Then one of the Leagueman chimed in. “Turn out your pockets.”
Malen hesitated, until one of the city guards drew his sword. He couldn’t have violence in his own home.
“Roth, it’ll be all right,” he said again, and disentangled himself from his son.
He did as he was told, and a half-moment later, the steel realmcoin hit the cold wood floor with a sharp ting. It rolled a bit and settled into a hum as it spun for a few moments. When it stopped, the tension in the room thickened. The first city guard took slow, ponderous steps forward, bent, and retrieved the coin.
In the weak light of morning he studied it back and front. After a long moment, he said simply, “It’s him.”
“Now wait a minute, you don’t know—”
“The mayor’s secretary personally marks every plug,” the man said sharply, and held the coin toward Malen. He took it and made a close inspection. A small, thin mark had been inscribed just above the impression of Dilena’s nose—Dilena being one of So’Dell’s influential matriarchs from some time ago—occasionally seen on a crane card.
It all became clear to him then. He’d been hoodwinked. He hadn’t helped rob Gynedo, he’d just robbed the mayor’s secretary. The two men who’d come to him on the dock, pretending to enlist his help in fleecing the straw-boss, they were Gynedo’s accomplices. It had all been an elaborate wharf-game. This one, though, truly played for high stakes.
Malen had threatened the boat gambler with the law. Gynedo wouldn’t take the risk that Malen might make good on that threat. So he’d used Malen to help rob a city official, then set him up as the dupe. Malen’s anger and desperation had been used against him. It was devilishly brilliant. But now what?
“Let me go, and I’ll help you find the two who kept the secretary’s treasury,” he offered evenly.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” the seated guard said, a sly grin on his face.
More of this elaborate wharf-game slid into place.
Of course not. You’re part of the scheme. The two men last night: probably city guards. That’s how they knew where the secretary was staying while he was traveling on tax rounds.
Much of what took place on a riverboat was illegal. And docked in the harbor, it fell under Wanship law. So buying some allegiance with the city-men who enforced the law was practical. Men Gynedo would use to play an entirely different kind of game. With the kind of stakes that could warm his blood.
Malen felt suddenly small and silly for having gone to the boat with Marta’s things. Had he really thought he could gamble his and Roth’s way out of their lot?
I’m tired, Marta.
But he couldn’t afford to be tired. He still had Roth to look after.
The city guard who was seated looked across at the Leaguemen and nodded. In a swift movement, one of the Leaguemen swept Roth close, holding him tight. The bright sound of steel being drawn filled the small room as the first city guard drew his blade and held it out in front of Malen. A warning.
“Let him go!” Malen cried.
Roth looked scared. “Da?”
The other city-man stood and came around behind Malen, hauling him to his feet and jerking his arms back. The guard crossed Malen’s wrists, and bound them with a lash of leather. “Let’s go,” he said, and began pulling him toward the door.
“No, Da! Don’t let them!” Roth began to struggle with all his boyhood strength, his eyes filling with tears of worry and fear.
Malen yanked his arms free, feeling something tear in his left shoulder. But he got loose and went to Roth, kneeling down again so the boy could see his eyes.
“It’ll be all right. I promise.” He hated the taste of those lies. But they were the only words that made sense to say. “I’ve made some poor choices, but I can get past them. Be brave until I do. I’ll come for you soon.”
Malen then looked up at the nearest Leagueman. “You’re taking him to the orphanage?”
The Leagueman’s eyes showed a touch of sympathy, but before he could speak, the city guard broke in.
“It’s no loaf of oat bread you took. You robbed the mayor’s tax man. You stole the coin of people all along the seaside district. People who will now be asked to pay again.” There was a long pause. “Finish making your goodbyes.”
Roth began to weep openly, silently. Malen’s boy shook his head, trying in his only way to deny what he’d just heard.
“No, Da. Don’t go. Tell them about Ma. Tell them we’re rough men. Tell them we just wanted to sell her nice things. Get a stash of our own.”
It took all the strength he had left not to break down. Because he was looking at his last broken promise. He’d never be able to make good on the assurance he’d given Marta that he’d take good care of Roth. He’d tried. He’d done the only things he could think to do. But it hadn’t been enough. And maybe worse … he’d had some real lapses in judgment. His boy would now pay the price for his failure.
He turned it all over in his mind. Could he have done any of it differently? What play did he have left? After a few moments, his thoughts only jumbled together, pressed under the reality of what was happening.
He looked up at the Leagueman still holding his son. In a broken voice he said, “Isn’t the League supposed to see past the lettered law? Can’t you help us?”
The second Leagueman opened his mouth to speak, his expression sharp. He looked like one ready to reprove. But the man holding Roth held up an arm, calling silence with the motion.
He looked down at the top of Roth’s head, then back at Malen. There was an idea forming in the man’s mind. Malen could see it. A moment later, he loosened his grip on Roth and hunkered down beside him.
