There was a narrow side street right near the bakery, a route he often took through the Market in the morning hours, to avoid some of the bustle of housewives buying their groceries and folks bickering about wares. There was a box garden he particularly liked hanging from one of the windows there, one which bloomed inexplicably even in the winter months. What a wonder this place was to him. It was right about the site of this pretty window box when Everett Ogden got the distinct impression that he was being watched. And followed.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he paused. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, he turned. The figure behind him quickened pace, stepping nearer, and the poet with his two cakes found himself unable to move. He swallowed, a feeling like a rock in his throat as he peered at the approaching figure. It came right up, poked the boxes in his hands. It was a girl, with the second prettiest set of eyes he had ever seen and the very dirtiest face.

"What's that?"

He blinked. Bold little muffin, wasn't she?

"Cake."

The sound of footsteps again and Everett Ogden peeked behind him to see a trio. More urchins, about her age. One was approaching his own height, and had a scrapper look about him. In fact, they all looked a little on the hungry/crazy side. Buggar all. The next line that came from the smart little mouth was inherently predictable.

"Give me the cake."

His reply slipped out quite without his permission. It really surprised him.

"I cannot give you this cake. This cake is to belong to someone else"

They were just kids, and he was an adult, and taller than all of them, and it was a perfectly sensible response, period. They could find someone else to give them cake, or perhaps something with a better nutritional value. They did not need to take the party cake intended for his friends.

What followed was unfortunate. Very, very much so.

The sweet little girl got right up close, balled up her little fist, and by god, she struck poor Everett in the only place that she could reach that would do any damage at all. He nearly dropped the cakes, doubled over, stumbling backwards towards a wall as that near blinding nausea crept from that gentle bit of flesh northward. That was most certainly uncalled for. The trio shoved him about, their bony hands sharp and rough in his back as that foursome cornered him against the brick facade of the building.

"Give us that cake..." said the tallest boy as he drew a pretty filthy looking dagger and flashed it, "...or we are going to kill you. Your coin too, all of it..."

Cake or death? Well, he would choose the cake. Everett nodded, even as one of the little bastards threw a rock at him. It hit him in the arm. Ow. At least they hadn't gone for his spectacles. Disappointed more than anything else (alright, there was a hefty dash of terror thrown in for good measure), he extended his arms and surrendered the cake. Everett Ogden was reaching for his purse, not too heavy on this Monday evening. Even as he did, one of those urchins was taking a sharp knife to the strap of the satchel that carried his sketchbook, not to mention the Stitch in Time gifts for his family.

"Oh, t---here is really n----othing in there that you can use, p---lease, I beg you, I would sooner give you my shoes..."

Four sets of eyes shot to his feet. No go. Too big, and not nearly fine enough for resale. The little girl with the cruel, lovely eyes shook her head and tugged on the grey fabric.

"We will take that cloak."

Everett unfastened his cloak, shivering as the winter chill caught him and froze him. It had turned into a terrible day, all in the span of three minutes. Robbed by urchins, losing everything that was important to him, and adding terrible insult to terribly minor injury, he had been somewhat beat up by a little girl. What was he to do, though? Hit back, that the biggest boy might stab him and bleed him dead (or at the very least, cause a raging infection with the disgusting blade)?

No thank you.

Just as the misery of the situation began to weigh heavily on the shivering poet, the very strangest turn of events took place. Around the corner, the figure loomed. There was something epic about the way the wind whipped about the coat and the long curved blade, devil sharp, gleamed in the dim light of the narrow street. He gulped, feeling that maybe death had come to pay a call. It would certainly be the dreadful icing on the woeful cake. Everett forgot the chill in the air, as he could only feel that cold stopping of his heart.

"Give it all back, and walk--- no, run away."

Understandably, it took him a fair bit of time to find his bearings. After all, it was not every day one watched a woman like that frighten off a little mob of devils like them. He frankly was not certain whether he was more frightened of the four urchins or the one woman. Math dictated it made sense to carry more fear for the former, but his good sense contended that the latter was far more dangerous.

With outstretched arms he gathered up his things, and tried very hard not to wince as he slowly raised up to his feet. There was still great pain throbbing where the dreadful little ringleader had slugged him, but the most nauseous moment, thankfully, had passed. When he found his voice again, it was a very tentative sound, all stutter and no vigor.

"Th---thank you."

Ev kept his eyes cast down, a bit overburdened by his things, but he was relieved that she did not reach to help him. The distance between them helped him compose himself. She invited him to follow her with a nod of her head and he did, speaking quietly to the diminutive figure ahead of him as they walked slowly down the cold street.

"I am Everett."

"Maia."

"Thank you, Maia."

"Mention it not, love."

Silence. He realized she was walking them right back towards the bakery, only they went around to the back. She opened a door and let him in. Up the stairs they went to a short hallway with four doors. Maia let him into the second one on the left. The place was short on charm. Her place, he assumed, right above the bakery. He had not realized that there were flats up here. It made perfect sense, though.

"You were on your way somewhere. Take a moment, clean up, compose yourself and then take your leave."

She hung her coat and hat on hooks near the door and moved into the little kitchen. He fiddled with his things and she made tea. It was strong, Earl Grey, judging by the smell. Ev managed to tie the now sliced strap on his satchel so that it would be useable, and he checked on the cakes. They weren't perfect, but they were quite intact. It occured to him to offer her a token.

"Do you want a cake?"

It was a lame thing to offer, but all he had that he could give, save his gratitude. He watched her then, they way she moved with authority and economy every time that she did, the strange, cold appeal to her. He doubted many would trifle with that woman. His words reached her as she poured tea for two and brought him a cup. Her response carried mirth.

"Don't much fancy cake, love."

They sipped tea in silence, for a few minutes. The pain between his legs had dulled considerably, and he even began to feel calm. Everett was painfully apologetic as he finished his tea, and glanced to the door.

"Maia, I am so, so grateful for your help, but I have made a promise... I really do have somewhere that I am to be."

She reached then, and laid one of those rough strong hands on his arm. The touch was surprisingly tender. It stopped him, dead in his tracks, freezing his thoughts. He knew then that he had seen her before. His first week in town, at the Inn. Maia had touched him like that, tenderly, and then moved away without a word. Strange. These things come around in circles, like the world.

"Everett, be you well. We shall meet again another day."

She let him out the door, and he heard it close behind him. This place held such a strange blend of savage cruelty and the most tender of kindnesses. It could make the mind reel. For the time being, the farmer's son would slip down the stairs and back out into the street. Wisely, he stuck to the more common areas of the Marketplace.