Look of Innocence

The main square in Machburg was normally packed. Pedlars, both licensed and otherwise, would trade their wares. Religious fanatics would preach about the salvation that could be found, but only in their deity or deities of choice, or else the impending doom of the world, or everything in between. Children would run errands for their masters, leaving trails of chaos in their wake. And all of this was besides the general populace, who would teem between those seeking their attention in a seemingly random manner.

But not today.

Today that same volume of people had been pushed to the outer edges of the square to make way for the sprawling stage that had been erected. To Olim, traipsing behind his parents as they navigated the crowds to find a spot from which they could watch, not much could be seen. Gnomes were vertically challenged in any case. A gnomish child was more so.

From his diminutive viewpoint he could make out, between the shifting sea of people around him, men in white. Sashes crossed their chests. Wicker hats festooned with ribbons nestled atop their heads. As they moved, the jingle of bells was discernible even over the combined murmur of the crowd.

Ahead of him strode his mother, Joanna. Her rustic, norse attire seemed out of place amongst the finery that surrounded her. By contrast, her shock of blonde hair, bound into a pair of plaits, and the rune-etched glaive strapped across her back was right at home amongst the city folk. He ran to catch up and tugged at her sleeve.

She turned and gazed down at him with eyes as piercingly blue as his own. “What is it, my love?”

“What’re they doing, mum?”

Olim gestured towards the stage by way of explanation.

Joanna smiled. “They will be Morris dancing.”

“Uncle Morris has a dance?”

This time Joanna laughed. “Morris does dance sometimes,” she conceded, “thought not like this.”

“Usually when he’s had a few,” said Young Jack, arriving at Joanna’s side.

Olim shifted his gaze from mother to father. If he had been looking at Jack through his mother’s eyes, Olim would have seen a slight gnome with dishevelled hair, angular features and a roguish grin. Leather armour embossed with a myriad of embellishments fitted his form over clothes of a fine cut. With sword at his waist and ancestral shield upon his back, he looked every bit a gnomish prince. Seen through Olim’s young gaze, Jack was simply the definition of a hero.

“A few what?” the young gnome asked.

Joanna elbowed her husband in the ribs. “Ignore your father.” She looked past her son and her eyes narrowed. “Where’s the dog?”

Olim turned, suddenly full of concern. She had been right behind him.

“Emlyn?” he called, then more urgently, “Emlyn!”

Amongst the noise of the crowd, the unmistakable sounds of heavy breathing and short, excited barks preceded cries of protest and annoyance. Then, from amongst the legs of those closest burst a bundle of black and grey fur, seemingly dragged along by a lolling tongue and propelled by a rotating tail. It bounded into Olim’s arms in a whirlwind of excited slobber.

“Can you please keep control of her?” Joanna asked, turning to try and get a view of those stood in front of her.

Olim looked to his father, who winked mischievously.

“Listen to your mother,” he said, before also turning towards the stage.

Olim tried to likewise but he was just so little. He craned his neck and stood on his tiptoes, all the while making little grunting noises of exertion, as if they somehow helped to stretch himself out more. Someone started playing the pipes, feet started stomping the boards of the stage, wood clashed occasionally to emphasise a beat and the crowd tapped their feet and rocked in time as they gave hoots of admiration for the spectacle that Olim was simply too short to witness for himself.

When he finally acknowledged the limitations of his ability to self-elongate, he started pulling himself up on Emlyn’s shaggy flank, using her collar for leverage. The canine did her best to aid Olim’s ascent, manoeuvring her body underneath him as he struggled, but all the young gnome achieved was to reach the summit only to promptly slide off the other side.

He landed hard and gasped as the air was knocked out of him. He looked up to see Emlyn, head cocked and features bearing an expression of puzzlement and concern. And, beyond her, there was a girl.

