"Have you decided when we're going to sell him, or if we're going to abandon him somewhere?" asked the woman as she served her husband a glass of cheap alcohol.
That was the first secret the 12-year-old boy didn't want to believe.
"If we abandon him somewhere, he might want to come back in the future! I think it's better to just sell him to the slave trader, give the excuse that he died of starvation, and be done with it!" said the woman, smiling as she caressed the man's arm and served him stale bread.
The boy listened secretly, from the other side of the wooden door of a dilapidated shack, while his uncle and aunt talked about selling him without any remorse.
"But when will we do this? If we do it today, we won't get the bread and water that he would receive from the church. Maybe tomorrow afternoon?"
Didn't it seem unfair that the life of such a young boy should be decided by a piece of stale bread and a glass of water? Was it really so desperate to go without an extra piece of bread?
"When we sell him, we won't have to be beggars. I've heard that young children are sold for a good price as slaves, especially if it's to a perverted nobleman," said the uncle as he laughed loudly, raising his drink with one hand and tearing off a piece of stale bread with his mouth.
The young boy clenched his skeletal hand tightly, his body trembling with rage, not at his uncle and aunt, but at his inability to do anything on his own, even though he had discovered that his relatives wanted to sell him, or kill him. What difference would it make? His uncle was twice his size, and even though he was a useless drunk, even a drunk knew how to pick up a knife and kill a skinny, weak boy who barely had the strength to defend himself face to face.
His black eyes peered through the crack in the wooden door as he watched his relatives eating the food that was meant to be his. He hadn't eaten in a week, his unkempt hair was dirty with dust, covering his once black hair with a thin gray layer. He was thin but not skeletal, because even though his uncles took his daily ration, he still managed to get food here and there by doing odd jobs around town. Everyone knew the little boy because of the way he spoke and his resourcefulness, even though he was so young. He was always doing odd jobs that adults didn't want to do but that a child could do.
"By the way, could this boy be hiding money? He always brings us money every day, but I see that he doesn't only work for the old merchant. Maybe he's hiding it somewhere in his room?"
The "room" he was referring to was a room at the back of the house, a room with holes in the walls and ceiling, where snow came in during the winter and the sun made the room feel like an oven during the summer. Only a straw bed leaning against the wall separated the room from looking like an abandoned shack. There was no room for any belongings in that place.
"That's difficult, you know how much I care about the cleanliness of our house, dear! If he hid money somewhere in this house, I would know, I know this house like the back of my hand."
Another lie, the house hadn't been cleaned since... well, never. There was mold on the walls, the floor creaked, and there were broken parts that rats used as hiding places during the day. The ceiling had webs of dust mixed with cobwebs, making the house look like it was about to collapse at any moment. Nothing in that house seemed right, not even its residents.
"Well... let's think about it tomorrow. Today, let's take advantage of the fact that that brat is working and can't bother us so we can have... our moment," said the man as he pulled his wife closer with one hand and with the other hand pulled the bottle of liquor to take a deep sip. His rosy cheeks revealed that he was already drunk.
"Ah! Darling, how can you be so charming even after all these years! Hohoho!" The woman covered her mouth to smile, her mouth missing teeth and yellowed from poor nutrition.
The boy didn't stay to watch any longer. His head was spinning as he tried to think of a plan to avoid being sold, but no matter how hard he thought, even if he ran away, he would have nowhere to hide. He couldn't leave the city without identification, and even if he did, he wouldn't have enough money to fend for himself for more than a few weeks. He had hidden the money he earned doing odd jobs in an old tree on the hill behind his house. His uncles didn't go there because they didn't like the smell of the sea that came from the coast below the hill, but for him, it was one of the only places where he could be alone without the constant surveillance of his relatives.
Leaving the house, he walked down the hill toward the streets of the slums he knew so well. The dirty streets were empty; it was late, and most of the residents were either working, or inside their homes trying to endure hunger, so he was alone in the streets.
He lived in the worst part of the slum, the part that had no security because the guards of the city of Ora only guarded the great marble wall of the city. Everything outside the great walls was considered scum, and they had to work hard to survive. The people here were not even considered citizens; they were more like refugees who had no rights. and even so, in times of war, the guards would come down from their beautiful walls hunting men and young people to serve as cannon fodder. Only newborns and women were left behind, as they were unable to take up arms.
