“Not a penny."

The warm buzz of happiness inside of Vix faltered. Then it died completely. “Wh-what?"

“You deaf, girl?" Knickknack sniffed, snorted, and spat into a pail lying next to his feet. “I'll not pay so much as a copper. You take your business elsewhere, you hear?"

Vix stood at the counter of Knickknack Ned's, a little hole-in-the-wall that dealt in all manner of dubiously acquired goods. The filthy store was cluttered with bits of everything imaginable, from scrap metal to cheap jewelry lying submerged beneath a sea of rags.

Every thief in Belgrave knew that, if you had anything hot that needed offloading, this was the place to do it. And Vix had the score of a lifetime. She was not about to be turned away, now.

At eighteen years of age, Vix was quite tall, gangly, some would call her. Her upturned nose was small, and her almond eyes were brown and piercing. She was clothed in rags, bits of cloth that looked to have been scrounged from the trash heap. In fact, that was exactly where she had gotten them from.

She took a deep breath through her nose to calm herself and instantly regretted it. If greed could be given a smell, comprised of sweat and the barely perceptible waft of rusting metal, that was the scent that was permanently squatting atop Knickknack Ned's. No stink in the West Slums could quite compare.

Vix willed herself to be calm as she stared up evenly at the owner.

Knickknack was an enormous slab of a man with a gut that stretched the thin fabric of his shirt to the breaking point. Everyone knew him as Knickknack, because Ned was too easy to say and Knickknack Ned far too hard.

He was well known for his criminal connections to the Belgravian underground, but he was perhaps even better known for his legendary sinuses, which seemed able to produce more phlegm in a few seconds than most ever experienced in a lifetime.

Knickknack snorted, hacked sickeningly, and spat another hunk of gray mass into the pail beside him. “Anything else?" he demanded. “Or can I get on with my day?"

“Come on Knickknack," Vix said, trying to sound casual. “We both know this is top-shelf stuff. Worth twice as much as the usual kind of junk you get in here." She paused delicately. “No offense."

Vix jangled the contents of her bag enticingly, flashing a look inside. Two silver cups and a heap of fine silverware twinkled out of the darkness. The sound they made when they jostled together was like sweet music.

A ravenous look crossed Knickknack's face for moment. "Where did you get this stuff, anyway?"

"I thought you knew better than to ask questions, Knickknack," Vix said carefully. "So, are you buying or not?"

For a moment, she thought she had him. But then he mastered himself again.

“No. Too dangerous," he grunted. “You know how it works, here, Vix. Big scores like this go through the Longscarves. They run this part of town, always have, always will."

A little shiver of fear went up Vix's spine. The Longscarves were the most powerful gang in the western half of Belgrave's slums. They were best known for their penchant of stringing up their victims with the scarves they wore. A scarf for each piece left over, usually.

She knew what she was risking by circumventing the Longscarves' stranglehold on all business in the West Slums. But if she told those buzzards about what she had found in the barn, they would pry it out of her hands faster than blinking.

“You afraid of making money, Knickknack?" Vix challenged. “I'll give you a better deal than any of those godless, rat-kissing Longscarves could."

“That ain't the point, girl. I pay the Longscarves for protection, same as everyone in this gods-forsaken burg. I cross them, and I'm a dead man."

The large man turned his back to her and began rearranging the junk lining the shelves behind him. “Since m'professional pride is no longer a concern, might I ask again where you got this swag?" His tone was offhand, but Vix could feel the wariness radiating from his tensed shoulders.

Vix chose not to answer.

“Uh-huh. That's what I figured. All the more reason not to buy. I don't need anybody's blood on m'hands. No thank you."

“It isn't like that. Please, Nick," Vix said, beginning to feel desperate. “I need the money."

Knickknack guffawed. “Don't we all, girl?"

She could not persuade him. After a few more minutes of futile cajoling, threatening, and bargaining, Vix stormed out the door. Dimly, she heard the bright little ding of Knickknack's spit hitting the pail. Then the door slammed behind her, shutting her out on the streets.

Stuffing her hands into her pockets, Vix stalked furiously down the nearest alley, directionless. She passed into the tall shadows cast by Hallowskeep, a collection of spires and towers paying homage to every god imaginable. Below, the slums squatted at the holy district's feet like some pathetic, diseased rat.

But still, it was home. It had been home for eighteen years. Vix had been living in the West Slums ever since her parents had died of the Rot. It had happened when she was three.

After that, she had worked in a cannery by the Wharfs. But even that sanctuary only lasted until she was nine. It had been closed down by the Belgravian Council, condemned a threat to the health and safety of the public.

Personally, Vix had never minded the cannery's resident rat colony. The little rodents had almost been cute, in a good light. But she was turned out right along with the little creatures into the cold, with nowhere else to go.

It was then that Vix found herself totally and utterly on her own. Luckily, she was quick to learn the lesson that was law for all who learned to live in the slums. Take work when you can. And if there was none, take anything that was not nailed down.

Vix passed a group of Longscarves going the other way. Their thick mufflers were pulled up over their noses and their wild eyes bored into her until she passed them by. Vix unconsciously gripped her bag tighter, feeling the weight of the silver inside.

She had never wanted to be a thief. But it was not up to her. 'Nothing in my life is,' she thought bitterly.

The farther she went, the more her anger began to flag. Her footsteps faltered, then stopped completely. Vix stood alone in a tiny alley. A broken pipe dripped endlessly into a puddle at the far end. A group of pigeons were fluttering around the pool, cooing in pleasure as they bathed and drank from the filthy water.

Vix slumped against the wall and slowly slid down until she was crouching on the balls of her feet. She hugged herself around her knees and let her head fall into her arms, giving herself in to the comforting darkness. Her stomach gave an agonizing twinge of hunger.

'What am I supposed to do, now?'