Bitter tears sting my cheeks as the silks burn my skin. My hands catch hold of the material and my back twists in a painful ark. My body moves in time with the chants and hums of the orchestra below. After a few painful minutes, the end of the song sounds as a long bass note is played. I release the silks and they tighten around my waist at the last second before my feet caress the ground.
My head spins and my chest throbs. My waist and hands have silk burns. My once neat hair falls in front of my face in dark waves. My feet ache for the security of the ground. As my weight settles on the hardwood of my stage I sigh.
A chorus of claps and hollers praise me. I give the crowd a bittersweet smile before being led into the back room. I change into a simple blouse and slacks. I am set free to run the streets in search of loose coins. My hands twitch from my sides as I nab jewelry from wrists and coins from pockets. I rush through the crowd searching for a more suitable target. My pockets are heavy with trinkets when someone grabs my hand.
"There you are, dear." The man says. I look up at him with a confused expression.
"What?" I ask
"I've been looking everywhere." The strange man picks me up and wraps his arms around me.
"I don't know you," I state, pushing away.
"Of course, you don't." The man says with a sly grin. "The circus master sent me to fetch you."
"Oh," I say. "My da?"
"Yes."
We wind through the city and my eyes begin to droop. Soon I notice that the cobblestone streets have been exchanged for the soft dirt of the forest. My eyes dart upward and I see trees looming over us. The trees stretch their hand-like limbs towards us. The unfamiliar road sparks a nervous feeling In my stomach but I push the thoughts away, I will soon see my father. I let the gentle rocking of the man's footsteps bring me to sleep.
I wake with wood pressed against my back and ropes securing my hands behind me. My eyes fly open and the dark hull of a ship smiles back at me. The shadows are filled with whimpers and groans. The wood screams as it sways beneath me. Thunderous footsteps sound from above as a man carries a tray down the stairs. His gangly legs provide him with long enough strides to take the stairs two at a time.
"Where am I?" I ask the man in a shaky voice.
"Middle of the ocean." The man says, kneeling next to me.
"Who are you?" I ask. The man unties my hands.
"None of your concern."
"Where's my da?"
"Back in Ravka with his circus freaks."
"Why am I here?" My stomach is tied in knots.
"Do you know what a brothel is, kid?"
"No."
"You will." The man turns to leave.
That is the only other person I see for three weeks. The man would bring me food and answer my questions vaguely before leaving to do it all again. The only change in routine was when the hull burst open.
The water had come for me. My hands were still bound. My mouth was filled with saltwater almost instantly. I was thrown around the hull before common sense overcame me. I ripped my way up the stairs and attempted to push open the hatch. The lock rattled with each desperate push. I couldn't tell what filled my lungs first, the water or my tears. They taste the same so why does it matter. My head throbbed and my lungs burned. I found a jagged piece of metal, ripped by the ice that crushed the hull with ease.
My hands dripped with crimson blood but the ropes were gone. The ropes left deep marks on my wrists but I fought through the sting brought by the salt in the water. I gasp for breath before diving down. The freezing waters crush my lungs in an unforgiving embrace. I blindly feel my way to the hole in the ship. I feel a tug at my shoulders and waist. I force my eyes open and see a hazy picture of a rope. I am being drug to the bottom of the ocean. I struggle to pull myself to the surface. My lungs crave oxygen and burn in wait.
I feel my body being pulled through the water. I thrash against the ropes in desperation. Perhaps death is a kind thing. At the moment I fear it but maybe with luck, I will meet ma again. Ma with her shiny black hair and golden Shu eyes. And Da with golden hair and blue eyes. A sharp pain slices at my skin as the ropes tighten their hold.
I watch the bubbles rise to the surface as my lungs burn, craving the sweet release of oxygen. I feel the water push its way inside my nostrils. The salt burns like a knife. The burn makes its way down my throat, slowly, painfully. I feel my body try to push it out, to no prevail. The water invades my lungs.
Before I know it my eyes close and the air is pushed from my lungs in a quiet exhale.
My tears fill the ocean with their sorrowful taste. As death comes to take me home. A bright golden light flourishes in front of me and I feel the water move beside me. I'm sinking. I think. This is how I go out. I conclude. With my life hardly beginning I will die at six years old.
My body feels numb. I feel like I'm floating. The feel of rope against my skin fades. The water burning my lungs fades. I hear my heartbeat, a slow occasional soft thud. The water seems to recede. I try to wiggle my fingers, my toes, anything. There's nothing.
In moments I feel a sharp wind cut through my shivering bones. Precious oxygen fills my lungs and my skin turns to ice. I flail my arms as I search for something, anything. My hands shy away from an object as they meet skin. I watch the body as it floats, cold and stiff. Dead. The man's skin has paled and gone hard. I grimace as I grip his clothing and pull myself over his body.
The shore comes quickly. The man's body floats away as I paddle towards land. I fill my hands with sand and sink against the warm grains. I look up and see a bustling port. People of all statuses loiter in the streets and shop doorways. It doesn't take long for me to notice that this isn't Ravka. I am lost, I don't know where I am. Where am I?
My first week in Ketterdam was spent looking for work. No one hired a six-year-old so I took to the streets, doing the job I had grown up with. Picking pockets was easy unless you got caught. A few jail visits gave me enough sense to be more purposeful with what I stole. Shiny jewelry was easy to sell on the streets or in a pawn shop so I took those. Loose cash and coins were a common prize.
Those first few months in Ketterdam taught me one important lesson.
"If it's honest work, your doing it wrong."