The Thief and Prince

Chapter 30: Adieu

My boots kick a pebble as I navigate the bustling streets of the Paevian market, providing me with something to keep my mind off of the fact that Laria and Amiri will be leaving later this morning. They were supposed to head out at daybreak, but I heard Amiri had a raging hangover and can't manage to keep anything down. The thoughtforms a smirk on my face. "You'd think that after all this time the Acadian would be able to hold his drink," I think. I know he is probably embarrassed that he allowed himself to get that drunk, especially off of some fruity Paevian wine.

Someone passes by me, accidentally kicking the pebble I have kept myself occupied with and I watch it go scattering into a snow-covered alleyway. Pressing my lips together, I move on and take my time strolling by the stands of goods until I stop at a cart that sells an array of salted meat. "How much for a bag of venison?" I ask the old man.

He eyes me suspiciously, looking me over with his one good eye as the other is clouded and white. "Do I know you?" he asks curiously, and I wonder if he remembers the few times I had stopped here long before I had ever been arrested. Of course, I looked different then too I suppose. Sure I may have the same face, but I'm no longer in my baggy trousers and oversized shirt that I'd typically wear while working. Instead, I'm sporting a brand new navy blue tunic with fine embroidery at the hem, black wool tights, my nice leather boots, and a long fur cape for warmth.

It also doesn't help that I have a satchel full of coin, either.

Shaking my head, I give him a forced smile. "I don't think so. How much?" I ask, nodding my head at his goods.

He scratches his head as if he is still skeptical before tapping the glass lid on one of the jars. "Half a bag is five shillings. A full bag is eight. Any type you particularly favor?" he asks, removing his glove so he can collect the dried meat.

I give him a shrug, "It's not for me but a friend. Perhaps just deer and elk if you have any. A bag please," I say, ignoring the white wisps of air that escapes my lips as I speak.

He gives me another suspicious look but collects the salted meat and hands it to me anyways. "A friend huh?" he asks rhetorically, "I suppose it's no business of mine who you give your goods to. Eight shillings please," he says, holding out his arthritic hand. I give him nine instead and shove the bag into my satchel before turning on my heel make my way to the next stall.

I'm able to waste a good hour—as well as some coin—looking at things that Amiri and Laria might need on their journey to Acadia. When my satchel is stuffed full with items such as bandages, sweets, venison, flint, two knew canteens and some bars of soap, I decide I should head back when my stomach growls.

Sighing, I look up at the distant red shingles now covered in snow and debate whether or not I should eat later or if I should stop in one of the local taverns and order something from there. Before, when I was just a simple thief, a woman named Merit used to sell the best tomato soup not far from here, and on a cold winter's day like this one, it'd hit just the spot.

Besides, I'd rather put some money back into the citizens pockets rather than stuffing my face with food that is shipped from someplace else.

Turning around, I make the quick trip to the lower-class district Fogbottom with a bit more pep in my step. The citizens that inhabit this area are usually a mixture of outcasts, beggars, or those that are just generally disliked. A familiar face stands out in the crowd—Rosco, another fellow thief who is quite skilled in lock picking—who appears to be in a deep conversation with another man. He's in his mid-thirties I believe and has dull blonde hair he keeps tied back in a ponytail. I wouldn't exactly call him my friend, more of a coworker of sorts really. At times, we would take turns with what jobs we would accept to keep things fair, occasionally even working a job together and splitting the spoils of the pay was good. Our eyes lock and he gives me a nod, acknowledging my return.