“5 circlings?” Roderick retracted his hand. “For a loaf of bread?”
“You heard me.” The little old woman dug her right heel into the dirt. She stood beside a trade stall with rotting vegetables and a few sacks of flour. Frazzled gray hair rose from a wrinkled forehead. One of three merchants left in the town square of Berani, the old woman looked as disheveled as her counterparts: a man wearing a torn jacket and toeless boots peddling bows, arrows, and broomsticks, and an even older lady, well-groomed, wearing a blue dress, sitting in the back of her wagon stacked with firewood.
“I don’t have five silvers.” Roderick stuffed a single circling into his coin purse, then tucked both thumbs beneath his belt.
The vendor’s face changed from a mean scowl to one of teary-eyed desperation. “Would you like an onion?” She plucked a half-black bulb from her stall. “One-half is still good! Chop it up and put it in a stew. Only one silver circling for an onion.”
“You might sell something if it wasn’t so expensive,” Roderick said. “I know food is scarce, but money is, too.” His eyes scanned a toppled brick building turned to ruin. The gleaming iron ball of a dwarven mortar lay embedded in the rubble a few feet from where he stood. “People are starving.”
“You weren’t here when Count Constantine and Count Bascuano fought,” the old woman said. Her shoulders slumped despite a proud chin and wrinkled nose rising high in the air. “I was. My grandsons died volunteering as pack mules for Bascuano’s train.” The old vendor pointed a crooked finger across the open plaza at a two-story building with a collapsed roof. “I was born in that house. Married my husband right there.” She pointed at the center of the square. “People are starving.” She laughed. “I give away everything I can spare. What little I keep for myself isn’t enough to pay my taxes. What would you have me do?”
Roderick withdrew his thumbs and walked to the vendor’s stall, picking through her selection. “I’ve seen plenty of refugees. Can’t say I blame you for staying where there are familiar faces.” Roderick plucked up a spotted potato, but its hair-like growths dissuaded him.
“It’s a miracle I can return home each evening,” she said. “Constantine nearly destroyed our town, but Duke Ambrose will make it right. He’s a good man. The Duke was going to build a school here. I was thinking about sending my grandsons.” Gray eyes grew distant. She blinked several times before refocusing and walking around her stall, standing opposite Roderick. “Can you imagine a school out here in Berani?”
“The Castellians have public schools,” Roderick said. “It’s not impossible.”
“Ambrose is the type of man who does what he says he’s going to do.” The woman crossed her arms and looked rather pleased.
Roderick stepped away from the stall. His stomach growled. I need money and food. He looked around the desolate town square. The other two vendors stood by their wares, staring at the only customer in sight—him. “Is there any work to be had? Rebuilding or handiwork?”
“Why don’t you put that sword to use?” The vendor pointed at a rounded pommel protruding behind his head. Roderick tucked the pommel of his poorly hidden rapier beneath the hood of his cloak. “That’s where all the money is these days. Ask Mayor Rosati. Don’t get your hopes up, though. You’ll find the Mayor at his house.” Tired eyes moved to the ruinous pile of rubble beside them. “Constantine demolished Town Hall with his cannons. It took him less than an hour to destroy everything. And for what?”
Roderick nodded. “I will pray for you.”
“Pray to Tachyl or the Four Winds,” the old vendor spoke through grinding teeth. “I can still hear the Burgundians singing: west we march, for king and country! Hail Alexander!” She shook her head. “Their songs foretell war and death. Pure evil. Don’t utter my name in association with that abomination.”
The Order’s wars are turning people against it. Roderick nodded. “Good fortune to you.” He crossed the town square, passed between two brick buildings, and followed a wide street. There was no traffic. When Burgundia lost control of this territory, the Holy Order did, too. Beggars and homeless loitered on every corner, in every alley. They stood in groups, staring blankly at the ground or the sky, shivering beneath tattered clothes. Every structure missed chunks of its roof or walls. Rubble sat stacked in neat little piles. They spent centuries organizing missionaries and pilgrimages and founding monasteries. And they’re going to lose it all. A man lay in an alley, back leaning against one building, dead eyes boring a hole into the other. His mouth hung unhinged, but there were no clouds of breath in the cold or falls of his chest beneath his blanket. If I hang around here much longer, I may starve to death, too.
Something shrieked bloody murder behind. Roderick spun to watch a red chicken round a curve and run down the thoroughfare with wings spread wide. Two homeless men darted into the road, chasing the frantic hen.
Horse hooves thundered against the cobbles.