The boy headed towards the eastern part of the slum, considered the "prime area" because it was located near a river that had fish to catch and clean water to drink. On the way, he passed a small inn with black wooden tables outside. A few residents were sitting down to lunch, chatting away, making the place noisy even though there were few people there. The boy approached the place, going directly to the vendor behind the counter.
"Good morning, welcome to the boat of... ah, and you, boy."
The boy nodded slightly and handed a piece of paper to the vendor, who quickly took the paper and began to read it, going to the back of the counter. A low grumble could be heard coming from there, and the man returned with bread, meat, and fresh water, handed everything to the boy, and sat down on a chair.
"Are you sure about what's written here? I can't believe my brother was having an affair with my wife for so long. That scoundrel can't stay with a woman for more than two weeks!"
"I went after this information myself. He thinks he'll piss you off by staying with your wife. You kept the inn while he kept the house falling apart, so this is his way of trying to get back at you," said the boy as he struggled to climb onto a chair to eat. He put the meat inside the bread and began to eat, taking sips of water from time to time to help him swallow the food. Fergus was the owner of the inn, which he had inherited from his father, and Forgos was his brother who was having an affair with his wife.
"Heh, serves him right, who told him to try to hit on my dad's prostitute when he was only 18?" My father never cared about my mother, but he was very jealous of that other woman... Fergus laughed softly and threw the paper into a fire where he was heating what looked like a "soup" that resembled melted tar. "Thanks, kid, now get out of here, okay? Kids scare away customers. How am I supposed to attract adults if they see a kid sitting at the bar? They'll think I own a daycare center.
The boy continued to eat slowly, and simply raised his head and looked at the man with a lifeless gaze, not caring in the least about what the old man had said.
"...You still give me the creeps, you know? Strange boy, the first time I saw you I thought you were a ghost. How did you get that information, by the way?
"Will you pay me more if I tell you?" the boy replies curtly, finishing his bread and taking the last sip of water, placing the glass on the counter and getting off the chair.
"No, I was just curious," the man picks up the glass and throws it on a pile of dirty dishes in the corner of the counter. "Anyway, come back here in a week, I might want your services again."
"Okay, I'll come on Wednesday then." The boy leaves the bar through the door, but two men who were entering open the door and knock him to the ground.
"Get out of the way, kid!" complains the man with a red lizard tattoo on his face. He was of medium height, with messy black hair, and wore black clothes with rust-brown adornments. One of his teeth was made of iron, but it looked rusty because of the dirt that had accumulated on it. The man behind him was a strong bully with large muscles and a small head that made him look like a brainless troglodyte. He had a black turtle tattoo on his right arm and wore green clothes with black details, looking like a turtle shell.
The boy simply stepped aside and bowed his head in submission. After they passed, the boy took another look at the men sitting at a dimly lit table away from the crowd closer to the bar. Leaving the inn, he headed back to the streets. with a full stomach, he had to take advantage of his energy and quicken his pace to his destination. Passing through an alley, he saw two hooded men talking quietly, handing over a round, red item inside a glass box. The boy quickly turned his eyes forward before they realized he had seen something. If they were doing business in a dark alley in the middle of the slum, most likely its not something legal or permitted, going down the street and turning right at a moss green house, he came across a house slightly larger than the others, with windows and a full roof, basically a mansion compared to the other houses nearby. It was right next to the river, the wood used was gray in color and looked less aged. Some men carrying swords and spears stood guard in front, others on the side of the mansion were sitting or lying down, drinking and eating on a wild lawn that grew near the house. The boy approached the guards, who raised their hands as soon as they saw him approaching.
"I think you're in the wrong place, kid, the daycare center is on the next street," said the man, who had a scar running from his chin to below his eye and a spear resting on his shoulder, while the other guard had a sword and a smile on his face that made him look like a mouse with a pointed nose and little hair.
"This is the rat hole, isn't it?" the boy asked, pointing to the mansion behind them. They looked at each other and turned to the boy.
