The itch comes back while Caleb sleeps. Nott sits cross-legged at the foot of the bed, twisting the cap of her flask on and off, watching him. She tries to ignore it. She needs to stay put. If Caleb were awake he could help her, but the day's string of mishaps has left him wounded and exhausted.
She twists the cap of the flask off. Takes a tiny sip. Getting low again. She screws the cap back on, puts the flask away. That's a problem for later.
Caleb mutters something in his sleep, and she peers in the dim light of the rented room at him. His face is pale under the dirt. She wishes he were awake. The itch is bad, under her skin, in her bones.
"Caleb?" she whispers, softly. Too softly to wake him. He doesn't move. "Caleb, it's real bad this time." Still no answer, and she looks away, pulling the porcelain mask out of her pocket. Rosebud lips smile back at her as she winds a string around one clawed finger.
A minute passes. Another. The itch becomes a voice, nudging at her, whispering at the base of her skull.
"Maybe I'll just take a quick look. That won't hurt, will it?"
She slides off the bed carefully, her wrapped feet silent on the floor. Just a quick look. She walks across the floor, eases the door open and stands peering through the narrow space, uncertain, frowning. The hallway is dark and quiet. The need to leave, to go, to find things for her collection presses her again. Her mouth is dry. The mask feels heavy in her hand.
The decision to leave is a relief. She ties on the mask, and then flips her hood up to hide her ears. She closes the door behind her, after she sets the simple ward Caleb taught her. She frowns a little behind the mask.
"I'll be back soon, before you wake up," she mutters to the closed door, before slipping down the hall to the back stairway, the one that leads to the alley beside the inn.
Night is settling on the city. The lamplighters make their rounds. The people of the city hurry home. Nott grins behind the mask, and tugs her hood down farther. There are still plenty of shadows for her. She pats the flask in her pocket and skips past a puddle in the alley.
The three figures in cloaks that run by her catch her attention, and she follows them, slipping from shadow to shadow. They don't notice her. It gets boring fast. Besides, they don't seem like they have anything shiny or interesting, and that's all she wants to find.
A carriage, rattling along as it passes, is the next thing she notices. It's very fancy, gleaming in the torch light. The driver and footmen wear fine clothes, which means so do the people inside. And people with fine clothes always have baubles that Nott wants.
She follows the carriage, keeping to the shadows. She tells herself that if anyone notices her (which rarely happens) they'll think she's a halfling. It's worked so far. She feels giddy, like she always does just before she finds a treasure. She keeps herself from giggling, running as fast as she dares.
The carriage turns down a side street. It stops in front of a tall house with wide windows and wrought iron decorations. The footmen hop down as Nott hides herself in the shadow behind a line of shrubbery. Inside the house, loud music plays. Human silhouettes pass in front of the windows. The sound of laughter spills into the street.
Nott watches as the people inside of the carriage step down and walk into the house. No way she can slip in unnoticed. Her fingers find her flask on their own; she takes a drink while she puzzles over the problem. Picking pockets only works in a crowd and inside the house is too bright to work a crowd and she shouldn't go inside…
The sound of children laughing breaks her concentration. She thinks that it's too late for children to be out. Still, there it is again. The sound is bright and clear, like the sound of a silver coin flipped in the air.
She shifts in her hiding spot, craning her neck to see. There. Walking down the sidewalk toward the fancy house. Their nanny leads the way, pushing a little buggy with a white-swaddled infant; three children follow in a line behind. Two of them are boys and taller than Nott, but the third—a girl—is the same height as her.
(Once, when she was very young and alone and starving she'd come across a family of ducks. A hen and six ducklings waddling in a line behind their mother. The nanny and the children remind her of them. She shakes her head as the memories overlap, and takes another sip from her flask. Children are not ducklings. That was a long time ago.)
She almost dismisses them, more interested in the people in the house. But then a flash of light makes her jerk her head back to the children. The infant in the buggy waves her hands and—oh!—reflected light flashes again. The child holds a small silver rattle, one side polished to a mirror's finish, with tiny rubies around the edge. Nott's heartbeat picks up. She needs that shiny little trinket.
Another drink from her flask before she twists the cap on and pockets it. She watches as the children go inside. Minutes pass while she worries if they're coming back out, then one of the second-story windows lights up. She sees the shape of the nanny, holding a candle.
She breathes another soft little sound. She's going to have to go inside. (She hadn't meant to. That seems important; it's what she'll tell Caleb. She'd meant to stay outside.) She shifts uneasily in her hiding spot. The light inside flickers and goes out, and she shoots out of her hiding place into the shadows beside the house.
In Nott's experience, humans are generally stupid. The wrought iron trellis isn't too sturdy, and wouldn't support an adult human, but one little goblin? It holds her fine.
