Chapter 27: Market Basing

IV

The flatcap wearing teen was the first to recover from the shock of a sudden intruder entering and screaming about things being in his head. While the other two stared, gormless, at the new arrival, the leader jumped up off his crate and walked cautiously towards me. Speaking in a surprisingly calming and even voice he asked:

“Are you alright?” Each step was light, as if approaching a skittish animal. I could understand why he might be treating me this way, especially after my outburst, but I couldn’t help but have my pride stung a little by the way he was acting. Now that the voices were silent I could be much more reasonable.

“I’m fine,” I said, rather more icily than I had intended - my voice crisp and clear, as if I hadn’t just been screaming. The sudden change of character, from a crazed mental invalid to someone of sound mind and clarity of thought, caused the approaching boy to trip slightly and have to come to a halt several steps away as my strong gaze bore into him.

“Who are you?” the voice of the young girl came, from a cockheaded lass dressed in dress-like rags slightly better in quality than the norm and dyed a rich yellow.

She was short, about four and a half feet tall, but older than her voice had suggested - maybe 16 years old. She had wide, brown eyes that turned sharp upon my entrance, brown, dirty hair, a thick coating of freckles about the nose - whose shape was pixie-like and buttoned.

Before I could answer her question, the leader looked back at her with an expression I couldn’t discern, as he was facing away from me, then turned back to me and nodded - as if to say, ‘please, go ahead’.

He asked, “What’s your name?”

The self assuredness I had mustered to straighten my back and keen my gaze drained away at the question and I slumped slightly but maintained eye contact with Flatcap.

“I…I don’t know,” I admitted, a frantic whispering might have been heard from the voices in the back of my mind but I did my best to ignore it.

“How can you not know?” the girl snapped. Once more, Flatcap turned about, lowering both hands in a sign to quieten down and decrease the intensity. I stepped forth with confidence, not wanting to be seen as stupid or insane, for some reason, and closed the door behind me so that the sleeping children wouldn’t be woken by the overloud conversation.

Throughout the exchange thus far, the third member of, what I assumed to be, the leaders of the Street Kids gang had sat quite and just observed. He was large for a teen, ridiculously so.

Standing, he would probably be about 6’ 3’’ but all skin and bone. The rags which coated the lad were mostly burlap, very common among the children - the same as my present attire. He had dirty blond hair and a slight point to his ears which suggested something but I couldn’t remember what. His skin was dark, somewhere between golden brown and chocolate. His eyes suffered from a severe negative canthal tilt and his interocular distance was greater than the average, adding to the impression one of my personalities had gathered from his earlier speech - that of slowness.

“I don’t know who I am, I awoke in the street right as Doger turned up with his lads. I can’t remember anything from that point. All I know is that you saved me from what I assume to be a nasty fate and for that I am grateful. How can I repay you?”

My words were direct and candid. The three didn’t seem to know how to respond and silence reigned for a goodly minute.

“If he really wants to help, I think there’s a way that he can get the Ringmaster off our back,” the big fellow said, to my surprise. I was invited to sit on a crate about the candle so I did so, much to the young lady’s evident annoyance.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Go on then Lento, let’s hear it,” the one in charge encouraged. We all turned to the elf and waited for him to begin to speak.

He took his time, looking off into the middle distance - presumably collecting his thoughts. Just as I thought he might have forgotten what he was about to say, he spoke in a tortoise-like manner, each syllable long, ponderous, and drawn out.

“The Ringmaster, or Carris as he used to go by, had a son…”

☠

I found myself stood atop the roof of a three story building in a nicer, though still not great, section of town. The night was still young and I felt the overcast sky and gentle snowfall should have made it nearly impossible to see a thing and yet my sight was near perfect.

I was out here in an attempt to repay a debt I felt I owed - half of me was proud of myself for doing so and the other was annoyed that I wasn’t spending the time in study. With the two opposing viewpoints within me it was impossible to determine how I felt. But I had time, I would be stuck waiting here until the other parts of the plan fell into place so I decided to delve deep within myself.

I, whoever I was, felt a debt was something that should be repaid - at least with 70% certainty. What else did I think, that was entirely my own thought… were any of my thoughts my own or the products of those two waring consciousness within my psyche. I have to assume I do have unique ideas or this whole train of thought would be derailed before it had begun its journey.

I looked around to see if there was anything else I found I had an opinion on. Shingles - nope. Snow - other than it being the first thing that drew my attention upon waking, no. The candle light that floated gently out from the window I was watching - now there was something I had feelings about. My back twinged with remembered pain as I looked upon the candle’s essence, my body recalling what my mind could not.

And yet, I did not dislike the light. The impression I had was more of a nostalgic fondness. I looked down, expecting to see a quill in my hand and parchment to my fore. This was something to work with. I must be a scholar of some description to react as I did. Whomever I was, I had spent hours hunched by a candle, working away.

I looked about for something else that might provoke a reaction, eager to learn more of my former self without the bias of those two voices.

Peering down onto the quiet night time street, I saw the carriage rolling along towards the inn I was spying on. The horse, the trap, the reins, the whip - none of them did anything for me; save for the whip… maybe, though I only got the faint impression of something indestinked.

It wasn’t until a colourfully dressed man, with a black tophat and red tailcoat, stepped down from the carriage - a heavy set man on each side, acting as guards - that I received another flash of memory.

When I was small, probably younger than I was now, I smelled the circus animals. I wasn’t there as a guest. I was sneaking about, dodging the group's strongman. He patrolled, the caravan’s sole watchman, the rest asleep. I snuck into the leader’s carriage. He was asleep, his safe left open. My price was inside - a book that called to me, whispering secrets, drawing me in. I picked it up. A hand landed on my shoulder. I turned about, seeing the circus master enraged and red faced; a whip in his free hand.

The flashback ended and I again found myself crouched atop a rooftop in the middle of the night. The Ringmaster had already entered the building.

That memory was… confusing. Was I, a younger me, a thief? I didn’t think so, I hadn’t felt what I was doing was wrong. Why did that book, with its runic cover, call to me so intensely?

Even in my recollection it left a strong impression. As if reading it could reveal a whole new world, a world I had discovered once before.

There was more to the images. Compared to those I saw around since waking, the style of clothing was much different. Everyone in my memory wore far more simple clothes, made from one piece of cloth. The people all seemed more dangerous, not only did they expect violence but they were ready for it.

Somehow I knew, wherever that memory took place, most people would be expected to carry a weapon of some sort, it wasn’t uncommon to have to fight to survive, overall it seemed a much harsher place.

The last thing of note was the word the enraged man had begun to say before the memory ended. It wasn’t in the language I had been speaking since waking up, the sounds were harsh yet guttural, but I found it somewhat comforting. Like coming home from a long, long trip and taking a nice warm bath.

I was beginning to suspect I may have travelled a long way to get here, wherever here was. I really should have asked Barbu, the Street Kids’ leader, where I was exactly before agreeing to his lieutenant’s plan. In hindsight, I should have asked a lot more questions before agreeing to this hair brained scheme.

I watched our mark, the Ringmaster, enter his room on the highest floor of the adjacent inn, the Leading Jenny, he left his guards outside the door, shut the curtains and I was left to wait. It didn’t take long, after only half an hour the light went out in the room and after the other half had passed I began to move.

It was time to play my part.