Young Writers Society

I adjust the hood of my brown wool cloak hiding my faceand make sure my dagger is securely fastened onto my belt. I take a deep breath and take a last look around. The tavern is filled with men, most of them drunk and laughing at the awful jokes their equally-drunk companions make. The room is lit by a large fire, casting shadows in the corners. I am sitting in one of those corners now, my nose wrinkling at the stench of beer. There are about a dozen small wooden tables spread throughout the tavern and a few stools at the bar. A warped wooden door is behind the bar, probably for storage.

That door drives a memory straight into my mind, so fast I can’t find the power to push it away. Isaac and I had agreed to do a job for these nasty men in return for money. Our job was to go to the docks. They told us there would be a small boat with the name Annabelle painted in red on the side. We were to go in and find a wooden chest and bring it back to them before the sun rose. Isaac and I agreed and set out at nightfall. Everything was how the men had explained and soon the chest was in their hands. But not before I sneaked a peek inside. The contents of the chest were documents, each sealed with the crest of the king. When I later asked them what the documents were and why they were so important, I was rewarded with a broken nose. Isaac had then thrown himself in front of me and killed the man who hit me. The others killed Isaac as I stood by, unable to help for I was so blinded by pain. They came for me next, but I ran. All the way to this tavern where I hid in the storage room. It all occurred just two years ago and that night still haunts me. 

It looks like I’m going to get lucky tonight. At the bar sits a man in a cloak of deep red silk. He has dark curls falling over his face and strong hands that tightly grip his drink. He wears black leather boots without a single scratch or scuff on them.

He is obviously not aregular at this tavern. The regulars here wear plain brown clothing, like most of the citizens in Redreef do. The clothing you wear tells everyone your rank and how much money you have. I am sad to say that I blend right in with these drunks. My shirt and shoes are just as worn as the next person’s here, but not nearly as dirty or smelly.

And that man sitting at the bar is a royal guard. He has removed the seal of the king, but the rich fabric of his clothing gives him away. He has no idea how to hide in these dangerous streets or maybe he just doesn’t know that he has to. This area of Redreef is no place for a man like him. Only people like me.

I slowly get up from my seat, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. I have learned to blend in. Blending in is one of the most important things you must know in order to be successful at my job. I have cut my hair short and wear loose clothing to disguise the fact that I am a girl. I have done this as a result of something that happened in the past. Something that taught me once and for all that the streets of Redreef were no place for a girl, even one that was a thief. That, and the drunkenness of the men surrounding me, creates an invisible shield which protects me from getting caught. I have never gotten caught. I am really good at pickpocketing, a skill I learned from a dear friend a few years ago, just when my family needed help the most.

I grab my cup, the beer inside untouched, and unhurriedly make my way up to the bar. I slide in between the royal guard and some old man drinking his sorrows away. I set my cup up on the counter, not saying a word because I didn’t want to give away that I was female, and while doing so, slip my hand into the guard’s satchel. My hand finds a small heavy bag. As I step back from the bar, I slide the pouch out of the man’s bag and slip it into a secret pocket on the inside of my cloak.

I head for the door, allowing myself a small smile. But that smile fades when I hear a call after me.