The world came into focus all at once. The blackness of sleep being washed away by the dim light of sunlight all too quickly. She had a headache. A big headache. And even the dim light was enough to make her very unhappy. She groaned a little. And tried to get up. She had to clean Sternbrow’s study! He would be so unhappy if it wasn’t done before he got back! What was she supposed to do. She was already halfway across the room when she realized that she wasn’t in any of the rooms at Sternbrow’s house. Indeed she wasn’t in any proper room at all. She had been put to bed atop a morass of worn and torn rags and rotting straw. It was lumpy and dirty, but it was obviously more comfortable than the raw dirt and piles of garbage that made up the other furnishings. It wasn’t a room, it was an alcove made by the hap-hazard construction. Apparently there had once been a street here. And then someone had built a second story that crossed the narrow street and after a while that had been closed off itself by another building. Leaving a small 1-room alcove beneath the edge of one building and bounded on three sides by stone walls. The other side opened into a narrow alleyway. The boy who had dragged her to the church earlier was leaning against a wall counting a stack of silver and gold coins. And there were a dozen or so other children, almost as dirty and thin as she was arrayed all around, stashed in nooks, perched on ledges and bits of garbage. They were all different sizes, some older than others. But all of them had one thing in common, they were all looking at her. One of the younger ones tapped the boy she had met before on the arm and gestured at Underfoot.
“Why if it ain’t miss the’atrics herself.” He said, a huge grin swallowing his face. “If that wasn’t a marvelous performance I don’t know what is. You had the Duke eating out of yer hand!”
She looked at him, touched her head and whimpered softly. “What happened?”
“I dunno.” He said. “He held out the coins, you took them and then collapsed an he vanished. Not that tha’s all that strange. I figured I’d get ya outta there ‘fore anyone else took the money.”
She sat up quickly, memory flooding back, but still confused. Her head hurt more. She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again a pair of bright blue eyes were obscuring her view. She skittered backwards instinctively to get away from the thing that was in her face and realized that it was only a small child. A girl in rags like hers, though a few years younger. She smiled at the girl warily. The girl seemed oddly clean in the filth of the alleyway. Her skin was white where Underfoot’s was darkened by dirt, her hair shining gold and her eyes. . .
“Well I’m impressed. Clover likes you,” the street-boy appeared over the girl’s shoulder and knelt beside her, facing Underfoot. “She don’t like many people.” The boy flashed a smile. “Means your safe.”
Underfoot looked at the girl and tried to smile as well. But she just wasn’t very good at the whole smiling thing, she thought it came off rather poorly.
The boy chuckled. “Say Clover, what you say we call her Magpie, ’cause she brings in what’s shiny.” He shook the bag of coins he had procured. Seemingly in a very good mood.
Clover shook her head, keeping her eyes focused on Underfoot the whole time, her wispy blond hair dancing in the slight breath of air stirred by the motion.
The boy frowned a little, and looked at Underfoot intently. She flinched at his unwavering attention, which made him smile again. “okay, how about Rabbit, cause she acts scared all the time?”
Clover shook her head again. Underfoot spoke up. “They call me Underfoot. . . Or Chipmouse,” she remembered.
The boy grinned and Clover just stood there. “I’m called Brightgrin.” He said. “I don’t need to explain that one. And Clover, she’s just lucky.”
“Is she always like this?” Underfoot asked.
“Not usually no.” Brightgrin said, his grin vanishing in concern. “She gets funny around some people. I don’t know why. Hey Clover.” He reached out and touched the girl’s arm. “Clover? You want to go play with the other kids?” She shrugged, still staring at Underfoot.
Brightgrin looked around for a moment and then stepped away. When he came back he was carrying a tortoise-shell cat. He handed the cat to Clover, who took it and continued staring at Underfoot.
Underfoot stared back. And after a moment she realized that the cat was staring at her too, it’s silver eyes locked on her, tail twitching.
They stayed frozen like that for a while, with Brightgrin making the odd comment trying to break the tension. Until he finally got around to suggesting that they head back out into the city. Underfoot readily agreed. She needed to head back to where she would meet Lightfinger anyway.
This truly was a strange city. Underfoot thought as they walked along. Brightgrin rambled on about various things, how they managed to get by in the city, various locations and their benefits for begging and other such things that Underfoot couldn’t bring herself to care about. And all the time Clover and the cat continued to follow them. Underfoot was begining to feel lost in this city. She had no idea where she was or how to get back to where she started. She was begining to worry she wouldn’t make it back to the warehouse. She didn’t want to disappoint Lightfinger after all the good that he had done for her. And she was about to ask Brightgrin to take her back when he turned around and flashed his brightest of grins.
“And here we are. One of the best spots for making money.” He said and pulled her out into a crowded street.
