For a day Kyle skulked in the alleys, one dirty urchin among many. Crawling through trash to find food and an overlarge tunic covered his skin in filth and dulled his blond hair brown. His mind, like his body skittered restlessly, circling but never quite touching on the terrible, horrible thing.
Upon reaching the shore of the island, the child found a place to squeeze his body in and curled into a ball. Sure that the heavens would erupt and the Sun would flame him to a char, he hid and rocked, hid and rocked. By the end of his fit, he couldn't remember what had happened. Whenever he tried, he became restless for action. He couldn't stop from poking at what the terrible thing might be, any more he could stop poking a scab.
Late in the evening, Kyle found a place to sleep, a crawlspace between two taverns. He ate a half-finished sandwich stolen from a restaurant's trash and listened to the noise of the patrons. The buzz of conversation outside slowed his internal restlessness in small degrees.
"Gods, you heard the news?"
Kyle jumped. It sounded like the voice came right over his shoulder, but no one was there. There must be a table or booth right next to the wall. Still bolting down his food, the child leaned closer to listen.
"Who hasn't? It's been all over the city. Someone knocked off Wicked Wallace! Guardsmen found his corpse this morning stinking up the air in an alley." This voice sounded older and he slammed down a glass on the table.
"I heard the guardsmen themselves did it!" The first man sounded younger. Kyle liked that voice. Yes, of course some guardsmen killed a bad person. That's what they did.
"Nah, that's not it. They found the corpse, I tell you. My son's in the guard and he heard it from his commander how it happened." After that, it became hard to make out any individual voice. Everyone in the tavern seemed to talk right next to Kyle's listening spot. Finishing his sandwich and licking his hands, he waited for the patrons to continue.
"All right!" The older man settled the crowd with his authoritative shout. "Everyone knows Wicked Wallace has a wanted list on him as long as he was tall. Robbery, rape, murder, you name it! Day before last, he goes on a spree, stealing and killin' some whores. He ends up in an alley and he meets his end there."
"What'd he go into the alley for?" someone asked.
"Probably going to hide his loot in a secret place," the young man replied. Men and women said "aye." "But then he meets somebody and he's killed! Maybe that guy wanted his loot instead?"
"Nah, weren't that. My son says all the things Wicked Wallace stole were left on him. And here's the kicker. Whoever did it killed the son of a bitch with his own sword!"
Kyle waited in the crawlspace with baited breath. The bad thing, the terrible thing loomed up inside him...
"If I knew who did him in, I'd shake his hand and buy him a beer!"
...and the feeling melted to nothing.
"Aye! Whoever killed him did this town the greatest service in years!" the young man exclaimed. A dozen voices raised up in agreement.
The child sat stunned, the horrible churning in his mind halted. So the terrible thing was really a good thing? But his mother, poor mother, said killing was wrong.
"Lots of restless spirits are avenged with his death. I think that person knew exactly what he was doing," said the old man. "Looks like first he stabbed him in the gut, hacked him up some in the body, stomped his face to a bloody pulp and here's the kicker! He drove the bastard's sword right into his own balls!" Patrons whooped it up in laughter. "That man should be proud. He avenged the deaths right proper."
Eyes watering, Kyle didn't bother to wipe them away. Relief flooded his veins. Oh, that's what he did. It just seemed like a terrible, horrible thing. The bad man hurt his mom and he hurt the bad man. He avenged the pain of his mom and everyone else.
"You keep sayin' 'he' did it. Couldn't it have been a woman? Maybe a friend of those whores?"
"Nah, they wouldn't have had the strength to lift the blade. Obviously it was a man out there trying to make the world a better place. Course if the guards ever find out who it was, that man'd be arrested."
Arrested?! Kyle squeaked in his hiding place.
"But he's bein' smart, he is. He'll never take the credit for it so he'll never get caught. Let's raise a toast, folks! To the bravest man in Lelcar, thank you for avenging the dead."
"Here here!"
His hands clapped together in happiness. He had no idea he'd done something so wonderful! But like the old man said, he couldn't say he did it or he'd be in trouble. Fear gone, it still hurt his head to try and remember how he'd properly avenged everyone in town. Maybe that was okay. It wasn't okay to kill, but it was okay to kill the very bad and wicked, as long as you were avenging someone.
Kyle reached in his shirt and patted the precious drawstring bag. "Don't worry mom," he whispered to it. "I'll buy some flowers for you and throw them in the Feitas. I'll try not to kill anybody unless they really need to be killed." Prayer said, he curled into a ball and let the constant noise lull him to sleep.
Earlier that day...
