“... And now my son i-is going to die in some ditch.” The woman kept lamenting. She had been going at it for the last ten minutes.

And frankly, Mortimer was sick of listening to her moaning. All he had wanted to do was to get a few freshly baked bagels. “I really should-”

“My little boy, he has been deceived!” The baker ignored his try.

Mortimer shifted on his feet. Several other customers were waiting behind him. Couldn’t the woman complain to them? “Right, but-”

“What am I going to do? A war! Of course, those nobles in their manors and castles aren’t going to send their children to die-”

That wasn’t strictly true. Even nobles couldn’t avoid the mobilisation. Their children were better trained and educated, more capable and better armed. They would serve as officers.

Granted - the higher positions would mean they died less. However, the movement indicated this would not end before one side or the other would perish. The war promised to be bloody. It had just started, and there were already cities burning and people fleeing.

“I should-”

“And now the Ocheon was razed!” The woman exclaimed. “There are refugees everywhere!”

Not from Ocheon. Not in Stilag just yet. It had been a couple of weeks since that city was razed. That is to say, in a couple of days, they would likely see the first survivors from it arrive.

Although, from what Mortimer had heard, those refugees were hunted down. They wouldn’t find safety here. Stilag wasn’t exactly a welcoming city at the best of times. And with the local temple reinforced by a few new, unseen inquisitors wearing Pillar of Eternity’s signature, they would be quickly found.

Then again, due to the unwelcoming climate, perhaps Stilag wasn’t the worst choice for the refugees to seek out. After all, those inquisitors weren't welcomed here either.

And it wouldn’t be hard to vanish in the mass of the people here.

“Lady! We are starving here!”

Behind Mortimer, a man finally lost his patience. He used the chance and stepped to the side just as the baker started to complain about the rudeness of some people.

It was a wonder this place still had customers, then again… Mortimer took a bite out of one of the bagels as he stepped out of the bakery. The goods here were damn good.

Mortimer stepped into the flow of people and let it carry him forward. The influx of men and women running away from the coastal cities were the first refugees they had received.

Imeglenmo had started to raid the coasts. Some cities next to the sea had suffered the first sieges and battles. People were scared. They wanted retribution. They feared for their loved ones and demanded the blood of those who had taken their safety away.

The soldiers, supplies, healers, masons, war beasts and machines, mercenaries, and much more flowed towards the coastal cities and the single strip of bordering territory Tordgo had with Imeglenmo.

It all happened too fast. Mortimer knew there had been some preparations, but this was unexpected to him. Apparently, King Oispio had prepared for a war for a while now.

Mortimer breathed in. The quality of air was declining by the day. He blamed the beasts the tamers brought into the city. You would think they would train their bonds to not shit everywhere, but apparently they didn’t.

At least Mortimer didn’t have to live in the slums. Instead of beasts, it was people who shat everywhere. There simply wasn’t infrastructure there to support the sudden increase of people.

From time to time, he bumped into someone. Mortimer apologised and let the river of bodies carry him further. Sometimes, with a few more coins in his hand.

It really was so easy to rob people like this. After another successful swipe, Mortimer slipped into an alley. Even here, people were shuffling about. This used to be a quiet spot to check the loot. Now, a new gang had taken over the place.

Mortimer smiled at the soldier speaking to a whore and slipped past them. This still was a path to use to slip away before his misdeeds gathered enough attention.

“Hey, Mort.” A man in leather armour stood at the end of the alley, leaning against the wall and studying the passing mass of people.

“Hey, Laum!” Mortimer nodded before swiftly turning around. After giving his pathing some more thought, it was better to use the previous street.

“Hey, Mort.” Another man, armed with a dagger with which he played, stopped Mortimer.

“Hey, Purn,” Mortimer looked towards where the soldier had been. Of course, he and the whore were gone. In fact, the whole alley was suddenly peaceful and empty. “My wife is waiting, so could you move to the side. I am in a rush.”

“You are not married, Mort.” Purn didn’t move to the side. Instead, he pointed the dagger at Mortimer. “You are not even dating anyone.”

“It’s a recent thing.” Mortimer looked for an escape. He wasn’t his dad and couldn’t show those two away with just stern words. “She is from another city.” The situation wasn’t looking good.

“Of course she is.” Laum’s voice came from behind. “But enough about your delusions. Did you do what we asked?”

Mortimer wiped his sweaty palms against his pants. “Asked?” He tried to stall.

“Don’t play dumb, Mort!” Purn grabbed Mortimer’s neck and slammed him against the wall. “Did you do it? Because from what we heard, the painting is still where it was before.”

