Gutter Rats: Origins Chapter 1
“It’s time.” Wulf Rome stood up and surveyed the other orphaned, homeless children gathered in the decaying hovel they called home. There were fifteen of them, ranging in age from Little Gleb, only seven or so, up to Rome who was eighteen or nineteen by his reckoning. Few of the children knew their real age. “I’m joining the army. Who’s with me?”
The others looked at him in confusion. It was barely daybreak. They’d been up all night pulling their latest grab, and they were tired. His words weren’t sinking in.
Except for one of them.
Quyloc (KWY-lock) stood up. “I am.” His voice shook a little as he spoke, and he berated himself for his weakness. Only courage could show.
Rome nodded in approval and clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew you would, old friend. You’re always there to watch my back.”
Rome and Quyloc had been friends for over seven years, by Quyloc’s reckoning, though he never would have spoken of it aloud. Ever since that fateful night when Rome ventured out to rid the children of the nightmare known as Dirty Henry. The night when Quyloc, quite to his own surprise, followed Rome for the first time.
Since that night, also to Quyloc’s continual surprise, Rome had kept him close, treated him like a brother, stood up for him against bigger boys. Rome actually listened to his ideas. It had been Quyloc who devised the plan for the night’s grab. He usually planned their robberies.
Naturally, it was Rome who carried them out and made them work. Because that was the kind of person he was, Rome never hesitated to share the credit with Quyloc, though the other boys rarely seemed to take notice.
Quyloc was sure they only accepted him because of Rome. But that was okay with him. Losing everything and ending up on the streets at a young age had taught Quyloc the sheer difficulty of mere survival. He was, frankly, safer in Rome’s shadow than not.
“Are you drunk?” Herbig asked. He was about fifteen, scrawny, and the best wall climber they had. “Look at all this loot.” He waved his hand, indicating their haul. Two hams. A long chain of sausages. Loaves of bread of all sizes. Jars of olives. Pickled peppers. And so much more. They’d hit one of the warehouses belonging to Squire Montane, one of the richest merchants in the city. They’d be able to live on the stolen food for weeks.
Rome shook his head. “You can have it. I expect they’ll feed us in the army. You can’t fight if you’re starving.”
“But the army?” Effen was probably twelve, with soft, innocent eyes that belied the harshness of his life. He was often used as a decoy. Older women, in particular, often felt a need to help him. Which he was very good at exploiting. “The so’jers hate us.”
It was true. Many of the soldiers were cruel to the street orphans. On a good day, a boy might only receive a few painful kicks. On a bad day, he might get cut down in the street. There was no law when it came to the street orphans. The city watch were even crueler.
“I can’t do this my whole life. I need something else, something more.”
That confused them even more. They were street rats, the lowest of the low. They didn’t aspire to more. They lived as long as they could and died young. It was the way of things.
“What if they won’t let you?” Little Gleb asked with his tiny voice.
“Then I’ll just have to change their minds.” Rome’s confidence was not that of a typical teenage boy, full of false bravado. His was the confidence of a person who could conquer obstacles and knew it.
Little Gleb again. “What…what’ll we do without you?”
Rome gave him a direct look. “The same as you’ve always done: survive. Gasparn is sixteen. He knows the ways. Listen to him. I’ll be back when I can to check on you, bring you some cob. I won’t forget you.”
His words helped, but not much. The boys were all on their feet now, sleepiness forgotten. Gleb’s lower lip was quivering.
“Gasparn, keep an eye on Gleb.”
Gasparn nodded. He was trying to seem unbothered but not hiding it well. At least not from Quyloc. “Sure, Rome. Whatever you say.”
Rome went around the room, then. He spoke in a low voice to each boy in turn. Some of the boys cried, though they hid it furiously. When he was done, he looked at Quyloc. “You ready?”
Quyloc nodded, still feeling a sense of unreality, but also knowing this was how it was around Rome sometimes. He got a feeling, and he ran with it, never mind if it was in the complete opposite direction they’d been going.
“Got your stuff?”
Quyloc looked at the corner where he slept. A pile of dirty rags that was his bed. A stained coat that was badly torn. He’d be glad to never see any of it again.
“I don’t have anything.”
As they left, Quyloc raised his hand in farewell. None of the boys even looked at him.
