“Alright,” Calum said again. “How we goin’ a get ’im out of the smithy?”
“Well, I don’t fuckin’ know, do I? Fuckin’ go in there and fuckin’ rob somet’in’ or somet’in’, be out after yehs in no time.”
Liam suppressed a sigh. Carrick was such a fucking idiot.
“When we doin’ this?” he asked.
Carrick looked at him. “Two days,” he said and stood up. “Meet yehs at the corner of Caipur Street and Laiker at noon. We go do it then.” At that he walked back over to join his friends at the bar. There were a few jokes and more laughter at Carrick’s expense.
Liam sat back in his chair for a moment looking across at Calum.
“We go?” he asked and Calum nodded. They got up and walked from the tavern.
“Could do with an ale after that myself,” Calum said on the way out.
******
“So what’s this all about?” Liam asked as they walked through the streets and back alleys of Teruel. Calum sighed.
“Carrick’s rippin’ after bein’ made a fool of by the blacksmith and his sons and bein’ handed out a beatin’ as well,” he said. “It all started when Carrick found out that the blacksmith wasn’t payin’ protection money to the matis. Reason being of course that the blacksmith didn’t need protection.”
The matis ran things in the slums of Teruel. Protection was something they offered all businesses in the slums. If the business paid up, they were given a red flag to fly over the doorway of their premises. If anyone was caught who had broken into or stolen from premises with the red flag above it, the punishment from the matis was severe. And they normally found the people who did it. This meant that anyone paying for protection could be fairly sure that their place would be left alone.
The protection fee wasn’t mandatory, and if a business didn’t pay it they weren’t necessarily targeted. But it was fair game for anyone and everyone to try to steal from or extort.
“Was he payin’ the king’s tax?” asked Liam. The matis worked on two fronts. The king and his taxmen were not bothered dealing with the slums directly. So they allowed the matis to rule and police the slums as they saw fit so long as they met the tax bill at the end of every month. The name matis came from the gang leader Mati who first managed to set this system in place. Laughingly, instead of the king’s tax it was called Mati’s tax, until eventually all the gang were known as the Mati’s and then eventually just the matis.
This meant that the gang ran two fundamental businesses, collecting the king’s tax, for which they charged largely above what they actually paid to the king, and charging for protection. If someone paid the king’s tax then they were left alone by the matis. If they paid the protection fee on top of the king’s tax then they were offered protection as well—they were essentially within the law of the matis. If a business failed to pay the king’s tax, the matis would break into the place and clean it out, leaving the owners with nothing. They had the manpower to do it with ease.
“He paid the king’s tax alright,” answered Calum. “Anyway, Carrick sized the place up, and he reckoned he could sneak in over the back wall of the place with his crew and get into the workshop from there and clean the place out. The only problem was to get into the back yard he’d have to come in from the carpenter’s place that was behind the smith’s. Only problem there was the carpenter paid his protection.
“So Carrick goes to the carpenter, Joe, with his idea. He says he’ll split it with him two to one. The carpenter laughs in his face at this, tells ’em, ‘Why’d I break into Darragh’s place, isn’t he a friend of mine? And if I did,’ he says, ‘he’d come after me with those boys of his and beat the shite out of me!’
“Carrick didn’t leave it there though,” Liam guessed.
“No,” said Calum. “The dumb shit goes and gets his lads and breaks into the place anyway, just at the close of business, reckons that the smith’s on his own, and he’s got two lads with ’im. And even if he was on his own, he still probably would’ve beat the shit out of the three of ’em. But he wasn’t. His two sons were upstairs.
“They had been tipped off already by the carpenter that somethin’ was up. The smith gives a yell and his two boys come down with wooden bats. They beat the source out of the three lads. Broke a few legs and prob broke Carrick’s arm too. “
“So now Carrick wants to get back at him!” Liam said, exasperated. Calum nodded.
“Can’t just leave it go as it is. Can’t handle the gibe that’s bein’ thrown at him by most everyone he knows,” said Calum.
“And now we’re stuck in the fuckin’ middle of it too,” said Liam. He sighed. Carrick was part of the matis, at the very bottom rung, but he still got a couple of jobs thrown Liam and Calum’s way as spotters. It often made the difference of a full stomach at the end of the day or not. He also included them in some of his own ventures, some of which weren’t so hare-brained. He was a prickly fool but usually paid what he said he would.
They walked on for a while in silence, both scanning the streets. It was after midday now but the sun was still clear in the sky, the heat bearing down on them both.
The boys patrolled the streets for the rest of the day, looking for opportunity, but outside of one failed attempt by Calum to cut a purse, they found none. Disheartened, they returned home, buying a stale meat pie each from a vender on the way with the last of their coin.
******
They lived in a one room flat on the second floor of an old dilapidated building in the middle of District 4.
The slums surrounding the outer city of Teruel were categorised into four districts based on the positions of the Great Roads and the river. Liam had lived all of his life in District 4. Calum claimed that he had been inside the outer city once but few of his fellows had ever left the place of their birth.