About twenty riders emerged around the bend in the road. They halted their steeds to laugh at the starving men, who rolled through the street, wrestling over the bird. One rider carried a red banner bearing a black hog’s head. At the helm of the company, sporting a sharp goatee and a golden ring in his left ear, a man dismounted. His cuirass rattled against the chainmail beneath. The mercenary marched over to the wrestling refugees and pulled them apart. He punched one in the face, knocking the poor man unconscious. Then he jerked the chicken from the other man’s hands and held it high. “The Gore Boars are requisitioning this chicken! We thank you.” He bowed.
The man who’d lost his chicken cast his eyes to the ground and balled his hands into fists. He turned and walked back to the warmth of a roadside fire.
Looking very proud of himself, the mercenary handed the chicken to a big soldier holding a crossbow, who tossed it at the rider behind him. “Hold on to it this time.” The chicken flapped and scratched until subdued. “Tell your neighbors we’re here to collect our dues!” The mercenary climbed onto his horse. The riders galloped past, casting suspicious glances at Roderick, who kept his eyes on the ground. They headed toward the Mayor’s house. Roderick groaned.
The well-groomed mercenary and his company dismounted in front of a small two-story manor with a tiled roof and a broken marble column decorating its porch. Roderick watched from an alley as their leader approached the Mayor’s door and jerked it open. “Rosati!” the man yelled.
There was a slight commotion—probably an upset servant—before a plump little man burst out of the door with two eyes as wide as dinner plates. “What do you want, Ronaldo? What more could you want? The Black Company took what the Burgundians didn’t. There’s nothing left for your band of unpleasant men! Begone with you!”
“We are owed the same respect and cooperation as the Black Company,” Ronaldo said.
“You were here last week!” the fat man’s jowls shook as he cried.
Ronaldo and his company laughed. “We’re out there fighting off bandits.” He drew a cavalry saber from his side and whirled its blade through the air. The mercenaries clapped, whistled, and cheered for their captain. Ronaldo sheathed the sword. “We need food to maintain our strength to keep up the good fight.” He shrugged with arms spread wide. “What do you think, men? Do you think it’s fair?”
Every man shook his head and grumbled with displeasure. “I don’t!” The big man with a crossbow shouted. “Where’s the Black Company now?”
“In Caliacra! With Bascuano!” Ronaldo’s sly eyes turned to the little Mayor, whose trembling face was burning bright red. “If you don’t feed us, who will protect you from the bandits and the Burgundians? There’s no one else!”
“Twenty thousand of the Duke’s best men couldn’t stop the Burgundians from turning our town to ash!” Mayor Rosati stomped his right foot into the ground. “Leave!”
Ronaldo stepped forward and placed a hand on the Mayor’s shoulder. “You don’t have the authority to deny me.” The captain jumped into his horse’s saddle and wheeled the beast around with a tug of its reins. “Take what you can carry!” He shouted. “Kill any who resist you. That is the decree of Duke Ambrose of Milanis Duchy, of whom I have signed a contract! Not Mayor Rosati!” Ronaldo spit on the ground.
The riders split into three groups of six men who galloped through the town, shouting and swinging their weapons overhead. Refugees and beggars scattered into the alleys, as did Roderick. He ran to the outskirts of town and took shelter in an empty stable. Inside, he turned invisible using his magical cloak and then jumped through a hole in the roof. Roderick leaped from rooftop to rooftop, watching the Gore Boars ransack Berani: robbing the vendors in the town square, breaking into homes, even smashing windows, and breaking into businesses, such as the local smithy, which Roderick assumed no official contract would condone.
Do these men work for the Duke? Roderick crouched on top of the remnants of an apartment building. He clutched his hidden dagger. I already have the Imperial Order hunting me. Do I want to start trouble with these men? If I use my magic, rumors will spread across the countryside.
Nobody resisted as the mercenaries loaded their horses and packs with as much loot as they could carry.
Ronaldo galloped down the thoroughfare, waving his sword and shouting: “The Gore Boars and Duke Ambrose, thank you!” His men mounted up and joined their captain, who brandished his blade with a wild smile and eyes gleaming victorious. “Ride!” The horsemen galloped north, disappearing behind broken buildings. Mayor Rosati stood with his hands at his sides, shaking his head and muttering. It was over as quickly as it began.
Roderick jumped down from his perch, gliding to a soft landing with his cloak. Homeless crept out of the alleys and back into the street. Citizens opened their locked doors. Mayor Rosati met the gathering crowd. “Go back to your business! It’s over!” he shouted. “Back to business!”
