VEILS OF SHADOW

Love and Crime

  Sweat trickled down her spine as she wove into the mob, bodies pressed against each other. The surroundings were ripe with smell. She covered her nose with a hand, her russet eyes scanning for a suitable prospect. Business always flourished during times like this;  just a few more coins and she could retire for the day. Away from the crowd and the god-forsaken stink.

  "Kill the traitor!" The crowd shouted.

   Fools. All of them.

    The accused was a man. No, a boy. A cold fist gripped her heart as the lever was pulled and the boy dropped. She didn't care anymore, caring indicated treachery and if you didn't want to be the next body on the noose you learned to mind your own business. Averting her eyes she scanned through the crowd, all in rags, none in riches, except one. 

  The woman stood out like a sore thumb. Her fine muslin dress of pink was now smudged brown but fine nonetheless setting her aside as someone of a higher station, of money. A reticule was hanging loosely on a wrist, just what she was looking for, making Irya wonder why she hadn't noticed her before. 

  The mob moved closer to the noose, as usual wanting to take the body of the dead and stick it in a pole at the city gates. 

  Irya threaded through the bodies, using them as a cover. Her target was close enough that she could see tears streaming down a pretty face. She couldn't be a day more than sixteen, come to see off her lover on the noose for the last time perhaps. Cheers and hoots went up as the body was removed from the noose and the procession began towards the city gates. Sobs wrecked the girl's frame and guilt struck Irya's conscience. With a deft motion of her nimble fingers, she flicked the reticule off the girl's arm and wove her way out of the throng. 

  Her heeled boots padded along the all too familiar path, 

 "Blasted pebbles," The curse was quick to her tongue as she stumbled. Again. The reticule making its way down, sliding along her right thigh. Chucking the reticule down her pants maybe wasn't that great of an idea. No human shouts nor chatter greeted her ears, most of them left for the city gates to witness the traitor's body impaled and left for the birds to peck on. Sadistic bastards. They weren't to be blamed though. The decree made it clear that anyone with sympathy towards the traitors will be sentenced to the gallows. No one wanted to die, not her at least. 

  Life was beautiful, her's was pathetic. However, she didn't want to relinquish it for petty human emotions. One day she'd no longer pickpockets, one day she'd get away but the day was not today. The thought did nothing to dampen her mind as she continued on her path of cobblestones and day dreams. 

  The back door was unlocked like it always was, carrying out the hushed voices and chiming laughter into the street, today it was the scent of freshly baked cake that roused her senses. Dodging maids with trays of delicacies and various cooks Irya scanned the room for a certain cook. She found him hunched over a cake and a sea of pastries laid out around him.

  "That smells delicious, Ammon." Irya flicked a coin at the young cook and picking a piece of delicately iced pastry stuffed it in her mouth. 

  "Ah! There you are." Ammon smiled, catching the coin, "I was wondering where my favourite taster had gone," he said, making Irya chuckle.

  "Your only taster, Ammon. No one would dare come into your kitchen, you only let me because I flick coins at you." She teased, extending her hands to pick another pastry only to get her knuckles slapped with a spatula. 

  "Ow.. that hurt, you know" 

  "It did? How would I know? You get slapped on the knuckles everyday and yet you don't give up," He said with a smirk and picked up the icing cone.