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Bony feet squelching in the mud...
Hand grasping out to snatch a crimson bag - so soft it could only be the same silk her mother had described all those years ago...
A tanned hand gripping her wrist too tightly... Her knee slamming between his legs so sharply that he could do nothing but buckle as she ran and ran and ran -
A small body, frail and thin from hunger, sliding beneath a wooden board and pulling out a loosened stone. Dark hair disappearing within the hole left in its stead. She entered the ruined temple (Roman, though she couldn't know). Long forgotten, like the girl.
Was it worth it?
Her name was Zara, and as she poured the gold upon the ground, eyes wide at the sight of coins, she scowled. Safe in the temple - to a long forgotten goddess - a crumbling statue of the deity's feet all that remained - Zara swept the coins back into their purse, with fast and frightened fingers. It ammounted to much more than the minimum 12 pence to be hanged - she'd stolen death.
They would look for her - those strange foreign men. They had sounded Italian - she'd known a few in Southwark. Somehow the language these two spoke had seemed even more lyrical and frantic - even as the man with his dark, greying hair held out the pouch to make a strong point to the merchant. His glinting shark-smile did not reach his glittering eyes.
She'd been following them all day - caught the whiff of their spicy musky cologne over the usual stench of cesspits and the Thames. It was just the two of them. Rich types weren't common on this side of the river. Not unless they wanted a whore - and it was too early in the day. Both men were armed. The leather and cloth of their clothes were fine and patterned.
A couple of rich bastards, ripe for the picking.
Hunger had driven her to hunt them.
Adrenaline was driving her now to scrape her hands through the stony soil beneath an upturned tile - to create a hole for her spoils.
She just had to wait a few more days - she'd gone longer without eating. It would be fine.There was water here - it collected in an old jug at the back of the temple from where the roof caved in.
Just two days…
Two days…
Two fucking days and he still hadn't found her.
If it wasn't so damned annoying, he might have been impressed.
She was a slippery little wretch. It had been difficult to make out her details - her face contorted and her body starved. But Southwark was tight - and already they'd found other little gutter rats to sniff her out. Convenient. But this was how Naples operated. Why would a slum outside of London be any different?
The more they learned, the more intrigued Niccolo became. The daughter of a whore - the bastard of a noble.
"But she's no whore -" Luca had pointed out, dryly.
"Zara? Nah - she'd bite a man's dick off, she would." Said the round-faced lad, still staring down at the coins in his hands in amazement. "Always been mean."
"Costui, un nobile, è forse un cliente?"
Luca glanced at Niccolo, who was eyeing the boy with a slightly disgusted expression. He translated the question, "Her dad a client of her mama's?"
"Nah. Old Rosalie was 'is maid a'fore she was a whore."
Shit.
Luca glanced over and his fears were confirmed by the expression on the old man's face - as if he'd just struck gold.
The younger man sighed and knelt before the boy and, "Very well. Go. Oh, and boy -" He caught the lad's arm before he could scamper away. "If you tell anyone of our discussion, of the money I paid you, I will cut out your tongue and feed it to you."
The boy's pale eyes grew wide, and he nodded. Luca let him go and watched the lad scramble off. Niccolo spoke to him in soft Italian.
"Over the top, no?"
"You do not know street children, Signore Di'Antoni. I do." He gazed out after the urchin with a frown. "The girl will emerge. Hunger will drive her from hiding."
He remembered the feeling of hunger too well - the terrible pain in the stomach. Everything seemed edible - even the rats crawling through the sewage. But, likely for the first time in this girl's life, she had the means to buy herself-
Bread…
It was all she could think about. She'd been curled up in the corner of the ruined temple, clutching a small wooden comb that had belonged to her mother as she stared out at the sky and waited. Just another day, and it would be safe.
When was the last time she'd had bread?
A few days.
When was the last time she'd had fresh bread?
Years.
