Maybe there are signs of something that I've missed. Something, somewhere, out deep in the world that would have changed my view on life for the better. Maybe I've missed that.
The throaty sound of the hour hand hitting twelve pulled the boy from his sheets. Soft thuds landed beside him as his two pillows fell from his bed.
Where am I?
His eyes shot around a while before darting to his hands. Bandages covered his fingers. They were wrapped around sturdy-
Sticks?
Splints. He attempted to force a bend in each finger, yet none budged, probably for the better. His focus shifted back to the large corridor he woke up in. White-painted walls with a hint of blue. Symmetrical beds with small wooden tables next to each other. A stench of death.
A hospital? No, we don't have that in the slums. It must be a church of Vavideer.
"Oh, how Lady Vespsus blesses the," a voice echoed.
The boy tried turning his head, but a sharp pain made him recoil to the bed.
"My dear child, you must not move a muscle. Do you know how much effort went into keeping you alive?" she asked.
"..."
"It would be blasphemous to let our efforts go... unrewarded, in a house of Her holiness."
Her crooked smile looked equally as suspicious as the way she clasped her hands.
Wretch.
"What must I do, my lady? I am broke, you see," the boy tugged at his pockets.
"Oh, now no need to lie. Vespsus is watching."
"But, I speak the truth-"
"Silence, boy!"
Her voice bounced between the chamber walls, reinforcing her command. His face began to burn as tears welled. Expressionless, but still allowing a tear to stroke itself down his face. A small hint of muddied red floated around in the salty water. He sat still, waiting for her to speak once more.
The lady composed herself. "We understand where you come from. All I-... all the church would like is fair compensation for our services," as she spoke, she tossed a heavy, navy coat onto the boy's lap. He sprang up, but was too weakened by the strain to attempt to catch it.
"Tell me, boy, what family do you come from? What is your name?"
"Family?"
"Yes, family," she began to lose her patience once more as she pushed her pointer finger into the coat, "This. Right here. I am trying my best to be cordial with a noble's son, but your lack of manners is astounding!"
As her finger pulled away from the coat, a small patch became visible. A symbol of sorts--a kneeling knight with his sword in the ground. He ran his fingers over the patch.
The sword is chipped in the middle...
A clasp of the deaconess's hands snapped him out of his trance.
"Now then, should we discuss our payment plan?" Her smile encroached on her words, making her intentions painfully sound.
"Again, I don't know the significance of this piece of..." his voice trailed off as she lost her smile, "Clothing."
"As for my name... well... I do not have one, much less a family name."
Gears turned in her head. You could see the thoughts coming and going. Emotions erupted and faded. Finally, her face settled, and she began to speak.
"Well, I must say," she continued as she began to pluck the coat away from the boy, "I've never known a noble child to lie about his heritage."
She dusted the coat and wrapped it around her arms. It weighed her blue tunic down to her frame, revealing the reality of her stature. She was frail.
Hungry...
The boy's brow furrowed, but he quickly shook it away. Luckily, the lady had turned to walk away. Before making her long walk down the open hall, she turned her head back.
"We found this on your body. It is the coat of a captain in the royal guard. It is unfortunate that a commoner ended up with it... I pity you, boy."
Her voice lost all signs of greed. Greed in the capital was a hope for slum-dwellers. The rumbling sound of hunger that everyone of them knows. The pain and desperation of starvation. He couldn't blame her for her crass nature. It was only natural to jump at the chance to earn money.
He turned straight and brought his knees up. His arms hugged them tightly as his stomach seemed to think of all the food a captain of the royal guard could eat.
Days of pain kept him up through the nights. It wasn't an unfortunate thing to him, though. When he did sleep, mangled corpses and visions of children's hands reaching out to him forced him to toss and turn.
Recovery was slow. It took long enough to lose track of how long he had been there. Days or weeks, he didn't know anymore. Scars showed signs of permanence on his hands. Rough gashes turned to tissue.
Sometimes his thumbs would graze the new protrusions on his hands. His heart shuddered at the memory, and often. Those memories found a way to creep in every chance they could. The only thing that made them stop was the occasional moving around he did to recover.
Moving had finally become normal, and his body felt able once more. He wiggled his fingers freely and waved his arms around. The boy couldn't help but smile at his improvement. Some of the nurses believed he may never hold anything again.
All the nurses, after the first, seemed quite nice. Constantly checking in on his injuries and making sure he improved in health steadily.
There were still lingering thoughts from what the deaconess had said.
"Payment," he whispered.
Not once did anyone ask for his name after finding out he was a commoner. It wasn't like this upset him; he was relieved, actually.
No one knows my name--what a weird thought. Not a single person left in this entire world knows my name.