The area of the district they lived in was called Ratville. It was known as such because it was filled with those referred to as slum rats. Orphans, homeless, addicts, half-starved families, whores too old and spent to whore any longer; in short, the poorest of the slums.
Their street, like all the others in the area, was filled with shabby two-storey buildings that were more often made from wood than brick. The junkies and homeless and those who couldn’t afford the meagre rent were often thrown out of a flat by the landlord. They would wander around on the streets until they could find another empty building to stay. They would remain there for a while until they were cleared out once more and the cycle continued. Like rats, they found the empty buildings, and once one got in, more would follow before long.
There was little in the form of commerce or entertainment in Ratville; unless watching junkies fight over a stale piece of bread counted for entertainment. Sometimes it did.
Liam used to play with some of the kids from the poor families when he was younger but stopped the practice as he saw too many die, become too weak to play or get run out of the place. Now he ignored their shouts, much as the rest of the orphans did.
There were various orphan families in the area. Mostly they stayed in flats owned by the matis. The matis was willing to accommodate this so long as the orphans remembered who they were answerable to.
Liam’s own group he had known most of his life. They grew up in the same school of Levitas and had all run away from it within a few years of each other. The various groups such as his were known as orphan families for that reason.
It was late when Liam and Calum went back to their flat. They shared it with eight others, two of whom were girls. The front door had to be shoved in roughly, the timber having warped and expanded over time. Inside the door was a small hall, with a door to the right that was permanently locked and a stairway up to the second floor where the boys stayed.
Liam and Calum avoided the missing wooden slats on the stairs out of habit now, climbing to the top, the timber creaking as they went. The room they entered was rectangular in shape with three windows, two facing out to the front of the street
and one at the back of the room, facing into a narrow alleyway and the back of another row of flats. The windows were bare holes, sporting no glass, but were boarded up with wooden slats nailed against the wall, some of which had been torn from the stairs. The slats helped to keep out the worst of the rain, sleet and snow in the winter time but were roughly nailed on, allowing light and cold air in. However, in the summer this posed no problem.
Five of the boys were playing knives in the corner opposite the stairs. Some of them looked up as he and Calum entered and offered a greeting. Darren, Erinin, Deaglan, Ultan and Bradan were all there, Cid the only one missing. Deaglan and Calum were of an age and the oldest staying in the flat, both close to fourteen years. None of the boys knew their age accurately and so gave close approximations, often exaggerating.
In the other corner were the two girls that stayed with them. They were both around ten and sat quietly, playing a game and whispering to each other.
Blankets and less valuable belongings lay sprawled across the floor of the room. Everyone had their own place where they slept each night and there were even a few wooden pallets, but to look at, the place was simply a mess.
“Who’s winning?” Liam asked as they joined the boys. There were a collection of half klats on the ground. It was the lowest form of currency in Teruel, small half-moon-shaped copper coins. It was all the boys could afford to bet with. They had rules regarding the maximum bet.
“Deaglan,” replied Darren. “Damn near took his toe off!”
Deaglan grinned. “No-one’s beating me tonight!” he said. The game involved dropping a knife from shoulder height into a split in the wooden panelling of the floor, where it would stick if dropped accurately. The boy dropping the knife had to hold his foot along the split of the timber. The person to get the knife stuck closest to their own toes without moving their foot won. They had a piece of string they used to measure the distance.
They all had to use the same knife, so a different one was nominated every day they played. All of the boys had their own knives that they carried around with them. It was the one essential tool of a slum rat. Today they played with Deaglan’s own.
It was Bradan’s go next. He had only been living with them for a couple of years and was the youngest among the boys. He had come to live with them because Cid was his older brother. They got on well.
His hand shook slightly as he held the knife above the boards, his bare foot outstretched before him. Bradan had never won, and Liam sometimes felt bad for the boy, having to lose a half klat every time they played. Either that or face the ridicule of being too scared to play.
He dropped the knife, but his shaky hand had turned the hilt slightly as it left his fingers. The knife angled, missing the crack in the floorboards. It rattled against the ground, bouncing back towards Bradan’s foot. He gave a yelp and jumped backwards to general laughter from the boys.
“Yelling like a scared spud!” Deaglan laughed. He was the cruellest of the boys in the flat, often finding animals to torture when he was not tormenting those weaker than him. He hated Calum above all, mostly, Liam guessed, for the fact that Calum held standing above him. Few who knew Calum dared to get into a fight with him, especially after the story of how he got his scar became known.
“Alright, who’s next?” asked Erinin. They all looked at each other.
“Me,” said Ultan, stepping over to pick up the knife, roughly shoving Bradan out of his way while doing so. He stood over the crack in the floor and held the knife out for a few moments, taking aim. His fingers released, breaking from the hilt at the same time. The knife fell true and wedged into the floorboards two inches from his foot. An average drop. Ultan cursed and moved aside, the string not needed.