He gave Malen a serious look, and spoke softly. “I have an … arrangement for you to consider.” The lean Leagueman sounded genuine enough. “I’ll appeal to the city.” He looked at the two guards. “Get you acquitted here, now, without trial. And in exchange, you’ll place the boy in our care and service until the debt is paid.”
“I’m innocent,” Malen said rather weakly. Then stronger: “I’m innocent.”
The Leagueman leaned close, keeping his own voice low when he spoke. “That may be. But a prudent man sees when he’s beaten, doesn’t he. And finds the least painful way to lose.”
Malen looked into the other’s eyes. This fellow wasn’t part of the larger game. He was, perhaps, as caught in it as Malen was.
Quieter still, the Leagueman suggested, “A free man can work to pay a debt. A man in prison has fewer options.”
In the silence that followed—a silence of broken promises—Malen finally accepted the least painful way to lose. At last, he nodded. As the Leagueman rose and went to talk to the city guards, Roth fell against Malen and put his arms tight around his neck.
“Da, don’t let them take me. I just want to stay with you.” His boy shivered with fear.
With his arms tied, he couldn’t hug his son, but he laid his cheek against the top of Roth’s head. “This is the only way. I think the Leagueman is a good man. And if I’m free, I can find work to pay back the debt. I won’t rest until I have.”
“Please, Da.”
“We’re rough men, remember,” Malen said, and nudged his boy back so he could see his face. “We can handle anything. You’ll learn all kinds of things, I imagine. More than I can afford. And when I come for you, you can teach me.” Then he nearly lost control, his voice thickening. “I’m sorry it turned out this way. It’s my fault. But I’ll make it right, son. I swear.”
The Leagueman returned and gave Malen a simple nod. The deal was made. The League was constantly recruiting. The city-men likely saw this as a straightforward ploy by the League to boost its membership, assuming Roth stayed on with them. And the League had become more than influential in So’Dell, especially with the people who gave city-men orders. It hadn’t taken much to strike this deal.
Malen let out a long breath, and gave Roth a reassuring smile. “Think of it as an adve
nture. A good one. For a rough man. And I’ll come for you soon.”
Roth nodded, but stepped close again and clung to him. Malen gave the lean Leagueman a look. You’ll have to take him.
Gently, but firmly, the man pulled Roth away from Malen. The boy sobbed, and it broke Malen’s heart. Then the other Leagueman rose, a bit perturbed, it seemed. And together the three left his small dockside home.
He sighed heavily, sad to his bones. But eager, despite his weariness, this very hour to find work and begin to earn back what would be needed. He struggled to his feet and turned to the city guards. It took only half a moment to recognize the look in their eyes. They had no intention of keeping their end of the agreement with the League.
“Let’s go,” the more senior city guard said. His smugness was gone. He just wanted to be shut of this affair. He grabbed Malen’s bound arms and began pushing him out the door.
Fury and frustration and deep, sickening loss flared inside him. Beyond the door, he looked up the wharf where the Leaguemen walked on either side of his son. The boy’s shoulders were slumped, his head down. Malen’s only thoughts were that he might never see his boy again, and that perhaps, if nothing else, Roth would find a better life with the League.
In that moment, something occurred to him. Something he desperately needed to tell his son. He called out, his voice echoing up the wharf front, “Roth!”
The boy jerked around, pulling his escorts to a dead halt. His eyes had widened with surprise. Hope, maybe.
“Not rough men,” Malen said, shaking his head. “Good men. We’re good men.” Malen straightened his back, the motion an invitation for his son to do the same.
Roth stared a moment, as if fighting the feelings inside him. Then, his boy straightened too. It was the bravest thing Malen ever remembered seeing. He smiled at the lad. Nodded.
Then the Leaguemen urged Roth back to their course. And Malen went the other direction in the company of the city-men, thinking mostly about the thin line a man walked as he tried not to disappoint his child. And the hell of it when he did.
He’d told his boy not to worry. He’d told his boy to trust him. That they’d get through all this together. But in the end, he’d lost Roth anyway, even after being willing to gamble Marta’s nice things. His last things of her. And now the very last, very best part of them, Roth … was gone too.
But even in that bitter moment, Malen felt a hopeful smile play at his lips. Yes, he’d disappointed his son. He’d have to live with that for a long time. But the League would see to Roth’s schooling. The boy would never go hungry. He’d have options when he reached his Standing, became an adult. And as for Malen himself, the stocks wouldn’t hold him forever. Five years, perhaps. Maybe ten. And during that time he’d eat better than he had in months. Sleep more, too. He had the League to thank for that, since they believed a man could change, and made sure he had the strength to try.
Being away from Roth would be the true hell. But it was temporary. The city-men may have thought they were clever, deceiving the League about their bargain. And the League may have thought they’d eased Malen down a bitter path. In reality, they’d all given him and Roth new life. And when he finally made it back to his boy, each of them better for the years in between, no heaven or hell would part them again. That was a promise he’d damn sure keep.
He straightened his back further yet, and made the city-men work to keep pace.
Copyright © 2015 by Peter Orullian
Art copyright © 2015 by Tommy Arnold
The Hell of It Page 5