Chapter Two
The girl froze, unable to respond with more than an awkward smile. Unsure of what to do, she spun on her heels and ran. The narrow alleyways were unfamiliar; every person she saw was a stranger. She had no idea where the winding streets would lead her, but she continued regardless. The streets became a blur, and the unknown faces merged into each other. A shout from behind rang in her ears, and she halted, breathless.
Caught up in the realisation that she was lost, the young girl did not notice the boy approaching her, and jumped at the sound of his voice.
"Hey, why did you run?"
She flinched away from the expectant eyes awaiting her reply, and mumbled,
"Why did you follow me?"
The boy shrugged, and stepped forwards, "I'm Porthos. What's your name?"
"Fl…." The girl stumbled, "fl.."
"Call her Flea." The second, slightly older, boy sniggered. "They're both small, and irritating."
Porthos shoved him. "Ignore Charon. He's an idiot."
Receiving a playful, but sharp nonetheless, blow to the shoulder for the comment, Porthos grinned, "C'mon Flea, we'll show you round."
The two boys leapt up, with Flea following shakily. They led her through the winding maze of alleys with assurance, a confidence that she recognised. These streets were there home, as Paris had been hers, and they could walk them blindfolded.
Flea didn't look back at the crossroads as she walked away.
Constantly checking the surroundings, though everything looked the same to her, Flea followed duly until Porthos stopped, and beckoned her to sit.
"You're not from round here, are-"
That was as far as he got before he was interrupted. Flea didn't know who this guy was, but she certainly knew he was intimidating.
"We don't seem to have met" he snarled at Flea, "let me introduce myself. I'm in charge around here." He stepped towards her, and she looked anxiously to Porthos for reassurance. The boy grabbed his hand around her throat, and thrust her against the wall, "Don't forget that."
Porthos flew at him, his hands clenched into fists and his face contorted with anger. A solid blow to the jaw stunned the older boy, who dropped the wide-eyed Flea and turned to face his aggressor. Flexing his muscles, he let his eyes flicker over the much smaller Porthos in disgust.
The boy was heavily built, with broad shoulders and a muscular physique. Jesper's gang of onlookers were amazed that such a small boy would dare challenge Jesper, and outraged that he should try. Porthos was stocky, small, and had no chance of winning a brawl with the most vicious fighter of the court.
He tensed in anticipation, but did not back away. Perhaps his greatest virtue was his bravery, though it would also be a flaw which would cause him much pain. The blows came hard and fast; some he blocked, but most fell painfully on his jaw or chest. Porthos stumbled and fell, but his attacker did not refrain. Jesper, to the encouragement of the gang behind him, rained kicks upon the boy. Porthos grit his teeth and winced at each sharp burst of pain.
Charon and Flea watched in agony as Porthos received blow after blow without so much as crying out. Compelled to help him, but intimidated by Jesper, Flea was forced to do nothing while Porthos lay crumpled on the ground.
A last kick to the groin satisfied Jesper, who turned smugly to the entourage of thugs behind him, and strode away.
"Jesper's a prat." Charon laughed in disbelief, as Flea rushed towards the motionless figure on the floor. The girl attempted to pull Porthos to his feet, but to no avail: he was out, cold.
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