Chapter 2 – Home

I happily left Carlos and his disgusting cigarette behind me. I hated cigarette smoke. The smell got into my nose and wouldn’t leave. Still, I had coin in hand, and it was enough to feed me for a few days.

I didn’t steal more than I needed to. One good grab every few days and I’d lay low, work on my skills for a few days, try to improve the ones I already had or learn a new one. They say the more skills you have, the more options you have on Job Day. No one had ever proven that to be true to the best of my knowledge or if they had, they weren’t sharing it with the rest of the world.

Anyway, I’d been on the receiving end of that smoke too often to not know my way home even with my sense of smell compromised. I knew the path well and knew what to listen for.

As I meandered toward home, I stayed out of people’s way as they went about their business, though I made sure to greet certain people as I passed.

I waved as I passed Mr. Zapata’s food cart, which was painted red and green with his food displayed as if it was a carnival feast. The scent of fried meat and onions wafted in the air and made my stomach growl. Mr. Zapata served the best zincian noodles in town and he'd been kind enough to give me a small serving one day last winter when I'd been so low on coin that I'd nearly starved to death. The noodles came with a sauce that was sweet and salty, and tasted of cherries, peppers and chocolate. I recalled the way the meat melted in my mouth. It tasted of a fishy brine with hints of onions and mussels. I longed to possibly learn how to cook something like that one day.

As I moved further down the street, the smell of soapy water and fresh linens let me know I was almost home. A minute later I was walking under clotheslines and calling out a greeting, “Evening, Miss Renata,” I said to the old washer woman, an otter-folk. She was a Washer, which was her Job. At her age, she’d most likely mastered the skill Laundry and a host of other related skills, like Ironing or something. Anyway, she’d occasionally give me old or damaged clothes that her clients didn’t need anymore. I made sure I stayed on her good side.

Miss Renata gave me a disapproving look as she stood from her wash basin and shook her arms free of soapy water. “You look mighty pleased with yourself. I take it you had a good evening?”

I knew she didn’t approve of what I did to survive, but I didn’t have the skills to do anything else. “I’ll be able to eat for a few days.”

Her disapproving look morphed into one of sadness. Worry in her voice, she asked, “No one got hurt?”

I shook my head, “No, Miss Renata, I don’t hurt people. You know that.” It wasn’t a lie. I didn’t directly hurt anyone. The beating that boy probably took from his master . . . well, better him than me.

Seemingly satisfied, she sighed and continued, “Alright, you be sure to come by for a bath this week. You’re looking awfully dirty.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied quickly, grateful for the chance to get clean.

“Go on, get your food before someone else does,” she said, shooing me away.

Two blocks later, I ducked into another alley and knocked on the back door of the bakery, three times then two more.

“Who is it?” I heard Joaquin call from inside.

“It’s me,” I replied with a frown. Joaquin knew I’m the only one that knocked like that on the back door of the bakery. He should have known it was me just from the rhythm and power of the knock. Then I reminded myself, not everyone saw the world the same way I did, cataloguing every sound they heard and scent they smelled.

The door opened and Joaquin nervously peeked out; the beaver-folk were known for their nervousness, and also for being great builders. Yet surprisingly, Joaquin and his mother ran a bakery. The bread was cheap, and the leftovers even cheaper. 

I held out one of the cold iron coins for Joaquin to take. The coin was taken from my hand and Joaquin inspected it to make sure it was real. It was almost insulting as I’d never given him reason to doubt me in the past. Still, the beaverboy nodded, the coin disappeared, and a small sack of misshapen bread found its way into my hands.

“Thanks,” I said, giving him a small nod, but he was already closing the door. 

I sighed. It was clear Joaquin was still in a slump over his Job. I don’t know why he thought he’d get Builder on his Job Day. He’d never worked on a building project, and didn’t have any building skills as far as I knew. It wasn’t like his father was around to teach him any either. Mr. Ortiz, Joaquin’s father, died in a building collapse years ago. It was sad, but Joaquin had aunts and uncles that were Builders. He could have learned from any of them if he really wanted to. Instead, he stayed at his mother’s side, helping with the bakery, getting skills related to the Baker Job. Anyone could have told him that would happen. I know I tried to tell him.

I opened the bag and smiled. There were six misshapen loaves. That was a big score for me considering they usually only had a couple. I wouldn’t need to steal for almost a week. I just hoped the queseria was as generous with their cheese.

They weren’t. I got three days’ worth of cheese for another iron coin. That left me with enough coins to pay for my sleeping spot in the orphanage basement. I even had two coins to spare which I usually tried to save. Every time I stole, I tried to make sure to save part of it. If I ever got hurt or sick, I would need it to pay for a medic. I would have loved to say I had enough saved to pay for a doctor, or better yet, a healer, but they were so much more expensive. The point was, if I wanted to save my leftover coins, I would need to steal again in three days. However, if I saved just one and bought more cheese in three days, I would be able to train for almost a week straight. That would be enough time to learn two or three Basic Skills or one Common Skill, or possibly, although extremely unlikely, improve a skill to Intermediate Rank. Unsure what to do, I decided I wouldn’t worry about it until I needed to get more cheese.

While I would have loved to buy some beast meat to go with my bread and cheese, I just couldn’t afford it. Meat was a luxury. The wolf-folk ate it all the time, so did the pig-folk and cattle-folk. In fact, most wealthy . . . or at least non-poor folk ate meat regularly. I was one of the poor folk. I didn’t get meat, at least, not with any regularity. Once in a great while, I’d steal some jerky but that was a rare occurrence, not because it wasn’t easy to do, but because I did not want to get on the bad side of the Blacktooth Butchery. If you crossed them, you were crossing the wolf-folk, and nobody with any kind of brain was stupid enough to do that.

I had my food and didn’t need anything else, so I made my way home. My home was not a place of warmth and caring, not like the orphanage proper. The basement had become a refuge for those of us without any Common Skills that would earn us money. We weren’t there to be cared for, rather, we were expected to find our own way - to steal, to beg, or whatever else it took to survive. Those who were wise enough would try and hide any Skill they developed as long as possible - if it became known, they would be forced to pay an exorbitant rent to live upstairs. For the rest of us, we were stuck in the basement, paying for the patchwork blankets and basic shelter.

It wasn’t all bad though. The orphanage was a safe haven of sorts, I could come and go as I pleased and had shelter from the weather. Street kids saw it as neutral ground, meaning no fighting or stealing while there. If there were fights, they were kept outside, and that was enforced by the older kids, including me.

Though, I will admit, most of the street kids didn’t take me seriously, but I still enforced the rules. I dealt with pickpockets by subtly stealing back their stolen items and returning them to their rightful owners. It frustrated thieves and amused the other older kids, even if they didn't know it was me.

The orphanage also served as a temple, though not a very nice one. I once asked the Gods to bring my mother back, but they didn't help. I yelled at the priest and was asked to leave. After that, I never bothered with the Gods. Besides, I had no interest in becoming a Priest--once you joined, you were there for life. No, thank you; I wasn't desperate enough.

I passed the temple and walked around to the east end of the block. There was a stairway next to a coal chute. It led into the basement, or rather, an underground walkway that connected to the orphanage basement and the basements of the buildings that shared the block.

I smelled Ms. Rodriguez, a fox-folk, as soon as I got into the underground passage. She smelled clean except for a hint of rosewater that she bathed with. It was always there and always subtle. For a Priestess of Casa the Caregiver, it was quite the indulgence when her order was supposed to give up all worldly possessions in service to those in need. Her scent was coming from the door to the basement. I heard her demanding coin from each street kid that passed. It seemed rent was due.

I also heard and smelled Pedro standing in front of the woman. I could feel his anger and frustration as he said with a raised voice, “You’re five days early, you old shrew!”

“Are you saying you do not wish to donate to the poor innocents above? Are you willing to allow little Luisa to perish to her fever because we need the funds sooner than you expected? How selfish of you! Casa the Caregiver has already given you so much and this is how you repay her?” Ms. Rodriguez was laying it on pretty thick.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Pedro said, his scent changing slightly. I could smell his embarrassment. 

“We’re at war you know? Every day the orphanage has more and more mouths to feed,” Luisa continued preaching, needling the boy further. “We all must do our part to help our great Aulidoan Empire win this war with the repugnant lion-folk of Rugir.”

“Of course I want to do my part, but I still need to eat,” Pedro tried to protest.

Luisa tutted, “Would you say such a thing to Emperor Lobo? I think not. Why, such a statement could be considered treason.”

I knew the priestess was laying it on a little thick, I had heard more than one Priest or Priestess bad-mouth the emperor, but Pedro wasn’t the smartest street kid.

“I just . . . I just—” the rat-folk boy protested weakly before he eventually gave up and sighed. With a grunt of annoyance, he handed over a couple of iron coins.

Once Pedro had gone inside, it was my turn. I could have pointed out the rosewater scent and probably gotten away without paying. I also knew the medic would treat Luisa for free, which meant this was probably a scam, or maybe just a way to squeeze a little more money out of us, but I still paid her. I made it a point to never rock the boat with the Priests and Priestesses that ran the temple and the orphanage. I’d seen more than one street kid find themselves without someplace safe to sleep. I’d even seen a few of their bodies in the streets. No, I felt it best to not get on their wrong side at all.

