The eldest ones speak of it sometimes.
They speak of grass brilliantly green, of clear blue
waters.
They speak of flowers in every color they can
name.
They speak of a sky so brilliantly blue that to look at
it would cause the eyes to tear.
My name is Aislin. I was born never knowing color.
We all were.
In my grandfather's day, color slipped away from the world. Now, color is a rarity. Most go their whole lives without ever seeing anything but shades of gray. No one knows why or how it happened. Some don't believe it happened at all.
Come with me. Come with me on a journey to discover the secret of...
http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f353/ ... Banner.png[/IMG]
They speak of grass brilliantly green, of clear blue
waters.
They speak of flowers in every color they can
name.
They speak of a sky so brilliantly blue that to look at
it would cause the eyes to tear.
My name is Aislin. I was born never knowing color.
We all were.
In my grandfather's day, color slipped away from the world. Now, color is a rarity. Most go their whole lives without ever seeing anything but shades of gray. No one knows why or how it happened. Some don't believe it happened at all.
Come with me. Come with me on a journey to discover the secret of...
http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f353/ ... Banner.png[/IMG]
http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f353/t1amat/Aislin.png[/IMG] Aislin[/FONT]
A young orphan dwelling in The Warrens, the slums of Marecien. Despite the precariousness and poverty of her life, she presents a optimistic, bold, and some might say reckless face to the world.
http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f353/t1amat/Taver.png[/IMG] Taver[/FONT]
Aislin's partner, the two make their way as thieves. Taver is the more reserved and thoughtful of the two. It usually falls to him to plan the jobs they take. Aislin calls him a hopeless pessimist, but he prefers to consider himself a realist.
http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f353/ ... ianthe.png[/IMG] Ianthe[/FONT]
Although Ianthe looks human, she is in fact an artificial being, one of the Tertiary Incarnations. It is difficult to remember when looking at her, but her actual thought processes and emotions are quite alien.
http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f353/t1amat/alani.png[/IMG] Alani[/FONT]
Like Ianthe, Alani is an artificial construct, one of the Secondary Incarnations. Unlike her "sister," Alani has embraced human emotions and recreations. The darker ones, at least.
A young orphan dwelling in The Warrens, the slums of Marecien. Despite the precariousness and poverty of her life, she presents a optimistic, bold, and some might say reckless face to the world.
http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f353/t1amat/Taver.png[/IMG] Taver[/FONT]
Aislin's partner, the two make their way as thieves. Taver is the more reserved and thoughtful of the two. It usually falls to him to plan the jobs they take. Aislin calls him a hopeless pessimist, but he prefers to consider himself a realist.
http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f353/ ... ianthe.png[/IMG] Ianthe[/FONT]
Although Ianthe looks human, she is in fact an artificial being, one of the Tertiary Incarnations. It is difficult to remember when looking at her, but her actual thought processes and emotions are quite alien.
http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f353/t1amat/alani.png[/IMG] Alani[/FONT]
Like Ianthe, Alani is an artificial construct, one of the Secondary Incarnations. Unlike her "sister," Alani has embraced human emotions and recreations. The darker ones, at least.
The chapter 0 you download here is in it's final form. There are some bugs you should know about:
1. Combining all the runes to make a "black" spell and casting it will crash the game. Stick to colored spells!
2. Yeah, I know the windowskin in the menu sucks, especially for seeing the cursor. Sorry.
This project is still being worked on, however, I am radically changing up the battle system. I'm making visible encounters with on-map battles, like Chrono Trigger. So this version will probably not be updated. I'm reposting this because I got a few emails asking for it back. So here ya go.
1. Combining all the runes to make a "black" spell and casting it will crash the game. Stick to colored spells!
2. Yeah, I know the windowskin in the menu sucks, especially for seeing the cursor. Sorry.
This project is still being worked on, however, I am radically changing up the battle system. I'm making visible encounters with on-map battles, like Chrono Trigger. So this version will probably not be updated. I'm reposting this because I got a few emails asking for it back. So here ya go.
The blow was completely unexpected. Taver lost his footing, and went down in a heap of filthy rags. To his shame, he felt hot tears on either cheek.
The Old Woman stood over him to see if another blow would be necessary. She was no beauty, grossly overweight and misshapen, with skin of the off cast of those who were slowly drinking themselves to death. Her nose was bulbous and slightly off-center, as though it had been broken and never healed cleanly. Her face was a mess of broken blood vessels, and her eyes were greyed and crisscrossed with veins. She smelled, too, Taver couldn’t recall the last time she’d bathed. As he watched, a small white insect crawled out from under her hair and across her forehead.
Seeing his tears, she grunted and moved back over to the begging bowl, unwilling to let it out of her sight for very long. Wisely, too, there were many who would have no qualms about stealing from a beggar.
Taver got back shakily to his feet. The paste sores still itched abominably, but he didn’t dare scratch at them, that being what had prompted the first backhand strike. Privately, he thought scratching at them might add a semblance of realism to the flour and dirt paste sores that decorated his thin arms. He wondered sometimes that anyone was fooled by the poor ruse, this day false sores, the next tightly bandaged legs to appear lame, the next a blindfold as he pretended to be blind.
The woman shot him a dark look, and he shook his head to clear it. In a thin, piping voice, he called out to the morning crowd. The most common response was disinterest, beggars were common since the Plague, and many had hardened their hearts to the scores of children desperately trying to survive one way or another. Occassionaly, someone would toss a stray loaf end or bacon rind into the begging bowl. Even more rarely, there were coins. Pennies, mostly, although once some nobly dressed lord had tossed an entire zen piece into the bowl.
Today had seen a good take, there was enough food that Taver was likely to get some lunch today after the Old Woman had eaten her fill, and enough pennies that she’d be able to drink herself into a stupor tonight. When she got enough to drink, she didn’t care if Taver pocketed a penny or two to buy a bowl of potlatch, the heavy stews that never stopped simmering or being added to in the poorer potshops.
He didn’t know who the Old Woman was, or even what her name was. She was just the Old Woman. He didn’t remember anyone before her. He didn’t think that she was his mother, or even a relation.
His stomach rumbled angrily, and he eyed the food in the begging bowl. Things had been harder since the Plague began. Hardship had come to everyone, and there was less charity than ever. Their usual source of breakfast, the leftover buns and breads the priestesses-in-training had collected from bakeries and kitchens each night and distributed to the poor every morning, had stopped. There had never been enough to eat, but now he felt hungry and cold all the time. He never seemed to grow anymore.
With the Plague raging unchecked, fewer people came out in public. Those who could afford to closed their homes and businesses and fled the city. Those who could not went on as best they could, staying behind barred doors whenever possible. Hucksters who had been up until last summer selling love and luck charms were now selling talismans against illness. Food vendors extolled the healthful virtues of their wares. It didn’t seem to help, people still died.
