Thick as Thieves
Somehow, squatting behind a random person's home in the middle of a particularly heavy snowstorm was not Locke's idea of making it on his own. He had imagined reaching South Figaro, or Nikeah by then, and getting a job from a merchant or with the sailors loading cargo.
But there he was, his fingers bright red from the cold, pulling his now raggedy jacket closer to him in an attempt to close in any warmth at all.
His luck had run dry when he clambered off the merchant ship at the tiny port village on the outskirts of the Figaroan desert. He should have stayed onboard, begged the captain for a position, no matter how undignified, and continued sailing with the crew of the S.S. Sea Rose. But, Locke thought that he could make it to South Figaro with his small supply of food. He had underestimated his journey though. Great distances always look less intimidating on a map. He should have traded something back in that tiny village for extra food and water.
In the desert, he ran out of water within three days, got run over by a wild chocobo, and was reduced to trying to suck the water out of a small cactus. Fortunately for the young man, this action did yield water, and he was resolved to preying on unsuspecting cacti until his canteens were full.
The final leg of his trip landed him in Narshe, the coal mining town, where every man was a slave to the mines in some form or fashion. Snow was a constant in daily life, along with temperamental boilers that went out when somebody forgot to set a dial a certain way.
During his first day in the coal mining town, Locke asked around for a job after splurging with the last of his gil at the pub for a meal. Nobody wished to hire such a scraggly looking youth, however. Some of the older folks eyed him suspiciously, muttering to each other about how strangers always caused a ruckus.
"We don't like strangers in these parts."
Hrmph! I got me enough lazy bums in this here mine as it is, young man. Go some where's else." They all said, shutting their heavy wooden doors in his face.
As he sat there behind the house, clutching his arms tightly in his jacket that seemed to be getting thinner and thinner the longer the storm went on, he watched as the lights inside the windows gradually went out.
The fires flickering in the lamp posts in the streets continued burning, but people began blowing out their lanterns for the night.
Locke had only been in Narshe a week, by that time, and had a good grasp of the routines of the citizens. The Narshe guards would begin their patrols by dark; miners would be walking home, their metal lunch pails swinging by their sides, and men would stagger to their homes from the pub.
The youth wondered often about the reason behind the strict guards of Narshe. The town was deep in the mountains, basically cut off from the rest of the world save for the trains that barreled down the mountains to bring coal to other cities, Figaro especially.
Narshe should not be too worried by invaders from other kingdoms, or anything of the sort. Yet, the guards patrolled the streets every night, shining their lanterns in the alleyways looking for coarse persons, drunkards, and pointed their sharp spears at anything that startled them. Some of the guards carried guns, and Locke tried his best to stay out of firing range of those men.
The youth remained crouching, knowing that if he ventured away from his hiding place too soon, he would surely be discovered. His legs ached like the dickens, both from his position and the cold. He pulled his travel pack off of his shoulders and sat it on the ground behind him, and sat on it. Locke only had a few pairs of socks, some spare shirts, denims, and his canteens. The items inside of his bag could suffer being sat on for a few hours until Locke decided that it was safe to leave, even though the young man knew that he would find his clothes frozen together, knowing his luck.
If it were not for the snowstorm raging, blowing large bits of frozen fluff through the small back alley where he lay in hiding, the alley would be comfortable for the most part. The owner of the house had stacked wooden crates up along the back corner, and put out barrels on the other side. When Locke found the slim space, he moved the barrels carefully so as to hide himself. If the guards appeared with their lanterns, the barrels would cast a shadow that would hide the youth quite well as he tucked himself against the crates.
Locke had some food he had been rationing since the start of his journey, but he did not touch it that evening because he wanted it to last as long as it could. He felt that it was worth spending money on that meal because his belly had been rather full and content. The lad knew then that the feeling would last for a day or two more until the aching and growling returned. Now, a few days later, his stomach told him it wanted nourishment. But he ignored it, knowing that if he ate some of his rations, it would only mean he would have that much less for when he really needed it.
He shoved a red, cracked hand into his denim pocket and fished out the remainder of his money. He counted it out, and found that he did not even have enough for a cup of milk from the dairy. Sighing, his resolve grew stronger, knowing what he had to do if he wished to keep going. Locke put his coins back in his pocket, and waited for the time he judged to be the best to come out of hiding and set his plan into action.