I held out three iron coins. Ms. Rodriguez took them with a forced smile, and I went inside without saying a word. The basement of the church was cold and grey, but at least it was dry.

I picked my way past the twenty or so street kids who were either in the process of settling down or were already asleep. Having been here long enough, I was one of the oldest street kids and it meant I had a prime spot to call my own. A corner, not just any corner, but the corner that had one of the few lamps hanging above it. Thankfully, the orphanage provided that much to all of us.

My corner had my blanket and a few other knick-knacks I’d managed to scavenge over the years. They were mostly threadbare, but they provided some cushion against the hard packed dirt floor. There was also my trunk. Someone had thrown out a perfectly good foot trunk. It was worn and faded but still perfectly functional. Even the lock worked, which made me smile as I thought about that. That lock without a key. It was one of my most prized possessions. It was how I learned the Lockpicking skill. I never had cause to use the skill, but I might someday. It was considered an Uncommon Skill, same as Stealth.

I picked the lock on the trunk and lifted the lid. I set the sack with my food inside, taking out one of the misshapen loaves and a chunk of the cheese. I broke the loaf in half and put one half back in the bag, it would be my breakfast tomorrow. I also pulled out my book. It was worn with age and use. I tried to read the book just about every night.

I smelled dirt and heard the grumble of a belly before I saw a young mouseboy staring at me and my trunk. He was dirty and his clothes hung loose on his frame, speaking to his hunger. Not sure if the young kin was angling for my food or something else, I quickly closed the trunk lid and relocked it.

“What’s that?” the dirty mouseboy asked, pointing at my trunk.

“It’s my trunk,” I answered, still suspicious of the child. He looked a little too young to have been shunted out of the orphanage.

The mouseboy shook his head, “No, I mean . . . how did you open it? Was that a skill?”

I nodded slowly, not sure what he was angling for.

“Can you teach me?” he asked.

I considered it. I could always use more coin, but I had a concern. “Why do you want to learn Lockpicking? It’s an Uncommon Rank skill. It’ll be expensive for me to teach you.”

“I heard you need it to become a Burglar,” the mouseboy answered and then asked, “How much?”

Skills were not cheap. Among the orphans, a Basic skill would cost you five iron coins. A Common skill started at ten iron coins and went up depending on difficulty. Uncommon skill started at twenty-five iron coins. Higher rank than that, who knew? Given I would be teaching him Lockpicking using my own trunk, giving him access to it, “Fifty iron coins.”

The mouseboy’s face fell. “I don’t have that. I can give you . . . five?”

I sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Paco, but everyone calls me Taco,” the mouseboy answered, looking hopeful.

I felt bad to have to explain this to him. He was obviously young and hadn’t learned the ropes yet. “Listen, Uncommon skills are hard to come by. They take a long time to learn too, maybe not as long with a teacher but still a long time. If I’m teaching you, I won’t be working. If I’m not working, I’m not earning. And if I’m not earning, I’m not eating. That cost is part of the fee. There are also supplies. You also need a set of lock picks that costs ten iron coins all on its own.”

Taco looked crestfallen and I felt for him, but life was hard for us. He needed to learn that sooner rather than later. “Can I give you some advice?”

Taco looked up at me and nodded. “Start by learning Hide if you haven’t already. Once you’ve got that, go talk to Luciano about learning Pickpocketing. It will cost you ten iron coins for a week of training. It will fill your belly if you can manage it. For now, join the beggars outside the orphanage if you want to live long enough to accomplish that.”

Taco frowned at me and looked ready to protest but I spoke before he could, “Lose your pride. There is no shame in begging. Not when survival is on the line.” I never liked begging either, but until you had the skills you needed to survive, a kin did what a kin had to do.

The mouseboy huffed and stormed off. The irony was he was too proud to beg in the streets, but he seemed to have no problem begging for help from the other street kids.

As soon as he was out of sight, I opened up the book in my lap. ‘The Land of the Kin’ was a children's book. The big letters should have made it easier to read, but I still had a hard time making out the words. I wasn’t stupid – at least, I didn’t think so – my Myopia was just getting in the way. Night after night, I opened up the book and tried to read it, even though I knew every single word of it by heart. I had heard my mother read it to me many times before she passed away, or at least that’s what I thought she had done. My memories of her were blurry and hazy and all that remained was her scent: lavender, grape, and honey. 

I hoped that reading and the ability to learn from books would be the key to me getting out of the orphanage one day and fought against the worry that I would never learn to skill, even as the candle flickered out above me. I reluctantly placed the book in its resting place next to my mother's precious pendant. As I shut the trunk tight, I felt a strange pull towards the blanket and pillow on my bed and pondered what kind of dream the God Sueño had waiting for me in dreamland.