Liam stepped up next. He plied the knife free and placed his foot just before where it landed the last time. He felt his heart’s pace pick up as he tried to judge the distances with his eye. He gripped the knife just out in front of him, clasped between his forefinger and thumb. His leg was extended, foot placed on the floor. He drew his eye along the blade of the knife all the way to the floor, to just before his foot. He tried to force his body to do the thinking. After so many games it had become almost instinct to the boys but with their improved skill the margins had dropped as well.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, stopping with half a breath still in his lungs. He held that moment of stillness, quietly, for a moment, and released the knife. It was vital to let the knife almost slip free, the forefinger and thumb moving simultaneously a fraction apart.
The knife plummeted to the floor. Liam couldn’t help but grimace as he watched it fall, bracing himself. It hit the gap with a thump. Liam blew out a breath, beginning to breathe again, calming his fiercely beating heart. His foot lay still, an inch from the knife. It was close. Darren brought out the string, measuring from Liam’s big toe to the knife.
The string had been marked precisely along its side with ink that had been found by Darren in a small cup a year ago. The marks were evenly spaced and as close as could be made without distorting each other. Since Darren was the inventor of the string, he was always charged with the duty of official measurer.
“Six,” Darren shouted and Deaglan cheered.
“Fuck!” said Liam, jumping away in frustration. Deaglan’s had been five notches. Calum stood up next as Liam moved aside. He had a determined look on his face. Liam knew that look. They had had poor takings today and Calum would want to make up for it a little by winning the game. It would only be seven half klats but would be enough for most of a meal tomorrow.
He took position. His eyebrows narrowed into a frown as he held the dagger in front of him. He visibly steadied for a moment and released. The dagger plummeted down and hit the gap, sinking in an inch. The handle vibrated softly for a moment before becoming still.
Darren whistled softly as he bent down to measure the drop.
“Two notches!” he shouted with laughter and the boys joined in, guffawing and whistling at the closeness of it. Liam let out a yell of delight, jumping in the air with his arm upraised. He turned his smiling face to Deaglan and saw his look returned with hate.
“Suppose you’ll be sharing that with loverboy!” Deaglan said, looking across to Calum, anger in his eyes. Calum was smiling now and clasped hands with Liam as he got a pat on his back from Darren.
“But not with you, Deg!” he replied, grinning across at Deaglan evilly. Their eyes met for a moment, Deaglan making fists. Liam watched him with bemusement, knowing that he was afraid of Calum and would not dare face up to him.
The momentary tension was broken as Cid appeared up the stairs, grinning broadly. He wore a wide brimmed straw hat and waddled over to the group with the exaggerated gait of a farmer. He threw a few nervous glances to either side as he approached them and the whole group burst out laughing, Darren bending double.
“What’s going on here, chaps?” he asked, drawing more laughs as he stood bowlegged in front of them with hands on hips.
“Mister Spud himself!” Liam exclaimed.
“Mister Spud,” Darren repeated, hooting with laughter. Deaglan was the only one who still held a sour expression. He turned and walked away, sitting down on his bedroll and rustling through his things.
******
Liam woke up the next morning at the first rays of light through the shuttered window above him. Immediately he felt a tingle in his throat and started to cough. He looked around the room from his position on the floor. He slept closest to the stairs with Calum nearest him on his right. Calum was already up and nowhere to be seen. Darren was the only other boy there, sitting up against the wall a few bedrolls to Liam’s right.
He sat up, coughed again and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It took a few hours every morning to clear up his cough. The room was old, dirty and dusty, and each new morning was greeted with the coughing of the boys.
Ultan arrived up the stairs carrying the dung bucket and the bowl of water used for it. He lay them down
in their corner behind the stairs and walked back out, nodding to Liam and Darren on the way. Feeling the need to relieve his bowels, Liam walked over to the bucket. Pulling down his loincloth, he lifted his tunic and squatted over the bucket.
He sighed with relief as his bowels emptied noisily.
Darren chuckled in the corner. “Ye goin’ for a good one today, Liam!”
Liam laughed. “Yip,” he replied, still squatting.
Darren held a broken leather sandal in his hands, leaning over it in concentration. One of the straps had come loose, and he was trying to cut a new hole at both sides of the base to pull the strap through tightly.
“Where’d you get that, Dar?” Liam asked.
“Found it in the gutter yesterday, some fool just threw it out.” He looked up at Liam with a grin. “Figure all I need now is to find another one!”
Liam laughed. “You goin’ to see yer ma today?” he asked, regretting his words as he saw Darren’s face drop, turning his attention back down to the sandal.
“Me ma’s dead,” he said after a moment, “died last week.”
Liam was in the middle of cleaning his ass with the water from the wooden bowl. He stopped. Fuck. He quickly finished and got up, pulling up his loincloth and let his tunic drop back down to his knees.
“Sorry, Dar,” he said quietly. Darren continued on with what he was doing, saying nothing. His mother had been a whore working a few streets down. She was a drug addict and past the stage where any sane man would pay for her. She had never been able to take care of Darren, and so when he was still a babe she had dropped him off at the school of Levitas where they had all grown up. She used to come and visit him every now and again, normally after she had gotten fixed up and was in a happy haze.
She had never done anything for Darren but since they’d been out of the school he had gone over to visit her every now and again.
Liam sighed quietly, his good humour evaporated. He picked up the bucket and bowl, bringing the contents down the stairs.
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