Page 32 of Fortress of Snow

A man was coming toward her with a load on his back so big that it stuck out on both sides. Mazy tried to move out of his way, but there were so many people that she was trapped. Whenthe man passed her, his pack of goods hit her in the head and scraped her arm.

Her throat seemed to be closing up, preventing her from getting a deep breath. She had to get away.

Mazy turned and fled to the closest opening, then the next and the next, until she was finally out of the marketplace and on a less crowded street.

She put a hand to her head. It was not bleeding, nor was her arm. She went to a building nearby and leaned against the wall to catch her breath.

“What’s the matter?”

A man was grinning at her from a few feet away, his mouth full of broken and missing teeth.

“Where are you from, girl?” he demanded. “Not from London, I’d wager.”

He was old enough to be her father, but he looked her up and down, a sneering grin on his lips.

“Good day, sir,” she said, starting to walk away from him.

“What’s your hurry? Tarry with me a while. I’ll buy you some food from the inn.”

He was following her. She could hear his voice getting closer.

“I do not want anything. Good day.”

“Oh, come, come. I won’t hurt you.” He touched her shoulder.

Mazy spun around to face him. Her heart beat so hard she could scarcely draw breath. Her hand clutched the knife in her pocket.

“I just want to buy you something to eat. You look hungry.” He laid his hand on her shoulder.

Mazy whipped out her knife and unsheathed it. She pointed it at his face.

“Get away from me. Now.”

The man’s expression went from smiling to dark and tense.

“Get away from me, I said.” Mazy kept her voice gruff to force away the trembling. She took two steps back.

People were starting to stare at them, but no one seemed interested in helping her. They just kept walking.

“You little witch,” the man said. “Threatening me with a knife?”

Mazy kept backing away. The man did not move.

She wanted to turn and run, but the man would surely chase her. What if he caught her?

“Go on. Get,” he told her, waving his hand at her. “But if I see you again, I’ll take that knife and use it on you.” He spat on the ground, then stared with hate in his black eyes.

Mazy shuddered, a chill snaking across her shoulders.

Just then several people who didn’t seem to notice their standoff began to walk between them. Mazy backed away quickly, even though she bumped into people as she did. Finally, when she couldn’t see the man for all the people, she sheathed her knife and broke into a run.

She dodged people and animals and carts until her chest hurt and she couldn’t run anymore. No one seemed to be chasing her, but she continued walking in the direction of the White Tower, now following alongside the river.

The Thames was the widest river Mazy had ever encountered, much wider than the small rivers near her home andStrachleigh. But it was also filthy. Trash floated in it, and it was so dark and murky it looked nothing like the sparkling waters she was used to. But thinking about the river instead of her frightening encounter helped her heartbeat to slow and her breathing to return to normal.

She’d never been so frightened in her whole life. She’d also never pointed her knife at a person before, but she knew she’d done the right thing.

Her hands were still shaking a bit, her knees weak. She didn’t want to think about what he might have done if she had not had her knife in her pocket.