Page 33 of Fortress of Snow

She kept walking, kept moving. Had he singled her out because she looked vulnerable, standing there propped against the wall of that building? Ro had said something about certain parts of London being dangerous. Had she wandered, unaware, onto an unsafe street?

Now she just wanted to get home and lock the door. She did not feel safe anymore, and she kept seeing that man’s ugly face, with his snaggled teeth and his messy, unkempt hair and beard.

Finally she reached a familiar street and hurried to the alehouse. She went around the narrow alley to the back door, and it suddenly seemed dark and sinister. Anyone could hide there and wait for her. Anyone could jump out at her.

She took her knife out of her pocket and held it at the ready as she moved forward, her eyes wide, listening for any sign that someone was near. Carefully she opened the door and looked inside. No one was in the back room. She climbed the stairs and unlocked her door and went inside. She locked it again and sighed.

She finally sheathed her knife and held it close to her chest. Would she ever feel safe again?

For the rest of the day she sat by the window, waiting for John to come home. She watched all the people passing by on the street below, trying to see how she might detect which men were kind and trustworthy, like Sir Berenger, and which were frightening, like the man she’d encountered that morning.

She went downstairs a few times to see if Ro was there, but she never found her. And now it was dark.

She wanted nothing more than to tell her brother what had happened, how she had been so terrified and had drawn her knife on a man. Hungry and teary-eyed, Mazy lay on her blanket and fell asleep.

***

Mazy had just awakened when a knock came at the door. “It’s me, Ro,” the voice said on the other side.

Mazy opened the door. “Good morning.”

“I brought some sweet bread rolls I made. I’m sorry I didn’t come and see you yesterday. My father kept me too busy. Our servant was sick, but she’s better today.”

Mazy invited her inside and they ate the warm rolls while sitting on the floor, as she had no stools or benches. Then Mazy told Ro the story of the previous day.

“You are brave to pull a knife on a man like that, and it is good that you did. You were right to defend yourself.”

“I was so afraid. I’m not sure I could have cut him unless heattacked me or tried to hurt me. The truth is, he might have been able to take the knife from me as he threatened.”

“No, no, you would have fought him off, I’m sure of it.” Ro looked and sounded excited, as if Mazy had done something important. “You would have cut him. That man thought you were easy prey, but you proved your worth to him. You are a Londoner already!” Ro whooped and started twirling in place, a celebratory dance.

Mazy laughed. They both twirled around for a moment. Then Mazy said seriously, “Why did he choose me to attack?”

Ro looked thoughtful, placing a hand on her hip and staring at Mazy. “It was probably because you were alone, or maybe it was your wide-eyed look. You have to look tougher, get a meaner look in your eye, like this.” Ro squinted and stared with a cold look.

Mazy wasn’t at all sure she could look as tough as Ro did. But perhaps she could pretend when she was around strange men. When they stared at her, she could give them a cold, hard, squinty look. Mazy practiced it with Ro.

“Perfect!” Ro cried.

Next, Ro looked through Mazy’s clothing, separating her dresses into two piles. “Don’t wear these, not unless you want everyone to think you grew up on a farm.”

“Ro, I was thinking, I need a way to provide for myself, but I don’t know how to sew or do anything that would make me a good servant. Do you think I could learn to make something that I could sell? I was thinking of baking bread to sell at the market, but I don’t have an oven.”

“You could borrow Father’s oven when the alehouse is not busy.”

“Do you think he would allow it? I don’t want to get in his way.”

“He only uses the oven for bread, and only twice a day, just before midday and again before suppertime, when we have the most customers.”

“If we sold bread at the market, we would only need the oven early in the morning.”

Ro’s eyes widened. “That’s perfect! Let’s go ask him.”

They went downstairs and told Ro’s father about their plan to bake bread and sell it in the market.

He scowled at Ro. “If you can do your other work and that too, then you can do it. But the alehouse comes first.”

“Yes, Father.”