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I have banners but I need help with this story. I dont know where its going and I know thats a problem... help..

INTRO:
I am writing this tale as it occurs. It depicts my life as the Spymaster to the King. From the time of my street urchin beginning to my exalted position of Spymaster. Now, as my impending doom approaches, I am chronicling the treachery that has breached these noble halls and into the very court of Our King Samuel II. Although my rank may be exalted, it is not commonly known. The knowledge of my position has only been whispered to a few. It is for that very reason; I have impersonated the humblest of the male scribes, Jacques Champe, in order to obtain the necessary items for a scribe. My time is short, and thus, I must hasten and begin.

Chapter 1: Childhood Hardship
When I was born, I was promptly abandoned. Only to be picked up by a passing child trafficker. Oh yeah, my life started out just peachy…
The next seven years of my life was spent with this horrible man. My only friend, another orphan, Kala- a skinny, exotic coloured, blonde haired, blue eyed pretty little thing. It was also at that time, I was finally given a name, which matched my ordinary, non-descript appearance: Audrey Malorn. (A name bearing no weight or proclamation of a decent future, just the name of a common-born orphan that would never amount to anything other than a pub whore or a waitress… except that… they mean the same thing. They both come from questionable backgrounds and decencies.) And, with that name, brought about the time I was to begin learning “the tricks of the trade” of an orphan.
After a few weeks of that inhumane torture mixed with pleasure that no child should endure, a plan began to form within my brain. I would take Kala and we would run away. Far from our tormentors and make a life for ourselves on the streets- no matter the slim chance of survival.
That night, I relayed my plan to her. During the next visit to the seamstress for our fittings, we awould slip away into the large piles of brocades and silks. Then wait there, and creep out in the confusion our disappearance would cause. Yes, there were flaws in the design plan, and a large margin for error, and a CERTAINTY that when captured; we would be punished within a literal inch of our lived. Within my mind’s eye, it was completely worth it, but to Kala, this plan was just a slow and painful death in disguise.
I cried that night. Not a quiet sniffle that was quickly muffled within the crook of my arm, but a mournful one, symbolizing a dreadful loss. The loss of my only companion through the hell that had been my life.
A week later, I took my chance. I knew that the day would begin like all the previous days at the seamstress. The older girls would get their dress fitted to last them the longest possible before more money would have to be spent. Then the teen aged girls, they would have their dresses made with an extremely large amount of fabric sewn into the hem. This allowed the hemline to be let out multiple times to last years, rather than months. Lastly, were the wee ones, the children my age… 10 and under. We would require the most out of the seamstress, for we seemed to grow out of our clothing monthly.
I kept the thought in mind that if I dallied, the punishment that awaited me at “home” would be severe. I made my way up to the middle of the line, making myself look more gloomy and subdued than normal, and surveyed the room’s landscape. Planning my route of escape. The brocade and silk pile looked inviting but the dirty laundry pile looked even more promising. I decided firmly that the laundry would be my escape. All the while, hoping that Shilla, the goddess of luck was with me. And, in fact, she was. Just as I had finished my alterations, our “loving father,” Alexandre… the Child trafficker… left his perch by the door as the washer lady entered. Without the presence of his beady hawk-eyes, I quickly climbed into the dilapidated basket. Before I had even settled and stilled, the backed began to move, but just suddenly as it had begun to move, it stopped.
FREEDOM!!!....
Or not...
“Stop! W’ere’s Kala?” Alexandre yelled out harshly, while he surveyed the girls and women assembled before him.
“What the hell is she doing?” I thought.
“I think that I saw her crawl toward the brocade and silk pile, just after you left the ch’ambre,” Annette piped up.
“She’s giving me a distraction! Kala’s letting me get out… but at her expense,” I thought as tears sprang unbidden to my eyes. When the basket began to move again, I prayed that she would never forget me because I would never forget her. As soon as the washing lady stepped out of the Shoppe, “Freedom” was the first word I uttered.


