“Ouch!” yelped Ashyn, inhaling sharply and pulling her left arm back. “Careful where you stick that damned thing!”

Elise looked up sternly from Ashyn’s wound, needle and catgut thread in hand.

“Watch your tongue, girl, it’s not my fault you can’t sit still.” She held Ashyn’s insolent gaze for a second, then rolled her eyes and returned to her stitching. With each suture Ashyn winced dramatically, but Elise continued unperturbed.

“You know, you wouldn’t have to suffer my cruel ministrations so often if you weren't falling out a tree or challengin’ a boar to a duel every other day,” Elise said conversationally, her eyes twinkling.

Ashyn huffed haughtily, then fixed her mother with the most withering glare she could muster.

“The boar was one time! And he charged me, from right out a thicket; it weren’t my fault!” Ashyn exclaimed indignantly. “And I rarely fall, I cut myself climbing back down from the ma-” Elise’s eyes narrowed immediately and Ashyn hurriedly continued, “-er, climbing back down from the… the old oak near Fen’s field,” she finished awkwardly, looking anywhere but at her mother.

“A tree cut you this deep? I see...” said Elise, her tone making it quite clear she didn’t believe a word. “Well I’m glad you weren’t anywhere near the estate. You know how much trouble you-- how much trouble we could get into if you were caught skulkin’ ‘round the Magistrate's property again.”

“Well it’s good I weren’t there then!” proclaimed Ashyn, steadfastly refusing to meet Elise’s gaze.

“That it is,” sighed Elise as she pulled the final suture tight and cut the trailing thread. “Fetch my knifesbane and lady's mantle salve, and a length of the boiled wool dressing.” 

Ashyn scrambled to her feet and moved toward the cabinet in the back of their small cottage, knocking the catgut and shears off the small side table.

“Slowly! Slowly!” Elise called, sighing again as she bent to retrieve her medical accoutrements. “Careful with that arm, girl, or the wound will reopen and we’ll have to do this all over again.” 

Ashyn ignored the admonition and unceremoniously dropped the green glass jar on the table beside her mother. It bounced slightly and started to roll towards the edge before Elise snatched it.

“Watch it! You know how long it takes to prepare a knifesbane and lady’s mantle salve! I have half a mind to demand payment afore treatin’ you next time you ‘fall’,” Elise said testily. “Leastwise you’ll be out finding me more lady's mantle. Maybe after scourin’ the hollow for half a day for a handful of flowers you’ll wisen up.” Ashyn just rolled her eyes.

“No need to worry, it won’t happen again,” Ashyn said confidently, plunking her arm back down onto the table before Elise. Elise looked from the arm back to Ashyn, a single eyebrow raised in mock confusion.

“Oh, was her ladyship expecting me to apply her salve? You’ve still got one good arm, haven’t you?” said Elise, smirking as she leaned back and crossed her arms. “That salve is mostly lady's mantle; I wouldn’t want it all over my hands.”

Ashyn groaned and opened the jar, turning her head away sharply as she was hit by the pungent smell emanating from within. She took a deep breath, held it in, then scooped a large portion of the sticky yellow salve onto her arm. Elise’s eyes bulged.

“Not that much! You’ll end up wasting half! I know you know better than that,” Elise said, exasperated, as she hastily wiped most of the salve off Ashyn’s arm. “And don’t think I didn’t notice that you said you won’t fall again, not that you won’t be caught sneakin’ ‘round places you shouldn’t.”

“I promise I won’t do that either,” Ashyn said, feigning resignation. To her dismay, it was clear that Elise was too well versed in Ashyn’s penchant for word games to believe that was the end of it.

“That you won’t go sneakin’, not simply that you won’t get caught,” Elise said sternly as Ashyn fidgeted. “And would you kindly hold still! I’m almost finished.” Ashyn continued to squirm impatiently as Elise wrapped the boiled wool several times around her arm. As soon as Elise tied off the last layer of bandage Ashyn sprang up, grabbing her cloak and dashing toward the door.

