Things started off fairly well, within a week we had our websites up and were adding new chapters to them daily. I started to build up my backlog again and slowly a small trickle of readers began to arrive at my site as word spread through forums.

On the edges of the site, I added links to Hera, Astra and Kauri's stories, I also included donation links, a feature Crusher Media never really explored.

Mona Lisa, the artist I'd met on the street soon joined us, she started a little art studio website and began offering commissions to other writers and artists.

One day I got a knock on our door, it was a young man, shabbily dressed with the slim nimble fingers of a writer.

'Hi,' I said, 'How can I help?'

'Q sent me,' he peered in at the skate ramp 'Q said this was a safe place.'

I stared at that guy for a very long time, not saying a thing. So much so that he must have thought he'd come to the wrong place, because he started to turn away.

'Yes! Come in. Come in.' I shouted after him, 'welcome to the mansion.'

His name was Weaver and unlike the rest of us, he wrote stories for kids, magical tales of mice and otters.

Weaver was the first to arrive from Victor, but he certainly wasn't the last. I don't know how Victor found out where we were but that didn't stop him sending a multitude of writers, editors and illustrators our way. While it was great to have so many people following this new path to earning a living, the more people we gathered to us the more money we were spending on food, electricity, and water.

‘Eli!’ Astra called, ‘there’s a new writer here.’

We were digging the garden – sowing rows of lettuce and carrots and corn and cucumbers and tomatoes and everything in between. We planned to plant the side of the house with fruit trees as soon as we could afford them.

Astra had a patch of dark soil on her chin that moved when she smiled, ‘Come on! Go talk to them.’

I washed my hands, caught a towel that Kauri threw to me and then used it to open the door.

‘Hello!’ I said.

Standing in front of me was a young woman dressed in rags. There wasn’t a part of her jeans, shoes, or shirt that wasn’t torn and discoloured. The clothes, too big for her seemed to hang off like washing on a line.

‘Q.’ Was all she said, and I nodded.

‘You’ve come to the right place.’

I gestured inside, where Kauri and Hera waved at her.

‘What’s your name?’ Hera asked.

The woman opened her mouth, once, twice, ‘I’m Suki.’

‘Well Suki,’ I said, ‘welcome to the mansion. We have no rules here – but I just tell anyone who wants to join us that we all have to chip in to keep the place running.’

She gave this frightened little whimper, then looked at the walls of the mansion – on them were a collection of abstract paintings, a tiger’s face, a robot with only one leg, a ball and chain, ‘You are painters too?’

Hera nodded and grinned, she walked over to Suki and linked an arm with her, ‘Yeah. Not me – stick figures are basically my limit, but Mona, Astra, they’re sick.’

We showed her the kitchen, where the old benchtop sparkled in the morning light, ‘See here’s the thing,’ Hera said, ‘No rules in this place, but the dishes are always done. How fricken sick is that?’

We passed a wall where Weaver and the superbly named writer The God of Boredom were replacing rotten boards with second-hand ones they’d scavenged from the dump.

‘Hey Eli!’ Weaver said, ‘Don’t have some coin for more nails?’

I reached into my pocket and pulled out three, two-dollar coins, ‘How far will this go?’

‘Further than any coin has gone before, you’re a legend.’

We walked on, I turned to Suki.

'Money’s our problem. Money is almost the opposite of any artistic endeavour. At the moment I’m doing some of my best work ever. I’m getting like one millionth of the views, but hey, the comments are like man... this is the best writing you’ve done.’

Hera nodded, ‘Same for me, I’m writing better, and getting like a fifth of the reads, go figure.’

Suki nodded slowly, ‘I-I was doing quite well at Crusher. I had nice clothes. I had nice food.’ She looked out the window at our garden, ‘But this is better.’

Hera, Kauri and I exchanged a look. Their smiles were brighter than the sun.

Unfortunately, that’s when an Astra shaped cloud passed over us. She had wet hair and a towel wrapped around her. She was also shivering with little goosebumps on her arms.

'Eli, the gas is off.'

'What?'

'I went to have a shower and... no gas. Cold. Freezing. Antarctica.'

‘Well, that's bad. Anyone called a meeting?

