Rija stood ankle deep in cold sewage. The white undergarment she wore clung to her, holding the dampness close. She tried not to breathe too deeply as she waded through the dark muck, her only light coming from the occasional grate above her. Her long brown hair clung to her neck and shoulders, limp and damp. Her soft, ankle-high boots made sucking noises with every step she took.
Her ten-day-old marriage had ended two hours ago.
Rija cursed her father. Teris Caernor had given his sixteen year old daughter in marriage to Baron Aldiss Lourde, an aging noble, in the hopes of climbing higher among the Court of Sofia's Lord-Mayor. He also used her marriage to gain financial backing for his latest merchant venture. She should be happy, she thought bitterly. She had been worth enough to allow her father to furnish a full wagon train. She had been worth far more than her older sister Agia.
She tried running away, but her father's guards and servants watched her too closely.
She supposed the wedding night, and each night after, could have been worse, but two nights past the baron, returning late from court in a foul mood, had simply beat her without reason or explanation before taking her to his bed. After he slept, she slipped from the room to cry in private.
He had returned from court today, angry again, and pulled her from the chair where she sat practicing her lap harp. Without a word he slapped her, sending her sprawling near the unlit fireplace. As he reached down to pull her up from the floor, she had, all unthinking, stabbed him with the fireplace poker she suddenly had in her hand. He had looked angry, and then surprised, before collapsing on her. She pushed his limp body away and frantically tore off her blood soaked clothing, her mind still not registering what she had done. Then she heard the gasp behind her.
When Baron Lourde's manservant, Gilias, had entered the room and rushed past her to check on his fallen master, fear took over and she did the only thing she could think to do. She picked up the ash-shovel and hit Gilias over the head with it. He collapsed, and lay by his master, moaning.
Rija dropped the shovel and fled the manor. She wasn't even sure how she found the entrance to the sewers at the back of
the property, but here she stood, cold, wet, lost, and a murderess.
Rija walked farther along the dank sewer, trying to decide what to do. She couldn't go back, not after killing her husband. She could not go to her family for help. Rija knew her father would hand her over to the city guard in an instant, as would her oldest brother Raundi. Protecting the family's trade license would be their only concern. Her younger brother Kilam might be sympathetic to her, but he was off on another of his hunts for fame and glory with the band of rowdies he called friends.
She could, she thought grimly, throw herself on the mercy of the Lord-Mayor. She laughed aloud at the idea as she turned a corner and walked deepr into the sewer. There was no avenue of recourse there; at best she would end up in the city's
dungeons. More likely her head would end up in the executioner's basket.
Rija shivered. One thing she knew for sure: she could not continue to walk around in the sewers dressed in her
undergarments. She made her way toward one of the periodic grates that lined the street above. Night was beginning to fall, and what little illumination the grates offered would soon vanish. She considered the grate above her; it was too high for her to reach.
She pressed on, keeping one eye on the grates as she searched for a way out of the sewer. The farther she walked, the less murky the water became. She thought perhaps she was nearing where the sewers met either the ocean or the Eiran River. When she discovered a service walk, her excitement grew. The walk was smooth stone, desinged to allow city workers and guardsmen easy access into the sewer tunnels to do maintaince or fish out dead bodies. She followed the walk, moving slowly in the deepening darkness, until she reached a broken iron gate leading to an alley.
Rija squeezed between the bent bars of the gate and looked around carefully as she stepped into the alley. She was
unfamiliar with this part of Sofia, but she thought she must be near the wharves, from the smell of fish.
"Let me go!"
Rija looked toward the source of the yell. She could just make out a large man near the back of one of the buildings, cast in shadow. He held a small struggling form up against the wall of the inn with one hand, while brandishing a curved knife with the other.
"I didn't take anything from you," the struggling form protested further.
The large figure spoke slowly. "Ye was tol' to stay 'way from dis end o' Tam's territory. I be thinkin' maybe I should takes me a finger or two to remind ye o' your place."
Before she thought too hard about it, Rija picked up a brick from near the sewer's entrance and started slowly moving behind the large man. She did not know why the large man was shaking what appeared to be a child, but she didn't like it.
"I'm just running a message, that's all, just a message." The small figure protested. Rija could now see to be a redheaded boy of about eleven turnings.
"Ye gots a chit ta show?" The large man shook the boy.
"I must have lost it when you threw me out the door," the boy suddenly looked over the man's shoulder at her.
"Don't think ye be foolin' Jim wit' tha' old trick."
Rija swung with all her might, smashing the brick on the back of the large man's head. He dropped the boy and turned to looked at her. Rija took two quick steps backward, ready to dash back to the sewers.
