The Mayor of Bellacourt

Chapter 4

Beggarwoman Cutie raced out of the daguerreotypist's studio wearing the stolen red silk cheongsam and a matching plastic peony clipped behind her ear. She had never felt so free in all her 2 or 14 years on this planet, depending on how you did the math.

She didn't stop running until she was all the way across town. Until she was sure they weren't chasing her. Until she was sure her old life would never catch up with her. No way was she going back, no way was she getting caught. No way did the path of her life lead anywhere but forward and away.

At last she stopped, panting, ready to take stock of her situation and decide where her life would lead next. It was up to her. For once, it was all up to her.

She was standing in front of an apothecary and caught sight of her reflection in the storefront window. She adjusted her dress, smoothed down her tail, tried to stop shaking for once in her damn life. Was it nerves? Or just the excitement, the newness of everything. She needed a safe place to sit and collect her thoughts and plan her next move.

There was a old pug lazing in front of the apothecary, rolls of fat gathered under his weak chin like a neck brace.

"Say, pal," Beggarwoman Cutie called, with a forwardness she hardly recognized as her own. "Where can a thirsty gal wet her whistle around here?"

The pug nodded towards an abandoned hotel down the street. "Whorehouse was closed down on account of venereal disease," he said, struggling heavily to breathe around his pushed-in nose and severe underbite. "There's a bearded collie runs a little saloon out of it now. He'll cool you down."

"Thanks for the tip, friend," she said, starting off in that direction. She could feel the pug's eyes on her, knew he was tracking the way her withers shimmied in her dress. She let him watch.

Cutie found her way inside the hotel via a hole in an alley door. Inside, the formerly grand ballroom was clearly in some disrepair, but the bar area had been kept shiny and neat. There were a few dogs engaged in low conversations around tables here and there. They stopped and began sniffing the air in her direction as she made her way through the room, sidling up to the bar.

She nodded to the bearded collie behind the bar, friendly but not too friendly. In response he pawed a bowl of water, neat, over in her direction, nodding curtly back.

She lapped up a few sips. Pretty clean. The good stuff. Wasn't this the life?

She had to admire the fact that her life was suddenly filled with so many possibilities. Here she was, in a new part of town, looking mysterious and fine in her new dress, a gal with secrets to tell.

She was casually looking around at the other patrons, wondering if any of the other dogs in the bar were her mark, when her mark found her.

He was a Min Pin, his coat sleek and black, the tan fur of his muzzle just barely going white around the corners of his mouth. He wore a neat little waistcoat and a tiny bow tie that certainly didn't look borrowed or stolen.

He sat gently down at the bar next to Cutie. The collie nosed a bowl of water over to him and got a gracious little bow of thanks for his troubles. Then the Min Pin turned to Cutie and caught her watching him.

Yesterday, she would have turned away, pretended like she had been looking at something else. But not today. Today she just returned his glance.