The war-weary people simply slunk back to their stations on the street or in ruined homes, mumbling and grumbling to one another. No one bothered to ask why or to demand justice. Their spirits were broken long ago, Roderick contemplated. They outnumbered those men, but they didn’t even put up a fight. This is the true cost of war, isn’t it? Not just the death of one man. The death of a people—entire communities. Every ruin stood as a testament. They need something to lift their spirits. Roderick stood, invisible, an arm’s length away from the Mayor. He watched the squat little man waddle back towards his house and enter, slamming the door behind him. And a leader their enemies respect.
I’m unsure if I can do anything about that, though.
Roderick’s magical cloak allowed him to travel in great leaps across the open plains. Within the hour, he spotted a cloud of dust in the north and closed in on the Gore Boars. He followed for miles until coming to a broad depression in the land. Smooth hills rose on every side of the basin, forming natural walls that hid the location of a dozen tents and two wagons–their camp. He crouched at the top of a rise as the mercenaries dismounted and tied their horses to the wagons.
They unloaded their haul: three bags of flour, a sack of oats, two kegs of ale, and three bags filled with a bloody assortment of meats. Meanwhile, a short man with a leather cap wrapped around his crown struck a fire at the center of a hoof-trampled clearing.
Ronaldo barked orders at his men, watching them work while he chewed on a tobacco leaf and counted the circlings they had stolen.
The men finished their inventory and joined Ronaldo by the fire. They opened a keg, drank greedily, and gambled while the man in a leather cap shoved hunks of meat onto spits and placed them carefully over his blaze. Roderick crept down the hill. Sitting next to a wagon, he watched the men laugh and curse at one another. He eyed the sizzling meat. His stomach felt like a hollow cavern. The mercenaries drained a keg and gorged themselves on seared meat. As darkness enveloped the world, one by one, they withdrew from the fire and into their tents, erected in a semi-circle.
Captain Ronaldo slept in the centralmost tent. It was no better than the others: white canvas and wooden poles lashed to the earth with rope and iron stakes. Two men remained. They patrolled the camp side by side, then marched up the rise of the basin. It should be a simple task. Roderick snuck up behind them.
Before the patrolmen crested the lip of the basin, Roderick sunk his dagger into one’s back, then quickly sliced the other man’s throat. Both hit the ground, gurgling and moaning, making far too much noise.
I can’t leave any witnesses.
Roderick rolled into Berani on his requisitioned wagon as the sun reached high noon. He wore the hood of his cloak pulled over his head. Citizens and denizens looked on with lifeless glares as he passed the thoroughfare. A few followed him. Roderick parked the wagon in front of the Mayor’s house. Homeless clogged the street. He marched up to the door and knocked. An old woman in a maid’s uniform opened the door. “Yes?”
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“Duke Ambrose sends his regards.” Roderick extended a burlap sack heavy with circlings. The maid took the sack. “It is for the people of Berani.” He turned and walked away.
“Sir?” the old maid called. “What is this?”
Some of it was yours. And some of it was theirs. Roderick ignored her. He pushed through the crowded people and crossed the road, taking an alley between two toppled buildings. Out of sight, Roderick spun and became invisible, then leaped to the top of a leaning wall. An icy breeze caught in his cloak and carried him across caved-in roofs and collapsed structures.
He stood atop a four-story apartment overlooking the thoroughfare and Mayor Rosati’s front door. The squat little mayor stood with both hands drawn up to his chest, looking at the wagon laden with the townsfolk’s stolen goods and wearing a big smile. “Duke Ambrose sends his regards!” he shouted. Citizens crept out of their dwellings, moving in droves, coalescing at Rosati’s house. As the townsfolk realized what was happening, they began pushing and wrestling away the crowd of gathered scavengers. Roderick spotted the old food vendor from Town Square climbing the wagon's side. “That sack of flour belongs to Mrs. Canali. You know that, Terenzo!” Rosati directed traffic and reclamations. “Get your hands off that potato, Mr. Julius!”
Roderick felt pretty good as he munched on a rot-spotted apple. He savored the flavor of victory as the people of Berani reclaimed what was rightfully theirs and a little peace of mind, too.
The following day, he returned to the town square to Mrs. Canali, the food peddler. The old woman stood behind her stall, proud and tall. “Have you reconsidered the price of my bread?” the old vendor called as Roderick approached. “Or did you find a few silvers lying around?”
Roderick retrieved five circlings from his coin purse. “I found some work.” He stacked the coins on Mrs. Canali’s countertop. The old woman handed Roderick a loaf of bread, then swept up the circlings and dumped them into a little lockbox beneath the stall. She didn’t notice the gold circling he’d placed at the bottom of the stack. Courtesy of Captain Ronaldo. Roderick ripped off the end of the loaf and handed it to Mrs. Canali, who took the food graciously. After sharing a quick bite, Roderick wrapped the loaf in cloth, bade Mrs. Canali farewell, and left the square with high hopes of his own. I can make do with the loaf and what I scavenged from the Gore Boars.
He didn’t head for the thoroughfare. Instead, Roderick opted for an alleyway. He wound through Berani, sticking to the shadows between its ruins.
Roderick stepped onto the Western Road at the edge of town and glanced at Berani and its homeless-littered streets. Good fortune to you all. He made it a few paces out before the shouting began. Feet stomped the ground. Refugees and beggars darted into the alleys, clearing the streets. What’s happening? Roderick walked toward the center of town. Grunts and curses, clanking metal, and thumping bodies announced an altercation ahead. Are the people fighting each other?
He ran.
Roderick skidded to a halt in front of the Mayor’s house. Dozens of armed men ran through the streets, attacking people at random and kicking down doors. Citizens tried to fight back, but the warriors cut down. Mayor Rosati knelt in the street as two men towered over him, outfitted in brigantines and boiled leathers with swords drawn. A tall man wearing a black robe, untied at the center to reveal a bare chest, stood before the Mayor with his hands clasped behind his back. Roderick darted into an alley, used his cloak to turn invisible, and leaped to the top of a building.
He ran across the building and jumped off its edge, gliding toward the Mayor’s open doorway and landing on its step. “Your people have spirit. That gives me hope, Mayor,” the robed man spoke. White teeth shined beneath a black curly thicket of mustache and beard. “Most people don’t even fight back anymore.”
“That’s why wicked men like you are doing so well for themselves,” Rosati retorted. “Duke Ambrose took our stuff back from the Gore Boars! We had nothing to do with it. Take it up with the Duke!”
Roderick gripped his dagger tight. This is my fault! Who are these men?
“No matter.” The black-robed man stepped into the center of the road. He watched his men pillage and ransack the town, eyes gleaming with approval. “Your people are still weak. And they owe us Captain Ronaldo’s past-due payment. We protect the Gore Boars and your little town.”
“Damn you!” Rosati shouted.
“Your people desperately need better leadership,” the robed man said. “What do you think, men?” he asked his swordsmen. “Do you think that I, Dominic Keplari, your captain, would make a better mayor of this town? Do you?”
The swordsmen smiled. “Of course!” one said. “Should we kill him for you? It would spare food for the others, Captain. This one is quite round.”
Dominic waved his hand dismissively. “No. The job must suit the man. Governance does not suit me or my…” He looked at the Mayor’s open door. “Appetites.” Dominic moved over to Mayor Rosati and grabbed a hold of the Mayor’s shirt collar, lifting Rosati to his feet. The swordsmen backed away. “Show me your home, mayor.” Roderick moved to the side as Dominic dragged Mayor Rosati into the house. The swordsmen marched behind their captain but failed to secure the door. Roderick followed them inside.
Rosati led them up a flight of steps.
“What kind of safe do you have hidden away in here?” Dominic asked.
“What are you talking about?” Rosati squirmed.
“My men are right,” Dominic said. They reached the top of the steps and entered a hall. “The good Mayor is well-fed, indeed. How are you buying all of that food? With the town’s taxes? Where are these taxes?”
“The whole treasury is in Caliacra! There’s nothing left!” Rosati cried. His face grew more and more red by the moment.
Dominic shoved the shorter man down a narrow hall. Mayor Rosati tumbled to his knees. “Take me to your treasury, Mayor. If you have wine, we’ll take that, too. Lead the way.” He motioned with his hand. Rosati rose to his feet, muttering and stuttering, sweat-soaking a shirt that clung to folds of flesh. “Lead the way.”
Rosati waddled down the hall. He stopped beside the last door on the right and jiggled its handle until it turned. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Dominic and his men entered, too.
Roderick crept down the hall and knelt by the open door. He listened.
“Where’s the key?” Dominic asked.
“Oh, I don’t keep it in here. And I don’t carry it on me, either. I keep it in the drawer of my bedside table,” Mayor Rosati said. “I’ll go get it.”
