“You know, I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Shwaan smiled easily, catching the boy’s wrist between his fingers moments before he had fully withdrawn the tourist’s purse from her handbag. “That’s not very nice, is it?”

The boy stumbled, jerking backwards and trying to pull his hand away from Shwaan’s grip. His eyes widened with an almost manic desperation as he jerked violently in the Aeriel’s hold in a futile attempt to free himself. The boy was skinny, almost to the point of malnutrition, and he appeared to be small for his age – not that Shwaan knew what his age was, of course. Had he been human, the thrashing might have been a minor inconvenience to him. As it was, he held the boy with the ease of a child holding a particularly recalcitrant butterfly.

“You’re going to break something if you keep that up,” Shwaan informed him in the tone of one commenting on the weather. When that did not yield the desired result, he sighed. “Take a breath. Calm down. Really, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

The boy was trembling, and his eyes looked like they would pop out of his skull any minute now. After a few more seconds of violent jerking, his movements subsided to a more half-hearted wriggling as he gasped, defeated: “Look mister. Just-just let me go, okay? I will’na try ’nything, I swear. Y-you can have all my money, all of it! Just let me go. Don’t take me to the cops. Please, man. I din’na even take any of her money, you know that. I’ll gi-give you everything I have, I swear it on me life.”

Shwaan frowned, dropping to his knees in front of the boy. He loosened his grip on his captive’s wrist, but not enough to allow him to flee. All around them, tourists in various stages of inebriation turned to look at the pair as if they were aliens duking it out in the middle of the sidewalk. Of course, in Shwaan’s case, they weren’t that far off the mark.

“What’s your name?” he asked the boy, who looked at Shwaan as if he had grown a second head. Shwaan let out an annoyed huff, holding a chocolate donut out to the young man. “I am not going to take you to the police, and I don’t want your money. Plus, you can’t leave unless I want you to. So you might as well make it easier on yourself and just answer the question. It can’t be that hard to pronounce your own name.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

After a few more seconds of staring disbelievingly at his captor’s face, the boy seemed finally to come to a decision. Reaching out with his free hand, he snagged the donut, shoving the whole thing into his mouth at once. This was followed by another few seconds of silence as the boy chewed on the confection while peering suspiciously at Shwaan.

“Biskut,” he said finally, squinting at his companion through narrowed eyes as if daring him to challenge that statement.

At the latter’s elevated eyebrow, he snapped irritably: “You asked for me name, didn’ya?”

“Ah, forgive me. That’s a rather…unusual name.” At the boy’s enraged glare, Shwaan held out another donut – a peace offering. “It’s a good one, don’t get me wrong. Sounds a bit like a ‘biscuit’, is all.”

The boy shrugged, munching on his new donut, this one covered with pink icing. His struggles had subsided to nothing more than the occasional twitch of long, bony fingers. “I liked ’em as a kid.”

“Biscuits?”

He nodded, shaggy brown hair falling over his eyes like a ragged curtain drawn over vibrant dark gemstones. “So me mum just called me Biskut, ’cause I liked ’em as a kid.”

“Makes sense,” agreed Shwaan. “Do you still like them?”

Licking grubby fingers clean of pink icing, the boy grunted. “Sure.”

Rising to his feet, Shwaan tugged lightly at the boy’s hand before finally releasing his prisoner. “Okay. You can go now, if you want. I won’t stop you. Or,” he said, looking conspiratorially around them as if to ensure secrecy. “We could make a deal.”

The boy – Biskut – looked conflicted, one foot extended away from the Aeriel like a deer preparing to bolt, while the other wavered uncertainly, still on the pavement. “Yer a foreigner,” he said eventually, his tone accusatory.

“I am,” Shwaan admitted with appropriate contrition.

“What kind of a deal d’you wanna make?”

The Aeriel shrugged. “Some information. In exchange for a month’s supply of the best biscuits available in this town.”

“Okay…” the boy said, his tone suggesting he expected a catch. Nothing could really be that easy.

“Okay,” agreed Shwaan, turning on his heel. “Lead the way to the best biscuit shop you know of. I’d like to see what this town has to offer. On the way, you can tell me about the body they found in the river the day before yesterday.”