Gadolor

Her Uncle’s Favorite Niece

When Romni had gotten used to stealing carrots, Sebastian introduced her to the pickpocket’s best trick: purse cutting. Many people carried a leather pouch with their money, secured by a string or a button. The goal was to cut the string instead of unwinding it, then carefully reach inside. Some pickpockets could exchange a handful of pebbles for the victim’s money, so his purse didn’t feel any lighter. But Romni wasn’t that good.

Once, she was about to cut a man’s purse during Sebastian’s act. Just then the juggler did something especially amazing, and the man jumped in delight, jostling Romni suddenly. The knife slipped, cutting her hand. The man looked at her, so she dropped the knife and smiled, clenching the hand behind her, screaming inside as blood flowed between her fingers. That was the end of her purse cutting that day.

“Foolish, clumsy,” Sebastian muttered later as he dressed the wound. “You must know his heartbeat, feel what he’ll do before he does it. You’ll learn, Romni.” She bit her lip and wished he would shut up. Beside them, Mala gave a cynical chuckle.

“Why her name is Romni, I wonder,” she commented, “Sebastian misses his mother, yes? He caught a girl to replace her—how silly.”

“I do not miss my mother,” Sebastian snapped, turning to the fire he was building, “Not like that, anyway. Romni is a common enough name.”

“I love him,” Romni defended him, already weary of the discussion.

“Hmm, I’m sure,” Mala said quietly. Sitting back against a tree, Romni thought about her own mother, that face in her father’s portrait, hanging on a wall far away. The face had faded in her memory since leaving home. The hair in the portrait was wavy, not unlike Mala’s lustrous curls. Mala’s hair was black like Sebastian’s, though.

— § —

Lortosa’s northern province brought a new set of wonders for Romni. The towns were big here, the air warm despite the chill of autumn, the terrain flat. Sometimes they got their water from wells instead of streams. Herbs she’d learned to recognize in Esthena gave way to different plants.

Romni stared in a bronze mirror. Her hair was braided to the side in a marvelous pattern, plaited with bright feathers and beads. Enchanted rings adorned her fingers, and a warm shawl graced her shoulders. Her new skirt flowed red and white, wonderful to twirl in and silky against the knees. The polished bronze gave her form a ruddy golden tint, which she liked.

She’d been helping Mala for several weeks now, spending more of her time with the fortuneteller than with Sebastian. Though he complained about it, Mala’s dry words were enough to keep his scowls at bay. The fortuneteller taught her how to weave charms with bright yarn and make necklaces with pretty beads. Mala sold them at high prices, usually to pale-faced women who looked like they had more money than they needed. She also drew them into her tent to read their fortunes. Though Romni listened from outside, she never understood the fortunes’ meaning. Of course, they were meant to help others and not herself.

“Hmm, not good,” Mala had clucked, looking Romni up and down. “If you’re to help Mala, you must look like her apprentice.” So she’d braided her hair and given her rings to wear, along with the patterned skirt. Now, looking at her reflection, Romni felt ten times more beautiful, in a roguish sort of way.

— § —

“Excuse me, master,” Romni stopped a man on the street one afternoon. “Can you tell me where the governor’s house lies? I’m supposed to meet my uncle there, but I can’t find it anywhere, and someone already pointed me wrong.” She smiled sweetly. “Uncle said he has a gift for me. I’m his favorite niece, you know.”

“Sure, missie,” the burly man replied, “Just follow the second street to the corner and turn left. The governor’s house is down there.”

“Are you sure? Is it the second street or the first? I’ve been looking for ages,” she rolled her eyes, putting great weight on the word ages. Sebastian began sneaking up behind the man, reaching a well-concealed knife toward his moneybag. Romni maneuvered the man so he would face the other way.

“Of course, missie, you won’t miss it.”

“I’m afraid you don’t know where it is,” Romni said, making a face. Sebastian’s hand slipped subtly into the bag.

“I do, though. It’s just down there. I’ve—” The bearded man shifted his weight, bumping Sebastian. He whirled in surprise. “Why, you thieving—”

“Scram,” Sebastian called, then disappeared. Romni turned and ran, but only one step. A bear-strong hand gripped her wrist, pulling her back around.

“Gotcha, thieving tramp,” the bearded man growled, his face totally changed, “You’ll lose your ears for this.” Romni’s mind raced.

Toward the thumb, shouted a voice in her mind. She wrenched her arm hard, toward the man’s thumb, and it came free. Then she kicked him, turning to run in the same step.

“Stop that tramp,” was the shout that chased her down the street. Her tough soles slapped on cobblestone, dodging between bodies. Her lungs sucked in great volumes of air, fueling her flight. Muscles burned with energy, her mind tingling with terror, though the angry voice was already fading behind.

Romni ducked behind a corner when she thought no one was following. Slapping her back against a shadowed wall, she tried to gulp down her heavy breaths. No sounds of pursuit. Then she jumped in fright. Someone else was there! It was Sebastian. He started laughing. So did she, her heart still pounding at the narrow escape. “I thought he had you,” he said between breaths.

“I got away,” she gasped, “I pushed toward his thumb, just like you showed me.”

He chuckled proudly. “Good girl.” They stole down the alley, hugging one another, telling one another what had happened even though it was freshly burned in their minds. Romni had never felt so alive. They wouldn’t show their faces in this town again, but tomorrow would bring a fresh start somewhere else.