Chapter 44: Pretenses
My blood ran cold. The air in my lungs seemed to turn to ice. My bluff, the one that had saved me from the mob, had been a simple one: I was a girl, so I couldn’t have been in the men’s changing room. But he had heard it. This detective. He had caught the one detail, the one tiny thread that could unravel everything. My mind raced, searching for an escape. Could I claim I'd overheard them? No, a foolish lie. This man had the eyes of a hawk; he'd have been watching the whole sordid affair, not just the loud parts.
“What do you mean, sir?” I asked, forcing a sweet, innocent smile onto my face, praying it didn't look like the terrified grimace I felt. “All the men making a fuss were, well, men. It couldn’t have happened in the women’s side, could it? And besides, the changing room is the only place where a person would leave their clothes and coin-purse unattended, isn’t it?”
“A sharp mind for a little guttersnipe,” Sebastian the detective said, his smile never reaching his cold, calculating eyes. “Have you ever considered a career as my assistant? You could become a fine detective yourself one day.” For a fleeting, insane second, I was tempted. The man dressed well; he clearly had a steady income, a life far from this filth. But it could just as easily be a trap. I knew nothing about him, and his sudden appearance, his unnerving perception… it set my teeth on edge. Weighing the risks, the known horror of my current life against the unknown horror he might represent, I shook my head.
“A pity,” he said with a theatrical sigh. “Well then, perhaps our paths will cross again. Farewell, miss.” My every instinct screamed to flee. I turned and walked, not ran, toward the exit. I had almost reached the curtain when his voice, soft and clear as a funeral bell, echoed from behind me, though I hadn't heard him move.
“I happen to be quite fond of this bathhouse myself,” he said. “I dislike having its peace disturbed. Thank you for your help, little one.” I glanced back, but he was gone. Vanished as if he were a ghost. The crowd had followed the victims back to the men's side, hoping for more drama. The great hall was empty.
Shaking off the profound unease, I stepped out into the street. As I expected, Jared slipped out from a nearby alleyway, a shadow detaching itself from the gloom. “Parula! Why did you get involved back there?” he scolded, his voice a worried hiss. “It was dangerous! I was watching from the outside, worried sick.”
“So it was you?” I asked, ignoring his concern, cutting straight to the point. His face was flushed with the thrill of success; he had clearly not left empty-handed. “Of course,” he said with a proud, wolfish grin. “I went through their pockets while they were all distracted. They didn't suspect a thing. Made off with more than thirty coppers.”
My heart sank. To get clean, we had spent over sixty coppers on the cloaks, the towels, the soap, and the entrance fee. And just like that, Jared had “earned” half of it back. But I couldn’t approve of the method. It was too risky.
“Are you not happy, Parula?” Jared asked, his own cheerful mood dimming as he saw the look on my face. “We got our bath, and we even made some money. We should be celebrating.”
“Brother Jared,” I said, choosing my words carefully, my voice low and firm. “You can’t steal like that anymore. Not these small, petty amounts.”
“Why not?” he asked, genuinely confused. “It was a perfect opportunity! This is enough to feed us for days!”
“But it’s foolish,” I insisted. “The gold we have is a fortune. It can buy us a new life. Why risk that, risk everything, for a handful of miserable coppers? You’re trading a kingdom for pocket lint. And it’s dangerous. That detective… I think he knows, Jared. I think he might be watching us.”
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