In Which Theo Goes For A Walk

Theo walked absently at first, no destination in mind, only half-thinking. He was brought back to the present when he narrowly avoided striding into a severe-looking woman emerging from an intersecting street to his right. He shook his head to wake himself up, and from the depths of his mind came the reminder that people were out to get him. He needed to stay alert. It was easy enough to get lynched in the city without wandering around in a daze. Maybe this had been a mistake, Theo thought, and rocked on his heel hesitant over whether to go on or turn for home. He shook himself again. He was being silly. He'd got into one mugging. That was practically miraculous luck for a nobody like himself living in the grimy corners of a big metropolis. He squared himself and strode on with a bit of his old confidence restored.

Idly he remembered the great, colourful, irrepressible youth he had been not a million years ago. Of course he had had his dispensation from his parents then. Theo hadn't been kicked out, as such. His parents had merely hinted that a boy of his age could really spread his wings out in Salrissa these days, and surely he'd start to find the smalltown life of Narnberg stifling soon? And here was some money his mother had put aside to see him started off. And did he know they were ever so short of running boys in the big city offices of the press and the publishing houses lately? Something to think about. Well, Theo had thought about it. He knew his parents really just wanted him to go and start making his own way. He was 16, it was time. They had a narrow view of life, that involved solid but dull work for forty years, before settling into an equally dreary retirement, along with making a home and family somewhere down the line. His father, no doubt, was already cultivating a healthy disappointment in the boy, not that he said anything. He simply sat reading fiscal reports in his chair, and his mother did all the talking. Theo wasn't interested, but he was interested in the city. It was true that he did hate life in the grey little town, and the city would be and adventure. A wiser, cynical part of him noted how this was quite the cliché view of wide-eyed and naïve smalltown protagonists in any number of stories. He ignored it, took his parents money, and left with their half-sincere blessing.

Salrissa was an enlightenment. To his credit, Theo was already fairly insightful in his assessment of 'real' life (Narnberg was barely life at all). Nevertheless, even he was somewhat thrilled by just how much bigger the scope of everything was in such a place. Such was evident when he arrived back at his tiny attic flat on his fourth night in the city.
"I just got propositioned by a whore!" he exclaimed.
Theo's flatmate, another youth named Michaelson, was only a year or so older, and still had an air of innocence about himself, so he took every opportunity to play the jaded veteran to the one person he could.
"Well, don't get too flattered about it, that's what they do," he observed.
"Yeah, but it's only eight o'clock... I didn't think they'd come out that early!"
Michaelson laughed.
"When did you think they came out, Theo? The dark of the night, when all good men are asleep in their beds? Hah."
Theo looked a little bashful.
"Yeah, alright, fair point... That's what's so great about the city – everything so readily available."
He'd admit now that the joke was probably an attempt to seem less of an innocent youngster, but it came out painfully stupid. Michaelson tutted.
"You don't want to sleep with prostitutes," he said. "That's one thing you really don't get into." He looked up at Theo for a second. "You're a virgin, right? Well for god's sake, don't go losing it to a hooker. Prostitutes are cold, there's nothing romantic there. Save it for someone good. Or, at the very least, go find some sloshed girl at a tavern to show you what to do. At least you'll both enjoy it and there won't be any grotty transactions afterward."
Theo regretted that he hadn't taken this advice.

There were a couple of fallen bricks in the road. Theo kicked one maliciously, remembering the like one in the alley to which he owed the sting of his face. This whole city was falling down. Similar debris littered the streets of the city, in the manner of the last dregs of snowfall from some strange dusty freeze. Any building contractor with an ounce of wisdom knew to keep friendly with the council, as a perpetual need for renovation, demolition and construction work ground from the decaying metropolis. Right now they were building a new Academy of the Arts over on Crown's Mound, since the old one had collapsed into a pit the month before.

There was another big site just off Hollamen Square. A huge square of brown earth spread some 400 yards between Morton Street, Hollamen Chase and Hollamen Row which bordered it on three sides. Coming up Morton Street now toward Hollamen Chase, Theo realised that as he was intending to turn right, he could cut diagonally across the land and save himself five minutes. There was a fence around the whole area, of course, but there was nothing blocking the big openings for workers that punctured it here and there. It was abandoned at present, which was no surprise. Builders knocked off at all hours, everyone knew, and in Verne a site could be deserted for months at a time, as the council faffed about re-evaluating finance. Theo shrugged and quickly cut in to the open gateway and started to make his way along the field of dirt.

