A Meal for a Beggar Queen

Threads of pale light trickled down through thin clouds, illuminating an icy, brick paved avenue. Gala walked along the side of the road, hiding beneath the shadows of ramshackle houses, and sagging storefronts. Wind, wild and furious, gusted in long, frigid bursts, whipping her hair into a frenzied scramble. She smiled to herself, thin lips white with cold, and touched the bundle of food at her hip. I did it, she thought, satisfied.

An irrepressible energy welled up inside of her. She shivered, half from chill, half from excitement. She had never truly been out in the world without Robyn before, but two excursions in a row filled her with an unexplainable thrill. It dulled her senses. She barely noticed the stinging in her bare feet as they crunched lightly through fresh snow, or the icy chill that ran down the length of her spine.

Minutes later, she rounded the corner into the alley their cellar hideout occupied. The grin that plastered itself to her face slid haphazardly down into a low, worried frown. Dull moonlight silhouetted a tall figure, skinny in stature, with long hair. It stood wraithlike over the entrance to the cellar. Shadows veiled a long face. Though Gala could see their mouth moving, she was too far to hear more than a deep rumble of noise. A man then. A slight tug in her gut told her something was wrong, but she could not put her finger on it.

Who could that be? Gala asked herself. With lithe grace, she slipped into the dark building across from their cellar. Careful not to make any sound, Gala peered out at the man, camouflaging herself in the deep recesses of the building. She tried to position herself so that she could see him and stay hidden, then she closed her eyes and blocked everything else out, listening with intent.

“…Rest of her life,” his voice said in tight amusement. Gala wondered briefly who he was talking to, but realized it could only be Robyn. He continued to speak, but much of what he said was lost in the harsh wind. “I will just kill you.” She staggered at his final words, hearing them clearly. What is going on? Gala knew that if he attacked Robyn, she would have to intervene, but her trembling legs rooted her in place with blooming fear.

The thin man turned abruptly. A low growl rumbled in his chest. He rolled his shoulders, clearly agitated, and muttered incomprehensible words to himself. Looking back over his shoulder, he frowned, then spit to the side. Gala caught a glimpse of his face, illuminated briefly by a shaft of magnificent blue moonlight. She stopped breathing. Oh no, she thought, panic filling her mind. No, no. Not Corbin, please gods no. He strolled casually down the road, feet from her hiding place, but he did not notice her there.

Gala let out a breath she had not realized she was holding in. Her nerves were shot. She knew what Corbin was like; if he was talking to Robyn personally, it could only mean bad news.

She never liked the man, despite Robyn insisting he was their only hope for safety. Corbin killed people routinely, a fact that chilled Gala to the bone every time she had occasion to be in his presence. He burned people alive, beat them to death in the streets, or bled them like slaughtered pigs.

Robyn has probably done the same things, she thought. The idea sickened her.

Once she was sure that Corbin was gone, Gala left her hiding spot. Still crouched low to avoid unwanted attention, she hurried deeper into the alley. The hatch to the cellar was open, admitting cold wind and snow. She stepped down onto the rickety steps, careful not to slip in the icy mush that covered them. Please be alright.

She descended the stairs. Darkness and the smell of mildew brought to mind images of a cemetery. Gala shook them from her thoughts, shuddering at the fading scene.

Nothing was visible in the depths of the cellar, save for the patch of dimly illuminated ground at the foot of the stairs. Eyes closed, Gala listened intently for the tell-tale sound of breathing. She dared not speak in case one of Corbin’s cronies heard her from above, and came to investigate.

A shallow, rhythmic sound came from across the room. Gala let out a breath, relieved. She opened her eyes, and scanned the room, letting her eyes adjust. Slowly, Robyn came into focus. The woman was sitting with her back to the wall, ker knees tucked up close to her chest. Her forehead rested against her knees. Her frame shook, racked with quiet sobs.

“Robyn,” Gala said. She took a half-step toward her mentor. Gala had never seen Robyn cry. The sight drove the air from Gala’s lungs, and made her already weak knees buckle precariously.

“Where have you been?” Robyn asked, thinly veiled fury bubbling beneath the veneer of concern. The tone cut through Gala like a knife. She took a step back as if physically shoved. Finally, her knees gave out, and she sagged to the floor.

“I went to get food,” she responded in a lifeless voice. She touched the bundle at her hip, showcasing her haul. When she realized that Robyn could not see her motion in the dark, she let her hand fall limply to her side.

“Close the hatch,” Robyn ordered in a tone that Gala knew meant she would brook no arguments. She hurried up the steps, and heaved the door back into place, making sure to listen for the click that meant the latch had engaged. The room was plunged deeper into night.

Gala felt her way back down the stairs. Eyes now fully deprived of light, she picked her way carefully across the room to where her mentor sat. The dank fetor of mildew and sweat seemed stronger in the absence of light, and Robyn’s jagged breathing made for a haunting atmosphere.

“Robyn—” Gala could not find the words she wanted. Her voice gave way to unnerving silence.

“I will ask again. Where have you been?” Robyn asked in a low voice that Gala knew meant danger. All pretense of worry burned away like alcohol over flame, leaving nothing but the trembling anger behind. “I thought—I thought they had taken you.” She continued. Some of the fire in her voice shifted to relief, and her words caught in her throat.

