《The Sword Artisan》


 CHAPTER ONE

    CHAPTER ONE


    <hr>


    Shepard stood near the edge of the canal, tossing a pebble up and down. Brown bubbling sludge moved down the canal. Each pop spewed a putrid stench into the moist warm air that would make an outsider reel back and gag for fresh air. There was no fresh air deep down in the Bowels. It was originally a mining town abandoned after the Calamity happened. Now it was where the Empire kept its undesirables. A large abyss that barely saw any sunlight.


    Across the canal was a vaulter. It sat hunched over underneath a chemical lamppost burning blue inside the glass orb. Its back against a lopsided home on the brink of collapse. Its skin was made of metal, patches of long black hair covered its rusty scalp, and it wore a ragged and dirty blue dress and shit-stained scarf. Shepard wanted that shit-stained scarf. It would be a nice accessory to his shit-stained clothes.


    Babel came up behind Shepard and patted him hard on the back. Shepard lurched backward, falling to a group of laughter around him. He looked back to see Babel, Lugel, and Hunch pointing and teasing him. They joked about how it would been funny had Shepard fell forward instead and into the cesspool canal.


    ¡°Not funny,¡± said Shepard, straightening his patchwork hat.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve seen the look on your face,¡± teased Babel. She leaned towards Shepard, making an exaggerate face. Babel was about Shepard¡¯s age. A skinny body under a slim dress. Her dirty feet covered in scabs and blisters. ¡°Honestly, I wasn¡¯t even trying to scare you.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t scared,¡± said Shepard.


    ¡°Yeah you were,¡± said Hunch. He was the largest of the four. He was best described as round. All fat and no muscle. He was the first to insult people but quickly teared up when anyone made fun of his lazy eye. He grabbed Shepard¡¯s arm below the shoulder and hoisted him to his feet.


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Why do you keep coming here?¡± asked Lugel wearing fresh stitched clothes his mother made for him. Lugel was better off than most children in the Bowel since his father owned one of the few taverns there. While the tavern kept him fed, it couldn¡¯t pay for medicine he needed for his cough. Mucus occasionally pooled in his lungs and he¡¯d have a violent coughing fit.


    Shepard pointed at the vaulter. Babel scooted closer to the edge of the canal for a better look. She shook her head and turned to Shepard, crossing her arms. ¡°Why do you care about a vaulter?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not the vaulter,¡± said Shepard. ¡°I want the scarf.¡±


    ¡°Then go get it. No point in just standing here.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s afraid it might be the Snatcher!¡± said Hunch as he grabbed Shepard by the shoulders and yanked him close.


    ¡°I¡¯m not!¡± Shepard pushed away from Hunch, walked towards the edge, and scooped up another pebble.


    The children met the Snatcher with uneasy laughter and smiles. It was the latest scary story spread through the Bowels by older children and adults. Children started disappearing several months ago. Most of them Shepard¡¯s age. At first, people thought it was because children were getting lost in the abandoned mine shafts scattered across the Bowels. Exploring the mine shafts proved unfruitful and grieving families were left empty.


    This grief turned to anger. Mobs formed and began searching the Bowels for the one responsible for taking their children. The most likely culprit was a greasy fat bastard rumored to have a thing for children. The mob hung him by the neck over the canal until life left his throat and shit spilled down his legs. It was true that fat bastard had fucked a few street urchins. But he was not the Snatcher. The people realized this days later when another child went missing without a trace.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the Snatcher anyways,¡± said Babel.


    ¡°How do you know?¡± asked Hunch, glaring Babel.


    Babel shifted her eyes between Hunch¡¯s good eye and lazy eye. She knew that annoyed him and he quickly backed off.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter, I¡¯m getting that scarf,¡± said Shepard. He flicked the pebble across the canal. It pinged off a rusted bent drain pipe inches from the vaulter. He grabbed another pebbled and flicked it. It pinged off the vaulter¡¯s head. He froze when the vaulter shifted, but quickly relaxed when he watched it fall over.


    ¡°Guess it¡¯s dead,¡± said Lugel. He coughed into the pit of elbow. He spat on the ground and wiped his mouth.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s pretending so that say we¡¯ll get close enough to snatch!¡± said Hunch.


    Shepard smirked and rolled his eyes. Hunch was trying to spook them. Shepard would not let it get to his head. He knew that if the Snatcher did appear, Hunch would be the first person to run with his tiny cock between his fat thighs. And they all knew this.


    Without a word, Shepard took of running towards the wooden beams laid across the canal Babel started running after him. Hunch hated running and Lugel couldn¡¯t run, so they both walked quickly. Hunch complained about Shepard and Babel always running off without a word. Shepard came up to the wooden beams and was across the canal in a few strides. Fearing splinters, Babel took her time. She tiptoed across the beams. Once on the other side, she sprinted after Shepard, and quickly caught up to him.


    ¡°Slow down, Shepard!¡±


    Shepard did not hear Babel. He vaulted over wooden crates and kept sprinting. He was fast. Eventually Babel gave up. She hunched over, hands rested on her knees, and caught her breath. Shepard slowed down once he got closer to the vaulter. He stopped short of it. Its flickering shadow extending towards him from the blue chemical glow.


    Living vaulters were a rare sight. Only those who paid kings could afford to buy one. It was why vaulters were highly sought after and why they avoided human contact. This vaulter was dead, a rusty decrepit husk. What good was a dead vaulter to anyone? Dead is dead, Shepard told himself. The scarf was right around the vaulter¡¯s neck. All Shepard had to do was take it. He inched closer to the vaulter, taking small forward steps with his lead foot. His hand slowly stretched out.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± called out Hunch. ¡°What if that thing is the Snatcher?¡±


    Shepard looked back over his shoulder. ¡°Shut up about the¡ª¡± He felt a firm metal hand grab hold his wrist. He tried breaking free, but the firm hand squeezed tight until he was gritting his teeth. The woman pulled Shepard closer, leaned into him until their faces was inches apart. She was a tall beautiful woman with flawless pearl skin, long hair was the color of limestone, and full reddish lips.