Olim caught flashes of her between the legs of those who surrounded them. She was short and slight with dark, plaited hair that hung down over each shoulder and a tartan bonnet on her head. A long coat, worn and patched in places, flowed about her form as she moved in a series of darts amongst the crowds and pooled on the floor whenever she was still.

From his prone position, Olim watched as the girl tugged on the cloak of a seemingly well-to-do gentleman who was deep in conversation with an elegantly dressed woman. As the man turned, she whipped the bonnet off her head and clasped it before her in both hands. She looked up with big, soulful green eyes. The man’s expression, initially harsh at having his conversation disturbed, softened at the sight of the girl. A brief exchange between man and girl, supplemented by the urging of his female companion, soon had the former reaching into the money pouch at his waist. There was a flash of metal as sunlight caught coin before it was pressed into the girl’s hand.

There was much raising of thankful hands and obsequious bowing of the head as the man waved away the girl’s gratitude and turned back to his conversation. No sooner had he done so than the girl’s demeanour changed completely. Gone was the servile posture and doleful expression to be replaced by a flight or fight stance and eyes slitted in concentration. A knife appeared from somewhere under the girl’s coat and it flashed out in the direction of the man’s waist. Her free hand was already extended as the money pouch she now knew to be there dropped into her palm and then she was off, darting away into the crowd.

Olim pushed himself to his feet, intrigued by the strange girl and her changing personas.

“Come on Emlyn,” he muttered and, not even considering that the dog would fail to follow, pushed through the throng in the direction he had last seen the girl.

At first he thought he had lost her. The crowd was dense and numerous and it would be easy to vanish from sight simply by changing direction. Then he saw her again, this time looking up with those pleading eyes at a group of men. She was appealing to each of them, turning eyes that seemed close to tears upon one after the other. The men were uncertain, that much was clear, sharing uneasy glances with one another as if to reach a decision by consensus.

Then the girl’s bottom lip began to wobble. That was enough for one of the men to hurriedly reach for his money pouch and once the first one caved his fellows followed suit, almost clumsy in their haste to halt the impending tears.

Again came the excessive gratitude, waved away by the men. Again the knife emerged, deftly separating the men from their portable fortunes. This time when the girl slipped into the crowd, Olim was ready. He followed, darting between the moving sea of legs about him, never losing sight of her for more than a moment before he caught a glimpse of her once more until finally she reached the fringes of the square and darted down an alleyway between two storefronts.

Without hesitation, Olim rushed into the narrow space after her but his advance was promptly halted boy the presence of a knife mere inches from his face. His vision blurred as he tried to see it with both eyes and he shifted his focus down the short length of the blade, and the arm that held it, to the determined face of the girl he had been pursuing.

A low growl sounded from behind him.

“Easy Emlyn,” the gnome urged, conscious that the wrong move from the dog could go very poorly for him.

The girl paid the canine no mind, rolled her eyes, shrugged, and quickly concealed the blade about her person.

“Sorry, kid!” she laughed. “I thought you were someone else!”

Adrenaline was coursing through Olim’s veins. “You mean like one of those people you stole from?”

The girl cocked her head, regarding him solemnly, and Olim wondered if he’d pushed his luck with the comment. Then the girl’s face broke out into a broad grin.

“You saw that, did you?”

Olim nodded, relief flooding through him.

“In my experience, not many people do. I’m Natty, by the way.”

“O-Olim,” Olim managed. “How did you do that?”

The girl frowned. “Do what?”

“Convince them to give you money. Steal the rest of their money afterwards. All of it!”

Natty laughed. “Easy, kid. One thing at a time. You want to be a thief?”

Olim thought about it. His instinct was to say no. He hadn’t been brought up to take what wasn’t his. Convincing people to freely give up what was theirs, however? Where was the wrong in that?”

“You have to look like a child,” said Natty, interpreting his silence for him.

Olim frowned. “I am a child.”

Natty shook her head. “No, not like that. How people want to see a child. You have to have a look of innocence about you.”

Olim’s expression of confusion remained.