“No!” Dominic shouted. “You stay here. If you make another move toward the door, I’ll have them string you up in the town square! Emil, go look for the key. If it’s not in there, then we’ll kill the Mayor and break the safe open!”
“The table on the left side of the bed!” Rosati cried. Footsteps approached. Roderick shuffled along the wall. A swordsman wearing boiled leather crossed the hall and entered the bedroom. Roderick moved in behind the man, who tore a drawer from the bedside table and dumped its contents onto a wide feather mattress. The swordsman rummaged through letters and various keys of differing sizes and shapes. Roderick drew his dagger.
Roderick wrapped a hand around the swordsman’s mouth and jerked his head backward. His dagger silenced the man forever. Roderick laid the body on the floor, left the room, and then silently shut the door behind him. Rodrick positioned himself beside the open office door.
“I have a few keys in there,” Rosati said. “Should I go help him?”
“No!” Dominic barked. “Vince, go get Emil and bring all the keys to me. Okay?”
A pair of boots thumped across the room. Wearing a brown brigantine, the second swordsman crossed the hall and paused before the shut door. Roderick leaped up and drove his dagger into the man’s neck. The swordsman fell into the door and slumped to the floor with a great clamor of noise. Roderick opened his cloak, throwing it over his shoulders and becoming visible once more.
“What happened?” Dominic called from the room.
Roderick stepped inside.
Dominic held a short sword at Mayor Rosati’s throat. “One of your agents?”
Rosati shook his head. “Not one of mine. The Duke’s! Valentina, my maid, told me about you. She said you wore a big gray cloak! Good timing!”
Dominic eyed the Mayor. “You think this is a good time?” He moved the point of his blade closer to the fat man’s quivering neck. He turned his eyes on Roderick. “I will kill this man!”
“I believe you,” Roderick said. He threw his dagger at Dominic’s head. The man dodged out of the way. Roderick drew the rapier from his back and swung with a wide arch. Dominic barely blocked the blow with his sword. I can’t kill him, Roderick mused. I need him to wrangle the rest of the ruffians! Dominic darted toward the Mayor, but Roderick cut him off with a jab from his silverite rapier.
Dominic swept away the blow. Roderick followed it up with a boot heel to Dominic’s bare sternum. The man flew back and bounced off the wall behind him with a grunt. Roderick lashed out with his rapier. Dominick parried. As Dominic focused on the blade whipping through the air, Roderick swept his assailant’s legs out from underneath him with a well-placed kick. Dominic fell to the floor and dropped his short sword. Roderick stood over him, the rapier pointed at his heart. “You attacked the wrong town today, good sir. Now, stand down.”
Dominic chuckled. “So you are an agent of the Duke?” He squirmed away from Roderick’s rapier, leaning against the wall. “Perhaps we can work out a bargain?”
“The Grand Duke does not bargain with common brigands,” Roderick said. “You will gather your men and leave this town unspoiled. Then, you will take your men and leave the Duchy. Non-compliance with the Duke’s terms will be met with a penalty of execution. Understood?”
Dominic tilted his head from left to right. “Yes, but I can’t agree with these terms. My men will kill me if I try to stop them from taking what is rightfully theirs by the laws of conquest. Whether you kill me here or they kill me later, I seem to die either way.”
“You chose your fate a long time ago!” roared a red-faced Rosati.
“The mayor’s right,” Roderick said. “How many towns and villages have you pillaged? How many lives have you stolen?”
“We survive,” Dominic said. “How about this? I will tell my men to stop looting and leave with what they have gathered. Lacking Emil and Vince—who I assume are dead—will make my case more convincing. We will leave with what little loot we have and never return to Berani again. In exchange, my men will move into Burgundia and raid on behalf of the Grand Duke, with no charge of our client. I will accept our payment as the loot we gain from his majesty’s enemies. Are these terms acceptable?”
Mayor Rosati giggled. “An agent doesn’t speak for the Duke! There would have to be negotiations and administrative processes required—“
“These are desperate times,” Roderick mused aloud.
“What?” Rosati asked.
“We need to move faster than our enemies,” Roderick said. He ran a hand through his beard. “Moving faster means thinking faster. Do you know Captain Felix of the Black Company?”
Dominic scratched his head. “I’ve heard the name. What would a man like that want of me?”
“The Black Company is stationed in Caliacra with the Duke,” Roderick explained. “But Felix was sent to aid Count Benedikt with securing the borderlands. Find them. Offer them your men’s service. This way, you will repay your debts to society and the Duke’s kindness. If you stray from the path, we will hunt and kill your little retinue to a man. Stand up!”
