The Sweetbriar Slayer

Chapter Three

"It's sourdough," Aurelia says, stepping toward the third boy, pasting on a coaxing smile. He stares at her, unblinking, unmoving. She wonders if he's ever even tasted a loaf of real bread before.

Wheat is expensive, imported from far-off Rivergate- too costly for the lower rungs of the Citizenry class to afford. Instead, they subsist on the rice grown in the vast Glascostian rice paddies, the salted eel jerky so readily available in the marketplace, the fish they can catch themselves along the shore. Bread of any kind is a luxury. But bread with a golden crust and a soft, white, spongy center is the stuff of children's dreams.

The child licks his lips, but his guard remains up. Smart. Responsible.

"What do you want for it?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture. The other children pause in eating, their bellies full enough to wonder the same.

"Nothing- for the bread," she tells him, honestly. "But, for some information, I'll bring you to the patisserie and buy you any sweet you want."

He eyes her, up and down. Takes in the dress she wears- a beige, shapeless, backless thing made of middling-quality material- takes in the lack of adornment save for a simple colored glass necklace. She knows what the boy sees: a middle class woman; maybe one of the lucky members of the Citizenry born into a good family, maybe a guilder- someone rich enough to afford the treats she doles out, but not so rich as to draw too much attention or try to pick her pockets.

In the end, the temptation and hunger win out over suspicion. "Anything I want?" he parrots, and she smiles at him reassuringly and nods.

Won over, the boy tentatively reaches out and takes the loaf of bread from her hands. "What do you want to know?" he asks, still wary, even as he takes an appreciative sniff of the bread. She notices the way he cradles it in his hands as though it is made of gold, how slow he is to take a bite, how long he savors the crunch of the crust.

She'd come close to this, once. If Kaol's parents hadn't taken her in after her Pabu's death, she would have joined the ranks of the bullet brats twelve years ago, would have starved in obscurity among boys like this. She pushes the thought away, and pulls out a picture of the mark she had decided was most worthy of death- Patricus Warmus.

"I've heard this man goes to one of the brothels around here pretty frequently. Do you know which one?" she asks, and the boy blinks as he looks up at her.

"What're you, his kept girl or something?" he asks, and she shrugs her shoulders, puts the photograph back in the simple leather satchel that hangs cross-wise over her body.

"Let's just say I'm an interested party," she replies.

He looks her over again, and then snorts. "If he's your man, he can afford to take care of you a lot better than does. You should get a new one," the child scoffs, glancing at her dress and necklace again. Aurelia forces a smile.

"Do you know where he goes, or not?" she asks, and the boy shrugs, scratches at his greasy brown hair with dirty nails.

"I don't know the name of it," he says, "It's a couple streets out, I think. Seen him coming and going from there a couple 'a times," he adds.

Aurelia nods. "Well then, why don't you show me, and we can stop at the patisserie on the way?" she offers, and the boy passes the rest of the loaf of bread to the scrawny, mean looking boy. He gives the mean looking one a significant look, and receives a stoic nod in return.

Aurelia makes sure her disguise is well in place as she steps back out into the sunlight, and holds her breath as a Patrolman passes her. Luckily, he is too busy eyeing the boy to ensure he won't pickpocket anyone to pay her any mind. Still, she doesn't breathe easily again until they are standing at the patisserie window. If the boy notices her discomfort, he doesn't mention it. In fact, he doesn't say anything at all until he puts his grubby hand against the display window and asks again: