"Get up, boy."

The gruff words and sharp pain in his arm startled Kaz from his sleep, but his frozen limbs barely reacted. Even his mind, usually so quick and sharp, remained sluggish as his brows furrowed and he blinked, scowling, against the brightness of a streetlamp on the corner. He wiped still falling snow from his face, and his disjointed gaze finally settled on an elderly woman standing over him, cane in her hand and poised to strike him again. He tried to growl at her, but it came out as his teeth chattering. The old woman did not look impressed.

Kaz tried and failed to flinch away as her cane whacked him again right where his arms already bore hand-shaped bruises from the burly stadwatch officer who'd grabbed him several days ago and shaken him so hard he'd had a headache several hours later - or perhaps that had been the result of his head smacking against the ground when the same man had thrown him down and he and his buddies had beaten him until he could hardly breathe. Apart from his smarting arm, everything else was delightfully numb. Maybe, a tiny voice at the back of his head thought, a little too numb.

"Get up." The old woman tapped her cane impatiently. "Follow me. I won't ask again."

Despite his lethargic thoughts, Kaz heard the threat in the words. Do what I say, or I'll call the authorities on you. He wanted to disobey, on principle, if nothing else - but he knew in his current state he could neither outrun the stadwatch nor could he weather another beating. His ribs still ached with every breath. She couldn't possibly want anything good to do with him - no one did - but right now, he couldn't see how she could be worse than the stadwatch. She was old and decrepit. If he could just warm up a little, he thought as he rolled inch by excruciating inch from his back to his side, dislodging the snow that had gathered atop him, and pushed himself up, he could take her. He glanced to her, brows furrowed. He'd grab her cane away, so she couldn't smack him with it again, then he'd whack her with it in the back of the knee as hard as he could. She raised an eyebrow at him and tapped her cane again, the sound of it against the cobblestones echoing in the alley and making his head throb. Or maybe he'd go for her head and watch it turn the snow red.

Panting from the exertion, his fingers and toes coming to life most unpleasantly as if hundreds of tiny slivers of wood were being jabbed in and out of them in rolling waves like the scales played by a pianist, he made it to his knees. His whole body shivered, sending pain spiralling from his ribs throughout his torso. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to keep quiet. His glove-covered fingers, the very tips of them eaten away by moths and hard wear, curled against the snow-covered stones. He'd never give anyone the satisfaction of hearing him cry out ever again.

Swallowing it down, locking it away, Kaz struggled to his feet. His limbs were stiff, the snow slippery, and now that he'd awoken, he couldn't stop shivering. He slipped a couple times on his way up, catching himself on the wall, then he turned and faced the impatient old woman and crossed his arms over his chest. He was aiming for defiant, but with his shoulders bunched up by his ears and his teeth still chattering no matter what he did to try to stop them, he was certain he just looked small and pathetic. He scowled.

"Come." The old woman set off towards the street and seemed certain he would follow her. He hesitated. Maybe he shouldn't follow. But his feet betrayed him, and he stumbled after her just like the stupid duckling that had followed Jordie everywhere he went that one year on their farm. They turned the corner onto the canal-lined street, and the old woman led them a short distance to a brick gable house in the middle of the row, shorter and thinner than its neighbours, and just outside the Barrel, across the East Stave and into the nicer Zelver District. At one time, the bricks might have been red, but now they were grimy and grey, just like everything else in Ketterdam.

Kaz was grateful there were no steps up to the front door, because all he could picture was himself slipping on the top one and tumbling down, cracking his skull open and lying there, cold and forgotten, while all the blood in his body poured out through the cut. They'd probably even take him away before he was all the way dead, too, like last time. Kaz shivered as the corpses in his mind shed their marbled skin on him, their protruding eyes staring vacantly while blood-tinged foam dripped from their mouths and noses like tears and ran down his face and every uncovered part of him.

He startled with the crack of the old woman's cane, his head jerking back so forcefully he nearly lost his balance, stumbling back a few steps before he was steady again. The corpses retreated beneath the dark and filthy waters. The old woman gestured sharply for him to come, so he did. Tense and ready to run, one eye on her cane and the other glancing around to map out anything else he could use to his advantage, he cautiously followed her further into the house.

"Sit." The old woman pointed to a spot near the fireplace and retreated to another room even deeper in the house. Kaz didn't move. Just because he'd followed her here didn't mean he had to do everything she said.

But the warmth of the fire beckoned, and, still shivering, Kaz couldn't resist. He'd sit by the fire, he reasoned, but not because she'd told him to - because he wanted to. A battered old floral rug lay in front of the hearth and a basket nearby held a pile of blankets. He eyed them as he sat and held his hands out towards the flames to warm them. Now that he was inside, all the snow that had collected on his clothing was melting, leaving him cold and wet.

His empty stomach growled. Yet another pain to add to his aching body. He inhaled as deeply as his ribs allowed in their current state, and sighed heavily, hands falling back down by his sides, and he stared into the fire, blinking sleepily. Even in a strange place with an even stranger stranger in the next room, his exhaustion pulled him down. His head bobbed, eyes fluttering open briefly, then lolled.

