My belly roared its frustrations, the noise muffled by the wool of my skirt, as I

walked past a small bakery near the heart of the city's market. My feet stalled in

place by the store's windows and I stared helplessly at the dozens of fresh goods

that lay on display. I sucked in the pleasant aromas that saturated the atmosphere,

gritting my teeth at another wave of excruciating hunger pains. It had been nearly

two days since anything of more substance than water had passed my lips and I

was swiftly reaching the limits of what my body could withstand.

I tucked myself into a little alcove between the bakery and the building next to it and

waited. I watched the wealthier people of the city tauter their fat, bulging bodies

into the bakery and come out with baskets and arms laden with sweet scented

bread and pastries, still steaming from the heat of the oven. I eyed each and every

one, my trained eye searching for the easiest targets, while my heart grew heavy

with disdain. Finally an older gentleman swaggered out of the bakery, carrying a

selection of sweet rolls. He glanced towards me, smiling. There was a look in his

eye that I had grown to know quite well, a look that marked him as easy prey. I

made my way towards him, smiling sweetly and swaying my hips like a whore.

"Good Sir," I began, pitching my voice higher than my normal speaking voice. "Might

you be in need of a woman's company this evening? I'll do anything in exchange for

a bit of bread. It's been days since last I ate." I sniffled, folding my hands in front of

me and looking down at the ground to seem more meek and desperate, all the

while strategically pressing my breasts together to make them look bigger. What I

had seen in the man's eyes was wanton need. Now I felt those same seeking eyes

roaming over me, noticing my cleavage and the way my thin rag of a dress clung to

my hips and thighs.

"Let us go somewhere we can speak more privately." The man spoke quietly,

lowering his feathered cap over his eyes.

I smiled in gratitude and took him by the arm. I pulled him off the main road and

through the labyrinth of alleys that snaked through the city, where the poor lived in

squalor and criminals did as they pleased out of the nobles' sight. Finally, I came to

the place I had called home all my life. It was a tiny, ramshackle one room house

made of wood so rotted; it was a miracle it was still standing. "Here." I said,

coaxing him inside. I ducked in first and he entered right behind me.

Just as he passed through the doorway, there was a loud crack and the man cried

out as he crumpled to the ground.

"Good work, Matilda," chuckled Rhys as he tossed a bloodied board to the side. His

double, Roland knelt over the man's body, emptying his pockets of everything of

value.

"He's not dead is he?" I asked, slightly concerned. He was awfully still.

"Naw, the swine's still breathing." Roland grinned, revealing a mouth full of yellowed,

broken and missing teeth.

"We'll fix that, once we get him to the docks." Rhys finished.

I snatched up a sweet roll from the man's overturned basket, too hungry to care if it

was covered in dirt. "Good." I muttered through a mouthful of bread. "I don't need

you getting blood all over my nice, clean floor."

"Yes, Ma'am" The twins teased me in unison. With Rhys taking up the man's head

and Roland with the feet, they had no trouble carrying the old man to the docks.

They would tie a heavy stone to the man's ankles and toss him in. He would

probably still be breathing when he went in; the twins rarely gave their victims the

mercy of a swift slice to the throat.

They returned about an hour later, neither one bloodied or even sweaty. Perhaps it

would be strange for people who have just committed a murder and a robbery to

ease so swiftly back into their regular lives in other families, but in mine this was an

almost daily occurrence. I was a skilled pickpocket, but I rarely got more than a few

coins out of each try, so sometimes, when we were well and truly desperate, we

resorted to this kind of thing. I would act as the bait, play the part of a whore and

lead some twit straight into an ambush. The twins would kill them, dispose of them

in the river, and we'd make off with everything of value that person had. It was a

trick that worked, but it was also one that our eldest brother, Jasper, did not

condone.