A Proper Young Thief
M.K.Barry
Chapter One: The Little Thiefling
Lissa hugged her basket close to her and took a long, deep smell. The smell of fresh bread, like what her mother used to make when she was little, filled her nose and warmed her despite the cold. As the late fall air chilled her fingers, she had a memory of herself as a small child, running into the house, fingers numb with cold, cheeks tingling, and smelling the bread that her mother was making. She looked up. This was the deadest time of year in her opinion. At least winter had some beauty to it. The trees were bare, and scratched at the sky. The few dead leaves that had not been blown into the river scampered on the ground.
Her mother didn't make bread anymore. She and her mother were servants of Lord Mintas, and Lord Mintas had his own cook, who preferred to buy her bread from the bakery. Lissa told her mother that it was a wasteful practice, and that they should let her make bread if the cook didn't want to. Her mother shrugged, and said that if Lord Mintas had the money to spend on fresh bread every day from the bakery, he could have it. To Lissa, It wasn't the same. You couldn't buy the smell of home.
She heard laughter behind her. She froze up for a moment, and managed to just stop herself from turning around. Holding her baskek over her arm, held before in the most lady like way she could manage, she started walking home, trying to walk fast enough to get there quickly, but slow enough to show that she wasn't rushing, to show that she didn't want to run.
She turned off the market street, and down a lane until she was heading towards Lord Mintas' house. She could see grey smoke coming out of the chimney. Theresa had been preparing a special meal all day for some lord from Rawlins. Lissa was expected to do the serving today, an attempt to impress Lord Mintas' guest. It also meant that she could have a bit of what they were having to eat. A cooked hog, most likely. It was Lord Mintas' favorite.
Something hard hit her in the back. A sound like a knock on wood reverberated though her, and she stumbled, dropping her basket. She swooped down and grabbed the bread before it rolled out onto the dirt. She heard something behind her, and turned just as one of the village boys her age came up behind her, grabbed her hair, and pulled hard, pushing her down to the ground as he did.
“Hello little thiefling.” He said. A small group of boys were behind him, watching and laughing. She recognized him, His name was Ghant. She recognized them all. It was a small town, and everyone knew everyone else, as well as everyone's business.
“Let me go.” Lissa hissed. She scanned the ground. Her basket was tipped on it's side, the bread rolling on the dirt. An apple sat off to her side, a large bruise facing her. She guessed that was what was thrown at her. There were no large rocks around. Nothing she could fight them off with. She could escape, even if she had to run. She reached up, grabbed her hair and tried to pull it out of Ghant's hands. He let go, and she fell to the ground on her hands and knees. Tiny pebbles dug into her hands, the pain of the half-frozen ground hurting more than the cuts. Ghant – she suddenly remembered that it was his mother who once called her mother a slut in the market- reached as though to pull her up from behind, and grabbed her breast.
She swung around, and felt the back of her open hand connect to his head. He stumbled back. Lissa grabbed her basket, collected the bread, and stepped back.
Ghant looked at her, showing his shock that a girl, this girl no less, had just slapped him. When he realized that his friends were still behind him, he started snickering.
“If it bothers you so much, I'll pay you double.” He laughed, “A cute little thing like you, You could do worse.”
“If you want a whore, go to the bar and gape at the servers there. Unless they've thrown you out again for rubbing yourself.”
She saw him blush slightly, but since he had his back to his friends, they couldn't see. He stood up straight and snorted at her, “Well, you're either a whore or a thief. Which is it?”
“Neither.”
“With a thief for a father, I think not. If you're not a whore, then you must be a thief.” He eyed her basket, “I bet you even stole that food.”
“I did not!” She snapped, “It's food for Lord Mintas' guest.”
“I bet she stole it.” One of his friends said.
“Then we better take it back and find out who owns it.” Ghant said.
“And her shoes,” One of his friends said
His other friend, a skinny boy who had quickly paled once the days got cold, leered at her. “And that pretty little dress!”
Lissa turned to run the rest of the way to the house, but her knees hurt from falling, and they were faster. One of Jason's friends caught her by the arm, swung her around and held her arms behind her and pushed her to the ground. She fell down, face first, and felt the other boy sit on her. She felt someone pulling at her shoes.
“Oi!”
Jason swore, and they all started running. Someone stepped on the small of her back and someone else kicked her in the shoulder.
“They're at it again?”
Lissa looked up at Luc. Lord Mintas' son. He was Lissa's age, and half the reason that Lissa and her mother lived with Lord Mintas now. The year after Lissa's father had been taken away, Lord Mintas' wife had died in childbirth. She, and the baby had died and several months later, Lissa's mother bought Lissa to Lord Mintas' house to work. An extra set of hands to lighten the burden of mourning.
“They're always at it, M'lord.” She said. She rose to her knees and picked the bread up from the ground. The crust was broken, and dirt and grass clung to the exposed white flesh. She would have to run home, take some of the coins she saved up from making dolls as presents for some of the younger, noble children, and get more.