There was nothing to suggest what this place was going to be, not structure had been erected yet. The place was merely a field of cleared earth, with mounds of shale and sand overturned here and there, although deep trenches had been dug in a gridlike fashion across the middle of the ground. Theo's path now sloped into one of these trenches.

"Turn around."
The voice was calm and the words spoken so softly and suddenly Theo was only half sure he heard it. When he turned, there was a man before him, standing atop the banked sand, ten feet away or less. He wore a heavy cloak with the hood up, but his face was unhidden. It was middle-aged but youthful underneath, and warm.
"Who are you?"
"A friend."
Theo's eyes twitched with a smirk.
"I never trust anyone who gives that introduction," he said.
"Very wise," said the man. "But alright. Call me an associate."
"Ok. And why are we associating?"
"Because I want to help you out."
"Go on."
"Three men wanted to kill you."
Theo stiffened and narrowed his eyes, but in truth he had already suspected the connection.
"They thought you knew something; I don't think you do."
"How can you tell?" asked Theo, before the answer came from the back of his head. "Have you been spying on me?"
To his credit, Theo spoke the question surprisingly calmly, the trepidation and indignation remaining swallowed in his throat.
"That's right," said the associate.
"That must be very boring."
"It is." They paused, then the man gave a thin smile. "Strangely, I find I much preferred to pay to watch you than to be paid."
Theo was disappointed with himself for betraying his surprise when he answered.
"You're a fan, then?"
"Somewhat. I have missed you recently."
"Work is scarce. Now tell me what you need to say." It came out quite aggressively. Not intentional, but Theo was becoming uncomfortable, and the voice in his head had a notion that he was being mocked.
"Men of standing have become concerned that you may possess unwanted information. As I say, I don't believe you do. They want to have you killed, but I believe I can resolve the situation amicably. When you return home, you will immediately collect the books you have on loan from the city archive, one of which is several weeks overdue already, I'd point out. Place them outside your door, then retire to your chair and refrain from entering the corridor for fifteen minutes. Do not think to read the books; I will know if you delay. And if you don't let me help you, they will kill you."
The associate spoke quickly, but his voice remained calm throughout, and still there was a certain warmth about him. Theo nodded.
"Ok. I trust you. More fool me. But why help me?"
The man raised an eyebrow.
"How very trite. I have many associates, Mr. Eiphel. I believe this is in the best interests for all of them. I do not revel in unnecessary violence. In fact, I deeply regret death, violence and pain of any kind."
Something in that last sentence sounded like a threat, decided the back of Theo's mind.
"Pain too?" he asked. "Because I know this very good whore."
The associate smiled.
"I'll be going now. A good evening, Mr. Eiphel. I hope you appreciate it."

Theo didn't know if he appreciated it or not. He certainly didn't appreciate that people had decided to do mysterious things like try to murder him or sneak up on him on building sites. But the guy had said he wanted to help him, and as Theo had said, he believed him. He didn't plan to walk blindly into anyone's trap (not again, anyway), but he couldn't see any harm in returning those books, if what his friendly associate said was true. Plus, Theo felt he had quite a good sense for veracity. He looked back when he reached the far side of the site, but the mysterious man had gone, no surprises. As he turned and carried on his way, a fellow leaving Hollamen Row stopped him.

"Here mate, how long til it's done?" he asked. Theo looked confused for a moment, then looked back at the site exit and laughed.
"Oh, no, I'm not a builder," he said. "I'm an entertainer." Theo never missed an opportunity for self promotion, and the unexpected complements of the mysterious visitor had bolstered him. He was about to introduce himself when he was interrupted.
"Good one, mate," the fellow chuckled, then disappeared off up the street. Theo stood looking stupid for a couple of moments, then closed his mouth. He looked down at himself and wondered if he looked like a builder. He was wearing dull brown and grey leathers and woollens that he'd bought after the encounter the other day and which he couldn't really afford. He could do to look less conspicuous when not soliciting business, he'd decided, and somewhere in his mind the bit which revelled in gutter humour noted that the same was true of prostitutes. Besides, his other clothes were dyed, and relatively expensive, and he was wearing them out with everyday use. Still, he probably did look more like a workman than a thespian in these clothes. His face, too, was looking less striking, since he'd shaved off the neatly clipped goatee beard to staunch the bleeding of a nasty cut beneath and now was merely beginning to show the first signs of a rough stubble.

