Chapter 2
The landlord threw me out the same day I missed my rent payment, and within hours someone else had already moved into my home.
I try not to resent the people that took it, but it’s nearly impossible when it was the last place I felt safe, the last place I saw Mama smile and laugh and love.
The damn landlord wouldn’t even give me time to try and earn the coin.
I tried to find jobs around the Rookery, cooking, cleaning, anything, but no one wanted to hire an untrained, inexperienced orphan.
Few families in this borough can afford help and they all turned me away so fast it made me dizzy.
I tried bakeries, butchers, millers, healers, even an apothecary.
No one wanted me. All because I’m not an adult in their eyes.
Not until I’m eighteen. Some were kind and said they simply couldn’t afford to hire me, some were much more cruel.
I had sold our beds, but it was only enough to pay one month’s rent, nothing more.
The next month, I had nothing left to sell, no job, no way to pay the landlord or feed myself.
He came that same day and dragged me out to the street without so much as a goodbye and good luck.
Most people in Kalsevden see orphans as a waste on society.
If there’s no one to take care of you, to keep you clothed, fed, and loved, then it must be a sign from the gods that your life isn’t worth living.
I won’t be an adult in the eyes of others for another eight months so I had no other choice but to begin stealing what I needed to survive almost immediately.
I had to. Food from merchants, farms, homes—anywhere I could get my hands on even a measly scrap of stale or moldy bread.
Anything to keep the hunger at bay. When I needed new garments for warmth or just plain cleanliness, I would grab something off a washing line or I would linger by the lake where the women did their washing, waiting for someone to leave something unattended for a moment.
It isn’t the life I would have chosen, but I’ve proven to be a skilled thief.
I’m hardly ever seen, and the rare occasions I am caught I can almost sense where my pursuers are going to be and can avoid them easily. It’s a gift, really.
Summer is just ramping up in the city. The rotting, stagnant smells of the Rookery that were frozen under ice are now working their way back to the surface. I hate summer.
The warming weather tells me I’ve been living on the streets for at least a couple of months.
Months of fighting to keep my heart beating, my belly full, my breathing steady.
. It’s hard to keep track of time without routine or reason to one’s day.
I’m lounging in the shade of what I think was once a home but is currently just a wall; the rest of the building was eaten away by time and scavengers of both the animal and human variety.
The day is already almost unbearably hot.
The packed dirt of the road isn’t the most comfortable place to spend time but I’m tired and starving.
I don’t have the energy it takes to find somewhere else.
Even if I did, I’d likely be run out by someone larger and angrier than me.
I can hold my own in most fights, Feron taught me well, but most of the time the fight just isn’t worth it.
I sit here trying to decide where I’m going to get my next meal when a lanky, grimy, middle-aged man in a ridiculous top hat approaches, his eyes locked on me.
I know what he wants before he opens his mouth.
Men like him like the way I look, even now that I’m skin and bone.
He’s going to offer to pay me for my body, something that I haven’t had to resort to.
I haven’t been desperate enough yet. Though my resolve is weakening.
I sigh and get up, leaving my cool oasis to go back into the scorching sun and mass of reeking, sweaty bodies to avoid him altogether.
It’s easier and safer to not engage in these situations.
That’s a lesson I learned one of the first nights I was out here.
A man came to me as I sat crying on the curb.
He offered me lodging but in exchange, he wanted access to my body.
I refused. I even slapped him for his audacity. He then beat the shit out of me.
I woke the next morning bloodied, bruised, and nearly blind from the swelling around my eyes.
But I wasn’t raped. I’ll give him an infinitesimal amount of credit for that.
Men often get violent here when they’re rejected.
Women are beaten and raped often in this borough, and no one cares.
No one bats an eye to the screams of a woman.
It’s just part of being a woman, or at least that’s what we’re told if we do try to get help or justice.
That’s if we’re believed at all. I’m certain I can take this gangly creep in a fight if he tries anything, but I just don’t have the energy for it today.
I slip into the crowd and try to disappear.
