by TJ Muir
On Borrowed Luck
Two seagulls fought over the remnants of a discarded fish head. Kirrin watched the squabble for a while until he looked up, and saw the Nibbin skirting across the sky towards the horizon, signaling the end of the work day. Not good. He had been wasting time, again, instead of tending to the errand he was on. Now he was stuck waiting while the fishmonger talked to a customer. Kirrin eyed several piles of fish, tossed out over chunks of ice to keep it fresh. He glanced around, cringing at the smells -- pungent fish, wet rope and stale beer that were ever present on the docks. He hated coming down here, but his mother couldn’t leave the kitchen at the inn and didn’t have anyone else to send.
He sighed in relief when the fish merchant turned to him.
“Tully’s crew should be in tomorrow with a fresh haul of sea bass,” the merchant said.
Kirrin nodded. “Mum’ll like that. Hard to get fresh sea bass, especially this time of year. Can you save ten pounds worth for me?” he asked, reaching into his pocket for the coins.
The docks were clearing out now. Kirrin shifted his weight as he handed the man a silver penny and took his receipt. He glanced at it quickly to assure it was correct, and then shoved it in his pocket. At least now he could go home, putting a safe distance between himself and the docks.
Kirrin cut behind a row of shops and headed up the steps in a back alley that led toward the central region of Tatak Rhe. The cool air and shade of the buildings were a relief after standing out in the sun. When he got to the top of the first terrace, he headed north, toward the Red Coach Inn. He blinked as he stepped into the bright afternoon sunlight at the south end of the plaza. Raising a hand, he shaded his eyes against the glare.
As his eyes came into focus, he made out three boys engaged in a mock combat, with one boy defending himself and a statue against his two attackers.
“Kill the tribal scum. We’ll defend this city against the hellspawn!”
One of the boys caught sight of Kirrin before he could escape.
“Hey look, mama’s boy running home. Gonna run before he pisses himself…”
The familiar voice of Kirrin’s worst nightmare rang out from his right.
‘Damn the nine hells,’ he swore to himself, as Aldon, and his friends honed in on a real enemy to attack.
Kirrin spun on his heels, and dove back down the stairs into the alley, breaking into a run. He pictured the streets in his head, mapping the quickest route back into the city, where the boys were unlikely to follow.
He sped through a narrow side street, and up a flight of stairs. “Keep running, carrot top!” yelled Aldon from behind him, closer now. He darted left, down another side street and stumbled to a stop, his breath coming in short, hot gasps. The street ahead was torn up for repaving and completely blocked off by heavy metal gates. Panicked, he backtracked, and took a right, then another left, trying to hold the map in his head.
A triumphant laugh rang out behind Kirrin as he rounded a corner, and found himself facing a dead end.
The three older boys closed in behind Kirrin as he darted back and forth along the wall, trying to make his way out. He thought back along his route, trying to see where he had gone wrong, sorting it all out in his head. If he could just get out of this alley, he was sure he knew the path back to safety. But first, he had to get past Aldon and his thuggish friends.
They fanned out, blocking the exit of the alley. Kirrin feinted left, and then charged to the right hoping to fake them out, only to reel backwards as Aldon’s fist connected hard with his nose. The coppery taste of blood rose in the back of his mouth. Before he could recover, a hand gripped his neck, and sent him flying backwards against the wall, knocking the wind from his lungs. He started to slide down the wall only to be halted by a knee in his gut.
Kirrin doubled over with his arms wrapped around himself. This was bad. He had to get out of the alley. He charged forward, trying to headbutt his attacker, but a hand rammed his shoulder into the wall again, and he fell. He dropped his arms, catching himself despite another blow to the back of the head. He curled defensively, twisting his legs under his stomach and wrapping one arm around his head to protect his face as blows rained down from above.
He rocked forward again, but instead of trying to break through directly in front of himself, he shot his elbow out to the side.
Luck was with him-- His elbow dug hard into the soft stomach of an attacker, who fell away, leaving a precious gap. He lashed out with his other hand, snatching wildly at anything he could find, and found hair. Twisting the hair down, he pushed out hard, knocking the bully back and propelling himself sideways. The third boy--Traz--grabbed at him, but Kirrin was back on his feet now and kicked out hard, hitting the side of his knee. Traz collapsed to the ground with a yelp of pain.
Kirrin turned and ran. His mind raced, trying to sort out his path without slowing himself down. He turned down one street, and then another alley, hoping he was right and just one more turn would get him out into the city, where the streets were more familiar. Behind him, he could hear the angry shouts as Aldon and Friel gave chase.
Kirrin raced around the corner at the top of the alley, desperate to get away. A carriage was parked, partially blocking the exit, and the door carelessly left open. As he swerved to dash around it he glanced inside--Empty. No driver in sight.
Without thinking, he dove inside, clawing the door closed behind him.
