The Cracked Cup

This is a story that my grandmother, Duchess Beryl told me when I was just a young princess.

There was once a little hobgoblin, of a very young age, who was as all these stories go, an orphan.
His only possessions were the rags on his back, a little silver knife that he used for skinning and gathering herbs, a small sack, and finally wrapped in skins, a small copper and pewter cup.

It was the cup that he valued above all of his meager belongings. Tho wrought of base, it was fine craft, and told many wondrous tales in the etchings around its barrel. A gift from his dead mother, who had been a priestess before her death. For him it held not only water, but her love.

Did I tell you his name was Cab? Well that was his name; Cab, which I'm sure was short for something much more befitting the son of a priestess. But now just Cab.

Cab had fallen in with a young fey lad by the name of Tobin, a petty thief who kept him fed, and protected him from bullies. They had a true kinship, the kind bond that young boys in hard times forge.

Cab and Tobin would pick pockets and purses, and sometimes, they would raid larders, and coffers. The later being the most risky, they seldom attempted. Tobin would take the days booty to an imp peddler who dealt in such ill gained goods, and receive a pittance of the actual worth of said items. The copper and sometimes silver, they kept for their supper.

The peddler, who some said had mortal blood, had in his possession a cold iron dagger, which he used to terrify the boys into compliance. Cab would dream that the evil imp would accost Tobin in some alley, and plunge the dirk into his heart. He could never get back to sleep after, and would often be testy all the following day.

Now it happened that a young lord from a near by town came to court the lord mayor's daughter. He brought with him all the trappings of his entourage, as well as all the items one brings when one is seeking to impress, and woo a pretty lady. The peddler, hearing that the young lord would be staying at a local inn, and not the manor house, went to the two lads and demanded they raid the lords rooms.

Both Cab and Tobin had been in the street the day the lord had ridden into town, had seen his fine garb, and had been dazzled by the entourage. The two small boys must have seemed tiny, and gray in contrast, all eyes with hollowed cheeks. None the less, the lord winked and nodded to them as he passed. The boys would have sworn featly to him in that moment, if such things were within their grasp, which of course was not. So they watched the man and his people turn the bend. They had stood in place, holding their breath for a small eternity, listening to the noise growing quieter with each passing heartbeat. When they could hear nothing, see not even the palest streamer, they fled to their small shelter, each in his own deepest thoughts.

To be continued..............as all good bedtime stories are.