Chapter 2: The Lost Years... Well day (The later sounds better)
Laying my quill down, I glanced about the room the room that I was occupying. It was bare, with only a single desk, stained by aged inks that never did fade too lightly. Sighing inwardly, I picked up the quill that seemed to gain weight by the second, and continued writing the bleakest part of my life
I was alone, hungry and winter was fast approaching. The first day on the street was fun. New sounds, sights and smells surrounded me. I wanted to see everything and, I did. I went to the blacksmith’s smithy. He yelled at me to get lost, for the nerve of him, called me a beggar and told me to darken someone else’s doorway. As I was unsure of what to say to him, I left. Next, I went to the glassblower’s shop, but it was too warm to enter. The heat burned on my frostbitten skin and I ran away to escape the pain. The bakery was y favorite place that day. Famished from hunger and dirty from the dust kicked up my both human and animal alike, I entered. What greeted me was a portly woman in a blue dress and apron, equally dusted in flour. She had her hair in a bun with wisps indicating her brown hair’s ongoing resistance. Immediately her gaze settled on me. Glancing around, I noticed why, everyone was dressed in finery that I had never had the privilege to peek upon. I was in the same dress that I had worn for months. It was faded and wasn’t even worthy to disgrace their households as a rag. With that one look, they began looking down at me from their noses, while I looked for the closest escape route, but before I could move, an unknown man said, “Hold little one.” I froze. “Why are you leaving?”
Casting my gaze around, attempting to locate the mysterious voice, but failing, I answered, “I was looking at all the new sights and sounds. I never realized that I was unworthy to enter this bakery. I will leave with haste.”
“Why do you think that you are unworthy? Is it your clothing? Your non-descript appearance? Are you here to purchase anything here? Or are you here to steal?” The unknown voice mused, as the nobles chuckled to themselves.
Now I was getting angry. I replied with the truth. “Do you want me to answer those questions? Do you really want to know my past when I answer these questions? The things I have been through would make you blanche. I am at least proud enough to show y face and speak boldly, yet you hide. You are nothing but a coward.”
Deathly silence met my exclamation and I looked down; ashamed. Here I was, an orphan, scoffing at the people who could order my death. I heard the rustle of fabric, and the mutterings of the crowd, as a man shifted through the colourful sea of silk.

Besides obvious grammatical errors and a misuse in punctuation here and there (no worries, darling, those things can easily be fixed and I'm equally--if not more--guilty in doing such in my own writing), the story itself is rich with detail and held my interest well.

A few questions, though:

If Audrey is "writing the story as it occurs," why, then, does she chose to start with her childhood? Not that I mind. It seems as though the young girl led a very adventurous life before entering the castle. Some sort of transition to carry the reader back into the past would be helpful either at the end of your introduction or the beginning of your first chapter, though. Perhaps something along the lines of "To understand why I have made the choices I have, and now live the life I do, I must start at the beginning..." or something along those lines.



What exactly are the "tricks of the trade" for an orphan at this time? Theft? Breaking and entering? Grand theft carriage? (Sorry, a personal joke of mine)



What? I understand there's confusion among the orphans during the escape, but this statement itself shouldn't be confusing. And it is. At least, to me. I could be alone, though.

When you decide to continue this story, I would enjoy reading it very much.

heart

.:~o*'Isianya'*o~:.

Two things.
One, "Oh, yeah," sounds very immature and acts as just a filler. You could say something like "My life started out just peachy, in the most sarcastic sense possible," or something.
Also, what I notice is a lot of people misuse ellipses. Ellipses purpose is to insinuate an omission, whether in quotes or in speech. Not a pause. If you're going to have a pause, use a dash.
were spent.

You seem to be very comma happy. A very common thing among writers. Try saying something like:
"My only friend was another orphan named Kala, a skinny..." The dash is for a pause or an interruption. This is a run on. Try it like this:
"It was also at that time that I was finally given a name which matched my ordinary, non-descript appearance: Audrey Molorn. It was a name...future, just one of a common....or waitress. Coincidentally, the titles are the same thing." You also don't need the parenthesis’. It's not very good technique to begin a sentence with "And." you could just as easily start it with "With."



I believe teenaged is one word. Maybe not. I'm not sure. Also:
"...girls would have their..."

Why is she looking more gloomy than normal? Why is she crying so much? Explain your character's emotions. She sounds pretty flat right now.
Watch your "And," as well as the ellipses.
Use another would besides "move", Stir, rustle, anything. You don't want to repeat yourself unless you need emphasis on that word.




Do you mean latter?
You don't need a comma after desk. What? This is just odd phrasing.
She's seven and speaks like that? Eh.
You used this phrase before.

I would have to agree that you do rush through thing, and that your characters responses, speech and actions are way too mature for her age. It's almost unbelievable. I would age her a bit. Most seven year olds cannot grasp the concept of depression. They know that something is wrong, but know not of its existence. This is a very intriguing story, and did hold my attention. Looking past the few grammar mistakes and slight age flaw, you have something very lovely and promising. biggrin