The Outyards were no place to grow up, especially for a girl with no hands. With her red hair and blue eyes, the girl stood as a shock of colour against the blasted heath full of twisted tree-corpses and jagged rocks that she called home. A group of bandits had found her ten years ago, when she was a baby. From what Red, the leader, had told the girl, she had been crying on the forest floor, bleeding out from the stumps where her hands used to be. Red, and his partners Blue and Green called her Kid, because they were terrible with names. She was always the first one up at the crack of dawn, and she would stir the soup pot with the ladle clenched tightly within her teeth. The bandits would wake up, breakfast would be had, and then they would take to the roads. Kid would sit in the road and cry, and when passersby would check to see if she was okay, the bandits would jump on them and take everything. At the end of the day, they would all go back to camp and count their ill-gotten pennies, and sing campfire songs. One day, the bandits came across a real prize, a knight from the capital. He had beautiful swords. One was a bastard sword of shining gold. The other was a silver dagger which had a blade carved to look like a unicorn horn. “Let’s get ‘im,” Kid whispered, her blue gaze fixed greedily on the shiny-things. “It’s too dangerous,” Red said. “But we’d be eatin’ like kings for a month.” “Can’t eat like a king if yer dead, Kid.” But Kid was a stubborn girl, so when Red wasn’t looking, she grabbed Red’s dagger from his tent and went to sit in the road. Soon enough, the knight wandered upon her. “Are you lost, little girl?” His voice had a slimy lilt to it. Kid had her back to him to hide the dagger clenched between her teeth. As the night got closer, she tightened her bite. When he crouched down closer to her, Kid lashed out with her dagger, cutting deep into his cheek. This wasn’t enough to kill, but it was enough to startle him into falling out of his crouch. Kid wasted no time pouncing on him and digging the dagger into his neck. It was an awkward angle and she had to shift to the knife was between her forearms instead of her teeth, but eventually the knight died with a gurgle of blood. The bandits were shifting through the day’s loot at camp when they heard the sound of metal scraping against the ground. Red nodded to the other two, and the three readied their weapons. The bushes rustled. The men readied their weapons. Kid appeared from the brush, using her elbows to drag the knight’s corpse. “You guys gonna help me peel this jackass in a can?” “Blimey,” Blue whistled. “You did this?” Green asked. “Well, I’ll be,” Red shook his head. “So that’s where my dagger got to. Yer a terror and a half, Kid.” “That mean I get to keep the swords?” “What are you gonna do with swords?” “I dunno,” Kid said. “I like ‘em.” Red laughed. “Ye know what? Let me try something.” So Red found a big flat rock to use as an anvil, and lit a fire. Then, he took the swords and the knight’s gauntlets and set to work. He hammered away for four days and knights without rest. When he was done, he presented his labours to Kid. “If ye can make that big a mess with a dagger, ye’ll destroy the kingdom with these.” He’d hacked off the hilts off the swords and the hands off the gauntlets and had melted them together, creating swords that could be used even without hands. Kid was overjoyed with these and immediately (and with some difficulty) put them on. That was when they stopped calling her Kid, and started calling her Sword-Hands. *** From that day on, Sword-Hands became the most brutal of the bandit band. Travellers would warn each other of a bandit-girl with two swords in the woods. These stories grew over time until the villagers of the Outyards had urban legends of a monster in the woods with blades for hands. Sword-Hands hardly minded these rumours of course. By the time she was fifteen though, Sword-Hands grew tired of stealing pennies from farmers. One night at dinner, she mentioned this. “There’s gotta be some better loot out there. Or at least some more interesting people to take it from.” “Not ‘round here,” said Green. “Nothin’ ‘round here but tanners and dung shovelers.” “If you want coin you gotta be a banker,” said Blue. “You want fun, you gotta join the circus.” “Our like can’t do either,” said Green. “Bankers need to go to school, and circuses don’t come out this far.” Sword-Hands was a little disappointed. Red noticed this and said; “Of course, there’s always the capital. I hear there’s all sorts of folks there, and they all have more gold than they know what to do with. Never been myself though.” It was then the Sword-Hands made her decision. “I’ll go to the capital to seek my fortune.” The next day Sword-Hands rose bright and early as she always did, but found the bandits all awake. Blue gave her two canteens, one for water, one for soup. “So you don’t go hungry on the road.” Green gave her a woollen cloak. “So you stay warm on the trail.” Finally, Red gave her a whetstone. “So your blades stay reliable.” Sword-Hands wasn’t the kind of girl to get emotional, but now she found herself holding back tears. She thanked the bandits profusely for their gifts. The group ate one last breakfast