“Slowly! If that cut opens up again it’ll leave a nasty scar!” Elise called after Ashyn, sighing again as the only response was Ashyn slamming the door behind her.

Finally free, and with her arm sorted, Ashyn set off up the dusty road towards the town center, the dim evening light casting a long shadow before her. As she walked she pulled the sleeve of her dark brown tunic back down over her wounded arm. The loose, flowing sleeves of the tunic disguised the bump of the bandage well, and a quick flex revealed that she could still use the arm without much pain. Happy with the results, she increased her pace. There was still a solid hour of light from the second sun remaining, plenty of time to pilfer a quick bite and perhaps visit Oliver at the stables.

She slowed as she caught sight of the tannery at the edge of the town proper. The powerful odor of the skins and dyes had relegated the shop to the outskirts of town. Covering her nose with her sleeve, she strode past the stinking hides and into town. 

The small town of Efrein sat among the rolling hills of the Bel Traten countryside. Most of the wealthier shops and houses were right near the center, all perched atop a single large hill overlooking the rest of Efrein, with the lesser buildings radiating outward. The main thoroughfare ran straight from the town square all the way to the Magistrate’s estate. It was flanked on both sides by the most opulent, and in Ashyn’s opinion gaudy, mansions and boutiques.

A few streets down from the main estate stood the Magistrate’s stables and kennel, and at around this time Oliver should still be inside, likely mucking out stalls she thought. Ashyn grimaced at the idea, silently grateful that her duties at her mother’s apothecary shop didn’t include shoveling huge piles of manure. She continued up toward the square, walking as briskly as she could manage.

She had reached the frustrating age where she could no longer simply run everywhere. If she were to come dashing through the streets now she’d draw far too much attention with the supposedly “unladylike” behavior. She rolled her eyes and increased her pace, always too impatient to maintain the demure stroll of the older people she passed on the street. It was getting late, and thankfully there weren’t as many people on the road. 

Her stomach growled, a petulant reminder that she hadn’t eaten since morning. She slowed, debating a quick detour before the stables. Another pang of hunger and the decision was made; she turned slightly and set off towards the One-Eyed Toad. Ashyn was, of course, not technically old enough to be allowed in a tavern, but the Toad wasn’t exactly known for its respect for the law or its upstanding clientele. Tucked away in an alley far from the city center, the One-Eyed Toad was often filled with stablehands, errand boys, and other sundry servants and laborers that kept the nearby mansions and estates running.

The first few times she’d been caught trying to sneak inside old Gill, the barkeep, had her thrown out. When that had failed to dissuade her, he’d quickly given up, grumbling that “if yer not like to stay ou’ my way, I migh’ as well get yer coin.” After that, most evenings found her haunting the corner of the bar, left alone as long as she kept out of trouble. The other patrons rarely bothered her, her mother was well known in town and Gill didn’t long suffer any man who got sloppy drunk and started harassing his customers.

She turned a corner and strode up the narrow street; the stark contrast in the clothing and, she wrinkled her nose, the smell of the people here just three blocks over from Manor Street never ceased to amaze her. The Magistrate kept his estate and the nearby neighborhoods and streets immaculate, but only a few streets off from the square the facade begins to fall. She pulled her shirt over her nose as she neared the alley outside the Toad, cursing the patrons’ seeming distaste for soap. 

Turning into the alleyway she nearly collided with a suddenly outflung forearm blocking her path. She smelled him before she saw him, the stench of wine and half-cooked fish assailing her nostrils as he lumbered forward. She reflexively stepped back, eyeing the man as he struggled to stand before her.

He was older, with a small, balding head and an unkempt beard gone mostly gray. He wore a simple, loose fitting shirt and leather breeches, and the spattering of fish guts across his front marked him as a dockhand. A few meters behind him sat the disheveled entrance to the tavern, the aged wooden sign of a fat toad with an eye patch beside a mug of ale swinging in the evening breeze. She glanced down toward the meager purse he wore at his belt, likely his day’s wage already half spent on drink. He swayed, his left arm pressed against the alley wall for support, then fixed his unfocused stare on her.

