Page 29 of Disenchanted
“Forty-five, final offer,” he said and then moaned. “No, I shouldn’t. I can’t—”
“Done!” The word burst out of me before I had time to reflect. The effect was very similar to dropping a large rock into an empty well. A loud thunk followed by a hollow silence.
Withypole and I stared at each other and for a moment, I thought I saw my own dismay mirrored in his eyes. Then he ducked behind the curtain to fetch the money from the back. I had never seen where Fugitate kept his strongbox. He was quite naturally very secretive about it.
While he was gone, I had to fight the urge to grab the earrings and flee. What had I just done? Sacrificed my mother’s earrings for far too little, certainly not enough to buy four tickets to the ball. Yet I had sensed that if I had not snapped up Withypole’s last offer, he would have been about to refuse to buy the emeralds at any price. Although why that should be, I had no idea.
The fairy returned and carefully counted out the coins. I felt numb as I scooped them into my purse. I could not even bring myself to look at my mother’s earrings one final time. When the last coin had been collected, I tugged the drawstrings closed and rushed out of the shop, not even bidding Fugitate goodbye.
I felt like I wanted to retch. I had to swallow hard as I wondered if the fairy really would pick the earrings apart to make something new. It might have been just as well if he did. I had heard that wealthy Midtown women and even ladies from the Heights would sneak into Fugitate’s shop in search of a bargain, although none of them would ever admit to buying anything secondhand. I would have found it unbearable to see my mother’s cherished earrings become the property of some smug merchant’s wife or a haughty countess. If the jewels were reset, I would never have to know, although anytime I saw emeralds sparkling in a lady’s ears, I feared that I would wonder.
The heavy fog had dispersed somewhat as I began my trudge homeward. I could find my way better although I should have continued to be wary of my surroundings. My head was too full of all that had transpired within the curio shop: my firstglimpse of fairy wings, Withypole’s surprising revelations about my father, the woefully poor bargain I had struck.
With such thoughts consuming me, I never noticed the hulking figure that stepped in front of me until it was too late. I nearly walked straight into the ugliest brute of a man I had ever seen, so large and ugly it was enough to make one suspect he might have a drop of goblin blood in him.
His egg-shaped head was bald except for a tuft of pepper-colored hair set between his enormous ears. His grizzled jaw was as coarse as a warthog’s bristles. His eyes were of a similar porcine nature, his bulbous nose mapped with red lines that indicated a heavy drinker. He did indeed stink of stale beer, combined with the odor of rancid fish and garlic. I had to resist the urge to plug my nose.
“Afternoon, miss,” he said. His tone was respectful enough, but his grin was nasty, thick lips peeling back to expose yellowed teeth.
Concealing my alarm, I responded with a cool nod and attempted to skirt around him, but he moved to block my path.
“Where you off to in such a great hurry, m’lovely darling?”
“That is no concern of yours.”
“Aww, no need to get snippy. I call that bad manners when I just want to be helpful. You could get along much faster if you let me lighten that heavy purse a bit.”
I backed away from him, clutching the sack of precious coins closer, cursing myself for a fool. I should have been more alert and kept the purse hidden beneath my shawl, not parading through these lanes with my head up my bottom.
My heart thudding, I retreated even farther. When he lumbered after me, I cried, “Don’t you take a step closer, or I will scream loud enough to bring all of Misty Bottoms running.”
He guffawed. “Folk hereabouts tend to mind their own business, m’darling. Who do you think will come? Just anothercharming rogue like m’self and I’m in no mood to share. So just hand over that purse and we can part ways all amiable-like.”
I tightened my grip on the pouch, my gaze darting wildly about me, assessing my options. If only I had some sort of weapon like a dagger or a rock, but the brute would likely have taken it from me with one swipe of his meaty paw. I wished the fog had not dispersed. I could have lost him in the thick mist with little trouble.
The only advantage I had was speed. If I could make it down to the waterfront where the guard tower stood, surely one of the Border Scutcheons would come to my aid.
Whirling about, I tore off at full tilt. I have always been a fast runner. Even Mal could never beat me in a race. But the great oaf behind me was far swifter.
I did not manage to get far before he tackled me, dragging me to the ground. The fall jarred me, but I rolled over, trying to regain my feet. He pinned me down, grabbing the purse. I hung on to it with all my strength. Using my head like a battering ram, I smashed my skull into his face, hoping to break his nose. It was like dashing my brain against a concrete wall. My head throbbed with pain and all it did was make him angry.
“Witch,” he snarled, twisting my hand savagely to loosen my grip on the purse. My wrist felt about to snap, and I screamed. He clamped his dirty fingers over my mouth, his hand so huge it covered my nose as well.
I bucked and struggled as hard as I could, but to no avail. I was suffocating, my lungs tortured for want of air. As webs of darkness spun before my eyes, I could feel my grip on the purse going slack. My despairing thought was it had all been for nothing— the sacrifice of my mother’s beautiful earrings. I silently cursed the ugly thief, consigning him to the deepest, blackest pit of the demon bogs.
Then as though seized by some dark unseen force, the brute was wrenched away from me. It was like my curse had been granted. I gasped, gulping in great lungs full of air. My vision cleared. Although I still felt dazed, I struggled up onto my elbows, trying to figure out what happened.
I saw my attacker wrestling to get free of the large arm locked about his neck. The thief’s opponent appeared to be a man of equal size and strength, although leaner and far more muscular. Yet I felt no joy at the sight of a rescuer. As the thief had predicted, all my scream had done was draw the attention of another villain, this one even more sinister, cloaked as he was all in black, the hood concealing his face.
I felt battered and groggy, but I could not afford to sprawl in the road, waiting to see which rogue won. I groped for my purse and experienced a moment of alarm when I could not find it. To my relief, I discovered it lying nearby, but the drawstring had pulled open during the struggle, my precious coins scattered in the dirt. I shifted onto my hands and knees, frantically scooping up the gold, all the while aware of the desperate contest taking place but yards away.
I heard curses, grunts, and the thud of blows, followed by the sound of running feet. I crawled about, trying to hurry. I was reaching for the last coin when my fingers struck up against a thick black boot. I gazed fearfully upward to find the victor of the battle looming over me, the villain in the black hood.
I gave a piteous moan. I had no more fight left in me. As he bent over me, I did not even have the strength to shrink away. I cowered before him, expecting the worst. He swept back his hood, and I gazed up at surprisingly familiar features, a harsh countenance with a full dark beard.
“Miss Upton,” Commander Crushington said, his eyes softened by concern. “Are you all right?”
seven