He jumped when the door opened, and the old woman reappeared. He frowned and held still as she approached with a tray of food, his hand curling around his leg where a stiletto was hidden inside his boot. But the woman simply set the tray down near him then moved off to the blanket pile, and he watched as she pulled out two and unceremoniously dumped them on his lap. He froze, uncertain what to do with this turn of events. He went for his dagger, but the old woman was already moving off.

"You look cold," she said as she noisily headed to a set of very steep, narrow stairs that turned a tight 45* corner before disappearing into the dark upstairs. "Your clothes are wet. I know you're hungry. I didn't bring you inside for you to die of winter out of the snow. Eat the food while I find you a towel and dry clothes." She glanced to him, and Kaz instinctively bristled against the perceived judgement. "If you want a bath, it'll be a copper tub in front of the fire, and it'll have to wait until tomorrow."

Kaz's eyes narrowed. No way was he staying here that long. He tracked the old woman's movements until she turned the corner of the stairs. At least with the cane, he still knew exactly where she was. He glanced to the food. It was probably rotten. Or poison. She said she didn't want him to die of winter. She'd never said anything about dying of anything else. He crossed his arms and glared at the food, his stomach whining pathetically.

"Eat the food, you damn fool boy!" The old woman shouted down to him. "I cooked it this morning and ate it myself."

Unseen, Kaz rolled his eyes. He most certainly would not eat the food.

What felt like hours later, Kaz rearranged the blankets, draping one over his shoulders and laying the other neatly across his lap, then reached for the tray with a frustrated growl. He picked up a slice of warm bread and sniffed it. It smelled fine, just the same as all the fresh loaves he'd smelt when running past bakeries, so he pulled a few inner bits off and rolled them up into a ball before cautiously popping it into his mouth. It tasted like bread, so he swallowed and took a larger bite.

His stomach somehow more painful than it had been moments ago, Kaz picked up the bowl and carefully sniffed the stew. He didn't smell anything other than vegetables and meat and broth, so he put it to his lips and sipped, smacking his lips after. Tasted fine.

His mouth watered, and he grabbed the spoon and eagerly dunked it into the stew, shovelling it into his mouth as quickly as he could. If the old woman was stupid enough to give him non-poisoned food, then it'd be all gone by the time she came back. He wouldn't let her take it away from him. Within minutes, all of the food had been eaten. Kaz's stomach felt full and distended, and it protested being fed so quickly when he'd gone so long with so little. He pursed his lips and told it sternly to shut up as he put the tray back by the hearth.

Kaz knew he should get up and leave, run while he had the chance - maybe after raiding her kitchen for anything valuable he could find, but he couldn't bring himself to push through the fog of exhaustion that now permeated his bones and made him feel as heavy as a ship's anchor. Still, he couldn't sleep here, especially not while the old woman was gone and he couldn't keep an eye on her.

The next thing Kaz knew, he was waking up on the floor, an extra blanket on top of him, in front of the banked fire with the morning sun lighting the room. He shot to his feet and spun around. "You!" he pointed accusingly at the old woman as she emerged from the staircase. "You drugged me! What did you give me, you…you smelly witch!? I'll get you for this!"

As if she were his age and not ancient, the old woman rolled her eyes and snorted inelegantly. "I did no such thing, boy." She walked right past him as if he wasn't even there and didn't care what he might do to her with her back turned. His eyes narrowed, and his fingers twitched, eager to pull out his knife. "I have no reason to poison you. You can leave anytime you'd like, but I'd suggest staying until the snow melts. Shouldn't be long. Didn't bring you in last night just to have you freeze out there now."

Kaz scowled and, keeping one eye on the direction the old woman had gone, moved to the front window, twitching the curtain aside just enough to look out. The city was blanketed in the kind of snow he hadn't seen since his last winter in Lij. As much as he hated it, the old woman was right. He shouldn't leave somewhere warm - safe was debatable - when he didn't have anywhere else to go. He'd been run out a week ago from the last place he'd been squatting by a group of Razorgulls - all bigger than him and better armed. Next time, though, he'd slice them up a little before running off like a kicked puppy. He could take the old woman though. If he needed to.

He sighed heavily and moved away, back towards the fire, and his eye caught on a pile of drab clothes folded neatly on a footstool nearby. With a quick glance to assure himself he was alone in the room, he went over to them and picked the top one up - a linen undershirt. They looked sturdy and warm, certainly in far better repair than the set of clothing he'd been wearing for six months or more, and they were in his size. He hastily dropped it and retreated several steps as the old woman reappeared, limping along with out her cane, a steaming mug in each hand.

"Those were my grandson's," the old woman nodded towards the clothes as she pressed a mug of what turned out to be hot chocolate into his hands. Kaz froze, staring wide-eyed at the steaming sweet liquid. Her words faded to nothing under the whisper of his brother. Why should you have that while I rot in the water? It's your fault, Kazzie. It's you—

"Boy!"

