The redheaded child frowned. Then he looked at the blonde girl and shook his head. “She’s only doing it ‘cuz she don’t know no better.” He looked at her again and stared long and hard. She immediately looked at the ground and began shuffling her feet, as if willing them not to walk back to the group immediately.
The thief-meister pulled the girl closer. He could almost feel her will crumbling through his fingertips.
“Enough of this,” the man finally said. “You will do what I ask, or you will all be out on the streets fending for yourselves!”
“Fine,” said the redhead. “We’d be a whole lot better on our own if we were away from the likes of you!”
“Is that so? Do you really wish to find out? Do you want to live in such filth and squalor that most of this city represents? You hardly know how to care for yourselves.”
“We’d be all right.”
“No, dear boy, you won’t. You’ll come crawling back to me begging for mercy, or you’ll end up dead in a ditch somewhere—or worse.” He let his words sink in while shaking his head back and forth slowly.
No one breathed a word for several minutes.
“We want more,” the redheaded child said finally, followed by a chorus of “Yeahs” from the others.
“Prove to me you are worth more and you’ll have more. I’m but a poor man caring for the lot of you children. Where do you expect I get all the gold to care for you?”
“From the dark-hooded woman!” one child said.
“Aye, she pays us well for the jobs we do. A fair bit more than we deserve, likely.”
“She pays you in gold. I know she pays you’s way more than you’s share with us,” the redhaired boy said icily. “And you spend all of it on wine and clothes for you’self.”
“Boy, you are trying my patience.” He again pulled the girl close. “You wouldn’t want to see anyone hurt over such a trivial matter now, would you?”
“What’cha mean?”
“You know.”
“You touch her and we’ll all kill ya.”
The thief-meister waited in silence for some time.
“Don’t threaten me, boy. You know what happened last time you crossed me.”
The red-haired boy put a hand to his cheek and rubbed it. “Yep, I know. I can take it. I’ve had worse.”
“Oh, not like what I have planned for you this time.”
There was a collective gasp from the others. The thief-meister knew he had them now. It was all too easy. He almost wished for a stronger challenge to his authority. It had been some time since he’d let go of his anger.
The red-haired boy let out a long sigh. “Fine, we’ll do it. But we want new clothes, better food.”
The thief-meister grinned. “I make no promises. And it all depends on how well you do today for us. But I know that each and every one of you will make me proud, so perhaps I will be more generous in the future.”
“Good,” the leader said, nodding to the group to ensure they followed along.
The thief-meister released the blonde girl. She shuffled back into the pack with the others.
“Now, here is what you are going to do. You must follow my instructions perfectly or one or all of you might not make it back.” The thief-meister pulled out a wicked-looking dagger and handed it to the red-haired boy. “I trust you know where to stick this to do the most damage?”
The boy gulped visibly but took the dagger and held it before him. His fingers trembled but as he looked at his companions beside him, he steadied. “Ya, I knows.” He feigned where he would stick the blade and twisted it grotesquely.
“Good, good, good.” He then went on to explain in detail just what he wanted done. “Now be on your way. She is likely to be at the market square around noon. You’ll have to hurry if you want to make it in time.”
Without another word the children left the small cottage. The thief-meister let out a long sigh as he walked down a hallway to the kitchen area. At a table in the back sat a hooded figure.
The hooded figured looked up from the wine cup she’d been eyeing on the table.
“It is done,” the thief-meister said.
“I am pleased.” The hooded figure nodded toward the velvet bag on the table.
The thief-meister picked up the bag and tested the weight of it. He smiled.
“This is something you have never asked them to do, are you sure they will go through with it?” the hooded figure asked.
“They will do it,” said the thief-meister, his grin widening until the black on his teeth showed, “they will do it because children are like a basket of strawberries, freshly picked.”
The hooded figure nodded knowingly and lifted the cup in salute.
EL CHUPACABRA
By Jeff Wheeler
3,700 Words
Prompt: Mariachi Band
ONE OF THE smallest towns in the state of Queretaro, Mexico, is the village of Tilaco. There isn’t cell service in the town, not that the locals could afford phones anyway. There is a single church, Mission Tilaco, which was built by Junipero Sera in 1762. I don’t think the plumbing has been updated since then. And even though the town is very small, there is still one albergue. An albergue isn’t an orphanage, but it’s similar. They are for the poorest of the poor, a little school for lessons, a dormitory crowded by bunk beds for sleeping in during the week, and a place where children can learn and play before returning back to stay with their parents. Albergues exist because some families can’t afford to feed their children every day.
After graduating from college in Tequisquiapan, I was assigned by the government in Queretaro to be a teacher at the albergue in Tilaco. My boyfriend didn’t want to move there. He thought he’d do better finding work in Guadalajara. So he broke up with me. And since my cellphone doesn’t work in Tilaco, we really couldn’t have kept in touch anyway. It’s a six-hour drive to my parents’ home in Tequis, and none of us own a car. The bus ride is miserable so it’s not one I like to take very often.
It was in Tilaco that I meant Monsie, one of the little girls in the dormitory I supervise.
On Monday mornings, all the students arrive at the albergue when it opens. We, as teachers, stay during the weekends too. The gate squealed as it let in the children, wearing their uniforms, and they were loud and excited to be back. They were hungry for breakfast, which was usually a little taco with rice and beans along some punch to wash it all down. There were eighteen beds in each dormitory and nearly all the beds were taken. The kids clean and scrub the floors every night. As they put their backpacks on the beds, I waved for Monsie to come to my office.
Her eyes were solemn. She didn’t joke around like the others did. She was always quiet but today she was unusually so.
“Good morning, Monsie. How is your abuelita?”
She stood by my desk while I pushed aside the lesson plans I’d been working on for that morning.
“Good morning, Maestra Carla,” she said in a small voice.
Her birth name was Monserrat, but everyone called her Monsie.
“Did you talk to your abuelita this weekend?” I asked. “About whether her son’s mariachi band will come play at the albergue for Maestra Lena’s birthday party?”
She stared at me with sad eyes.
“Did you forget, Monsie?” I asked, sighing with a little twist of frustration in my chest. I was in charge of preparing the party and had already arranged for the cake, which was a delicacy for these children. They liked to dance, even some of the young men, who had been trained by their families in the traditional dances.