Luc took the bread out of her hands. “One of the boys... He was the Baker's son, wasn't he?”
“I.. I wouldn't know.” Lissa said. Most of the time, it was better to ignore them. To stand up and walk away like it had never happened. There was no point in asking for help. She was the daughter of a thief, and they were the children of merchants.
“It was.” Luc said with a sigh. “I'll take care of this.”
“M'lord it's my-”
“It's not your problem. I doubt his father will be happy that his kid is running around and attacking his customers, especially when I tell him you were running an errand for my father.”
“Don't make a big fuss of it, M'lord.” Lissa said. She stood up and brushed herself off.
Luc looked as though he was going to say something, then changed his mind. He shook his head and looked Lissa over. “You're cut,” He said, gesturing with a nod to her knee, “And you're expected to serve dinner for my father and his guest soon. Go get cleaned up. I'll take care of this.”
Lissa bowed gently. She turned and ran towards the house. Away from the cluster of homes nearer to the market, Lord Mintas' house stood away from the rest. The wooden house was once painted bright red, but now it the paint was faded and coming off in flakes, exposing the dull brown wood underneath. She ran to the side, away from the main door, ran to the back, and pulled open the servant's entrance, which was connected to the kitchen. Theresa was there, running about the kitchen frantically like a fly caught in the hands of an inquisitive child. She stirred something in a pot she had hanging just over the fire. Further up was a hog that had been slaughtered for the meal, stuck on a stick and left to stay warm before it was time to eat.
Theresa hung the pot, then turned around and saw Lissa for the first time.
“You!” She cried, pulling a wooden spoon covered in steaming sauce out of the pot to wave at her as she shouted, “Do you have any idea how late you are! I thought I would have to do the serving, and that wouldn't make Lord Mintas very happy, would it!”
“Sorry.” She said, “I was held up.”
“Where's the bread?”
“Luc went to the bakery. He said he would get it.”
“You let Lord Mintas' -son- go and-”
“I think he wanted to have a word with the baker.”
Theresa seemed to calm down a moment, then let her eyes trail over Lissa. “Girl, you're a mess!”
“I know, I know, I-” Before she could protest, Theresa pulled her up to the table. A bucket of icy water was plopped before her. Theresa took a kettle from near the fire, and poured boiling water into the icy water before throwing a rag at Lissa.
“At least make yourself presentable!” She snapped.
“I fell, so I-”
“Look, you've got dirt all over your dress, your dress is all torn and tattered,” She looked over the plain brown sleeveless robe she wore over her white tunic and skirt. “Don't you have anything nicer to wear?”
“Mother might.”
“Well, clean yourself up and go see,” she said, “Lord Mintas needs to impress this lord from Rawlins. If he doesn't he'll likely take off somewhere and leave us all here to starve.”
“Lissa didn't think this was the case. Regardless, she quickly washed the dirt and blood from herself and set the bucket on the floor before going into the servants room just off the kitchen where she, her mother and Theresa slept. Her mother wasn't there of course, she was out in the garden. Lord Mintas had put her in charge of the flower gardens, leaving Lissa to the housework.
It didn't matter. She and her mother didn't have many clothes, and all she needed was another robe. A sleeveless shift to cover her white clothes.
There were no closets in the room, no dressers. The only place to keep something was under the old, unstable beds. She reached under her mother's bed and pulled out a handful of clothes. Another white skirt, a scarf for her mother's head on very warm days, and a brown shift.
'Perfect' She thought. It looked just like hers, and she and her mother were more or less the same size now, though her mother was a little taller. It wouldn't make a different.
She unrolled the shift, and another shift fell from under it. This one seemed new, or at least it hadn't been worn much. It was dark red, the colour of fresh blood, and laced up with black ribbon.
She hesitated a moment, wondering if she should ask her mother, but then decided it likely didn't matter. She needed to look her best, since Lord Mintas wanted to impress his guest. Her mother wouldn't mind if she wore this. She might actually have suggested it. She quickly took off her own brown shift, and tossed it onto the bed before pulling on her mother's red one. She reached around, laced the ribbons tightly around her waist. Even without a mirror she could tell that it didn't have the same blocky appearance as her own shift. It hugged her curves and flowed out around her legs, letting her shirt sway freely under it.
She wondered for a moment if she had tied it wrong. She opened the door back into the kitchen.
“Theresa?”
“Aye?” Theresa looked up and stared at Lissa, stopping her stirring suddenly.
“Is it on right? Does it look ok?”
After a moment, Theresa grunted, and stirred the sauce once more before pouring it into a clay bowl. She took a tray from the table, and lifted the lid. In the time it had taken Lissa to change, Theresa had taken the pig from the spit, and set it on the platter, making it look something like it had lain down to be cooked.
“You look lovely,” She said, “And if the food doesn't help lord Mintas, you will.”
-M.K.Barry
<< Prologue: A Thief in the Night ........................ Chapter 2: Trinkets >>
