Honey for Celephaïs: Chapter 4
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Roach had established quite a reputation. He’d stolen food from almost everyone, brazenly, sauntering off as if he’d paid and only running at the last minute. Small and agile, he seemed to know every nook and cranny of the market, escaping angry merchants—and Constables—with ease.
He was also a phenomenal shot with small stones—or apple cores—as many merchants and constables had discovered to their regret. While he hadn’t killed anyone yet, he had put out a merchant’s eye with a stone thrown from dozens of meters distant, and had demonstrated an unerring ability to hit people in the center of the forehead hard enough to leave blood and a bump.
Sergeant Ng let his men chase the boy, not expecting any success, while he watched the market from one of the city’s many minarets.
Most of the minarets rose in the Cirque of the Jade Bull, the middle ring. There were more on the higher ground on the north side of the city, but there were other minarets scattered here and there throughout Celephaïs.
One was conveniently located near the middle of the marketplace.
The boy never looked up, not even once, and Ng mapped his hiding places one by one: a culvert; a low rooftop protected by the overhanging eaves of a higher, neighboring building; under the (broken and immobile) cart of a well-known shopkeeper; even, in the early morning, in the stable of one of the inns. He was smart, changing his sleeping place every night, and always checking carefully to be sure one was safe before entering.
His men tried again and again to corner him, and he made fools of the bunch, leaping over them, diving between their legs, dodging and twisting to avoid nets, always with a smile. It may have been a game to him but his constables were getting angry, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they began using their swords or bows on the boy.
The merchants were talking now of raising a complaint to the Captain of the Constabulary. If the Captain got involved because he couldn’t catch a little boy stealing vegetables, he’d probably end up escorting manure shipments somewhere.
Still, if they hadn’t caught the little bastard yet, obviously they needed a new approach, and that’s what he was working on.
After a few days he was confident he knew enough. After stealing a few skewers of meat from one vendor and a loaf of fresh-baked bread from a second, the boy had taken shelter in one of the many entrances to the waterworks running under the city. Most of the entrances to the tunnels carrying the river water used for the scattered fountains and public baths were covered by large flagstones, probably too heavy for that boy to lift, but there was one that had been cracked by age or accident, and was now covered by a simple wood cover.
The tunnel underneath ran in only two directions, upstream and down, and while the boy could certainly traverse it with ease, it was a simple matter to put officers into the tunnels at the next entrances, in both directions. Ng organized the men into two teams, with instructions to block the tunnel in both spots and prepare to capture the boy. They readied nets just in case he could swim as well as he could run and jump.
Little Roach would be trapped.
A few minutes later Sergeant Ng crouched in the shadow of a warehouse, watching the entrance to the boy’s lair from a distance. He waited a few minutes to be sure the rest were in position, then ran to the cover as noisily as possible, shouting “You two, get down inside! We’ve got him trapped now!”
He yanked the cover off, and peered inside.
It was empty, of course, but there was a half-eaten loaf of bread lying there, a few old rags, odds and ends. He used the tip of his boot to see if there was anything else hidden in the rags, but that was all.
Ng listened, and sure enough, he could hear the boy scuttling up the low tunnel, scraping along in his hurry. A grown man would have trouble moving in the tunnel with the water this high, but the boy was making good progress, judging by the sound.
Suddenly he heard shouting, and a yell of pain, and a splash.
More thrashing, muffled voices, then a clear call down the tunnel, voice distorted by the flowing water.
“We’ve got the little bastard, Sarge.”
He pulled himself out of the hole and walked up the street toward the next access, and met them midway. Istas had her hands firmly on the boy’s upper arms, one arm in each hand. She was frog-marching him, steadfastly ignoring his continuing struggles and, at times, lifting him off the ground if his feet refused to move in the right direction. She was dripping wet up to her midriff, and her sandals made a squelching noise as she walked.
The other Constables walked with her, and some distance behind came tall Jay, walking in obvious pain.
“What happened?”
“Nothing important, Sarge… he just knocked me into the water, and kicked Jay where it hurts,” she said, smiling.
“Maybe not important to you but it is to me, Istas,” snarled Jay. “I’ll kill that little sonova bitch.”
Ng chuckled. “Glad to see all that practice in grappling came in handy, Jay. Maybe you can stop by Joy Street tonight and make sure everything still works okay.”
“I’ll have his fucking head on a pike, that’s what I’ll do tonight!”
“Now, now, Jay, he’s just a young boy,” grinned Istas. “Man up!”
She dragged the boy up in front of Ng, who was standing, hands on hips, in the middle of the street. Passers-by and carts automatically swerved around them in hopes of avoiding any interaction… the Constabulary could be awkward at times.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Roach.”
“Yeah, that’s what they call you, but what’s your name?”
“Don’t have a name,” said the boy, smiling. “Me mom died before she gave me one.”
