Self-Made Scoundrel (38 page)

Derk held his breath as he looked not upon the woman but the girl, finding his heart pounding in his chest. He would never admit the little girl reminded him of someone, but she did. Instead, Derk saw the look in the girl’s eyes as she scanned the crowd, remaining inconspicuous as she took everything in around her before she walked up a few more steps and sat down, setting her face in her hands. He almost laughed out loud, thinking the look on her face comical. He reached into his coat pocket for his hat and pulled it onto his head before he headed straight for the temple steps, not able to keep from limping more as he neared the women.

The three hawked their wares on the steps of the New Moon Temple, bells on their corsets jingling enticingly to passers-by. When it came down to it, he would have preferred the thin one with the long hair to the blond one, but he wasn’t there for pleasure, though he would take it if it came to that. He tipped his hat to the three women, focusing his attention on the buxom one who had been laughing earlier, even managing to get his legs to aid him in a courtly bow The women laughed, the one he was looking at placing a hand on her chest.

“Well, ain’t it nice to see a body with manners?” she said, pushing a few curls behind her ears. The woman adjusted her skirts and walked down the steps toward him, stopping short at the bottom. She lifted her chin slightly, a smirk playing on her coral lips before she spoke again. “You look like you’ve been worked over and need a bit of doctorin’.”

“Right you are, good woman,” he said, placing his hat over his heart, hoping he looked as pathetic as he felt. He knew he didn’t have to go through all this; he could have just pulled out some money, pointed and they would have been on their way. But he was more here for information than for the exchange of purses and so he appealed to the prostitute’s apparent boredom, giving her a chance for a bit of conversation before business. He let his head hang slightly, his dirty hair falling into his face. “Some loving care would be nice right about now. Have I come to the right place?”

“Right you are,” she said, walking toward him coquettishly, her skirts dragging on the temple steps. Derk couldn’t help but look over her shoulder, eying the little girl sitting on the temple steps. The little girl stared at him, frowning at his face before her dark eyes scanned down and set on his shoes. She tilted her head the side, a quizzical expression scrunching her features. The prostitute opened her mouth to speak, stopping herself as she turned to see what he was looking at. A wry look managed to creep its way past her make up as she put her arm in his, leading him away. “She’s green yet, so keep yer blues off of her.”

“Pardon me,” he said, managing to tear himself away from the girl and turn his attention to the woman. “Just I ain’t used to seeing little ones around your type. If they have ‘em, they don’t generally let them hang around. It’s bad for business, I hear.”

The woman laughed, the same melodic cackle as before, the bells at her bosom jingling. Derk knew she wanted him to look at her chest so he did, playing into her little game. The woman took in a breath after she was done having her chuckle, leading him around a corner.

“Ah well, I have to keep an eye on her and she ain’t no fuss. She knows when to make herself scarce,” she said, looking over her shoulder as if to make sure the girl wasn’t there. The alley was quiet and bare, save for the two; off from the distance came the sound of the nearby streets. The woman cast quick glances in either direction before lifting her skirts up past her ankles.

“Hold on!” cried Derk, holding one hand out toward her feet, urging her to stop. “Not here!” He managed to keep disgust from his voice, forcing a smile and tapping his left leg. “I’ve a bum knee at the moment and money. Don’t you have a place hereabouts?” Derk really did want a bed to lie on; his knee was starting to ache and possibly swell and the sooner he got off of it, the better. However, Derk also was of the opinion anything more serious than kissing should be done away from other people and preferably on something soft. He was also curious to see where the little girl lived. A part of his brain told him to have nothing to do with the brass; they were foolish and wayward and his last involvement with one had put him in the physical and emotional state he was currently enjoying. But Derk told himself he wasn’t getting involved. He was casing a scene. He was going to make a grab and sleeping with the prostitute was just one step in the plan.

The woman laughed out loud, dropping her skirts and looping her arm in his, leading him down the alley as the bells jingled at her bosom. “I see, you’re one of them old fashion, romantical types, ain’t you? I had a feeling, just from looking at you. It’s a nice change of pace for me, I tell yah….” She talked some more and Derk tried to listen, the throbbing in his head and knee becoming more acute with every step he took. Mostly he nodded and tried to seem charming, hoping to endear himself to the bubbly woman leading him to where the little girl lived. When his pants were off, they revealed a swollen, purple knee which would need to be dressed sooner than later. He paid her before she asked for payment, reminded her to be gentle before he started his plan to investigate and possibly obtain the little girl.

The little girl’s name was Tavera, though the women called her Tavi. She was probably somewhere around nine or ten years of age, though it was hard to tell on account of her Forester blood; it was said they grew differently from both Valleymen and Foresters and no two half-breeds grew alike. In all his wanderings, Derk had never come across another like the girl. Prisca, Gia and Sera found her on the street just last winter. Prisca had taken the girl under her wing, having lost a daughter just a few seasons back to an epidemic. She was raising the girl as her own and training her to live the lifestyle of a woman who sold pleasure in Fenwick.

Derk watched the girl every day he could, which was almost every day as he had few obligations and answered to no one. He found himself caught up in her every public activity. He cheered for her when she managed to pocket something of worth, cringed when she was lambasted or struck down by an annoyed street vendor, laughed when she danced in the street for a half a blueie. The day after he met her, he was shocked to see someone, most likely Prisca, had cut off all her hair. The long, black tresses were gone, the bonnet on her head and the expression on her face doing nothing to hide the fact. Obviously upset by the cosmetic loss, she still managed to be of service to her benefactors, returning from a particularly long stint with a string of sausages, though she herself did not partake. The hair gone, he could see the top point of one of her ears was missing, cut clean off with a knife, most likely. He wondered what had happened to the little girl to warrant such a wound, admiring the tiny thing for having
such tenacity and perseverance.