The man blinked once before he toppled over in a heap. He barely hit the ground before the boy started searching his
unconscious body. A small bag chinked with the sound of coins. It quickly disappeared into one of the boy's pockets. The knife the man had held on him vanished into a boot. The boy finally looked up at her.
"Thanks miss," he said. He looked her over, taking in her state of dress, and the telltale stains and smells of the sewer water. "Come on then, help me get his jacket."
"I--" Rija began.
"No time to be squeamish," the youth smiled up at her, laughter in his bright blue eyes. "You look to be in a spot of trouble yourself, and I owe you. Might have lost more than a finger or two before it was over if you hadn't come along."
Rija decided adding thievery to her new list of crimes seemed trivial, considering she had started with murder and had recently added assault. The fact that she was cold gave her extra incentive. Rija knelt and helped roll the large man over. After much tugging and soft swearing they finally managed to remove the jacket as the man started to moan and roll his head.
"Follow me," the boy said as he began to run down the dark alley.
Rija threw the man's jacket over her shoulders and, after a moment's indecision, ran after the boy.
#
Rija sat among the clutter in the small room on the second floor of the abandoned warehouse the boy had led her to. He produced a small amount of moldy bread and cheese, and offered it to her. She look at it dubiously. Concern about the safety of eating anything with so much green on it outweight the hunger she felt. She smiled and shook her, refusing the offered food. Her host shrugged, then hunkered in a corner and started digging through some piles of old clothing and rags.
"Um," Rija spoke for the first time since arriving at the warehouse, "not that I'm ungrateful for your help, but why did you bring me here?"
The boy turned to look at her, "Once you'd helped me out I couldn't very well leave you standing around in an alley dressed in your night clothes, now could I?"
"Well, thank you. I'm Rija, by the way."
"I'm Daven," he said, turning back to the pile of old fabric.
"Why was that man trying to hurt you?"
"Big Nose Jim?" the boy said. "He caught me listening in on a talk I shouldn't hear. Lucky for me you came along and clunked him on the nog. I'm banished from Tam's territory and old Big Nose would've cut my fingers off for sure for being there." The boy turned toward her, holding a pile of what appeared to be clothing and grinned at her expression. "But I suppose you've no idea what I'm going on about, do ya?"
Rija shook her head. "Not a clue."
"Well, you'll learn soon enough if you're going to live down here."
"Who said anything about me staying here?" Rija asked.
The youth laughed, showing a gap toothed smile. "Lady, you're running from something, that's obvious." He handed her the armload of clothing. "Change into these. You can clean up in the room next door. There's some water in an old bowl. The piss pot's down by the back door. Be careful of the steps, and watch out for the rats. If you see anyone, tell 'em you're my cousin and they'll leave you be."
Rija tucked the clothing under her arm and, picking up a candle, moved into the next room to change. She managed to wipe the worst of the grime off of her legs and hung her sopping wet boots from a peg she found sticking out of a wall. She gave the undergarments the boy had given her a dubious look, but decided she could not afford to be picky and put them on. She changed into the clothes, a dark blue blouse and long brown skirt, which turned out to he a little big on her. She found a small brown belt in the pile, to help keep the skirt in place. A pair of worn ankle boots to replace the ones she had ruined in the sewer rounded out the outfit. Rija smiled to herself. She felt almost normal again. It amazed her how something as simple as clean clothing made things seem better.
After engaging in a nerve wracking quest in the dark for the chamber pot, Rija returned to the small room. Daven sat counting out the money he had lifted from the fallen Big Nose Jim.
He looked up at her and grinned again. "There's enough here to keep me fed for a month!" Daven placed some copper coins in the bag and threw the entire thing toward Rija. "Here, you'll need something to start with. If you're smart it'll hold you for a week or so."
"Thanks." Rija said.
Daven shrugged, "Don't mention it. You're the one who hit him with a brick, after all."
Rija laughed. "I seem to be doing that a lot lately." She gestured toward her new outfit, "Where in the world did these come from?"
"I use to squat here with a woman. All that stuff," he waved toward the corner, "belonged to her."
"She's not going to come looking for it?" Rija asked.
"Naw, she's dead, I think."
"Dead?"
"Yeah, she drank a lot, see. Sold everything she owned after awhile, then started selling herself to get her whiskey. She went out one night about a month ago, and didn't come back. I've been hanging on to her old clothes in case I could find someone to sell it to. 'Always watch for an opportunity,' says I."
Rija looked at the corner full of clothing and fabric, wondering what else useful she could possibly pick out of the pile.
Daven nodded toward the corner, "Take what you want. I don't reckon I'll ever find someone to buy her old junk."
