Mid December, 298 AC
Arya tried to blend in as she walked down the Street of Flour. A baker's boy gave her a strange look as she passed his master's shop. Perhaps it was the cloak hung over her arm. She had to carry it to conceal Needle hanging in a scabbard at her hip. Flea Bottom boys didn't carry swords.
Her eyes took in the various baker's stalls as she ignored the flock of juicy pigeons just up ahead. Each baker had a different mark painted somewhere on their stall or hanging above their door. Arya vaguely remembered Septa Mordane saying something about a Baker's Guild.
Her stomach growled, and her mind returned to the pigeons. They were plump, happy birds, grown fat from the abundance of crumbs that littered the Street of Flour. It was almost time for her to chase them.
Arya felt Rattail wiggling her skinny haunches, ready to pounce. Wait , Arya told the mangy brown cat. I'll get them closer for you. Unlike the other three cats Arya had befriended since fleeing the Red Keep, Rattail was excitable and impatient. Patches, Wobble, and Shadow waited in the alley without moving a muscle, their eyes watching the birds.
"Shoo!" Arya yelled suddenly, darting at the flock.
The pigeons cooed in distress, and most burst into flight with a swoosh of their wings. But a few merely hopped away. The hopping ones weren't scared of people, and Arya took advantage. She chased the hopping ones, guiding them toward the nearest alley.
Wobble leaped first, sinking her teeth into a grey pigeon's neck. Despite the three legs that gave Wobble her name, she was quick. She'd been born with three legs, or so Arya guessed from the way her fourth limb ended in a tiny stump on her chest. Rattail, Patches and Shadow weren't far behind, each grabbing a pigeon before it could flee.
Shadow was the oldest, his dusty black fur speckled with grey. With the skill of long practice he snapped his pigeon's neck and killed a second before Arya could catch her first. When the flapping and cooing ceased, Arya counted seven dead pigeons. Rattail had caught a second one too, and she rubbed against Arya's legs as she dropped it at Arya's feet.
Good work , Arya said, stroking Rattail's bald tail. She'd caught it against a hot oven once, and the hair never grew back. But she loved having it stroked. Patches mewled, offended, and Arya laughed as she crouched, using her other hand to scratch under Patches' chin.
Wobble stepped on Rattail, pushing the younger cat aside so Arya could put her nails to use on Wobble's fluffy white ears. Were it not for her missing leg, Wobble looked almost like a lady's cat, with her soft white fur and black stocking feet.
Once each cat was satisfied, Arya gathered the birds in her cloak and began to walk, the cats trailing behind her with flicking tails. She found a good spot nearby, a half-burnt stable where she could sleep that night.
Arya plucked four of the pigeons while the cats watched, licking their chops. Your meal is ready, Arya informed the cats, setting the plucked pigeons down on the cobblestones. Shadow licked her hand, then set to work devouring his pigeon.
At least she had company now. It had been weeks since she'd fled the Red Keep, more than a moon's turn. Almost all her things were stolen the first night. Her days were spent in lonely terror, trying to find a way to escape before she starved. Then she'd found Wobble.
Arya had wandered onto the Street of Salt, hoping to buy a fish. Surely, with all the terrible smells, they were selling fish from yesterday's catch. She'd been trying to find the cheapest stall when she saw a group of little boys. They were around Rickon's age, skinny and filthy, and they were throwing rocks into a dark alley.
Arya had already walked past them when a desperate, high pitched shriek for help brought her running back. The wooden sword was good enough for beating children, and Arya sent them running before she realized the cry for help had not come from a girl, but from a pitiful pile of fluff, coated in mud and blood. Arya almost cried, but instead, she took the cat down to the docks, washed her with sea water, and combed out her fur with her fingers.
Wobble had slept by Arya's side ever since. She helped catch pigeons, and scared rats away. A few times she had even found coins on the ground and brought them to Arya, the shining copper clenched tightly between her teeth.
One day, Arya returned from a pot shop to find three new cats awaiting her. Apparently they shared Wobble's interest in pets and scritches and a warm body to curl up with. With Shadow, Patches, and Rattail, Arya could sell enough pigeons to fill her belly, and it was nice to have someone to talk to.
It wasn't enough. Arya missed Sansa so much that her stomach hurt. Were she and Father still alive? What had happened to Jeyne, and Merissa? She even missed grouchy Septa Mordane.
Sometimes, when she was feeling particularly lonely, she looked for their faces in passersby. There was a fishmonger with Jeyne's brown eyes. A scruffy girl who tried to steal Arya's cloak had Merissa's light brown hair. She even thought she saw the tom cat with the torn ear that afternoon. But there were plenty of black cats with torn ears about. And besides, the tom cat never left the Red Keep.