together. Then, Sword-Hands set out for the capital city. *** It took a solid week of non-stop walking, but eventually Sword-Hands made it to the capital. Even from a mile away, she was awed by the massive stone wall, a structure unlike she had ever seen before. Passing through the gate (the hood of her cloak pulled up to avoid the gaze of the garrison), she found herself on a cobblestone street lined with quaint little shops. It didn’t take much effort to find a tavern where she could rest her feet. She hid her lack of hands under the folds of her cloak when asking the barmaid for some porridge. As she ate, she suddenly felt a tug on her cloak. She looked down to see a little boy, maybe five or six years old. “Hey, Miss, you ain’t from around here, are ya?” the little boy said. “What if I’m not?” “You should watch your back, is all,” the boy hopped up on the stool next to her. “Things have been getting pretty scary around here.” “Scary?” Sword-Hands asked. “The king’s been pretty sick and I guess all the constables are up at the castle ‘cause thieves have been a real problem. That’s what Madam Nell says, anywho.” “Pretty interesting strategy.” Sword-Hands said. “Huh?” “You warn me about thieves to distract me from noticing you stealing my coin-purse.” The kid’s ears turned bright red and he turned to run. Sword-Hands stopped him by grabbing his cloak. “You got a name, kid?” “Arty–” his face fell. “I don’t think I was supposed to say that. Madam Nell said no one should know who we are.” Sword-Hands shook her head dismissively. “I won’t remember anyway. Besides, you’ll never get anywhere if you do nothin’ but worry about what your old bag says. I don’t always listen to my boss, and that’s how I got these.” She brandished her silver blade and Arty squeaked in terror. “He cut off your hands!” “What? No. He gave me my swords, I’ve never had hands.” Arty looked relieved. A woman swept down the tavern stairs. She was middle-aged and curvy, wearing a red dress that slipped off her shoulder in an attractive and slightly scandalous way. “Madam Nell,” Arty whispered, as he slunk into the corner. All eyes turned to Madam Nell when she walked in. Some people’s eyes scanned her hungrily, while others shrunk in their chairs to avoid her gaze. One thing was consistent though; no one wanted to mess with her. “Excuse me, are you the one in charge of the urchin who- The tavern went silent. Madam Nell walked up to Sword-Hands. She really was quite tall. “Do you have a problem with me, girl?” “Not really,” Sword-Hands shrugged. “It’s just good to know who’s turf I’m on.” “You have moxie, girl,” Madam Nell said. “How would you like a job?” “For the moment,” said Sword-Hands. “I wouldn’t mind at all.” The two women shook hands. *** Sword-Hands quickly found the capital, which was in its way, not much better than the Outyards. Oh sure, the streets were cleaner and the food was better, but there was still plenty of crime and poverty and other such things that made her shriveled-up little bandit heart happy. Most of her job was to stand behind Madam Nell and look intimidating, which she was fairly good at; though it was fairly boring. One day, Madam Nell said to her; “Do you what happens next week?” “Tuesday?” Sword-Hands asked. “Well, yes, that,” said Madam Nell. “But it’s also the princess’s birthday.” “I didn’t know the king had a daughter.” “Mon Dieu!” Madam Nell said dramatically. “I thought the story would have made it to the Outyards by now! Do you really not know what happened to the princess?” Sword-Hands shrugged. That was all Madam Nell needed to hear. “It was, oh Lord, it was fifteen years ago now. The king opened the castle gates so the whole kingdom could come to his daughter’s Christening. I was only your age then, a spring of a girl really. But then that dastardly witch ruined the whole thing. You should have seen it, the way she swept in like she owned the place. The king himself ran her through, but not before she uttered a horrible curse!” “A curse?” “Yes, a curse! She said that the kingdom would fall on her sixteenth birthday. The king had no choice but to order his own newborn baby’s execution.” “Witches don’t exist,” Sword-Hands said. “Everyone says witches live in the Outyards, but I never met one.” “Well, not anymore,” Madam Nell. “The one who cursed the princess was the last one.” “What’s all this got to do with me?” Sword-Hands asked. “Rumour has it that before she was born, the king commissioned all sorts of jewelry for his daughter. It would be a crying shame to let all that gold just languish in some royal vault, wouldn't you say?” “Indeed,” Sword-Hands agreed. *** One would think climbing would be difficult for Sword-Hands, and they would have been right, but she managed to scale one of the lower castle walls by digging her swords into the gaps between the stones. It was arduous, but she eventually hauled herself over the machicolations. Sword-Hands laid there catching her breath for a good long while. Eventually, she counted to three and rocked herself upright. Appraising her surroundings, she noticed soldiers milling about the courtyard below. There were a lot of them, but judging from the drinking songs Sword-Hands could hear, they weren’t very alert. This was going to be easy.
