A Theif in the Night

The wind pushed harder against the walls of the barn, as though it desperately wanted to upend it. The barn was big, but old. The cracks in the withered boards allowed much of the chilling air to blow right through to the other side.

A boom of thunder left the goats trembling around me in fear. They closed ranks, huddling in together even tighter for safety. The stabled horses on the other end huffed and whinnied their dismay. Their stomping hoofs and harsh movements being what dragged me from bed.

Another clap of thunder reminded me of my impending sleepless night. It has been three days of rain, coming to a head in a monstrous storm this night. Part of me could not wait for the storm to pass. To find relief from this long stint of falling wet. But the majority dreaded my trip to the hemlock field.

If the storm damaged the crop, or worse, made it unusable, I would be whipped for sure. Mal is not the forgiving type. I was supposed to harvest what they needed for the winter months. That had been the plan on the first day of the rains. And Gods help us all if they do not have that supply.

I would suffer no one this existence. To be the infant that survived the regular hemlock poisoning. Not only survived the poisoning, but with no apparent ill side effects. My mind was sound, and my body suffered no mutation. He could not find sound justification in being rid of me, and his reputation was too much to risk. For now, it was only the married women who hated him, and those who worked for him.

As my mother grew in pregnancy, she was forced to cater to clientele that were normally turned away. Not because their desire was seen as taboo, but because it was rarely available. I believe I am only the second birth to come from the most well-known brothel and Inn in all Friel.

I was raised, taught, and cared for by every working woman in the large three-story house. It was not easy to remember which of them birthed me. But only because they all mothered me. Each and every one holds a special place in my heart. They are all women of character, even if they are seen as lowly women of the night.

Mal was the biggest issue. If the brothel exploded with children, he would simply add to the overfilled orphanage. And because of their origin of existence, they would be outcast. Receiving the bare minimum of care. Never to be introduced to prospective parents. Always snubbed in the village by the high women of society and ignored by the men who could be their fathers. There is little kindness to be seen for those of us born to the brothels.

My mothers were my shield, but even I faced the cruelty. To be as finely dressed as the woman who accosted us on the street. To be called horrible things simply for existing. My mother of the day stood between us like a wall, but my ears worked well even as a small child. After it was over, and the woman huffed away, my mother gave me an explanation.

“They blame us for their unhappiness. They think if we didn’t exist then their husbands would not seek us out. They forget that we do not know their husbands. That we do not ask them to join us. We simply give them what they are seeking for a price. There are those who will blame you for your birth. But the sins of your parents are not yours to bare. Always remember that and hold your head high.”

I would’ve been happy to live with my many mothers forever. However, Mal had other ideas. A child wandering around in the halls, and possibly running into some of the patrons, was not a good image for a successful brothel. They offered a room, meals and drink, company for the night, and a place to stable your horse. Mal decided what woman got which customer. Make him angry and you’ll suffer the worst of the patrons. But children were not welcome.

I was moved to a shack by the barn. My mother’s presented a united front for him to make it habitable. So, it kept me warm in the winter and semi cool in the summer. To earn my place, I milked the goats, gathered the hemlock, and cared for the horses they housed.

Sneaking drinks of the milk was worthy of a whipping as it was not for drinking. The brothel was successful enough that trade was no issue. They ate well on cow’s milk, beef, cheeses, and fruits when they were in season. The goat’s milk was said to be good for keeping the skin looking young. Though for many it does not appear to be working.

I have been contented these fourteen years. I find the company of the animals to be soothing, and they respond to my wants with very little effort on my part. Their presence was far more calming than that of the patrons in the house. I rarely interact, but on busy nights they need me to help serve.

The way the men look at me when I deliver their food and drink, along with the new calculated look Mal had been giving me, gave me a trembling stronger than the coldest night. When he told me to move to the shack as a child, he said that I would stay there until we found out which room I belonged in. There were only two options.

Either I would get a room in the house for patrons to visit, or I was out on the street. The first-born from the brothel was in her thirties and worked as a cleaner. But that was because she was homely, and she looked an awful lot like Mal. With the looks I have been getting these last few weeks, I had a feeling I would be hearing the ultimatum soon. I could refuse, but I would be cast out as useless.

In reality, a man could make a demand of me now, Mal takes requests all the time. And if I said no, I would be sorely punished. I did not have much. Some nice dresses I couldn’t work in the field while wearing, some pants I could work in, some pilfered vials of the concoction they take to keep them disease free, and a sack of food so I don’t’ have to make many trips to the kitchen. I have never really had any more than that. But my body has always been my own. I could not fathom letting someone else decide who got to touch me.

I could leave, but where would I go? I have never been farther than the hemlock field. I knew no one in the town surrounding the brothel, though everyone knew of me. No one had room for a bastard child of a woman of the night. Besides, any one of them could be my father. Despite my hope that he was a traveler.

The animals settled as the storm ebbed and passed by. It appeared the worst was over. I made sure the horses were settled and the sheep comfortable. I made my way over to the east door, content to go back to my bed. There was still at least seven hours until sunrise. The storm having forced an early sunset. Getting more comfortable, I sighed in relief at the luck of getting so many hours of rest, even if it was only for my body.