The door to the office thumped again. Volga sighed and set aside his paperwork. Bad enough he was starting to take on some of his father's work on the largest of the eastern islets. Worse still his parents decided to take a vacation to Sable and hell seemed fit to break loose. "If this is another murder, I don't want to hear it."
For a blessed moment, Volga thought his prayers might be answered. Instead, the door opened. "Sir Volga?" A woman dressed in a city guard uniform peeked her head in. "We just got word from the central islet captain. Wicked Wallace was found skewered in an alley in the whore district."
"What?!" Hell had broken loose in the form of a serial rapist and murderer. "Wicked" Wallace was too tame a moniker for that demon. Finally a week and half of tension snapped with one death. "Is he dead?"
"Very, sir. Central islet's leaders want to chat with you."
"What for?" He shoved his paperwork on his desk. "If he's dead, it's a huge relief for everyone."
"Dunno, sir. They just want you around."
"Fine, fine." Irritated, Volga swept up his money pouch and manor keys with one hand. "This doesn't change anything with the kids. Keep them in the grounds until I know for sure what the hell is going on."
The guard quirked a smile. "You got it, Volga."
Grumbling, he ignored the calls of greeting from the various orphans on the manor. He stopped grumbling long enough to give the youngest of them, a girl of three years old, a brief hug and a promise of story time later in the evening.
Dealing with kids left him with little time of his own, however, he didn't mind so much. Growing up the pampered and wealthy son of well-to-do islet leaders, Volga never wanted for anything. A few trips to other islets and their back alleys teeming with homeless haunted him as a teenager.
It started a series of fights with his parents on how best to help the orphans of Lelcar. In the process, it sharpened his skills at debate and raised the level of his voice. After weeks of his pleas, his parents caved in: if he wanted to care for the homeless so badly, he could do it on his own potch.
Fine, he said. His parents hadn't been specific enough in their capitulation, so Volga took full advantage of the situation and housed the orphans on the manor grounds. A former guest house became the home of the orphans. Two years of this program softened his parents hearts enough to where they started looking around with him for likely children who needed a place to stay.
At seventeen, Volga was barely an adult, still a child in the eyes of the city leaders. I bet they're all pissed to have me come along. I'm pissed too, dealing with a bunch of whiny old men and women, he scowled to himself, stomping his way to the meeting site. Never mind he was relieved someone killed the killer. He suspected the meeting had to do with how brave and wonderful the central islet was in dealing with the menace.
If that's the case, I think I'll tell 'em if they were so good at policing themselves they wouldn't have let a notorious killer go on a spree. Screw those bastards. All they were worried about was how a killer would lower business. I bet there's not one peep about the poor whores murdered.
Upon arriving at the meeting site, Volga took one look at the gathered leaders and bit his tongue. The uneasy shuffling and murmuring under the blazing sun set his own nerves to edge. "My parents gave me responsibility for running the western islet. I was doing a good job of that until this happened. What's going on?"
"It would appear that the young need to take a lesson in patience," said a man in charge, a lackey wearing Lord de Beers colors.
Godwin bootlicker. "Looks more like you need to sum up a situation quicker," Volga retorted. "Why is everyone uneasy?"
In fits and starts, guardsmen and other city leaders pieced together the situation. Cold crept down his spine and settled in his stomach. Some ingenious person decided to take out the criminal but in a way that said "I'm far worse than he ever was!"
"We have no leads on a suspect for the slaying of Wicked Wallace. While popular rumor has it one of the people of the slums did him in, it's possible there may be another round of killings," finished the lackey. "Have all your islet patrols out in force. If we can catch this suspect before he decides on killing anyone else, we can save more lives."
Volga bit back another retort. With no possible description of this new killer, anybody was fair game, with anyone meaning the well-to-do of Lelcar. No wonder the Godwin camp finally decided to do something about it. He'd have to play along, of course. More patrols and he'd make damn well sure all the kids were safe at night.
Dammit, why did my parents have to go on vacation now?!
Kyle's stomach growled to the point of distraction. He sat down, waiting for the sickening wave of hunger to pass. Maybe he ate something a few days ago that hadn't been good. Or maybe he caught something going around. Either way, as hungry as he was, he didn't feel like having it come right back up again.
The ladies of his home streets would say throwing up all the time was something bad. Sometimes when that happened, months later, the ladies would have babies. The child giggled to himself. Does it mean I get to have a baby?
What a silly thought. But he liked it better than the terrible horrible thing. The terrible horrible thing that meant you could only kill in revenge. He couldn't piece how one thought connected to the other, only that it did.
Feeling a little lightheaded but no longer hungry, Kyle stood up, clenching the stained package in his hands. He peeked around an alley corner to the riverfront. The Sun edged down in the sky, painting everything pink and gold. The rivermen in their canoes rested for the evening meal, but the evening traffic had yet to begin. It was a perfect time.
