told me they can achieve greater results with their instruments, I'm eager to find out what a pain greater than this can reduce a man to.