Jano looked up at the thick grey stone walls of the bank. It looked even more intimidating in the rain as it pounded off the dismal structure. The colossus towered over him. The bank was one of the biggest buildings in the commercial district and it serviced the widest cross section of Qursa’s residents.  

The grey stone was broken up by a solid oak lintel above the door, which Jano could see from the queue. The door was taller than three men all stacked on one another. It was made of black treated wood and it did nothing to brighten up the place. Pristine white letters adorned the door and every time Jano cast his eyes upon them he felt a mixed pang of shame and regret. ‘Classes Six - Nine Accepted Here. Class Ten by appointment ONLY.’ He looked to his wrist and quickly hid it from sight by pushing his arms against his sides; He didn’t want anyone to see the light purple ‘X’ which was pulsating ever present; a terrible reminder of his lowly station. 

A sad looking portly man left the giant door of the bank and a nervous looking woman with spiralling dark hair headed in. Wringing his hands, he walked forward. He studied the dark, spiral tower on the left hand corner which rose above the skyline. It looked out of place, as though it had been dropped on the bank by one of the Seven. 

He rehearsed the key points of the speech in his head. Thank you for seeing me… I’m a stonemason who has fallen on hard times. I was a class seven before an accident put me before the Lesser Court... just a small loan to get some tools. Expect to turn a profit within two years. He shuffled forward. The line was moving quickly, which could be good or bad, he thought. 

His feet pounded on the dusty stone. The rain was coming down heavily now and the dust was morphing into a sort of brown paste, like a light mud. The Commercial District was close enough to the Slums for the dust to gather quite heavily underfoot. At least it had stone pavements, so that it didn’t become a mess of sludge and detritus like the Slums. It gathered on the stone bricks forming a light brown layer over the uniform rectangles. Unfortunately for Jano, the hard surface of the stone pushed into his cloth shoes, making the queue for the Bank an even more perturbing experience. 

The line moved slowly, steadily, until he was finally allowed inside, passing the uninterested teller who functioned as a door guard. He kept his head low; careful not to meet any eyes. You could never tell who might take even his accidental gaze as an insult. Still, he tried to move with purpose. He planned on displaying small subtle signs of confidence without appearing arrogant or above his station. He had made his appointment months ago and he was anxious to take his chance. Though the sign might say otherwise, Class Ten ranked citizens did not get appointments often. 

The harsh granite of the fixtures inside the building weren’t just cold to look at, it seemed to suck all of the heat from the air. Tiny bumps appeared on his arms and crept up his back as he shivered. It was as though this place was designed to intimidate an applicant before they even spoke to someone. Jano was suddenly regretting his frame. He was tall and quite skinny so the cold went straight to his bones.

It was a relatively large but empty room. A woman was sitting at a dark solid desk, there was a simple wooden door behind her and to her left, there was a large staircase that spiralled up towards the upper floors. He walked forward, taking care not to make too much noise. His eyes drifted to the staircase and the rooms which lay above. They were for more important appointments. He doubted many Class Ten’s made it up to those heights. He wetted his lips, noticing that they were dry. 

The woman glanced at him. “Name?” She asked, displaying the same disinterested attitude as the teller at the door. He bowed a little, “Jano Sumner'' he replied with a smile, doing everything in his power to sound confident. 

She scribbled something in a large leather-bound book. The scratching of the pen against the thick paper made Jano squirm a little, but he did his best to hold firm. He watched her cross out his name and he started tapping his arm with his index finger, without even noticing he had started to do so. 

“Go ahead.” She used her arm to motion towards the room behind her. She didn’t look at him. 

He walked into the main room, a short stout woman sat behind a huge wooden desk. A fire was roaring in the centre of the adjacent wall and the smell of smoke drifted into his nostrils. Jano sat in the small wooden chair designed for visitors. He wrung his hands together. Nerves were starting to eat into him. Just cut your losses and run, he thought. 

“Good day, what can I help you with? She spoke up, her voice sounded incredibly loud from behind the desk. A commanding voice, but professional and Jano’s shoulders tensed a little. 

“Thank you for seeing me...” Jano began with his prepared speech, though he found himself accidentally starting at the wrong point. He talked about his proposed business and how he was working odd jobs now, detailing his meagre wage. He mentioned seeking a loan for tools. Before he could get into any more detail, the woman held up her hand, stopping him. “I’m sorry, but we don’t loan to anyone below class eight.”