Taver didn’t have time to worry about getting sick. His thoughts mostly revolved around finding enough to eat and avoiding the Old Woman’s beatings.
Across the street, a dancer and a fiddler were setting up for the day’s busking. A crowd was already gathering, the girl was attractive, lithe, and scantily clad despite the chill morning. The presence of street performers was a mixed blessing. They would naturally get the lion’s share of the spare coin the crowd might be carrying, but they’d also attract more pedestrians to this out-of-the-way corner. Taver tried to make his voice just a little louder, just a little more pathetic.
One among the crowd gave him a glance that bespoke more than casual interest. Taver tried to look hungry and cold. It wasn’t hard, he was hungry and cold. The man was well-dressed, perhaps a merchantman or high ranking servant. His hair and small beard were neatly trimmed and groomed. To his disappointment, though, the man looked away. Still, Taver kept eying the man hopefully.
It was because of his intent scrutiny that he saw it. The man’s eyes kept flicking back to a taller boy, perhaps a few years older than Taver, although well-fed and better clothed. The boy kept moving restlessly through the crowd, as though he couldn’t quite see over the heads of those in front of him. When the boy passed close to the man, something passed between them, so fast that he wasn’t sure he’d seen it.
The man’s eyes flicked back to him, and Taver swallowed and looked quickly away. It wasn’t safe to catch a thief at work when you were as unimportant a person as Taver. People had vanished for less. He looked everywhere but the crowd, praying that the man would leave when the performance ended. His inattentiveness earned him a dark look from the Old Woman, but he was far too afraid of the well-dressed man to notice.
As the crowd dispersed, the Old Woman staggered to her feet, rage suffusing her face. Too late, Taver noticed that somewhere she’d gotten a flask of beer or ale dregs, enough to make her temper uncertain.
“Li’l brat!†she said, thickly. “Teach ya na’ ta wahrk ta crowd.†Taver ducked away, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso as she grabbed a handful of his hair in one meaty fist. With the other, she struck him across the face. His knees tried to give out, but her monstrous grip on his hair kept him upright.
“Sorry! Sorry!†He whimpered, trying to get his feet back under him.
“Na’ sorry yet, brat,†she said, striking him across the other cheek. Her breath reeked of sour beer. Taver felt his gorge rise and his vision darkened around the edges, and he prayed he wouldn’t be sick. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his stomach.
When the third blow didn’t come, he dared to open one. The sight he beheld caused his jaw to drop open in surprise.
The man he’d observed earlier stood holding The Old Woman’s wrist, her arm upraised for another blow, with a faint look of distaste on his lordly features. The Old Woman gaped at him like a landed fish.
“Pardon me, goodwife,†he said, making an epithet of the courtly greeting, “but is the lad such a poor worker?â€
The Old Woman seemed to get her wits back at his words. She released her grip on Taver’s hair, causing him to fall hard on his rump. She snatched her wrist back from the man, and gave him a dark look.
“Lad’sa halfwit. Hasta be beaten or ‘e’s no good for nothin’.†Taver burned at the lie, but knew better than to interrupt the Old Woman, or things would go hard for him.
“A halfwit, you say?†The man looked over Taver, and to his surprise, he saw humor sparkling in those eyes. “Your son, then?â€
“Na, na!†Said The Old Woman, stung that she could be thought so deficient as to throw a halfwit son.
“Ah, a bondling, then.†The man gave an affected shrug, and turned as if to move on. Then, as if struck by a thought, he turned back. “My dear goodwife, the Church begs us to be merciful to those in need. It just so happens I’m in need of a boy. I’ll buy his bond from you, and spare you the task of caring for one as careless and stupid as this boy.â€
The Old Woman’s features pinched as though she’d bit into an apple and found a nest of worms. “Boy’s na’ fer sale.†She mumbled.
“Now, now. Everything’s for sale, no? It’s not like you’ve a mother’s affection for the boy. And I’m sure,†he paused meaningfully, “that all your paperwork for the bonding is in order? You’re on the rolls as the boy’s guardian?â€
The Old Woman grunted something that might have been either a negative or an affirmative. She looked uncertain now. The man allowed the awkward silence that followed to stretch on just long enough, then with a flourish, brought out a heavy looking belt pouch.
“It would be a shame to bother the Guard about so simple a transaction. Why don’t I just give you a fair price for the lad,†and with that, he pressed 10 zen coins into The Old Woman’s fat palm, “and I’ll trust that you’ll see the rolls are updated.†He winked at Taver. Taver could only gape up at him in return.
“Come on, lad.†The man said, heaving Taver to his feet by one arm.
“Now, jus’ a min’ae!†The Old Woman seemed to recover her wits as she saw her meal ticket being led away by his arm.
“Oh? Did you wish to involve the guard, after all?†The playfulness was gone from the man’s voice. Now his voice was like a dagger revealed by the moonlight, shocking and deadly.
For a moment, the woman glared at him, defiant. Then she sank in on herself, defeated. The man nodded, as if he had expected no less, and continued leading Taver away. Taver had to hurry his strides to keep up, his mind still not grasping this sudden change. What did this lordly looking man want a boy for? Nervously, he glanced up at the bearded face. The man glanced down, and seeing his expression, released his arm.
Taver backed away, not sure if he should run.
To his shock, the man got down on one knee on the dusty cobblestones, bringing his face down to Taver’s.
“What’s your name, boy?†The man said, tone far gentler than anything he’d used on the Old Woman.
“Taver, sir.†He replied, finding the pattern of cobblestones at his feet suddenly fascinating.
“And sir, yet!†The man seemed delighted, “not a hopeless barbarian like some of the others. Well, Taver, you can call me Gayle.â€
Others? Taver swallowed, and managed a nod from somewhere.
“Now, now. No need to look like I’m going to eat you.†A frown creased his features. “Caelach? Caelach, where are you, you layabout?â€
The taller boy Taver had spotted in the crowd melted out of the shadows. There was no other way to describe it. One moment the roadside was empty, the next the boy was standing there, leaning against a lamppost.
“Layabout, am I? When I lifted enough to last us a week, risking my pretty hands,†the boy studied his nails, and Taver had to admit they were nice hands, unscarred by rough labor, “and this is the thanks I get?†His smile, fleeting and bright as the sun breaking through a cloudy sky, gave lie to his aggrieved tone.
“Hmph.†Gayle got to his feet, dusting off his trousers. “Such impudence deserves some hard duty. Take this lad back to the House, see that he gets a bath and a set of decent clothes.†His expression looked deadly earnest, but Caelach grinned impertinently back.
“Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself chasing a youngster, Old Man.†With that, Caelach grabbed Taver by the hand and led him off by way of a back alley. Glancing back over his shoulder, Taver saw Gayle shaking one fist at the retreating backs.