He lay still, heart pounding, waiting to be discovered, but nothing happened. He could hear the clatter of metal shoes scraping on the cobbles as the horses shifted their weight. A man--the driver?-- laughed with a woman nearby. A sudden pounding against the cobbles signaled the approach of Aldon and Freil. Kirrin stopped breathing. Had they seen him enter the carriage? He twisted, as smooth and silently as he could, and wedged himself under the seat, behind the elaborate, semi sheer hanging which was no doubt meant to hide baggage, though the space was empty now.
He heard Aldon’s voice from outside. “Where did the dousha go?”
Freil answered, from further away. “I don’t see him anywhere.”
“Find him. That bleeding rat is gonna pay for what he dun to Traz.”
Inside the carriage, Kirrin listened, courage and strength spent. Blood dripped from a cut above his eye, and from his nose. He lay there, hearing the boys outside, and wondered why it was that no one ever paid for his injuries?
“You think we should go check on Traz?” Freil asked.
“Nah. I want that dousha. Traz can wait. He’d want payback anyway,” Kirrin could hear the burning hatred in Aldon’s voice. “Go take a look over there.”
A moment of silence. Kirrin wondered if Aldon had left. Then, he heard Aldon calling to Freil. “You see him over on that side?”
Freil’s voice came back, faint. “Nothing. The little fop just vanished.”
“Check around the stalls. I’ll check over here.”
Aldon’s voice sounded less interested now. Kirrin hoped the two of them would broaden their search, giving him a chance to get out of the carriage before--
A new voice, just outside. “When it pleases you, I’ll be ready to return to the house.” The words and the tone did not match. The voice carried an authority and lazy arrogance that Kirrin recognized from some of the inn’s wealthy patrons.
“Right away, sir,” came the reply, sounding anxious and hurried.
Kirrin heard a woman giggle, and someone scrambling outside the carriage. The door opened and the whole carriage shifted. A pair of boots climbed in and settled in front of his face as the seat squeaked and shifted just over his head. Very fine boots, suede, dyed in a rich burgundy wit
h ornately tooled straps. They were much finer than the sandals Kirrin wore, lacing up around his ankles.
Kirrin thought he was going to be sick. Now he was completely trapped. Should he call out and throw himself on the mercy of the man in the carriage? How would he explain himself? Would the man have sympathy for his situation? What kind of trouble might he be in? Questions raced through his mind, running in circles.
The carriage lurched into motion, accompanied by the clip-clop of the horses’ feet. Kirrin closed his eyes, trying to decide if he should keep quiet or risk speaking out. At best, he would get thrown out of the carriage and have to deal with the very real threat Aldon posed. At worst he would be considered a thief and forced to work off a punishment disproportionate to his crime. Neither was a great option. On the other hand, if he held his tongue, there was a good chance he could just ride the carriage until it stopped, then sneak out and head home. Mostly though, his body was just too sore and bruised to move, and in the end that made his decision for him. Kirrin relaxed, feeling more confident in his new plan.
The clatter and clamor of the city was replaced by birds singing and the sounds of sheep bleating in the distance. The air smelled sweet, except for the occasional stench of manure. Kirrin tried not to flinch when he caught the scent.
Eventually, the carriage came to a stop.
“All right then, sir,” the driver called. “Do you require assistance?”
“Unnecessary,” the voice startled Kirrin, deeper and louder than he expected. It was a voice that held authority.
A jostling as the man climbed down, and then the carriage lurched forward again at a slower pace. Before long, Kirrin heard another voice outside approaching the carriage.
“How’s the horses?”
“Warm, not wet.”
Another round of jostling and the clank of metal. Kirrin recognized the sounds of the horses being unhitched and then the clip clop faded away. He had no idea where he was, but he was fairly sure the carriage was parked for a while, but he stayed under the seat a little while anyway, just in case.
Kirrin hoped his mother wasn’t fretting. This wouldn’t be the first time he had to hide out before he could get home. He imagined she would take him in her arms and hold him close. The thought soothed him as he drifted into an uneasy sleep.
It was well past sunset when Kirrin crept out from under the seat, listening for any sounds around him. He peeked out the window to see where he was. The carriage was parked under a shed roof. From where he was he could see lawns stretching out, a few sheds, and a barn. A lot of open space loomed in the shadows. Definitely not in the city. It was going to be a long walk back, and he wasn’t even sure which way to go.
The twin moons were high in the sky, casting their blue and honey colored lights across lawns and pastures. Kirrin looked for the Nibbin, spotting the bright speck of silver halfway toward the horizon. Sometime between midnight and dawn.
Out of immediate danger, Kirrin’s stomach began to rumble. His last meal had been lunch the day before. He stood in the shadows by the carriage, scoping out the area and trying to come up with a plan. The sounds overwhelmed him. The high pitched chirping of crickets came from everywhere, while lower muffled sounds of herd animals whuffling and stomping came from beyond the barns. An owl hooted from nearby, startling him. He listened hard, trying to make sense of the noises. Were the sounds telling him that everything was safe and quiet? He was used to city sounds and could decipher nothing. He slumped down against the carriage wheel and cursed.