Rija started picking through the pile of rags, clothing, and other objects. "So who is this Tam, and why are you banned from his territory?" she asked, while sorting everything into piles.
"Tam runs everything south of the Green Pig tavern, all the way down to the wharves. I work for Carros Thurgnir. His territory butts up against Tam's."
Rija looked up. "I'm sorry, but I still have no idea what you're talking about. What kind of territory do you mean?"
Daven looked at her with wide eyes, "Wow, you really don't know do you? Okay, ever since the thieves' guild fell apart, a lot of different factions are trying to take over. Everything down here's broken up into territories, with each territory head running his own personal guild."
"You're involved in organized crime?" Rija asked.
"Well, yeah. Everyone down here is, even if they just pay to be left alone."
"What about the city guard?" Rija asked, surprised at the level of lawlessness in the lower city etched on her face.
Daven laughed. "They might come down here during the day to make sure the bodies are taken off the streets and protect the merchant ships as they unload, but at night they stick to guarding the warehouses and avoid the slums. They only poke their noses down here if there's a riot or something, and then only in groups of a dozen or more."
Rija started to reply when her hand found something hard under the pile of rags. She pulled out an old leather bag. Opening it, she found an ancient, scarred, but usable mandolin. She gave the strings an experimental strum and winced.
"Now there's something I could sell!" Daven exclaimed.
Rija played with the tuning pegs and gave the strings another strum. "How much?"
"At least a silver, maybe two."
Rija turned the pegs some more and strummed. This time the sound was right. She played a few chords.
Daven smiled at her. "Can you sing?"
Rija nodded an affirmative.
Daven jumped up from where he was sitting, practically vibrating with excitement. "Now, here's the thing," Daven said, "do you know any tunes besides fancy stuff for the lords?"
Rija smiled. Her father had insisted she learn formal music, under the theory it would make her a more desirable candidate for marriage to a gentleman. She, however, never missed an opportunity to pick up odd songs from her brother Kilam and his friends, as well as from the drovers and guards on those rare occasions her father let her travel with him on trading missions.
"I might know a few."
"Perfect!" he snapped his fingers. "I know where you can find work, and I can make a finder's fee." Daven smiled as he started pulling her out the door.
Before she could protest, Daven took Rija by the hand and started leading her through the smelly, torch lit streets to a large, crowded tavern. He moved past the prostitutes, thugs, and sneak thieves that made up the primary clientele of the establishment. Many of them gave the boy a friendly wave as he passed.
"Do you know everyone?" Rija whispered.
"Pretty much. Everyone around here knows I'm one of Carros' runners. I don't have to worry too much as long as I stay in his territory. Now stand here and look pretty while I make us some coin." Daven started waving at someone. "Jenton!"
A short, enormously fat man wearing a stained and greasy apron slowly moved toward them. People moved out his way as he approached, giving the effect of a large ship parting the waves as he moved. The proprietor of the Red Trident tavern came
up to them and smiled down at the boy. "We heard you'd had gotten skinned and spitted."
"Well ya heard wrong, Jenton. There's not a man in Tam's bunch quick enough to skin this rabbit." Daven gave him a gap-toothed smile. "But I'm here 'cause I found you something special." He gestured toward Rija.
Jenton gave her a shrewd look, and Rija felt like a side of beef swinging from a hook at the market. "I'm full up of girls right now, but she is a pretty one, so maybe I--"
"No, no, no, no," Daven interrupted, "she isn't a whore, she's a minstrel, and also my cousin," Daven gave the fat man a stern look.
"Well, why didn't you say so? I still haven't replaced the last one that ran off." Jenton turned his attention back to her, "What's your name, girl?"
"Rija."
"Well, Rija, step up on stage and play a set. If they like you, you're hired. If they don't, you're not."
Rija looked at Daven, who favored her with his gap-toothed smile and pointed toward the tiny stage area near the fireplace. She stepped up on stage and, swallowing down the rising panic in her stomach, decided on some folk tunes she had
learned from her brother's friends.
She had played two songs before the tavern's patrons realized Rija stood on stage playing music. She kept with the folk tunes, playing lively jigs and reels. People started clapping and some of the clientele even tried to dance in the crowded tavern. Occasionally a coin would be tossed her way. When she saw Jenton wave at her, she finished the tune she was playing, collected the money, and stepped off the stage. Some in the crowd started yelling for more music.
The proprieter wiped his hands on the greasy apron as Rija approached, "Not bad girl, not bad. I'll take you on. You can play here for tips, I'll only want a twenty percent--"
"Five percent." Daven quickly cut in.
Jenton looked down at the boy. "So you're her manager now, are you?"