    ¡°The dead should be left alone,¡± she whispered in his ear. Her breath on his ear made the hairs on his neck tingle. She slowly released him.


    Shepard backed away. He noticed that she wasn¡¯t from the Bowels. She couldn¡¯t be. She wore pristine leather britches tight over her curved hips. Her boots laced up just below the knees. She wore a long coat embroiled with a magnificent floral pattern. Leather straps wrapped around her gloves with metal studs at the end. And around her neck was a crimson brooch resting between her bosom.


    ¡°Shepard!¡±


    ¡°There are more children,¡± the woman said.


    Babel ran up to Shepard. She looked down at his wrist. ¡°Are you ok?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± said Shepard.


    Lugel and Hunch arrived seconds later. Both intimidated by the woman¡¯s appearance. A chill swept through and sucked the moisture from the air. A smile crept across the woman¡¯s face as she eyed each individual child in front of her. They were young which was good but had clear defining faults. Too skinny with scabby feet. Too short and sick. Too fat and weird looking.


    The woman looked at Shepard for the longest. What was wrong with this one? Shepard was average height for his age, dark skinned with a minor scar across his left cheek, and nappy black afro.


    ¡°And where are your parents?¡± she asked Shepard.


    Shepard shrugged as if he didn¡¯t care about the question. ¡°They¡¯re gone.¡±


    ¡°Who takes care of you?¡±


    ¡°I take care¡ª"


    ¡°I do,¡± said Babel. ¡°At least¡­I try to. Can I ask who you are?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Lady Maria.¡± She offered her hand to Babel. Babel grabbed it, surprised by how firm the woman shook her hand. It was cold and crushing. She wanted to pull away but felt that would be impossible. She saw Maria¡¯s eyes focused on her feet. They were scabbed and with fresh deep cuts from running barefoot through the Bowels. The filth she subjects herself to made it impossible for them to heal properly.


    ¡°And where are your parents?¡± asked Maria.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Babel just above a whimper.


    Maria felt Babel¡¯s face with a gentle hand. The rough leather caressing up and down her soft cheek. ¡°Had life been in your favor, you would have made a fine brothair. Men would flock to taste you. Throw endless coin in your bed.¡±


    ¡°And what about you two?¡± asked Maria to Lugel and Hunch.


    ¡°My dad and mom work a tavern,¡± said Lugel.


    ¡°My mom cleans the shafts,¡± said Hunch.


    ¡°Interesting¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you¡­have children?¡± asked Babel, trying to tug her hand free.


    Maria released her grip and stood up tall. ¡°I want children. Sadly, I can¡¯t have them.¡± She went over to the vaulter, planted her boot against it, and kicked it into the canal. It landed splat. The sludge gurgled as it slowly swallowed the corpse.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you do that?¡± snapped Shepard.


    Maria looked at Shepard sidelong. ¡°Vaulters are quite valuable. These slums would be up in flames in word got out.¡±


    Shepard looked over the canal and caught a glimpse of the vaulter¡¯s fingers twitching as it was swallowed. ¡°Vaulters are so valuable why did you kick it into the canal?¡±


    ¡°The amount of effort I¡¯d go through outweighs its value,¡± said Maria. ¡°You¡¯re a child so I doubt you¡¯d understand.¡±


    ¡°You rich or something?¡±


    ¡°Very¡­¡±


    Shepard watched Maria walk away. The jingling sound of coin grabbed his attention. He glimpsed a fat velvet purse tied to her waist. The sight sparked his smile. Shepard and Babel would be able to eat again. Lord knows Babel was tired of sleeping with an empty stomach. He felt the chill in the air disappear. The goosebumps on his skin were gone. He looked back at the other. They had to have felt the sudden change in the air too.


    ¡°What are you planning, Shepard?¡± asked Babel.


    ¡°I plan on us eating tonight,¡± said Shepard.

 CHAPTER TWO

    CHAPTER TWO


    <hr>


    Babel lived in an abandoned clocktower standing lopsided in the heart of the Bowel. Its inner workings long ceased to work. Its rusty gears draped in cobwebs and coated in dust. The splinted wooden floors creaked as burley rats scurried across made Babel¡¯s skin scrawl. She sat in the beveled arched window made of chiseled stone, gazing out at the Bowel covered in darkness. The glow of blue chemical fire burning in glass streetlamps were rare.


    Darkness was the dangers within it were the reason why women and children were quick to return to the sanctuary of their homes. It was passed high noon and what little sun light reached deep into the pit was filtered by the putrid fumes spewing out of corroded pipes from war factories tangled across the Bowel. These factories were worked by men who slaved through harsh sweltering conditions to create tools of destruction for the Empire in preparation for another calamity heralds centuries ago.


    Babel felt down her legs over scars and open wounds to the brown scabs near the soles of her feet. She knew it wasn¡¯t good to pick at them, but she did it anyways. She scrapped at them with her dirty fingernails. It stung as she got underneath one. Blood beading from underneath as she slowly peeled the scab back. Her toes curled. She gritted her teeth. The scab came off and she held it up, the gross brown dried piece of flesh, before dropping it out the window.