“I went to get us food,” Gala responded meekly. She brought out the bundle from her belt, and laid it gently next to where Robyn sat. “Who do you mean?”

“You know the rules,” Robyn snapped, ignoring Gala’s question. “You do not leave this cellar unless I explicitly tell you to. What were you thinking?”

Gala’s spine stiffened, and her mouth creased into a thin line. Anger boiled up inside her chest, but she pushed it down mercilessly, trying to remain impassive. It would do her no good to get into a shouting match. “If I had not gone out yesterday, you would be dead today,” she said. She knew it was the wrong thing to say, and despite her control, anger edged her tone. “We both need to eat, and you aren’t exactly springing into actio—”

“Watch your tone young lady,” Robyn growled. Gala closed her eyes in frustration, fighting tears. Robyn seemed to sense the situation had taken a turn, and spoke up again more softly. “What have you brought back?”

“Who were you talking to? Who did you think took me?”

“Quiet girl,” Robyn said. Gala knew that she would get nothing from her, but curiosity mixed with concern and formed an insatiable desire to know. She tightened her jaw, and dismissed the thought for later. ‘What did you bring back?” Robyn asked again.

“I have a whole loaf of bread, most of a chicken, and some carrots.” Gala said mechanically. She was proud of the haul, but all joy had been sapped from it.

“Carrots? How? It’s been two weeks since Falling, there’s no way…”

“Moldy carrots,” Gala amended. “I think we can cut around the mold if we’re careful.”

Robyn laughed, clear and beautiful. It was not her normal laugh, marred as it was by her broken jaw, but it bounced around the room, crisp in the cold air. Gala could not help herself; a smile spread across her face, and she felt her muscles relax as if a heavy weight had been lifted.

“My hands are freezing,” Robyn complained as she fiddled with the package of food. “I can’t open this. Give me a hand?” She asked, then rubbed her hands together vigorously to get the blood flowing. Gala scooted closer to her, and untied the knot. She laid the cloth out.

“Can we get some light in here?” Gala asked. She heard Robyn fiddle with something, then there was a soft scratching and dim red light filled the room. She lit her lantern, and blew out the match.

“I don’t have much oil left,” Robyn said. “We can’t burn this for long, so let’s eat quickly.” She used the lantern to inspect the food. She grimaced at the carrots, face turned up in pure disgust. Her eyebrow rose at the chicken, and a smile split her twisted face when she picked up the bread. “I don’t want to touch those nasty things,” she said, pointing to the carrots. “But the chicken and bread are in good shape.” A few silent seconds passed before she spoke again, in a softer tone. “You did well child. Next time, wake me before you wander off, yes?”

Gala looked down and nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

“Back to the matter at hand,” Robyn said, taking the stale loaf in one hand. She looked it over, as if weighing it with her eyes, then tore it into roughly equal halves. “We have enough bread here for a couple of meals. Eat your fill, but save what you can.” She handed one half to Gala, who eyed it ravenously.

Mentor and student tore into their food without another word. It was stale, but a few drops of water from their waterskin softened it considerably. A veritable feast. Robyn finished first, and leaned back against the wall, sighing contentedly. “We should throw those carrots out, they’re likely to draw rats.” She said, disgust thick in her voice. “And I think we need to keep that chicken cold. Bury it in the snowbank by the road. Don’t let anyone see you.”

Gala collected the carrots and chicken, and still chewing on her bread, climbed the steps out of the cellar. The moon overhead cast enough light to see by, even shadowed by the alley. She checked each side of the road carefully, making sure no one was watching her, before she buried the chicken in the snow. The carrots disappeared into the night one by one as they threw them across the road. She went back to the cellar, and sat across from Robyn. The woman dozed, breathing steadily.

Gala let a few minutes of silence pass. She wanted—needed—to know why Corbin had been to the hideout, but she knew that pressuring the woman would only make her angry again. She studied Robyn wordlessly, trying to decide what to say.

Silence stretched, long and fragile, broken only by the whisper of breath that escaped their lips, until Gala could not bear it any longer. “Who was at the cellar door earlier? I noticed someone walking away from the alley, and the hatch was open when I came back.” She knew that if Robyn had intended for her to know anything about what had happened, she would have said something earlier, but Gala could not stand waiting for her mentor to decide it was time to be honest. Robyn stiffened visibly at the words, then peered at her through one open eye and shrugged nonchalantly.

“It was just Corbin,” she said studiously, then changed the subject so quickly Gala could not gather her thoughts. “We need to hit another mark tomorrow.”

Gala reeled. Her mind raced to solve a puzzle that was missing pieces. “He...” She trailed off, mind still connecting the dots. “He threatened you, didn’t he?” She asked finally. Despite missing information, she felt confident that was the only explanation for Robyn’s sudden topic change.

“Not precisely,” Robyn replied. “We need to get going. I have a few targets already scouted. Pack your bags, we have to split the load this time. Do you think you can handle a mark on your own?”

Curiosity warred with practicality in her mind. “You are in no condition to go anywhere,” she said.

“I will go as I please,” Robyn said.

“Don’t hide things from me Robyn,” Gala pressed. “He threatened you, and now you’re desperate to get his money. You’re going to get hurt going out like this.”

Robyn’s expression shifted rapidly from annoyance, to anger, to stony in the space of a heartbeat. “You presume to know things you do not understand,” she said coldly. “Now, get your things, and we will divide up the work.”