It was hard to tell time in Narshe. The near constant cloud cover hide the sun and moon, and the only way somebody could tell it was night was when the sky grew darker. People could not look up at the sun and tell that it was noon, or early morning, or even that it was the night of a full moon.
Without a pocket watch, Locke had to guess at how much time had passed. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, shivered, and watched as a guard walked by in the distance, his lantern bobbing around with his gait. The yellow light showed that snow was swirling around the streets like feathers being shaken out of a pillow. He could see the uneven cobblestone walkway, and sometimes the side of a building until the light receded behind a corner.
Something close to sleepiness tugged at Locke's eyelids, causing him to shake his head left and right, trying to chase away his weariness. He could not afford to fall asleep in an alleyway behind somebody's house in a snow storm. Especially when he was shivering so much, who knows what would happen to him?
"I'd better get going now, before I nod off…"
The lad stood up carefully, shaking the ice that had formed off of his denim pants, and grabbed up his bag. He put it on his shoulders and strode out of the alley, sticking close to the walls of the house as he groped in the darkness, feeling the corner of the bricks lead off to the street.
Lingering in place for a moment, he thought quickly about which direction to take, and took off north toward the mines. He kept his pace fast, ignoring the ice stinging his cheeks, keeping a few fingers trailing the sides of buildings and boilers to keep track of where he was.
The town was silent as the night went on, save for the wind that blew in large gusts through the streets, sometimes making the young man feel like he was tipping over backwards from the force.
He had to keep going, knowing that if he stayed in one place too long, a guardsman would surely find him and haul him off to the jail merely because he looked suspicious.
Eventually, the young man could see the faint outlines of the mines up ahead, making him trudge faster up the steps, tripping every few moments in his haste.
The mines of Narshe had workers in them around the clock because of the enormous coal deposits beneath the mountains. The kingdom of Figaro and the outlying villages needed coal to power their engines and boilers, and on their continent, Narshe was the only known place that had coal to be mined out.
The local scholars estimated that the town has enough coal lying buried deep in the mountains to last another three hundred years or more. And that estimate is just on the coal that they have found.
Lantern light flickered through the racing snow, sometimes it swung from side to side as wind blew into the mouth of the caves.
Locke crept closer, keeping to the rock walls, knowing that the miners were about. He definitely did not want to have a bad encounter with men who knew how to use pickaxes and sledgehammers.
Once he was at the entrance, he poked his nose inside for a moment, scanning the best he could for anything alive. Pickaxes lay up against the cave walls, and blackened helmets were stacked on top of each other near the discarded tools.
Nobody was in sight, so the young man slide inside, taking care to be as quiet as he could. Though, once he was out of the snowstorm, he could hear the sounds of the mines echoing off stone.
Shouts that called out orders echoed from a tunnel up ahead, along with the sounds of clanking and machinery, which let the lad know that he was alone for the moment where he was.
Keeping his ears focused on the noises from the tunnels, Locke looked about, hoping that he could just grab one and run without being seen. But in the flickering lantern light, he could only find mining tools, the stacked helmets, and a ruddy old shoe.
Throwing his hands up in the air, he scowled, muttered a curse, and kicked that ruddy old shoe because it deserved it.
"Gods dammit! Great. Just bloody great. Now I gotta go find it somewhere else…I bet those stupid things are in there with those old guys…"
Poking his head around the corner to see if anybody was in sight, and still muttering angry little words, Locke moved quietly down the tunnel, jumping every time he thought he heard something close by.
A few candles burned in the wall sconces, casting distorted shadows as the youth went by. The grinding and clattering echoes got louder as he reached the end of the tunnel and was greeted by a large series of rooms carved out unevenly. At one end of the area were three workers tending to a large machine that was cutting into the stone wall. They were too busy to pay any attention as Locke crept to a section of the room where their personal belongings were grouped together.
Locke had trouble deciding how many of the metal lunch pails he could take without being heard, and grabbed up two at random without looking inside.
As he turned to duck out of the mining area, he smacked right into a wide flannel covered chest. He let out a small squeak of surprise as he fell backwards onto his butt. The two lunch pails he had been trying to knick fell with loud clatters, which surprisingly called the attention of the other miners.
"'Ay! What's he doin' here?" one of the miners called out, "Kids ain't allowed in 'ere!"