“Hey, kid. You got a name?†Caelach’s voice brought Taver back to the boy walking beside him. Caelach looked a lot like the sleek merchant’s kids he saw. Boys and girls who rarely went more than one or two hungry days at a time and whose clothes were always warm enough. His light hair was trimmed short, except for a neat queue tied back with a bit of ribbon. His clothes weren’t new, but they were free of patches and darns, the sort of hand-me-down clothing servants got for their yearly stipend.
He wondered what sort of thing he’d stumbled into. Some of the other Warren brats sometimes whispered of child traffickers, who sold children to people with dark tastes.
The taller boy must have seen the fear in his eyes, because he slowed down his pace, but tightened the grip on his hand. “Now, look. Gayle ain’t no gutter-pervert.†The use of familiar Warren slang reassured Taver more than the words. “It ain’t safe to talk ‘bout here, you ken? But ‘e won’t hurt you none. Now, you gots a name, or what?â€
Taver took a deep breath. He thought, if he tried, that he could tear away from the boy. Caelach might be taller and better fed, but Taver was used to fighting away from people who were bigger. That thought, coupled with the reassurances in the familiar lingo, made him bold.
“Name’s Taver.†He said, using the tone he’d seen the street kids use on each other when sizing each other up for the pecking order.
“Oho! Not a mute, huh? Well, I’m Caelach.†He winked at the younger boy in appreciation of his imitations of the miniature bravos in the Warrens. “Woops, in here. Watch your head.â€
With that warning, they ducked into a space between two of the rickety buildings that made up the Warrens. The buildings on the Eastern side of town had been thrown up haphazardly and quickly by citizens who had once lived outside of the walls before the barbarian Istha invasion. Once the war was over, the buildings had been abandoned by their former owners, and carved up into multiple residences to be leased out individually. Although the quarter had once had a loftier name, it was now only known as The Warrens for it’s twisting passages and the mass of humanity packed into anything that could be converted into living space.
The alleyway was narrow, and Caelach was now walking in front of Taver, his grip on his hand much reduced. Taver was too busy avoiding low outthrusts from the buildings, piles of trash, and puddles of unnamable fluids to think of running, though.
The alley came out in a courtyard filled with smashed crates and some broken pottery. A few boarded windows looked in on it, but it appeared to be a dead end. Caelach turned around and grinned at him.
“See it? Naw, I can see you don’t. Fools the beaks good, too.†He said, using The Warren slang for the Guard. He walked over to one of the boarded up windows and did something to it. The boards swung out, revealing an opening that a grown man would only have to duck a little to get through. Caelach grinned like a magician showing off a favorite trick, and with a flourish gestured for Taver to come in.
Taver glanced back at the alley. But where would he go? He’d seen for himself the fate of children on their own in The Warrens. Gathering the shredded remains of his courage, he stepped over the high threshold and into the house.
The building was far nicer on the inside. The walls were paneled with wood that had been covered with something shiny, perhaps wax or resin. The entryway was paved with slate, easy to clean. From the landing, stairs led up and down to a pair of doors.
Caelach paused to remove his boots and drop them in a box beside the door, already half full of other pairs. He glanced meaningfully at Taver, but the younger boy glanced away. Taver didn’t have any shoes, and made do with several pairs of thick socks and some waxed paper placed between the layers for soles.
“Ho. See we’ve got to get you fitted for boots, ya? Barefoot boy’ll not run far nor fast, you ken?†Actually, Taver didn’t, but he nodded anyway. Surely the boy couldn’t be talking about getting him, Taver, boots, could he? A good pair of boots cost more than he could take in begging in a month.
Caelach sniffed, and guided the younger boy down the stairs. “First order of business be a bath, methinks. You stink!†The last was delivered so cheerfully that Taver had trouble being stung by it. He’d done his best to stay clean, but there’s only so much one can do with an old cracked basin and a filthy rag.
The door opened up to a wide room. Curtained cubbies lined the walls, one below, one above. A few had the curtains drawn back to reveal neat little beds, carefully made with bedclothes folded on the pillows. A much-mended pair of tables and a mismatched assortment of stools graced the center of the room, where a pair of boys were sorting what looked like handkerchiefs. One of the boys, a broad boy on the cusp of manhood, glanced up and noted their coming.
“Wha’s this, Caelach? Were the pickings so bad you lifted a beggar brat?†The other boy chuckled, but didn’t look up from his intent study of a silk scarf.
“Nah, new kid, Roddie. Gayle went and picked ‘im out this mornin’. ‘E needs a bath somethin’ fierce, but ‘e’s a quick one. Caught me makin’ the trade-off to the Old Man.â€
Roddie blinked with something akin to respect at Taver. “Heh, never thought I’d see the day. Weren’ you jus’ braggin’ tha’ no beak could ever catch you?â€
“He ain’t no beak, Roddie. He’s one o’ us, and tha’s different.â€
“He weren’t one of us this mornin’,†the boy snorted, but returned to his work.
Taver allowed himself to be led into the back room, which was paved entirely in slate like the entryway. A drain sat in the middle of the floor, as well as a hip tub and a complicated apparatus that appeared to move water from a boiler and dump it just over head height on the tub.
“A smelly thief is a handless thief, I always say.†Caelech remarked cheerfully. “The Old Man mighta told me to give you a bath, but I think you’re old enough to handle it.†He handed Taver a bar of soap that smelled strongly of lye and a stiff-bristled brush. “I’ll be back with some clothes as might fit you.â€
With that, Caelach left him alone in the washroom. After a moment of stillness, Taver crept over to the door and tried the handle. It moved freely, he hadn’t been locked in. For the first time all morning, he could think about what was happening to him.
He stripped off the smelly layers of rags he wore, and placed them neatly against one wall.
The first, and most obvious thought, was that Caelach was a thief. A pickpocket, to be exact, not one of those who stole at knifepoint or bashed their victims over the head. A dangerous profession, everyone knew that thieves got only two chances with the beaks – the first offense resulted in a highly visible brand on each hand, the second, a lifetime of hard labor in the mines or the loss of said hands.
The spigot above the washtub turned out to be a simple affair, a pull rope caused water so hot as to make him gasp to stream over his head. Gritting his teeth, he began attack his body with the harsh lye soap and brush, wincing as it stung in his numerous scrapes and cuts.
Gayle appeared to be no relation to the boys here, although he seemed to be an authority figure. The way the boys said the Old Man was as different from his mental appellation of the Old Woman as night was from day. Taver was ill-equiped to recognize love and affection, but he did dimly sense the difference.
