Dawn broke over the land, identical to the day before. Hiro, now as exhausted in mind as he was in body, writhed in the car's bed all the way to Rufus’s farm. After loading the wagon with vegetables, they set course back to the city.
Upon crossing the South Gate, the wagon veered left, moving through the narrow space between the city wall and the ramshackle houses known as the Hills. As they reached a street broad and level enough, the wagon finally entered the intricacies of the city bowels. The area, which Mira referred to as Eulalia’s Blessing, seemed anything but blessed. Every plank of wood was rotten, every stone wall cracking. The air reeked with the acrid stench of urine and other indefinable odours assaulting Hiro’s nose. The people shuffled about, their faces devoid of hope, yet none begged or voiced their despair. Hiro’s unease grew as they passed small groups of men lurking in the shadows, their very presence putting his hair to an end. Yet, with every gang they passed, there was a subtle nod or a silent salute directed towards Testa, gestures that, though small, filled Hiro with a strange sense of respect and admiration for the man, and emptied him of worry and fear.
Through the gaps between the pillars of a collapsed roof, hidden within the shadows of a decaying old house, a pair of monstrous gleams darted towards them. The following menacing growl made him jolt in his seat. Mira grabbed his sleeve and whispered in reassurance. “It’s fine. As long as we’re with Testa, there’s nothing to fear.”
“Yes, correct,” Testa added, “The gangs ensure any mischievous orcs and trolls don’t cause too much trouble. But after dark, even the humans here aren’t to be trusted. Don’t even think about coming back alone. They let us pass unharmed because they know we’re here to help.”
The Convent of St. Eulalia stood behind a walled enclosure, its high barriers concealing the roofs within and only allowing fleeting greens of the trees beyond. The only entrance was a weathered door with rusty pegs holding it together. At Testa’s knocking, the door responded with a mournful squeak, as if one more strike would make it fall.
A group of nuns, most of them well advanced in years, emerged silently to collect the baskets Testa handed over. Their movements were swift and silent, and without a word, they retreated inside when all provisions were taken.
As they prepared to leave, a man approached from down the street. His ears glittered with large gold rings, a bandana wrapped around his head, and a blue and white shirt. Spitting image of a stereotypical pirate of old films. “Testa!” he called out. “Should I place my bets on you this season?”
“We don’t even have enough players to register, Typh. How about you tell some of your guys to join us?” With a casual motion, Testa tossed Typh a tomato, and the man caught it effortlessly, grinning before sinking his teeth into it.
“Nah, brother. We’ll have to play against the Haven marines, innit? Half my men want to kill them and the others are wanted. Won’t work. Have you asked Sand? He’s low on men and money.”
“Going to the Hill’s market now. Mind if I come tomorrow and ask around? Maybe some of your city’s mice will join?”
Typh shrugged and licked his fingers. “Go ahead. I’ll make sure my guys let you do it in peace.”
The mule led them away from the dismal sights of the Blessings, guiding the wagon toward the Hills. As they entered a simple yet austere street, Hiro noticed a change in Testa’s expression. The cheerfulness of the day had changed by a shadow of unease.
“I need to find a sponsor,” testa whined. “Or else I’ll have to sell the old house to pay Rufus next month.”
Testa guided the wagon into the square, a confined market space with only one street for entrance and another for departure. The surrounding houses huddled together, forming a protective wall of arches beneath which small shops nestled hidden under the overhanging upper floors. In the square’s centre, the sun mercilessly beat down on rows of stalls, their wares shielded from its harsh rays by tightly stretched canvases.
Upon entering, Testa, following the directions of a man in a flowery hat, manoeuvred the wagon to a halt beside what appeared to be an ancient church of weathered white stone. The wagon stopped directly in front of its massive door and there, Testa began a conversation with a group of merchants, each one engaging in an endless bargaining to pay little and get the most of him.
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Upon finishing, the feathered hat let the mule toward a corner where other wagons were parked. The three disembarked, making their way to a narrow alley in the opposite corner of the church. The alley opened into an enormous square centred by a round fountain. On one side, a large scaffold concealed the ongoing construction of a half-built house.
“Look who’s here, Hiro!” Tarth called from above. As he leaned over to peer down, the entire structure trembled.
“Don’t move! Idiot,” Serin’s voice rang out from within the scaffold. Moments later, she deftly grabbed a rope and slid down with graceful ease, rushing toward Mira, who welcomed her with a shoulder hug. Without any greeting word to him, the two made their way toward a shop emitting the warm scent of freshly baked bread.
