The Mountain and the Valley

People in this city might have been happier, but they sure were stupider. That was good for us, though - we needed the dumb ones to get us through the day, to keep us afloat in a town that was already above sea level. I could tell immediately that it was going to be easier for us here, but living the kid of life Rupert and I lived was difficult.

But there wasn’t anything we loved more.

“You stay here, I’ll join the table and you’ll follow.” By ‘table,’ I already knew he meant a blackjack table. Blackjack was Rupert’s best game; he never bet too much, had a mean poker face, and hardly ever lost a dime. This was because he was mathematical about the entire game; his greatest accomplishment was the counting done in his head, making sure that he knew what he as well as everyone else at the table had in their hands. I’d never seen another person do it in my life - or, maybe they were doing it but I didn’t know. Anyway, Rupert was the smartest so he always won.

I saluted him silently, then watched as he walked around the corner of the alleyway and ducked into the shady pub. I would follow soon after and do what I did best.

Sighing, I leaned up against the wall. My eyes found the stars that twinkled ever-brightly in the clear nighttime sky. The loudness coming from inside the pub was just slightly tangible, and in that moment, I tried imagining myself as one with the music and the drunken tones and the nighttime. Closing my eyes made it easier. I sat down on the ground, which was made of cobblestone, and brought my knees up to my chest.

It was then that I realized how tired I was. What little light was left in the day upon our arrival was quickly drained of the sky, and we were left in the darkness.

Rupert and I survived best at night, I think.

It was fifteen minutes before I stood back up and dusted myself off, mentally preparing myself for just another night doing what we did best.

I pushed open the door and the smell of tobacco hit me like a big, rolling wave of intoxication. I look from ember to glowing ember, each penetrating a cloud of smoke billowing from pipes and cigars at the mouths of men seated in the pub.

“Well, hello there, doll,” a man said from behind me, making a grab at me. “What’s a lady like you doing around here this late?”

“You want to try that again?” I snarled, grabbing his wrist and yanking it backward, spinning around to face the grizzly fellow before bending his elbow and grinding his foot into the ground with the heel of my boot.

The moment he cried out in agony was the moment I released him from my grip and continued on through the smoky air.

My eyes immediately searched for Rupert, who I soon spotted seated at a table, laughing with a few other men. I then took it as my cue to head toward the countertop and find a man suitable for my ploy.

No. Not likely. Definitely not.

And then I saw him, sitting there with a collared shirt with a smile unknowingly resting upon his lips. He had his hand on a glass of ale and a scarf around his neck that he kept tugging at. The cigar in his hand was not lit and he kept looking around like he wasn’t familiar with this type of place.

This was going to be easier than swindling a child.

I tugged the sweater hanging off my shoulder a little further downward, pushed myself together, and straightened my back. My boots clacked against the wooden floorboards, creaking quietly in comparison to the shrill atmosphere.

“Hey, stranger.” My fingertips grazed his back and I took a seat beside him along the counter.

His body tightened; I could feel it against my hand as I pulled it away slowly. As he spun on the stool to face me, chestnut eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed with one big gulp.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this tonight, hm?” I asked, arching my spine toward him. “Your kind doesn’t come around here often.”

“I-I’m not sure,” he said lightly, tugging at his collar, tucking his ebony hair behind his ear and catching his neck with a cupped hand. Probably clammy.

I smiled, quirking an eyebrow upward. “I’m Ilse." A good con artist never uses their real name. "Want to buy me a drink?”

He nodded quickly, then had the bartender slide me a brew, however wearily. The way he looked at me was disapproving, but I couldn’t be the first promiscuous woman to walk through the doors of his bar at this hour. I had to tell myself that, anyway.

Taking a sip, I looked at him over the glass’ rim. He was looking at me, too. I licked my lips and set it down, the bronze liquid sloshing slightly as it kissed the tall, clouded walls of the glass.

“I’m Henry,” he said, staring down at his hands.

“Well,” I said, pressing my lips together lightly, “it’s nice to meet you, Henry.”



“I don’t like the way you do that,” Rupert said to me as he shut off the light, crawling into the bed he made for himself on the floor of the inn. It wasn’t the best place in town, but we could afford it and that’s all that mattered.

I sighed, rolling over on the small bed to face him; he laid on his back, arms folded over his chest with his head propped up on a thin pillow. His eyes were shut, and for a minute, I almost convinced myself that he had never said anything at all.

“What do you mean?” I asked slowly.

It was a few beats before he replied, as though choosing carefully what he wanted to say to me. “I mean,” he said, “how you approach men.”

“I’m just doing what needs to be done,” I said. There was a sudden edge in my tone that I barely noticed, but he seemed to hear immediately.

“Don’t talk that way to me,” he barked. “You know just what I mean - it’s the way you throw yourself at them.”

My lips pressed together as I rolled onto my back. I couldn’t think of anything to say. My chest began to ache, like someone had punched me in the lung; Rupert’s breathing soon became heavy and the sound of him snoring followed quickly after.

The longer I laid there, the piercing the pain became.

I couldn’t sleep.