The water was black with grime, so he got out and attempted to tip over the hip bath. It proved to heavy for him, but while he lay panting on the floor, he noted a groove carved under the tub that ran to the drain. On a suspicion, he put his arm in the water up to his elbow, and felt around until he found a round cork, tightly wedged into the bottom. A rope came out of the top of it, and with some tugging, it came loose and the water drained out.
He wasn’t exactly sure what Gayle wanted him for. From Caelach’s comments, a half-formed suspicion was forming, but he didn’t dare to believe it yet. Nothing in his short life had led him to believe that anything good ever came from adults.
His hair was the worst, a rat’s nest of tangles and probably full of nits, for all he’d tried to keep it clean. He was sobbing, unashamed, and the bottom of the washtub was filled with matted clumps of hair pulled free by the time he was done. His hair was much longer than he’d thought now that it was untangled, reaching to his shoulders in the back.
He was just getting ready for a third scrubbing when Caelach returned with an armful of clothing and a pair of soft shoes.
“Woah there! You tryin’ to scrub your skin off?†The boy laughed, tossing Taver a soft rectangle of cloth. Taver gathered he was supposed to dry himself with it, and reluctantly stepped out of the tub and blotted his body. “You know, Roddie likes his baths. You use all the hot water and he’s like to make you chop wood to make more!â€
Taver glanced guiltily at the boiler, but Caelach gave him a hearty smack on the back. “Nah, don’t feel bad. Not e’en Roddie’d have wanted to sleep in the same room with you the way you smelled when you came in.†Taver flushed, and grinned weakly back at the boy.
“See, you do have some spunk. Thought mebbe that old hag had beat it out of you.â€
Emboldened by the teasing, Taver decided to test the waters. “Not so cowed as I couldn’t catch you.â€
Caelach threw back his head and roared with laughter. When he finally finished, he clapped a hand on the boy’s back again. “Oh, you’re going to fit in ‘round here like a peg in a hole.†He handed the boy the clothes he was carrying. “Here, lessee if we can get you lookin’ like you belong, too.â€
The clothes were too big for him, and in the end they had to use a bit of rope to hold up the pants. But they were clean, and soft, and all the holes in them had been expertly mended. A bit of rawhide to tie back his hair, and for the first time in his life, Taver didn’t feel like a wretched beggar boy.
Caelach stepped back and nodded his approval. “Not bad, Taver.â€
Taver was practically glowing with happiness. The only thing that could make his life better right now was-
“I think we have time for a spot ‘o lunch before the Old Man gets back.†Taver stomach embarrassed him by giving a very audible growl. Caelach grinned, “and from the looks of you, you need it. All skin and bones!â€
There were perhaps a dozen boys sitting around the tables when they emerged, helping themselves to the contents of baskets and steaming platters. Some good natured shoving and joking was going on, but no one seemed truly concerned about not getting enough.
“Move over, move over.†Caelach said, addressing three boys taking up a bench with a missing board down the center. The boys gave Taver a curious glance, but they obligingly made room for the two boys at the end of the bench. Cealach dropped a wooden plate in front of him, then piled it high with a roll, a baked turnip, and a drumstick of something that was either a small chicken or a large pigeon.
The food was better than anything he’d ever had before. The bread was soft and crusty, not rock-hard like the stale loaf ends he’d had before. The tuber was hot and sweet, without a trace of black spots or mold. The fowl was a revelation, nearly melting in his mouth and dripping with grease. He heard one of the boys complaining that the food was below the normal quality, and blinked at him in disbelief.
Taver observed the boys between bites of food, trying not to gobble it down like a starving dog. All of the boys seemed to be between his own age and Caelach’s, only Roddie appeared to be older. When he saw Caelach using the tined instrument to eat his tuber, Taver dropped it and attempted to imitate him. Manipulating the device proved harder than he thought, but none of the boys laughed when his clumsily speared portions kept falling back on his plate.
The boy on his left nudged him, and demonstrated angling the implement just enough to keep the food on it. Taver smiled gratefully. “Thank you.†He whispered.
“’S no problem.†The boy said, loud enough to be heard. “Twern’t so long ago that none o’ us knew how to use a fork. Look at us now! Right civilized, we are.†He punctuated his point by jabbing his fork into the air. It seemed to be a long-standing joke, for all the boys laughed.
It wasn’t long before Taver was chatting amiably with the boy next to him, whose name turned out to be Berin. Berin’s eyes got wide as saucers as Taver described the life of a beggar.
“Lansakes, an’ I thought I had it bad at tha’ orph’nage.†He whistled low. Taver flushed. “They might notta liked me much, but at leas’ they fed us twice a day. But Marlin, there,†Berin jerked his thumb at a quiet, frail-looking boy sitting at the other table, “his da used to use him the girl, if ya know what I’m sayin’. The Old Man’s got a soft spot fer cases like yours.â€
Maybe, thought Taver. Or maybe he knows how grateful a boy taken from a situation like that would be. Certainly Taver felt it, an overwhelming need to do anything to keep this warm room with delicious food and soft, inviting beds.
“C’mon, Taver. We’re off ta see the Old Man.†Caelach said, getting to his feet and belching loudly. The other boys gave him supportive grins, and Berin even gave his hand a squeeze before he stood up. “Don’t worry,†Caelach said, winking, “he don’t bite. Jus’ barks a lot.â€
The food suddenly a knot in his stomach, Taver got to his feet and followed Caelach back up the stairs. Instead of leaving the little house, they went up the second set of stairs at the landing into what must have been the kitchen where lunch had come from. A pair of boys were cleaning pots in a basin full of water, and gave jaunty waves to Caelach.
“All the boys take turns doin’ kitchen duty. Don’t ‘spose you can cook?†Taver shook his head. “Ah, well. Twon’t be the first time we’ve had doughy bread and burned turnips.†Caelach managed to look so much like the paintings of St. Kaerine, the twice martyred, that Taver had to stifle a giggle.
The door from the kitchens led to a spacious room with a tall ceiling. Various objects were set up around the room, including a small wall with a tile roof and several tall poles with rounded bases, dressed in fine clothing and hung with bells. Taver didn’t have much time to gawk, however, because Gayle was striding across the room toward them.
“Could this really be the same lad?†Gayle said, eyes twinkling with the same merriment as earlier. He pulled a long-legged stool up and perched on it, indicating Taver to have a seat. After a moment, he plunked himself down on the floor, leaving the other stool to Caelach.
“And so polite, too. I can only hope you’ll let some of that rub off on my boys. Some of them,†and he shot a glance at Caelach, “are severely lacking in manners.â€
“Yes, sir.†Taver said, not sure how he was supposed to respond to that.
“Aw, c’mon, Gayle. Don’t leave the poor boy hanging like that. Jus’- Just tell him what you want. The kid’s already scared.†Taver noticed, absently, that Caelech’s diction sounded far more upper class when in Gayle’s presence.