The dagger was now pressing against Mortimer’s sides. Purn’s iron grip forced his windpipe shut. “C-can’t breathe.” He managed to squeeze out.

“Ah, sorry, my hand slipped.” Purn apologised while reducing the strength he was using while at the same time pushing the dagger through Mortimer’s jacket. “What was your answer, Mort?”

“Tonight!” Mortimer tried to ignore the dagger. It was better to not show fear.

Laum started to laugh. “Just look at him! He is crying.”

“I-I am not!”

“We told you to do it yesterday,” Purn growled. “Boss won’t be happy.”

The Boss was never happy. Even back when Mortimer’s father was the one who dealt with the underbelly of Stilag, it had been the same. And that had been almost nine years ago now.

And the Boss’s Boss was even more disgruntled. There were probably more people up the chain who grew increasingly unhappy. But Mortimer wasn’t in a position to learn about those. His dad had probably known, but that knowledge was not passed down.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

In addition, Mortimer knew several other spots in the city which had gained a new top dog responsible for those. The influx of people had led to some rather unfortunate assassinations and general unrest among his folk.

“I-I couldn’t.” Mortimer wheezed as Purn’s face closed on his. The smell of the man’s breath made him nauseous. “My stomach hurt.”

“I have a cure for that.” The dagger finally cut through the clothes and pressed against bare skin. “I don’t mind sharing.”

“N-no-” Mortimer blinked the sweat out of his eyes. “I’ll get the painting tonight.”

“Good.” Purn pulled away, and his weapon vanished under his gambeson. “You don’t want us visiting your home.”

“P-please…” Mortimer begged as he collapsed on the ground.

“See ya’ later, Mort.” Laum passed Mortimer, and Purn followed. “You know where to find us.” He waved.

Mortimer watched as the duo left. As they rounded the corner, the alley seemed to come back to life. People started to walk past him and glance with disdain.

“Shit.” Mortimer slammed his fist against the paved ground. “Shit.” He glanced at the bruised hand. “Shit.” His bagels were flattened during the short encounter.

That shitty painting didn’t even have any value. The ‘Boss’ just wanted it to brag to his henchman. It was a prestige thing. It wouldn’t be that bad, but it was a guard captain who owned the damn thing. Even if he had the skill…

Mortimer was not his father. He didn’t have the confidence to steal it. But what choice did he have?

None. Mortimer had to do it, or he would find himself in a ditch with a knife in his back. And that was one of the more pleasant ways he could go. There were worse ways he had seen people die after failing to deliver.

Truthfully, all Mortimer hoped for was that the current Boss would fail to deliver as well and experience one of those terrible ways of dying. The chances of that happening weren't even low.

But it had not happened last night nor today. Mortimer staggered out of the alley and joined the flow of people again. He would have to just grit his teeth and do it.

There just was one small problem. Mortimer slipped under a bridge and walked home. Just one tiny issue. He greeted the granny who lived nearby. She cooked excellent porridge. The old lady had been a great help when Mortimer was forced to move to his current place.

Ever since his Dad had died a few years ago, Mortimer had been adrift. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. It wasn’t stealing. He was sick of it, but it was easy and came naturally to him.

Mortimer walked up the stairs leading to his place above a small pottery shop. He stopped in front of the doors and glanced at the ruined bagels. The little complication would probably not complain.

After another moment of hesitation, Mortimer knocked, opened the doors and headed in. “Hey, I am back.” He glanced around, looking for the predicament he was facing.

Mortimer’s place was small but cosy. A few pieces of furniture filled the room, and a beautifully woven tapestry covered one of the walls. It was one of the remaining pieces of the time before Dad’s death. He had managed to bring it with him when he had been thrown out of his home.

Frankly, Mortimer was still better off than the majority of people in Stilag despite his rather depressive past. There was a room for him, a living room/kitchen and another two bedrooms from which one was currently occupied.

“You here?” Mortimer asked, wondering if his rescue had slipped out again. It happened from time to time. When he had asked about it, there had been no answer.

The occupied bedroom doors slowly opened, and a boy not older than twelve peeked out of it. His shaggy, black hair covered his eyes and left a timid impression. He was wearing a patched-up shirt and pant combo.

Mortimer had brought the boy a change of clothes, but those had vanished, likely to the same place the extra food went.

“I brought something to eat.” Mortimer walked to the table and dropped the squashed bagels. “Sorry about how they look. They got flattened when I got stuck between two burly men. There are too many people in Stilag these days.” He complained, making light of the experience he had earlier.