She had already been feeling overwhelmed by the city, but this was something completely different. So many people, towering over her, bumping into her. Dirty beggers and peasants mixed together with more well-dressed citizens. Women, children. Everyone seemed to be in this single street, which was admittedly wider than the rest, but that fact was compensated for by stalls and stores lining both sides of the streets and the hawkers with trays of merchandise pushing through the ranks of people, trying to find someone to buy. From her position in the midst of the crowd she couldn’t make out what anyone was selling; she had to concentrate too hard to merely avoid being knocked down. Brightgrin didn’t seem to have any such problem. He slipped and wove through the crowd like a little fish weaving through the holes of a fishing net. The jostling crowd seemed to last forever, but at last she managed to pull towards the edge of the crowd, near an alley-mouth where no booth had been set up. She quickly managed to find a place to shelter her from the crowd, a untended barrel full of water made the perfect spot.
“This place is insane.” She said, peering around a barrel at the crowd she had just left.
“It’s magnificant.” Brightgrin said, counting the coins from several purses.
Underfoot couldn’t even bring herself to chide him for stealing. She just went back to her wide-eyes staring at the crowd. It was much better watching it from the edge, where she was now that it had been caught up in the mad tumble of it all. She actually had time to process the people that went by, rather than being struck by and impression of a knee, or suddenly made aware of a solid boot on her toes. She could now see that there were not as many richly dressed people as she had seen at the church. This was obviously a more ‘common’ gathering place. Where trade took place. She saw some men wearing patterned clothing that matched the colors of the nobility she had seen earlier, but with less manifest wealth. And then it came to her; the nobility would send their servants down to the market to get what they needed rather then mingle with the commoners themselves. But didn’t they worry that the servants would run off with their money? She also saw several men clad entirely in metal: she had never seen a man in full armor before. They stood near the edges of the crowd, looking over the masses. She wondered what they were for until she saw two of them push through the crowd towards a disturbance and pluck two men apart with liberal application of the cudgels they carried. She wondered where they were taken too, and if the same thing happened to thieves.
From this closer position she could see that the booths on either side of her had not been hastily constructed, nor had they been constructed to be dismantled or moved, as the booths that were set up during the yearly arrival of the travelling market back at Eldale. These were constructed to last, more open-air shops than market booths. She turned to Brightgrin to ask him how they managed to support a market all the time. But he had already vanished back into the crowd. So instead she asked Clover, who she had completely forgotten about in the mad rush of the crowd. Clover shrugged.
“Is it always like this?” Underfoot asked.
Clover tilted her head from side to side with a little shrug.
The world came into focus all at once. The blackness of sleep being washed away by the dim light of sunlight all too quickly. She had a headache. A big headache. And even the dim light was enough to make her very unhappy. She groaned a little. And tried to get up. She had to clean Sternbrow’s study! He would be so unhappy if it wasn’t done before he got back! What was she supposed to do. She was already halfway across the room when she realized that she wasn’t in any of the rooms at Sternbrow’s house. Indeed she wasn’t in any proper room at all. She had been put to bed atop a morass of worn and torn rags and rotting straw. It was lumpy and dirty, but it was obviously more comfortable than the raw dirt and piles of garbage that made up the other furnishings. It wasn’t a room, it was an alcove made by the hap-hazard construction. Apparently there had once been a street here. And then someone had built a second story that crossed the narrow street and after a while that had been closed off itself by another building. Leaving a small 1-room alcove beneath the edge of one building and bounded on three sides by stone walls. The other side opened into a narrow alleyway. The boy who had dragged her to the church earlier was leaning against a wall counting a stack of silver and gold coins. And there were a dozen or so other children, almost as dirty and thin as she was arrayed all around, stashed in nooks, perched on ledges and bits of garbage. They were all different sizes, some older than others. But all of them had one thing in common, they were all looking at her. One of the younger ones tapped the boy she had met before on the arm and gestured at Underfoot.
“Why if it ain’t miss the’atrics herself.” He said, a huge grin swallowing his face. “If that wasn’t a marvelous performance I don’t know what is. You had the Duke eating out of yer hand!”
She looked at him, touched her head and whimpered softly. “What happened?”
“I dunno.” He said. “He held out the coins, you took them and then collapsed an he vanished. Not that tha’s all that strange. I figured I’d get ya outta there ‘fore anyone else took the money.”
She sat up quickly, memory flooding back, but still confused. Her head hurt more. She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again a pair of bright blue eyes were obscuring her view. She skittered backwards instinctively to get away from the thing that was in her face and realized that it was only a small child. A girl in rags like hers, though a few years younger. She smiled at the girl warily. The girl seemed oddly clean in the filth of the alleyway. Her skin was white where Underfoot’s was darkened by dirt, her hair shining gold and her eyes. . .
“Well I’m impressed. Clover likes you,” the street-boy appeared over the girl’s shoulder and knelt beside her, facing Underfoot. “She don’t like many people.” The boy flashed a smile. “Means your safe.”