"Yes," he answered, "and you'll take no more than five percent."
"Fifteen," the burly man replied.
Daven smiled. "Ten, and you help find her a spot on the street."
"Well," Jenton began, when a couple of drunks started yelling out songs they wanted to hear, "Okay, ten percent."
"Plus my fee," the boy added.
Jenton laughed and reached into his pocket. "That's our Daven--"
"--'always looking for an opportunity'," the boy finished as Jenton handed him some coins.
"Right then," Jenton turned to Rija, "Get up there and make them want more beer."
When Jenton ambled off, Rija looked down at Daven. "So you're my manager?" she laughed.
"Yes, but I'll only ask for two percent, and you can squat at my place until you find something of your own." Daven pushed her toward the stage. "I don't know what god sent you, but I've made more coin tonight than in the last four months, and I know a good thing when I see it. You, lady, are my new best friend."
Laughing at the absurdity of the situation, Rija returned to the stage.
#
Two days later, Rija found herself standing on a corner, mandolin in hand, playing for whatever tips she could manage.
Daven told her the spot wasn't perfect, but it would work as a starting point. He also told her that every evening, when the city's great bell struck the dinner hour, a guard with a swarthy complexion and a missing pinky finger would come by to collect a small percentage of her tips. This bribe insured she would never be hassled about a busking permit.
She had just given the guardsman his cut, when she spotted Daven walking toward her with a tall, skinny man dressed in an outfit with too many colors for its own good.
"Hey there, lady," Daven smiled at her, "I'd like to introduce my friend, Paolic."
Rija smiled at the man politely. "Pleased."
Paolic returned her smile, "Master Daven tells me you know many of the ballads and musical epics of the courts."
"I know a few," Rija admitted.
"I would ask you to teach me as many as you can," his smile widened until it seemed his head would surely split in two. "In return I can teach you several of the tunes more popular among the common folk."
Rija considered for a moment. "I do need to learn some ballads, and any folk songs or jigs I don't already know would be appreciated."
"Excellent. When could we meet?"
"Any morning this week would work." She turned to Daven. "Do you think the neighbors would mind if we used the warehouse to practice?"
Daven thought for a moment. "As long as it's not too early, no. Most would be happy with a bit of free entertainment."
"Then it's settled!" Paolic clapped his hands together.
"Except for one little thing," Daven said as he held out his hand.
Paolic produced a pouch from inside his jacket. "Ah yes, your fee. Of course, here you go," he said, dropping three coins in Daven's outstretched hand.
Rija and Daven told the thin minstrel where to find the warehouse and watched as he walk away before returning to their room for a make-shift lunch. Rija had bought food earlier, and Daven "found" a bottle of weak wine at some point during the day.
"So your friend," Rija asked around a mouthful of apple, "why is he so serious about learning all those songs?"
Daven paused in the act of chewing his cheese. "He's ambitious. He wants to stop playing taverns and fairs. I don't have the heart to tell him he's not good enough. He'll never make it as a house bard." Daven took another bite of cheese.
"But?" Rija prompted.
"But I saw an opportunity to make a fee, and for you to learn some new songs."
"Never pass up an opportunity," Rija intoned.
"The first rule of wealth accumulation." Daven nodded at her solemnly.
They held each other's eyes for a moment, then both dissolved into laughter.
#
Rija sat near the fireplace with some wine and a bit of bread Jenton had pressed on her, giving herself a rest after her
second set. She was in her third successful week of playing at the Red Trident. The tavern was packed - on a mid-week night no less - and Jenton had beamed as he handed her the cup and chunk of fresh bread before moving off to take care of his customers.
"There's our little song-bird."
Rija stopped in mid-bite and looked up. Three men stepped up and arranged themselves in front of her. She had seen this group in the tavern the last three nights. They looked to be hire-swords, the type of men her father sometimes employed for trips off the usual trade routes.
"And such a pretty little bird," the one in the middle said, stepping closer to her.
Rija stood, trying to move away from the three men, but the speaker closed the space between them with one swift step.
He reached out with a grime-covered hand and grabbed her by the shoulder, pushing her against the wall next to the fireplace. "I've been wondering what songs the little bird might sing without an audience."
Rija looked around wildly for Jenton, but whatever else the man meant to do was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of the city guard.
The man holding Rija let go of her shoulder and turned to the front of the inn. Whatever crimes he and his friends had committed must have weighed heavily on them. They drew their weapons, than started to move toward the kitchens, seeking escape into the alley behind the inn.
If they had known what Rija knew, they would have tightened their grip on her. These were not the guardsmen who patrolled the streets. Rija recognized the distinctive red plumes rising from the helms; these guards protected the Lord-Mayor and officials of the city court. Rija knew there could be only one reason they came to this inn.