“Look,” Natty sighed, her exasperation evidence, “do you think anyone will give money to a kid who looks like this?”

She folded her arms and scowled at Olim. Still childlike, certainly - her stature could convey nothing else - but more like a scoundrel than a sweetheart.

Olim shook his head.

“Exactly,” Natty exalted, “whereas this…”

Her entire form shifted. Legs came together, slightly bowed at the knees in a subtle show of subservience. Elbows tucked in and hands clasped wretchedly before her. Chin tilted down, jaw slack, eyes big and wide. Though Natty was taller than Olim, the gnome nevertheless had the impression that she was looking up at him, beseeching him from a position of weakness with those big, green, sorrowful eyes.

“Wow,” Olim sighed.

Natty smiled and immediately the spell was broken. Back before him was the cheeky, confident urchin he had encountered when he had first entered the alleyway.

“You try!”

Olim did as he had been bidden. He knocked his knees together, tucked his elbows in, clasped his hands, tucked his chin and looked upwards with an open-eyed, slack-jawed expression. Without the benefit of a mirror, he couldn’t say if he was pulling it off or not. He felt, however, as if he looked like a hunchback side-kick from some of the scarier books his mother read him.

Natty was regarding him solemnly. Her expression gave no hint of amusement.

“Not bad,” she concluded. “I think you’ve got potential, kid!”

Olim beamed. “Really?”

Natty nodded, all enthusiastic encouragement. “For sure! You want to try it out?”

Olim hesitated, suddenly nervous. “You mean go up to someone?”

Natty nodded.

“And ask them for money?”

Natty laughed. “Unless you want them to guess what you’re after. I mean, they might, but I find saying it out loud leaves little room for interpretation. Besides, a childlike plea can really tug on the old heartstrings.”

Still Olim was unsure. The girl had made it all look so easy but he was sure there was a knack to it that he did not have. At least yet. And there was only one way to get better at anything, according to his mother; practice!

“Alright, I’m in!”

Natty did a little jump of delight and clapped her hands together in excitement.

“Excellent! Oh, this is going to be fun!”

She walked to the mouth of the alleyway where it exited onto the square and surveyed the sea of people before her.

“The important thing is to pick your target well,” she explained. “You don’t want someone who just looks rich. There’re loads of people like that. You need someone who will actually carry a decent amount of money around with them. Like him!”

She thrust a finger towards a knot of people. Olim followed the direction indicated and his eyes widened in horror. Looming out of the mostly human forms was the towering figure of a giant. Swathes of green cloth clad its bulky frame. Two greatswords were crossed across its back and a multitude of other blades were strapped where they would fit. Leather and steel gauntlets enclosed huge hands that could easily encase Olim’s head and no doubt crush it, too, if he set a foot wrong.

The giant turned to give Olim a side profile and his brows knitted together in confusion.

“That’s a she.”

Natty tutted. “Not the giant! She’s just an indication of the wealth of the person who can afford to hire her as a bodyguard. I meant the man next to her!”

Olim shifted his gaze to the portly figure standing in the giant’s shadow. A beautiful red cloak, lined with fur, rested on his broad shoulders and jewels glinted on fingers and the many chains he wore about his neck. Natty was right; the man was wealth personified.

“Well?” Natty prompted. “What’re you waiting for?”

Having no response for the query that wouldn’t label him a coward, Olim found himself leaving the perceived safety of the alleyway and venturing forth on nervous feet. He spent the time it took to span the distance rehearsing the variations of what he might say to the man to convince him to part with his coin. Natty had made it look so easy. Now it was his turn, it seemed far from simple.

The man was engrossed in the entertainment and did not register Olim’s approach. The gnome gave a cough to attract the man’s attention but the small noise was drowned out by the combined sound of the performers and their appreciative audience. Olim glanced back towards the alleyway. Natty had followed but was keeping several paces behind. She urged him on with a frown and a flap of her arms and he turned back to the man, reached up and tugged on the exquisite, fur-lined cloak.

