The Prince

Damien I: Chapter 2

Chapter 2





Again they found themselves hiding.  A pair of barrels this time, Damien and Twitch kept as still as they could.





Deep in the Meridian now, they were close to the street that was the district’s namesake.  Lined with the parlors of Tattoo Artists, they had yet to cross it.  And it had not been for fear of the magical symbols the Artists inscribed upon human flesh; no, Damien had long since dissuaded his friends of that particular notion of the criminal consciousness.  Simply, they had been unable to reach it.





The long run beginning to toll on the boys, Damien and Twitch had been forced to find refuge in a small market square just a block north of the Meridian.  All five of them now searching the square, they had not yet come to the spot where the boys were hiding.  Praying to heaven like he had never prayed before, Damien hoped they could sneak out and double back down the way they’d come.  If they could just cross the Meridian they would soon find better hiding places.





Tapping Twitch on the shoulder, Damien jerked his chin.  The first to turn, he almost ran into a guardsman’s high boots as he rose from a crouch.





Screaming despite himself, Damien fell back.  Raising a hand over his face, he waited for the blow to fall.  Instead all that he received was a laugh.





“Damien?  Damien Bynae?” said the guard.  “I can’t believe it!  Is that really you boy?”





Lowering his hand a little Damien looked at the guard.  Longer, grayer hair than he remembered, but it was still the same Erich he remembered.  “E-Erich?” he stuttered.  “Wha-what are you doing here?”





“Me?” said the man, laughing.  “It should be me who’s asking you.  I’m a guard, remember?”  Sticking out a hand, he pulled Damien to his feet.  His voice rising with excitement, Erich said, “How’ve you been, boy?  We’ve all been worried sick over you.  Good Lord, the boys will sure be glad when I tell them I’ve seen you.  Heck, so will I; half of them didn’t think you’d last the winter and now they owe me money.  Always said you were a survivor Damien and, what do you know, you are!  How’ve you been?”





Slowly the other guards were gathering.  Much younger than Erich, none of them looked to be older than twenty-five.  He knew none of them.  In the middle of them all, Twitch at his side, Damien glanced nervously around the tightening circle.  Could Erich, would Erich, get them out of this?  He was a lieutenant; would his evident fondness for him superseded his sense of duty, of honor?  There was only one way to know.





Smiling, Damien assumed an air of light heartedness.  “Well, you know, I’ve been alright.  Doing for myself before others can do for me.”  He paused to laugh.  “I’m doing good Erich.  How ‘bout yourself?  A guard you say?  I never knew.”





Erich guffawing, he rolled his eyes.  “Same old Damien.  Funny as hell.”  A broad smile on his lips, Erich shook his head.





“Uh, sir,” said one of the other guards.  “Don’t you think we should be questioning these boys?  I mean, it is rather late for them to be out and…well, uh…”  The man voice fell off under Erich’s gaze.





“We, we were chasing them,” said a second guard.  Erich staring at him, the guard swallowed.  “Sir.”





Looking around at the other men in the patrol Damien saw them all nodding.  There was even some muttering and shuffling of feet.  With a sigh Erich nodded to them.  The others quieting, their lieutenant said, “Alright boys, you know I’ve got to ask.  What are you doing out so late?”





“Uh…,” said Twitch, opening his mouth for the first time as Erich looked at him directly.





“Returning home from work,” said Damien.  The lie forming in his mind in an instant, he just let it roll off his tongue.  “You know, some of the bakers around the city like their grain freshly milled whenever they can get it.  So our employer, he gets us up just around sundown and,” he gave a slightly exaggerated shrug, “you know.”





“Millers,” said one of the guards.  “You two?”





“Yeah,” said Twitch.  He took a step towards the guard.  “Somethin’ wrong with that?”





Laughing, the guard raised his hands, palms out.  “No, no, nothing wrong with it, nothing at all.  Just, you’re rather dirty for a miller, ain’t you?”





“Milling’s a dirtier job than you’d expect,” Damien answered quickly.  He laid a hand on Twitch’s shoulder, gripping it firmly but in what he hoped appeared to be a brotherly fashion.  He prayed Twitch would get the signal.  With him and Feather though, you just never knew.





Twitch glanced up at him however, saw him grinning at the guards, and took a step back.  “Yeah, real dirty,” he said.