There was a trap-door a few paces away, so Sword-Hands slipped down into the palace. It was beautifully gothic, with gargoyles perched in every nook and cranny and elaborate chandeliers hung far too close to each other. A girlish bit of giddiness welled up in Sword-Hands’s chest. It was all so pretty! She looked around for something the wasn’t nailed down to stuff in her pockets, when her eyes fell on a massive picture of a red-haired woman and blue-eyed man, both in royal regalia. The king and his dead wife, probably. Sword-Hands was almost mesmerized by it for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. A speak from behind snapped her out of her stupor. She turned to see a terrified maid. “M-my Q-queen …” the maid stuttered. Sword-Hands saw red and in a flash of blades the maid was dead. Well, it was like Green used to tell her; to steal an omelet you have to kill the people with the eggs. Sword-Hands dragged the body over to a window, swearing under her breath at the overly-petticoated dress. Gods-damn, these were deep pockets. She tossed aside the sack she’d been planning to use and slipped on the dress over her tunic. There was only one guard posted outside the vault. Sword-Hands tensed herself, but when he didn’t raise his blade at her, she relaxed and hid her swords in the impressively deep pockets. “You must be here to dust the gold.” the guard said. “I…Yes.” The guard opened the vault door Her eyes shone almost as brightly as the treasure. Sword-Hands quickly began to stuff gold and jewels into the maid’s skirts. There were the usual things one would expect, necklaces, coins, bracelets and such, but her favorite thing she stashed was a diamond tiara. It was surprisingly light and delicate, and constructed like fine lace-work. Sword-Hands was making her way through the diadems when the door creaked open again. Sword-Hands heard the guard say, “Enjoy looking at your gold, Your Majesty.” A blue-eyed man entered the room, wearing a purple robe. Sword-Hands realized that this must be the king. The king and Sword-Hands stared at each other for a few heartbeats. Sword-Hands tensed and hid her swords behind her back. The king shook his head slowly. “Tamara…is that you?” Sword-Hands almost said, Who the hells is Tamara? but decided not to. The king’s eyes glazed over. He clutched his chest. Then he keeled over. “Your Majesty,” The guard in the door gasped. He looked at Sword-Hands. “Quickly, get the physician.” It was no trouble for Sword-Hands to sneak back out of the castle. She ran back to Madam Nell’s tavern, skirts loaded with gold and jewels. “You’re back early,” Madam Nell said. “Sorry, I accidentally killed the king.” Madam Nell dropped her pipe. “I’m sorry what?” “He saw me and had a heart attack,” Sword-Hands shrugged. “Guess he thinks every ginger’s his dead wife or something. Anyway, I got a good haul.” “Mon dieu, girl! Don’t unload the evidence here!” “It’s fine, only one person who saw me is alive and he thinks I’m a maid. By the way, can I keep the crown?” “Goodness girl, what are you going to do with a hot crown?” “I don’t know,” Sword-Hands shrugged. “I like it.”
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