Sway strides through the quiet streets still fogged with morning. She jingles the pouch in her pocket, liking the cool weight of it in her hand. She knows that taking the fancier jewelry was risky, but she couldn't resist its seductive glow in the fading moonlight. She hadn't breathed a sigh of relief until she been safe in street, looking back over her shoulder at the sleeping house. She's always loved the heady feeling that comes along with taking a gamble with her fortune. At least a life of thievery is never boring.
She scuffs her thin shoes carelessly against the rough cobblestones and inhales deeply. She can smell baking bread and scones over the usual scents of tobacco smoke, cart horses, and rusty metal. A grimy young boy on the street corner sits on a stack of papers, hugging his threadbare jacket around himself and reading over one of his copies. She can see his lips move silently as he reads, his small brow furrowed in concentration. In a minute he'll be belting out the most promising headlines.
Sway slows as she passes a darker building, feeling the pull of the old memories she keeps hidden behind her heart. A chipped sign hangs above it, creaking quietly in the breeze: The Black Rose, the most popular house of ill repute in Manhattan. The last few customers are stumbling out, bringing the stale scent of cheap booze with them. The sight brings back Belle's gentle hands and faded blue eyes, Scarlet's imperious manner and inability to regret. The way Grace used to tell her stories when she wasn't working. And her mother.
She looks away, steadying herself against the rough brick wall. A crisp breeze lifts the hair that she lets fall around her shoulders, black as the night she prefers. The sharp air of early dawn stings her throat, and she forces herself to walk on. There's no point in remembering that which can never be regained. She's promised herself to never go back.
She comes to the door of the Thieves Palace just as morning workers begin to crowd the streets. Someone answers her urgent knock, and she enters wordlessly. Light-Fingers is sitting at a table, scratching something in the wood with the tip of her knife. She turns her gray eyes on Sway and smiles.
"How's it rollin'?" She asks casually.
"Don't pull that act on me, I know you're dyin' ta see my swag," Sway responds lightly. She grins and drops onto the bench. The truth is that she wants the more experienced girl to see how far she's come. Light-Fingers was one of the girls who took her in, taught her everything.
A young man stacks firewood behind one of the upper-class houses, glad now for the shadow it casts upon him. His muscles bunch under his rough shirt as he splits another log, tosses it on the pile. It's been a hot, hard day. He was selling papers until mid-afternoon, leaving him just enough time to get through with this job. He resists the urge to sling the last log haphazardly on the pile, arranging it carefully instead. He owes Molly that much fr giving him the job, and he can't have her employers angry with her for hiring a lazy worker. Besides, these things pay well enough.
Finished. He slumps down on the ground against the cool wall of the house, tugging the brim of his cap lower over his dark, curly hair. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Just for a moment . . .
"Mush, what are ya still doin' here? It's been dark an hour!" Molly's low voice startles him awake. The stars flicker dimly in the black sky above him, and he curses under his breath. He leaps to his feet.
"I'm sorry, Molly, I just closed my eyes for a minute. I gotta go . . ." He makes to push past her, but she grabs hold of his arm.
"There's no way you'll be gettin' back to the Lodgehouse before it closes up for the night." She chews her lip uncertainly, and her kind blue eyes crinkle with worry at the edges. "Look, stay in th' old East wing tonight."
"I can't, it's no good." His voice is resigned. "It's not like I ain't slept on the streets before."
"Mush, no one ever goes up there unless they're looking for somethin' they've stored away. It's too close to the servants for the sir and missus." A wry smile twists her mouth, but it's the truth. "Just be out before they wake, alright?"
Mush nods. "Thanks, Molly. It wont happen again." She smiles and presses his day's earnings into his hand before retiring to her own bed in the servant's quarters.