Chapter 4. The Orphan

awn’s bleary gray light had barely seeped through the heavy clouds when the child emerged rat-like from an abandoned building and began prodding through a pile of junk that had fallen off of a passing cart.  The boy shoved something into his mouth, shivering as he chewed the noisome morsel.  His head jerked up at the approaching tramp of booted feet and he dodged nimbly into a shadowy doorway.  He was wrapped in filthy layers of ragged clothes, much of it too large for him.  The biting cold of the city had made every available scrap of material necessary for his survival.  He was gaunt and anxious as a whipped dog.  Crescent Blade felt a small pang of pity for him.  No doubt he was yet another orphan of the plague.

Her concern, however, was not with the child, but with the small contingent of men that had driven the boy to take cover.  Master Bei Zhou An, her new assignment, went nowhere alone; a wise move given his position but an inconvenience given her job.  She had followed them from the gate of the Order of the Crystal Palm guild compound.  She already knew a great deal about him, his dossier was strewn upon her desk.  By all accounts, a decent human being, but regarded as a threat.  It was going to be one of those jobs.

Today he was clad in a long black great coat with a high fur-trimmed collar to keep the wind off of his cravat-wrapped throat.  A gleaming silver cane with a pulsing green gem on its crown was clutched in his right hand.  Bei was believed to be in his forties, but he had an ageless face and could have passed for a man nearly half his age.  He was of average build, but he was striking.  His golden features were warm and slightly feline.  His short black hair was the luster of polished obsidian and his mouth had the faintest whisper of a smile upon it.  Graceful in his bearing, he moved with authority and confidence, leading naturally without need of intimidation.

Walking behind his right shoulder was a younger man, a Tyrian dressed in similar attire.  His pale cheeks and enormous nose were flushed red by the chill wind that sliced down the tangle of alleys.  A battered rapier was belted in a newer scabbard at his waist.  He would be the new adept that had scandalized the Ministry of Air.  They believed Master Bei risked sharing dangerous Canthan magical secrets with a foreign power.  Of course, Crescent Blade knew that was ridiculous.  Tyria could hardly be considered a power let alone a threat.  She studied the fox-haired barbarian.  He seemed alert and protective of his master.  She would need to do more research on him.

That left the three warriors that strode boldly behind the two mesmers.  They wore the striking white cloak of the Crystal Palm with is iridescent symbol of an open hand.  The three of them were clad in gleaming silver shirts of embossed scale armor and graceful plates that protected their limbs.  Two bore swords in their scabbards while the larger of the three had an ornate single-edged axe at his side.  Pearlescent shields ornamented with the symbol of their guild were slung at their left shoulders.  By all accounts, Master Bei had a very loyal household and his guild members were widely respected for their prowess in battle.

Master Bei did not travel unprotected and that meant he knew he was hunted.  That would make her job exceedingly difficult.  It might take months.  She might even have to resort to poison.

The small contingent stopped at the shadowy doorway as Master Bei raised a gloved hand and gazed into the darkness beyond the rickety portal.  Crescent Blade crept closer.  She could see the elaborate black silk brocade that ornamented his winter coat.  The barbarian apprentice backed away, scanning the narrow icy street cautiously as Master Bei moved closer to the opening.

“Do not be afraid, little one,” he said softly and Crescent Blade felt the familiar tingling of mesmeric energies as he projected calm and friendliness, “Surely you are cold and hungry.  Let me take you to a safe place.”

“Go away.”

“Follow us and we will guide you to a new home.  There will be a warm place to sleep and other children so you will not be alone any more.  If you do not like it, you can run away at any time.”

Master Bei waited for a few moments, and then nodded to his apprentice and the warriors before moving on.  They marched up the icy street, turning north toward a less squalid section of the district.  She was just about to leave the deep shadows of her own doorway when the boy emerged and trotted after them.  His grim little face was set with wary determination as he contrived to tail them unseen like a little jackal.

He said nothing, neither calling out nor complaining when the pace of Master Bei’s contingent proved tiring for his weakened state.  Crescent Blade slowed her pace, concealing herself when the boy paused to catch his breath and pitying him as he wheezed and coughed in the chill morning air.  They wound through the city in a seemingly aimless fashion, crossing a rickety bridge and at last approaching a large house at the end of an alley.

It was the typical domicile of a large wealthy family.  There was a wide gate piercing the white-washed walls, but all doors and windows were turned inward to a paved courtyard with a stand of now leafless trees at its center.  The screened gate had a bell outside of it, but it did not conceal the gathering of children within the yard who were screaming mischievously and chasing one other with fistfuls of snow.

“Pull the bell and ask for a place to stay.  You will not be refused,” Master Bei said when his retinue had come to a halt beside him.  The boy stood out of reach gazing suspiciously back at him.  His dark eyes flitted toward the gate like a starving dog that had caught sight of a bone.  He seemed impossibly small now, his resolve melting and his true age and vulnerability seeping through the mask of grime on his face.  The child could not be much more than seven years old.  It was a wonder he had survived.

Master Bei nodded politely to the boy, and then looked away, his hand resting upon the shoulder of his apprentice as if to guide the foreigner away from something painful.  She ducked quickly into a doorway as they came toward her, resuming their errand without looking back at the child.  The fox-haired adept dried tears from his face with the back of his gloved hand.

“Do not be sad.  That child is no longer alone in the world, and neither are you.”

“I do not understand, Zhou,” the barbarian replied, his Canthan thick with a Tyrian burr.

“I know, but one day you will, my soft-hearted friend.”

“Eat dawn food now talk,” the foreigner barked with a faint tone of annoyance.  Crescent Blade could not help but laugh to herself at his clumsy manner of speech.  The three warriors chuckled behind him and he blushed crimson.

“We will have breakfast soon, Peng Ren. Be patient.”