Gayle snorted softly, and fixed the boy with a mildly disapproving stare until Caelach flushed and looked away.
“Still, the boy is right. It might be best if we just got to the point.†He looked at Taver until the boy met his eyes. “I’m offering you a most unusual apprenticeship, young Taver. As you have no doubt already ascertained,†he gave Caelach a conspiratorial wink, which the boy returned impudently, “my boys here are thieves. Rather good thieves, trained by the best.†At that, Caelach snorted, but Gayle ignored him.
“I’m offering you the same training. Offer’s the same as any apprenticeship, bed and two meals a day while you train, three months of training before you start work. Apprenticeship fee is waved, but for your first sixmonth of work, I’ll take double the normal cut. After that, half of what you lift is yours to fence, keep, or sell back to me.â€
Gayle paused for a minute to look Taver over critically. “A bit too small for much lifting right now, but you look nimble enough for it, and maybe for roof work, too.â€
Taver blinked. It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. Even if he’d been old enough to be apprenticed, he’d known such a fate was not for the likes of him. Even supposing the Old Woman would have ever let him go, she’d never have parted with an apprentice fee for him even if she’d had the coin. When he thought about it at all, he expected he’d end up like Old Man Serin, binding up his legs to look like they were missing and begging for rotten food by the Cathedral steps. Assuming he wasn’t killed by the hundreds of things that could happen to a young boy living in the Warrens, that is, from flux to bully boys.
Still, the life of a thief was a precarious one. He’d seen the men with brands on their hands led away to live the rest of their lives slaving in the mines. Lives that were notoriously short, for the mines had a thirst for blood that was never slaked.
And yet, was the life of a street brat on his own any better? Even if the Old Woman would take him back, his prospects out there seemed bleak, at best.
In the end, it was an easy decision. Nodding solemnly, Taver spat in his palm and offered it to Gayle in the age-old Warren ritual of making a deal. Without missing a beat, the older man spat in his own hand and shook the smaller one, sealing the bargain.
“Welcome to our brotherhood, Taver.â€
The Old Woman stood over him to see if another blow would be necessary. She was no beauty, grossly overweight and misshapen, with skin of the off cast of those who were slowly drinking themselves to death. Her nose was bulbous and slightly off-center, as though it had been broken and never healed cleanly. Her face was a mess of broken blood vessels, and her eyes were greyed and crisscrossed with veins. She smelled, too, Taver couldn’t recall the last time she’d bathed. As he watched, a small white insect crawled out from under her hair and across her forehead.
Seeing his tears, she grunted and moved back over to the begging bowl, unwilling to let it out of her sight for very long. Wisely, too, there were many who would have no qualms about stealing from a beggar.
Taver got back shakily to his feet. The paste sores still itched abominably, but he didn’t dare scratch at them, that being what had prompted the first backhand strike. Privately, he thought scratching at them might add a semblance of realism to the flour and dirt paste sores that decorated his thin arms. He wondered sometimes that anyone was fooled by the poor ruse, this day false sores, the next tightly bandaged legs to appear lame, the next a blindfold as he pretended to be blind.
The woman shot him a dark look, and he shook his head to clear it. In a thin, piping voice, he called out to the morning crowd. The most common response was disinterest, beggars were common since the Plague, and many had hardened their hearts to the scores of children desperately trying to survive one way or another. Occassionaly, someone would toss a stray loaf end or bacon rind into the begging bowl. Even more rarely, there were coins. Pennies, mostly, although once some nobly dressed lord had tossed an entire zen piece into the bowl.
Today had seen a good take, there was enough food that Taver was likely to get some lunch today after the Old Woman had eaten her fill, and enough pennies that she’d be able to drink herself into a stupor tonight. When she got enough to drink, she didn’t care if Taver pocketed a penny or two to buy a bowl of potlatch, the heavy stews that never stopped simmering or being added to in the poorer potshops.
He didn’t know who the Old Woman was, or even what her name was. She was just the Old Woman. He didn’t remember anyone before her. He didn’t think that she was his mother, or even a relation.
His stomach rumbled angrily, and he eyed the food in the begging bowl. Things had been harder since the Plague began. Hardship had come to everyone, and there was less charity than ever. Their usual source of breakfast, the leftover buns and breads the priestesses-in-training had collected from bakeries and kitchens each night and distributed to the poor every morning, had stopped. There had never been enough to eat, but now he felt hungry and cold all the time. He never seemed to grow anymore.
With the Plague raging unchecked, fewer people came out in public. Those who could afford to closed their homes and businesses and fled the city. Those who could not went on as best they could, staying behind barred doors whenever possible. Hucksters who had been up until last summer selling love and luck charms were now selling talismans against illness. Food vendors extolled the healthful virtues of their wares. It didn’t seem to help, people still died.
Taver didn’t have time to worry about getting sick. His thoughts mostly revolved around finding enough to eat and avoiding the Old Woman’s beatings.
Across the street, a dancer and a fiddler were setting up for the day’s busking. A crowd was already gathering, the girl was attractive, lithe, and scantily clad despite the chill morning. The presence of street performers was a mixed blessing. They would naturally get the lion’s share of the spare coin the crowd might be carrying, but they’d also attract more pedestrians to this out-of-the-way corner. Taver tried to make his voice just a little louder, just a little more pathetic.
One among the crowd gave him a glance that bespoke more than casual interest. Taver tried to look hungry and cold. It wasn’t hard, he was hungry and cold. The man was well-dressed, perhaps a merchantman or high ranking servant. His hair and small beard were neatly trimmed and groomed. To his disappointment, though, the man looked away. Still, Taver kept eying the man hopefully.
It was because of his intent scrutiny that he saw it. The man’s eyes kept flicking back to a taller boy, perhaps a few years older than Taver, although well-fed and better clothed. The boy kept moving restlessly through the crowd, as though he couldn’t quite see over the heads of those in front of him. When the boy passed close to the man, something passed between them, so fast that he wasn’t sure he’d seen it.
The man’s eyes flicked back to him, and Taver swallowed and looked quickly away. It wasn’t safe to catch a thief at work when you were as unimportant a person as Taver. People had vanished for less. He looked everywhere but the crowd, praying that the man would leave when the performance ended. His inattentiveness earned him a dark look from the Old Woman, but he was far too afraid of the well-dressed man to notice.
As the crowd dispersed, the Old Woman staggered to her feet, rage suffusing her face. Too late, Taver noticed that somewhere she’d gotten a flask of beer or ale dregs, enough to make her temper uncertain.
“Li’l brat!†she said, thickly. “Teach ya na’ ta wahrk ta crowd.†Taver ducked away, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso as she grabbed a handful of his hair in one meaty fist. With the other, she struck him across the face. His knees tried to give out, but her monstrous grip on his hair kept him upright.