    The door swung open. Shepard came in, holding a roll of clean white gauze and bottle of alcohol. Not this again, Babel sighed. She swung legs around indoor and dropped from the window. She felt a sting from the scabs on her soles peel off. She walked over to Shepard on her tiptoes, leaving a trail of blood dots behind her.


    ¡°Do we really have to do this?¡± she wined.


    Shepard placed the gauze and bottle on a wooden box and pulled over a larger box for Babel to sit down on. He patted the box. ¡°Put your feet up here.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna,¡± she said. ¡°It hurts really bad!¡±


    Shepard pursed his lips and sighed, looking down. He liked Babel and hated seeing her in pain. But the pain was necessary. Her feet needed to be cleaned and wrapped. He saw what happened with open wounds went untreated. They became grossly infected. It was not uncommon to walk around the Bowel and see people with missing limbs because of infection. He did not want Babel to lose her feet. How would they play together if she couldn¡¯t walk or run?


    ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid. We have to wrap your feet,¡± said Shepard, looking at everything but Babel. ¡°It¡¯ll only get worse if we don¡¯t do this.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t we just wrap my feet? We don¡¯t need that stuff.¡± Babel pointed at the bottle of alcohol.


    ¡°No, we have to dis¡­disin¡­disinfant¡­¡±


    ¡°Disinfect¡­?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that word. We have to disinfect your feet. Otherwise it¡¯ll only get worse.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± she huffed. Babel sat on the box and held out her left foot. Shepard¡¯s hands were rough and firm around her ankle. She became nervous about Shepard staring at the bottom of her feet. It was bad and he couldn¡¯t hide his expression. She winced when he grabbed the bottle, her toes curled, and she jerked her foot back. Shepard held tight, undoing the bottlecap with his mouth.


    She held her hand towards Shepard. ¡°Wait!¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± asked Shepard.


    ¡°Give me a moment.¡±


    Babel stole a moment to breath. She turned her head away and closed her eyes. Shepard took that as a sign and slowly poured the alcohol on the wounds. She yanked her foot from his grasp and winced through gritted teeth. Tears swelled in her eyes as her wounds burned.


    ¡°That hurts!¡± she snapped.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. We gotta do this. Lady said it¡¯s the only way your feet will get better.¡±


    Babel shudder at the thought of continuing. The pain, the burning sensation, was too much. She wanted to tell Shepard to stop until her eyes met his. Neither one had parents. No loved ones to take care of them, to cook for them, to dress their wounds. All they had was each other. If she died, Shepard would have nobody to take care of him. If he died, Babel would have nobody to take care of her. Their relationship built on a solid foundation of mutual trust and need.


    ¡°One second,¡± said Shepard, getting up. He left the room and came back moments later with a wooden bowel of clean water, and a ragged towel over his shoulder. ¡°I almost forget about this part.¡±


    Clean water was one of the few luxuries the clock tower provided. The Bowel¡¯s water system was flowing with lead and corrosion running through the pipes sprawled across the decrepit city. It wasn¡¯t until mass amounts of people started dying and riots broke out that the Empire did anything about it. But the little funds meant for improving the water treatment facility was directed to the pockets of corrupt nobles and government officials. The clock tower had a direction connection to the lake above the Bowel. Few people knew about this, and Shepard wasn¡¯t in a rush to let anymore know.


    Shepard placed the bowl underneath Babel¡¯s feet. The water fogged with blood when she dipped her feet in. Shepard readied the alcohol in one hand and grabbed Babel¡¯s foot with the other. She winced as the alcohol stung her wounds. This time it didn¡¯t hurt as much. He wrapped her foot in the towel and let it sit on his lap. He took Babel¡¯s other foot and did the same. A wince from the stinging wounds and a dip in cold water.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Once Babel¡¯s feet were cleaned, Shepard started wrapping gauzes around them. ¡°You think it¡¯ll ever get better?¡± asked Babel.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± replied Shepard. ¡°Your feet? Of course, they¡¯ll get better, stupid.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean my feet. Will this place every get better? If not, then we should leave.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t,¡± said Shepard.


    ¡°And why not?¡±


    ¡°Because!¡±


    ¡°Because why!¡±


    Shepard glared at her. His heart drumming against his chest. His frown deepened. It was not possible to leave the Bowels. He did not understand why she would think about it. They¡¯d both seen what happened to people who tried to escape. She should know better than him. Her parents were killed trying to escape. How would children be able to do what adults couldn¡¯t?


    ¡°¡­we¡¯re not old enough to leave,¡± said Shepard. His eyes softened.


    Babel could see it in Shepard¡¯s eyes. He wanted to leave the Bowel but did not know how. The others looked to him for answers. She looked to him for answers. The truth was, he never had the answer. He merely pointed in a direction and ran until he stumbled upon what they wanted. The way out was up. How does one run upward?


    ¡°I¡¯m sure we can¡ª¡± Babel held her rumbling stomach. She watched Shepard stand and walk over to the door without a word. ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°To get us some food,¡± said Shepard, and he closed the door behind him.


    Shepard kicked a dented can down the empty street. His hands tucked in his pocket. Eyes glued to the ground. The air grew colder as the day went on. The sky above a blood orange and clouds a deep red. Goosebumps formed on the back of his neck as a breeze rolled against his skin. He cursed that woman for fucking him out that scarf. It would¡¯ve kept him warm. It would¡¯ve kept Babel warm. Now they both would sleep cold that night. And if Shepard did not find food soon, they would sleep hungry too.


    There was a factory up ahead. Heat radiated from the fire burning deep within its mangled corroded walls stomach. Shepard felt the subtle warmth from where he stood. Toxic fumes spewed from its long brick pipes blanketing most of the sky in a thick grey cloud. There were two lines of workers. One line was for those leaving, and the other line was for those arrive. They stepped in dreadful unison. Their faces covered in ash and oil. Their bodies full of plague and pain. Their faces long and eyes sunken in.