The soft neigh of a horse drew his attention. He stood and headed in that direction, careful to stay in the shadows and not make any noise. He rounded a corner into a small stable yard, where stood a trough with a spout that magically poured water. No hand pumps here. Wherever he was, Kirrin knew the owner must be a powerful person to own such a thing.
He dipped his hand into the water, wondering if it would taste any different as he brought it to his lips. It was sweeter, fresher than city water, but Kirrin didn’t detect any magical effects. He cleaned his wounds with slow, careful movements, lest the bleeding start up again. Feeling better for being clean, he dipped his head and took a few cautious, slow sips, wary of his sore shoulder and the cut above his eye.
Kirrin shook the excess water from his hands as he scanned the area from where he stood. The main house was a distance off, with a stand of trees and a hedgerow between the house and barns. Then he spotted a chicken coop and his stomach rumbled again. Where there were chickens, there were eggs.
But when Kirrin neared the coops, the chickens set to squawking so loudly he was afraid someone would come to see what the noise was all about. He quickly backed away. No matter how famished he was, a few eggs weren’t worth getting caught.
And then he caught the smell of baking bread. It wasn’t coming from the main house. One of the small sheds must be a bake-house. If he was lucky, maybe he could nick a loaf of bread, set out to cool. He frowned, thinking, and weighing the foolishness against the sweet smell wafting through the air.
Hunger won out as he crept forward. Over the years, he had become an expert at nicking sweets from kitchens. His mother and he lived in a room above the barns at an inn. Finn and Chad, the innkeeper’s sons, always convinced him to swipe treats for them. They were like brothers, and looked after him, so he did it with a kind of pride. He didn’t get caught very often. They were gone now, to schooling and apprenticeships, and he was here, alone and hungry. Those past successes made him bolder now, as he made his way around the outbuilding.
He could smell success, sweet rolls fresh out of the ovens, cooling on a ledge. Just one, he told himself. He sat back against the wall, holding the fresh warmth in his hands, smelling the rich yeasty aroma. But the first one was so good, that he dared a second. He reached his hand up, fingers wrapped around a second sweet roll. A hand shot out of nowhere, grabbing him by the wrist.
“Gotcha! You filthy thieving devil,” a deep voice cried out, triumphantly. The hand pulled him up from inside the window. From the grip on Kirrin’s wrist, the man was as strong as he was large.
The look of triumph on the man’s face was quickly replaced by confusion. “Who in the nine hells are you?”
Kirrin‘s lips parted, but he was too terrified to speak. This was not the same as getting caught by the kindly innkeeper, or even a local merchant who knew his mother. He was very far from home, and thieving here was bound to get him more than a slap on the wrist.
The only thing that saved Kirrin, was the wide window ledge—and that moment of surprise. The man’s grip had loosed, and with a desperate twist Kirrin was able able wrench himself free. His reflexes, fueled by fear, kicked into overdrive.
Kirrin dove through a row of bushes as the man bellowed, "Thief! Catch him!" and dashed out to give chase.
Instinct sent Kirrin back towards the barns- slightly familiar territory. He was so far out of his element that he had no plan. 'Don't get caught' raced through his head as he dashed past the chickens. Two large men bore down on him from the side, trying to cut him off and he could hear the baker closing in from behind.
Kirrin changed direction, darting to the right to a small pond between himself and his pursuers. That bought him a little space, as he took a wider route heading toward the barns. He thought he might be able to lose them long enough to find a hiding place inside.
He barreled around the side of the barn only to find the windows were all covered with wire mesh and his pursuers were closing in. His only chance was to go up. Kirrin grabbed the low hanging eave of the roof and heaved himself up, pulling his upper body over the edge. A hand clasped his ankle and yanked. Kirrin slipped, fingers clawing against the roof. He kicked out, catching the man on the shoulder, and knocking him back. But in the process he lost his and went tumbling back to the ground..
Kirrin scrambled to his feet. The man made a grab at him, and Kirrin kicked him in the crotch. Dead hit. His pursuer doubled over. Kirrin hoisted himself back onto the
roof. He ran along the edge, staying low, and when he reached the end, he went up over the peak and down the other side.
Now he was blocked from his pursuers. As he ran, he scanned the area. All he could see were gardens and trees and pastures. He decided against the pastures, not trusting animals he didn't know. The chickens made noise, and he didn't know if sheep were dangerous. From what he could see, he had no easy route out, not in broad daylight. Hiding was his best option, if he could just lose the men chasing him. He noticed a cupola window halfway down the barn. Perfect.
It was easy to pry it open and slip inside, first one leg over the window ledge, then the other. He was halfway through, his feet touching the ground, when two hands grabbed him, pulling him inside. Big hands.
“Got 'im!" The man bellowed.
A voice hollered from down below. "Hang onto 'im. I'm on my way up."
Big-hands was trying to get a better hold on Kirrin, who twisted and turned like a greased baby pig. He jabbed his elbow into the man’s ribs, and twisted hard, tearing his shirt. It was just enough to dislodge one hand. Kirrin ducked his head and rammed into the man’s overhanging gut.