“Sorry! Sorry!†He whimpered, trying to get his feet back under him.
“Na’ sorry yet, brat,†she said, striking him across the other cheek. Her breath reeked of sour beer. Taver felt his gorge rise and his vision darkened around the edges, and he prayed he wouldn’t be sick. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his stomach.
When the third blow didn’t come, he dared to open one. The sight he beheld caused his jaw to drop open in surprise.
The man he’d observed earlier stood holding The Old Woman’s wrist, her arm upraised for another blow, with a faint look of distaste on his lordly features. The Old Woman gaped at him like a landed fish.
“Pardon me, goodwife,†he said, making an epithet of the courtly greeting, “but is the lad such a poor worker?â€
The Old Woman seemed to get her wits back at his words. She released her grip on Taver’s hair, causing him to fall hard on his rump. She snatched her wrist back from the man, and gave him a dark look.
“Lad’sa halfwit. Hasta be beaten or ‘e’s no good for nothin’.†Taver burned at the lie, but knew better than to interrupt the Old Woman, or things would go hard for him.
“A halfwit, you say?†The man looked over Taver, and to his surprise, he saw humor sparkling in those eyes. “Your son, then?â€
“Na, na!†Said The Old Woman, stung that she could be thought so deficient as to throw a halfwit son.
“Ah, a bondling, then.†The man gave an affected shrug, and turned as if to move on. Then, as if struck by a thought, he turned back. “My dear goodwife, the Church begs us to be merciful to those in need. It just so happens I’m in need of a boy. I’ll buy his bond from you, and spare you the task of caring for one as careless and stupid as this boy.â€
The Old Woman’s features pinched as though she’d bit into an apple and found a nest of worms. “Boy’s na’ fer sale.†She mumbled.
“Now, now. Everything’s for sale, no? It’s not like you’ve a mother’s affection for the boy. And I’m sure,†he paused meaningfully, “that all your paperwork for the bonding is in order? You’re on the rolls as the boy’s guardian?â€
The Old Woman grunted something that might have been either a negative or an affirmative. She looked uncertain now. The man allowed the awkward silence that followed to stretch on just long enough, then with a flourish, brought out a heavy looking belt pouch.
“It would be a shame to bother the Guard about so simple a transaction. Why don’t I just give you a fair price for the lad,†and with that, he pressed 10 zen coins into The Old Woman’s fat palm, “and I’ll trust that you’ll see the rolls are updated.†He winked at Taver. Taver could only gape up at him in return.
“Come on, lad.†The man said, heaving Taver to his feet by one arm.
“Now, jus’ a min’ae!†The Old Woman seemed to recover her wits as she saw her meal ticket being led away by his arm.
“Oh? Did you wish to involve the guard, after all?†The playfulness was gone from the man’s voice. Now his voice was like a dagger revealed by the moonlight, shocking and deadly.
For a moment, the woman glared at him, defiant. Then she sank in on herself, defeated. The man nodded, as if he had expected no less, and continued leading Taver away. Taver had to hurry his strides to keep up, his mind still not grasping this sudden change. What did this lordly looking man want a boy for? Nervously, he glanced up at the bearded face. The man glanced down, and seeing his expression, released his arm.
Taver backed away, not sure if he should run.
To his shock, the man got down on one knee on the dusty cobblestones, bringing his face down to Taver’s.
“What’s your name, boy?†The man said, tone far gentler than anything he’d used on the Old Woman.
“Taver, sir.†He replied, finding the pattern of cobblestones at his feet suddenly fascinating.
“And sir, yet!†The man seemed delighted, “not a hopeless barbarian like some of the others. Well, Taver, you can call me Gayle.â€
Others? Taver swallowed, and managed a nod from somewhere.
“Now, now. No need to look like I’m going to eat you.†A frown creased his features. “Caelach? Caelach, where are you, you layabout?â€
The taller boy Taver had spotted in the crowd melted out of the shadows. There was no other way to describe it. One moment the roadside was empty, the next the boy was standing there, leaning against a lamppost.
“Layabout, am I? When I lifted enough to last us a week, risking my pretty hands,†the boy studied his nails, and Taver had to admit they were nice hands, unscarred by rough labor, “and this is the thanks I get?†His smile, fleeting and bright as the sun breaking through a cloudy sky, gave lie to his aggrieved tone.
“Hmph.†Gayle got to his feet, dusting off his trousers. “Such impudence deserves some hard duty. Take this lad back to the House, see that he gets a bath and a set of decent clothes.†His expression looked deadly earnest, but Caelach grinned impertinently back.
“Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself chasing a youngster, Old Man.†With that, Caelach grabbed Taver by the hand and led him off by way of a back alley. Glancing back over his shoulder, Taver saw Gayle shaking one fist at the retreating backs.
“Hey, kid. You got a name?†Caelach’s voice brought Taver back to the boy walking beside him. Caelach looked a lot like the sleek merchant’s kids he saw. Boys and girls who rarely went more than one or two hungry days at a time and whose clothes were always warm enough. His light hair was trimmed short, except for a neat queue tied back with a bit of ribbon. His clothes weren’t new, but they were free of patches and darns, the sort of hand-me-down clothing servants got for their yearly stipend.
He wondered what sort of thing he’d stumbled into. Some of the other Warren brats sometimes whispered of child traffickers, who sold children to people with dark tastes.
The taller boy must have seen the fear in his eyes, because he slowed down his pace, but tightened the grip on his hand. “Now, look. Gayle ain’t no gutter-pervert.†The use of familiar Warren slang reassured Taver more than the words. “It ain’t safe to talk ‘bout here, you ken? But ‘e won’t hurt you none. Now, you gots a name, or what?â€
Taver took a deep breath. He thought, if he tried, that he could tear away from the boy. Caelach might be taller and better fed, but Taver was used to fighting away from people who were bigger. That thought, coupled with the reassurances in the familiar lingo, made him bold.
“Name’s Taver.†He said, using the tone he’d seen the street kids use on each other when sizing each other up for the pecking order.
“Oho! Not a mute, huh? Well, I’m Caelach.†He winked at the younger boy in appreciation of his imitations of the miniature bravos in the Warrens. “Woops, in here. Watch your head.â€
With that warning, they ducked into a space between two of the rickety buildings that made up the Warrens. The buildings on the Eastern side of town had been thrown up haphazardly and quickly by citizens who had once lived outside of the walls before the barbarian Istha invasion. Once the war was over, the buildings had been abandoned by their former owners, and carved up into multiple residences to be leased out individually. Although the quarter had once had a loftier name, it was now only known as The Warrens for it’s twisting passages and the mass of humanity packed into anything that could be converted into living space.
