If it had not been for Iros the beggar and the wise words of Lukas, Evelyn would have gone mad by the second day in Windport.
There was no official role for her to assume – she was banned from the cooking and other tasks in the house, and certainly not in the other employments more suited to a male temperament – and here, attending parties and waving pretty fans was not an acceptable use of one’s time. Evelyn felt abandoned and useless, a grating reality.
They were all expected to work, save for her, and her siblings took to this new life in very differing ways.
From the very second day, Ed had lost himself in his work, almost never coming home. In fact, Evelyn could not remember the last time he had actually spoken with her. Yes, he had taken her recommendation regarding employment as a fact, and favoured her by not asking where the information had come from nor belittling her words.
However, when not engaged in unfamiliar and back-breaking work, he started disappearing at all hours, never saying a word. It was strange and uncharacteristic, to say the least.
Everyone else was off gallivanting or travelling out of Windport, which Evelyn thought was redundant as they had no coin to spare for unnecessary travel – but again, what did she know? Darcia was the only one always at the…house, and all she did was cook the same things over and over and moan and sniffle and grow paler by the day. Her condition especially worried Evelyn, who tried to be as inconspicuous and uncomplaining as possible.
Under any other circumstances, Evelyn would have been rendered completely mad. As it was, daily life was not all that great, yet she found a way to manage. Certainly not a happy existence, or comfortable, or even relaxed; in fact, apart from the constant hunger and her being ignored by everyone, things were very, very strange and mysterious.
“When do you reckon the thief will notice he’s being thieved by his own companion?” Evelyn muttered, squinting at the scene unfolding before them.
“Dunno,” was the only mumbled response, along with a jerking shrug of shoulders.
They were in the marketplace, and Evelyn was currently taking a little break from trying to make sense of the puzzle that was Father’s old income statements.
Given that she was a hated ‘outsider’ with an eerie old beggar as companionship, her viewpoint on the situation was not the best. In fact, it was in a small, dank alley blocked by mounds of crates carrying stolen goods that overlooked the spread-out market stalls.
“Oh. Knew it! That man always pulls his knife on the idiot stupid enough to test him. Oooh… Ouch. Poor man… Ouch!”
Noisy scuffles usually involving knives and loaded pistols were very common, but Evelyn always felt a little sorry for the one who ended up pounded into the dirt. For a while she sat there in the filth, saying nothing and watching the would-be mark wipe off his serrated knife, finish his ‘transaction’ and march away, all the while cursing the Roman gods in a low growl.
She had to admit it was impressive that such a vagabond scoundrel (by all appearances) knew so much of accurate mythology, yet it was not particularly strange when considering Windport. This phenomenon belonged with the secretive trade deals exchanged in broad daylight, or the plight of the angry and mistrustful villagers, or even the way Father always looked over his shoulder and obsessively counted worthless paper bills.
“Why just the gods of war and pain and death?” Evelyn spoke again.
“Probably the only ones someone of his ilk would know – those dabbling in death and thievery and suchlike often are aware of the things associated with it.”
“Makes sense. Even if you do not. You are a mystery wrapped up in thousands of little glass shards. Appealing, but painful to touch and unwrap.”
“I must say, little girl, you have a way with words. And mythology. You know the Greek classics, the Roman gods, that story by the Stoker man, and even the works of Mark Twain. You are clearly not the only hidden and shard-wrapped mystery.”
“True…” Evelyn conceded. She referenced many works of literature in her conversations, all of which he seemed to know. It was clear from the words he sometimes used, from his knowledge to his very name, that he was not only a beggar selling trinkets obtained from places unknown. He did not call her Winter, so she did not pry. It was a beneficial arrangement for both of them.
“I find it rather annoying, you know, when you call me ‘little girl.’ I am not a naive child. But you are the only one, apart from – Ed – who calls me something other than Winter, so I suppose I must bear with it.”
“No one is forcing you to be here and to engage in conversations with me. I must say, however, that I can’t say I mind. And someone needs to call you something other than your proper name or the moniker you so hate.”
“And you are just the right person to do so, is that right?”
“Yes. Tell me, how is it that you know your way around legal things and contracts and business deals?”
“As I am sure you know, I am the daughter of a merchant,” Evelyn replied.
“And I notice things. As for words, I know too well how they can be crafted and manipulated, twisted and untwisted and used for many different purposes. All you need to focus on is the person writing those words. The rest is just numbers, of course, and numbers are the easiest of all. They too can be manipulated and fixed, but it is much more pleasant to deal with equations and trades than reading manuscripts.”
“Really.” Those piercing eyes narrowed at Evelyn, and Iros said, “How…interesting. Yet if you abhor novels and words as much as your tone indicates, how do you know so much of literature?”
“Well…” Evelyn began, a bit lost for words. No-one had ever asked this question of her. They either assumed they knew the answer or didn’t bother to ask at all.
“Firstly, when there is something you hate or dislike, you are at a disadvantage, and it is always best to even out the playing field – especially if it is something easier than being a completely different person. Secondly, I loathe books, but they contain useful information, and times like these, they are often the only friends I have. Vampires and gods and monsters and hidden treasure. Ludicrous, especially the way the authors make their characters react to certain situations, but when it’s all you have…”
“I see. Therefore, you are not only knowledgeable in a field you dislike, you are even more competent in a field that you, as a well-bred former lady, should hate!”
“In all honestly, Iros the beggar, it is easier to lose oneself in the dry numbers and legal jargon of contracts and trades than look up, smile at the gentleman opposite you, and pretend you care about what they think of the weather or the newest fashions or the way your sister’s hair looks golden in the sunlight.”
