It came again. Maybe the water he drank? Maybe his belly’s emptiness, gnawing itself?
But he was going to lose Garrick! Balduin took a trembling breath and continued after him. The ache in his belly didn’t go away, but it didn’t twist so intensely. He was just hungry. Just…
He was leaning against a wall again. He felt faint. But he could see Garrick turn into an alley.
He stumbled in that direction. He slipped into the darkened street. And the man was nowhere to be seen. Just like before.
Balduin groaned and came to a stop.
The alley was narrow, like all the others, but even in daylight, there was a dark, cramped feeling to it. The buildings leaned in, and arches passed overhead, bridging the buildings and blocking out the sky.
What was he doing here?
He was looking for his father. He was his father’s son and his mother’s. He was.
He took a deep breath and plunged in. The alley twisted, then branched off. He stopped to listen, hoping to catch the scuff of the Southerner’s boots on the stone. Nothing. He took a few more steps. He glanced down an adjoining alley. It was long, with a few openings to the light. The sun left only dirty streaks across the stone. Had he imagined it, or had someone moved down at that end?
He shoved down his fears and broke into a stride. The alley was long. His footsteps were unnaturally loud. Holes had been boarded up, doors hung off their hinges, and the shadows hid furtive movements. He liked this less and less.
Someone whistled. He glanced up, just in time to see a face disappear back into a window.
On cue, half a dozen shadows peeled off the walls and out of the cracks. Dirt-streaked skin, ragged clothes, and hard eyes peered out of faces not older than Balduin’s.
He froze.
A greasy chuckle echoed behind him. He turned to see a boy, couldn’t be older than thirteen, come to a stop behind him, arms folded across his chest. Long black Imo’ani hair hung on either side of his face. He wasn’t the oldest or the biggest, but he was hard.
“Look as if we’ve caught ‘im at last, little bunta Ellendi.” said the boy, then titled his head. “Don’t look handsome rich, this one. Whaddya think he’s worth, boys?”
“Let’s tag him and find out!”
Balduin’s heart skipped a few beats. A familiar feeling was creeping over him. Cornered, afraid, outnumbered.
“Wait!”
He held out his hand, letting the gold wink in the failing light.
“Shit,” one of the boys whispered.
“Is that…?”
“Gold!”
The gleam that jumped into their eyes was bestial, and Balduin wished suddenly he had nothing to do with the little round piece of metal.
“Take it,” he said. “And…and let me be on my way.”
“Oh ho!” The first boy crept closer. “Maybe not so worthless after all, eh?”
“It’s all I have.”
There was a string of chuckles around him. The boys were pressing tighter, fists hard. Calm. Balduin had to stay calm.
“We’ll see about that, won’t we.” The leader closed the distance between them, a smile twisting his face. Then fingers snatched the gold from Balduin, and he held it up, inspecting it. The gleam in his eye danced, and the smile grew.
“So what is it? You a travelling dandy, flashing gold so easy as that? On the run from your rich, mean ol’ da?” He chuckled. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
Balduin tightened his jaw. “I’m a traveller. Just let me be on my way.”
“What’s in the sack?”
“Travelling stuff. Clothes and supplies and—”
“Toss it over.”
Balduin swallowed and started to slip the pack off his shoulders. “It’s not worth anything to you, I promise.”
“Now, bunta chet! We don’t have all day, and Barefoot’s waiting for you.”
Balduin hovered, pack in hand. “What? Who…?”
A younger boy plucked the paper-wrapped meat and the bag from him, dumping out the rest of the sack’s meagre contents. Then he began to pick through them as distastefully as Yol had.
Balduin only half-noticed. Someone was waiting for him. Someone named…Barefoot?
Arms seized him from behind.
“Hey!” Balduin shouted. “What—?” He tried to pull away and the biggest of the boys drove a fist into his side. It was like a spear stabbing his ribs. Harder than any punch Mylar could have thrown.
He dropped like a sack, squeezing his eyes against the shooting pain.
They’re just having fun. They’ll let you go. They’ll…
One of them grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him to his knees.