“How old are you now? Ten?”
“Uncle Sarl said I’s eight.”
“Where’s Uncle Sarl now?”
“Dead. Died the spring.”
“And you’ve been on your own since?”
“Yes. Leave me be.”
Ng laughed. “No, I don’t think we can do that, Roach. You see, you’ve been stealing from the merchants, and they’re quite upset with you.”
“They said if I’s starving to take it!”
“Did they now?” said Ng. “That seems somewhat different from what they told us.”
He leaned down, bringing his face close to the boy’s.
“You know what we do to thieves in this city, boy?” he growled.
The boy head-butted him in the face, and leapt forward, running up Ng’s body and flipping backwards toward Istas, twisting his arms out of her grasp.
He bounced to the ground and took off running…
…or tried to.
Jay was right there waiting, and grabbed him by the neck with one hand.
“Gotcha now, you little bastard!”
The boy struggled, but Jay’s huge hands held him tight, one around his neck and one on his right leg. The more he struggled, the more they tightened, and as Roach began to run out of breath he fell still.
Sergeant Ng picked himself up off the paving stones, face bloody from nosebleed. As least it didn’t seem to be broken.
“Jay, I think you and me are going to have to have a little talk with this roach.”
Jay smiled.
“Oh, yessir, I’ve a few things to say to him myself.”
Ng took some rope from his belt, and tied the boy’s hand together.
“Hold him still,” he ordered Jay, then knelt to hobble his feet. “That should do it.”
He stood, wiped his bloody nose on his arm.
“Now then, maybe let’s take our young guest back to the guardhouse, shall we?”
“Sergeant!”
A woman’s voice came from behind him.
He turned to see an older woman, slim and well-dressed, flanked by two younger women.
“I am Poietria Martine, of Skala Eresou. And you are…?”
“Sergeant Ng, Poietria.”
He was suddenly polite… he had no idea who she was, but any Constable who insulted a Poietria could kiss his chances at promotion goodbye. They had too many connections to the nobility, and the nobility had too many connections to everything.
“What is the boy being held for, Sergeant?”
“He’s a thief, Poietria, among other things.”
“From what I heard right now he is also an orphan.”
“Yes, Poietria, he seems to be.”
“And he is very agile.”
“Yes. And violent.”
“I find it strange that a group of armed Constables had such difficulty restraining a boy so young, Sergeant. Don’t you?”
He gritted his teeth.
“Yes, Poietria. We, uh, were not expecting such a small boy to be quite so violent.”
“Perhaps chasing and threatening him caused him to be violent?”
“Yes, Poietria. Perhaps it did, but he is a thief nonetheless.”
“Boy!” she called to Roach. “If I stand for you, will you stop this nonsense and come with me? I will give you food and shelter.”
The boy cocked his head.
“You are a woman… what would you want with my body?”
Poietria Martine stopped in surprise.
“Your… body…?”
“That’s what you oldies always want, isn’t it?”
She stepped closer and knelt in front of him.
“No, Roach, that is not what I want. I promise no one shall hurt you that way again. There are no men in Skala Eresou.”
“That’s what Uncle Sarl said. Didn’t trust him, either.”
She took one of the boy’s hands in her own. “Maia, come here.”
The older of the two women accompanying her, maybe in her late twenties or so, stepped forward and took Roach’s hand. The other woman, or perhaps a girl in her second twelfth, just stood there watching.
Poietria Martine turned back to the sergeant.
“Sergeant, perhaps I could give the Constabulary a small donation? To pay for your injuries.”
Sergeant Ng scratched his earlobe for a minute.
“You stand for this thief, Poietria?”
“I do.”
“The boy won’t come back to this market anymore?”
“He will not steal here anymore,” she confirmed. “Right, boy?”
He beamed, looking up to her like a guardian angel. “Yes, Poietria!”
A small, heavy bag was exchanged for the boy.
“Cut off those silly ropes, if you please,” she directed. “You can’t eat a proper meal with your hands tied, now can you, boy?”
Ng gestured, and Jay used his dagger to cut the ropes loose.
He waved the dagger under the boy’s nose.
“If we see you around here again, boy…”
Poietria Martine walked away, the two women and her new companion in tow.
“Thank you, Poietria!” called Sergeant, hefting the bag in his hand.
As he left, the boy looked back and signed an insult with his other hand.
Jay took a step forward, hand on cutlass, face red with anger, but Istas moved to block him.
“Leave it, Jay,” she advised. “It’s not worth it for a boy.”
“Jay,” said Sergeant Ng, “I think we could all do with a drink to ward off the afternoon heat, yeah? On me!”
Everyone agreed that sounded like a wonderful idea.
There was an alehouse right up the street.
Martine’s Studio, with artist’s conception of similar Roman home
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Honey for Celephaïs: Chapter 5