“It’s fine,” Hiro muttered, his gaze drifting to where Sand and Vini, along with others, were labouring under the scaffold, hefting heavy sacks. “Are they all working together?”
“Tarth and Serin are carpenters. Sand and Vini work for a stonemason from North Town. They often collaborate.” As Testa moved closer to Sand, Vini suddenly broke into a run, followed by a group of laughing children. He leaped onto the edge of the fountain and began performing exaggerated, comical movements enchanting the passersby. Among the growing little crowd was a man in a black tunic, similar to a priest, his face twisted in displeasure.
Curiosity piqued, so Hiro stepped closer.
“Then the worm says, ‘But oh, my! Oh my! How dare you kiss me, you old dog?’” Vini’s voice pitched high, his body wriggling as if he truly were a worm, much to the disapproval of the man in black.
With a censorious stance, the black tunic stood with a scowl, and arms crossed. When Vini wiggled his fingers towards him, an act that put all eyes from his viewers over on him, the priest bared his teeth in a snarl and stormed off. Amused, Vini resumed his contortions. “The old dog wagged his tail and with a panting tongue replied: What would a worm care? Because you didn’t kiss my mouth, you foolish mutt!” With a loud slap to his backside, Vini caused all his viewers to jump in unison. “What you kissed was none other than my butt!”
Vini bowed deeply to a cheer before returning to the sacks. Not without first surprising Testa and Sand, who were deep in conversation, with a spontaneous embrace. Beside them, the scaffold waged a battle to stay upright as Tarth clumsily descended. “Hey, where did Serin go?” he asked.
“I’m uncertain,” Hiro lied.
“You seem free of toil. Come with me.”
Tarth led Hiro inside the house. The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut wood, and the floor was littered with tools, nails, bricks, and polished stones scattered in chaotic disarray. They passed through what would eventually become the backyard, where a series of elongated planks were awaiting to join a the ceiling.
Tarth climbed onto one of the unfinished structures and pointed toward a nearby pile of wood. Hiro fetched one plank and handed it to him. With a few practised motions, Tarth began hammering it into place, his lips clamped tightly around a mouthful of nails. “So, you’ll be helping Testa with the deliveries now?”
“It appears that way.”
“Good kid,” Tarth said. “And Testa’s a good man, too. He barely breaks even from those veggies, you know? What about the Game? Are you gonna join us for the qualifiers?”
“Perhaps.”
With a sudden leap, Tarth landed heavily, causing the ground beneath them to tremble. He crouched down, his eyes locking at Hiro’s level. His massive face loomed close, the skin between his brows furrowing into deep wrinkles. “Well, that’s a problem. People come and go from Testa’s team all the time, but for some reason, you’ve caught Serin’s eye. She thinks you’ve got potential. But do you know what I see instead? ‘It appears that way’ and ‘perhaps’.”
His voice dropped, heavy and deep. “You wanna try? Then try. You quit next month or retire next year? Fine. But whatever you do, you put your whole heart and effort into it. Understand? No maybes, no perhaps. If it’s a no, then we shake hands and drink a farewell ale. If it’s a yes, we bleed and sweat together, giving it all.” Tarth’s massive finger gently prodded Hiro’s chest. “We… give… it.. all.”
“What are you doing, big guy? Giving him the talk?” Serin stood with a hand resting on her hip as she chewed on a piece of bread.
Tarth shook his head. “No. Just telling him to give all his best in the Game.”
Serin raised a hammer and struck Tarth’s arm. “He’s not the type to waste his time with girls. Let him be! Testa’s looking for you, Hiro.”
The pair engaged in a wrestling match, and Hiro went to look for the coach. “I’m not the type? What does she even know?” he mumbled as he reach the square.
Testa yelled, bounding forward with a playful leap. Mira followed close behind, equally excited. “Sand said they might join if I get a sponsor! Tomorrow, I’ll visit the slums and ask around. We might have enough players to register!”
Hiro glanced back toward the interior of the house, his mind lingering on Tarth’s words. At first, they had seemed intrusive and unwelcome. Yet, he had listened. Uncertain of what he’d ultimately decide, he realised it was fair to give his best effort as long as it lasted. These people, who helped others and endured such harsh lives, deserved at least that much. “Can I join you tomorrow?” he asked.