    What caught Shepard¡¯s attention was the jingling coin purses attached to some of the worker¡¯s overalls. The first day of the week was when the workers were paid just enough to scrape by. Lord Cistone, a self-proclaimed advent for workers¡¯ rights and the most corrupt official, came up with this system of weekly stipends. As he said, If we pay these undesirables every week just enough to scrape by, they¡¯ll never think beyond that week. They¡¯ll remain docile and dependent on the job.


    Most of the workers went home to their starving families. A few, who¡¯d only themselves, strolled to the nearest bar to drink themselves to next day. Shepard followed those people. He skulked near the shadows, keeping his targets in sight. He preferred smaller skinnier targets. A few drinks were enough to leave them stumbling down the cobblestone street. And if they somehow managed to put up a fight, Shepard had no problem taking them down.


    One did not perfect the art of robbery without taking a few beatings. Because Shepard was a child, most were content leaving him with a bloodied nose or broken fingers. They should¡¯ve killed him. Nobody gave two shits about a dead street rat on the side of the road or in a back alley. Instead, they simply pissed on him and called it a night. And because of that, Shepard grew smarter, stronger, and developed tactics for taking down larger opponents.


    He stopped at the corner. A blue chemical lamppost burning above him. There was a poster plastered onto the lamppost with a charcoal drawn picture of Shepard. He appeared a bit older in the picture. His afro larger and nappier. His lips and nose were more profuse and cartoonish. They even colored him in with the blackest charcoal they could possibly find.


    There were more drawn photos of thuggish children with exaggerated features. Shepard wanted his photo to stand out from the rest. He took out a red market, undid the top with his teeth, and started drawing on the photo. He drew devilish horns, a large cigar, an eyepatch, a scar across the left cheek, and wrote underneath, ¡°Coolest Monkey,¡± in bold capital letters.


    He stepped back examined his work with a satisfied nod and smirk. He popped the cap back on the marker and tucked away. Perfect.


    There was a bar nearby. He heard the loud drunken chorus around the corner. It came from one of the few bars that did not piss its beer with water ¨C the Little Fig. It was a shanty building made of wood, iron, and a glass dome on the top. A wooden dock extended out from the back over the canal. Two tall windows glowed with the commotion inside.


    Shepard watched keenly as the Little Fig worked like a factory. Workers dragged themselves through front door. Their eyes sunken, frowns deep, and their faces without hope. But each one carried a coin purse jingling a hearty tune. Shepard loved that sound. He loved that sound even more when it came from the coin purse of drunken bastards, all with gleeful smiles, staggered out. Some managed to catch themselves on the nearest wooden crate. Others fell face first on the filthy street ripe with the stench of piss.


    ¡°Outta the way street rat!¡± A large pig belly man shoved Shepard against the wall as they walked by. Shepard shot a nasty look. The pig paid no attention. They were heading straight for the Little Fig. A big crooked smile with less teeth than Shepard had fingers. And Shepard had all his fingers.


    Shepard looked back at the Little Fig. His eyes widened as a tall graceful woman with pale skin, luscious red lips, and hair the color of limestone strolled across the street towards the front door. She¡¯d a smile on her face as she tossed up her fat velvet purse. That woman had to have more coin than all people surviving in the Bowel. And she paraded herself through the streets of rapist, thieves, and murders without a care in the world.


    She grabbed the door, cracked it open, and looked back in Shepard¡¯s direction. He felt her eyes, pale a blind man¡¯s, pierce through him. She saw him even as he stood in the shadows. And her smile beckoned him. She knew what he wanted and teased him by holding up the purse pinched between her fingers. He watched her turn away, slip into the front, and close the door behind her. It swung wide open as a drunken bastard, bald and sluggish, stepped outside and puked on the street.


    Shepard clenched his fist. His empty stomach growling. He knew Babel was laying awake in the clocktower. Her stomach was growling too. With the amount of coin that woman had, they would never go hungry. Shepard would buy Babel shoes and himself a scarf. A nice scarf too. One that did not smell and would keep his neck warm. Maybe even a blanket so that he and Babel could stay warm during the winter nights.


    All Shepard had to do was get that coin purse. And that woman was practically begging him to snatch it from her.

 CHAPTER THREE

    CHAPTER THREE


    <hr>


    There was a sweltering heat coming from the Little Fig that Shepard did not expect. It was like standing near a roaring furnace. The entrance guarded by two large thuggish men. Both whom were shirtless with scores of tattoos across their burly chest and stomach. He noticed the sweat dripped faces of the drunks dragging themselves out the front entrance. Every time the doors swung open, Shepard got a glimpse inside.


    It came as a surprise to Shepard. At the far end of the Little Fig, beyond the rows of tables and behind the scrapped together bar counter, was a large metal furnace. It was oblong oval with crooked pipes extending up towards the ceiling. Behind the prison like bars, a fire burned. It moved with buoyancy, its form like that of water.


    The doors closed. Shepard watched a couple, both dressed in black oil stained overalls, push through the doors. Shepard caught another glimpse inside.


    The bartender, a bald lavishly dressed man with, placed a tall mug on the counter and poured half a bottle of brown spic. As he bent down underneath the counter, the fire reached out between the bars with a long burning appendage, coiled it around the mug¡¯s handle and pulled it towards the furnace.


    The doors closed. Shepard rubbed his eyes, blinked twice, and stared in disbelief. That did not happen. The doors swung open outward. A tall lanky man held the doors open for his friend whose face was flushed and eyes half opened. The friend stumbled towards the doors, placed one hand on the doorway to steady themselves, and held back the puke pooling in their mouth.