The man managed to look down at Olim without moving his head. He simply swivelled his eyes, staring down his hooked nose in disdain. He didn’t move to step away.

“Brunhilde,” he said, in a voice as rich as honey, “remove this urchin from my presence.”

“Yes, Mister Kaufman,” the giant boomed in a thick, norse accent that hinted of exotic adventure in distant lands.

“P-p-please, sir,” Olim stuttered as the giant’s hand descended, “can I have some m-“

“Money?” Kaufman scoffed. He held up a hand and the giant paused on command. He stepped away and turned to face Olim, placing hands on hips to pull the folds of his cloak aside and expose the multiple pouches secured about his frame. “And why would I want to do that? You think I got this rich by giving away my fortunes to gutter rats like you? You think you should have what I worked so hard to earn? You think sullying a man’s cloak and stuttering a plea counts as effort for which you should be rewarded?”

Olim didn’t know what to say. The man had asked a lot of questions without giving him any chance to reply.

“Step away,” the man said, flapping lazily towards Olim with a bejewelled hand, “before Brunhilde, here, makes you.”

Olim found himself responding to the voice of command, unwelcome images of the giant’s hand crushing his skull pushing themselves to the forefront of his imagination. This had not gone at all how he had imagined it would.

Kaufman smiled cruelly at seeing his order obeyed. “Good. Now do not disturb me again.”

He turned back to face the stage. With a shake of her great head, the giant did likewise. Olim stared at the man’s back, wondering what he was supposed to do next. He turned to seek out Natty for some advice but the girl was nowhere to be seen.

“Thief!”

Olim turned back at the cry of outrage. Kaufman’s formerly haughty exterior was now a mask of fury. One arm was flung theatrically wide. The other was thrust in Olim’s direction, one pointing digit vibrating with barely contained wrath.

“Me?”

It wasn’t the wittiest of repartee but it was all Olim could think to utter in the face of the inaccuracy of the accusation.

“You,” Kaufman raged, “have taken one of my moneybags!”

Olim’s first thought was to wonder how the man could identify a missing pouch amongst the many that festooned his corpulent form. His second was to marvel at how Natty had managed to retrieve one undetected. He realised that the girl had used him as a distraction and suddenly he felt very silly indeed.

“No,” he protested, glancing about him as he backed away, “it wasn’t me, it was…”

But Natty was nowhere to be seen and his words died on his tongue.

“Brunhilde!” Kaufman commanded. “Retrieve my treasure and teach this brat a lesson!”

The giant stepped forward. Olim turned and ran. He didn’t know where he was running to but that suddenly didn’t matter when what he was running from was occupying so much of his attention. He slipped around the legs of the crowd, darting in and out on nimble feet as his heart beat loudly in his ears.

Only when he was in the welcome embrace of the alleyway did he risk a glance behind. Brunhilde had lost ground. Despite people having every intention of getting out of the way of the giant, there was only so much room in the general press and she was unable to make so swift a progress as the gnomish child.

Olim didn’t stop to revel in this minor victory and pressed on. Ahead, the alleyway turned sharply left. He bounced off the far wall in his haste and then he was off again, feet slamming into the cobblestones as he propelled himself forward.

The thud of heavy boots indicated that Brunhilde had cleared the crowd and was putting her superior stride length to good use.

“Come back here, little thief,” she called. “There’s no point in running.”

Olim’s first thought was that there was every point in running. His second was umbrage about being called a thief. He hadn’t stolen anything. He hadn’t even intended to. This was all Natty’s doing. Yet he knew better than to waste his breath protesting his innocence. The giant didn’t seem the sort to be willing to listen to reason. Her employer had given her an order and she was going to carry it out.

Ahead was a T-junction. Olim opted to go left and immediately realised he had chosen wrong. It was a dead end. He staggered to a halt as he tried to change direction and set off once more. The right hand turn had been clear and he put his head down as he sought more speed, darting across the intersection with the path along which he had originally come.

