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.
"..."
"Not much of a talker, I see. Worry not. We have prepared nothing but the best care for such an esteemed guest."
Her eyes flickered with desire and promise.
She wants something.
The boy knew that stare all too well. She wanted something, but he had nothing to give. At the very least...
She thinks I have something.
He looked down once more at the care he received. The bandages wrapped around him were too neat, the pills were too expensive, and his bed was too soft.
They think I'm-
"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 don't know what you'd like of me, but I have no money to give," the boy tugged at his pockets.
"Oh, no need to lie now. Vespsus is watching."
She shrugged and smiled as she poked at the ceiling. The boy looked up and whispered a small prayer himself before turning back to the woman.
"But, I speak the truth."
"..."
The small smile that once sat on the nun's face seemed to fade. Teeth dug into her fingers as she nervously began to bite them.
The lady composed herself. "We understand where you come from. All I-... all the church would like is fair compensation for our medical care," 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? This is your last chance."
Her voice bounced between the chamber walls, reinforcing her question.
"Family?"
"Yes, family," she said, pushing 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 fabric, 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 nun'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, miss, I don't know the significance of this piece of..." the nun's cold eyes made him hesitate, "...clothing."
"As for my name, well... I do not have one, much less a family name."
"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.
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. You might not know its significance, but it's unfortunate that a commoner ended up with it. I... pity you."
Her voice lost all signs of greed. Greed in the capital was a hope for slum-dwellers. The rumbling sound of hunger that every one 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.
I wish I were high up in the military.
Days passed, and the pain kept him up through the nights. Without the costly medical treatment he was getting before, a good night's rest seemed out of reach. It wasn't an unfortunate thing to him, though. When he did sleep, unsightly visions kept him tossing and turning.
Recovery was slow—long enough to lose track of how long he had been there. Days or weeks, he didn't know anymore. Scars on his hands showed signs of permanence. Rough gashes turned to tissue.
Occasionally, his thumbs would graze the new protrusions on his hands. His heart shuddered at the memory. It seemed no matter what he did, awake or asleep, he couldn't escape those moments.
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, as some of the nurses believed he may never hold anything again.
All the nurses, after the first, seemed quite normal. Constantly checking in on his injuries and made sure he improved in health steadily. Though it lacked the delicate touch a noble might get.
There were still lingering thoughts from what the nun 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-
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. He winced as a sharp groan came from the bed as the rest of his weight lifted. Slowly, he cast his eyes around the room.
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 ray of moonlight. A thin, shadowed path outlined a more concealed way of exit.
Best to avoid light, I think.
Quietly, he let his body fall into the thin shadow. His back pressed against the wall. He began to weave between the shadows; he inched closer and closer to the end of the hall. Freedom began to feel more tangible.
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 them, he couldn't help but slide 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.
A small wooden door swung open and reeled him from his thoughts. He quickly dove 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 who are trying to sleep. 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 black 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 crept to the door, masking himself behind the giant pillars. He closed in on the exit, quickly reaching for the latch.
"Stop!" A loud shout stopped him in his tracks.
"Stop it, you bastard!"
The boy turned his head to see the knight named Brost grabbing hold of the nun's face.
The mean nun...
"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."
The nun pleaded through her squeezed face, "I'm sorry, he was just here."
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 Sister of Vavideer!"
"I can if they break the law, Hully, and a false report is... breaking the law," he paused between words as he started pushing the knife into her mouth.
"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, black-haired boy. For a moment, the nun had understood what the boy had just done. Yet, the thought was fleeting.
"Him! That's him!" 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.
They're going to kill me. For no reason.
Brost sighed, "Damnit," he scratched the back of his head and turned back, "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 Sister 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."