“How odd,” said yet another guard.  “Those millers I know, they never seem to be very dirty.  Now why do you think that is?”





“They change before they leave work?” said Twitch.





If Twitch had expected a laugh then he was sorely disappointed.  The five guardsmen just staring at them, Damien prepared himself for the worst.





“Hold, hold!” said Erich suddenly.  Stepping forward, he interposed himself between the boys and his men.  “If Damien says he’s a miller then I believe him.  He’s never lied to me before and I’ve known him for a long time.  Longer than any of you, I might add.”  The men muttering again, Erich turned to Damien.  Placing a hand on his shoulder he said, “I’m glad you survived Damien.  I was down on my knees every week in the Chapel praying that you would.  Glad, too, that you’ve found a profession.  And a good one at that!”





Damien ran a hand through his hair.  “Yeah, well.”





Rising, Erich smiled.  “Tell you what, come down to The Boots sometime.  Me and the boys drink there you know.  They’d love to see you again.  Not to mention the chance to see their old lieutenant lose at Tiles to a mere boy.”





Once again Damien laughed.  “Well, I am a bit out of practice these days.”





“Really?” asked Erich, astonished.  “You?  Well, I’ve learned a thing or two since we last played so maybe, just maybe, the combination of the two will give me a fighting chance.  Eh?  What do you say, Damien?  Come down to the tavern sometime?  Give this old dog a run for his money?”





Laughing once again, Damien agreed.  It would be good to see his old friends, and to play Tiles again…  “Yes, I’ll definitely come.  I don’t know when, but, I will come.”





“Good!  Glad to hear it.  Come by round, oh say, three hours after sunset.  That’s when that lads and I usually get together.”





“Just before the shift change?  Sure, I can do that.”





“Great, well, I guess I’ll see you there.”





“Yeah, see you there.”





Erich making way for them, Damien led Twitch between the guardsmen.  “What?  We’re letting them go?  Just like that?”





Already halfway across the small square Damien called over his shoulder, “See you later Erich!”





“Bye Damien!”





“But sir!”  The sound of the younger guardsmen’s complaints followed them as the two boys turned back onto the main street.  Glancing down at Twitch, Damien couldn’t keep the grin from his face.  They rounded a corner then, and were lost from the guards’ sights.





“Whew, that was close!” said Twitch.





“Shh,” whispered Damien.  “Keep your voice down.  We’re still in earshot.”





They were halfway to the end of the block when they heard the crunch of snow behind them.  Stopping, they turned to see Erich running up to them.  “I almost forgot,” said the guard when he reached them.  “The Marshal has a letter for you.”





“A letter?” asked Damien.





“Yeah.  Rumor is that when they cleaned out you and your father’s quarters, they found a letter tucked away in that big desk your old man had.  From what I hear, it’s addressed to you.”





Damien felt cold.  The warmth of his run having long since faded, it had been replaced by that warm feeling of meeting an old friend.  But now, all that was gone.  A distant memory.  The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck growing stiff as goose bumps spread over his skin from head to toe, the feelings he was experiencing had nothing to do with the weather.





A letter?  Addressed to him?  It could only be from one person.  And the Marshal had kept it this entire year?  With him, in his personal custody?





An anger Damien had not felt in many months now crept into his heart.  Like a fire had been kindled, he was warm again, the heat of his anger spreading through him in an instant.





“A letter,” he said again.  His fists clenched at his sides, Damien struggled to control himself.  He had no right.  No right to keep that from him.





“That’s what I just said,” said Erich.  “Damien, are you alright?”





“I, I’m fine.  Why, why wouldn’t I be?”





“You sure?  You just look, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”





Looking down, Damien shook his head.  “No.  I haven’t.”





“Sure?”





“Yes.”





“Alright, well, just thought I’d let you know.  You can go pick it up whenever you want.  I’m sure the Marshal would be happy to see you.”





“Yeah.  The Marshal.”





Still not looking at his old friend, Damien nevertheless felt Erich’s eyes on him.  “Well, I’d better get going,” the lieutenant said after a minute.  “My men, they’re waiting for me.  See you at The Boots, Damien.”





“See you.”





Parting for the second time, Damien followed Twitch back to the apartment they shared with Sticks and Feather.  And though the younger boy tried to talk to him, Damien refused to speak the entire way home.