One moment he was running on cobbles, the next he was treading on air as the giant loomed over him and scooped him up in one massive hand, grasping his tunic between index finger and thumb. It took his brain a few moments to realise he was no longer on the ground, during which his legs continued to try and propel him onward, and then he put all his energy into struggling, flailing with his arms and kicking his legs to no avail.

“Stop struggling, little thief,” Brunhilde commanded. “Hand back the moneybag and I shall only have to give you a minor scolding.”

“I didn’t…take…anything…” Olim managed between breaths.

A dog’s bark forestalled further argument.

“Emlyn!”

In all the chaos, Olim had quite forgotten about his canine companion, though what she could possibly do about the giantess who held him aloft he did not know.

There was a yell and then he was falling, suddenly released from Brunhilde’s grasp. He heard a clash of metal moments before he struck the cobbles and all of the wind was knocked from him for the second time that day.

From his prone position he watched as the giant drew back an armoured fist, which held one of the greatswords that had formerly been slung across her back. She brought it down in an almighty arc and Olim gasped as he saw the target of this unstoppable attack; his father.

Young Jack stood there, grinning his impish grin as death approached. Seemingly at the last moment he ducked under the lethal blow and rolled, bringing his own sword around to strike towards the giant's calves. Brunhilde turned awkwardly and barely managed to parry the strike. And then Jack was pressing forward with a flurry of blows and all Olim could do was look on with hero worship in his eyes as Emlyn barked from the sidelines.

“Stop, both of you!”

The combatants immediately halted at the sound of Joanna’s voice and even Olim paused in the act of pushing himself to his feet, so authoritative was the command. His mother stood in the alleyway down which Olim had run. She hadn’t drawn her own weapon. She just stood there, arms folded across her chest, her face a mask of fury.

“Princess,” said Brunhilde, nodding her head in recognition and respect.

“Brunhilde,” Joanna acknowledged, “would you mind explaining to me what you have  been doing with my son?”

Brunhilde looked from Joanna to Olim and back again.

“Your son,” she managed, trying to pivot with the changing circumstances. “I’m sorry, princess. I did not know he was yours.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

Brunhilde gathered herself. “He stole from my employer.”

“I did not-” Olim began, before his mother’s look silenced him.

Joanna turned back to Brunhilde. “How much?”

“There would have been twenty crowns in the bag.”

Joanna turned her attention to her husband. “Pay her.”

For a moment, Jack looked like he was about to object before thinking better of it. He counted out the coins into the giant’s massive palm.

“You can leave the scolding to me,” said Joanna. She glared at Olim, who tried to shrink into the cobbles under the force of it.

“My thanks, princess,” said Brunhilde and, with one final nod of respect, she lumbered off in the direction from which she had come.

Joanna once more turned her to attention to her son. “Well? If it hadn’t been for Emlyn coming to get us who knows what would have happened? What have you got to say for yourself? ”

Olim’s mind raced. How could he possibly explain the events since he had left his parents’ side? How he had watched Natty ply her trade in every aspect and how he had only ever intended to try out one of them. He thought about how Natty’s deferential expression had allowed her to face down all those who might cause her harm and convince them to hand over their money to her. He wondered what she would do if ever she had to face off against his mother.

Slowly he shuffled his feet together. He tucked his elbows in and clasped his hands before him. He dropped his chin and looked up at his mother with big eyes. For good measure, he allowed his bottom lip to wobble just a little.

With a tut of annoyance, Joanna turned from her son and strode away. As she passed Young Jack, Olim just about caught her words.

“You talk to him. I can’t deal with him when he looks at me like that.”

Olim glanced to his father, who winked mischievously and beckoned for him to follow.

Before he did, Olim glanced along the alleyway down which he had tried to flee. There, in the shadows, the big green eyes of Natty regarded him. She was smiling and Olim could not help but smile in return, glad that she had finally seen him pull off his very own look of innocence.