Challenge Continued... 

I'm an over writer, so it's not micro, or only 100 words!

It's a draft copy and unfinished, but I'd like to know what you think.

Prompt:

"He placed five gold pieces in my hand and told me to forget what I’d seen."

The Golden Crowns.

I’D HAVE FORGOTTEN WHAT I’D SEEN FOR ONE GOLD PIECE. None, if it meant staying safe. Anyone would. I wasn’t a dumb woman. I’d seen gold before, but not one with a crown imprinted on its side, though I knew what it was. A golden crown. Gold was for rich folk, and golden crowns for royalty. Had I seen one of those before? No. Not me. Never. Yet in my trembling hand, I held not one, but five golden crowns.

I didn’t look at him as I pocketed the gold and backed out of the room. Ignoring the pool of red that spread across the floor at his feet and the pearl-handled dagger laying at its centre.

Dashing out the door, I sped down the hallway, jumping the wooden stairs before hurrying through the large oaken door and outside. Where I bent, resting my hands on my knees, panting, and going through my limited options.

 I stood up and scanned the horizon, took a deep breath, then strode off down the dusty road. I had to get away. Not to the next village, no. I would head to the nearest city, where I’d blend in, and disappear. 

* * *

LYNDALL WAS A DAY AWAY, which meant I had a long walk ahead of me. The sun beat down on me, causing beads of sweat to drip down my face and back. I was already rationing my water flask and my feet were already sore. The soles of my heavy work boots were falling apart. I’d tried to repair them several times over, but I didn’t think it’d work again. Not after this long a walk.

I picked up the pace and prayed I make it through the city gates before nightfall. There was so much I needed to do when I arrived, and explaining myself to the night watch was not on my agenda. I should consider my options, especially with the gold concealed in a small pouch beneath my shirt by my side.



I let my mind wander, drifting away as I plodded on. Imagining all the ways I could spend the coins and the fun I could have with them.

* * *

As I reached Lyndall, the sun was dipping low in the sky, a golden smear on the distant horizon a similar colour to the gold I carried. With it, I could afford to stay at an inn. Any inn. In any part of the city. My choice. Instead of in the slums, otherwise known as Death Valley. A place I knew well, but hadn’t always lived in. Aptly named because of the number of deaths occurring within its boundaries.

A grotty area taking up over a quarter of the city. The poor, disabled, beggars and criminals lived in Death Valley. Amongst ruffians who’d slit your throat for thruppence, let alone a coin or gold piece. Goodness knows what would happen if anyone got wind, that I carried golden crowns.

Death Valley would be the place where I’d work from dawn to dusk for somewhere to sleep and food in my belly. Huh! That a joke. Work in the city was tough, in the slums it was darn-right dangerous. Leaving me so tired that I didn’t care about comfort. I’d have to sleep with one eye open, lest I lose the gold I could feel at my side.

My days would comprise a job during the dawn hours. Cleaning the drains and sweeping the roads in the wealthy part of town before they awakened. I would spend the rest of my day underground in the sewers. Mostly shovelling human deposits around. The stench, so bad, even the cloth I used to cover my mouth notwithstanding the smell. All to pay for a tatty hessian sack and a cramped corner to kip in.

Warmth and food would be welcome. Even if it was a bowl of lukewarm slop. Slop made up of liquid that reminded me of a watered-down version of the stuff I scraped up, with the bonus of a few undistinguishable lumps. Rat stew, I’d imagine. I’d eat this so-called rat stew for days on the trot. Sometimes weeks.

I entered the gates and turned to the left, into the wider streets and cobbled pavements. Today was a new day, and things were different. Thanks to the gold clinking in my pouch. I could have what I wanted. Maybe turn my life around. First though, food. Actual food, with a mug of ale, at a table in an inn and not a sewer in sight. Food that I could devour with my eyes. Swirl around my mouth and let the flavours envelop me. Oh. What I wouldn’t give for that.

As I meandered along, I could see the sleeves of my arms swinging back and forth. The noticeably grime stained hands and skin, covered barely by my dirty, threadbare clothes. I’d need to do something about that. Perhaps I’d get a scrub and soak in one of the city bathing houses. By fresh clothes and new boots.

Hell, I could even pay for a room of my own. Of my own. Lodgings where I would not sleep on the floor but in a proper bed for the night. A week or more if I wanted, and perhaps a woman or two. The weight of the coins pressed against my hip. I could have anything I wanted. Anything. Pausing, I took a deep, slow breath and nearly stumbled, causing grumblings from those too close behind me.

Anything. I could have the dracoblu insignia tattooed across my back. After all, I’d earned it. I’d always wanted the tattoo. The intricate design depicting a magnificent blue dragon, coiled around a purple orb, and framed by three silver swords. Each touching tip to handle. I often told myself I would have the tattoo. One day. Sometime. Maybe.

If I wanted, I could have it inked today, tonight. Find an inkmaster who could imprint on my skin, imbue it, and evoke it with power. One that still venerated the dracoblu. I’d not need to pay for silence. Besides, it wouldn’t do to flash about the golden crowns. Asking would be enough. Perhaps I could offer my services and a promise for future help.

The insignia, usually palm sized and imprinted by the shoulder blade, denoted rank, status and, sometimes, bloodline. It showed allegiance to the original rulers of this land and to their kin. The dead, the lost, or missing heirs to the throne. Not those that sat atop it now. Greedy rulers who shouldn’t be on the throne. The Gleish. Ones who didn’t care about the people, the land. The Gleish, who’d used sneaky means to get close to their prey. Slimy toads who paid deadly assassins to kill almost every dracoblu before they realised what was happening to them.

I’d have the tattoo cover my entire back. Oh yes. I would show I wasn’t afraid of them. Wherever I went, it would garner respect from the many. Those who were still loyal to the dracoblu. Feared by others. Those too scared of the current scheming rulers to stand up for what was right or honourable. I was honourable, true. I’d proved myself.

It also meant that few would come near me, let alone pester me, wherever I went. But that meant revealing what I belonged to, who I was. Others would watch and wait for a chance to earn coin from knowledge of me. I could never do that. The risks too great. Not now. Not yet. No time soon.

I looked up, recognising my surroundings and where I had subconsciously taken myself. I let out a long sigh, rolled my shoulders, stretching, before switching tracks. As I turned, I shrugged and headed towards the smog encrusted entrance to the slums.

To be continued…
 

Whether you like this, or you don’t. I’d love your feedback.

Would it be worth making into a short story? Let me know.