Slightly amused by the misunderstanding, Theo turned for home smiling but lost in uneasy wondering about his mysterious advisor. On his way back, he stopped for a moment and pondered. Then he nipped back up Sires Street and visited the listener's building for a moment. Probably nothing would come of it, he thought, but it couldn't hurt to try...

In Which Theo Remembers

Blades clashed again, and slid away. Theo stepped back to come on again, matching steel with the strong, dark eyed opponent who sneered into his face. Another crash and the audience cheered. Theo smiled inwardly at the sound; it bouyed him. He added a little flourish to his sweep. Ippolio was supposed to be the inferior fighter, lacking the finesse of the noble trained Lucien, but Theo felt he could be permitted one twirl. Rodrin, though, struck out again, and caught him a heavy blow on his arm. Theo didn't need to perform the pain. He steadied himself, but Rodrin was already coming on again with a series more blows. The blades were thick and heavily blunted, little more than rod clubs, but they could still hurt, or even break bones. Theo caught Rodrin's eye, to signal him to slow his pace. Then he chilled. When he saw Rodrin's eyes, he knew the part of the jealous suitor was not an act for the surly player. He saw the jealousy, and the hate at having to hide that jealousy. 'Poor fool,' he thought. Theo was close to Lena, the company's bewitching female performer. For sure, he cared about her, but he didn't want romantic entanglements. That was a half truth, a little voice pointed out. Of course he wanted it, but he knew it was never going to happen. He wouldn't be right for her even if she was open to it. Rodrin had nothing to fear.
There was something else, though, Theo saw. Rodrin and Lena weren't involved, not explicitly. But there was an implicit bond between the two of them. Rodrin was angry with Theo not so much for what he'd done, but for the suggestion that maybe, if the youth had turned Lena's head, what Rodrin thought that bond had meant had only ever been in his head.

Well damn it, Theo thought. He was the better swordsman anyway; Rodrin was a lumbering incompetent. Theo slammed away the blunt strikes. Rodrin's eyes flared with anger. Theo felt his legs rise into a proper fighting tense. But then Lena hit her cue:
"Hold, gentlemen! For I am not worth such blows! Neither am I worth to die for nor to kill for! And to be sure whoever should kill the other would be the friend of Gaoler Snatch before morning, and I would never know them. Part your blades, for the love you say you hold me."
Theo backed off, lowering his point cautiously, the apprehension on his face quite real as he watched to see what Rodrin did next. But the larger man dropped his blade, held him in a look of noble contempt, and spat his line:
"I'll spare the welp. It is befitting my class to do charity, just as it is not worthy to spill such low blood on my shirts."
Theo relaxed.

They finished the play with a steely rigidity. Nobody sat around the campfire that night. Tomo the company master sat alone, staring glumly into the flames and toying with his fingers. After a while he walked over to Theo, who was leaning on a low stone wall at the roadside, reading by the light of an oil lamp he'd perched beside him.
"The," he said. His voice had a sympathetic note, but a pleading one too. "The... I've got to talk to you about something."
Theo looked up and smiled at the little man. Tomo was older than he and Lena, and wiser than all three of them, but he was diminutive and weedy.
"What's up, Tomo?"
He paused.
"You know we only hired you to do this play?"
"Ah. I thought this might come up."
"Yeah. I'm sorry, The. But we really can't afford to keep a fourth actor on full time. It would stretch our takes too thin. I know there was some unspoken suggestion that we would take you with us, but I've been doing the numbers. I looked at the books, and we just can't manage it. I'm sorry, The."
The player shook his head amicably.
"No, that's fine. Like you said, you only hired me for this one. And of course, Rodrin's seeing love triangles outside his scriptbook. I get that problem."
Tomo bowed his head at that.
"Sorry, The. You're right, of course. I'm sorry about that. But it's true anyway; we really can't afford to work as a four. I'm sorry about the way it's been handled. Wasn't your fault."
He'd lingered a moment longer in awkward silence, then stumbled back to his fire and his books. Theo had finished his chapter, finished the bottle of wine he'd been drinking, and walked back past the fire, throwing Tomo a goodbye as he went. He looked in at Lena's tent as he passed. She gave him an unhappy look that he couldn't quite read. 'Is that scorn?' queried the voice at the back of his mind.
"Hey Lena, I'm going now," he whispered. She nodded.
"G'night."
"Night," Theo said, and dropped the canvas. Then he walked back into the city and tried to think of anything else.

