I was probably around seven or eight years old when I first arrived at the harbor. I was put straight into an orphanage, but it didn’t take me long to escape. Now that I’d managed to survive against all odds, I wanted to live my life freely, without being beholden to anyone or exploited for labor.
As luck would have it, I’d apparently been blessed with decent looks. Back when I was on the ship, no one had ever spared me a second glance. Bathing wasn’t an option on the high seas, after all; I was truly little more than a squalid child bedraggled by the ocean breeze. But lo, a merciless scrubbing at the orphanage had revealed honey-colored hair under the grime, and once my face had been wiped clean enough times, emerald eyes had peeked into view.
It was shocking to discover what I looked like. I’d only glimpsed my reflection in a mirror a few times before then. Even the one giving me a bath had looked surprised, and that gave me all the more confidence that I could strike out on my own. I had a weapon at my disposal that many others didn’t.
“Are you really going, Alan?” asked the eleven- and twelve-year-olds who had flocked to my side.
These were my peers, the kids I’d bonded with ever since I’d started making a living in the harbor backstreets. Since we were all still young and small, we helped each other out. We’d even welcome outsiders into our ranks once they’d stuck around long enough. That was how much of a threat our bugbear posed.
“That’s the plan. It’d be a waste not to follow the trail right under our noses.”
The younger children watched in fascination as I flicked the silver coin into the air. For us kids, getting our hands on silver was a one-in-a-million event.
“But, Alan,” protested Marcus, who was about the same age as me, “the ‘Master’ that the messenger mentioned can’t be the same Master we know. Ours would never hand out silver so freely.”
I nodded in agreement. A nobody like me had never had the chance to meet them, but I found it hard to believe that the Master, the third big shot and ruler of Luwak Street, the slums of Kelk, would so easily tip their hand. And they certainly wouldn’t do it with a silver coin like this, I added as I rolled said coin between my fingers. It would be a simple task for them to apprehend us without throwing money around. This clearly wasn’t the Master we were dealing with. But who, then?
The boys peered at me with concern, and I flashed them a smile. “Whatever the case, I’m getting on board. It’ll work out. You guys know how fast I can make a getaway, don’t you?”
As the group’s top earner, at some point, I’d become something of a leader to the naughty boys of the entertainment district. Granted, we were only one of several such gangs.
“Apparently, one of Carl’s guys up and disappeared a while back. I heard it was Maurie’s brother...”
Glancing over at one member of the gang, I found a boy with round, striking eyes tearing up. He nobly insisted, “I am worried about my brother, but I couldn’t take it if you went missing too, Alan.”
Just as I opened my mouth to comfort Maurie, a group of men called out to us the moment we set foot in a back alley.
“Hey there, Alan.”
It was our aforementioned “bugbear.” Judging by the timing, they’d probably been spying on us, as per usual. They were the spitting image of animals who’d sniffed out a meal. These men were all twenty years old, give or take, with hulking bodies and big fists. Gruff in appearance, they often resorted to intimidation tactics to emphasize the difference in strength between us.
“Guido...”
In contrast, the man at their center, the one who had called my name, was on the short and skinny side. Between his narrow eyes and pockmarked face, he wasn’t what one would call attractive. Appearances aside, he was a force to be reckoned with in the backstreets, especially for kids our age—the reason being that he was related to the Master who ran Luwak Street. The bulky men surrounding him were his hangers-on, not the other way around.
A smirk playing at his lips, Guido taunted us in his typical manner. “You sure made out like a bandit today, Alan the Honeybee. Your singing voice and skill with a lute are truly a sound to behold. You can draw in an audience like bees to a flower. It’s such a waste to let your looks and skills languish in the slums.”
“If you realize as much, quit extorting us already, Guido the Sub-Honeybee.”
No sooner had I sniped back than the muscular man at Guido’s side grabbed me by the throat. My friends shouted my name, only to be held back by the rest of the thugs.
As I gasped in pain, Guido spoke in a voice laced with irritation. “Don’t get cocky, Alan. Need I remind you who’s kept you alive this long?”
Even as I suffocated, my pride wouldn’t let that stand. “I’m the one who’s kept me alive. I don’t owe you people anything!”
Guido gave an enraged cry, at which the thug tightened his grip. No longer able to speak or breathe, I realized I had screwed up. Just as it dawned on me that I was in serious trouble, there came a blithe voice.
“Ah... Aa-aah-ah...”
It was a dopey enough reaction to sound like a singer’s vocal exercises.
When I glanced over, wheezing for air, I saw a young man standing in a corner of the alley, looking like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. He was a well-to-do young man of about sixteen or seventeen. As best I could tell, he’d gotten lost in the backstreets of an unfamiliar harbor, where he’d stumbled across a scene he’d rather not have witnessed. Predictably, Guido and his lackeys tried to scare him off, at which point I assumed he would turn tail and leave. Alas, the boy had a misguided sense of justice.