Page 54 of Little Red Riding Hood
Red instinctively recoiled from a gaunt woman shuffling by, her collarbones jutting sharply beneath her worn dress.So manydesperate faces!After spending so long in the solitude of the forest, civilisation was both jarring and sobering.
As they made their way down the main thoroughfare, heads turned, conversations ceased entirely, and eyes widened at the sight of their impressive haul of venison being dragged behind them.
Red’s skin prickled. He was never one for mass attention at the best of times, and fought the urge to shrink under their scrutiny.
“Meat,” someone whispered, the word spreading like wildfire through the thin crowd. “Real meat.”
“That’s quite the catch you’ve got there,” a gruff voice called out. Others gathered closer, sizing up both the game and the strange pair pulling it. “How much for a leg?”
And so began a trading frenzy unlike anything Red had ever seen. People emerged from shadows and alleyways as word rippled throughout the town that there was fresh venison on offer. While most could only look on with naked hunger in their eyes, the few with coin quickly approached.
A weathered man with a missing ear offered them the use of his butcher’s cleaver—a wicked, heavy blade with a worn wooden handle. “For the liver,” he proposed, eyes gleaming with fierce ambition. Wim agreed with a nod.
The butchering itself was a grim spectacle. Wim worked methodically on their makeshift sled, the cleaver rising and falling with practiced precision. Blood pooled in the hollows of the wooden slats, trickling between them to stain the dirt beneath. People pressed closer, watching with an intensity that made Red’s skin crawl—the naked desperation of the starving. Even the children stared without blinking, their protruding collarbones testament to how long it had been since they’d seen real meat.
Red deferred to Wim to decide the prices of each cut of meat. The price of their product seemed to change very inconsistently, depending on the look of the customer.
When a merchant approached, his belly shockingly straining against an embroidered waistcoat, rings glinting on each pudgyfinger, Wim’s price for the prime cuts suddenly tripled. “Times are hard,” Wim had drawled, watching the merchant’s eyes bulge at the quoted amount. “Though I expect a gentleman such as yourself knows what fine meat is worth these days.” The merchant paid, though not without much huffing.
Yet when a gaunt-faced woman shuffled forward, two hollow-cheeked children clinging to her patched skirts, Wim’s entire demeanour transformed. He quoted her such a low price for a generous portion that Red let out a spluttered cough of shock. Then, while wrapping the meat in cloth, Wim somehow managed to slip in extra cuts when she wasn’t looking, waving away her tearful thanks with a gruff, “Feed those little ones well.”
Red was very glad they’d stashed their own supply of venison in his pack, lest Wim get too carried away with his generosity, as heart-warming as it was.
Pockets lined with gold and silver, it was time to see what meagre offerings the market still had. Red’s feet ached in his worn boots as they weaved through the thinning crowd, but the weight of coins in his pocket made his steps lighter.
“These first.” Wim steered him towards a leatherworker’s stall, nodding at Red’s boots. “Can’t have you hobbling through the forest with your toes sticking out.”
Red bristled, but couldn’t argue. The bootmaker presented several options, and Red found himself drawn to a pair crafted from supple brown leather, lined with rabbit fur.
“They’ll last you five winters,” the bootmaker promised as Red tried them on. The comfort was immediate, like walking on clouds. Red wiggled his toes against the soft, fluffy interior, beaming up at Wim.
Next to the shoemaker stood a stool that looked empty at first glance. Five large, brightly coloured feathers lay on a tattered cloth, each one different from the others. The stall owner set down the half-eaten crust of bread he was carefully nibbling on. A distinctive scar across his lip pulled his mouth into a sneer. “Good sirs!” he said. “These are genuinely authentic feathers from the Plumed Menace! The crown prince killer! Each was found left on one of his victims after he brutally slaughtered them.”
Red stared at the man. “These are just random feathers you’ve probably dyed.” He’d heard from some of the Queen’s more influential guests that the Plumed Menace strictly used pigeon feathers, for some mysterious reason.
While the merchant spluttered indignantly at Red’s accusation, a blur of movement caught Red’s eye. A small boy, a touch smaller than Toby but far thinner, darted forward and snatched the half-eaten crust from the counter. His ragged clothes hung loose on his skeletal frame as he spun to flee.
The merchant’s hand shot out like a viper, fingers closing around the child’s throat. “You little thief!” He lifted the boy clear off his feet, shaking him violently. The bread crust tumbled from the child’s hand as he clawed desperately at the man’s iron grip.
With a snarl, the merchant hurled the boy to the ground. The child landed hard, crying out as he curled into himself. Tears already streaked down his dirt-smudged face. “Please, sir! I haven’t eaten in three days!”
The merchant raised his fist, face purple with rage. “I haven’t either, you little rat! I’ll teach you to—”
In a flash, Wim’s massive hand clamped around the merchant’s wrist. His other hand seized the front of the man’s shirt, lifting him until his toes barely scraped the ground.
“Lay another finger on that child,” Wim growled, “and I’ll tear you apart piece by piece.” His tone had dropped to that dangerous timbre, more wolf than man, that made the hair on Red’s neck stand up.
The merchant struggled, face reddening. “Unhand me! Guards! This brute is assaulting me!”
A crowd gathered, drawn by the commotion. Whispers and gasps shot through the onlookers as Wim held the merchant aloft with terrifying ease.
“That man attacked a child!” someone called out.
“The boy was stealing!” another countered. “Stealingbread!”
The crowd pressed closer, their faces a mix of horror and morbid fascination. Red’s chest tightened at their growing numbers. This could turn ugly fast. This foul man likely had foul friends in the crowd.
Red stepped forward, his heart racing. His gaze darted between the merchant, still dangling from Wim’s grip, and the terrified child huddled on the ground.