“C-can I have them?” The boy was salivating just at the sight of the baked goods.

Mortimer could see the hunger in the boy’s eyes. For the past few days, he had made sure to bring enough food for two when he came back from ‘working’, but it was never enough. He sighed before speaking. “I got them for you. I already ate. I can at least feed you while you are staying here.”

The boy glanced at Mortimer, his eyes full of suspicion. He started to tiptoe closer to the table as if afraid to make too much noise.

“No need to be so scared. Now come, eat.” He pulled the chair from beneath the table and patted it. “Common, Vatim. You have to eat.”

Vatim seemingly calmed down. He slowly rounded the room to stay as far from Mortimer as possible towards the table.

Mortimer watched the boy with sadness. Vatim was a refugee. One of the many. He had picked the boy up a few days ago. Vatim had managed to piss off one of the stressed guards, and that had earned him a beating.

After distracting the guard with Mortimer shouting about a fight breaking out nearby, he grabbed Vatim and ran.

What exactly had happened, Mortimer didn’t know. Vatim didn’t tell. No matter what he did, the boy seemed to be just as scared of him as the first day.

Well, Mortimer had technically kidnapped the boy. Not that he held him here. Vatim was free to go, but…

Mortimer hoped whoever Vatim was feeding would come to live here as well. From the scarce words he had managed to pull out of the boy, he had arrived in Stilag with someone else.

Of course, with how things were, Mortimer had to fear for his own life. He glanced at the boy who was gingerly fingering the bagels and promised himself to at least try to get the damn painting.

“Are you going to eat all of these by yourself?” Mortimer tried to get more information out of the boy.

But as usual, it wasn’t successful. Vatim nodded while he grabbed the bag of goods and started to retreat back to his room. He had eaten only a single piece.

Mortimer opened his mouth to offer more help, but…

A sudden knock on the doors stopped him. Mortimer watched as Vatim suddenly rushed to his room and closed the doors.

Mortimer wanted to do the same. “I already told them I’ll do it tonight.” He couldn’t help but mutter. “What else is there to say?” His hands shook. Were there changes in who ruled the area again?

That could be both good and bad news. Mortimer couldn’t see why anyone would visit him but to make sure he knew his place.

The knocking continued, and someone called out his name. “I am coming!” Mortimer shouted. He was currently gathering courage. It couldn’t be worse than almost getting gutted in an alley.

Carefully, Mortimer headed for the door. His heartbeat grew louder and louder. Finally, he was there. The call for him repeated. He glanced back at the room where Vatim was hiding. Hopefully, nothing unfortunate will happen.

And with that thought, Mortimer yanked the doors open while trying not to flinch.

“Mortimer Cenpeno, I assume?” A young man - taller, bulkier and armed with two scimitars at his side asked. His sand-coloured hair was currently preened by a crow.

“Maybe?” Mortimer evaluated the danger. The guy was likely a mercenary, judging from the mismatch of clothes. Gambison wasn’t a good fit. The pants were too short, and the weapons were not made a pair. So, he was likely not wealthy enough to equip himself properly.

“So are you?” A young woman looked at Mortimer with annoyance.

Mortimer turned his head to the side and blinked. The woman was a treat for a sore eye. Her long brown hair cascaded beautifully and shone in the morning light. The matching eyes seemed to pull his gaze towards them. While the ill-fitting leather armour didn’t allow him a good look at the figure, he could tell she was athletic and well-shaped.

“I am.” Mortimer straightened his posture, trying to look more impressive. The woman was armed as well. She had a shield on her back and a sword at her side. So, likely, his guess was correct. They were mercenaries.

“Good.” A new voice joined them. “We have a few questions you have to-”

The man with the crow on his shoulder scowled. “We are asking for help, Mila. He doesn’t have to answer us.”

Mortimer tore his eyes away from the beautiful woman and looked down to the side of her, where a younger girl in a cloak with no visible weapons was currently squinting at him. How had he missed her?

“I don’t like how you look at Isabel, Mortimer.” She announced, then turned her head to the man. “And we need those answers, Andrew.”

“This is why I asked you to leave the speaking to me.” Andrew sighed. “That’s not how people ask for a favour.”

Mila huffed and turned back to Mortimer. “We are going inside. Now.” She glared.

Mortimer shuddered, suddenly feeling cold. He knew this feeling. Sometimes, his dad was visited by dangerous people. The feeling he got from the girl was very similar to the one he got from those visitors. “R-right. Y-you are welcome.” He scampered back, hoping Vatim would be smart enough to not alert them of his presence.