Kaz jerked. A splash of chocolate landed on his thumb, and he winced. But the pain was quickly gone, and he licked the drop off.

"As I was saying, those clothes were my grandson's. They're for you. Looks like yours have dried out nicely, despite you sleeping in them — you better not catch a cold, boy — but they don't look warm enough for the season." Kaz bristled under the critical eye the old woman cast over him. His clothes were perfectly fine. "And you're outgrowing them. These should last you a bit longer. My Frederik was about your age when he died of the plague. His parents went first, Saints rest their souls." Kaz couldn't resist his eyeroll, and he simply stared back in challenge when the old woman quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Drink your chocolate. You look like you need a little fattening up, at least if you plan on surviving until spring." The old woman settled back in her chair with a sigh and sipped her own drink. "Then you should go up. Door at the end of the hall. Get changed. After, there'll be food for you. If you stay another night, you can take that old bed."

Kaz looked down at his, swallowing thickly, his vision growing blurry, as he remembered the last time he'd had a cup. Jordie's ghost covered his hands, like they had then, but now all the warmth fled from his skin under the touch. He shivered and carefully put the cup aside and turned to stare at the old woman who didn't seem to mind the attention. "Why?"

The old woman didn't even look at him. She didn't seem surprised by the question, simply hummed as she sipped her chocolate. Kaz followed her gaze to a portrait hanging above the mantel, of a small family with a boy. "I'm tired of seeing children forgotten in the streets. There's not much I can do, but I can feed you for as long as you'll stay. Maybe what I do will mean you survive another year." She snorted softly. "Maybe not. Take the clothes, don't take the clothes," she said. "Eat the food, or don't. Stay here a while, or don't. It's up to you. I don't ask for anything in return, because you can't give me what I want. No one can, probably not even Ghezen himself. But I won't have another boy dying on my doorstep or in my house if I can help it."

Kaz remained skeptical, but he looked away, back to the chocolate and picked it up again, sniffing it before finally drinking. It tasted even better than the one Jordie had bought him. He flushed in shame, apologising to Jordie with a wobbling lip. He sniffed and scrubbed his face. If he was going to cry like a baby, it wouldn't be here, in front of someone. He drank the chocolate in silence while staring at the clothes. They did look nicer and warmer than his current clothes, especially if they really were his size. His trousers were now a few inches too short and starting to get tight around the middle, even though he hardly ate anymore, his socks had holes he didn't know how to fix, and his shirt and waistcoat were far more suited to spring and summer weather. Only the coat, that he'd recently stolen, fit and provided real warmth. Even his shoes were starting to rub at his toes. Maybe the old woman would have some he could steal.

By the time his cup was drained, he'd made up his mind. He stood, bundled up the clothes, and without a glance towards the woman, hurried upstairs. The room was easy to find, and, if he didn't know better, he'd say the boy who'd lived here was only out for a moment, not long dead. Everything remained untouched. He gave the bed a wide berth, uncertain if the other boy had died in it and not wanting anymore ghosts to attach themselves to him. Propping a chair under the doorknob to keep the old woman out, Kaz quickly stripped and changed into the clothes.

They felt so much nicer than his. They were clearly much more expensive - even if they, thankfully, didn't look it - and the old woman was right, they did fit him much better, with a little room to grow. He rolled his old things into a ball - even if he couldn't really use them anymore, he could probably barter with them. Shoes, or food. Maybe somewhere to stay for a night. He'd figure it out.

Not wanting to return downstairs to sit in silence with the strange old woman, Kaz nosed around the boy's room, squirrelling anything he found interesting or thought valuable, before tiptoeing out and finding the old woman's room, doing the same there with anything he thought she wouldn't miss, until the smell of warmed stew and bread drew him downstairs.

The snow melted the next day, but Kaz stayed a week. The old woman fed him any time he was hungry, and he slept in front of the fire in the lounge despite her coaxing to use the boy's bed. During the day, he helped her run errands and tidy her house, and she even gave him a few kruge for it. At night, he sewed secret pockets into the lining of his coat to hide the money. If he were jumped, he didn't plan to lose everything he'd earned. Little gifts turned up for him throughout the week, too. A pair of leather shoes that had plenty of life left in them but wouldn't look out of place in the Barrel. Some cured meats that would last and were easy to carry and would maybe keep his stomach demons at bay when food was harder to find. A new pair of knitted gloves - no holes - and a cap. Freshly mended socks.

By the time Kaz slipped away, back to reality, back to the Barrel, one early morning before the sun had even considered rising for the day, Jordie's ghost mocking and verbally flagellating him for having stayed so long - stayed at all - Kaz's gut twisted with the guilt of stealing anything he could find when the old woman had done what she had for him.

But then he saw it, that house where he and Jordie had lost everything, not far from the old woman's, and the guilt vanished, just like he did back into the Barrel, already considering where he could take what he'd stolen. These people owed him, and he'd get what he was owed.