The Roast

A Short Story in the world of The False Prince. For all readers.

By Jennifer A. Nielsen

Morning started early at Mrs. Turbeldy’s Orphanage for Disadvantaged Boys. Sleep late, and you’d stay hungry. Nineteen of us lived there, and on a good day, there’d be food enough for five or six. 

First meal was whatever was donated the evening before by the local priest, who skimmed off his share before passing it on. I knew that because on church days, I often took time to visit his office and skim off my share of his skimmings and return them to the orphanage.

The other six days of the week, food was scarce, and this morning was no exception.

“Bean bread,” Mrs. Turbeldy announced, as if she was some sort of hero for offering up  a single loaf of what the wealthy literally offered their pigs. “Try to get a piece with weevils, that’s extra nutrition.”

We’d had nothing else to eat for a week. I groaned and turned to leave. 

“Where’re you going, Sage?” Mrs. Turbeldy asked.

“Anywhere.”

In her hurry to follow me, she dropped the bread, only to leave a dozen or more boys to scramble for a larger piece for themselves.

“Oh no, you are not leaving!” She grabbed the sleeve of my shirt, widening the hole near my elbow. “You still owe me for the damage you caused to the floor upstairs.”

“For stepping on the floor, you mean?” Last week, I’d accidentally discovered a rotted piece of wood near my bed and had nearly fallen through to the kitchen.

“It’ll cost twenty garlins to repair that. If you leave without paying that debt, I’ll have you arrested and bring you before the king himself on charges.”

I rolled my eyes. “The king himself will not want to waste his time on me. I’ll get you the money, but I will not endure another bite of bean bread.”

She checked the floor behind her. “That’s just as well. It’s all gone.”

I stepped outside into the streets of Carchar, barely dodging a trader’s wagon and an overeager horse. His wheels splashed up mud on me and the trader glanced back, “Filthy thief, get out of the way!”

I considered taking offense to his words until I looked down at myself. Both were true enough. I was particularly filthy today, and it would take some clever thieving to get twenty garlins in a single day.

I wandered into the market, swiping an apple to eat along the way. The streets were full of opportunities but I had rules. I never took from anyone in need, even if my need seemed greater. I never took from anyone younger than me, unless they were in the process of taking from someone younger than them, in which case I figured the rules didn’t matter. And I never took more than was necessary.

But twenty garlins was necessary, or Mrs. Turbeldy might follow through on her threats. I collected half of the coins with almost no effort simply by wandering the market. An accidental bump against a gentleman, and my hand could be in and out of his coat pocket before he’d finished demanding an apology from me.

After a couple of hours, I had nine coins in my right fist and a single coin in my left. Getting the other half might be more challenging. On the far corner of the market square, I noticed a man with a table set out with various wool cloths for sale. A woman paid him for a piece, and my eye followed those coins to a small tin box on his lap.

I wanted that tin box.

Casually, I walked up to his table. “How much?”

He frowned at me. “Get away from here, rat. You’ll drive off my business.”

I turned to leave, then looked down and smiled. “What luck!” Then I pretended to pick up the coin already in my left hand.

He leaned over his table to look at me. “What are you doing?”

“Picking up this coin.”

“If you found it there, then I must have dropped it. It’s mine.”

I stood and carefully looked it over. “Your name isn’t on it.”

He stood and set his tin box on top of the cloth, then snatched the coin from my hand. “At least I have a name.”

“But probably not a very good name, right?” I looked down again. “You go ahead and keep that coin. I’ll take the others.” I bent down and deposited the other nine coins on the ground.

The man stood and walked around the table, then kicked at my side. “Oh no you don’t, rat. Those coins are mine.”

I scrambled away from him. While he bent to the ground to pick up the other nine coins, I merely walked around the back of his table and swiped his tin box, then ran.

One I was far enough away, I cut into an alley and opened the box, then quickly counted out the coins. Nineteen garlins. I still needed one more.

I left the box in the alley and wandered back into the street. Straight ahead of me, two gentleman I didn’t recognize had just gotten out of a wagon with a slouched-over driver who remained. More curious still, in the back of the wagon were two other boys near my own age. One looked strong and alert, the other pale and sickly.

I quickly dismissed them. They were obviously servants purchased for some kind of labor. Certainly not the kind of life I would ever accept.

But I was interested in the two men who had left the wagon. I saw them only from behind. The taller man was bald with dark skin and made entirely of muscle. The other was closer to my height and wore very fine clothes, those I would only see on a nobleman.

His pockets would be full of garlins.

I joined the crowd of people behind them, watching which side of the nobleman’s coat hung heavier than the other, which side seemed to jangle with coins when he moved.

If I was correct, then his coins were in his right pocket, but so was his hand. This would be a difficult theft, but hardly the most complicated one I’d done. 

I put a smile on my face and gave myself room to run up to him, shouting, “Father, it’s me!” Then I embraced him from behind.

The nobleman grunted and lifted his arms in surprise, which was all I needed to get my hand into his pocket. His taller companion immediately yanked me away and for a brief moment I locked eyes with the nobleman. He began looking me over, far more intently than I wanted. Suddenly I wished to be anywhere else.

“Pardon, sir.” 

I tried to run but the man holding me tightened his grip. He said, “This boy stole from you!” He shoved his hand into my pocket and emptied out every coin I had. 

The nobleman’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your name?”

Without answering, I kicked backward and my shirt tore further to escape the grip of the man who was holding me. I set off in a run deeper into the markets, furious at having been caught. Furious with myself for being too impatient. If I had not gotten away, I might have paid dearly for that mistake.

“Roast!” A butcher directly ahead of me held up a large cut of meat and my mouth began to water. “My last one for today. Who wants it?”

I wanted it, desperately.

But in looking around the square, I saw that I was not the only one. Not far from the butcher, a man had just pulled out a bag and was counting his coins to purchase the roast.

I knew what I had just promised myself, that there was danger in acting too quickly. But if I did not act now, that roast would be gone.

The man stepped forward to the butcher. “Will you wrap the roast for me, sir?”

“Yes, of course.” The butcher bent down beneath his table to find the paper to wrap the roast. That was my chance.

I set off on a run, pausing at the table just long enough to pull the roast into my arms.

“Thief!” yelled the man who had hoped to purchase it.

I glanced back and breathed out a curse word. Rather than any paper, the butcher had just grabbed a cleaver. I couldn’t help but smile…and run faster.

This was definitely not my best plan ever. But it was hardly my worst either. Mrs. Turbeldy would accept the roast as payment for my debt, and a lot of boys would finally get a decent meal.

If I had to do this all over again, I would never have chosen this life. Little did I know then, how very much my life was about to change.