“Whoa… what’s yer hurry, young miss?” he said, his voice slow and slurred. “What’s a pretty li’l thing like you doing at a piss pot li’ th-th Toad?” As he finished he turned, gesturing vaguely towards the tavern. She stepped lightly forward, dodging past as he turned back towards her. She was almost by when she felt a hand fall heavily on her shoulder. The drunk spun her about, his strong grip pulling her uncomfortably close. He struggled to focus on her as she pulled back from his fetid breath.

 She suddenly glanced beyond him, her eyes locked on the open street over his shoulder, surprise painted across her face. He hesitated, confused, then half turned towards the street. Her left hand flashed, first to the small knife she kept at her belt, then toward the man’s waist. She pointed past him with her right, crying out, “Oi, thief! He’s got your purse!” as she quickly withdrew her left, his coin purse in hand.

The drunk spun wildly, causing him to take several tottering steps to the left to steady himself. He squinted down the street, struggling to see in the fading light. He stopped, one hand desperately patting around his belt for the missing purse. Finally he spun back around, bewildered, to an empty street, Ashyn having already slipped through the door of the One-Eyed Toad.

She quickly made her way through the cramped and noisy tavern, smirking as she pocketed the surprisingly full purse. A nice start to the evening, she thought, grateful she wouldn’t have to steal any food today. A few eyes followed her as she passed, but she was well enough known by the regulars that they quickly turned back to their drinks. Sidling up to her usual spot at the end of the bar, she sat on the rough wooden stool, placing a foot against the bar to steady the wobbling seat. 

She looked down the counter towards Gill, catching his eye as he refilled a mug. He squinted back at her as she made her best attempt to look sad and hungry. Unfazed, he rolled his eyes and handed the mug to the man at the bar. He turned back and picked up a rag to begin wiping the counter. Ashyn sighed melodramatically and plunked the purse on the bar before her. Gill immediately raised an eyebrow and made his way over to her. He eyed the purse then looked up at Ashyn.

“Ashyn Oak, a paying customer?” he said, laughing. “That’ll be the day! Best I don’ ask whence tha’ purse came, eh?”

“Best not,” Ashyn agreed, opening the purse and flipping a few copper pieces onto the bar. “Though you might think about puttin’ a man at the door to keep an eye on things.”

“Might I?” Gill laughed again, his great barrel chest bouncing jovially. “Well lass, when ya own yer’ own tavern, ya own coin can pay all the men ya want to ‘keep an eye on things.’” He scooped up the coins and rummaged under the bar for a mug. “Folk come ‘ere expectin’ a break from watchful eyes, so long as they don’t cause no trouble in the Toad I won’t be tellin’ ‘em what ter do.”

He straightened, dropped a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese before her, then began filling her mug with small ale.

“Oi!” Ashyn exclaimed indignantly, “I paid for a drink! There’s not a chance I’ll be drinkin’ that! That's mostly water, like as not you only have that for cleanin' piss pots,” she finished, fixing Gill with a withering glare.

“Oh I see,” said Gill, pausing his pouring. “A couple o’ coppers in her purse and she’s orderin’ around poor ol’ Gill in his own tavern.” He set the water on the table, a bemused smile on his face. “And just wha’ would yer poor ma do if she came in and seen me servin’ ale to the likes o’ you?”

Now it was Ashyn’s turn to laugh as she shot back, “Well, seein’ as that’d be the first woman ’ceptin me to set foot in the Toad, like as not you’d faint on the spot.” Gill rumbled a laugh while glaring at her in mock outrage, then sighed heavily and poured her some ale before moving back down the counter. She smiled widely at his back, her mouth stuffed full of bread as she slipped a second loaf from behind the counter into her cloak.

Within a minute she had devoured the food before her and made to leave, her half full drink in hand. She was a few steps from the door when Gill’s voice boomed over the din of the tavern.

“Not with my mug, you ain’t!”