It became obvious after a few visits to Prisca the little girl stole from the woman’s clients. He had figured the girl’s rudimentary prowess at pilfering would be exploited somehow by the woman and he decided to test the girl. He hid things in various parts of his clothing before he visiting the woman, noting where he put them and checking to see which ones he lost to the girl’s invisible hand. The little girl never did figure out the the heel of one of his boots was hollow and if she did, she never searched them. Derk was careful to keep anything of real value out of his coat and pants when he visited the peculiar house which was the home of the three women.

She wasn’t a pretty little girl or a courteous one. She was more likely to frown than to smile. But her hands were quick and when she narrowed her eyes and took in a scene Derk knew she saw everything. She was an ass. She kicked stones at people and then hid, causing more than a few fights in the marketplace and more than a few distractions. Her small, skinny fingers were adept at picking up bits here and there and one day after she had nicked a pretty button he followed her. He watched from the shadows and he saw it. The smile on her dark face, the grin, the light in her eyes. He knew how she felt. He could imagine her heart thumping in her chest jubilantly, the pride coursing through her.

Derk wanted her to feel that again, to see the smile on her face. The girl was a thief, a natural. Prisca didn’t know it, but Derk did. And he could help this little girl along better than the brass. As he thought about his legacy the girl looked up, her dusky face frowning as she peered into the dark. Derk ducked away and ran, hearing her walking to investigate. But by then he was gone and he had already decided.

Eventually Prisca figured out how Derk kept himself fed, though it didn’t deter her from keeping him as a client or make her think he was there for something more than what she had for sale. He was sure to bring her plenty of trinkets and gifts to endear himself to her and never pressed her for anything more than he paid her for. As far as Prisca was concerned, he was there for Prisca. As far as Derk was concerned, he was putting up with Prisca to get the girl. He was convinced despite all the experience he had acquired in Fenwick, the girl was to be the better gain.

On the final day of the year, Derk stood in Prisca’s room, naked, his dagger out and pointed at the women in the bed. The little girl was knocked out and still hanging halfway out of the crawlspace. He knew the door was locked, having done so himself. He listened for a moment to be sure no one was coming; shouts and screams weren’t uncommon in this house, and so Derk grinned triumphantly at the vulnerable Prisca, turning his dagger so the light glinted off of the blade.

“Now shut up,” he said before she could speak, her mouth popping open and closed, fear glittering in her eyes. He stood between the girl and the bed, keeping his eyes on the woman for the moment, making sure she wouldn’t fight back. Prisca’s eyes weren’t on the dagger but the slumped over girl. Tears started to stream down her face. Derk huffed, bending down and feeling around in his bag for the sack he had brought.

“I’m taking the girl and you ain’t going to stop me,” he said, shaking the sack open. “You won’t say nothing to no one and you’re not coming after us either. If you do, I will warrant you another nickname you shall not like, if you catch my meaning.” He kept his eyes cold and his face hard as he spoke, not hope but power propelling his words toward the shaking woman. He placed the dagger on the small table, being sure to set it down so it pointed at Prisca as a warning. Derk gave her one more icy glare before he bent down and carefully folded the girl up and put her in the sack, tying it up and leaving it on the floor as he got dressed.

“But…but why are you taking her?” Prisca’s voice was quiet but still full of alarm, a tiny, keen sound which seemed to cut his ears with its controlled grief. For a split second Derk almost felt pity for the woman, her hair loose and spilling about her pained face, her make-up smearing. But all his pity was reserved for the girl in the sack, and so he offered Prisca none of it.

“It’s none of your business why I’m taking her. Because I want her.” He buttoned his pants and pulled on his shirt, tucking it in before he fussed with his belt, finding his own hands shaking a bit. “You’re here, fixing to waste her away on blue piece takes and men, and you’ve a set on you big enough to ask me what I’m doing with her? It’s shameful, really.” Derk pulled on his coat and hat, grabbing his bag and the sack, swinging it over his shoulder before he took the dagger up, pointing it at her again. “You think your men will like coming here, knowing their pie monies ain’t safe? Don’t worry about this girl’s well-being. I’ll see to it she grows up proper. Gold don’t belong with brass.” He sneered at her as he tightened his grip on the neck of the sack, turning around and unlocking the door.

“Please…please, Derk, don’t take her.” Prisca’s voice was muffled by her sobs. Derk sighed, looking over his shoulder at her.

He just stared at her. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t wait for her to explain why she wanted or needed the girl. Instead, he walked out and shut the door behind him, letting it slam. The dagger was still in his hand as he walked down the hallway, down the stairs and out the front door, into the fetid night air. People strolled around after vespers, hawkers shouting their wares, the aromas of beer and evening meals making their way through the scent of dirty people. Other denizens of Fenwick pressed upon him, pushing against him and giving him dirty looks as he paid them no mind.

Derk had the girl. The girl was in the bag. His hand gripped it at the top, slung rather awkwardly over his shoulder as he made his way down the street. Singing to himself, Derk cut across the main street to the bar where he was to meet Jezlen. He passed by Gia and Sera in the street as he went on his way and Derk was sure to tip his hat to them as he went by.

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Tristan J Tarwater is the author of The Valley of Ten Crescents series. Born and raised in New York City she remembers reading a lot, visiting Museums and the Aquarium frequently and wanting to be a writer from a very early age. Her love of fantasy and sci-fi spills over into what she reads and watches in her free time as well as the collection of dice, books and small metal figurines that reside in her home.

Her work can also be found at
Troll in the Corner
where she writes the weekly column ‘Reality Makes the Best Fantasy’.