* * *

Theo swallowed a poor whiskey. That had been nearly a year ago, and Theo hadn't really performed since. He'd spent some of the time playing for change on street corners and most of the rest taking whatever scratty jobs were offering scant silver. Eventually he'd taken a courier job running a coach from Salrissa to Verne for a modest sum and afterwards had stayed in the city, finding it marginally kinder to paupers.

He had a lot to thank Mrs Hannon for, he thought; he might have been on the streets were it not for her room. She offered it him for whatever cost he could pay and he was dearly thankful for that. He suspected the woman mostly appreciated having some company; from what he had ascertained she had been alone most of her life. In the back of his mind he felt a bit like he was taking advantage of her, she'd probably let him live for free if he asked, but in truth he really couldn't afford to pay more. And it was true that Mrs Hannon could afford to be generous. She had inherited or somehow acquired a sizable fortune for a lower-class woman, and this, along with her steady income from a laundering business, kept her quite comfortably with two properties, the lodging house and the laundry. Theo thought he probably ought to see her a bit more often, rather than spending all his time in his room reading by dim lamplight.

Wearily he drained his glass of the tasteless liquor. It was cheap, and still too expensive. He hadn't had a job for weeks. The problem was, what could he do? As an entertainer you picked up a secondary skill set and in the stretches between gigs, you put it to work doing odd jobs. That was how it worked, but what were Theo's skills? He could do physical labour, but there were plenty of dumb oxes in the city who could lift a cart and were too stupid to think or talk to their employers, so why would they want Theo? He was competent with a blade and really rather talented at the vicious knife-fighting of the streets, but there were better bodyguards, and that was rarely a part-time job. He was intelligent and well read; conspicuously so for someone on the bottom rung. That was more a hindrance than a help, though. People were suspicious of smart guys and treated them with contempt. Theo sighed. He was the exemplary jack of all trades, master of none.

He thought dimly of visiting the Strangled Cat. He hadn't been there in weeks. He'd fetched up there his first week in Verne, not realising it was little more than a base of operations for the working folk of the alleys. His naivety had brought great amusement from the bartender and a girl at the next stool who it transpired was a prostitute. After a short while Theo had begun to suspect the joke, and he was becoming uncomfortable when the bartender had banged down a drink on the house.
"It's horse piss, mind," he'd cautioned, and Bird and Annie had been his close friends ever since. He missed them now. He'd neglected them recently, and everyone else. When had he become such a hermit? He decided to take a walk that evening.

"Whilst someone is trying to kill you," reminded a voice in his head.

In Which Theo Loses a Perfectly Good Rapier

The drizzle could cost him his life. It was a thought that angered Theo as he staggered in the dirt. No matter what karmic balance he might have racked up, if he died from the drizzle, he was going to feel quite unfairly treated.

'No you won't,' said a voice in his head sardonically. 'You'll be dead.'

Something pressed hard into the back of his thighs. Broken bricks, he realised as they scraped painfully into his flesh. Not paying attention, damnit. They'd caught him completely off-guard. His head had been somewhere else entirely. Now he was fighting to retain his focus as the three assailants savaged him. Well, two now. He'd layed a nasty slice between the legs of one with his blade upturned. He was still sat howling in a truly impressive pool of blood at the mouth of the dirty little alley.

The largest man, a genuinely muscled heavy who barely opened his mouth even to grunt, bore down on him. He hadn't got a proper weapon, just a heavy length of iron bar. As far as Theo was concerned, though, it was very much a proper weapon.

The heavy bulled into him with the length of his right forearm, driving him back over the tumbled chunk of bricks. Theo's legs went from under him and he fell. Driving himself to keep thinking, he tucked his chin in hard and held it there as his back slammed into the dust and drove his breath from him. The heavy was coming over the low scrub of debris, now, getting right over him before dropping vertically onto his chest. He'd probably crush Theo's lungs. At best, his ribs would be shattered.

Fighting the swimming pain in his head with everything he had, Theo channeled the momentum of his fall up and over his head. His legs swung up and he tried to keep them together, but wavered in spite of himself. He felt the wind of the heavy as his arm swept the empty air an inch from his legs. Now Theo was stood on his shoulders and neck, his body pointed straight up above him. He sprawled in the position, unable to balance properly, but he'd held it long enough. The heavy gave the slightest of snarls as his drop found no target, and he clumsily rose to strike out.

