Lamp Oil

Chapter: 2

"Ten pieces of gold this size. It will fetch a good price."

The old man examines the gold under his skillful eyes, his large arched brows furrowing in concentration. He glances at me, and grins a near toothless smile, with what teeth he had left rotting and blackened. Burrowing into the mountain of cushions that he squatted upon, he counts the gold on the table once again, basking in its value. The Gold digger was happy with my latest toils, and his roost will surely prosper due to the newest addition of gold. Perhaps now, while he is coddling the metal in his ancient hands, it would be a good time to bring that up. I sit down, crossing my skinny legs on a nearby silk cushion, and scooting myself up to the table I bring up my favorite topic,

"Is it enough to buy my freedom?" His dream-like, almost drunken expression immediately grows dark and downcast. Brow cocked and smile wry, he says,

"Now, Sul, with such talent, we can't just write you off so easily. Your hands are young and nimble, and your eyes quick and sharp, and with that little body of yours, you're able to fit into the tiniest of spaces." Frustration builds inside of me, but I fight to control it. I swallow my pride, and slather a smile in coy modesty, gently asking,

"How much do I have left on my contract, then?" The old man smirks a little at the question, and squeezes a piece of gold between two fingers, holding it up to my face like a trophy.

"You are my greatest asset. I can't say how long I'll want to keep you. If you were a little worse at your job, then I might have let you off already, but since you are a champion of thievery, I think I'll keep you a while longer. I really do need to invest at my old age," He cackles at my distraught frown, as he ruffles my dark hair a little with the gold piece in his hand. Then tugging on a lock of long hair, he pulls me closer to him over the table until it feels like my hair will tear from my stretching scalp.

"That is why you need to listen to me, isn't that right Little Sun?" He croons at me with a soft, breathy voice, using the name my mother used to call me to shame both her and I. Shaking with anger, I erupt wildly like a spewing volcano and slap his hand away from my hair with malice. I stand up, puffing out my small chest in the hopes of intimidation, and I voice my sarcasm soaked concerns,

"So, because I'm so good at what I do, that just means my contract will be extended no matter what?" The man's hypnotic eyebrows crunch down upon his sunken eyes, and he leans over the table with his hands outstretched. I can feel his hot, stinking breath blow ragged on my neck as he grips my tiny shoulders in his bony hands and snarls,

"you are under contract as my property, and as property, you should lie flat enough to be stomped on. I will free you in time if you give me respect and if you steal me gold, " The pressure on my shoulders lifts,

"But if not," He glances at the table in the back of the room, where a variety of sharp instruments reside. They are covered in what looks like rust, but I know better that it is dried blood not yet cleaned from the previous use. On top of the knives and things used to prod a victim is a single leather lash, and from that little pieces of skin hang, some that I know are mine.

Bowed low to the dirty ground, my elbows caked in horse feces and mud, my body quivered against the earth. The Gold Digger brought out the lash and tore at my sari, exposing my tan neck and back. The skin was still supple and new, as I was still a child, and as this was the first of many encounters that I would experience the strikes of leather. He began, and I screamed as each stroke bored against my splitting skin. By the time he was done my shoulders were lacerated, and warm blood streamed down my sides and chest. I sobbed, choking on my snot and tears. "Get yourself cleaned up", he said, "I have another job for you".

"you know what will happen." My shoulders shake from aching past wounds, knowing that if I stroke along the crevices of my back, the raised flesh from my scars would be apparent. I cease shaking, gripping my arms. My fear would not be known, so I lift my chin confidently and ask,

"What do you want from me this time?" The old man smiles and drops the gold on the table, relaxing now that he had me in the palms of his hands.

"If you act properly, this mission will be your last. I want you to steal from Pier Palei, King of Nazar.

My feet drag drearily against the graveled ground outside of the Gold Digger's roost. The rain had stopped for a brief moment and the clouds parted slightly, letting a few warm rays shine through the fog. Face lowered, I did not accept the sun, for its brightness would cut through my solemn self pity. I never had good luck to begin with, but it was hard to believe that it could get any worse.

In order to steal from the great king, I would need to first enter, bypassing the royal guards and finding a way in, which would most likely be from climbing over one of the towering walls, unless I can manage to come up from the sewage system. Both options would need to be accompanied by a detailed layout of the castle, unobtainable of course, because then every crook would be scaling the castle by now. But if I can get that problem solved, then the only other important detail would be to memorize the schedule of the shifting guard watches; However, common sense tells me that a castle built a mile wide by a mile and a half long would have at least one thousand guards, all whose schedules would need to be memorized. Then if that were possible, where would the treasure be held? It would obviously not be on the unattainable layout of the castle, because it is supposed to be a secret treasure room. I seriously doubt that the map makers would be informed of it.

Completely astonished at the plan, I sit down for a moment on the stone steps that lead to the roost, and duck my head, my dark hair falling in between my legs. Tears well in the corners of my eyes, and I begin to hyperventilate. My vision blurs from the quick rapid breaths, so I rub my hands together to try to slow my breathing down. Calm yourself, you must calm yourself. Gripping my whitening knuckles, I begin counting to ten like my mother taught me, when she was still alive and well. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

Count to ten Little Sun, and let all your worries disappear like a bellow of smoke in the unfaltering wind. The fire that started in your heart is no longer there to hold you down. You can now drift away, and shine like the bright sun above you.

6, 7, 8, 9, 10...Then I gazed up at the sun, its warm light enveloping my face, and I laugh aloud. My tears let loose their dams and they cascade down my face one by one, hot and furious, and growing in number. What did I have to lose, Mother? Nothing. I have nothing to lose. But even though I have nothing to lose, I still cannot help feeling a little bit sad.