Without a second thought she scooped up her mandolin and fled upstairs.
Rija made for the top floor, ignoring the shouted orders to halt coming from the guardsmen below her. She swung out of a window onto a small ledge, and pulled herself to the roof. From her vantage point she could see the three hire-swords
surrounded by a dozen guardsmen. Mentally thanking Daven for teaching her the basics of roof running, she set off into the night.
It took her thirty minutes to make her way to the warehouse by rooftop. She stopped long enough to make sure no guards lurked near the building before dropping inside the warehouse from a hole in the roof. Moving in the darkness, alert for any unusual sounds, she went to the room she shared with Daven. Checking carefully for hidden dangers, she entered and started putting a few things in an old saddle pack Daven had "discovered lying around." She hoped her would forgive her for taking it.
"I'm disappointed. I never thought you'd steal from a mate," Daven's voice came from the doorway.
Rija looked up. "I'm sorry Daven, but it's an emergency. There's--"
"The Lord-Mayor's guard is looking for you," Daven spoke quietly. "I know all about it."
"Then you know I need to flee Sofia," Rija said as she started toward the doorway.
Rija stopped as Daven pulled the knife he had taken from Big Nose Jim all those weeks ago. He held in front of him, low, blade tilted up. "I'm sorry Rija, I can't let you leave."
Rija looked into the eyes of the boy she had once rescued. "Never pass up an opportunity."
Daven nodded to her, "I saw a chance to make a very large finder's fee. I'm sorry Rija, it's nothing personal."
Rija could hear the sound of boots rushing up the stairs. A red plume started to rise into view.
She looked at Daven and smiled, "I understand."
She swung the bag.
The forced of the impact sent Daven head over heels down the stairs and into the guardsmen. The red plumes disappeared from view, and there was a series of loud crashes and shouted oaths. She didn't wait to find out what happened, but turned instead to the one grimy window in the room. She smashed it open with the saddlebag, and then leaped for the street below.
Gathering herself after the rough landing, Rija caught her breath then dashed for the cover of the shadows along the ill-lit street. She didn't know how she would escape the city. Every guardsman must surely have a description of her by now, and the city gates would be closed for the night. Deciding to stay off the street, Rija climbed back to the rooftops. While she suspected the guard trained some of its members to move up here, she still felt safer than on the street below.
Rija dashed across the rooftops, working her way to the inn where Paolic played. He seemed trustworthy, in fact, his
treatment of her while they traded music was almost overly correct. If anyone could help her hide or escape, Paolic was her best, and in fact only, hope.
She swung down from the roof of the inn to the street below. After carefully checking the insides of the inn for any sign of the guards, she made her way through the thin crowd toward the small stage where Paolic sat on a stool, playing with the tuning pegs of his lute. When he looked up and saw her, he calmly stepped off the stage, beckoned to her, and turned toward the back of the inn. Rija, after another careful look around, followed him.
"I don't know what kind of trouble you're in," Paolic said as they entered the kitchen, "but you cannot be found here."
"Paolic, I need to leave the city." Rija tried to keep her voice low. "I don't dare stay another night."
Paolic ran a hand through his thin hair. "There's a man sitting near the bar, he owns a boat. For a silver he'll row you out beyond the walls to a fishing dock. From there, take the old trade road toward Corpith. After two days travel there will be an inn on the roadside. The innkeeper's name is Roul. Tell him I sent you, and he'll let you sleep by the fireplace and play for tips for a few nights."
Rija thanked Paolic for his aid and, not wanting to risk bringing trouble to him, made her arrangements with the boatman. She slipped out of the inn and made her way to the docks. Twice she hid as squads of guardsmen swept down the streets. At last, she found the man with the boat. She boarded, and the old man quietly slipped the battered dingy out into the harbor.
As they bobbed on the waves, Rija watched the lights of Sofia grow smaller with each stroke of the oars. She blinked away the threatening tears. Her old life was over; she could only go forward with her new one.
"Will this do, miss?" the old boatman asked as they bumped against a dilapidated fishing dock.
Rija looked around. "This will do fine, thank you."
Rija climbed out of the boat, her meager possessions slung over her shoulder in her pack. She gave the city a long last look before walking down the old dock in search of the road beyond.
END
Michael Merriam is a science fiction and fantasy writer, role-playing game designer, and poet. He lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota with his wife and cat. He is a semi-finalist in the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of The Future Contest, and a member of both the Online Writers Workshop and the Twin CitiesSpeculative Fiction Meetup Group. Visit his website
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