Chapter 41: The Theft
I dried myself, feeling the simple, forgotten luxury of a clean towel against clean skin. Dressed in the oversized shirt and heavy cloak, I felt almost human again as I stepped back into the main hall, expecting to see Jared waiting. But he wasn't there. A prickle of unease went through me. He should have been much faster. He wasn't burdened with my strange obsession with cleanliness; a quick splash and he would have been done. I had lingered in the bath, soaking in the heat, thinking, planning. I had assumed he would be out long before me, perhaps even growing impatient. Instead, there was just a nasty-sounding commotion at the front desk.
A handful of burly, angry men—labourers by the look of their rough hands and simple clothes—had cornered the young woman at the counter. They loomed over her, their faces red with anger, their voices loud and aggressive. She looked small and helpless, on the verge of tears. I felt a surge of protectiveness. She had been kind to us, treating two street urchins with a warmth and decency that was as rare as a gold coin in this city. I edged closer, trying to hear what they were shouting about. A debt, perhaps? I worried they might get violent, might smash this small oasis of cleanliness and order. I had no idea how I could possibly help, but I couldn't just walk away.
As I drew nearer, their angry words became clear. "Well? Who was it?" one of the men roared, slamming his meaty fist on the counter, making the poor girl flinch. "You'd better have an answer for me!"Â
"I'm so sorry! Truly, I am! But I don't know who the thief could be!" the young woman pleaded, her voice trembling. My heart sank into my boots. A thief. I had a very, very bad feeling about this.
"Hah! How could you not know?" another man bellowed. "It happened right here, in your establishment! You're telling me you don't know what kind of vermin you let in here? Or are you in on it?" His words were sharp, laced with a cruel insinuation: that the bathhouse itself was in on the thefts, colluding with pickpockets to rob its own customers. It was an absurd accusation. What kind of business would risk its reputation for a few stolen coins? But the men were angry, and reason had fled. They glared at the terrified girl, their expressions hardening into a collective, ugly mask of suspicion.
"No! Absolutely not!" she cried, her voice cracking. "We would never do such a thing! Nothing like this has ever happened before!"
 "So you're saying it's just our bad luck, is it?" a third man snarled. "That we deserved to be robbed for coming to your fine establishment?"
"No! That's not what I mean at all!" she sobbed. "But... but we would never steal from our customers! We'll do everything we can to help you find what was lost!" She looked like she was about to break down completely.
"And how are you going to do that?" one of them scoffed. "The thief is long gone by now! No, since it happened here, the bathhouse should pay for it! It's your responsibility!"
 "That's right!" another chimed in, smelling blood in the water. "My pay packet was taken! Twelve coppers! You owe me!"
"They took my grocery money!" a man wailed, his face a mask of despair. "My whole family will go hungry tonight because of your carelessness!"
 "I lost five silver coins!" another man declared, his claim so ridiculously inflated it was laughable, yet in the heat of the moment, no one challenged him. "My papers! They stole important documents for my employer! I'll be sacked!"
The scene was spiraling out of control. Their anger was turning into a mob's greedy, opportunistic roar. They were closing in on the counter, their eyes wild, their hands reaching. They were about to rob the place blind. A surge of something—pity, anger, a foolish sense of justice—welled up inside me. Before I knew what I was doing, I took a step forward. "Stop!" I cried, my voice small but clear, cutting through the angry din like a shard of glass.
Comments (0)
Please login or sign up to post a comment.