Ashyn turned, exasperated, then drained the mug and tossed it in a great arc towards Gill. A few nearby patrons cried out in surprise as ale from the spinning drink splashed across them before Gill snatched it from the air. Heads spun back towards Ashyn, catching sight of the edge of her cloak as the door shut behind her.

She quickened her pace up the narrow alley, making a hastier retreat than usual given the misting of ale she’d just treated The Toad to. Likely the closest thing to a bath most of that lot have seen in a week. She smirked, then grimaced as she remembered the look of actual annoyance she had seen on Gill’s face as she’d left. She'd thought she'd drained the whole mug, but considering the mess it might be prudent to avoid ol’ Gill for a few days, give him some time to cool off. She squinted down the street, the last vestiges of the second sunset casting long shadows and painting the buildings in an ethereal ombré of purples and oranges.

She pulled her cloak tighter as another cool breeze blew through the alley, then set off towards the stables. About now Oliver should be finishing his duties and closing everything down for the night. A few more streets and she caught sight of the edge of the Magistrate’s vast estate, the stables a squat set of buildings near the southern edge. She glanced both ways down the empty side street then dashed across, slipping between the beams supporting the stables’ awning. At this point even her mother seemed to know about her run-ins with the Magistrate, and his estate guards had strict orders to forcibly evict her on sight. Satisfied at her stealthy approach, Ashyn settled against the inner wall to wait.

Perhaps ten minutes passed as she stood, intermittently glancing around for any signs of movement before returning to the alcove at the back entrance. Finally she let out an exasperated sigh, then crept over to the door and knocked softly, two sets of three quick taps, before quickly retreating into the shadows ready to bolt if anyone but Oliver came out. Her trepidation proved unfounded when the door remained resolutely shut. Rolling her eyes, she sidled back up to the door and knocked the same pattern again, this time significantly louder. She returned to the shadowed alcove and after a few anxious heartbeats was rewarded with the door swinging open just a crack.

Oliver’s pale face peeked out, his eyes frantically searching the darkness before him.

“W-who’s there?” he squeaked, his voice a full octave higher than normal. He turned toward Ashyn’s hiding spot just in time to catch the spinning loaf of bread right between his eyes. He yelped shrilly and leapt backwards, awkwardly fumbling with the bread as he struggled to catch it. He finally bested his doughy foe and stood, loaf in hand, glaring into the darkness past the now open door.

“Very funny, Ash! I know that was you!” he whispered aggressively into the night, but he still visibly flinched when she strode out of the inky shadows and into the stables, closing the door firmly behind her. A few lanterns burned low around the room, the flickering light sporadically illuminating several startled hounds in their stalls near the back.

Satisfied with her scan of the room, Ashyn turned back to regard Oliver. Two years younger but already taller than her, the scrawny stablehand wore simple breeches and shirt under a tattered jacket with Magistrate LeBeau’s house crest emblazoned across the front. Currently the symbol, a white outline of a fox across a red and gold field, was hardly visible from the years of dirty work and sporadic washing.

“You ought to be thankin’ me!” Ashyn said, bowing magnanimously, “Nicked you dinner as I left the Toad, figured like as not ol’ LeBeau weren’t feedin’ ya,” she finished, staring pointedly at his otherwise empty hands. 

Oliver sighed and took a bite, “Well you got that right. Third time this week,” he said wryly. “I figure he must be entertainin' more folk’n usual; most nights cook Rose makes her way down her with the leavins from their feasts.” He looked down at his feet, awkwardly kicking at the straw that coated the floor as he took another hungry bite of bread. Ashyn’s lighthearted grin faltered as she watched him, her mouth drawn to a thin line as she considered.

“I know!” she exclaimed after a moment, forcing a cheery smile back on her face. “Why don’t you and I take a peek ‘round the kitchens? As you said, there’s like to be loads of food left there!” Oliver’s eyes widened at the thought as he shook his head.

“I dunno, Ash,” he hedged, “You know what’ll happen if they catch you again. The Magistrate was real displeased last time, like as not he’d have you thrown in the pill if’n he catches ya,” he continued, mostly to the ground as he carefully avoided meeting Ashyn’s gaze. “Leastways I’m fine with the bread! Truly!” he said, punctuating the last word with another bite.

