Peter & Max - Bill Willingham [54]
No, he couldn’t do it. No matter what else happened, Peter couldn’t willingly dispose of Frost and thereby bring a dire curse down on all of his surviving family, and their offspring, until the end of time. If Peter were doomed to die, he’d have to devise some clever, solitary way to do it, whereby Frost would be buried with him for all time, never to be discovered by another. By keeping Frost with him, even after death, he’d stave off any chance of the curse falling on others.
Devising such a plan would take time and require a clear mind, so first he’d have to try just once more to live. Since he couldn’t part with Frost, and since turning himself over to the soldiers would also result in losing the magical treasure, Peter would attempt the only remaining option. He’d fulfill his brother’s prophecy and become a thief.
HALFWAY ALONG FISH DOOR STREET, just before it jogged north towards the city wall, which was called The Wall of Chestnut Trees in this section, was the public house identified by the sign of the red mare, rearing over a coiled green serpent. Most people simply called it The Horse and Snake. Like most public houses, several sections of its front wall, that part directly facing the street, could be removed during the warmest part of a sunny day, so as to keep the interior cool and to be more inviting to potential customers. Also like most such establishments, The Horse and Snake always had a big cauldron of stew simmering near the street. Such stews were commonly called Belly Vengeance, because it was a cheap and horrible concoction, made up of rotting wastes and leftovers. It was constantly added to throughout the day, replenished with anything that could possibly go into the pot, including the dirty scrub water and the sweepings from the floor. A public house’s vat of Belly Vengeance was sold for a halfpenny a bowl. Often the ‘bowl’ was actually a hollowed crust of stale bread, so that no one had to worry about recovering and cleaning the dishes. Only the town’s most wretched souls would buy it, as the single daily meal they could afford. This was why the stewpot was commonly kept out close to the street, since no decent pub owner wanted such disreputable scum entering the actual establishment, where the more respectable (meaning wealthier) customers dined.
Peter examined the exterior of The Horse and Snake from his vantage point, a dark and narrow alleyway across the street and not three doors down from it. He watched several customers come and go, paying their halfpenny to an old man stationed out on a stool, near the pot, which simmered over a wide, flat, iron pan of hot coals. Most of them would take their time, selecting the biggest, most bowl-like crust available, to dip as deeply as they could into the Belly Vengeance. Then they’d continue on their way, walking as they ate. If they dared try to linger too near the pub to eat, the red-faced manager would quickly rush outside to shoo them on their way. When too long a time passed between customers, the old man guarding the pot would often begin to doze on his stool, his back pressed against that part of the pub’s street-side façade still in place.
Now that Peter had the old man’s pattern down, he got ready to move. As soon as the fellow began to doze again, he sprang into action, dashing as fast as he could, out of the alleyway and across the street. Almost without pausing, he grabbed a crust from out of the big half-barrel, shoved it deep into the stew — almost scalding his hand in the process — and ran off with his stolen treasure.
Peter immediately began eating as he ran, pouring the hot stew into his open mouth as fast as it would go. It was glorious! It might have been the finest meal he’d ever enjoyed. Most of it was brown, greasy broth, but the broth was thick, almost as thick as a proper gravy, and he was almost certain he’d gotten a