His eyes widened ever so slightly. The beat of his heart became a little faster. Badump. Badump. He looked around at the other patients.
Asleep, asleep, eyes covered, looking away-
A mental note of everyone, and none seemed to be looking his way.
"Payment my ass," he whispered.
Two tiny feet slid from underneath the covers of his bed. He planted his feet firmly, but quietly. Slowly, he pulled off his white gown and replaced it with ragged cloth. The creaks of the bed only made him hurry his pace. One leather shoe, then the next.
He placed his hands on the bed to counter his body's weight. A sharp groan came from the bed as the rest of his weight lifted. He winced and slowly looked around.
No one seemed to care.
Now, how do I get out of here?
Most of the nurses came and went straight down the corridor, so there seemed to be only one path to follow. Each large window let in a moonlit ray.
Best to avoid light, I think.
As he began to weave between the shadows, he inched closer and closer to the end of the hall.
Large pillars shot from the ground to the sky, supporting the open space. Each seemed to be made of marble or fine rock. As he passed each one, he slid his hand across. Coarse and dry, but smooth. A feeling he would likely never experience again as a slum-dweller. Typically, commoners weren't allowed into the medical wards of churches; they were only permitted to pray in church pews. Even then, they were kicked out if they stayed too long or if a nobleman came.
As he began to lose himself in thought, a small wooden door swung open. He quickly leapt behind a pillar. Two knights, armored in leather, circled impatiently around the exit.
"Why are we here?" one clicked.
"Brost, please. We have a simple job to do, let's get the boy and get out," the other replied.
"Now, now, boys. I have patients. Please refrain from shouting-"
"Shut it, wretch," Brost pointed his finger at someone, but the door covered their figure.
"This is all your fault, Hully. You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"
"Oh, shut the hell up, Brost. If you were caught all the times you were in brothels, we'd practically be slaves," Hully replied.
Brost clicked his tongue again and turned away, walking hastily towards the patients.
"Okay, which one is he?" he echoed as he trudged away.
"Fourteenth on the left. The small boy with brown hair-" she stopped herself.
Her hands snatched up her tunic as she ran to catch up to Brost. Every step reverberated with urgency. As they approached the bed, they stopped. Hully slowly approached from behind, out of breath from the short run.
Now's my chance.
The boy began to walk to the door, masking himself behind the giant pillars. He closed in on the exit quickly, extending his hand to grab the latch.
"Stop!" A loud shout stopped him in his tracks.
"Stop it, you bastard!"
The boy turned his head to see Brost grabbing hold of the deaconess's face.
The mean nurse...
"You lied to us, you witch!" Brost shouted.
"Brost, stop it! This is unnecessary. We'll leave and report what we found. We can still make this work-"
"Shut it, you obese tool. This was my last straw. I'm done for if I don't bring this boy in."
"I'm sorry, he was just here," she pleaded through her squished face.
Brost brought a knife to her cheek and continued in a whisper, "I will be DAMNED if I go back to being a mercenary. I'm bringing back the tongue of a liar and charging you instead."
"Brost, stop! You can't harm a deaconess!"
"I can if they break the law, Hully, and a false report is, well..." he paused between words as he started pushing the knife into her mouth, "…breaking the law."
"S-Stop it!"
The shout brought all actions to a startling halt. The three turned their heads to the end of the corridor to see a small, brown-haired boy. For a moment, the deaconess had understood what the boy had just done. Yet, the thought was fleeting.
"Him! That's him! That's the thieving rat!" she shouted as she turned back to Brost. "You see? I'm no liar!"
Brost turned his head back and forth a couple of times before letting go of the face he had clutched. The sharp blade slid away from its intended victim and pointed itself towards the young boy.
"You," Brost said as he walked towards the door, motioning with his blade, "Get over here."
In compliance, he shuffled towards the man, eyes weary of any sign of danger. Brost could feel the hesitation, so he sheathed his knife. Tension eased as the two met in the middle of the hall.
"Are you the boy she speaks of?"
"I am... sir."
Brost paused while looking the boy up and down. The sharp gaze made the boy's skin crawl. He clutched his elbow as he stared the knight in the eyes. What he felt gazing back wasn't anger, hate, or a desire to use the boy for selfish gain. He felt pity. Once his heart caught this whiff, tears began to well once more.
Brost sighed, "Damnit," he scratched the back of his head and turned back, "I- I didn't know he was so..."
A final air of hesitation filled the atmosphere before the soldier pulled a piece of paper from a small satchel.
"With Deaconess Stewart as my witness and the King's word as law... I sentence thee to... uh-"
Brost looked down at the boy and back at the paper.
"I sentence thee to fight on the front lines in the imminent war between the royal kingdom of Krovlizt and thy neighboring kingdom, Melios."