To Make a Kinder Children's Tale

5: Life in Parallel

Custom was with-when a thief traded down to fencing-you leaving with whatever clothes you owned that were not sneak-thief branded. The master gave out those as a sign of patronage, not as a gift. So she stripped out the old leather gear and into her sole nightgown-a full size too small and threadbare. Her lack of success clearly showed in her possessions: a book-once her mother's, the clothes she now wore, and a dirk whose pommel had a coiled snake etched into it-the one gift-trade her master ever gave her. She forfeited the boots-where she usually kept it-so she instead struggled to place it within her less than modest cleavage, as that was the only place with enough banding to keep it still. Esme walked out of the room that had been her only real home with a lump in her throat. She had never suited this life, but it had been hers, damn it.

Lady Fane's was a full three blocks away, far enough to get catcalls from various toughs that roamed the Shards at all hours. Her ears were still marked with the Grimhold's rings. They would dare do no more than taunt her while she wore them. When she got to Lady Fane's, those would be taken from her as payment for the goods that she would wear while no longer under a thief-lord's protection-hence why the fences were so often put to death.

Lady Fane was some genuine inner-circle Aelfine who ran the charity to start the impoverished women of the Shards out in jobs that kept them out the 'Skirthouses. Of course she never came down to check on her charity, save on The Festival of the Mountain's Shadow when secrets must be revealed. So, her staff pretended to bring out secrets, but they were long within the thieves' grip, and she was none-the-wiser. The dame always assumed that all these women risked their lives out of foolish greed-never seeming to suspect that the whole of it was forced. It really wasn't until these poor women managed to own their own shop that they had some protection from the thieves' demands.

So Esme climbed the stairs to Lady Fane's while trembling. This was the first time in her twenty-five summers that her life was truly at risk.

~~~

A plump human woman flumped down across from him. "Who are you looking for, sugar?"

Althalos was relieved that he had left the uniform back in the barracks in favor of a generic tough's choice of clothing-dock's cap and all. Nothing could hide his dark skin, but at least his ears were his own concern. "A young woman, lean of build. She is no taller than you when in full leather."

"What earrings did she wear?"

It was an odd question, but it didn't take him long to remember that the woman's hair had been shoved under a cap, leaving her ears free to be seen. He could recall everything in that one moment, including how her sparse chest heaved from running into him. "Gold hoops, with a blood stone on the left and something a bit more pink on the right."

"Sounds like your 'skirt is a guildsman. They only like using the Tattered Folds: just south of us, in the Shards." The woman said this as she licked her lips-they were nice lips, and wetting them whetted him somewhat, especially the expression she gave as she looked him over. He tried to hide his interest by taking a swig of the vile brew in front of him, but the gleam in her eye told him it dissuaded her none. "And if you forget to hide your accent, M'Lord, you won't be seen again. You want an...ah...safer bed, I could generously accommodate you."

Althalos struggled to remain impassive to the enticement. He only succeeded by keeping the young woman's ire in mind. If she-drawn by compulsion-found him between another's thighs, that woman would die...rather horribly. He opted for a lie. "It's more business than that."

"Which is why I said you won't be seen again, sir. There is no business between a lowly slaved thief and a dark skinned beauty as yourself. Best to pretend to slum for a 'skirt-or better yet, actually do so, tarry for a while."

Althalos gave the woman a coin, about the amount a man gave when he wanted strange women to leave him alone but not insult them outright. With a rogueish wink, she sank it between her breasts with two delicate fingers, daring his eyes and mind to follow. Again, he fought to remain inexpressive, but in his heart he had to admit that this was far more appealing than watching an innocent and therefore clueless waif of a woman impress on him for one brief moment.

It was a dark mood that stayed with him as he made his way to his next destination-the Tattered Folds.