Dominic did so.
“Out the door!” Roderick commanded. Dominic stepped across the room with a rapier pointed at his back. “Step slowly. Rosati, pick up his weapon and follow me.”
“I’ve got it!” Rosati said.
Roderick followed Dominic down the hall and steps, then out the front door into the street. Dominic’s armed ruffians ran wild. A handful took notice of their leader’s captivity and rushed to Dominic’s aid. “Hold up! Hold!” He pleaded with them. “This is a man of the Duke’s trust! He’s dangerous!”
“Let’s kill him!” A chainmail-clad man shouted as he shook his spear. “He’s got Dominic!”
“No!” Dominic cried. “I have an offer from Duke Ambrose himself! Let’s return to camp and discuss the matter. I believe it’s an excellent opportunity to make a lot of money!”
“That’s what you said about coming here!” The spearman said.
“Where’s Emil? Vincent?” Another man, wearing a boiled cuirass and an iron skullcap, asked Dominic. “What’s happened?”
“We’ve raided these farmers for months, and there’s not much left to take anymore. That is a fact,” Ronaldo announced. “But there’s money to be made in the East. We can do what we do now but with the sanction of the Duke himself!” To Roderick’s surprise, Dominic’s men considered the offer.
The bandits conversed before the iron-helmed man said: “What about the loot?”
“Load it up,” Dominic said. Roderick pressed his rapier into Dominic’s spine. “Just what we’ve gathered so far. We must leave immediately. We have a rendezvous with Captain Felix of the Black Company!” His men shared wide-eyed glances and a look of childlike wonder. “I said: Load up!” He walked over to his men and began shouting orders at them. At once, they began loading up a nearby wagon. A horse was affixed to the wagon. Dominic climbed into the wagon’s seat. Slowly, the storm abated, and the ruffians gathered in the thoroughfare. “Send the Duke my regards!” Dominic yelled as he spurned his horse forward. The wagon lurched to life, rolling down the street, surrounded by marching thugs.
Roderick and Rosati stood in the road, watching the procession. “I can’t believe that worked!” Rosati laughed. “What’s your name, stranger?”
“Roderick.”
“Well, on behalf of my people, I just want to thank you,” the Mayor rubbed his hands together as he spoke. “Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. If there’s anything I can do for you—my town doesn’t have much—we will do our very best.” Roderick knew the citizens of Berani would soon take to the streets to assess the damage. “It would be our honor to house an esteemed confidante of the Grand Duke.” The little man was so enraptured by his impromptu speech that he didn’t even notice the honoree’s absence. Roderick slipped down an alley and turned invisible.
As he predicted, the people of Berani slowly crept out of hiding and began making their way toward Mayor Rosati’s residence. ‘What will they think of Rosati when they see him with a short sword in his hand and find two dead bandits in his house?’ he pondered. ‘Will they believe their little mayor scared off all those men?’ Roderick smiled.
He made his way to the town square. Every stall lay in piles of broken boards and splintered posts, their wares ransacked. Mrs. Canali picked up her rotting vegetables from the ground and placed them in baskets. Roderick threw back his cloak, becoming visible once more and leaving the refuge of an alley. He crossed the square and joined the woman in her work. “Still here?” Mrs. Canali asked.
“I should ask you the same thing,” Roderick said. He picked up a spotted apple, dusted it off with his cloak, then took a bite.
“That’s two silvers,” Mrs. Canali said. “I appreciate your gesture but didn’t agree to pay you.”
“Every day, we bargain for our lives.” Roderick took another bite of the apple. “While the powerful bargain with our lives. All we can do is keep struggling and surviving. It’s just the way things have always been.”
“If that’s truly what you believe, then I suggest you reevaluate your life, young man,” Mrs. Canali said. “What’s life without a little joy? Would it be worth living at all? I don’t keep struggling because I’m brave or strong. I just keep finding new things to enjoy: the laughter of my grandchildren or the kindness of a stranger.” She smiled. “The world can’t be so bad when it still has beauty. Don’t let these evil times convince you otherwise, or you won’t be able to enjoy the peace that comes after.”
Courage isn’t the willingness to pick up a sword. It’s just the ability to keep going no matter how bad things get or how many times we’re beaten down. These people have more spirit than they realize. More than I first realized.
The old vendor stacked the last head of cabbage in a woven basket. “There. Like new. Now, will you pay me for that apple or not?”