The alleyway was narrow, and Caelach was now walking in front of Taver, his grip on his hand much reduced. Taver was too busy avoiding low outthrusts from the buildings, piles of trash, and puddles of unnamable fluids to think of running, though.
The alley came out in a courtyard filled with smashed crates and some broken pottery. A few boarded windows looked in on it, but it appeared to be a dead end. Caelach turned around and grinned at him.
“See it? Naw, I can see you don’t. Fools the beaks good, too.†He said, using The Warren slang for the Guard. He walked over to one of the boarded up windows and did something to it. The boards swung out, revealing an opening that a grown man would only have to duck a little to get through. Caelach grinned like a magician showing off a favorite trick, and with a flourish gestured for Taver to come in.
Taver glanced back at the alley. But where would he go? He’d seen for himself the fate of children on their own in The Warrens. Gathering the shredded remains of his courage, he stepped over the high threshold and into the house.
The building was far nicer on the inside. The walls were paneled with wood that had been covered with something shiny, perhaps wax or resin. The entryway was paved with slate, easy to clean. From the landing, stairs led up and down to a pair of doors.
Caelach paused to remove his boots and drop them in a box beside the door, already half full of other pairs. He glanced meaningfully at Taver, but the younger boy glanced away. Taver didn’t have any shoes, and made do with several pairs of thick socks and some waxed paper placed between the layers for soles.
“Ho. See we’ve got to get you fitted for boots, ya? Barefoot boy’ll not run far nor fast, you ken?†Actually, Taver didn’t, but he nodded anyway. Surely the boy couldn’t be talking about getting him, Taver, boots, could he? A good pair of boots cost more than he could take in begging in a month.
Caelach sniffed, and guided the younger boy down the stairs. “First order of business be a bath, methinks. You stink!†The last was delivered so cheerfully that Taver had trouble being stung by it. He’d done his best to stay clean, but there’s only so much one can do with an old cracked basin and a filthy rag.
The door opened up to a wide room. Curtained cubbies lined the walls, one below, one above. A few had the curtains drawn back to reveal neat little beds, carefully made with bedclothes folded on the pillows. A much-mended pair of tables and a mismatched assortment of stools graced the center of the room, where a pair of boys were sorting what looked like handkerchiefs. One of the boys, a broad boy on the cusp of manhood, glanced up and noted their coming.
“Wha’s this, Caelach? Were the pickings so bad you lifted a beggar brat?†The other boy chuckled, but didn’t look up from his intent study of a silk scarf.
“Nah, new kid, Roddie. Gayle went and picked ‘im out this mornin’. ‘E needs a bath somethin’ fierce, but ‘e’s a quick one. Caught me makin’ the trade-off to the Old Man.â€
Roddie blinked with something akin to respect at Taver. “Heh, never thought I’d see the day. Weren’ you jus’ braggin’ tha’ no beak could ever catch you?â€
“He ain’t no beak, Roddie. He’s one o’ us, and tha’s different.â€
“He weren’t one of us this mornin’,†the boy snorted, but returned to his work.
Taver allowed himself to be led into the back room, which was paved entirely in slate like the entryway. A drain sat in the middle of the floor, as well as a hip tub and a complicated apparatus that appeared to move water from a boiler and dump it just over head height on the tub.
“A smelly thief is a handless thief, I always say.†Caelech remarked cheerfully. “The Old Man mighta told me to give you a bath, but I think you’re old enough to handle it.†He handed Taver a bar of soap that smelled strongly of lye and a stiff-bristled brush. “I’ll be back with some clothes as might fit you.â€
With that, Caelach left him alone in the washroom. After a moment of stillness, Taver crept over to the door and tried the handle. It moved freely, he hadn’t been locked in. For the first time all morning, he could think about what was happening to him.
He stripped off the smelly layers of rags he wore, and placed them neatly against one wall.
The first, and most obvious thought, was that Caelach was a thief. A pickpocket, to be exact, not one of those who stole at knifepoint or bashed their victims over the head. A dangerous profession, everyone knew that thieves got only two chances with the beaks – the first offense resulted in a highly visible brand on each hand, the second, a lifetime of hard labor in the mines or the loss of said hands.
The spigot above the washtub turned out to be a simple affair, a pull rope caused water so hot as to make him gasp to stream over his head. Gritting his teeth, he began attack his body with the harsh lye soap and brush, wincing as it stung in his numerous scrapes and cuts.
Gayle appeared to be no relation to the boys here, although he seemed to be an authority figure. The way the boys said the Old Man was as different from his mental appellation of the Old Woman as night was from day. Taver was ill-equiped to recognize love and affection, but he did dimly sense the difference.
The water was black with grime, so he got out and attempted to tip over the hip bath. It proved to heavy for him, but while he lay panting on the floor, he noted a groove carved under the tub that ran to the drain. On a suspicion, he put his arm in the water up to his elbow, and felt around until he found a round cork, tightly wedged into the bottom. A rope came out of the top of it, and with some tugging, it came loose and the water drained out.
He wasn’t exactly sure what Gayle wanted him for. From Caelach’s comments, a half-formed suspicion was forming, but he didn’t dare to believe it yet. Nothing in his short life had led him to believe that anything good ever came from adults.
His hair was the worst, a rat’s nest of tangles and probably full of nits, for all he’d tried to keep it clean. He was sobbing, unashamed, and the bottom of the washtub was filled with matted clumps of hair pulled free by the time he was done. His hair was much longer than he’d thought now that it was untangled, reaching to his shoulders in the back.
He was just getting ready for a third scrubbing when Caelach returned with an armful of clothing and a pair of soft shoes.
“Woah there! You tryin’ to scrub your skin off?†The boy laughed, tossing Taver a soft rectangle of cloth. Taver gathered he was supposed to dry himself with it, and reluctantly stepped out of the tub and blotted his body. “You know, Roddie likes his baths. You use all the hot water and he’s like to make you chop wood to make more!â€
Taver glanced guiltily at the boiler, but Caelach gave him a hearty smack on the back. “Nah, don’t feel bad. Not e’en Roddie’d have wanted to sleep in the same room with you the way you smelled when you came in.†Taver flushed, and grinned weakly back at the boy.
“See, you do have some spunk. Thought mebbe that old hag had beat it out of you.â€
Emboldened by the teasing, Taver decided to test the waters. “Not so cowed as I couldn’t catch you.â€
Caelach threw back his head and roared with laughter. When he finally finished, he clapped a hand on the boy’s back again. “Oh, you’re going to fit in ‘round here like a peg in a hole.†He handed the boy the clothes he was carrying. “Here, lessee if we can get you lookin’ like you belong, too.â€
The clothes were too big for him, and in the end they had to use a bit of rope to hold up the pants. But they were clean, and soft, and all the holes in them had been expertly mended. A bit of rawhide to tie back his hair, and for the first time in his life, Taver didn’t feel like a wretched beggar boy.