She could smell the bakery from here. Wasn't far. There would be no need to steal - she just needed to dig up a little piece of her treasure and take one of the coins. She could afford an entire loaf! She thought of the smell of the yeast, and the baker looking down at her small, dirty face as she held out the coin.
What if he tried to report her?
For what?
For paying him good money?
No one here gave a shit.
Within moments, she had carefully emerged. The pale blue light of morning was dawning over the little rooftops of the mortared and wood-framed buildings. Her body cried in protest - but the smell carried her.
The man at the window took her money without question and handed her the loaf. She didn't wait to tear into it. The crunch of the crust and the soft, moist interior were almost too much. Her eyes closed, and she let out a little sound of delight before she continued carefully tearing into it, taking much self-control not to eat so fast as to be sick.
She made her way back to her little hole. She was feeling quite good about herseld as she turned into the narrow alley and -
He was leaning against the building - his soft, fancy-looking clothes replaced by a heavy leather jerkin. His arms were folded. He was watching the entrance. He'd seen her. She turned to run to find her exit blocked by two others - large local blokes by the look of them. The girl turned back again to see the man stand and step into the alley with a sigh.
"Alright, girl. Let's not -"
Her body moved before she could think. She broke into a run - away from the two men at the entrance of the alley and toward the man in leather, and to his surprise, she slid beneath his feet. With a triumphant laugh she stumbled back into a run - ready to duck into a doorway - but she had done something similar in their first encounter - and he was fast. Faster than her. He had already caught her by the mess of dark curls atop her head and slammed her into the wall face-first.
She cursed loudly - and she heard the man do the same as she wriggled and kicked and even tried to bite - all to no avail as he managed to get a hold of her forearm and twist it painfully upward with a jerk. It did not pop out - she froze before it did, yelling out in pain. She could hear the man's voice as a hand came to grip her throat.
"Gesù Cristo… come una gatta randagia."
She began struggling again - ignoring the terrible pain in her shoulder - until suddenly she was choking - gagging and the edges of her vision were fading. The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was the entrance to her little ruined shelter.
...
First there was warmth; then there was pain. Conciousness found her bound and gagged.
The man - the tall one with the dark beard - was leaning forward in a chair by the door with his hands clasped before him, eyes locked on her. He barked at another in the room in Italian.
Her attention swept to a blazing fireplace where the greying-haired man she'd robbed only a few hours before had perched himself like an overstuffed vulture. His eyes, too, were locked on her in cold appraisal, and she felt her heart sink.
The attention of men was never a good thing.
Fear was made worse as the door was shut and his guard leaned against it, folding his arms. He'd moved quickly and silently - and she realized suddenly that she was shaking.
The two men spoke quietly - well, argued really. As they did so, she began carefully testing her bindings and was frustrated to discover that they were expertly applied. Perhaps if she shifted, she could tip the chair back and -
"Stop that."
She looked up to find the guard's eyes were fixed upon her. He turned to the noble and gestured at her in exasperation. She didn't need to speak his language to know what he was saying. It was clear in any tongue. See what I mean?
To her surprise, the older man's face broke into a smile, and he stood as he approached her and nodded consideringly. His next words were a question. He pointed at her mouth. His companion replied irritably, pointing to where she'd gouged a large scratch into his arm during her struggle. The noble spoke sharply, a cold and definite command.
With an irritable sigh, the guard approached, "If you try to bite me again, girl," he growled, undoing the knot at the back of her head, "I will pluck out your teeth one by one."
She shuddered, her heart thundering in her ears.
"Do not mind him." The nobleman spoke then, his English as good as his guard's. "You've caused quite a fuss, haven't you Zara?"
She tensed at the sound of her name. It was foreign, after the woman who had pulled her mother from the streets. Her eyes squeezed shut.
"How old are you?"
Another bad sign. Most didn't know their age. She did, though. Something in his expression compelled truth from her dry cracking lips.
"Fifteen."
The man's calm and casual tone, despite his additional years, was infinitely more terrifying than his companion. His gaze was cold and penetrative.