Looking up at what he ran into, Locke's eyes grew wide. The towering man had his hands on his hips, and sneered down at the youth with a mean glint in his eyes.
"What do ya think yer doing with those, eh?" the giant of a man demanded, his voice booming.
"Uh, I-uh…" Locke began, having a feeling in his gut that this would not end well.
"You think you can jest come in here and take our food, huh?" the man growled.
Before Locke could even muster an answer, he was pushed back into the uneven rock wall by a heavy boot. Within seconds, the large man picked Locke up by the hair and smashed his face into the stone. Pain blossomed into his nose and cheek where the brunt of the hit was taken, and blood started oozing out of his nostrils in sticky trails.
As two other men advanced on the young man to join in the beating, another ran into town for the guards.
Locke soon lost consciousness as the miners beat him mercilessly over trying to steal their food.
"Don't you think they went a little far this time, Sir?"
"Nah, the little roach had it coming. Plus, you can't blame the guys, can you? Their families give up a good part of their meals to send them a decent lunch pail. Hell, I'd get mad too if somebody tried stealing it."
"It's a surprise that the kid doesn't have any broken bones…'cept for his nose, anyways."
"We got there in time. That's the only reason why he isn't dead."
Locke felt the cold floor against his face, the throbbing pain all over his body, and he felt that his shoes were gone. As he heaved himself up into a sitting position, with his back protesting, he inspected his feet in the dim light, wondering out loud about his boots as if his toes would give him an answer.
"We had to take them. Standard procedure so you don't try to off yourself or something stupid like that."
The young man's eyes adjusted in the light, seeing that beyond the bars to his right was a Narshe guardsman looking down at him from his wooden chair.
"What? Would I just clobber myself to death with them or something?" Locke replied, his voice sounding gravelly.
The guardsman grinned a little at that response, "Nope, we've had nimrods try to hang themselves before from the rafters."
"Oh," was all Locke could think to say, scratching at the back of his head, his eyes glancing up to see the rafters in question.
"I never understood why, really. I mean, being in jail is a lot better than starving to death out in the blizzard. Wouldn't you agree?"
Locke merely nodded, his thoughts returning to his situation when he first arrived in town.
The guardsman stood up from his chair and walked over to the other side of the room, out of sight from where Locke sat on the floor.
"You hungry? Thirsty?" came the guard's voice.
The lad's stomach rumbled at the thought of food, "Sure!" He thought that his reply might have been too quick or desperate sounding, but all the guard did was return with a metal tray. The guard crouched down next to a little door built into the bars and unlocked it to slide the tray inside along with a glass of water.
Locke scooted himself close enough to pull the tray in front of him and grabbed up the glass first, draining it in one big gulp. The guard offered to refill it for him, which was accepted with a nod. On the tray, there was a bowl of thick oatmeal, a bit of bread, and what looked like sausage.
Before Locke could stop himself he said, "Wow, you guys really treat your prisoners better than up north where I live. All they get up there is water and bread as hard as a stone."
"Oh really now. I wonder how you know about what they feed the prisoners. Is this the first time you've been in jail, or do you have a little record, hmm?" the guard's eyebrows quirked up.
Locke fought back the urge to make a snarky comment, "Nope, I just heard things around the village is all." He was lying, but the guard seemed to believe him. He started eating, discovering that chewing made his nose hurt like hell, but he savored each little morsel while the guard went over to a desk and flipped through what looked like paperwork.
A question entered his mind, and as soon as he had finished off the last of his oatmeal, Locke decided that it would not hurt to ask.
"How long am I staying here, anyways?"
"About a week I guess. Normally, punishment for stealing is a lot worse, but since it's your first time, and we figured that you were starving, so we're letting you off a little easy." The guard struck a match to light the oil lamp on the desk.
"Plus, you took quite a beating from those miners, so we figured that was part of the punishment," he chuckled.
Locke inwardly sighed, feeling like a moron for trying to steal the lunch pails, and hoped that perhaps he could spend most of his days sleeping away the injuries and the time. He tried stretching, finding the act painful, and tried curling up on the floor for the moment, hoping to fall into unconsciousness.
A/N: Thank you for reading my new story! I hope that it was enjoyable and interesting to read. Please leave any reviews, and don't worry, Rachel will have a part in future chapters.