Robbergirl

by S T Gibson

  "I s'pose."

  "Go tend to your witch. God knows she’s got a chill enough look in her eye to play the part. And you let the men think what they want to think about that; it might keep them from haranguing her too much. Pretty girls breed trouble."

  "She is pretty, isn’t she?" Helvig mused, watching the way the firelight gleamed through Gerda’s impossibly long hair, swinging like a veil down to her hips. Helvig had never seen a woman with hair so perfectly kept, except in the ballet advertisements she sometimes found on the road and kept tucked under her bed. Sonja their smithy kept her hair cropped by her ears, and Helvig cut the matts out of hers with a knife when they became too unmanageable.

  Her father squinted sidelong at her.

  "Go on, now. And mind what I said about trouble."

  FOUR

  When Helvig slipped into the circle of light cast by the fire and sat herself down by Gerda on a fallen tree, Rasmus was pantomiming a rapier fight

  "He thought he could get one over on me, but I saw the rakish look in his eye and I knew the villain wasn’t going to fight fair. So, I parried and thrust and took a swipe at him with my leg—" Rasmus acted out his victory with great gusto, and Wilhelm chuckled around his tankard. "And down he fell flat on his back! I stood over him with my sword to his throat and I made him apologize for all those things he had been so bold to say when he thought I couldn’t hear him. He was practically kissing my boots when it was all over."

  "Finely done," Gerda said. Rasmus bowed low to her and she gave an indulgent smile and a brisk clap, elegant but restrained. It appeared she wasn’t so afraid of him when there weren’t knives being waved around.

  "I see you’ve become acquainted with our prince of tall tales," Helvig said, stabbing with a wooden spoon at the congealing stew hanging over the fire. She had brought over a bit of meat from the pig roasting over the main fire.

  Rasmus leaned on the stick he had been using in lieu of a sword.

  "But this story really did happen, Helvig."

  "Did it?" Wilhelm said with a laugh. The huge man was seated on the ground with his back against Gerda’s log. "All just as you’ve said?"

  "Well…There’s no accounting for a little artistic embellishment to sweeten a tale’s telling."

  "No, of course not," The German said, and winked sidelong at Gerda. Helvig pursed her lips together as she spooned herself a heaping bowl of stew. She felt as though all her men had gotten quite friendly with her prize while she had her back turned, and she hoped they remembered that Gerda was her guest, not theirs.

  "Let him lie," Jakko said wearily, drawing a tattered blanket tighter around his shoulders. His ear had scabbed over, but he still refused to meet Helvig’s eyes. "We need something to keep us entertained out here in this wretched place."

  "If you don’t like it you can march your ass back to Jämtland and see how well they receive you," Helvig shot back. She was feeling testy after their scuffle, and watching Rasmus preen and flex for Gerda hadn’t helped her mood.

  "Jakko’s right," Gerda said. Her voice made even the most mundane observation sound like a divine pronouncement.

  Helvig was so taken aback that her spoon stopped halfway to her mouth, hovering in midair. It was a strange thing for anyone to take Jakko's side, much less an outsider who had been terrorized by him hours before.

  "Stories make living tolerable for even the most wretched creatures," the witch continued, tucking a few breadcrumbs away in her pockets. For her devil-bird, Helvig supposed. She didn’t see it anywhere so it must have found a dark place to roost through the night.

  "You’re going to defend him?" Helvig said. "After the way he tried to barter for you like a milking cow?"

  "You’ve railed on him enough today," Wilhelm said, giving Helvig one of his convicting blue-eyed looks. "The scriptures say we ought not let the sun set on our anger."

  Jakko sniffed self-righteously.

  "That’s right."

  "As if you care about some dusty old book," Helvig sneered.

  "I care about plenty of things when they serve me."

  "Speaking of the word of God," Rasmus broke in, tired of their sparring. "What did you father have to say to you? Is he angry we didn’t make our quota again?"

  "I don’t understand the point of his impossible demands," Jakko groaned. "It’s almost Christmastide; the trade routes are dry."

  "My father expects much of us, but he isn’t unfair," Helvig said, declining to share the gentle chastisement she had received moments ago. "Failure is an excellent teacher, and you lot need remedial lessons."

