Green Velvet

The town square was very noisy.

Merchants shouted. Carts rattled.

Meerka walked close to Ned. She kept her head down, shrinking inside the oversized clothes she had worn from the house.

-Stand up, Ned said.

She flinched.

-I am trying not to be noticed.

-You are noticed because you look like a victim, Ned said. People smell blood.

He offered her his arm.

-Take it.

She hesitated, then slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. Her grip was light, tentative.

-Walk like you own the pavement, Ned told her. No one knows who you are. They only know what you show them.

They stopped at a textile stall. Bolts of silk and velvet were stacked like colorful logs.

Meerka ran her hand over a rough cotton tunic. Practical. Cheap.

-No, Ned said.

He pointed to a bolt of fabric near the back. Deep, rich green. The color of expensive jade.

-That one.

-Velvet? Meerka whispered. Ned, that is not for cooking. That is for… for ladies.

-Are you not a lady?

-I am a cook.

-All the time?

He paid the merchant. He haggled but not so much. He wanted to see her face when she held the package.

She took the wrapped fabric like it was a bomb. Or a baby.

-Why?

-Because you need to remember what it feels like to have something to lose, Ned said.

He turned toward the next aisle.

-Now, the shoes. And then, something sharper.