Accidents

Accidents

"Ha'e ye been in a fight?" asked Herada, the halfling with whom Skrie now shared a room.

"Naw ..." said Skrie, fingering the growing bruise on her cheek. "I just weren't fast enough gettin' out the way o' a boot, 'tis all." It was close enough to the truth. She had let her mark kick her; it made the "accident" look more like one.

The young urchin had waited under a low cart when she spotted the mercenary strolling up the street. The man who tossed the torch that killed her parents was in a poor spot, below a heavy object lifted to the second story. Skrie needed the female who had thrown the oil flask to spook the horse.

Scrambling out from under the wagon as the woman passed, hand on the sword at her side, Skrie grabbed the sheathe, trying to spin the woman off balance. The soldier kicked out at her, connecting with her left cheek.

That's gonna leave a mark, she thought.

Skrie managed to dodge the worst of the blow. Her ruse worked as the merc lost her balance, stumbling into the back of the horse. The pony shied, jerking to the side. The rope attached to the pulley snapped. The heavy bureau dropped to the ground crushing the man below.

The urchin cut the strings on the soldier's coin purse as she rolled out into the crowd that had gathered to watch the aftermath. Skrie disappeared into the tangle of legs. As she made her way through the forest of people, she stowed her disguise and acted like the rest of the lookie-loos.

When the crowd dispersed, she made her way back to the domicile she shared with Herada.

One down, two to go.