Chapter 15 & 16
Chapter 15
Alswith began coping with life as a Warden the only way he could, by watching. Not just the people on the streets, but the Wardens themselves. He listened when they thought no one paid attention, at the barracks, in the mess hall, during long silences on patrol.
He kept a mental list.
The ones who enjoyed the screaming.
The ones who looked away.
The ones who, like him, flinched but didn’t speak.
Information was gold. And he was quietly, carefully, getting rich.
Today’s patrol was back in the slums. He wasn’t with Waldor this time. His new escort hadn’t said a word and didn’t look like he planned to.
Fine by me. He thought. The quieter the better.
Time seemed to pass slowly in the slums, maybe because of the fact that the sun was blocked on the street by the closeness of the buildings, or that the slums themselves were depressing. It wore on you mentally.
They spilled from the alley into a small commons, littered with trash and the homeless of the slums. The Warden with him turned to face him, nodded his head towards the alley they just came out of.
“Stay,” the Warden said. His voice was quiet, higher-pitched than the others. Unusual.
Alswith obeyed the order while he made a note, that his voice was pitched like a woman’s. When the Warden turned and moved deeper into the commons Alswith moved with him, not far from the alley just enough to get a look at what he was doing.
Alswith blinked, sure he’d not seen what he saw.
But no, there it was again. The Warden bent to talk to a child, reaching into his pocket he pulled out a copper and placed it in the child’s hand, then moved to the next and another copper. A short talk with a man another copper.
This was the act of a good man. Not cruel, not self-serving. This was a man that still had kindness in him. Not a Warden, at least not one he had seen.
Just then, the Warden turned, and their eyes meet.
Alswith froze.
Caught.
But the warden didn’t seem angry, he just nodded and returned to what he was doing.
When he came back to him, he motioned for Alswith to follow him into the alley.
Shit, he’s going to kill me. Alswith thought, panic rising. I should have stayed. Should have listened.
“I… I…. I’m sor”
The Warden raised a hand. “It’s all right.” His voice soft.
“I grew up here. I am from the slums. I’ve known people like these people. I’ve been these people.”
“I knew it was a risk doing this with someone else along,” the man said. “But I don’t know how long the double patrols will last. And they’re starving.”
“You had a rough go the yesterday. I saw your face.”
He paused. Then almost a whisper.
“Please keep this to yourself.”
Alswith stared at the ground, all thought vanished.
“N… No Prob…Problem” he stammered.
The Warden turned to leave without another word. When Alswith spoke his voice louder than intended.
“Wait!”
The Warden stopped.
Alswith lowered his voice. “Whats your name?”
The man let a laugh slip. “Frederrick.”
Alswith voice still low, almost like a small child. “Frederrick, Could you… introduce me?”
They spent nearly an hour in the commons, meeting people, talking quietly, before finishing out the patrol in silence.
When they arrived back at the barracks, a couple of the other patrols were also arriving.
“Hey, did he piss his pants today?” Came a voice from the small crowd.
Frederrick didn’t answer. His face gave nothing away, but inside, his chest tightened in anger.
Alswith looked over at him.
“Don’t mind them, they aren’t worth mine or your time.” Making a mental note of the Wardens in the small group.
The pair split up, their shift over. Alswith left soon after, heading for the tavern for some ale and supper.
As Alswith passed the road that led back to the slums, his pace slowed. A few houses lit by flickering hearths. Most stood dark, ghosts of better days, silent and still.
Sitting alone in the tavern, a mug of ale in his hand and the remnants of a meat pie cooling in front of him, Alswith stared at the wall, but thought only of the slums.
The faces.
The suffering.
The ones who flinched but stayed silent, just like he had.
There has to be a way to help.
Maybe he could warn them. Tip someone off when dangerous Wardens were scheduled to patrol. Give them time to run. To hide.
He slapped six copper onto the table and stood.
I need to do something. Anything. They deserve more than silence.
He stepped out into the night, the cool air felt good after the heat of the tavern. Heading back to his small residence provided to the wardens, and hopefully some much needed sleep.
Chapter 16
Greycen, weary from the road, saw Averndale’s gates rise ahead, silhouetted by the setting sun. Things looked the same, but different. There were more guards at the gate, even a Warden or two.
“Back to this shithole... wonderful.” The voice bitter.
The guards didn’t stop him, just watching as he passed, feeling the eyes on him he kept his pace steady, to not rouse suspicion, he continued forward without glancing back.
Stepping through the gate and onto merchant row, the difference was palpable. Windows shuttered, the street almost empty of customers. Only a handful of stalls remained open, most shut for the night.
Greycen kept his head down as a duo of Wardens passed him on patrol.
Just like the rumor from Linston, the Wardens were patrolling in packs. He thought.
“One wrong step and it might be the night in the Wardens cage. If lucky.” The voice warned.
Instinctively Greycen tried to make himself smaller, less interesting, less of a target. He moved through the winding alleys, sticking to the shadows, staying away from prying eyes. The alley emptied at the back of the tavern. The noise filling the void in the alley. Out of old habit, Greycen checked the scrap pile before moving around to the front of the building and going in.
Inside was awash with people, too many for his liking. Making his way through the crowd he found a table in the corner that was empty and sat with his back to the wall surveying the scene before him. His next meal was here somewhere, having finished the provisions from Amberly the night before. It was still early for the real drunks to lose their bearings and become sloppy, so he just sat and watched.
A drunk young man, maybe Greycen’s age, slammed a mug down in front of him.
“Why no drink?” was all he managed to say before almost falling on his ass.
Catching himself on the edge of the table, holding on like his life depended on it, he looked like he was going to vomit.
“Move away.” Greycen said curtly.
