Castor and Key made their way to the poor side. Houses were built close together and on top of each other, with tents and shacks connecting them together. The street was thick with putrid-smelling mud in an uneven pattern. A carriage would get stuck if it tried to go down this street, so none did.

"Do you know where this bakery is?" Key asked.

"It's just around the corner," Castor motioned right. "Another reason why you should explore the city more with your fake deliveries."

"I thought you were just kidding about that," Key said, lifting his boot out of the mud. "You really want me to walk around the city on fake official runs?"

"Yes," Castor said. "And I don't play around with official orders. It will be good for you anyway. Explore the city, learn new shortcuts, look busy, and so forth. The more I think about it, the more I'm tempted to pat myself on the back for being so brilliant. Speaking of which, that was quick thinking about the brotherhood of the guard promise. Good work back there."

"Thanks," Key beamed. "I just understood what it felt like to think you were possibly turning someone in. He just needed reassurance, I think."

"Okay, no one likes it when you toot your own flute," Castor admonished. "Ah, here we are."

They stopped outside a small brick house with smoke coming out of the chimney. A wooden sign out front read, "Blanton's baked goods," in red letters. There didn't appear to be any way of going around to the back. Temporary structures were built on either side of the bakery, hanging with tarps and sheets for walls.

"I guess we go through Blanton's," Castor looked at the bakery dubiously. He walked up the stairs and knocked on the door.

"How can I help you?" a voice said, opening the door to reveal a rather plump man wearing a dirty white apron. His chubby face showed visible signs of discomfort when he saw the two sentinels at his front door.

"Good afternoon," Castor greeted. "We are interested in speaking to one of your neighbors out back. Do you mind if we pass through?"

"I would be hard-pressed to turn the king's guard away," Blanton admitted, turning to his side. "Come in, come in."

"Our thanks," Castor said as he attempted to slide past the man's protruding belly. Seeing that entry would be unsuccessful without becoming uncomfortably acquainted with the baker, he stopped and made a shooing motion with his hands.

"Beg your pardon, sir," Blanton said, turning and leading the way through the house. "It's this way."

As they passed through the house, Key noticed that it was more kitchen than home. A small table, cot, and chair leaned against the wall to make room for flour bags and firewood piles. Shelves holding small loaves of bread and even smaller cakes lined the walls near the oven.

"Here you are," Blanton said, opening the back door with a creak. "Just let yourself back in when you're finished.

"Thank you," Castor said as he exited the tiny bakery.

The two entered the back quadrangle. Tents and shanties spread out in every direction in disarray. Castor started looking near the smallest tent to the left and lifted a linen tent flap. He immediately dropped the flap and straightened his back. A look of alarm spread across his face.

Key lifted his hands and silently mouthed the word, "What?"

Castor motioned with his hands to say, "For the love of anything good in this world, never mind."

The two broke out, searching in either direction. Key noticed little trails in the dirt leading out into all directions to the right of the bakery. He followed them until he noticed a tent flap hanging from two knee-high rafters connected to the bakery and another shanty. He lifted the flap and found her. A little girl, wrapped in a brown blanket, was curled up into a ball with her back against the bakery.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Marie?" Key asked. The blanket moved. Key called out her name again.

The blanket unfolded, and Key could see two bloodshot eyes peeping up at him.

"Hi, Marie, I spoke to your brother," Key said, trying to use his most disarming voice. "He's safe, but he needs your help."

In recognizing Key's uniform, Marie's eyes turned wild, and she tried looking for a way out. Noticing she was trapped, she moved away from the entrance as far as she could go.

"Look, I'm trying to help you," Key tried keeping the exasperation out of his voice. "Your brother told me not to scare you, so if you could please not be scared, we can have a conversation."

"What's my brother's name?" She asked.

"Crumb," Key replied.

"Okay, what's his real name?" She pressed.

"I, uh," Key stammered. "Look, I'm not here to arrest you. I made your brother a promise. It was a sacred promise. We are going to get him out of prison, but you have to help."

