The sun warms my back, bringing traces of feeling to my numb fingers. I flex and curl them, trying to get my blood flowing as I walk towards the shore. The docks are crowded with people, merchants calling out, ships being unloaded, and the grimy scent of seawater drifting through the air. I keep my eyes open for anyone who seems like they wouldn't notice if they lost a few coins, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice a man haggling with a vendor. His clothes are bright and colorful, a sure sign of riches. I approach indirectly, acting as if I am studying the fabrics the merchant is selling. Slowly, I reach up into the pocket of the man and pull out a leather pouch, probably for his coins. I quickly stuff it in my pocket and casually walk out of sight and down an alleyway off the docks. When I get there, I stop, take a breath, and begin to walk towards an intersection.
Peering around the corner, I notice two men talking discretely in the shadows of the alley.
"I can't wait any longer for that shipment!"One man says, exasperated. "I don't care what those idiots think, she will not wait for more!"
"The Enchantress will have to wait, then!" The men continue arguing as I retreat and press my back to the wall. Who is The Enchantress?
"Look, you will get your shipment! Capture takes time."
"I suppose. But if that shipment isn't here by midnight tomorrow You will not get your gold! Now Go!" The men disperse from the alley and I take a deep breath. As I pull away from the wall, I can feel the sweat on my spine forming. Capture? I lowered myself to the ground, sitting in my thoughts for what seemed like hours. I eventually had the grit to pull myself up and stumble away from the shipyard. After a few minutes of darting through backroads and alleyways, I make it home. But home doesn't feel like home. The decaying wood of the walls sags inwards as if the house is slowly falling into itself, and the roof has lost almost all of its shingles over the years, a patchwork of holes and rotting beams. I step in through the door with one hinge fallen off and count the money. A few coins, enough to last me about a week's worth of food. I pull up the broken wood of the floor and stash them there, with the rest of my meager earnings. As I look at it, I think of all of the people I had robbed, pickpocketed, stolen from. I tried to make myself angry, tell myself that they deserved it, that they were rich and I needed the money more than them. But it didn't work. I stared at the silver piece, that one silver piece that still haunts me.
And I knew why.
YOU ARE READING
The Mourning Swan
General Fiction"All I remember from that night is the thundering rain, the footsteps, and the man with a black scar that took my mother."
