Justin was cold, hungry, and tired. This was the normal state of affairs for him. Despite the fact that the night was warm, he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and pants of material so thin you could almost see through them. That night, as he had done every night for the last eight years, he had been hiding from the whoremasters who would try to force him into their service and the horny old men and older and/or stronger orphans with a taste for boys, who trolled the streets once the sun set. He spent his days drawing pictures for tourists. The pittance he managed to earn had kept him alive, though barely, and allowed him the freedom to choose not to become a whore. Unfortunately, that choice kept him on the run most of the night, allowing him little sleep.
He was now resting after being chased by a gang of boys intent on having their way with him. He'd managed to lose them in the quarters' labyrinthine alleyways, but it hadn't been easy. He'd ran for a solid twenty minutes. As he was catching his breath, he felt a strange sensation. He looked up and saw the most beautiful boy he'd ever seen. He was staring at Justin curiously. Justin would normally have taken off running the moment he noticed someone staring at him, but he was rooted to the spot, transfixed by eyes that seemed to change color. One moment they looked light brown with flecks of gold, and the next, sea green.
Suddenly, the boy started moving toward Justin. Justin was a little afraid, but he was excited, too. As the boy slowly approached, Justin tried to determine what sort of person he was. The boy couldn't be an orphan. He looked too well fed and too clean for that. His clothes were drab colored and simple but well made. That ruled out whoremaster. Whoremasters always wore beautiful fabrics in bright colors. He could be a tourist, but he was dressed a little too simply even for them. Plus, they rarely ventured out at night. Justin had quite simply never seen anyone like the boy before.
When the boy reached Justin's side, he sat on the ground next to him. For a couple of minutes, all he did was look Justin up and down. Justin imagined that he was trying to ascertain which of the five groups peopling the quarters he was from. The quarters got its name from the five quarters that housed the five different groups that had lived here beyond memory. In the two centuries since the quarters' establishment, the lines had blurred a bit, though not too much. The five groups still spoke different languages and prayed to different gods and goddesses, but many, especially the young, had learned enough of the other languages to interact with people of different groups. In fact, a patois that was a mish-mash of all five had developed for trade. This intermingling was heightened by intermarriage. People didn't often marry outside their group, but it did happen. Usually, the women would go to live in the husband's quarter. But they still visited their own, bringing their husbands and children with them. When those children were grown, they could live in either quarter, as they were well versed in both cultures. Sometimes, children of such marriages would marry someone from a completely different group or a person with blood ties to two or three. Justin had never heard about anyone belonging to all five, but he'd heard quite a few stories about people belonging to three or four.
Justin was an orphan, which meant he had no status. No family. No group. Not anymore. Friends and family broke ties with orphans, so they had to fend for themselves. Life was hard enough all over without having to feed extra mouths. Thus, orphans wandered about throughout the quarters, sleeping wherever they could, home in none of them. Some died of cold and hunger. Others were taken by the whoremasters and forced to sell their bodies in whorehouses or on street corners in the red district, an area that was not claimed by any of the five groups. There, anything and everything was bought and sold. Justin had even heard rumors that people, young and old, were sometimes kidnapped and held in the red district until they were sold as slaves. Thankfully, Justin was intelligent. He'd managed to become fluent in all five languages in the eight years he'd been on his own (He'd even managed to pick up some of the language the rulers spoke, when the men from the keep came to take men from the quarters away or to collect taxes). He couldn't even remember which group he was from. He was but six years old when his parents died, and he had almost no memories from when they were alive.
Brian wasn't sure what language to try first with the blond boy. He was still learning the differences between groups. Once he heard a person speak, he knew right away to which they belonged, but he wasn't yet knowledgeable enough to tell the difference just by looking. In frustration, he said, in his own language, "I wish you could speak my language."
Justin replied simply, "I can."
Brian's eyes widened. He asked incredulously, "You can understand me?"
Justin smiled a little shyly and answered, "Yes."
