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Fires, ash, smoke.  All about me. Screaming, crying, get water,
there there, over there. Put them out. 
People cried, people screamed, shouted. 
I joined the throng of people with nothing more than a blanket about my
body. A helped carry the buckets, put out fires, even helped the injured and
the dying. Everything  went so quick in
the early evening. The Water Front district was awash in the red glow of dying
flames and the echoes of sobs and cries as people surveyed their homes, their
neighbours, their relatives. More than two dozen people died that day and, as I
sat on bench, grabbing my breath and trying to think back, trying to remember
what had happened before the fires. 
Then, it came back to me, as hard as the rolling pin had struck me.

 

We
were in the small kitchen, my mother was complaining again, shouting, screaming
at me.  "Why have you not done the
chores… Why have you not cleaned your brother.. Why…  " The yelling went on, and I yelled
back. Screaming at her. "This is your house… you clean it!  That's your son, you care for him!"
Words got worse, hatred boiled over. "I hate you!" I shouted back,
and she span on me, glaring in absolute disgust like I had struck her.  The rolling pin was raised above her head and
came down, striking me on the cheek and sending me sprawling to the floor. 

 

I
cried. And then, stopped, I looked on her with all my rage and suddenly I saw
her eyes widen in horror and the screaming began. The tiny light of the candles
almost exploded into immense infernos as I stood up, fires all about me, I
watched her scream, watched the flesh boil from her skin, heard my little
brother gag and cough under the bellowing smoke. Heard him cry as the flames
licked his body and burnt his bones. My father too, his snoring stopped and
then he screamed and shouted, the flames too much for them. I remember a beam
of wood falling down, I jumped from it, dragging and pulling myself out of the
burning house as the neighbours rooves began to burn, people began to scream,
the fires spread fast… oh so fast.

 

Then
I realised, "It was me…" I said it to myself, tears stinging my
eyes as I watched the last of the fires get snuffed out. I swallowed hard. It was me.

 

I
shut it all out, blocked it as much as I could, and I vanished into the
darkness of the city. No family, no food, no money. It was a bad year as well,
people were not interested in hiring a cleaning girl or serving whench. Begging
was almost as bad. I had no choice. One blessing my mother gave me was to do
what was right. And now, I destroyed that too. It started easily enough. A
quick hand on an apple or pear. A fast eye to see the vulnerable coin pouch. I
became a thief. I had no choice.

 

A
young urchin like myself was bound to get into trouble, and soon I did. A woman
did not like her purse been stolen and dragged me by the ear and arm back to
her home. I was almost relieved that I did not land up in the jails. There I
would have surely died. But my relief was short lived, this was no home. It was
a brothel. At my age, boys never even interested me in the slightest, I was too
busy working and cleaning at the home, no time for me. Now these woman, they
were not the kindest or the most understanding. For my 'theft' I was to 'work
off' my debt. Of course, I had no idea how much debt I  owed or how long that would take. In the
beginning it was nothing more than cleaning and cooking and taking care of the
working girls' needs. But then, I caught a patrons eye. I resisted as much as I
could but I could not. They did something to me. Gave me drinks. Bound me,
gagged me, tied me down. "The first time is the worst" they said,
"But you will get  used to it".

 

The
memories of the fires came back to me, but were soon quenched out when he raped
me. I was still a child in my own eyes, and he forced me. It matters not that
he paid. I was not some piece of meat to be sold for a few copper bits. I was a
girl. For three whole months this is what happened. I was one of the working
girls now. And I was that monsters favourite. Soon they didn't even have to tie
me down. Soon I believed the stories – that this was a good life. I had food,
fine clothing, wine, even had some of the pipe too. I liked the pipe, probably
a bit too much. But this was life and the only one I had.

 

Things
of course, were not all that easy or simple. I was soon let go into the
streets. I had a home and bed to return to, but now had to find my own patrons
and my own coin. It was hard. The other girls were jealous and defensive of
their corners or streets. The other brothels were worse, turning to violence if
anyone crossed over into their territories. I struggled to find a decent flow
of coin or a safe area to work. The 'mother' of the house was not pleased. I
was sent out for hours on end. Given ultimatums and targets to reach. And soon,
out of desperation, I turned to thievery once more.

 

The
few patrons I found, I ended up robbing. Tying them down, and not 'delivering'
what they wanted. I stole their purses, boots, rings, necklaces, anything of
value that I could sell.  The ones that
took me to their homes got off far worse. Soon I needed a 'place' to sell this
loot, the 'Mother' was getting wary of why my patrons  paid in jewellery and why so much. Fate and
destiny seemed to have their own plans for me or perhaps just enjoyed playing
with their little pawn.

 

I
had just parted company with one young, wealthy man, and was on my way back to
the 'home' when a man called out to me, asking for aid. He looked almost
wounded, so I approached, probably not carefully enough. In an instant I felt
his hand tug on my coin purse, and then my hand flicked forth with a dagger.
'Not so easily old man!' He stepped back and smiled, nodding, 'Yes, You will do
nicely I think. If you lend me your ear for just a moment.'

 

I
studied this man. I had never, ever, needed to resort to violence before and
the thought of stabbing him just because he tried to rob me was almost
hypocritical of me. So, I listened.  This
man's name was Jimbo Beggins. He was no run of the mill beggar or drunk sailor,
he was in fact a master thief. An old one though, not as fast or as nimble as
he once was, and now he sought a student. 
And he thought I would make a good one.

 

That
day, the Little Rose (that was my name by the way), vanished from the face of
the world and I accepted the embrace of the thief with an open mind and heart.
For almost two years , I worked with him. He refined my skills and taught me
many more. Be on your toes, be sharp, always look around, always check on
things, be quick witted to, and, if desperate, no where to hit so it hurts the
most. The way of the thief was revealed to me in all its grandeur.  His house was incredible. The riches he made
over the the decades made my few odds and ends look like someone's rubbish.
Castaway junk.