The city was waking up as they stepped out onto the street to make their way to the army recruitment office. Calling it a street was a generous term. There were no cobblestones, only bare dirt, badly rutted and dotted with a mixture of trash and dead animals. The other buildings along the “street” were in even worse shape than the one they had holed up in. Most were little more than tangled piles of debris. Many had burned.
They were right on the edge of the part of Qarath known as the Pits. Located in the lowest part of the city, near the tanning pits and their eye-watering stench, the Pits was a no-man’s land of burned buildings and lawlessness. It was where most of the street orphans lived, the one area where they could be reasonably sure of being left alone by the city watch.
After a few blocks, they left the Pits behind and entered the city proper. Rough, unpainted tenement buildings rose on both sides of the narrow alley they turned onto. They hadn’t gone far when a basin of foul water splashed in front of them, tossed out by a woman two floors up with a smoke stick in her mouth, and a rag tied around her head.
Rome waved and smiled at her. “Good morning, Elsa!”
Elsa cursed at them and slammed her window.
Rome grinned at Quyloc. “I think she’s starting to like me. What do you think?”
“Elsa hates everyone.”
“Yes, but I’ve been wearing her down. I almost have her.”
The thing was, if anyone could get through Elsa’s stony exterior, it was Rome. He made friends everywhere he went, even though he was a gutter rat. He talked to everybody. He liked everybody, and it was generally mutual.
Quyloc was the exact opposite. He’d learned long ago that you kept quiet and out of sight. Therein lay the greatest chance of survival. He had no friends other than Rome, and he was fine with that. Mostly, anyway. It did sting sometimes.
Rome called Quyloc his friend all the time. Quyloc had yet to figure out if he considered Rome his friend. What did it mean, to consider someone a friend? He’d pondered it many times. Rome liked to say that a friend was someone you could count on to look out for you. But Quyloc wasn’t sure that was right. He always looked out for Rome, but he couldn’t say that it was because he wanted to. Because Quyloc was certain he looked out for Rome only as a way of looking out for himself. He didn’t know another way.
From the alley, they turned onto another, slightly less malodorous, street. There was still plenty of trash piled along the edges. Some of those piles were actually people sleeping in the trash. There were the usual rats and stray dogs with yellow teeth and distended bellies. The dogs weren’t generally a danger during the day, but Quyloc kept a close eye on them anyway. Survival meant always expecting danger.
Quyloc wanted to ask Rome why? With Rome’s ability and charisma, he could do anything. Why join the army? But he didn’t. Quyloc was good at saying nothing. People who didn’t speak weren’t noticed as often.
Rome was whistling, a silly, repetitive tune. For some reason, it annoyed Quyloc, though he made sure not to let the annoyance show. Quyloc’s heart was racing. The thought of joining the army terrified him. But Rome was acting like he’d been invited to a royal picnic.
“I think we’re going to like this, Quyloc. I have a good feeling that this is the beginning of something big.”
Quyloc definitely wasn’t going to enjoy this, but he kept his expression neutral.
“We’re going to rise in the ranks and be generals someday.”
Now Quyloc did speak up. “Commoners can’t become generals. Only the nobility can.” Titles like that weren’t bestowed. They were bought from the king.
Rome waved this detail away like it was a pesky fly. “Every rule has a breaking point.” It was something he said often. Considering they lived lawless lives, Quyloc had never been sure what he meant by it.
What Quyloc was sure of was that Rome rarely aimed for something without achieving it.
Then Quyloc said something that surprised him. “I don’t want to be a general.” That was far too much exposure. He’d make himself too much of a target.
Rome laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. Rome was big on shoulder clapping. “If that doesn’t sound like Quyloc, I don’t know what does.” He stopped and turned to Quyloc. “Why not?”
This was something else Rome did. He often asked Quyloc’s opinion on something. And then he expected an answer. He wouldn’t move until he got one.
Quyloc surprised himself again. Instead of a weak excuse, he said, “I don’t want to rule men.”
Rome nodded. “That’s never been you, has it? Don’t worry about it. You want to be my aide or something instead?”
Quyloc didn’t have to think about his answer. “Yes.” He could watch Rome’s back and still stay in the shadows where he belonged.
“It’s done then.” Rome said this as he said so many things, as if the feat had already been accomplished and all that was left was for the rest of the world to catch up.
Sounds interesting so far
Sounds pretty interesting.
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