“What’s this? What kind of half-breed is he? Garbed like Imo’ani, speak like Imo’ani, but look it he don’t. Look at this hair!”
“Ooh, a dirty rat’s hole it is.”
“Exactly,” snapped the first. “An Imo’ani lad, ‘bout fifteen years old. That’s how Barefoot described him. Imo’ani, and not Imo’ani, all the same. With red hair and marked skin, says he. Marked. Now looky here, my lads, and tell me this weren’t marked?”
The boy grabbed the side of Balduin’s face and spread out his patchy skin.
“Yeah, that’s him alright, boss.”
“Right! So check him for weapons and let’s get on with it.”
Balduin held his breath. Someone had described him. Described him exactly. That meant…
There was a sudden patter in his chest, a hopeful and terrified yearning. Could it be? Could someone actually be looking for him? Could that someone be—perhaps…?
One of them whistled. “Ooh! Lookit ‘ere, Dart! He’s got a fancy knife.”
Too late, Balduin remembered the Chorah’dyn’s knife. He groaned. No. Not that.
The glee in the first boy’s eyes intensified. He clutched the knife, examining it. “Barefoot won’t mind if we hang on to this, I bet. Call it a finder’s fee.”
“That’s not yours!” Balduin cried, heart thumping. “And…and this man. Barefoot. He wouldn’t want you to have it.”
“Well, I guess we’ll have to see, now won’t we?”
“And he won’t like it if you hurt me.”
“It’s true, Dart,” someone behind Balduin muttered. “Better play it safe with this one. You know how he is.”
The first boy, the one they called Dart, got an ugly look on his face: his mouth pinched, his eyes tightening into a snarl. The second boy fell silent.
“Let’s go,” Dart snapped.
Hands tightened on Balduin’s arms and they started to move, leading him back down the alley, turning into an even darker road.
“Where are we going?” Balduin asked, stumbling along ahead of his captors.
“You’ll see.”
He hesitated. “Is…is this man who’s looking for me—is his name, by chance, Alutan Na-es?”
Someone sniggered.
“You think Barefoot has a name?” someone else whispered.
“He’s gotta. Everyone has a name.”
“Shut it!” snapped Dart, who led the way. “Those aren’t questions you’re supposed to ask. Remember?”
“But does he look like a Southerner?” Balduin tried again, a hint of pleading in his voice. “Is he a healer?”
“Oh, I doubt that,” the oldest boy muttered.
“I’ve always thought he had a Lendahyn look to him!” one of the younger piped in. “You know, like from old Kayr. Like the stories.”
“Yeah, he’s no Aethen, if that’s what you mean.”
Balduin’s frown deepened. Maybe this man wasn’t his father. And why would his father send street kids after him anyway? He’d come looking for him himself. He’d never let anyone hurt him. He’d make that clear.
But…if this man wasn’t his father, then who was he?
A groan interrupted his thoughts. A man was lying in a gutter, curled in on himself. One of the boys laughed and kicked him as they passed.
/>
Balduin gasped. “Hey!”
“Shut it!” the boy slapped his head from behind. Balduin strained to catch a better glimpse of the man lying on the street. He had an arm over his face, whimpering.
“That man needs help. You can’t just leave him there. You can’t—”
Dart whirled on Balduin, the bone-white blade of the Chorah’dyn stabbing towards him. Balduin had to leap back, chest thumping as the tip waved menacingly close to his face.
“Look, Speckles,” he snapped. “You’re nothing to us. Just our coin for the week—you hear? Barefoot’s paying well to whatever fool finds you and drags you over to meet him, and he wasn’t particular at all in the manner we oughta do it. Alive was good enough, if I remember correctly, so you shut your mouth and come along, or we’ll make you. Even if you look as sorry as that half-dead wretch. Got it?”
Balduin swallowed. That didn’t sound like his father at all. “I don’t think you have the right person,” he said. “I…I don’t think I know this man. I don’t—”
“Doesn’t matter. He knows you.”