Marie's eyes brightened after hearing her brother was going to be released. "What do I have to do?"

Key could hear Castor's footsteps from behind him. He quickly put out a finger, gesturing him to approach slowly. "In order for us to release him from prison, you have to give us the money back."

"You can't take the money; it's all we have. Besides, there is no money."

Castor leaned down behind Key, "You found her!" he said in a voice that wasn't quiet or disarming.

The girl looked like she was going to panic.

"Your brother said if you can't trust us, he would eat a bunch of rat tails," Key interjected.

"How many?" the girl asked.

Key turned to Castor with a silent plea for help. Castor shrugged.

"Was it fifty?" Key asked.

"No," the girl replied.

"Now that I think about it, twenty," Key said triumphantly. "He said that he would eat twenty dirty rat tails."

"That was just a lucky guess," The girl said. "Besides, you already got it wrong the first time."

"You can't blame me for having a bad memory," he reasoned. "Do you remember what you had for breakfast two weeks ago?"

"I don't usually eat breakfast," She replied.

"Do you remember what you ate two weeks ago?" Key asked, frustrated.

"Probably bread and an egg," She replied.

"But do you actually remember?" Key replied.

"No," she said forlornly.

"Okay, so I forgot it was twenty, but now I remember," Key proclaimed, vindicated. "Besides, we have to get your brother out before it's too late. Do you know what they are going to do to him if you don't help us?"

"What?" The girl asked.

"They are going to hang him," Castor said from over Key's shoulder.

Key continued, "I don't want your brother to die, and you don't want your brother to die. So, can you give us the money, and we can help him escape?"

"Can I give you half?" She asked.

Castor started tapping his foot.

"You'll have to give us all of it," Key said.

"But I'll starve!" the girl said.

"How about we get you some bread from Blanton's?" Castor suggested.

"I hate his bread," the girl said. "It's too hard, and it tastes like grease."

"I'll make sure he makes you good bread," Castor promised. "Besides, you only have to eat it for one day; I'm going to get you and your brother out of town tomorrow, so you'll never have to eat Blanton's bread again."

Castor explained his plan to the young girl. After some creative descriptions of where he was sending them, she finally relented and handed Key the two money purses her brother stole.

"Okay, but I don't want stale bread," she said. "I want it freshly made and without grease."

Castor tapped Key on the shoulder and motioned him to go talk to the baker. "Do you know about a place called, "Skippers Transport" on Alpenrose…" Castor explained to the girl as Key made his way to the door. He went inside and found the baker building up his fire.

"Blanton, I need you to do me a favor," he said. "I need some bread for the little girl out back."

"Are you kidding me?" the baker asked. "The last time I gave that little urchin some bread, she gave it back to me with two fingers holding her nose! I'm not giving that ungrateful rat anything else for as long as I live!"

Key held up his hands. "Look, if you make her the best bread you've ever made, you'll never see her or brother again. They are leaving tomorrow, but only if you do this one thing."

The baker thought for a moment. "Okay, but it'll cost you four coppers."

Key reached into one of the money pouches he was holding and pulled out a gold royal. His eyes bulged as he looked at the coin. He pulled open the drawstring and noticed they were all gold royals.

"Where did you get money like that?" the baker asked, shocked.

"Uh, taxes," Key lied, not wanting to explain the story. He reached into his own coin purse and produced five copper coins. Here are five. Keep all of this to yourself." After a moment, he added, "And don't use grease."

The baker accepted the money with a huff and tucked it away. "Anything else?"

"Can you deliver it to her once you're done?" Key asked. "And be nice to her. She has no parents."

"Fine, fine," the baker said. "If you'll excuse me, I have to make a special bread for a special little princess."

"That's the spirit!" Key cheered as he made his way to the back door.

At the same moment, Castor stepped inside. "Let's go. We need to catalog this money and get it to the treasury."