"What is a boy who still smells like milk doing on this side of town?"
"I have information for your boss. Are you going to tell me he's not here?" the boy insisted, feeling slightly nervous inside but not letting it show.
"What kind of information could he want from you? Get out of here. I've never seen you before," said the man with the spear, waving his hand for the boy to leave.
"I think I know that one, he's that boy who does odd jobs all over town, isn't he? His name was... what was it again?
"What's going on here?" A tall, fat man wearing a relatively clean black suit that vaguely resembled the type of armor worn by city guards. He had no hair, but his face was frightening, with one blue eye and one white eye, with a scar running along the line of his eye, probably from a horizontal cut from some blade that left him blind. He had a sheathed sword at his waist, but that didn't mean he would have any trouble killing anyone who angered him. He looked directly at the boy with his good eye, assessed him from head to toe, and let out a sigh.
"Who would have thought that the little gossip would come here to talk? The boss tried to contact you before, did you know that?" the fat man said as he rested his hand on the sword's sheath.
"I'm not a gossip," the boy said, showing a rare hint of irritation in his voice as he frowned. The boy had a talent for getting information, so people started calling him a gossip. He wasn't a gossip, he just liked to know things and people's secrets. That's not being a gossip, he just liked to be informed!
"Whatever, let him through. The boss wanted to talk to him himself," the fat man called the boy to follow him. The boy quickly passed the guards, following the fat man. Upon entering, he saw what was expected of a gang hideout: men sitting at tables drinking and talking animatedly. each of them accompanied by a woman wearing revealing clothes but wearing a mask that covered their mouths. The rest of their bodies were covered by light fabrics that revealed their private parts. The boy didn't react because he simply didn't understand what was so good about that: half-naked women and drunk men hugging and laughing with them. How was that any different from his family?
The old mansion was both a brothel and the headquarters of the Deaf Rats gang. Inside, it was not impressive, unlike his house, which accumulated dust and dirt in every corner. This place seemed to be cleaned every day, but at the moment it was dirty with drinks and food thrown on the floor. As he passed by closed rooms, he could hear moans coming from inside all of them. The fat man knocked on a door from which no noise came, and then a deep voice sounded from inside the room:
"Come in."
The fat man, who had not yet said his name, opened the door and stood beside it, waiting for the boy to enter. Upon entering the room, he came face to face with a man sitting in a chair.
Brute, that was how he could be defined when looking at that man's face.
He was about fifty years old, muscular, with fair skin and a few scars scattered across his body. At his side was a large, well-polished sword in a black leather sheath. The sword had scratches all over its blade, making it even more frightening. The man had white hair, which shone in the light of the single lamp that illuminated the room. He wore a wrinkled blue suit without a tie. There were holes in the suit that revealed metal armor underneath his clothes. There was a large cut that went from his shoulder to his chest. It was an old cut, but it made the armor visible. A large scar appeared on the armor as if it were a wound. You could see that the man didn't care much about his appearance, or that he had any attachment to those clothes, his sharp blue eyes were focused on a piece of paper resting on the only desk in front of him, one hand resting on his forehead supporting his head and the other hand writing something on the paper, The door closed behind the boy and he finally raised his head, making it easier to see his face as a whole, revealing that his left ear was missing. He quickly scanned the boy from head to toe in the same way the fat man had done and sighed.
"What is a boy doing on the east side of the slums? And why did you bring him to me, Caius?" the white-haired man asked Caius, the fat man standing next to the child.
"He said he wanted to see you, and you said you wanted to talk to him, remember?" The man reported promptly, going to a small cabinet next to the desk, picking up a bottle of cheap wine, which in the slums was considered a luxury item, and pouring a glass for the man sitting at the desk.
"I came..." Before the boy could speak, the white-haired man raised his hand, cutting him off, took a heavy sip from his glass of wine, and then looked directly at the boy, sending a shockwave through his body, paralyzing him with fear for a moment.
"I know who you are," the man said, placing the glass elegantly on the table, folding his hands in front of his body as he leaned back in his chair, looking directly into the boy's eyes and saying:
"Your uncles sold you to me, I know very well why you came to me, Xiao Mimi."