    Shepard watched the fire hold up the mug and then splashed itself. The fire exploded. The drunk dove to the ground, placing his hands on top his head. The other three men, all wide-eyed, looked back inside. Shepard felt the burning heat sweep down the street tingle across his skin. The fire quickly died down. The two thuggish men standing guard looked at one another, shrugged, and went about their business. The lanky man walked over and helped their friend off the ground.


    The doors closed. Everything went back to normal. Shepard could not believe it. He expected people to run out, screaming and trampling one another in a desperate bid for survival. That¡¯s what a sane person would do in that situation. But instead of screams, Shepard heard the muffled sound of cheers coming from the Little Fig as if a spectacle had been witnessed. Boulder! Boulder! Boulder! Chanted the people.


    A large woman came from around the corner, dressed in oil stained overalls with tools in her breast pocket and bronze goggles on her head, went up to the Little Fig. The door swung open outward and a man was there to meet her. He held the door open, tipping his hat to her, and the two went their separate ways. Shepard managed one more glimpse. The bartender teeth gritted, and face creased with anger. He wagged his finger at the furnace as if scolding a child.


    The doors closed.


    It was at that moment Shepard decided he¡¯d go in and have a look around. He tucked his hands in his pockets, his fingers fitting through the holes at the bottom, and strolled over to the Little Fig. His head hung low. His face hidden underneath the shadow of his oversized hat. He had never gone inside a bar before. There wasn¡¯t a reason until now. The woman from earlier, Lady Maria, was inside. Her pockets fat with coin waiting to be picked. The living fire whose name was Boulder. It must have been something special if people would flock to this place and endure such heat.


    Shepard bumped in a large meaty wall. He looked up to see two thuggish figures glaring down on him with crossed arms and puffed out chest. They had crooked smiles and foul breath ripe with the stench of heavy brown spic.


    ¡°Where¡¯d ya think ya goin little man?¡±


    ¡°Just inside,¡± said Shepard.


    ¡°No children allowed!¡± the other one bellowed. ¡°Now get lost before we throw ya off dock.¡±


    ¡°Come on! I just wanna see what folks cheer¡¯n about.¡±


    ¡°Ol¡¯e Boulder¡¯s given folks a show.¡±


    ¡°Ya. Does the exploding trick. Gets a kick outta the crowd. First time I saw almost shite myself.¡±


    Both laughed, patting one another on the back with fat meaty fingers. One of them wiped a tear from their eye then looked at Shepard. Their expressions grew sour. ¡°Now fuck outta here kid. We ain¡¯t got time for ya.¡±


    ¡°Ya! Go back to ya ol mum and da.¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t got no parents,¡± said Shepard.


    ¡°Shame kid. Best throw ya self off tha dock over there. Save the rest of us some air. Looks like tha fat kids about to do it.¡±


    Shepard looked over and saw Hunch sitting on the edge of the dock. His head hung low, feet slowly swaying over the ghastly sludge coursing down the canal. Shepard walked over to him. The wooden planks creaked underneath his footsteps gave him away. Hunch looked up at Shepard. His lazy eye looking a different direction.


    Neither one could find the right words to start off. They were never good friends. Their relationship bounded together by Lugel and Babel. The few times they tried to hang out together, just the two of them, it ended in arguments and fighting. But it appeared Hunch did not have the energy to fight. His eyes sunken with grief. He went back to staring at the brown sludge as if among its endless trash held an answer.


    Shepard sighed. ¡°You doing ok?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s it to ya?¡± replied Hunch.


    ¡°Just ask¡¯n. No need to be an ass.¡±


    ¡°Mum¡¯s inside,¡± said Hunch. ¡°Said we¡¯d walk around together when she gets out.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Ya don¡¯t want to walk around with ya mama?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ain¡¯t that.¡± Hunch shook his head. ¡°She always says that. But then she comes out drunk and we don¡¯t do anything. Sometimes she¡¯s tired. Sometimes she¡¯s¡­angry.¡± Hunch rubbed his cheek. ¡°She¡¯s a liar.¡±


    ¡°Least ya got a mama,¡± said Shepard. He closed his mouth, sucked air through his nose, and spat a loogie into the sludge. ¡°A bad mama¡¯s better than no mama at all.¡±


    ¡°What happened to ya parents?¡± asked Hunch.


    ¡°Mama¡­died and dad left.¡± Shepard shrugged, trying to not let it bother him. It bothered him a lot. He struggled to sleep at night because of his mother¡¯s death. The event was mostly a blur looming in the back of his mind. The words muffled. The actions blended together. All the faces blurred except for hers. It was his brain trying to protect him. It did not want him to forget what happened but knew he wasn¡¯t emotionally ready for the details.


    Shepard¡¯s father did not illicit the same feeling. He did not feel anything about his father. The man was a stranger who would come home after a long absence to fuck his mother. Then he¡¯d leave with nothing more than a pat on Shepard¡¯s head. Shepard had tried to show the stranger a scrap metal man he¡¯d made from junk found around the house. Didn¡¯t even warrant a glance.


    ¡°Where¡¯s ya dad at?¡± asked Shepard.


    ¡°Murdered a long time ago,¡± answered Hunch.


    ¡°Sorry to hear that.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be. Not like ya knew him.¡±


    The back door swung wide open, smacking against the choppy brick wall. Shepard and Hunch eyes followed a drunk as he stumbled onto the dock with his hand down his pants. He walked to the end of the dock, catching himself multiple times on wooden crates. He pulled out his cock and pissed into the sludge. Hunch and Shepard held back laughter. Their eyes tearing up. The golden arch died to a dribble landing on the drunk¡¯s hands. He shook off the rest and stumbled back towards the Little Fig and inside.