His eyebrows raised, "Ah, see, Luca? Not a child at all! Only two years Concetta's junior!" He nodded to the Guard. "She is perfect. How long did you say she was following?"
"Hours," Luca grunted.
Zara winced. Had he known she was there the whole time? Those wide, cat-like hazel eyes began flickering between the men in obvious panic.
Neither seemed to notice or care.
"You have-aah-no family. Si? Your mother was a whore - but a lady's maid as well? Oh - nonono-" the man added for Zara had winced at the word whore and tried to push her chair back "Bambina, you are too scrawny and too violent to sell."
There was a snort from Luca. "Mostly too scrawny."
D'Antoni raised an eyebrow at Luca, "si…si…" he considered her again, and although he'd already confirmed no intention of selling her, she didn't like the way he was sizing her up. "What is the word…? Feral? Ha! Well, my daughter needs a maid and a guard. And what do I have here? Daughter of a maid. A clever little survivor. A feral gattina. A guard in the making!" he knelt before her, and she looked away. A hand came to her face and slowly turned it so that she was forced to face the man, right into his dark jewel-like eyes, "you will eat as much as you like, wear pretty maids dresses, sleep in a soft bed, take warm baths - and all you need do in return is to serve my daughter and guard her with your life. Or…" he stood and with a shrug said, "you can hang. You aren't worth the effort of trying to sell. What I offer you now is the best you can do with your pathetic little life."
"I stole from you."
"Si. In broad daylight. Malledetta gattina."
"What...?"
"A cursed little cat." Came Luca's drawl. He'd begun cleanjng his nails with a long and narrow-bladed knife.
"But…you want to give me…a job?"
Di'Antoni turned to give his guard a look. "Is something wrong with my English?" He asked sarcastically. Then, to her, "you're testing my patience, girl."
Zara stared at the men. Her eyes tore from the older man to Luca, whose expression seemed colder than ever. "I…" Her head was spinning. "What's the catch?"
The older man gave a cold laugh, clapping his hands together as he looked at Luca. "Bellisimo." He returned, chuckling, to the fire.
Luca sighed and, with what seemed a great effort, pried himself from his door to approach her once more. "The catch, Gattina, is that you tell us where you buried that money, and that you accept that your life is no longer your own."
That was a high price.
She opened her mouth, but he swept over her words with his own. "You will return with us to Napoli, you will be mine to train and Concetta's to serve. You will learn to ride, to swim, to fight, to identify threats. If you are not training, eating, sleeping, or shitting, you will be by her side."
The old man made it sound easy. The younger did not. She shifted uncomfortably beneath the intensity of Luca's stare.
"Because my mum was a maid?"
Luca sighed and said, "The why does not matter, Gatina. Si, o'no? Deeeath," he stretched out the word mockingly with a flourish of his hand. "Or service?"
No way out but the one offered.
A gift - to be a lady's maid. To do as her mother had dreamed she'd do - surrounded by luxury and never starve again.
She looked up into Luca's handsome face and felt a slight flush creep into her cheeks as she did so. He was older than her twenties, maybe? Why did she always notice such stupid details? No way of knowing he was a trap. She fell in.
Was it worth it?
The question haunted her as she unearthed the bag of coins and placed it into Luca's outstretched hand.
Was it worth it?
For the first time since she was very small, she was bathed, her scratchy rags replaced with a linen gown, her hair brushed with oil so that instead of matted it sprang into tight dark curls.
Was it worth it?
The most beautiful girl she'd ever seen wrinkled her nose at Zara, before storming out of the room in a stream of rapid Italian.
Was it worth it?
Zara's ribs throbbed where he'd landed blows, her knuckles were split and bleeding, and muscles she didn't know she had screamed in protest. But for the first time in years, her stomach was full.
Yes.
If she never went hungry again.
If she never had to sleep on a hard floor again.
If she never suffered betrayal again.