Caelach stepped back and nodded his approval. “Not bad, Taver.â€
Taver was practically glowing with happiness. The only thing that could make his life better right now was-
“I think we have time for a spot ‘o lunch before the Old Man gets back.†Taver stomach embarrassed him by giving a very audible growl. Caelach grinned, “and from the looks of you, you need it. All skin and bones!â€
There were perhaps a dozen boys sitting around the tables when they emerged, helping themselves to the contents of baskets and steaming platters. Some good natured shoving and joking was going on, but no one seemed truly concerned about not getting enough.
“Move over, move over.†Caelach said, addressing three boys taking up a bench with a missing board down the center. The boys gave Taver a curious glance, but they obligingly made room for the two boys at the end of the bench. Cealach dropped a wooden plate in front of him, then piled it high with a roll, a baked turnip, and a drumstick of something that was either a small chicken or a large pigeon.
The food was better than anything he’d ever had before. The bread was soft and crusty, not rock-hard like the stale loaf ends he’d had before. The tuber was hot and sweet, without a trace of black spots or mold. The fowl was a revelation, nearly melting in his mouth and dripping with grease. He heard one of the boys complaining that the food was below the normal quality, and blinked at him in disbelief.
Taver observed the boys between bites of food, trying not to gobble it down like a starving dog. All of the boys seemed to be between his own age and Caelach’s, only Roddie appeared to be older. When he saw Caelach using the tined instrument to eat his tuber, Taver dropped it and attempted to imitate him. Manipulating the device proved harder than he thought, but none of the boys laughed when his clumsily speared portions kept falling back on his plate.
The boy on his left nudged him, and demonstrated angling the implement just enough to keep the food on it. Taver smiled gratefully. “Thank you.†He whispered.
“’S no problem.†The boy said, loud enough to be heard. “Twern’t so long ago that none o’ us knew how to use a fork. Look at us now! Right civilized, we are.†He punctuated his point by jabbing his fork into the air. It seemed to be a long-standing joke, for all the boys laughed.
It wasn’t long before Taver was chatting amiably with the boy next to him, whose name turned out to be Berin. Berin’s eyes got wide as saucers as Taver described the life of a beggar.
“Lansakes, an’ I thought I had it bad at tha’ orph’nage.†He whistled low. Taver flushed. “They might notta liked me much, but at leas’ they fed us twice a day. But Marlin, there,†Berin jerked his thumb at a quiet, frail-looking boy sitting at the other table, “his da used to use him the girl, if ya know what I’m sayin’. The Old Man’s got a soft spot fer cases like yours.â€
Maybe, thought Taver. Or maybe he knows how grateful a boy taken from a situation like that would be. Certainly Taver felt it, an overwhelming need to do anything to keep this warm room with delicious food and soft, inviting beds.
“C’mon, Taver. We’re off ta see the Old Man.†Caelach said, getting to his feet and belching loudly. The other boys gave him supportive grins, and Berin even gave his hand a squeeze before he stood up. “Don’t worry,†Caelach said, winking, “he don’t bite. Jus’ barks a lot.â€
The food suddenly a knot in his stomach, Taver got to his feet and followed Caelach back up the stairs. Instead of leaving the little house, they went up the second set of stairs at the landing into what must have been the kitchen where lunch had come from. A pair of boys were cleaning pots in a basin full of water, and gave jaunty waves to Caelach.
“All the boys take turns doin’ kitchen duty. Don’t ‘spose you can cook?†Taver shook his head. “Ah, well. Twon’t be the first time we’ve had doughy bread and burned turnips.†Caelach managed to look so much like the paintings of St. Kaerine, the twice martyred, that Taver had to stifle a giggle.
The door from the kitchens led to a spacious room with a tall ceiling. Various objects were set up around the room, including a small wall with a tile roof and several tall poles with rounded bases, dressed in fine clothing and hung with bells. Taver didn’t have much time to gawk, however, because Gayle was striding across the room toward them.
“Could this really be the same lad?†Gayle said, eyes twinkling with the same merriment as earlier. He pulled a long-legged stool up and perched on it, indicating Taver to have a seat. After a moment, he plunked himself down on the floor, leaving the other stool to Caelach.
“And so polite, too. I can only hope you’ll let some of that rub off on my boys. Some of them,†and he shot a glance at Caelach, “are severely lacking in manners.â€
“Yes, sir.†Taver said, not sure how he was supposed to respond to that.
“Aw, c’mon, Gayle. Don’t leave the poor boy hanging like that. Jus’- Just tell him what you want. The kid’s already scared.†Taver noticed, absently, that Caelech’s diction sounded far more upper class when in Gayle’s presence.
Gayle snorted softly, and fixed the boy with a mildly disapproving stare until Caelach flushed and looked away.
“Still, the boy is right. It might be best if we just got to the point.†He looked at Taver until the boy met his eyes. “I’m offering you a most unusual apprenticeship, young Taver. As you have no doubt already ascertained,†he gave Caelach a conspiratorial wink, which the boy returned impudently, “my boys here are thieves. Rather good thieves, trained by the best.†At that, Caelach snorted, but Gayle ignored him.
“I’m offering you the same training. Offer’s the same as any apprenticeship, bed and two meals a day while you train, three months of training before you start work. Apprenticeship fee is waved, but for your first sixmonth of work, I’ll take double the normal cut. After that, half of what you lift is yours to fence, keep, or sell back to me.â€
Gayle paused for a minute to look Taver over critically. “A bit too small for much lifting right now, but you look nimble enough for it, and maybe for roof work, too.â€
Taver blinked. It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. Even if he’d been old enough to be apprenticed, he’d known such a fate was not for the likes of him. Even supposing the Old Woman would have ever let him go, she’d never have parted with an apprentice fee for him even if she’d had the coin. When he thought about it at all, he expected he’d end up like Old Man Serin, binding up his legs to look like they were missing and begging for rotten food by the Cathedral steps. Assuming he wasn’t killed by the hundreds of things that could happen to a young boy living in the Warrens, that is, from flux to bully boys.
Still, the life of a thief was a precarious one. He’d seen the men with brands on their hands led away to live the rest of their lives slaving in the mines. Lives that were notoriously short, for the mines had a thirst for blood that was never slaked.
And yet, was the life of a street brat on his own any better? Even if the Old Woman would take him back, his prospects out there seemed bleak, at best.
In the end, it was an easy decision. Nodding solemnly, Taver spat in his palm and offered it to Gayle in the age-old Warren ritual of making a deal. Without missing a beat, the older man spat in his own hand and shook the smaller one, sealing the bargain.
“Welcome to our brotherhood, Taver.â€
Keep up the standard!