Dart kept going, and the boys followed, shoving Balduin along ahead of them. Something began to squirm in Balduin’s stomach.
This was wrong. He was going the wrong way. To the wrong person.
The alley narrowed to a tight passage ahead, one building built against the other with enough space to sidle along behind. And across the spot where the passage grew tight was a faint, shimmering patch, as if something oily had been smothered over the air itself.
“In here,” Dart said.
Balduin’s whole body clenched. His gut contracted so fast he would have been sick if it weren’t for the gurgling emptiness there. He gagged anyway. His feet stuck to the ground.
“No,” he gasped.
Dart twisted a lip at him. “You don’t get to say no, Speckles.” Then he walked straight through it. It stuck to Dart for an instant, brown and oily, stinking of rot—yet he seemed oblivious to it. Completely unaware. As if…as if…
He can’t see it!
Balduin always did see things differently. Like back in Elamori. The strange happenings, the strange patch of wrongness that had struck Kota blind—and only Balduin had seen it.
This was the same kind of thing.
One of the boys let go of Balduin’s arm so he could slip into the crack, and the other big kid who was holding him had to shove Balduin awkwardly in front as they walked.
Balduin gagged again as the smaller boy went ahead and the patch oozed around him too.
Don’t touch it. Don’t. Don’t.
The feeling throbbed in Balduin like a creature come alive inside him.
“Hurry up,” growled the boy behind him.
Balduin swallowed. The strange oily mirage drew closer. He was next.
The boy shoved him forward. Balduin stumbled. His head almost brushed the surface, but when he jerked back, he realized his arm had twisted loose.
Just for an instant.
Balduin slipped behind the big kid, then drove his whole weight into the next. The boy went crashing into the wall. Two others gave a shout, but they weren’t in arm’s reach.
Balduin dashed back down the alley, bare feet pounding the cobblestones, throwing himself wildly into any passage he could see. Cries erupted behind him. Twice, he slipped. Once his heel bit into something sharp. He could barely breathe as he flew down the darkened paths. Dimly, he was aware of shouts behind him. Of a growing pain in his foot. The alley widened and branched.
There!
Someone was moving down the path ahead of him.
“Help me!” he cried. “Help!” The sound came out like a wheeze of breath and the figured disappeared into the shadows.
“Wait! No! Come back! Please—”
Balduin slipped in his own blood.
He stumbled. He found himself leaning against a wall, breathing hard. He felt faint. The alley spun around him.
Don’t stop. Don’t…
He staggered forward, but six shadows spread out around him. Dart and the other boys. They weren’t even breathing hard.
“Watcha’ doing, Speckles?” Dart stepped in front of him. “Think you can just cut and run? Make a fool of me to Barefoot?”
Balduin knew he should give in, come quietly, hold out his hands to be led away. They had won.
Instead his fists closed in front of him. His whole body went rigid. He was tired of giving in. Tired of bullies. Tired of being shoved where he didn’t want to go.
He wouldn’t go back there. He wouldn’t.
Balduin clenched his jaw. “You can’t have me.”
Dart laughed. “I don’t want you, you rattin’ freak. But someone does. And my crew’ll eat well off what he’s payin’. You hear? You’re our meat.” He sneered, and the Chorah’dyn’s dagger appeared, its bone-white blade seeming to catch the distant light.
Balduin raised his fists. Something stirred in him. These kids had no right to carry that blade. It was the Chorah’dyn’s. And it had been given to him.
I am my mother’s son. My father’s.
“Give that back,” he heard himself say.
Dart narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“My knife. Give it back, and maybe I’ll go see this man with you.”
“How stupid do you think we are?” Dart laughed.
The big kid swung from behind. Balduin ducked. He lashed out and his attacker gave a grunt of surprise as he doubled back, clutching his nose.
Balduin staggered, fists up as the next kid closed in. His block was sloppy, but he charged and bowled the younger one over.
The big one closed in on him again. Balduin tried to jump away. His feet got tangled. He stumbled, and before he could get his arms up again, the blow knocked him off his feet.
