[ WP ] `` The girl who slept on the catwalks above the flea market ''

The girl who slept in the catwalks above the flea market never once wondered about the world below. 
 
 Her world was small; the cramped, invisible spaces that linked the many-armed corridors of the Bazaar Belzakis. Occasionally there were intrusions -- her favorite were the dark-cloaked shadow-men, brandishing their wicked daggers of silver and gold. They left scraps and coins for her as they passed -- tokens of respect for a fellow creature of the night. 
 
 But though she snatched handfuls of rich, butter-soaked *pilaf* from its red-faced merchants, and stole whole bolts of fine, dyed silks when her rags grew too worn, the girl who slept on the catwalks above the flea market never once wondered about the world below. 
 
 Until, with very little warning, it burst up from between the rooftiles, and sprawled its gangly limbs all across her favorite nook. 
 
 `` Who are you?'' she asked, indignant. 
 
 The limbs gathered themselves together with an awkward grace, and gingerly patted away the dust and grime -- revealing a quite-attractive young man, hidden beneath a shock of gris-gold hair. 
 
 `` Who?'' he asked. `` Well, I'm a prince. Er, sort of. Would you like to save my life?'' 
 
 Before she could reply with any number of exotic cursewords, she heard the tell-tale footsteps of the shadowmen -- not so much a sound as the *absence* thereof. With her keen ear she could even discern the imperceptible whistle of naked blades cutting the air between their steps. 
 
 *Oh, I'll regret this dearly. * She thought, as she scooped up the gangly sort-of-prince in her arms and began a twisting, turning zig-zag dance down the oldest and most crumbly catwalks. 
 
 `` Sort of a prince.'' she said. `` The Sort-of-Prince who has lots of treasure, palisades, that kind of thing?'' 
 
 `` Not at all!'' he beamed. `` My father says those things are for low-born kings.'' 
 
 `` And who would your father be?'' 
 
 At this, the gangly youth beamed even wider, glowing with a strange, internal light. `` Why, Golden Kuyaş, the Sunbringer God! Whose noble son, Qu-yin thanks you greatly for your service.'' 
 
 He bowed -- an extremely awkward maneuver, as he was still clasped tightly to her chest. It very nearly unbalanced her. 
 
 And in the distance, the silent sound of no-footsteps grew ever closer. 
 
 `` Listen little demigod.'' she whispered tersely. `` If I get you out of here, I expect nothing but the highest blessings from your father and his kin.'' 
 
 `` Ah... I can most certainly enquire on your behalf.'' 
 
 She leapt -- a single graceful stride that carried them out, out, up into the azure skies of Istanbul, so high that the city fairly gleamed beneath them like a crimson jewel. 
 
 `` It'll have to do.'' she sniffed. `` And princeling?'' 
 
 `` Yes?'' 
 
 `` You may call me Kedisi.''