Jano had suspected something underhand. He hadn’t expected her to come right out and say it. “But it says on the door..” he began. 

“We have to put that up for appearances. We have quotas to meet for official reasons.” She said. “But we don’t actually give out loans. Not unless you already had something of value for the bank to take as collateral.” She gave a condescending smile. 

She knew that any Class Ten seeking a loan would, short of a miracle, have nothing to offer as collateral and Jano knew better than to argue. He glanced at her arm, ‘V’. It read. Class Five. That was way above him. 

He took a deep breath. “Is there anything else I can help you with Mr Sumner?” She asked. 

He shook his head. “Thank you for your time.” He began to shuffle out of the room, the same way he came in. No wonder the line was moving so quickly, he thought. His head hung low. 

Outside of the bank, the grey of the city walls glared down on him. He looked at the others in the queue, standing hopefully, uneasily regarding the teller as he had only a few moments earlier. He lowered his eyes again and headed back towards the Slums. The city was sprawling, and though he had spent his life in Qursa, he never could escape the feeling that the walls were there to keep people in rather than for safety. He had never felt that as strongly as he had over the last few years. His eyes welled up as he walked, but he was too proud to cry in the streets. He hadn’t even been given the opportunity, that was the worst bit. 

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He began walking home, walking the familiar winding paths. Even if he hadn’t walked this way hundreds of times, he knew he was getting closer by the amount of dust and grime building up on the paths. The stone patchwork of the street became increasingly more ragged. 

It was the end of the working day and the city was littered with people. Most headed home, to eat and rest before work tomorrow. Some headed to the inns and the drinking houses. He bounced between a few shoulders as he drifted along. He wasn’t concentrating. He began to think of his wife. He was only in his twentieth year, but he began to feel much older. He left the Commercial District of the city and entered the Slums. They were officially called the ‘lower living quarters’ according to official empire guidelines and it was the space in the city reserved for the lower classes to live. But it was referred to as the Slums by basically everyone. 

The houses were largely made of wood. Though the lucky ones had thin metal parts stuck on. Some tried their best to add to their houses with whatever they could come across, so some were nicer than others. But on the whole, they were a run down and soaked wooden mess. Some of the peaked wooden roofs were beginning to sag under the soggy conditions of the city. 

To say that he had his own house would be generous. It was a tiny, two-roomed wooden shack which he shared with his wife. At least it was their own space, there were some shared tenements in the Slums which made his house look like a palace. He approached his house, and he could hear his neighbours fighting next door. The walls were so thin and so closely pushed against each other that he could often hear the other families as clear as if they were in the same house. 

He opened the thin door and walked into his home. His wife was buttering some black bread and stew was in a bowl. It smelled wonderful, as her cooking always did. She had a job at a local merchant’s house and she supported them both.

“Did you have any luck?” She asked. She must have been tired from work and here she was preparing food. He felt a sharp feeling of guilt dig into him

She was the most beautiful woman that Jano had ever met. She was smaller than him, coming up to his chest and she had long flowing brown hair. And he hated disappointing her. 

He saw the “VIII” tattooed on her wrist as she moved around the room. She was a Class Eight, so slightly higher than Jano, but for whatever reason, she loved him. Of course, he hadn’t always been a lowly ranked Class Ten. When they were married, both in their eighteenth year, life had seemed to offer so much more. 

“Not today Alsace, they didn’t even hear me out. I’m going to go by the workhouse tomorrow and see what’s available.” He said. “I’ll just have to keep trying to save for the tools.”

The workhouse was a grim place where people posted daily jobs. If he couldn’t find anything appropriate that day, they would let him work a twelve-hour shift for a pittance. It was back-breaking work, but it was better than the patrols. 

They sat down to eat their food and Jano was quiet. He couldn’t stop picturing the woman in the bank. That condescending smile. Alsace didn’t say much either and they went to bed early. She would have to be up early to attend to her morning duties in the merchant’s house. At the start of their marriage, they would sit up at night and talk at length about what they might accomplish in the future. They would drink wine and laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time they had done that. 

Jano turned in the uncomfortable bed and he could hear the crying and screaming children in the house next door. He turned to look at his wife. Her chest was rising and falling with the steady rhythm of sleep. 

He thought of the Bank once more and felt a cold stabbing pain in his stomach. His mind was whirring. Sleep felt impossible. He crept out of bed and walked into the other room taking care not to make any noise, pulling out a patchy hooded cloak. He checked that his wife was asleep once more and stole out of the door, into the night. 