    ¡°Can¡¯t believe tha guy pissed off in front of us!¡± laughed Hunch.


    ¡°Did ya see it get on his hands? Fuck¡¯n gross!¡± said Shepard, wiping away a tear from his eye.


    ¡°Once seen a guy shite in the canal before,¡± said Hunch. ¡°Fell in when he stood to wipe.¡±


    ¡°No way!¡±


    ¡°It was really fuck¡¯n gross too!¡± Hunch nodded confidence. A grin stretched from one dirty cheek to the other.


    Shepard and Hunch continued laughing and joking until their jokes became so obscured neither one understood the other and were laughing just to laugh. The back door slowly open. A cold air spilled out and swept over them with goosebumps. Their eyes snapped to the woman with pale skin, lavish limestone hair, and beautiful red lips.


    Lady Maria¡­


    Hunch stood up when he noticed Shepard¡¯s fist shaking clenched tight. His focus jumped between the woman and Shepard. Was he still upset about the scarf? It did not seem like a big deal to him. He watched the woman duck underneath the doorway as she stepped out. She was twirling her velvet coin purse around her finger, held up for Shepard to see.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about this, Shepard¡­¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s enough coin to feed me and Babel for weeks,¡± said Shepard. ¡°She¡¯s gonna learn why rich folk don¡¯t come down here.¡±


    The woman spun on her heels and walked left towards the street and away from the dock. Why didn¡¯t she go out the front? It was simple. She wanted Shepard. And like a cat chasing a toy tied to a rope, Shepard followed. Hunch reached out to grab Shepard, mouth opened but no words. He glanced at the Little Fig. His mother hadn¡¯t come out yet. Hunch hesitated to move his feet, but his mind soon set on his decision to follow Shepard.


    Besides, it wasn¡¯t like his mother would come looking for him.


    Hunch caught up with Shepard. It was the fastest he¡¯d ever ran. He lurched forward, hands on his flabby knees, and breathed heavily. Shepard was peeking around the building corner. He saw the woman walk down the crooked cobblestone street. A few street rats were playing nearby. They kicked a leather ball back and forth until one of them missed and it rolled in the path of the woman. She bent over, grabbed it with one hand, and held it towards the street rats reluctant to go near her.


    The smallest street rat did. A young girl about half Shepard¡¯s age. She was a frail thing. Her ragged clothes hung loose over her thin frame. She smiled and took the ball from the woman with both hands. The woman smiled back and rustled her hair before continuing her way.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take a moment to rest,¡± whined Hunch. He looked up to see Shepard already gone. He groaned, took a deep breath, and ran to catch up.


    At this point it was clear to Shepard the woman wanted him to follow her. He wasn¡¯t to keen about knowing why. She had what he wanted and nothing more to offer him. She figured herself smart, but Shepard felt he was one step ahead of her. He kept to the shadows, moving swiftly through the world of cobbled bricks, broken glass, and hissing corroded pipes. The gap between them slowly closing. The air around her cold and left a bitter taste on his yellow teeth.


    The woman turned the corner into a narrow alley. The air coming from the alley smelled ripe of iron and putrid rotting trash. Shepard gagged, pulled his ragged shirt by the collar over his mouth and nose. He stepped from the shadows. The area ahead of him undeveloped. It was where the Bowels met the caverns that engulfed it, surrounded it in darkness and cold rock.


    The light pollution from behind Shepard barely reached out into the blackness. What wild things skulked out there was up to his imagination. The only thing out there that Shepard was certain of, was that nobody who went beyond the light came back. That decades ago, after thousands of mining pilgrimages, a group of hundreds went out and never came back.


    ¡°Dammit¡­Shepard,¡± said Hunch, gasping for breath. ¡°Why tha hell¡­we out here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m wonder¡¯n tha same thing, Hunch.¡± Shepard placed his hand over his squirming stomach. He felt scared butterflies fluttering around inside him. He wanted to turn on his heels and run. But the thought of Babel, lying cold and hungry in the clocktower, kept his feet planted firmly in place.


    ¡°Ya know what happens to folks who go out there, right?¡± asked Hunch


    Shepard nodded. ¡°We ain¡¯t gonna go out there. Don¡¯t ya worry. She turned into tha alley over there.¡±


    Shepard and Hunch turned the corner into the narrow alley. Their footsteps echoed off the wet cobblestone. At the end of the alley, surrounded by piles of trash buzzing with fat flies, was a wooden hanging by a single hinge. A chemical lamp burned green on each side of the door. The flickering light stretching out their shadows. Shepard spotted something sparkling in the muddy puddle near them. He reached over and picked up a golden coin embezzled with a fine ruby material and a diamond hole punched in the center.


    ¡°Is that a¡­¡± Hunch leaned over Shepard¡¯s shoulder, gazing wide-eyed at the coin in Shepard¡¯s fingers. This woman did not carry peasant coin or the coin of nobles. She carried the coin of kings and gods.


    Currency across Dia D¡¯nar varied. A clear iron clad caste system meant that certain coins were more common at certain levels. The undesirables, slaves, prisoners, and infected, only received paper noted printed and distributed by the lord in charge. This paper note could buy them food, medicine, supplies, or anything else they could afford coincidentally provided by the lord they worked for. But these paper notes were only good for wiping one¡¯s ass outside the lord¡¯s province.


    The Bowel, despite its huge population of undesirables, was one of the few exceptions. It was controlled by the Empire and thus paid its undesirables in copper coin. A coin embroiled with coal dust and a square hole punched in the center. It was flatter than most other coin with the unique word, ¡°Liberty,¡± printed on the side.