Instinctively, the child kept to objects he could hide behind as he darted across the open. When no danger swooped down to take him away, he ran for the nearest pier and stopped at the very edge. "Hi Mom," Kyle said to the river. "It's me. I'm trying to be good."
The Feitas running below his feet offered no comment, but continued its unhurried flow. To Kyle it looked so clean and beautiful...
He started, realizing he'd either fallen asleep or just fallen out of awareness for a few moments. His skin burned hot. He'd have to take a dip in the river later, but he had to do this really important thing first.
"Mom, I got you something. I don't know if they did one already 'cause you told me to run and I did so I didn't know. Here you go. I hope you like 'em." Kyle ripped the package apart.
Flower petals of all colors and stages of decay floated in the wind. For a moment, a most colorful snowfall pattered down on the surface of the river. "Aren't they pretty, Mom?"
Kyle thought they were pretty. Very pretty. His feet wavered on the pier's edge.
"Guess what? I'm going to have a baby just like you. I'll teach it to be big and strong."
"Of course you will, Kyle."
"Mom?" Kyle leaned down to look at the river. "Can you hear me?"
"You're gonna have a baby! How wonderful! What are you going to name it?"
"Dunno." Man, he felt so tired and the petals danced across his eyes. "But I'll teach it to be good. Only kill when it's revenge 'cause that's when it's okay, right?"
Her eyes softened. "Just right, baby. Now come here."
When his mother wanted him to do something, he usually didn't argue too much.
He didn't argue now when his body fell from the pier into the depths of the Feitas.
Lelcar breathed easier. At least it seemed so to Volga. No more killing of whores, no additional killings of the wealthy and best of all, his parents had returned from vacation. Sun and Feitas, he could put off being an islet leader for a year or two more after that! He didn't even mind running a few menial errands like shopping for dinner.
While pausing to adjust his marketplace load, Volga caught sight of a dance of petals. In the middle of the petals, standing precariously on the edge of the pier, a dirty child lifted his hands in the air. In a few moments, every last drop of color landed in the Feitas.
He'd heard about this custom. His charges told him how the poorer classes in some of the islets released flowers into the Feitas as a way to send of the dead. Damn. I wonder if this kid lost someone...wait a minute.
The child swayed, nearly falling into the river. From the distance, Volga saw the child's lips move as though talking with someone. Growling, he walked with a measured stride toward the pier. For this kid's sake, there'd better be some other parent around. Then again, there was still room at the orphan house, wasn't there.
Oh gods no, my parents will kill me. Yet, Volga couldn't stop his feet from taking him down the pier. "Hey kid! Where's your parents?" he asked.
The child didn't answer. His body fell with boneless grace into the Feitas.
"Aw shit!" In hindsight, he realized the cook should have gotten the food for tonight's meal. Then again, maybe she still could, providing she could sort out all the packages thrown across the pier in Volga's haste to leap into the river.
As predicted, his parents screamed bloody murder. In retaliation, Volga screamed back. With that out of the way, all parties worked to save the life of the very sick little boy.
Three days of bed rest, medicine and care seemed to do the trick as the little urchin finally opened up his eyes. "Damn, kid, you almost gave me a heart attack and I'm not even old!" Volga said.
"Where is this?"
"This is my house. Actually, this is a house on the manor grounds." Volga sat back in his chair. "I saw you out on the pier. You fell in the river."
Kyle remembered that part. His mother called out to him...but maybe he dreamed that. His mother couldn't help him anymore. He avoided Volga's gaze, scrunching up the covers in his fists.
"You were saying goodbye to someone."
Goodbye Mom. He hoped she got all the flowers wherever she was now. "Mom."
"Your mother? What happened?"
The terrible horrible thing started clenching his chest. Kyle whimpered and reached up to touch the special drawstring bag. Nothing hung around his chest.
Volga winced at the earsplitting scream. His breath caught when the child gripped his hair tightly with his fingers and threatened to pull it out. "Whereiswhereiswhereisit!"
With haste, Volga ran for the room's wardrobe and pulled out a little leather pouch. "Is this what you need? It's right here." As soon as he placed it in Kyle's hands, his screeching ceased. "I'm sorry, kid. I just put it in here to be safe. I wasn't going to take it."
Kyle gripped his mother's pouch for life and cried. He cried like a sniveling snotnosed baby. "She...she...she...told me to run...to run...he was coming...was coming a-a-a-after me!"
"Someone was coming after you?" Having dealt with street children for two years, he'd learned a few things. One of which was to restrain the impulse to just hug a child. As much as he wanted to help, he was a stranger.
