~ Felony ~

Strength To Surpass

"You're old enough now, I reckon, old enough that most of what I'm about to tell you won't come as much of a surprise. That's how it was when my Dad told me, like a bunch of stuff I always kind of suspected all came together. Anyway, here's how it goes—"

"I need to go wee first."

"Do you now? Well, you'd better take care of that before anything else."

Gil watched his daughter scamper off.

"Giving the talk, eh?"

He looked up to see a tall, long-haired man grinning down at him, an unsheathed sword in his hand.

"Ho, Marko!" said Gil, grinning back.

"Best be hard about it," said Marko, as he sat on a crate opposite, jamming the sword down into the dirt between two dusty paving stones.

"Lot of the mollies have been hard on ME about it, you can bet that."

"Ah, mollies," said Marko, dark eyes flicking up to meet Gil's. "Don't listen to 'em. Time like this, mollies have gotta be soft. You and me, we've gotta be hard."

"I'd drink to that if there were a bottle handy," said Gil, with a chuckle.

"Figure that girl of yours is plenty hard too."

"She ain't no molly, that's for sure," said Gil. "Reckon she mightn't even need the talk, but—"

"Nah. She needs it, same as everyone. Mollies been saying she's too young? I say maybe she could've taken it earlier. Not saying you're too late, just saying ... Melantha can take it."

"She can at that. Ah, speaking of that particular devil—"

"Uncle Marko! Are you going to talk at me too?"

"I've got a few things to take care of right now," said Marko, disengaging from Melantha's hug and pulling his sword from the ground. "But I'll see you later, right enough."

"Tell Chell and Hazel and Wesh and Shey and Faith I said hi, okay?"

"I will, if I see 'em." Marko leant down to kiss Melantha on the forehead, then exchanged a last glance with Gil before making his way out of the alley.

"Now then," said Gil, as his daughter sat down opposite him, her dark eyes bright. "All ready to listen?"

Melantha nodded eagerly.

"Good. Now here's how it goes, the truth of the world, so listen up and remember, bright eyes. Outside of your family it'll be a rare person that's not out to get you, and if you let 'em get the jump on you then you're gonna get locked up or killed or otherwise done bad by."

Gil leant forward, smiling, holding his six year-old daughter's complete and fixed attention with his words.

"But they can't do any of those things to you, if they can't catch you..."

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Mel tore down the alleyway, slim cloth package clutched to her chest. She skidded around a corner and launched herself down an even narrower alleyway, young face set as she leapt for the nearest wall, running up it at an angle before launching herself to the opposite wall, reaching up with her gloved hand to catch a ledge above, pulling herself further up, and there was another ledge, and part of a rickety wooden drain that came away from the wall as Mel grabbed it—but the instant it held was the instant she needed, and she was hanging from another ledge now, turning, pushing against the wall with both feet to propel herself upwards and on to the roof of the neighbouring building, running as soon as she landed, and she was free now and away because this was her house; the rooftops of the city of Clock Face. Even if her pursuers somehow managed to get up to the roof, they'd never catch her. Not here.

Mel slowed her run, settling into a comfortable pace as she ran along rough yellow rooftops that shone in the harsh sunlight, leapt across gaps that were six storeys up over alleys crowded with makeshift structures and indefinable people, her dark eyes fixed on each obstacle in turn as she let the city take her where she needed to be.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Hey, if it ain't Mel-Lene. Goin' my way?"

Mel glanced over at the lanky, shaven-headed boy running over the roof of the building next to her. He leapt over the gap between them and came up close, so he was running beside her.

"Hey Wesh," said Mel, not looking at him as they ran across a long, wide rooftop.

"Oh," Wesh said, as they leapt over the next gap together and ran along a series of narrow, flat rooftops connected together by wide planks, "you heard of this new invention? It's called a 'bag', means you don't gotta hold on to stuff with your hands."

Wesh had a package too, sticking out of a bag that had been tightly wrapped around his chest with a couple of belts.

"Lost it," Mel said, as she put on an extra burst of speed, taking her ahead of the boy to leap across a three-metre wide gap and land running. She looked back over her shoulder as she sped forward, heading in a different direction from him. "And the only time I'm going your way is in ... your ... DREAMS!"