    ¡°Ya know what this means right?¡± asked Shepard.


    ¡°It means she¡¯s a queen or very very fuck¡¯n rich.¡±


    ¡°It means we¡¯re very very fuck¡¯n rich.¡±

 CHAPTER FOUR

    CHAPTER FOUR


    <hr>


    They should have turned back. They still had time to turn back. But they didn¡¯t. Greed outweighed common sense. It beckoned them. Tugged at their hopes and dreams for a better life. The coin of kings and gods could buy all of them a better life. But they weren¡¯t satisfied with just that. At least not Shepard. He closed the door behind them. It squeaked on rusted hinges. The low sound of the lock twisting echoed through the room. The glow from the green chemical lights outside barely touched the back wall.


    Hunch stayed near the door. His fat knees trembling. His meaty palms growing sweaty. He glimpsed back over his shoulder through the window. Nobody was outside. There was still a chance to turn back. He wanted to. Fear filled him with cowardice. His mind leapt to irrational thoughts. What if this place belonged to the Snatcher, he thought?


    There was a wooden table in the center of the room. A chair on each end. And there was an unlit wax candle on the table. Shepard slid his hand across the tabletop. His fingers made four streaks through the dust. He wiped the dust on his pants as he walked around the table, searching the room for signs of that woman. The floorboards creaked underneath his footsteps. He stopped. Where could she be?


    ¡°We should go,¡± said Hunch. ¡°I ain¡¯t got a good feel¡¯n about this place.¡±


    Shepard agreed. This place gave him an unnerving chill. It reeked of danger, but also of mystery. There was more to this room. Shepard could feel it. He grabbed the candle off the table. There was nothing unique about it. He placed it down the way he found it. He walked over to the far end of the wall. The air much colder there than anywhere in the room. He placed his hand on the wall and felt around as he walked the length of the room. Nothing.


    ¡°Hunch¡­Hunch?¡±


    ¡°Shepard¡­¡±


    Shepard turned around. His eyes widened. A well-dressed man, slick back hair, combed mustache, and a devilish smile, stood leaning against the table. A metal pipe gripped between his lips. The woman, Lady Maria, stood over Hunch. Her hands placed firmly on his shoulder, her fingers digging into his fat. He was looked at Shepard. Tears swelled in his eyes. His lips quivering too afraid to speak.


    Both couldn¡¯t be afraid. One of them had to stand stronger. The fear squirmed inside Shepard¡¯s stomach. He breathed. The blood pumping through his veins, and heart thumped against his chest. He breathed. Irrational thoughts plagued by fear swarmed his mind. He breathed. His focus shifted from the woman to the man standing before him.


    The man smiled. His crooked lips touched both pale cheeks. His pupils were thin slits that seemed to dilate with the beat of Shepard¡¯s heart. Shepard opened his mouth. No words came out. The man cocked an eyebrow. He took out his pipe to talk.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter kid?¡± he asked. ¡°Skulker got ya tongue?¡±


    ¡°We ain¡¯t mean to enter ya¡ª¡± Shepard looked around the room once more. ¡°¡ªhome.¡±


    The man laughed. Both eyebrows cocked when he looked back at the woman. ¡°Real trickster ain¡¯t he. Reminds me of my son long ago. A reeeeal bad liar.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know your kind was capable of having children,¡± said the woman.


    ¡°Eh, we can¡¯t. But I¡¯ve seen the way ya adult males treat ya young males. It¡¯s like how I treated the little babe. Dad and son relationship minus the birth¡¯n part. Ya know what I mean?¡±


    ¡°¡­I guess.¡±


    ¡°Lady Maria, I like ya. Never fail to impress me. Glad we both find each other mutually beneficial.¡±


    ¡°I held up my end of the bargain,¡± said Lady Maria. ¡°Where¡¯s the book at?¡±


    The man rolled his eyes and sighed. He¡¯d never met a woman so serious before. Her panties probably pulled up to high. He noticed her eyes sharpened and her fingers impatiently wrapping on Hunch¡¯s shoulders. He knew not to keep her kind waiting. Kill first and ask questions last. The only reason he¡¯d survive so long in her presence was because he provided things for her and she provided things for him.


    He took a deep drag from his pipe, his chest expanding. He exhaled thick black smoke onto the table. The smoke flowed like water and quickly dissipated, and a green scaled book appeared was left on the table. The binder was gilded. Symbols, lines connected to circles connected to squares, were imprinted on the book in blood red. He nudged the book towards Lady Maria.


    ¡°Tsar Avara,¡± said the man. ¡°It means, ¡°Recorded History,¡± in my people¡¯s language. I know it doesn¡¯t seem advanced given my people¡¯s reputation. But pen and paper has proven reliable long after we conquered the heavens.¡±


    Lady Maria nudged Hunch aside and walked over to the table. She gently grabbed the book in her hand. She held it as if it would crumble into dust. She opened the cover. The pages were ridged and thicker than most books she had seen. She flipped through the pages. It was written in their language. She would need to take it back to Castle Bire and have one of the Hands translate it for her.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°I take it this¡¯ll be the last thing you need from me?¡± asked the man.


    Lady Maria looked up from the book and closed it with one hand. ¡°I haven¡¯t killed you yet if that makes a difference.¡±


    The man took another drag from his pipe and exhaled the smoke at the ceiling. He grinned. Shifting his focus between Shepard and Hunch. ¡°I¡¯m gonna miss your food delivery. You always bring the best meat.¡±


    Lady Maria placed her velvet coin purse on the table, turned on her heels, and walked out the door without a word. The man cocked an eyebrow. Coin wasn¡¯t apart of the deal. Especially not the coin of kings and gods. No matter. He shrugged and turned his attention to Shepard. Drool seeped from mouth, rolled down, and dripped from his chin. He tasted the stench of fear on Shepard. Fear was a tasteful seasoning that made ripping the flesh from bone all the better.