  "Are you all thieves?" Gerda asked, as politely as if she were asking a suitor what he did to earn his living. Helvig was once again staggered by her breezy affect, but it occurred to her that this was perhaps how Gerda survived on her own, by keeping her courtesies about her at all times. It certainly prevented anyone from seeing deeper into her mind, into whatever schemes or fears might be rooted there.

  "Most of us steal to earn our place here," Helvig supplied. "Others have valuable skills we can’t afford to bounce from township to township looking for. Better to keep a low profile and welcome those who come seeking solace outside the bounds of society"

  Helvig offered Gerda some of her roasted pork, hoping to foster a bit of goodwill. The witch smiled but shook her head, not quite meeting Helvig’s eyes. She couldn’t tell if Gerda was angry with her or just being polite.

  "Do you ever go into the towns?" Gerda asked, taking in her host with a quick flick of her eyes.

  "Of course. We send men out to buy supplies, and sometimes the boys and I sneak into villages for a draught or a seat at the tavern shows".

  "Helvig lives for the dancing girls," Rasmus said with a roll of his eyes.

  Helvig bristled. She felt like Rasmus was teasing at a secret, flashing a glint of it the way a rich man might flash his pocket watch to show off his station. She didn’t like it.

  "And why shouldn’t I? I don’t expect your walnut brain to appreciate high art."

  "That’s all well and good," Jakko cut in. "But what about our witch? Can we keep her or not?"

  Helvig looked to Gerda, her eyes lingering for a moment on her mouth. The memory of swaying wheat and the sour taste of strawberries rippled through her mind before vanishing.

  "I can keep her, if she’ll deign to be kept."

  Her father’s urgings returned to her, cooling the fire in her blood. She couldn't force a friendship here. But she could strongly suggest it

  "I don’t wish to call down your ire on our camp for holding you against your will," Helvig said. "But the northern roads are treacherous this time of year. Won’t you pass a few more nights with us around the fire?"

  "Your father certainly seems to think I should," the witch said smoothly, legs crossed. Her body was angled away from Helvig, her face that same unreadable mask. "I’ve always been taught it's rude to refuse a host’s hospitality, especially when that host is only keeping you alive to indulge a spoiled girl’s whims."

  Helvig dropped her spoon into her bowl.

  Around her, the boys exchanged looks of horrified delight at this flagrant trespass. Everyone knew that if the Robber King overheard someone talking poorly of his daughter, he had them strung upside down from a tree so she so could stand beneath them and accept their blubbering apology. If Helvig overheard you…well, there was at least one bruised rib and black eye guaranteed, even if she had to drag over a stepstool to reach your face.

  Rasmus held up two fingers to indicate his bet, and Jakko nodded surreptitiously and flashed three with a jerk of his chin to Gerda.

  Helvig ground her teeth for a moment, then gave a nod. Finesse, her father had said. She must use finesse.

  When she spoke, her voice was measured.

  "You’re cross with me. I understand."

  Rasmus’ jaw dropped. Jakko snickered and pranced around the fire to collect his dark horse prize. Helvig pretended not to see them exchanging coins, and continued
,

  "Maybe it was a bit excessive to tie you up—"

  "You stabbed me," Gerda huffed, a bit of genuine hurt slipping into her voice. A long day of keeping up her impassibility must have finally gotten to her. "If charity was what you had in mind, you could have been gentler."

  "And maybe I should have presented coming back with us to camp as more of a…recommended option—"

  "And insult my intelligence with a lie? You would be worse off than you are now."

  Helvig was losing her patience. She wasn’t used to being gracious, and she hated being made to look bad in front of the boys.

  "Listen girl, I saved your life. You might not be able to see it now, but come the dark days you’ll be thanking me. You won’t want to be caught north of this encampment in a few weeks' time. There are worse things out there than hunger and cold."

  This sobered up the party of brigands considerably. Gerda just stared expressionlessly into the fire, the icy walls that surrounded her standing at attention once again.

  After a disquieting silence she said,

  "Perhaps."

  "Well," Wilhelm said awkwardly, stretching out his long limbs. "I’m tried. Goodnight, Princess. Miss witch, gute Nacht."