A clatter made her stop, and she jerked upright. The papers in her lap fluttered to the ground, and her heart nearly stopped at the reminder of the violence of the Windport markets.
“I am looking for a family by the name of…Villiers,” a deep and succinct voice spoke.
“Huh?” Evelyn wondered aloud, extremely confused. Well, at least it does not seem to be a robbery – though it could be many worse things… She forced herself to take a deep breath, and slowly rose, shuffling all the loose pages into her arms.
In front of her stood a messenger dressed like those from the days of old. From the thick, yellow-parchment letter he held with the red seal, to his cape and old-fashioned livery and jaunty hat, it was if he had appeared from the very books she so loathed.
“’Tis I,” Evelyn cleared her throat, “who will take the letter and message. What be your business with my family?”
“Clever girl. You catch up quick – makes it easier for everyone.” The messenger inclined his head to her, something that had not happened for a while.
“The Villiers be the disgraced merchant family?” With a jerky nod from Evelyn, he continued on.
“They are wanted for unsettled agreements and dishonest practices. The ones looking for the recompense bid me tell that the bounty hunters have been released. A precaution, should the Villiers ignore the summons.”
“What?” Evelyn whispered, her world crashing down around her once more. They were here to escape the past, to start anew, to salvage what was left! Not to be chased by ghosts and monsters who collected debts in zealous and terrible fashions.
“So, you are saying that my family has not honoured promised deals and are wanted for illegal business? And that we are hunted by...henchmen killers?”
“Yes,” the young man replied sombrely, a trace of regret in his regard.
Suddenly Evelyn swayed, faint and filled with disbelief. This simply could not be happening… Immediately the messenger grabbed her and gently aided her to the ground.
Iros, who had been shrewdly watching the scene from his sitting vantage point, gathered up all the papers, shuffled them in a pile beside him, and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“But…” Evelyn trailed off. After a few deep breaths, she began speaking once more. “I mean, we are in a town that traffics in illegal and stolen jewels, and deals with mercenaries and traitors to the Crown. Why is it that we are persecuted while all manner of bad things happen here in plain view?”
“What?” both Iros and the messenger exclaimed.
“How did you know?” Iros questioned, sounding shocked and surprised.
“Well, it is like I said,” Evelyn replied, fighting back the urge to faint or moan in despair, “it happens in plain view!”
What she had noticed from hiding with Iros day after day, observing and looking through papers that kept on proving Father’s dishonesty, was the crimes and the darkness thriving throughout Windport.
Both forgetting the quite grave issue at hand, the two men looked at her with surprise. Surprise that slowly turned to what looked like awe and respect. How strange…
“Clever girl,” the messenger muttered once more.
It was Iros who finally brought them back to the present situation.
“Right,” the messenger mumbled, clearing his throat and looking down at the ground. “Here is the letter. As you know, it is for the head of the family only to open – but you know the main points of the letter anyhow.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn murmured, not knowing how to feel.
“Look, Miss Villiers, you are very clever, you keep interesting company –” there he glanced and smirked at Iros – “and you partake in activities straying from those of a normal young lady,” he finished, gesturing at her location and the papers.
“Therefore, I will give your family the night to run away. I will even lead the hunters off if need be. Some advice – this entire situation only pertains to England.” The hint was very clear as he intently looked at Evelyn, who felt oddly flattered by the ‘praise’ and ‘advice.’
“Thank you, sincerely. I will keep your words in mind.”
“Very well. I will be off now – and don’t you ever lose those powers of perception, alright? The world needs more people like you.” With that he disappeared off into the streets, soon gone from sight.
In normal circumstances, Evelyn would have taken time to absorb that a total stranger had complimented and aided her, but there was no time to think.
“Iros… Thank you…so much for your quips, and help, and necklace, and companionship. I must go now… Thank you once more.”
“I will burn the papers, as usual,” Iros replied, “and I wish you the best of luck, little girl. And just so you know, I don’t mind Winter that much. Perhaps she isn’t who you think…just remember that…”
Those cryptic words was the last she heard from Iros the beggar, as she ran back to the house as quickly as she could.
Darcia was in the kitchen, lost in thought and swaying side to side.
“Darcia!” Evelyn quickly explained what was going on, her tone frantic and words jumbled. She nearly sighed in relief when a confused Darcia mentioned that everyone was in town. Perfect.
“Look, I am telling you, pack, ready yourself! Understand?”
After a shaky, terrified nod from her only sister, Evelyn dashed out into the encroaching night. The letter was still clutched in her hand. Wind whipped around her, thin coat flapping, and dusty skirts snapping at her shins with every step.
Once at the marketplace again, Evelyn looked everywhere, yelling for James and Ed and Father and Devon. She knew from experience that they spent much of their days here. Tracking down brother after brother, soon only Father was left.
“He’s at the tavern,” Ed spat out, angry and highly-strung. Without wasting any time, they hustled Father out of the tavern, ignoring his roared complaints and making haste to the hovel.
It had been home for only a month, and once again they were forced to leave, to run! Only the urgency kept her emotions in check.
They all flung themselves into the carriage, cramming hastily-packed trunks alongside. Ed flicked the reins, and off they were. Soon Windport was no longer in sight, and Evelyn’s world was truly shattered. Betrayal after betrayal, misfortune after misfortune.
“We cannot stay in England,” she spoke in the sombre silence, “so where are we headed?”
The answer was France. How lovely. Her world was nothing more than illusions and debts, and she could not even speak French.
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