"A big...b-b-b-big scary man with a sword. He...he said he was going to kill me! But I ran! Mom said to run so I did! Mom!"
Volga wracked his brain. He'd heard of no killings in the last few days. Unless of course, the scary man was... "Oh gods," he murmured. None of the officials could get a true death count on Wicked Wallace's rampage. Could this child be one of the very few who survived? And if so, how could that be?
"Where are you from, kid? Which island?"
Kyle sniffed. "Dunno. I ran lots. Swam."
"All right. Is your father anywhere around?"
"No dad. Never dad. Just Mom." Kyle hiccuped a few times and wiped the snot from his nose.
"Is there anybody else you know where you're from? There might be people looking for you," Volga prodded him.
"Mmmmm...oh!" That was right! Because he'd gotten so scared from running all over, he'd forgotten where to go! "Madame Hyacinth. The House of Delights. I was supposed to always go there if my mom had trouble."
That's a brothel. So he's a whore's son, hunh? "I think I might know where that is. What's your name, kid?"
Kyle drew his knees up to his chin and poked his mother's pouch. Maybe he'd been bad in telling all that stuff to this person. His mother told him to not talk so much to strangers. But he couldn't help it! This person had been nice to him and fished him out of the river. He even saved the special pouch from mom. Still, his mother told him to not give his name lightly out to people.
Volga rubbed his chin in thought. Not surprising the kid decided to clam up now. He didn't know which way was up. "Okay, you don't have to tell me. I'm just glad you're all right now. You were really sick for a while."
Kyle made a noncommittal noise.
"I'm not gonna ask you anything more now, except stay in this room and rest, okay? I'll have someone give you some food." He stood up. "I'll be back in a little bit."
As he watched the child curl back into bed, impotent rage built in Volga's chest. Had not some enterprising man already killed Wicked Wallace, Volga would have gladly thrown away any prospects for his future just to knife the man in the balls.
Kyle had yet to move from bed. Wait, no, that was wrong, he did that one time 'cause he had to pee real bad, but other than that, he'd been good. A woman brought him a tray of food a little while ago. He gobbled it up as though expecting it to be taken away.
He didn't know what else he should be doing. Should he try to escape? Should he try to find the House of Delights again and go back home? He still felt weak from being sick, so maybe it would be better to wait. Then he'd decide what to do.
The door to his room opened. The man who talked to him before entered in with someone else. The someone else sprinted from the door all the way to his bed to crush him in a hug.
"Oh gods, Kyle. We all thought he'd gotten you."
Kyle squeaked a little. Thorn was pretty strong when he had a hold of you! "I'm okay," he said, hugging the man back. He heard Thorn ask the other man to give them some time alone and the door closed.
"What happened to you, Kyle?"
Thorn always listened to him, so he didn't hesitate to pour out the story. He told him everything but the terrible horrible thing he couldn't quite remember. At the end, Kyle found himself in tears.
"Brave, brave Kyle. The girls will be so happy to hear you're all right."
"Yeah! I get to go back with you, right?"
Thorn sat back on the edge of the bed, settling his hands on his thighs. "Well, if you go back with me, they'll put you to work someday."
"I know. But that's where Mom told me to go. So isn't that what I have to do?"
"Mmm. You could. But there's this place."
Kyle looked around the room. "You mean here?"
"That's right. Do you know who rescued you? The man's name is Volga. He's something of an oddity among the rich folks. He rescues children who don't have homes or parents."
Kyle looked down at his blanket.
"Kyle? Do you remember what you told me? That you wanted to be a different kind of man? I knew your mother really well. I think that your mother would be really happy if you stayed here."
"Really?" He scooted next to Thorn. "Why's that?"
Thorn smiled and placed his arm around Kyle's small shoulders. "Volga doesn't seem like one of those strange men that visit our neighborhood, does he?"
So bewildered by what had happened, Kyle hadn't stopped to think that Volga was one of those Men. Volga was just a man. "You're right! He's different."
"Mmhmm. Remember when I told you a long time ago that you could grow up to be a different man? One that doesn't serve Men and that doesn't beat up on women? I think you could learn that here." Thorn sighed. "It's the kind of place I wish I grew up in."
"You really think so?"
"I do. I think you'll be the best kind of man here."
He did want to be a good man. He promised his mom he'd be different then the other Men they usually saw at home. "I want to be a good man," Kyle said.
The phrase echoed in his brain for a long time, even while Thorn and Volga talked together. It stayed there when other curious children started poking their faces in his doorway. The determination wavered a little bit when Volga began a yelling match with his parents about keeping him.
Determined, Kyle clenched his mother's drawstring pouch. I will be a good man. I promise, mom.