At night the Slums were dark. There were almost no lamplights and the heavy cloud which so often clung to the skies above the city made sure any moonlight was blocked out. The lack of lamplights had been reported so many times to the Guards; it turned out it was either too much of an expense for the Empire or nobody cared, as nothing was done about it. In addition, the Guards often turned a blind eye to the goings on of the Slums, they weren’t too concerned as long as any crime stayed in the Slums and didn’t spill out into the nicer parts of the city. 

Jano kept to the shadows as best he could, but it wasn’t too necessary as the dusty streets were largely empty. A few others passed him by, a man and a woman, but they were staying out the way as much as he was. Likely a resident from the Middle using one of the many night walkers, plying their trade from the Slums. 

He continued down the dusty tracks, passing a few narrow, dark streets lined by more women and young men. They saw his ragged cloak and left him alone, immediately marking him as someone not worth their time. He reached the Merchant’s Square after only a few moments, a dimly lit patch of Slum operated businesses. The stores were made of cheap stone bricks, some of the only buildings in the Slums which were. They were built using grants and funds from the city coffers. When they were built of wood, their taxable income was severely reduced due to break-ins and thefts. 

He pressed himself to a shadowy wall to the side of one of the stores. The stone was still damp from rain earlier in the day. He touched the brick and felt the essence of the stone. He smiled lightly as some vague memories came back to him. He tapped his power and tried to draw the stone from the wall. The mortar was thin and the brick moved slightly. He grunted and cursed. This would have taken no effort at all with his old power. It was tough to tell how much time had passed, but it felt like a lifetime until he managed to create a small hole in the top of the wall big enough to crawl through. 

He counted himself lucky, if the walls had been any thicker or the mortar any stronger, he wouldn’t have been able to move it at all. 

He pushed his way inside. The wall held despite the hole in the top, as he had calculated it should. The roof was treated wood and didn’t mind one small hole. He scooped himself inside and tried not to damage anything. He hoped there was no one inside, though it probably wasn’t enough to appear before the Lesser Court, he would face a beating from the Guard or the shop owner at the very least.

He dropped into the store and surveyed the contents. It was a pawn shop, nothing more than a local money lender. The owner was a cruel man, who insisted on full repayment through any means. Jano felt a little better about stealing from him as he had done a few times before. He moved quickly, trying to find something of worth. Now that he was inside, it was unlikely that he would be caught unless the owner himself walked in. But he felt uneasy. He hated this. What he had been forced to resort to. 

He grabbed a necklace. It was covered in dust, so whoever had pawned it, clearly hadn’t returned for the keepsake. He noticed a small red gem in the centre, worth a fullcoin at least, he thought. He stuffed it in his pocket and covered the area with old papers. 

Checking he hadn’t left anything which might identify him, he made his way back to the hole he had created. Though he wasn’t sure why, as he didn’t have anything. Satisfied, he crawled through the hole and dropped down to the other side. He landed with a thud, particularly ungracefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw movement. Panic rose and he almost ran for it. He waited, holding his breath. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he looked out of the shadows, but there was nobody there. He exhaled and tried to relax a little. He moved back to the stone and tried to force it back in place using his power, small though it was; he had nothing left. His reserves depleted. Panicking once more, he picked up the stone and tried to jam it in place. It wasn’t too heavy, but his arms still shook as he tried to line it up. Surprisingly, it slid right in. Though the mortar was damaged, unless someone was looking for evidence of a break in, he’d probably get away with it. He cursed once more. It will have to do, he thought. 

He skulked home as quick as he dared, trying not to look guilty, luckily the path back home was just as clear as before. His fingers kept checking his pockets, the necklace jostled gently as he moved. He thought of his wife, asleep in their rope bed. He thought of all the things he had once promised her. Then he thought of the bank and the large wooden desk once more. 

He reached his house and stashed the necklace and the cloak into a small hole underneath one of their cabinets. A small cubby hole he often used for these ‘side’ jobs. He slowed his breath and crept quietly into bed. He waited a few breaths before looking at his wife, her breathing was still in the same rhythm as before. Lost in the great calmness of dreams. Jano turned over on his side and felt tears creeping down his cheeks. 

He fell asleep still dreaming of the giant wooden desk and the cold granite stone of the bank.