“No point lyin’ to me, Oll,” Ashyn pointed out, eyeing Oliver cooly. “You’re mostly bones under that damned jacket, ‘n fact I figure you weigh less than me, like as not.” Before he could respond she clapped her hands together and interjected, “It’s decided then! Quick, finish that bread and go; we wait too long and Rose’ll throw the scraps to the hounds.” In answer to his sputtered denials, Ashyn whirled and crossed the room in a few light steps. She put her ear to the door and listened, motioning furiously for Oliver to follow as she slid the door open and slipped outside moving further into the Magistrate’s estate.

Oliver hurried to catch up, furiously chewing the last bite of bread as he scrambled after her.

“Ash! Wait!” he hissed, losing track of her as she crept forward in the night. The second sun was fully set now, the dim light of the moons and flickering torches around the buildings the only illumination left.

“Over here!” she called, her hushed voice still uncomfortably loud to Oliver. He hurried over to find her pressing herself back along the edge of an unlit building, peering up the small road towards the manor. A single guard bearing a torch strolled idly toward them.

“That’ll be Sed, makin’ his rounds,” Oliver whispered to Ashyn, sidling up beside her to look. “He’ll walk ‘round the stables, make sure everything’s locked and quiet, then head back over to the barracks. Sometimes I talk to him when he comes by and I’m still closing up, right nice lad he is. Just got married to Ginette, the kitchen girl, d'you know that?” He glanced back as he finished his account to find Ashyn regarding him, one eyebrow raised. 

“Well…” she said, “my thanks for his nightly schedule and life story, but we’ll just wait ‘til he gets to the stables then make a dash for the manor.” Taking his wounded silence as assent, Ashyn turned back toward Sed, watching impatiently as he ambled past their hiding spot and towards the stables.

“Now!” she hissed, grabbing Oliver’s hand and pulling him along as she darted up the walkway, careful to stay on the well manicured grass to mask her footfalls. Oliver scurried after her, his cheeks reddening as he looked down at his hand in Ashyn’s.

“Quick, help me up!” Ashyn whispered, casually extricating her fingers from his as they pressed themselves against the outer wall surrounding the inner grounds and the manor. Oliver hesitated, reluctant.

“Ash wait! They’ll see us for sure!” he moaned. Ashyn ignored him, jumping and pulling her head just above the short wall. She looked around then dropped back beside Oliver.

“They won’t! The torches don’t fully light this spot of the wall, and the hedges will hide us. Then it'll be a straight shot to the back of the kitchens.” Oliver wavered for a moment, then a loud rumble from his near empty stomach seemed to decide it for him as he sighed and moved to lift Ashyn. Stepping lightly on his outstretched hands, a quick push and she was perched atop the wall. She spun and put a hand down, beckoning him to follow. Oliver took a deep breath, then jumped and grabbed her arm as she leaned back, levering him up and over the wall. Ashyn landed softly in the cool grass as Oliver fell in a heap beside her.

“Shhh!” she hissed, but held out a hand to pull him quickly to his feet.

Sorry, he mouthed, grimacing as he wiped at the bits of grass covering the back of his jacket. Ashyn was already halfway across the yard, crouching low as she flitted from hedgerow to hedgerow. Oliver let out a soft curse then dashed after her, his loping gait far less stealthy. He pulled up to her again, huddling down alongside her as her eyes searched the walls of the manor above them. Satisfied with her findings, she glanced back to Oliver.

“Wait here! I’ll be up and through the window above the kitchens, I’ll come back soon, bearing a feast fit for a queen!” Oliver let out a cross between a groan and a sigh and slid down to wait, back against the building. Ashyn took a few steps back, then rushed towards the wall, stepping lightly on his shoulder as she launched herself upward, her outstretched hands catching the ledge atop a row of ground floor windows.