The passage of time can be difficult to track in the dark, yet I must have dosed off after all. What I guess to be about two hours later I awoke to the bleating of my most dependable nanny goat. She was the one that gave me extra milk to drink. She was usually the first to wake with the sun and would yell for me to begin my chores and ease her discomfort.

Darkness greeted me instead of streams of sunlight. Mixing confusion in with the grogginess of interrupted sleep. What caught my attention first was the stillness. The barn was filled with horses, goats, a new litter of cats, and all manner of rodents hiding out from the storm. There was always movement and sound. Even from the outside.

The stillness was a sign that the animals were on alert. So, I eased my way through the door that never quite closed enough. Listening hard I could hear an echo of the wind that had battered the old barn. But there was nothing to make me suspect the storm was picking back up. Upon truly little inspection I noticed all the goats were staring intently towards the other end of the barn.

That is when I heard a grunt and a light rustle. Like someone dragged their foot across the straw and dust strewn floor. A light thump was followed by a hushed curse. Whoever it was they were male and trying to remain unnoticed.

The word ’thief’ rang loud in my head as I quietly shifted to a crouch. I was not about to risk my safety to stop the man from taking what he wanted. But the way he stumbled around drew my curiosity. He was either a drunk patron coming to steal away in the night to escape his tab, or he was a very uncoordinated thief.

Shadows encased the hall between the stalls and visibility was low. But I caught a small reflection of random light against a buckle on a saddle. As my eyes adjusted, I saw his hunched form struggling with the stall door of one of the unruliest stallions I’ve ever handled.

Something was off about his movements. They were jerky and he seemed to have trouble keeping his feet. Though the grunts and shuffling led me to assume injury rather than drunkenness. I was so consumed by my observations I had not realized I had moved to get a better view. He turned to make sure his tack and supplies were in order and froze.

He faced me directly and a stream of moonlight chose that moment to illuminate his face. Instead of seeing anger or guilt in his expression as he stared back at me, I saw defeat. It was in the same moment of stillness that his body gave out on him, and he crumpled to the floor.

I did not rush over just in case he was still conscious or prone to violence. But I made my way over slowly with caution. The moon was shining fully through the barn by this point giving me a clear view of his form. He was not the largest man I’d ever seen, but he wasn’t the smallest by any means. And it took a lot of effort to lay him flat.

It took only a moment see what ailed him. A long gash ran from his lower right side around and up over his ribs. His shirt was clearly the one he had been injured in, and even to my untrained eyes it was at least a few days old.

The cut was red and festered. If he were not treated, he would die soon. I knew extraordinarily little of medical treatment. My only experience was with the few varieties of animals I cared for. Rushing for the cabinet I stored the necessary items should a horse come in injured. I grabbed the foul-smelling salves, unsure of what I needed, but hesitated over the dressings. I was running out, having forgotten to add it to the trade list. They would do fine for a small injury, but his were far from small.

Instead, I turned to a dress I had outgrown nearly four winters ago. It would provide more than enough coverage. Cleaning his wound was easy enough. I only had to deal with the occasional groan as the liquids burned like fire, but he remained unconscious. I could not stitch his wound as it was inflamed from infection.

Giving a long sigh I turned to the small stash of vials I kept hidden. The women used it to prevent and cure various diseases and infections. It was closely monitored, and their stock was constantly counted. The six I had, had taken a lot of sacrifice to get, and danger if caught.

So, it was with slight disappointment that I filled the needle and gave him the injection. He would undoubtedly need multiple doses, but I knew he wouldn’t die while in my presence. Well, not from his injury. It occurred to me, as I sat watching him, that he was clearly running from someone. Maybe the law or someone more dangerous.

None of which mattered, I realized as I forced water down his still unconscious throat. When the sun rose, I would be expected to report him. Even if I did not any number of people would quickly do so. Thieves were hung, usually the same day there were caught. He could survive the night, but he would not live to see the next sunset.

As I kept watch over the following hours, I marveled at my apparent wasted effort on a stranger. I did not know him and felt no connection to him. But as I stared up at the silent house, I realized that I felt no connection to the building. The women were my heart, but I knew what future awaited me in that house.

It was with no conscious decision that I began gathering my things. The man was set on stealing a horse anyway, so I readied my favorite mare. She was one of the only three that the brothel owned for the sake of pulling trade wagons and carts. She was spirited and strong, but sweet and gently under my hands.

She stood patiently as I saddled her and attached the smallest wagon. My dependable nanny goat was not used to riding in carts, but she could walk tethered after we got a fair distance away. The hardest part was getting the man stable next to the goat and hidden under my blanket and supplies. Then made sure to erase the evidence of his treatment in the barn.

When everything was secure, I went back to my shack and took out a coal stick and piece of paper. I could not steal away in the night with no word. My mothers meant far more to me than that. But I did not want them to think I stole the animals. Mal would hunt me down for his property. Instead, I made a point of stating that I had fed the animals, and all was right as I fled barely after sunset during the storm.

After my goodbyes were left on the bare straw mattress, and I had taken my moment to say goodbye to my now empty shack, I led the mare out of the barn. Giving my silent goodbyes to the land, the shack I grew up in, and the house I never wanted to live in again. To the village that hated me, and the quiet houses holding them.

The night was still as the sky slowly lightened. There was little more than an hour before the sun would crest the horizon. Then the town would come alive. I pulled my hood forward and set a brisk pace. I would be as far away from this place as I could before that happened.