The Thief by Stephanie Landsem Page A

festival. There will be plenty of pilgrims coming through the Dung Gate. Maybe you’ll get enough to buy barley.” They passed through the dyers’ district in the southernmost edge of the city.
    “The Dung Gate? Nissa, I need to be at the temple. And it’s the Sabbath.”
    Nissa didn’t alter their course toward the southern gate. Better that he get a few coins for barley than chase after a charlatan. “Begging isn’t considered work; you know that. But don’t let the Pharisees see you tying any knots.” Her voice held a note of contemptthat made Cedron scowl. He should worry less about the law and more about what they would eat tonight. He sighed and nodded, but she could feel his disappointment in the weakening of his grip.
    She squeezed his hand. “I promise, Cedron. We’ll see the healer together. Tomorrow.” Tomorrow, when they had no home.
    After she settled Cedron at the Dung Gate, she trudged home. She pushed through the gate into their courtyard. The fire was out, as usual. Would it be too much to ask of Mama to keep it lit?
    “Amit, I’m home.” Nissa rounded the corner of the house. No soft-nosed donkey brayed in greeting.
    “Mama?” She ducked into the dim house. Her mother slept propped in the corner, her dusty cloak askew, her gray-streaked hair unwashed and loose.
    Nissa shook her mother’s shoulder. She awoke with a snort.
    “Where’s Abba?”
    Her mother rubbed her hands over her face and wet her cracked lips with her tongue.
    “How should I know?”
    “But Amit isn’t here. Is Abba gathering wood?” Perhaps her father really was going to take care of his family.
    “On the Sabbath? Ha!” Her mother stood, swaying unsteadily. “He doesn’t work any other day of the week. Why would he work on the Sabbath?”
    “He took Amit.”
    Her mother rubbed her hand over her lined face like she was trying to remember something. “He took him to Gilad.”
    “To Gilad?” Her stomach dropped. But that made no sense. “Even if he gets a good price, it won’t be enough to pay what we owe.” Better to keep the donkey. Gilad would throw them out either way. What was her father thinking?
    Her mother picked up an amphora, shook it, and dropped it back on the ground. “Said some nonsense about winning himback at dice.” She snorted. “With your father’s luck, Amit will be at the tanner by tomorrow.”
    The tanner? Not her dear Amit. Pain squeezed her chest like a clenched fist, and she fought to draw a breath. Amit was gone. Her father had doomed them all to the streets. Was this where Cedron’s trust in the Lord had brought them?
    Her mother slumped back in the corner.
    Nissa ran for the lean-to. She threw herself into the pile of straw, rage boiling up in her. By tomorrow, her Amit—the only one who knew her secret—would be slaughtered, his skin used for cheap leather and his body rendered for tallow. She rubbed her burning eyes. And now they had no way to gather wood, no money for food or rent, and no soft-nosed, brown-eyed donkey to listen to her troubles.
    Cedron would say, “ The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him and I am helped. ” But the Almighty hadn’t helped them, not for a long time. And he wasn’t about to start now.
    The dark voice whispered its refrain. You don’t have a choice.
    She breathed in the smell of donkey and dry straw. The voice was right. There was only one way to save herself and Cedron, and maybe even Amit.
    Dangerous, yes, but in one day—one afternoon—she could steal enough for a week’s food and rent. She could move with Cedron to a little house of their own, a place where they wouldn’t have to put up with her mother’s drunken binges or her father’s rage. She wouldn’t have to dress in rags and eat barley, and she could save Amit.
    Trumpets sounded in the distance, announcing the third hour of the day.
    She sat up and wiped her runny nose. Today was the last day of the festival. The temple courts would be crowded