A/N: These do start out pretty bleak, but there are humorous scenes in the future.

one morning

He was dozing, his head full of the beach away from the port and the few chances he'd had the pleasure of lying in the hot sand while warm waves lapped at his legs. Curled listlessly among tangled sheets, made damp by more than perspiration, he imagined the sodium scent assaulting his nose was sea air. The blunt finger tracing the outline of bleached-beige skin on his back was just sea grass blowing in the wind.

When the bed shifted, his daydream fell away and dropped him back into his unusually dark skin. Again he was the boy with the mismatched eyes, lying with a hungry man that was previously on his back. The man gave him red jewels to wear in his hair and red ribbons that ran down his skin from opened veins.

Today there was relatively little pain; he needed a different room for such activities and it was not available. There were jewels of real value instead: new earrings. Hanging from his ears were circles of gold, one studded with spokes of emerald the other with rubies. His ears were hot with the blood that flushed them when his casually cruel patron had pierced the flesh with the earrings' dull hooks. He had hissed convincingly, even though the injury lacked imagination.

Shadash pushed himself up and twisted alluringly over his legs to observe his latest patron. "Do you go to work?"

The heavy set man smiled wickedly as he looked on the boy displayed in nothing but silk and sparkling jewelry. "Of course, but today is our special monthly inventory. I'll be out late tonight."

Knowing the smuggler's code, Shadash pouted magnificently and threw himself upright to tackle the much larger and older rogue. "And that's your lousy excuse for coming to see me for hardly even half an hour, two whole hours before noon? Do you know what it takes to wake me up? You better bring me half of what you slip into the city tonight!"

Enjoying the boy's youthful enthusiasm and realistic performance, the man gripped Shadash's hair and pulled him back slowly. The sight of his slender throat was mesmerizing.

"What would a spoiled brat do with five crates of black opium? Skinny thing like you would kill yourself on cracked fantasies in less than an hour. No, let me sell it and buy off your debt when I return."

Now there was an original line. Almost all his patrons promised to buy him out of Dancer's Gate, but not one had ever mentioned the idea to the management. Shadash was full of sneering indignation, but tumbled gracefully from the bed. He played the part of hopeful lover as he helped the man into his clothing. "Do you really think you'll be able to buy my debt?"

"Of course," he rumbled, taking the boy's helpful motions for granted and thinking nothing of the secrets he was spilling. "I'll have enough to buy your contract two or three times."

"Hah!" The boy scoffed. In a huff he let go of the man's clothes and yanked his thick beard scornfully. "Obviously you've never asked how much my debt is! It would take more than five crates of black opium to pay it off!"

The childish tug on his beard angered the man, but it was exactly that sort of impassioned daring on Shadash's part that made the entertainer more desirable. Both willing and defiant, the boy was a complex amalgam of conflicting emotions and desires. He seized the boy's kelp-green hair again and brought his slightly pointed ear close to his mouth.

"Have you not heard about the black market trade war? The poppy fields black opium comes from have been razed, turned, and sown with salt. The going rate has doubled and redoubled every week for the last four tendays. I could buy one of the Caliph's daughters if I wanted one."

"You wouldn't," Shadash hissed, pulling his head free; his hair was too sleek to hold against his will. "I've ruined you for such sheltered congress. Come back and buy my debt tomorrow or I'll hunt you down."

Harsh, but honestly amused laughter resounded through the small room. "Ah, such threats! What will you do when you find me?"

"Tell me where to find you and you'll see," he challenged silkily. "You should fear me," he said, swaying slightly, his lips turning the threat into a snippet of song. And in that song was the magical suggestion he had only recently learned he could implant. "You should fear me, you should obey. Where will you be, for me to slay?"

It was not odd for the boy to turn all sorts of random phrases into bits of song. It was a habit that often reminded his patrons very forcibly of his youth. They treated him as a full grown sex object, though all were certain he was not yet the human equivalent of seventeen years.

"Yarwah's Niche," the man snorted gruffly. "Don't let me find you there or I'll twist that slender neck of yours until both eyes are red."

"Yarwah's Niche?" Shadash shot back. "Even if I could get away, that's the last place I would go. I've heard that place smells like a thousand sun-rotted fish and two thousand drunken beggars. If you go there, the stench will get you before I do! You better take a bath before you come to buy my debt tomorrow or I'll refuse you."

The smuggler shook his head and let the boy's suddenly helpful hands wind his headscarf for him. He had to admit, since taking up with Shadash, his pocketbook had floundered, but his appearance had improved dramatically. Dark skinned hands nimbly wound and tucked cloth with perfect accuracy and unexpected style. "Perhaps I'll come and let you remove the stench yourself."

"I'll never forgive you," the boy shrugged. "My first act as a free citizen will be to slap your ugly face."

Chuckling at these antics like a giant in the face of a flea's aggression, the man tousled the boy's dark hair and needlessly smoothed down his clothing. "Tomorrow evening, Shadash. Dedicate a song and dance to me and I'll be there before you're done."

"Liar," the boy snorted, throwing a satin slipper past the man's head as he walked out. He stood silently for several moments before he quietly repeated the sentiment. He had no doubts that the smuggler was imagining Shadash dedicating a song to him, only to humiliate him by not showing up. The young dancer was not so naïve as to fall for such foolishness.

Gathering up his clothes and other belongings, he slipped from the room and into the hall. Barefoot on the cool stone floor outside the room, he cawed softly and waited. A winged shadow responded, flapping sleek black wings as it flew through the echoing expanse.

Rather than land on his wrist or hand, the large raven swept over his shoulder and onto an unlit lamp. Shadash stretched up to scratch the bird's neck under the black feathers while whispering soothing words in his personal language. "Go to Marya. Marya."

Marya would know to come to him with a guild's full purse and an open ear. She valued information from Shadash's patrons in particular.

The raven bit at the boy's fingers, but this was only affection. Soon she was winging across the empty room to dive up and through the hole in the ceiling that let natural light form a spotlight in the performance area. Soon, very soon, Shadash would need a new patron.