“You vomit on me…” Greycen cut off mid-sentence by the boy.
“ALE!” he yelled in the general vicinity of the bar.
“This fool could be interesting.” The voice amused.
The boy realizing no one paid attention to his call for ale, straightened and did his best to walk a straight path to bar.
Finally. Greycen relieved he would not be cleaning vomit off of himself tonight.
The boy having gotten the ale he so desperately wanted made his way back to the table, two mugs in his hand.
“Here…. you… drink…” The boy sliding the mug in front of Greycen. Laughing to himself as he recounted stories that were unintelligible to Greycen. As the time and stories wore on, the boy got to the point where he couldn’t lift his head from the table.
“Now’s the time,” the voice eager, hungry.
Greycen slowly slipped an arm around the boy, making his way to the coin purse on his belt. Lifting it, he could feel there was still coin in there, not as much as before the drink, but enough. Gently pulling on one of the loose draw strings the pouch opened easily.
“Not worried about losing it,” the voice muttered. “Must mean he’s used to coin.”
Making like he was helping to straighten him in the chair, taking a look around, searching for eyes on him, when he was satisfied that none were watching he liberated the purse and let the boy fall back down, head thumping on the table.
“Ow” was the only response.
Getting up and moving to an empty space at the bar, Greycen opened the purse and counted. One silver and eight copper. Looking back at the table and the passed out boy.
“He must have done something to earn all this.” Greycen thanked him.
Turning to the bar keep, he ordered an ale and a meat pie.
He sipped the ale watching, half listening to the drunks at the bar repeat their stories for the second time, weary from the day. The bar keep dropped the meat pie in front of him.
“Any rooms for let?” Greycen asked.
The bar keep nodded his head. “I have a couple left. Three copper a night. Four with the pie and ale.”
Greycen slid the man the four copper.
“Top of the stairs, third door on the left.”
Greycen rose and made his way to the room. Inside it was nothing fancy a well-used straw bed, dirty walls, the smell of ale, sweat, and sex. But it was indoors and dry.
That was enough.
Laying on the bed, head resting on the pack, a slight smell of lavender seeping through the cloth. His thoughts drifted back to her hand brushing his, to the way she’d looked at him without flinching, to the moment she gave him the bundle.
“Why?”
“She had no reason to make it for me.”
His mind conflicted and his chest tight.
“They’re buying you.” The voice spit venomously. “Of course she made it. How else to keep the good dog working?”
Greycen’s jaw tightened.
Sleep came soon after. Dreamless. Heavy. But when morning came, he still felt tired.
Gathering his belongings, he made his way down the stairs. Outside the early morning light brightening, the chill of the night lingering. He took a deep breath, held for a second and then exhaled steeling himself for what came next.
He started forward, heading to the north entrance to the slums.
It had only been a few weeks since he was last here. It felt like a life time and still far too soon.
“Home Sweet Home.” The voice said, almost cheerful.
Greycen, a wave a nausea washing over him, the feeling of doom hard to shake. He moved through familiar alleys, weaving his way to his father’s house, or what remained of it. The door no longer on the hinges.
Greycen walked to the threshold where the door once stood and looked in. The inside was no better. The table by the hearth busted in pieces, lay all over the floor.
A voice behind him, low, weathered.
“If you’re looking for Jonas, you won’t find him.”
Greycen turned to see a little old man standing there, his threadbare cloak wrapped around him trying to keep the warmth in.
“The Wardens came about a week ago.” The man added “Dragged him out. Big trouble.”
That was all. He turned and shuffled down the street without another word.
One less thing to worry about. He thought.
Following the old man’s path, Greycen made his way deeper into the slums. Just before reaching the commons, he froze.
A flash of red ahead.
Unmistakable.
A Warden.
Greycen slipped into the shadow of a nearby house, his back to the wall, watching. Waiting. The Warden was alone and smaller than the others he’d seen. Leaner. Younger.
“What’s the lone sheep doing here?” The voice said curiously.
Greycen quietly followed the Warden into the commons, sticking to the shadows.
The Warden looking around nervous, his head snapping to any noise.
When the Warden entered the commons, a young boy ran up to him. He bent down to say something to him. The young boy ran off in a hurry. Only to reappear in minutes with a two men.
Greycen watched intently, his eyes never leaving the Warden.
The Warden greeted them, and leaned in close speaking urgently. When he finished he handed the men a coin each, even sparing one for the young boy. Then, without looking back disappeared down another alley.
“What was that?” Greycen murmured stepping into the commons. He approached one of the men still lingering nearby, arms crossed, eyes wary.
“Why was a Warden here?” Greycen asked.
The man stiffened. “Nothing to concern you with.”
“He’s protecting him,” the voice warned. “Tread carefully.”
Greycen reached into his pouch and pulled a copper, holding it out between two fingers.
“What was the Warden about?” he asked again, placing the coin in the man’s hand.
The man looked down at it, then back at Greycen.
“He comes before his shift,” the man said. “Lets us know who to stay away from. Gives us time to disappear.”
A beat of silence.
“That all?” Greycen pressed, voice low.
The man nodded quickly, suddenly uneasy, like he’d said too much.
“Interesting,” the voice said, intrigued now. “A Warden with a conscience. Could be useful.”
Greycen followed from a distance. The Warden moved briskly, like he couldn’t leave the slums fast enough.
At merchant row, the Warden was called by name, Alswith, by another passing guard. They didn’t stop to talk, just continued toward the barracks.
Greycen remained where he was, unseen in the shadows.
Now I have a name to go with the face, he thought, filing it away with everything else he’d learned today.
The voice was silent.
For once.
Closing Note
Next release: Chapter 17
Monday at 9:00 AM.
Thank you for reading.
