Door Handle.
You shake your head. "I daren't be late or I'll be in for a beating from my Master. I must go and pick up my wares."
The farmer raises his eyebrows. "Very well, son. Ye need help or be lookin fer work, make sure ye come askin' fer Ned. Thas' me."
You nod your thanks. If you survive your master's wrath this evening, you may need to take up that offer. You jog back through the alleyways, retracing your steps. Thinking better of cutting back through the milliner's back yard, you find another route back to where you had left your barrow.
As you emerge onto the main street, you see to your dismay that your barrow has been broken. The fruits you had been selling have been strewn across the cobbled road, trampled by the horses. You walk past the milliner's shop where you had left your wares, and you see the face at the window again, smirking this time. Anger boils inside you. This is vandalism, not theft, and you are certain that the milliner is the culprit. But without witness, his word will be more valuable than yours and you know better than to make a scene.
You turn up the collar of your jacket and fasten the buttons up to the neck. Pulling your cap as far down over your ears as you can, you tuck the object away in your pouch, begin the long and wet journey home.
You don't have a lantern, and with the heavy clouds darkness will fall quicker tonight. You set a quick pace along the familiar road towards your village, determined to beat nightfall. Having lost the barrow you know you'll go hungry tonight. You will most likely have your pay docked and be whipped too, but your thoughts are dominated by the memory of the girl, and the look in her eyes as she so readily accepted her fate.
The rain begins to ease as you leave the city boundary, but the wind chills through your wet clothes.
"Halt!"
A figure leaps from behind a tree and stands in front of you. You stop.
"Dont move or I'll blow yer brains out." His nose and mouth are covered by a blue kerchief; dark matted hair straggles into his eyes from under his tricorne.
Footsteps close in from behind and you know you are outnumbered. You swallow. "What do you want?"
Light from behind you illuminates his figure and you see your own shadow stretching out on the ground in front of you. His accomplice appears at your shoulder, a lantern in his hand. His eyes glisten in the flickering light as they fix firmly on your money pouch. "What d'ye have there, then?"
"Nothing, Sir."
He glances to the highwayman who nods his head.
"Hand me yer pocket," he says.
The farmer raises his eyebrows. "Very well, son. Ye need help or be lookin fer work, make sure ye come askin' fer Ned. Thas' me."
You nod your thanks. If you survive your master's wrath this evening, you may need to take up that offer. You jog back through the alleyways, retracing your steps. Thinking better of cutting back through the milliner's back yard, you find another route back to where you had left your barrow.
As you emerge onto the main street, you see to your dismay that your barrow has been broken. The fruits you had been selling have been strewn across the cobbled road, trampled by the horses. You walk past the milliner's shop where you had left your wares, and you see the face at the window again, smirking this time. Anger boils inside you. This is vandalism, not theft, and you are certain that the milliner is the culprit. But without witness, his word will be more valuable than yours and you know better than to make a scene.
You turn up the collar of your jacket and fasten the buttons up to the neck. Pulling your cap as far down over your ears as you can, you tuck the object away in your pouch, begin the long and wet journey home.
You don't have a lantern, and with the heavy clouds darkness will fall quicker tonight. You set a quick pace along the familiar road towards your village, determined to beat nightfall. Having lost the barrow you know you'll go hungry tonight. You will most likely have your pay docked and be whipped too, but your thoughts are dominated by the memory of the girl, and the look in her eyes as she so readily accepted her fate.
The rain begins to ease as you leave the city boundary, but the wind chills through your wet clothes.
"Halt!"
A figure leaps from behind a tree and stands in front of you. You stop.
"Dont move or I'll blow yer brains out." His nose and mouth are covered by a blue kerchief; dark matted hair straggles into his eyes from under his tricorne.
Footsteps close in from behind and you know you are outnumbered. You swallow. "What do you want?"
Light from behind you illuminates his figure and you see your own shadow stretching out on the ground in front of you. His accomplice appears at your shoulder, a lantern in his hand. His eyes glisten in the flickering light as they fix firmly on your money pouch. "What d'ye have there, then?"
"Nothing, Sir."
He glances to the highwayman who nods his head.
"Hand me yer pocket," he says.