The next day, Arya roamed the streets by herself. Shadow and Rattail were napping, and Patches scented a cat in heat and sprinted away before Wobble could explain where he was going. Not five minutes later, Wobble prowled away to investigate some intriguing new smell.
Arya was haggling with a baker's boy, trying to trade four pigeons for a loaf of day old bread, when Wobble returned, running as fast as her three legs could manage. Another cat was behind her, one that looked familiar- Arya bent down and the mama cat leaped into her arms, purring like mad.
Arya! Arya staggered backward in shock as the mama cat rubbed her face into Arya's chest, her claws sinking in as though checking that Arya was real. Sansa?
They spoke until near dusk, huddled in the old stable. I have to go back to myself, Sansa had explained. I'm not allowed out after dark, so I need to leave the Godswood before the guards come looking for me. Once everyone is asleep I might be able to get out again, but I'm already exhausted, and so is Softpaws. Arya hugged the mama cat tight, and Sansa was gone. The mama cat- dubbed Softpaws by Sansa- immediately curled up for a nap. It was fun talking to the bright girl, Softpaws said, but it was exhausting having her inside for so long.
Arya stroked Softpaws' fur as she slept, trying to process her afternoon. There were too many emotions inside Arya, all fighting to get out. Joy at seeing Sansa, horror at finding out that Father was held prisoner, accused of treason. Fury at learning Baelish had promised to help, for love of their mother, and then had betrayed Father.
Arya let the fury settle under her skin. It seemed that while the cats of the city searched for Arya's scent, they were also searching for Jeyne and Merissa. Baelish had taken them, he had sworn to the Queen that he would take the girls out of the city, but Sansa was sure he lied. And Arya had an idea of where to look.
Dawn was just creeping over the horizon when Arya roused the mama cat. Shadow, Rattail, Wobble, and Patches waited patiently as Softpaws gave them the memory of Jeyne and Merissa's scent. Then they set off for the Street of Silk.
Mucking about in the streets of Flea Bottom, Arya had heard all sorts of things. Things she didn't understand, mostly, but she knew what a whore was, and she knew that Littlefinger ran several whorehouses.
As soon as they reached the Street of Silk, the five cats spread out, their noses twitching. Arya hid herself in an alley. There were drunk men in the street, staggering home with purses no doubt lighter than the day before. A few were so drunk that they stumbled and fell in the street, snoring for a few minutes before getting back up. That gave her an idea...
Rattail! Patches! They were nearest, and their noses weren't as sharp as Shadow and Wobble's. See if you can get a purse off one of the men on the ground. The cats were confused. What was a purse? Arya described it as best she could, giving them the sizes and shapes, the smell of leather and copper coins.
The sun was hot overhead, and Arya had three purses' worth of coppers hidden in her pockets, when Shadow came trotting back. He thought he'd found the smells, but he wasn't sure. Was Softpaws nearby? They waited for an hour before Softpaws returned from her end of the street.
Shadow and Softpaws departed together, Arya following at a distance. Most of the brothels had their windows open, lines of sheets hanging in the breeze. The air was full of the chatter of women. Some boasted of their previous night's wages, others lamented injuries or ripped clothing. A few traded bawdy stories about their clients, mocking rich men and knights with strange desires or feeble skill. It reminded Arya of the laundrywomen gossiping at Winterfell.
Finally the cats paused in front of a ramshackle three story building. Shadow and Softpaws sniffed at the door, tails waving back and forth.
"Now what are you handsome pusses doing?" A musical voice asked from the window above.
Arya glanced up. The woman was perhaps the age of Arya's mother. She was fat, with rich brown skin. She had a slight accent that reminded Arya of the Dornish master of arms at the Red Keep.
"My cousin left her cats behind," Arya said, trying to sound like an annoyed boy. "We need them to keep out the rats, so I followed them."
"And what does your cousin look like?" The fat woman asked, covering a yawn. Her long black hair was wet from washing- she'd been drying it in the sunlight.
"Brown hair, a few years older than me," Arya said. "If she told the cats to go away, I think they'd stay put."
"Jess! Let the poor pussies in," the fat woman called.
"Why?" A woman yelled back. "We've enough in here already!"
After a few minutes a woman with straw blonde hair opened the door, clad only in her shift. Arya frowned for a moment, and the woman rolled her eyes.
"It's washing day," she said. "Whores need clean clothes as much as anyone."
Jess led her into a large common room, the cats following close behind. Women in their shifts were washing the chairs and tables, scrubbing away spilled food and drink. Softpaws' eyes gleamed. It's the right scent, and fresh, she told Arya as Jess led them upstairs.
"Thanks," the fat woman said as Jess shooed them into the room. The window was closed now, making the small room stuffy.
"I'm Bel," the fat woman said, reaching down to pet Softpaws. "And I'm surprised you've lasted this long with so little wits, Arya Stark."