It was worth it.
Hand grasping out to snatch a crimson bag - so soft it could only be the same silk her mother had described all those years ago...
A tanned hand gripping her wrist too tightly... Her knee slamming between his legs so sharply that he could do nothing but buckle as she ran and ran and ran -
A small body, frail and thin from hunger, sliding beneath a wooden board and pulling out a loosened stone. Dark hair disappearing within the hole left in its stead. She entered the ruined temple (Roman, though she couldn't know). Long forgotten, like the girl.
Was it worth it?
Her name was Zara, and as she poured the gold upon the ground, eyes wide at the sight of coins, she scowled. Safe in the temple - to a long forgotten goddess - a crumbling statue of the deity's feet all that remained - Zara swept the coins back into their purse, with fast and frightened fingers. It ammounted to much more than the minimum 12 pence to be hanged - she'd stolen death.
They would look for her - those strange foreign men. They had sounded Italian - she'd known a few in Southwark. Somehow the language these two spoke had seemed even more lyrical and frantic - even as the man with his dark, greying hair held out the pouch to make a strong point to the merchant. His glinting shark-smile did not reach his glittering eyes.
She'd been following them all day - caught the whiff of their spicy musky cologne over the usual stench of cesspits and the Thames. It was just the two of them. Rich types weren't common on this side of the river. Not unless they wanted a whore - and it was too early in the day. Both men were armed. The leather and cloth of their clothes were fine and patterned.
A couple of rich bastards, ripe for the picking.
Hunger had driven her to hunt them.
Adrenaline was driving her now to scrape her hands through the stony soil beneath an upturned tile - to create a hole for her spoils.
She just had to wait a few more days - she'd gone longer without eating. It would be fine.There was water here - it collected in an old jug at the back of the temple from where the roof caved in.
Just two days…
Two days…
Two fucking days and he still hadn't found her.
If it wasn't so damned annoying, he might have been impressed.
She was a slippery little wretch. It had been difficult to make out her details - her face contorted and her body starved. But Southwark was tight - and already they'd found other little gutter rats to sniff her out. Convenient. But this was how Naples operated. Why would a slum outside of London be any different?
The more they learned, the more intrigued Niccolo became. The daughter of a whore - the bastard of a noble.
"But she's no whore -" Luca had pointed out, dryly.
"Zara? Nah - she'd bite a man's dick off, she would." Said the round-faced lad, still staring down at the coins in his hands in amazement. "Always been mean."
"Costui, un nobile, è forse un cliente?"
Luca glanced at Niccolo, who was eyeing the boy with a slightly disgusted expression. He translated the question, "Her dad a client of her mama's?"
"Nah. Old Rosalie was 'is maid a'fore she was a whore."
Shit.
Luca glanced over and his fears were confirmed by the expression on the old man's face - as if he'd just struck gold.
The younger man sighed and knelt before the boy and, "Very well. Go. Oh, and boy -" He caught the lad's arm before he could scamper away. "If you tell anyone of our discussion, of the money I paid you, I will cut out your tongue and feed it to you."
The boy's pale eyes grew wide, and he nodded. Luca let him go and watched the lad scramble off. Niccolo spoke to him in soft Italian.
"Over the top, no?"
"You do not know street children, Signore Di'Antoni. I do." He gazed out after the urchin with a frown. "The girl will emerge. Hunger will drive her from hiding."
He remembered the feeling of hunger too well - the terrible pain in the stomach. Everything seemed edible - even the rats crawling through the sewage. But, likely for the first time in this girl's life, she had the means to buy herself-
Bread…
It was all she could think about. She'd been curled up in the corner of the ruined temple, clutching a small wooden comb that had belonged to her mother as she stared out at the sky and waited. Just another day, and it would be safe.
When was the last time she'd had bread?
A few days.
When was the last time she'd had fresh bread?
Years.