    His jaw cracked out of place. The top half of his head slowly titled back and his face split open like flower petals made of flesh. The inside lined with rows of teeth that hooked inward down his throat. Rotting flesh from previous meals stuck to his teeth. The putrid odor filled the room and bled Shepard¡¯s eyes. Made him gag.


    Shepard reached behind his back. His eyes became narrow. Something writhed around inside the well-dressed man¡­demon¡¯s mouth. A fleshy rope speared from its mouth, and quickly wrapped itself around Shepard¡¯s neck. The rough and wet texture slid across Shepard¡¯s skin as it tightened its coil. Shepard dropped the rusty shank on the floor, grabbed hold of the tongue and tried to dig his fingers between it and his neck. The tongue slowly crushed his windpipe. He opened his mouth but couldn¡¯t breathe. His knees gave out from underneath him. He dug his finger nails into the floorboard as he tried to yank the tongue from his neck.


    Panic swelled within him. Warm tears streamed from his eyes. His vision faded into black. The last thing he saw was Hunch snatching the coin purse off the table and turning on his heels to run. The fat bastard¡¯s flaps jiggled as he ran. Dammit! This wasn¡¯t how Shepard wanted to die. He did not want to die. Did it matter if he died? Nobody would miss him. Nobody would even notice he was gone. His mother was dead. His father¡ªthe stranger¡ªnever came back for him.


    Shepard?


    Shepard opened his eyes. ¡°Babel!¡± he wheezed. Babel would miss him. She waited for him in the clocktower, her feet aching, stomach grumbling, body shivering. If he was gone, who would take care of her? Who would protect her? He needed to be there for her. The day they found one another, the had promised they would always be there for one another. It seemed asinine to pledge one¡¯s trust to a stranger. But when the whole world was against them, a stranger was better than no one.


    Liquid light bled from Shepard¡¯s fingertips as he extended his left hand. It was a warm vibrate light that shuddered and squirmed within his hand, taking on a familiar shape. The liquid solidified, Shepard wrapping his fingers tight around the handle. A three-inch-long blade, curved towards Shepard, formed from the handle. He raised the newly summoned knife into the air and came down swiftly on the demon¡¯s tongue.


    The sharp blade sliced clean through the demon¡¯s tongue in a spray of crimson. It got on Shepard¡¯s hand. Warm. Sticky. Shepard scampered to his feet, yanking the wet severed tongue from his neck. He threw it on the floor and kicked it aside as the demon thrashed about the room. Its shrieks ear numbing. Blood leaked from its mouth as it crashed back against the table, turned, and staggered into the wall. It hunched over and bagged its fist into the wall until the concrete cracked.


    ¡°You damned street rat!¡± It growled.


    The demon whipped around right as Shepard plunged the knife into Its side. The demon belched blood onto the floor. Specks of red landed on Shepard¡¯s face as he pushed deeper into Its side.


    ¡°Stanger taught me this one,¡± smile Shepard. ¡°Really useful when they think they got the upper hand.¡±


    Shepard twisted the blade clockwise and yanked it out with both hands sticky and red. The demon collapsed to its knees, hunched over, and gagging from its wound. It glared up at Shepard with vibrant red in the eyes, snarling and cursing. Blood from the wound seeping between its fingers. It lashed at Shepard. He stepped aside with ease. A slight confident smirk. He gripped the knife with both hands, bloody blade pointed down, and stabbed into the back of the demon¡¯s neck.


    ¡°I¡­curse you¡­artisaaaan!¡± gurgled the demon, coughing up blood. Its throat ran warm with its own crimson. Shepard slowly pulled the knife from the demon¡¯s throat, and it fell over dead. A pool of red bloomed from its body, spreading out and around Shepard¡¯s feet. Shepard tossed the knife up. It shattered into brilliant white lights and was gone.


    ¡­Artisan?


    Shepard, lost in thought, stared at the demon. Its blood-soaked tongue hung from its mouth. Its eyes rolled back. The sparse muscle twitches did not concern Shepard. He was sure it was dead, or at least dying. It was how things died. Broken. Twitching. Bleeding.


    He¡¯d seen it before. A local gang found and surrounded a street rat. He did not know the girl personally but seen her around. He recognized her red shaggy hair and amber eyes. One of the bigger members handed the smallest one, a bit older than Shepard, a wooden bat and pointed at the street rat.


    It was common for gang members to indoctrinate street rats into their groups. They had street knowledge. They were smart and cunning. They did not shy away from violence. Even if they did, violence found them. He watched the former street rat raise the bat above her head and came down hard.


    Crack!


    There wasn¡¯t a scream or cry. Just a solid thump as the younger street rat¡¯s body hit the pavement, head cracked open, body spazzing out, and mouth wide open unable to cry out. The older street rat raised her bat and came down again.


    Crack!


    Shepard closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Memories not worth remembering. He wished he could forget things. But they were vivid, engraved into his mind as if these bad memories happened yesterday. Shepard felt in his pocket. Felt the smooth metal coin of kings and gods safely tucked away. He sighed and opened his eyes.


    It wasn¡¯t too late. Hunch was fat, couldn¡¯t run for shit, and tired quickly. Shepard could catch up to him. He checked that his shank was still in his waistband and proceeded towards the door. He glanced over his shoulder. The demon was still dead on the floor. He stepped outside and closed the door behind.