  "To bed with you, then," Rasmus said, sitting himself down cozily close to Gerda on the log. He took the seat right up next to her at the end, leaving Helvig alone a few feet away on the other side. "Now where will our esteemed guest be sleeping this evening? You’re free to bunk with me. Whisper your arcane secrets into my ear and I shall warm you well indeed."

  Despite the fact that she had both extended and received much coarser propositions in her day, Helvig flushed like a schoolgirl. She considered giving Rasmus a lecture at knife-point on the finer points of civil discourse, but Gerda was unphased. She smiled smoothly, betraying no sentiment.

  "You would find me a dull bedfellow, dear soldier, as I am sworn to secrecy on matters esoteric and otherwise immune to the charms of men."

  "Perhaps it’s I that’s been charmed, then. I shall waste away this night tortured by evil visions of you."

  "Even a witch cannot be held responsible for the dreams of men."

  Rasmus clutched his heart as though pierced and let out a moan of defeat. Jakko laughed, some light leaping into his beady eyes. Helvig had rarely seen him smile like this, wide and gap-toothed without any whisper of cruelty.

  "It’s a rare woman who can talk circles around our Rasmus," Jakko said. "I’ll drink to that."

  Wilhelm raised his tankard in approval and drained it to the last as Helvig stood and brushed the day’s filth from her breeches. The proper thing to do in this situation was to extend the hospitality of her own warm bed, especially considering that her guest was a young lady just like she was. It would be expected. Perfectly seemly.

  But when Helvig spoke, her mouth was as dry as it was when she bet her entire day’s score at the card tables.

  "Come on, witch. You can sleep with me, away from these scabs."

  Gerda patted Rasmus’ hand and rose from her seat in a sweep of lichen-colored linen.

  "Better luck with a sweeter maiden," she said.

  Rasmus tipped his hat back and crossed his arms. He was regarding Helvig levelly, as though counting off paces before turning to shoot.

  "Suit yourselves. Warm her well, Princess."

  Helvig bit back a heated reply. As much as Rasmus liked to irk her, he should have known better. Some wounds never healed well enough to weather mockery.

  Part of her, indignant, wanted to drag Rasmus into the woods for a talking-to. Another part of her, fueled by shame, wanted nothing less than to draw any more attention to her inappropriately sized feelings.

  In the end, shame won out.

  "Goodnight, then," she said tightly, and disappeared into the chill dark.

  Turning back to see if Gerda was still following would be too embarrassing by far, but she could hear her light steps in the snow. Helvig deliberated whether or not to go straight to bed, then banked sharply right and ducked beneath some low fir trees at the edge of the forest.

  Helvig pushed back the branches and made a clicking sound with her tongue. The crunch of snow beneath hooves greeted her, and she cooed with delight when Bae poked his muzzle out of the trees.

  No matter what mood she ended the day in, a quick visit with her beloved reindeer always lifted her spirits. Checking on him before bed was as much a part of her routine as pulling on her leathers in the morning before hitting the roads, or circling around a fire at night to share dinner with her father’s men.

  She clasped her arms around Bae's neck and nuzzled his shiny fur. The stress of the day melted away as Helvig breathed in his spicy musk and synced her lungs to his breathing. She and the reindeer had been inseparable since the moment she clambered up onto his back, took fistfuls of his fur in her tiny hands, and begged her father to buy him for her.

  "You ready for bed, smelly?" She asked, scratching the white fur under his chin. "It's been such a long day, hasn't it?"

  Behind her, Gerda shifted closer, and Helvig turned to find her gazing at the reindeer with something close to wonder. Her eyes had softened, now not so much the otherworldly blue of fairy lights, but more the pale cornflower of a child marveling at a tree hung with Christmas candles.

  "Have you never seen a reindeer before?" Helvig asked.

  "Not this close. He seems so tame."

  "That's 'cos he's a big scaredy-cat. I still wouldn't get behind him; he's a kicker. But he's never bitten anyone, far as I know. Never tried to run, either. We keep him tied up mostly out of habit."

  Bae tossed his head, and the bells hung from his bridle sang a merry tune. The bridle was woven from cords of bright red and white, in a pattern distinctive to one of the prominent reindeer herding families of the north.

