The Start of Something New

She’s scanning the crowd for a man wearing a red fedora.

He isn’t hard to spot. Even here, in the heart of the city, amidst this crucible of clashing cultures - merchants with their brightly dyed cloaks, aristocrats casting broad shadows with their padded shoulders and flared skirts, craftsman and criminals sporting the colours of their gangs and guilds - crimson hats with bright green trim are far and few between.

She tracks his movement through the square, watching from her perch on the church spire above. His gait is heavy, ill-suited for navigating the turbulent masses despite his narrow frame - he is clearly unaccustomed to the ways of the inner city. He must be from the suburbs, or even further away, out in the country.

The man is batted from side to side, trapped in a current designed to oppose his every movement. A young girl stumbles into him, hands held high in pitiful plea, and he shoves her aside with a touch too much exuberance - the hallmark of a man feeling impotent and willing to try and reclaim that power wherever and however he can. The girl hits the ground and disappears from view, and she purses her lips. When the man finally reaches their designated meeting point, in the mouth of one of the smaller allies leading to the square, she takes her time dismounting, climbing first down to the belfry, and from there working her way through the inside of the church, rather than taking the outer walls as she would usually do. He is a nervous wreck when she finally draws level, and the corner of her mouth quirks up as she watches him scuff at his shoes and wring his wrists.

She is tempted to cough, or clear her throat, to draw his attention, but she can never make herself sound quite deliberate enough, so she settles for saying, “Hello,” and watching him jump.

He startles and turns to face her, pupils darting about like nervous ants. But he takes note of her braided brass bracelets, worn two on each arm, as prescribed, and she sees him reach into his inner pocket to withdraw the package.

Only to fall back, panic stricken, as she sees him draw back his hand and finds it empty.

The man is muttering to himself, or maybe to her, though she is no longer paying him any attention. Instead, she withdraws into herself and watches him cross the square once more.

In her mind she sees him: a stumble here, a nasty hit from a heavy merchant’s sack there. The girl, falling into him and then to the floor and then vanishing.

Across the square stands the old town hall. She chances a glance upwards, and though she cannot be certain it is not a figment of her imagination, she thinks she can see a small figure standing there, atop the room. Long hair, and nondescript clothing, and a thick, long chain draped over one arm.

Alys cannot help herself; she laughs.

****************************************************************************

The girl’s good.

Not quite as good as Alys, but then, few people are. Still, she’s light on her feet and moves quickly, with a familiarity that betrays the hours she must have spent scuttling across these rooftops. It makes the heavy-handed manner with which she’d thrown herself into people earlier all the more impressive for how natural it seemed.

She stops to perch on the eave of the third street bank, legs dangling over the edge as she kicks at the wall. She pulls the thick golden chain out once more, and Alys takes her cue to approach.

The girl is good but Alys is better, and her footsteps are silent over the sun warmed slate. She stops not half a metre away, and takes a deep breath.

“Nice necklace.”

The girl, to her credit, does not fall off the building, or even physically startle, but there are lines of tension in her back and shoulders that weren’t there a half second before. Still, she takes her time turning around, drawing one leg up and leaning back on one hand. Alys notes with approval that she’s wrapped the links up around one fist to makeshift a flail. The ruby stones set into the metal swing menacingly.

Alys holds up her hands in mock surrender, and tries to control the smirk threatening to break out on her face. She takes the last few steps forward and crouches beside her, a careful arms length and some away, and faces her. This close, she can finally make out the details: the fear resting in the corners of her deep chestnut eyes, the white knuckles stark against her dark skin, against the cold gold she holds.

Alys leans back and nods at her. “Nice work earlier.”

She masks the fear well, holding her gaze and keeping her voice steady. “You come to take it back?”

“Do you want me to?”

She blinks, twice, and mild bemusement slowly chases the fright off her face. 

Alys shrugs, and continues. “Look, if it’s not my fault, it’s not my problem. That’s not my necklace, and I didn’t lose it, so unless you need someone to take it off your hands I don’t see why anyone else needs to find out about this.” She gestures vaguely between them with one hand.

Slowly, the girl let her shoulders relax. She breathes out hard, through pursed lips, and lets the chain run a little more freely through her fingers. “Not your necklace, huh?” She hums. “Then whose is it?”

Alys raises her eyebrows. “Right now? I’d say it’s yours.”

The girl blushes, faintly, and looks away. “Not what I meant.”

“Sure. But that thing’s already changed hands half a dozen times making its way here, before you broke the chain. So maybe it’s stolen, but I think it’s fair to say it's more than out of its last owner’s possession. And it never made it to the next one. So, if you have it now, that’s as good as yours.”

“And you tracked me down to, what, give me your blessing?”

“And my congratulations. It was a good steal, though I’m not sure that man was the most challenging mark.”

“Can’t have been that good, if you found me immediately.”

She shrugs again. “Most people don’t assume their target is on the roof.” She pauses, to watch as the girl lets her hand drop to her lap. “You’re good, not experienced. But that’ll come. Just takes time.”

Her mouth quirks up in a half-smile, and they sit in silence for a moment.

“Also… I’d be lying if I wasn’t curious about what you were gonna do with it,” she adds. “I mean, it’s distinctive. And kind of gaudy - how did you even find out about it?”

The girl bites her lip, flushing again. “I, um, it was kind of a, mistake? Just stumbled into it - he looked easy, I thought I’d try my luck.”

Alys laughs, and sees the tension creep back into the girl’s shoulders. She catches herself. “I mean, you weren’t wrong. But, look, you crashed a three month operation on a whim.”

“Is that bad? Is someone bigger and scarier gonna come after me?”

“Rude. And most of those three months was just travel time. I’m not telling anyone - you’re fine, just relax. It’s funny, is all.”

She pulls her other leg up and turns to face Alys more head on, sitting cross legged opposite her. “I guess. And you’re right. It is ugly. And I have no idea what I’m going to do with it. What’s it worth, anyway?”

“That. Too much. You don’t wanna know.”

She digests that, glancing down at the gleaming gold and jewels in her lap.

Alys speaks up again. “Look. I know some people, or how to get in touch with some people, who deal with this sort of stuff. Fences. If you want, I could help you shift that. For a small cut, of course.”

The girl looks at her, keeping her face impassive, but her eyes glint with interest.

She shifts closer, and reaches out. “I’m Alys, by the way.”

The girl clasps her hand. “Tara.”

Alys grins. “Well then, Tara. I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”