Mel launched herself off the edge of the roof with a wild cry, leaping down to a lower building, rolling as she landed then up again in an instant, speeding towards the edge and leaping across to another, and then another, and then across a sequence of narrow planks before leaping down to a lower rooftop, only a couple of storeys above the street now and near her goal, and after a final hop, skip and jump Mel leapt off a final rooftop, grabbing hold of a rope and hanging on as a heavy counterweight came rocketing up, letting go to drop the last few metres into a narrow alleyway.

Mel spent a few seconds catching her breath, then she knocked on a nearby door twice, then paused, then knocked once more. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then looked up as the door opened.

"Package," she said, holding it out to the hooded man who'd opened the door. "Hear the hawks cry."

"Their prey is lost," said the man, as he took it.

"Any returns?"

"Not today."

"Okay. See ya!"

With that Mel was away, feet barely touching the ground as she raced back towards the depot, grinning with perfect happiness.

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It was dark by the time Mel returned, coins clinking in her pocket and a new bag hanging at her side. It took her longer than usual to get there—several times she was forced to duck down inconvenient alleys, and at one point she had no choice but to hide in a doorway, flattening her body into the narrow alcove for a tense minute before it was safe to go on.

But she was home now, familiar voices and music and laughter around her, the bright light of the fires and the smell of roasting meat welcome after her long day's work.

"Here's one for trouble!" her father called out as she came to sit down beside him. She rested her head fondly on his shoulder and let him tousle her short hair, before she sat up straight and took off her bag. "How was your day, bright eyes?"

"The usual," she said.

"Anyone come close?"

Mel grinned. "No one even came close to comin' close."

"Good girl. You hungry? Why don't—ho, Marko! Heading for the stables?"

Gil chuckled as Marko looked towards him and his daughter, but stopped as he noticed the serious look in his friend's eyes.

"What's wrong, Uncle Marko?" Mel asked, as he approached them.

"Rumours," he said. "The war's worsening."

"Ah, the war's always worsening, the fighting'll never get here," said Gil. "Sit down and have a drink—Melantha was just about to tell me about her day."

Marko was shaking his head. "Word is the real army's pulling back. Gonna be a lot of greenshirts around."

"Huh," said Mel. "Greenshirts ain't nothing, they can't run for pudding in all that armour. Anyone gets caught by them deserves the beating."

"Way I hear it, getting off with a beating'd mark you as lucky," said Marko. "Way I hear it, the nobs are taking every body they can grab and throwing 'em at the Crovians. You two know about Werner and Hugo?"

Gil and Mel both shook their heads, their expressions now serious.

"Pair of 'em got their throats slit today. Word is if you get caught by the greenshirts, you get a choice; join them or join the dead."

"IF you get caught," muttered Mel.

"Yes," Gil agreed. "Werner and Hugo, lord rest 'em, were never the brightest couple of jacks."

"True enough. Still, maybe best to keep things quiet for a few weeks. No risks."

"I never take risks," said Mel. Marko smiled at that, and reached out to pat her cheek.

"Of course you don't," he said. "Just you make sure—"

"Well now, look at this! Excuse me, young lady, but you look a little bit familiar to me, have we met before?"

"Hi Mum," Mel said, smiling up at her mother.

"Goodness, could it be true? My own long-lost daughter come back to me after these many years?"

"I saw you a few days ago, Mum, you don't have to get so dramatic."

Melantha's mother smiled at her, then looked between Marko and Gil.

"Hello, you two," she said. "Up to no good as usual?"

"Hello, Tala," said Marko. "I was just telling your daughter she should keep things quiet for the next while."

"'Quiet' isn't something Dabrowska women have ever done well," said Tala, with a laugh. "Regardless of our other talents."

"I'm great at quiet!" Mel protested.

"That's because you're not JUST a Dabrowska," said her father. "Quiet is what we Lenes do best."

"Well, whatever you are," said Tala, placing a fond hand on her daughter's shoulder, "you should go and wish Faith and her parents luck, they're heading off to do that thing tonight."

"Okay," said Mel, standing. She looked down at her father seriously. "Look after my bag, I've got some stuff to show you later."

"I'll surely look forward to it," said Gil. He watched his daughter skip off with a smile on his face, but this faded as he looked back at Marko.

"Now," he said, as Tala sat down beside him. "Let's have a talk about this little problem of ours."