'Yeah. Mona’s just abo-' she was interrupted by the sound of the large gong that shook a little plaster from the boards.

I jerked my thumb towards Suki, ‘Come on. Meeting time. You’re about to experience Mona!’

****

Mona was standing on the skate ramp with a croissant in one hand, and a fist in the other. She nodded to us as we sat down. There were 15 writers all up.

‘We haven't paid our gas bill in two months.’ Mona took a bite out of the croissant, ‘Mostly because we didn't have the money to pay it.’

She scratched her nose, ‘Anyone got any money?’

Everyone picked through their pockets, and checked online bank accounts.

‘I’ve got a tenner,’ said ChrisRock, ‘I’ll shove it in now.’

‘I’ve got six bucks,’ said Weaver, ‘Guess the nails can wait.’

By the time we’d finished emptying out royalty payments we had $30, not enough for gas. I ran a hand through my hair, I knew we were low – we’d had to stop cooking our meals on the gas stoves and start using fires outside.

‘If no one else has any ideas, I’ve got one,’ Mona said, ‘How about we put our next grocery shop, towards gas?’

There was a little rumble, ‘But’ Kauri said, ‘Won’t that leave us without food?’

Mona Lisa shook her head, ‘No... because, dear Kauri, I’m going to teach you the art of dumpster diving.’

Around the room there were a few murmurs, Suki, beside us, had a little smile on her face, ‘I’ve done a lot of diving dumpsters.’

'Dumpster diving is a lot like art,' Mona explained, 'Quite often in art you're taking something the world doesn't see as useful or beautiful or worthy and you're transforming into something they value. Tonight...'

She pumped her fists and waited until everyone screamed, 'Tonight!'

'Tonight, we are going on our first dumpster dive. Many of you in this mansion are virgins,' she winked at Kauri, 'And not just the dumpster diving type.'

Everyone roared with laughter and slapped Kauri on the back. Kauri was laughing harder than anyone.

'But seriously,' Mona said, 'It's not that hard. First, we pull up in John Blue's van...’ she pointed out the window at a van so rusty that most people thought it was painted brown.

'...We jump in the van, we find some stores where the owners throw away perfectly good bread, salads, hummus, steaks, meat, fruit, tinned, and baked goods.’ She pointed at me, and then Astra, ‘Two people hold open the lid of the dumpster...’ she pointed at Kauri and Hera, ‘Two people dive into the dumpster...’ finally she pointed at Weaver and John Blue, ‘...and two people collect the food they throw out. We do this over and over and over again until we have enough for a feast, then we come back here and we party.'

I don’t know if it was the way she spoke or the way she thrust the croissant into the air, but everyone went nuts; screaming and yelling and fist pumping. Mona Lisa had the artists so hyped up that no one wanted to be left behind.

So as night fell everyone else squeezed into the van, while John Blue attached a homemade trailer. Astra and I volunteered to lie in the back of the trailer, pillows under our heads, eyes pointed at the stars. As the van took off with the chorus of shouts I turned to Astra.

'Ever think you'd end up in a trailer being driven by a bunch of lunatic writer-scavengers?'

Astra shook her head, 'No, but when I was in Crusher prison I did have this... this... hope in the back of my brain...' she went silent. For a while, the only sound was the creaking of the trailer as it moved along the country road and the strumming of a five-string guitar from inside the crowded van.

'What was the thing you hoped for?'

The night sky above us was a sea of stars, the kind that no fluorescent paint in a prison cell could ever replicate. The kind that seemed like it had been painted by the artist of the universe for us to enjoy. There were whites, reds, purples, yellows, and golds. I felt Astra's hand reach into mine.

'I didn't think I'd end up on the back of a trailer being driven by a bunch of crazy artists.' she said, 'But I did hope that the first time I was free to stare at the starry sky... that it would be with you.'

She turned her face and I turned mine, looking into her eyes was like looking into the universe. I could see stars and comets burning up in them. I touched the side of her face, watched the smile spread over her lips.

'Astra,' I said, 'when I moved to the village, I didn't dream of the stars. In my best times and in my worst times, I didn't dream of the night sky or good food or even freedom. I dreamed of you.'