She scampers up to the window and peers in. No movement. The door is closed, the candles extinguished. The only light comes from the lamps outside. She can make out a bed with a lumpy shape in it. (The girl? Do human children really fall asleep so quickly?) A cradle, as long as Nott is tall, sits against the opposite wall. Inside of it, between the slats, she sees the gleam of silver.
The window is locked, but it isn't trapped and the lock is simple enough she has it open in under a minute. Then she slowly eases it up. She looks at the shape of the older girl. Nothing. She blinks in the dim light, wondering what it must be like to sleep so soundly.
Nott creeps closer to the cradle, dodging toys left scattered on the floor. The sounds of the party in the house below seep through the floorboards. Somewhere in the night, a dog barks, but it's too far away to worry her.
Footsteps sound in the hallway outside of the room, and she freezes. A band of light shows under the door as the steps get closer. Then they pass. The light dims. Nott realizes she's holding her breath, and exhales. She hurries the rest of the way to the cradle.
The cradle is almost as tall as she is. She'll have to climb in. She doesn't want it to rock, so she goes to the end, and grabbing the top of the footboard, pulls herself up. Her feet scrabble for a second on the wood. Fingers and toes grip tightly as she perches like a gargoyle.
The baby's eyes are closed. Silky, soft linens line the cradle. Blankets are swaddled around the infant, drawn up to its chin. It breathes quickly, dreaming sweet milk-dreams without care or discomfort. The rattle is gripped in one hand. Plump little fingers grasp the handle.
She eases herself down into the cradle. Slowly. Carefully. The baby gurgles in its sleep and a little spit-bubble forms on its lips.
Nott's night-vision lets her see the rattle clearly. It's so beautiful! The silver mirror reflects the ceiling. Little carvings of deer and leaves decorate it, twisting around the handle. The rubies seem to glow. It shines in the dim light and her breath catches; she loosens the strings to her mask, dropping it to one side.
Carefully—so carefully—she begins pulling the baby's fingers off of the rattle. She's surprised by its grip. So strong for such a little one! She hisses softly and then grins widely as finally the rattle comes free. The itch cheers. The bauble is hers, now all she has to do is…
A sound interrupts her. A gasp of fear. Nott whips her head to the side to see the older girl sitting up in bed, staring at her, eyes wide with terror.
Nott might be young, but she's not stupid. She knows what she looks like without her mask, perched over the infant, grinning. She grabs her mask and runs as the girl starts shrieking. The cradle bobs to one side as she jumps out, and instantly the baby cries, but Nott is already out of the window. She slams it shut, and then shimmies down the trellis to the street.
On the street, she hurriedly puts the mask back on while she runs. Finding the inn again won't be a problem; she has the route memorized. Her feeling of elation starts to fade, mixing with unease. What is she going to tell Caleb? The little girl saw her. This could be bad. They'd wanted to stay put in the city for a while. Let Caleb recover. Now, maybe they wouldn't be able to.
The ward on the door of the room is just how she left it. She disables it and cracks the door open. Peeking through the space she sees Caleb still asleep. Relief washes over her. She slips inside and closes the door.
Dodging his pack and a few stray books, she sneaks over to the bed without waking him. His eyes dart restlessly beneath his eyelids. Bad dreams, probably. Nott climbs up on the bed, carefully. His hands are clenched on the edge of the coarse blanket; he fell asleep with his clothes on.
His eyes flutter, and then open. His hands twitch and a weak spell forms between them.
"Caleb!" she whispers. "It's me!"
The spell fizzles after a moment. Caleb frowns. Almost unconsciously Nott slips one hand into the pocket where the rattle sits. She feels the swirls of decorations under the pads of her fingers.
"Hi. Sorry I woke you," she whispers.
"It's okay." He coughs, clears his throat. Peers at her closely. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
"You sure?" A doubtful look. "The itch getting bad?"
"Nope," she says. "All good here."
"Alright." His eyes drift closed, then open again. "Did you go out?"
She blinks in surprise, pulling her hand away from the rattle. "How'd you know?"
"You're wearing your mask." He coughs, body shaking with the effort. "And you've something in your pocket."
"I'm sorry, Caleb! It just got so bad and you were asleep and I couldn't even hold Frumpkin and—"
"It's okay. I'm not upset." Another cough, weaker this time. "Did anyone see you?"
"No. Yes. A little girl. But that's all. I swear."
"Okay. That's good." His voice drops to a mutter, and his eyes close again. "Adults never believe children."
She frowns, and almost asks why, because Caleb would believe her, but he sighs, the sound full of pain.
"We'll deal with it tomorrow," he whispers. "Glad you're safe."
She unties the mask, taking it off and resting it on the bed.
"Go back to sleep," she tells him, but from the way he's breathing he already is. "I'll keep watch."