She could smell the bakery from here. Wasn't far. There would be no need to steal - she just needed to dig up a little piece of her treasure and take one of the coins. She could afford an entire loaf! She thought of the smell of the yeast, and the baker looking down at her small, dirty face as she held out the coin.
What if he tried to report her?
For what?
For paying him good money?
No one here gave a shit.
Within moments, she had carefully emerged. The pale blue light of morning was dawning over the little rooftops of the mortared and wood-framed buildings. Her body cried in protest - but the smell carried her.
The man at the window took her money without question and handed her the loaf. She didn't wait to tear into it. The crunch of the crust and the soft, moist interior were almost too much. Her eyes closed, and she let out a little sound of delight before she continued carefully tearing into it, taking much self-control not to eat so fast as to be sick.
She made her way back to her little hole. She was feeling quite good about herseld as she turned into the narrow alley and -
He was leaning against the building - his soft, fancy-looking clothes replaced by a heavy leather jerkin. His arms were folded. He was watching the entrance. He'd seen her. She turned to run to find her exit blocked by two others - large local blokes by the look of them. The girl turned back again to see the man stand and step into the alley with a sigh.
"Alright, girl. Let's not -"
Her body moved before she could think. She broke into a run - away from the two men at the entrance of the alley and toward the man in leather, and to his surprise, she slid beneath his feet. With a triumphant laugh she stumbled back into a run - ready to duck into a doorway - but she had done something similar in their first encounter - and he was fast. Faster than her. He had already caught her by the mess of dark curls atop her head and slammed her into the wall face-first.
She cursed loudly - and she heard the man do the same as she wriggled and kicked and even tried to bite - all to no avail as he managed to get a hold of her forearm and twist it painfully upward with a jerk. It did not pop out - she froze before it did, yelling out in pain. She could hear the man's voice as a hand came to grip her throat.
"Gesù Cristo… come una gatta randagia."
She began struggling again - ignoring the terrible pain in her shoulder - until suddenly she was choking - gagging and the edges of her vision were fading. The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was the entrance to her little ruined shelter.
...
First there was warmth; then there was pain. Conciousness found her bound and gagged.
The man - the tall one with the dark beard - was leaning forward in a chair by the door with his hands clasped before him, eyes locked on her. He barked at another in the room in Italian.
Her attention swept to a blazing fireplace where the greying-haired man she'd robbed only a few hours before had perched himself like an overstuffed vulture. His eyes, too, were locked on her in cold appraisal, and she felt her heart sink.
The attention of men was never a good thing.
Fear was made worse as the door was shut and his guard leaned against it, folding his arms. He'd moved quickly and silently - and she realized suddenly that she was shaking.
The two men spoke quietly - well, argued really. As they did so, she began carefully testing her bindings and was frustrated to discover that they were expertly applied. Perhaps if she shifted, she could tip the chair back and -
"Stop that."
She looked up to find the guard's eyes were fixed upon her. He turned to the noble and gestured at her in exasperation. She didn't need to speak his language to know what he was saying. It was clear in any tongue. See what I mean?
To her surprise, the older man's face broke into a smile, and he stood as he approached her and nodded consideringly. His next words were a question. He pointed at her mouth. His companion replied irritably, pointing to where she'd gouged a large scratch into his arm during her struggle. The noble spoke sharply, a cold and definite command.
With an irritable sigh, the guard approached, "If you try to bite me again, girl," he growled, undoing the knot at the back of her head, "I will pluck out your teeth one by one."
She shuddered, her heart thundering in her ears.
"Do not mind him." The nobleman spoke then, his English as good as his guard's. "You've caused quite a fuss, haven't you Zara?"
She tensed at the sound of her name. It was foreign, after the woman who had pulled her mother from the streets. Her eyes squeezed shut.
"How old are you?"
Another bad sign. Most didn't know their age. She did, though. Something in his expression compelled truth from her dry cracking lips.
"Fifteen."
The man's calm and casual tone, despite his additional years, was infinitely more terrifying than his companion. His gaze was cold and penetrative.