He hit the filthy ground. One hand scraped against the broken cobblestones, skin tearing. He scrambled to get his knees under him. He glanced up.
Dart kicked him straight in the face.
He was on his back. The alley closed over him, shadows looming and spinning. Spears stabbed through his eyes.
“I just wanted to…find my father…” he panted.
Someone kicked him in the side, a hard, bruising blow. Balduin rolled onto his stomach. He retched.
Another kick.
“Stop!” he choked.
Dart stomped on his hand, grinding it into the stone. “Why should I stop, eh?”
Another kick.
“You gonna come along quietly?”
Kick.
“No,” Balduin gasped. “I’m not—”
The foot slammed onto his back, pinning him down. Then Dart grabbed his hair and yanked.
“Let’s teach you a lesson,” he snarled. “I think Barefoot won’t mind if we put you in your place, little bunta freak. And maybe we can clean you up a bit in the process, eh?”
The knife flashed in the corner of his eye. Dart had a fistful of his thick, red hair, and with a growl, he started hacking.
Balduin’s insides twisted up. He wanted to fight him off, prove he could defend himself—that he wasn’t the wretch Mylar had made him out to be. But the others held him down, sitting on his legs, his arms. Balduin could feel the knife nicking his scalp, scraping and tearing, sending trickles of blood down his face and neck.
“How’s that feel, eh?” Dart shoved a handful of bloody hair into Balduin’s face. “That’s for hurting one of my lot, just in case you ever get a stupid idea like that again, you hear?” He kept pulling and cutting. The boys’ weight was pressing on Balduin’s back and neck, shoving him into the ground. His jaw was being driven into the stone, another boy was crushing his hand with his knee.
They just want to feel strong. They need to. It’s all they have.
He gasped as the knife swiped and took an even bigger chunk of skin.
“Oops,” Dart sneered, and hacked again.
Balduin could feel his hair coming off in ragged swathes. Imo’ani didn’t cut their hair, and he had w
anted to be, tried to be—
“Stop.”
A new voice slapped into the alley—not loud, though its effect was immediate.
The boys leapt up, even Dart, and Balduin sucked in a ragged breath, cradling his bruised and bleeding hand.
“Clear out, mister!” Dart snapped. “This ain’t your…” His voice trailed off as they saw who it was.
One of the boys hissed, and as one, they backed away.
“He’s ours,” Dart insisted. “We found ‘im first.”
Balduin craned his neck, struggling to see through the sweat and blood that trickled down his face.
The new arrival chuckled. “We are both thieves, little rat. A thing is yours only if you make it so. Shall we test your claim?”
There was the slow rasp of steel.
The boys scrambled back a few more steps. “You’ll regret this, Southie,” Dart snapped.
A moment later, their feet clattered back down the alley.
And then silence.
Balduin’s face was wet. He hurt everywhere. His head throbbed. He was afraid if he tried to move, he might pass out. But this man…
Coughing weakly, he tried to pull his knees under him. He managed to shift against the wall of the alley. He glanced over his shoulder, wincing with every movement.
“If you are a spy, then you are an awfully terrible one.”
Balduin eyed the shadowy man as he sheathed his slender blade, approaching.
“I’m not a…a spy,” he rasped.
The man crouched next to him and pushed back his dark hood. Clear eyes studied him, and his mouth pulled into a wry smile.
“Then why do you follow me?”
Garrick. It was the same man he’d seen at Yol’s and again in the street. The man he’d followed twice now—without success. The man he’d reported to the Watch.
He swallowed. “I was looking for…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it again and his voice ended in a broken whisper: “someone else.”
“But you ran afoul of those little bastards instead?”
Balduin nodded, and glanced up the darkened street. “Thank you.”
“Hmm.” Garrick eyed him. “You look like shit.”
Balduin swallowed. The pain from the cuts throbbed across his naked scalp, making him feel sick. He reached out to touch it, but stopped, his hand hovering over the terrifyingly bare skin. He wiped a trembling hand across his face instead, wishing he could hide, wishing…
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