 

Again,
I began to get bored and began to ask Jimbo for more tests of my skill, not
simple shacks or dummy traps in his basement, real work. And, eventually, he
agreed. He had 'lost' a trinket some whiles back and wanted it returned to its
rightful owner, namely himself. It was a gold and platinum chain necklace with
a ruby and emerald amulet. Its value surpassed its weight in gold and gem, and
he now knew who had it. He gave me the run down of the job. Enter through the
side door. The amulet will be upstairs in the master bedroom, Most likely on
the dresser or in a locked jewellery box. Find it, get out, and get back to me
as soon as possible. Do not get caught, do not get seen, do not get followed.
He drilled the plan into me over three whole days. And then, he geared me up
with tools that had become second fingers to me.

 

I
left in the middle of the night and ventured out to the Silver Ring. There,
wealthy nobles, rich merchants and the like set up their homes and estates. The
one I wanted was on Pearl Street. Such a laugh, pearl street coz the cobbled
stones were whitewashed bad polished  to
make them look like pearls. Soon I found it, and crept quietly to the corner
wall, scaling it with nothing more than a short rope and grapple, and
whispering my way over the spiky iron railings into the yard itself. From cover
of the bushes I could see the guards at the gate and their dog. Dam, dogs. I
hate dogs I thought to myself as I moved silently across the gardens towards
the side entrance. I should have checked this out during the day or perhaps
another night. A few silvers for a carriage ride and I could have ridden right
past the place. You live and you learn.

 

The
side door. No lights save for the street lamps almost fifty yards away and the
pale light of the 5th moon. I whispered a silent prayer to the gods of darkness
to keep me safe this night and approached the door quietly. A plain wooden
door. Nothing of note. Should be quick to pick the lock or lift the bar.
Hmmm.  A welcome mat. Odd.  A welcome mat on a side door? No. Very  odd. That mat may have been worn or old
looking, but who puts a welcome mat outside a door used by servants. I bent
down next to it to examine the mat closer. And sure enough, the metal prongs of
the trap were there, barely visible, but there. Standing on that mat would
probably cripple me as a dozens of sharpened spikes would pierce my soft sole
boots and stab into my flesh. No doubt I would scream too, alerting the dog and
the guards.

 

Smoothly
I stepped about it, and approached the door. Not trusting that the owner would
have done nothing else to protect it, I examined the door closely. The gaps in
near the floor, and on the sides. The top frame. Even the sconce on the wall.
Then the lock. A good one, but not too good. The fools even left the key
inside, thinking that would prevent a thief from picking the lock.

 

I
removed a small file from my tool kit and a piece of paper from my scroll case
and slide it under the door, hoping to cushion the sound of the key hitting the
floor. Sure enough, it worked. Barely a clink as the key hit my paper and I
pulled it through, using the key to open the lock I stepped into the side
entrance hall next to the kitchen. Closing the door behind me, but not locking
it. The kitchen was bigger than my old shack used to be. And was still warm
after the evenings dinner. A grey cat sat on the table and glared at me, its
tail bristling as if it was about to flee or attack. I whispered a hushing
sound to it, and it seemed to relax. I smiled, it could be useful if a dog
chases me. Perfect distraction I thought.

 

Quietly
I entered the common room, and then, peering through the darkness I found my
way to the main hall, and the fat, lazy dog that slept on a fine rug. It was
still and quiet, and I hated the thought of wounding an animal, but had no
choice. No sound filtered through the house, and I crept quietly up to the
rather large hound, unhooking my blackjack club from its hook I quickly struck
the dog, hard enough so that blood splattered across my face and the stairs and
couch. It didn't even make a sound, but it still lived at least. Killing an
animal was not my way. Even if it was a threat, it had done nothing to me, not
yet anyhow.

 

I
dragged the dog to the small alcove under the stairs and then quietly, climbed
up the railing, not treading on any stairs themselves.  Soon I found the masters chambers and there
it was. The necklace on a small holder in the form of a headless chest. I
didn't think at that stage how easy it had been so I lifted the necklace
without a sound and began moving back to the stairs. Just then, the dog howled
as it awoke. the master and mistress of the house woke up and the alarm was
sounded. THIEF!!!!

 

I
fled. Ran from the room to be confronted with an armed guard, for a moment I
wondered what room he had been in, but I had no time as I ducked under his
sword and jumped over the railing, landing hard on the ground, the dog jumped
at me, and I struck it aside. And just then a cross bow bolt glanced my
shoulder, I almost dropped the necklace and cried out in pain. Panic began to
set in and just as I moved a guard stepped from around the corner and a net was
thrown, trapping me to the ground as two of them moved in with billy clubs.
Two, three guards at least in the house I thought as I cried out in pain after
the first thud.

 

And
then it all changed again. My cries subsided, to be replaced by the screams of
burning men and the stench of wood and flesh. Fires tore through the house and
all about me, scalding my flesh as my clothes burned away. The necklace got so
hot I nearly dropped it again, but swapped it like a hot potato between my
hands as I fled from the burning mansion, ran across the garden and up a tree,
hiding for a moment before  I leaped into
the street and ran amongst the trees and shadows as best as I could. Three
whole hours it took me to get back. Ducking, 
here, and hiding there before I found some old clothes.

 

Jimbo
was less than pleased to see me, and struck me across the face. "What in
the hells happened whench? Were you seen, were you followed?" he was
angry, so angry I had never seen him this way. The fire had damage the necklace
too. The chains were mostly melted together. He threatened to strike me once
more and I ran. Ran from him crying into the night with nothing more than some
servants dress.

 

Alone.
Again.