Theo dropped his legs, spreading them and rocking his head off the ground. His weight fell along the length of his body and slammed into the heavy's shoulders as he rose. In one smooth movement his legs locked around the thug's arms and his body curled over the man's head, so that he found himself perching on his shoulders in reverse. He made sure to sag slighty in his seat so as to keep his valuables out of biting reach of the man. He clamped his left hand onto the bald pate of the man's head and drove his thumb hard into the eye. In spite of himself he coughed a mouthful of vomit across the heavy's back when the wet flesh popped beneath his thumb. He felt his unwilling steed twist and stagger beneath him and quickly leapt from the man's back as he tumbled and crashed to the ground. Now, finally, the man made a noise, a huge, bellowing roar of pain, as he thrashed in the scree.

The third man had had time to get the perfect angle on him though, and was waiting. A skinny, angular man in a rough leather waistcoat, shorter than Theo but much less fatigued, he came at him with a vicious shortblade. Theo had just enough time to parry with the rapier in his right hand before he would have been run through. Endlessly thankful he hadn't lost his sword in his fall, Theo fought desperately for position. The skinny man was coming on at him with quick, hissing slashes, and Theo's legs were tangling beneath him. He slipped in a rivulet of the first attacker's blood, and almost closed his eyes as time slowed down and he became detached from himself with the sureness that it was all over. His assailant slammed into him hard trapping him against the wall. The man's left hand cut across his neck and right wrist. The rapier fell and Theo thought his throat had collapsed. Blue dots burst across his vision. He couldn't move. The weight of the attacker held him hard. His left hand had been pinned at his side and his stomach was being crushed painfully. The edge of the man's blade hovered beneath his chin, but didn't move. He realised the man wasn't going to kill him yet. He had a feeling it was certainly on the cards for later, however.

In spite of his situation, an inappropriate imp at the back of Theo's mind was curious as to what the man wanted. He waited for him to speak. A few feet from the pair was a stained sewer grate. The attacker kicked his rapier into it. It vanished with a gently grinding of steel on grit.

"You know who we are?" asked the skinny man. Theo shook his head a fraction. The man looked up and met his gaze, then. Theo felt a chill. The hate in the man's eyes told him that he had nothing but death in mind. Theo didn't wait for more answers. The hand at his waist twisted fast beneath the pinned wrist. His finger tips caught the pommel of a knife. A nasty little street weapon. It fell into his palm as his hand was already moving upwards, and he drove it under the little man's ribs.

The assassin sprang back in shock. The blade caught in his chest and wrenched free of Theo's numb hand. Theo had half a second. He took it. Slamming himself forward, saving nothing to regain his stance, he threw himself at the man. If this didn't work, keeping his posture wouldn't save him. The killer brought the blade up but not in time. Theo caught the blade painfully and slid his hand over the attacker's, forcing it down. As they staggered and fell, Theo wrenched his dagger free, and as they hung in the air he lashed viciously. The first strike cut the killer across the face in one long line, splitting his top lip, opening his left nostril top to bottom and letting the blood from his brow. The second strike buried it in his throat.

Theo blinked sweat and tears from his eyes, gasping for breath as blood ran from his hand and a hundred other cuts. He returned to his feet shakily and looked dumbly back up to the mouth of the alley. By now his other attackers had fallen silent, or were doing no more than gurgling gently. He could hear shouts and a whistle in the not too far distance. Damnit. The guard would be coming. They'd waited long enough to make sure that most of the threat would be over and now they were coming to show their faces so they could claim their paychecks.

Theo looked down. His cloak had been split across the breadth, and gaped open. Underneath his gold-and-scarlet performing clothes were clearly visible. Damnit. He'd have to take to wearing less identifiable garb. He grabbed the ugly horsehair cloak off the biggest of the trio. It was far too large for Theo's medium stature, but it would have to do. He pulled it around himself and ran for home.

He was a couple of streets away when his brain started working again through the blood haze. He'd entered that alley to stop a mugging. Some scrawny urchin was being defenselessly beaten by an alley rat for coin he clearly didn't have. Theo stepped in to wave his rapier and scare the scum away, as he had from time to time. Things had got confusing then. The urchin seemed to recover instantly from his beating and was miraculously on his feet, with a heavy one-handed club in his grip. The alley rat now held a shortsword and a look of cold malice that was a far cry from the half-scared cruelty of the bottomfeeders. And then a shadow had indicated that a big, heavy, third man had appeared behind him. His brain had just about processed these facts when he was hit in the back of the head.

Now his thoughts were moving. His mind had caught up. That attack had been planned. Theo quickened his pace and pulled the cloak hard around him. Somebody wanted him dead.