A Bracelet Made of Brass

In the beginning she hadn’t thought she would matter, but she had been wrong.

Chapter One

There was a comfort in the sounds of the street: the baker’s cart rattling as it’s wheels were forcibly pushed over cobbles; windows being opened and closed by maids busying themselves with dusting; the never-ending trotting of shoed feet against stone and grit. There was comfort in the smells, too – most of all in that of fresh manure, because it meant there would probably be something to kindle a fire and keep warm by, once the chill of night arrived.

There was no loneliness during the day, either; there was always some other dweller to play with or possibly even scheme with. The cleverest of the children would gather the others around them and make a plan on how to get the fattest loaf of bread off the baker’s cart, or half a dozen apples from the stand outside the grocery, and everyone would lay in breathless wait until the sign was given for the go-ahead. They had managed it once or twice, but – and it wasn’t often they were brazen enough to attempt to steal – usually they were caught and it would mean beatings for the older children and a night spent alone in someone’s attic or cellar for the younger ones; and of course there had been that one time when they lost Ilke and never found him again.


~ by mescribe on August 5, 2010.

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