His eyebrows raised, "Ah, see, Luca? Not a child at all! Only two years Concetta's junior!" He nodded to the Guard. "She is perfect. How long did you say she was following?"
"Hours," Luca grunted.
Zara winced. Had he known she was there the whole time? Those wide, cat-like hazel eyes began flickering between the men in obvious panic.
Neither seemed to notice or care.
"You have-aah-no family. Si? Your mother was a whore - but a lady's maid as well? Oh - nonono-" the man added for Zara had winced at the word whore and tried to push her chair back "Bambina, you are too scrawny and too violent to sell."
There was a snort from Luca. "Mostly too scrawny."
D'Antoni raised an eyebrow at Luca, "si…si…" he considered her again, and although he'd already confirmed no intention of selling her, she didn't like the way he was sizing her up. "What is the word…? Feral? Ha! Well, my daughter needs a maid and a guard. And what do I have here? Daughter of a maid. A clever little survivor. A feral gattina. A guard in the making!" he knelt before her, and she looked away. A hand came to her face and slowly turned it so that she was forced to face the man, right into his dark jewel-like eyes, "you will eat as much as you like, wear pretty maids dresses, sleep in a soft bed, take warm baths - and all you need do in return is to serve my daughter and guard her with your life. Or…" he stood and with a shrug said, "you can hang. You aren't worth the effort of trying to sell. What I offer you now is the best you can do with your pathetic little life."
"I stole from you."
"Si. In broad daylight. Malledetta gattina."
"What...?"
"A cursed little cat." Came Luca's drawl. He'd begun cleanjng his nails with a long and narrow-bladed knife.
"But…you want to give me…a job?"
Di'Antoni turned to give his guard a look. "Is something wrong with my English?" He asked sarcastically. Then, to her, "you're testing my patience, girl."
Zara stared at the men. Her eyes tore from the older man to Luca, whose expression seemed colder than ever. "I…" Her head was spinning. "What's the catch?"
The older man gave a cold laugh, clapping his hands together as he looked at Luca. "Bellisimo." He returned, chuckling, to the fire.
Luca sighed and, with what seemed a great effort, pried himself from his door to approach her once more. "The catch, Gattina, is that you tell us where you buried that money, and that you accept that your life is no longer your own."
That was a high price.
She opened her mouth, but he swept over her words with his own. "You will return with us to Napoli, you will be mine to train and Concetta's to serve. You will learn to ride, to swim, to fight, to identify threats. If you are not training, eating, sleeping, or shitting, you will be by her side."
The old man made it sound easy. The younger did not. She shifted uncomfortably beneath the intensity of Luca's stare.
"Because my mum was a maid?"
Luca sighed and said, "The why does not matter, Gatina. Si, o'no? Deeeath," he stretched out the word mockingly with a flourish of his hand. "Or service?"
No way out but the one offered.
A gift - to be a lady's maid. To do as her mother had dreamed she'd do - surrounded by luxury and never starve again.
She looked up into Luca's handsome face and felt a slight flush creep into her cheeks as she did so. He was older than her twenties, maybe? Why did she always notice such stupid details? No way of knowing he was a trap. She fell in.
Was it worth it?
The question haunted her as she unearthed the bag of coins and placed it into Luca's outstretched hand.
Was it worth it?
For the first time since she was very small, she was bathed, her scratchy rags replaced with a linen gown, her hair brushed with oil so that instead of matted it sprang into tight dark curls.
Was it worth it?
The most beautiful girl she'd ever seen wrinkled her nose at Zara, before storming out of the room in a stream of rapid Italian.
Was it worth it?
Zara's ribs throbbed where he'd landed blows, her knuckles were split and bleeding, and muscles she didn't know she had screamed in protest. But for the first time in years, her stomach was full.
Yes.
If she never went hungry again.
If she never had to sleep on a hard floor again.
If she never suffered betrayal again.
It was worth it.
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