Grunting from the exertion, Ashyn pulled herself up to balance precariously on the small lip of the ledge. She steadied herself, then bent her knees and leapt again, this time catching the bottom of the second floor window sill. She hung for a second, her feet scrabbling against the stone wall, unable to find purchase. She strained, laboriously pulling her head up to peer into the window. After convincing herself it was clear, she pulled free her belt knife, flipped the latch clear, pulled aside the thin mesh screen, then clambered up and into the room beyond. 

Ashyn landed softly and rolled, coming up in a crouch at the edge of the room. She glanced around, the silvery moonlight cascading in through the open window barely allowed her to make out its contents. Judging from the short rows of cabinets and shelves, this was likely one of LeBeau’s many larders, and based on its location above the kitchen and servants’ quarters, likely not even his nicest. Ashyn quickly scanned the shelves, selecting a few choice biscuits, a bag of dried fruit, and an entire wheel of cheese before sequestering the items in the folds of her cloak.  

She took a few steps toward the hallway, noticeably weighed down by the plunder, then turned back and opened more cabinets, searching for further spoils. She laughed with glee as she opened the last cabinet, revealing a series of tiny glass bottles and jars containing every type of spice and seasoning she’d ever heard of, and even more she hadn’t. Ashyn paused, taking it in; the riches before her could make their usual fare palatable, and just as she began grabbing random bottles, she heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway outside. She was hurriedly scooping spice jars into a bag when her bandaged hand caught the edge of the shelf above. One end of the shelf shifted, teetered, then fell, an avalanche of glass falling after it, filling the room with a cacophony of shattering glass and muttered curses.
“Oi!” a man called from outside, followed by heavy footfalls moving toward her. She darted to the window and threw it open.

“Oliver!” she called down. Then, “Oliver catch!” and without waiting for a reply, she dropped the bag of spices out the window and leapt after it. A gasp of surprise was cut short as she heard an oof below as Oliver managed to catch the bag before falling heavily into the hedge. Ashyn landed beside him, then hauled him unceremoniously from the plant. Not waiting for him to steady himself, she took off, half crouched, along the hedge row towards the outer wall of the grounds.

Pressing herself against the wall, she turned to find Oliver limping towards her, his breeches partially torn from the fall. He stumbled as an irate guard poked his head out the window and cried out in alarm, pointing at Oliver. Shouts answered from up the road as other guards heard the commotion, and Ashyn could see the light of several torches dancing up the walkway toward them. Panicked, Oliver began to hobble faster, favoring his left leg. The unwieldy bag of spices was also slowing him down, but he made it to the shadow covered wall beside Ashyn before any guards caught sight of them.

Oliver winced in pain as he dropped the bag in the grass.

“Ash,” he said, gasping for breath. “Just go. It’s you LeBeau hates, and I’m not gettin’ over that wall with my leg cut real bad.” He shifted, showing Ashyn a long but shallow slice up his calf, already welling with blood.

She hesitated, then hurriedly whispered back.

“It's not that bad! I can pull you up! Come on--”. The rest of her plea was cut short as two guards rounded the corner of the manor, the light from their torches nearing the wall.

“Go!” Oliver said forcefully, then held out his hand to lift her. Ashyn cursed, then jumped lightly and pulled herself halfway over the wall. She turned back, letting her feet dangle on the other side as she faced Oliver.

“Quick! I'll lift you!” she called. But instead Oliver tossed her the bag.

“This first! It’ll smash if I throw it and I can’t hold it and climb.” She caught it awkwardly, then lowered it to the ground behind her before extending her hand down toward Oliver. He took a few steps back to leap to her when light spilled around the wall and the guards shouted for him to stop. He froze in place, looked briefly toward Ashyn, then turned slowly toward the guards.

“Grab ‘im!” Ashyn heard as she dropped back beyond the wall.

“It’s Oliver! What you doin’ skulkin round 'ere this time o’ night?” called one of the guards.

“The stableboy? Breakin’ into the manor?” asked the other.

“Come with us, boy, you’ll answer for this.” Then she heard the sounds of their footsteps as they led Oliver away, leaving Ashyn to slide down against the wall, alone.