“Wait!” he croaks. His voice sounds like he’s been sucking on a chimney pipe. “I just want to talk.”
I roll my eyes, not believing a word. I keep walking, trying to lose him among the leaning buildings, stray garbage, and sweaty masses.
Rain is starting to fall as I head for the busiest part of the Rookery.
Vymal Street is where the majority of the bordellos, gambling dens, pubs, and other houses of vice are located.
It isn’t somewhere you’d want to be caught walking alone at night, not that anywhere in the Rookery is safe at night.
But it’s almost always packed with people trying to forget their miserable lives for just a moment.
I turn down a narrow alley and suck in a sharp breath as I come face-to-face with the stick man.
How did he outmaneuver me? I can always anticipate where someone following me is going to be.
How did this fucker get the drop on me? I start to slowly back away toward the mouth of the alley.
“I swear Red, I just want to talk. My name is Otyx Berttom,” he wheezes, his hands raised as though I’m a wild thing he’s trying to calm.
I look from him to the mouth of the alley.
If I had turned tail and ran a moment ago, I probably could have escaped, but the entrance to the alley is now clogged with people trying to escape the pouring rain.
Rain is frequent and oppressive in the spring and early summer in Kalsevden.
Something about being on the banks of a lake.
While it may be nice up in the Estates, sipping tea and reading a book while the rain falls outside your window, the rain only adds to the misery of the Rookery.
Everything turns to mud and buildings have been known to disintegrate with enough of it.
“I can help you.” He takes a step closer.
“I’m sure you can,” I sneer.
“I’m serious Red. I’ve been watching you for a while. You're a skilled thief, but I can make you better. I can make you the best.” Another step.
This catches my attention. I’m not proud of what I do to survive.
But if I can improve, if I can steal more than just scraps, if I can learn to steal things to be traded or sold, maybe I can make a different life for myself, a better life.
I can save enough to start a healing practice, put a roof over my head, put food in my belly. “What’s the catch?”
“In exchange for taking you in, feeding you, clothing you, and teaching you the noble art of pickpocketing, I get a percentage of your take to pay off your debt.” Step. He’s close enough now that, if I have to, I can use my dagger. It’s exactly where I want him to be.
I snort. Noble art. Right. “How much?”
“Eighty percent.”
I scoff. “Forty.”
“Eighty.”
“Fifty,” Panic begins clenching my stomach. I can’t deny I need his help. I don’t think I’ll survive much longer on my own. He can surely see that. I’m too skinny, too tired, too weak.
“Seventy,” he counters.
I chew my lip. This is probably the best offer I’m going to get. It’s not like people are coming out of the woodwork to help me. “Fine.”
He holds out his dry and crusty hand. I shake it, sealing our deal.
“Oh, and one more thing.” He pulls me flush with his body, his putrid breath brushing my cheeks. “If you fail to prove as effective a pickpocket as you are a common thief, you will have to repay your debt to me in other ways.”
“What other ways?” I ask, pushing him off me, my heart now dropping to the pit of my stomach.
“I’m a businessman, Red. I own many people, many artifacts, if you will, who provide different services to a wide variety of clientele. With that pretty face of yours, I can think of several ways you could be of use to me.”
He brushes past me, running his finger under my chin while heading for the street.
I look to the other end of the alley, clear of people now that the rain has slowed, and weigh my options.
If I run and back out of the deal I just made, I won’t have a debt to repay.
He hasn’t given me anything but slim hope yet.
Maybe I’ll be fine on my own. I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?
I touch my ribs under the bodice of my stolen dress, able to count them.
I look back to Otyx, who is waiting for me at the end of the alley that leads to Vymal Street.
I can’t see any other options. Either I go with this gross, gangly man or I starve out here and let the scavengers pick my bones clean.
It’s not a real choice. Sighing, I decide to follow Otyx.
He’s smirking as he leads me to a tall but slim building sandwiched between an alleyway and a burnt-out structure. It’s only a block away from the alley he cornered me in. That’s how he was able to get the drop on me earlier. He was herding me here and I was too stupid to realize it.