Underfoot looked at the girl and tried to smile as well. But she just wasn’t very good at the whole smiling thing, she thought it came off rather poorly.
The boy chuckled. “Say Clover, what you say we call her Magpie, ’cause she brings in what’s shiny.” He shook the bag of coins he had procured. Seemingly in a very good mood.
Clover shook her head, keeping her eyes focused on Underfoot the whole time, her wispy blond hair dancing in the slight breath of air stirred by the motion.
The boy frowned a little, and looked at Underfoot intently. She flinched at his unwavering attention, which made him smile again. “okay, how about Rabbit, cause she acts scared all the time?”
Clover shook her head again. Underfoot spoke up. “They call me Underfoot. . . Or Chipmouse,” she remembered.
The boy grinned and Clover just stood there. “I’m called Brightgrin.” He said. “I don’t need to explain that one. And Clover, she’s just lucky.”
“Is she always like this?” Underfoot asked.
“Not usually no.” Brightgrin said, his grin vanishing in concern. “She gets funny around some people. I don’t know why. Hey Clover.” He reached out and touched the girl’s arm. “Clover? You want to go play with the other kids?” She shrugged, still staring at Underfoot.
Brightgrin looked around for a moment and then stepped away. When he came back he was carrying a tortoise-shell cat. He handed the cat to Clover, who took it and continued staring at Underfoot.
Underfoot stared back. And after a moment she realized that the cat was staring at her too, it’s silver eyes locked on her, tail twitching.
They stayed frozen like that for a while, with Brightgrin making the odd comment trying to break the tension. Until he finally got around to suggesting that they head back out into the city. Underfoot readily agreed. She needed to head back to where she would meet Lightfinger anyway.
This truly was a strange city. Underfoot thought as they walked along. Brightgrin rambled on about various things, how they managed to get by in the city, various locations and their benefits for begging and other such things that Underfoot couldn’t bring herself to care about. And all the time Clover and the cat continued to follow them. Underfoot was begining to feel lost in this city. She had no idea where she was or how to get back to where she started. She was begining to worry she wouldn’t make it back to the warehouse. She didn’t want to disappoint Lightfinger after all the good that he had done for her. And she was about to ask Brightgrin to take her back when he turned around and flashed his brightest of grins.
“And here we are. One of the best spots for making money.” He said and pulled her out into a crowded street.
She had already been feeling overwhelmed by the city, but this was something completely different. So many people, towering over her, bumping into her. Dirty beggers and peasants mixed together with more well-dressed citizens. Women, children. Everyone seemed to be in this single street, which was admittedly wider than the rest, but that fact was compensated for by stalls and stores lining both sides of the streets and the hawkers with trays of merchandise pushing through the ranks of people, trying to find someone to buy. From her position in the midst of the crowd she couldn’t make out what anyone was selling; she had to concentrate too hard to merely avoid being knocked down. Brightgrin didn’t seem to have any such problem. He slipped and wove through the crowd like a little fish weaving through the holes of a fishing net. The jostling crowd seemed to last forever, but at last she managed to pull towards the edge of the crowd, near an alley-mouth where no booth had been set up. She quickly managed to find a place to shelter her from the crowd, a untended barrel full of water made the perfect spot.
“This place is insane.” She said, peering around a barrel at the crowd she had just left.
“It’s magnificant.” Brightgrin said, counting the coins from several purses.
Underfoot couldn’t even bring herself to chide him for stealing. She just went back to her wide-eyes staring at the crowd. It was much better watching it from the edge, where she was now that it had been caught up in the mad tumble of it all. She actually had time to process the people that went by, rather than being struck by and impression of a knee, or suddenly made aware of a solid boot on her toes. She could now see that there were not as many richly dressed people as she had seen at the church. This was obviously a more ‘common’ gathering place. Where trade took place. She saw some men wearing patterned clothing that matched the colors of the nobility she had seen earlier, but with less manifest wealth. And then it came to her; the nobility would send their servants down to the market to get what they needed rather then mingle with the commoners themselves. But didn’t they worry that the servants would run off with their money? She also saw several men clad entirely in metal: she had never seen a man in full armor before. They stood near the edges of the crowd, looking over the masses. She wondered what they were for until she saw two of them push through the crowd towards a disturbance and pluck two men apart with liberal application of the cudgels they carried. She wondered where they were taken too, and if the same thing happened to thieves.
From this closer position she could see that the booths on either side of her had not been hastily constructed, nor had they been constructed to be dismantled or moved, as the booths that were set up during the yearly arrival of the travelling market back at Eldale. These were constructed to last, more open-air shops than market booths. She turned to Brightgrin to ask him how they managed to support a market all the time. But he had already vanished back into the crowd. So instead she asked Clover, who she had completely forgotten about in the mad rush of the crowd. Clover shrugged.
“Is it always like this?” Underfoot asked.
Clover tilted her head from side to side with a little shrug.
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