  "Is he a Sami deer?" Gerda asked. She shuffled silently closer, her face rapt with adoration. She was even more beautiful like this, when she didn’t veil her emotion behind formality. Helvig would never have guessed that a girl who seemed carved from ice would melt over something as silly as a common deer.

  "That's right. Or he was, before my father gifted him to me. Now he's fat and spoiled and never has to do any work. Isn't that right, shithead?"

  Helvig continued to insult the deer in a doting voice and scratch him behind the ears. Gerda was a mere foot away now, entranced by Bae's velvety antlers and soft suede eyes.

  Bae gave a wet snort and the witch started. Helvig chuckled, then reached out to take Gerda's gloved hand in her own. Pulling off the glove by the fingertips, she gently led Gerda's palm to press against Bae's snout.

  A smile broke across Gerda's face; midnight sun in a world of darkness.

  "What do you think?" Helvig asked. She was close enough to feel Gerda's warmth. Their shoulders touched beneath heavy winter coats, and the thief’s breath stirred the flyaway hairs at Gerda’s temple.

  Gerda tugged off her other glove and brought both hands up to cradle Bae's face. His huge lashes swept docilly over his eyes as she ran her fingers across his nose and ears.

  "He’s amazing. Such a beautiful animal."

  "Hear that, smelly boy? You have her fooled. You’ve bewitched the witch."

  A ruffle of feathers overhead caught Gerda’s eye, and she smiled up to her crow, perched in the boughs above the heap of straw and dry grasses where Bae made his bed.

  "There you are, Svíčka. Are you sleeping with Bae tonight?"

  The crow blinked drowsily before tucking its head back into its feathers.

  "I’ll be damned," Helvig said. "Our animals are conspiring together."

  "A powerful political allyship," Gerda said with a smile.

  She gave a dreamy sigh and snuggled her cheek against Bae’s neck. Helvig hadn’t realized how tightly wound the other girl was, how she held tension in every muscle of her body, until she relaxed against the animal’s warmth. Now, in the quiet of the wood with Gerda’s eyes half-closed in sleepy delight, Helvig f
elt like she could ask her anything, like they could become conspirators too.

  "How did you come across such a well-trained bird, at any rate?"

  Gerda yawned, kissed Bae on his nose, and began to pull on her gloves. When she spoke, the shimmering softness in her voice had faded, replaced by hollow civility.

  "Our animals have got the right idea. We should sleep if we want to catch any of the light tomorrow morning."

  Helvig’s shoulders sagged. Perhaps she had ruined her chances for friendship when she had aimed an arrow at Gerda’s heart, or when she had pricked her in the palm. Or perhaps Gerda was not the kind of girl who would allow herself to be made friends with.

  Helvig had never known a creature so guarded. Even a newborn deer would eat out of your hand if you were still and patient for long enough.

  "You’re right," she said, a little roughly. "Off we go, then."

  Helvig gave Bae one last pat and then began to tramp through the snow towards her tent. She did not look back for Gerda.

  FIVE

  Gerda moved like a shade through the trees, a barely opaque impression of a girl that may slip out of existence at any moment. Helvig thought it must have been the inconstant firelight outdoors that gave her such an otherworldly cast, but when Gerda stepped into the yellow glow of the robber’s tent, her alien fairness stood out all the starker.

  Helvig’s tent was built up with wooden slats and packed in with snow, well-protected against the biting cold but hardly big enough for one person to stand up in without stooping. The girls moved past each other in an awkward rustle of leather and skirts as Helvig shut the tent flap behind them.

  Gerda cast her eyes over Helvig's makeshift bed of blankets and furs, her meager trunk of road-battered clothes, and her reindeer bridle tossed haplessly in the corner. Helvig had never realized until that moment how few fine possessions she had; just half a bottle of Italian wine swiped off a missionary and one good pair of dancing boots, laced up with red Sami ribbons. She pawned most of what she stole after turning the king’s cut into her father, or traded it for food, clothes, or supplies. In this life there was no point being weighed down by possessions that didn’t keep you alive or make you stronger. The only spoil she had kept for herself was a garnet drop earring she had asked Wilhelm to stab into her ear with his strong hands. Even she wasn’t immune to a little vanity.