As I grew, and my understanding of the world expanded, the adults in my life changed how they spoke, and what they spoke of. I still went to the market, the tavern, and, more recently, the quieter, mostly empty brothel areas. I still spent time with and learned from my father and Esmeralda, but the subjects were different.

At the bars and taverns with my father, I heard more stories of their "work" and exactly what it was. They started showing scars and chips in their weapons or armor and telling the stories that went with them. They told me what each story taught them.

They sparred lightly with me in the corner of the tavern on slow days, taught me how to play darts and use throwing weapons, and helped me practice some of the things I'd seen while 'playing' as a child, namely, how to steal. It was 'stealing' from them. They would have a thing that I was to get. They, of course, knew I was coming at some point, so it wasn't easy. I'd get walloped if they caught me too soon. If I could get out of arm's reach, I won and got to keep whatever I'd just taken. "Finders keepers", I was told. They also taught me how to avoid a fight, which they stressed was more important than knowing how to fight. I never figured out why they taught me how to fight first, if that was the case, though being a child of the streets, those combat skills were put to use more often than I'd like to admit.

My father smiled as he told stories of his scars, oh his 'supposed' conquests, and then his mouth would be covered after he'd had too much to drink and started speaking of Esmeralda. The rest would say I was still too young for parts of those conversations. The men clearly had no idea what the women of the slums were teaching us.

~~~

Esmeralda brought me to the brothel, more specifically the top floor, where some of the ladies lived and where 'guests' weren't allowed. There we learned things that we were generally told to keep from our fathers. We learned sewing, basic cooking, cleaning, and how to keep a house together. They were skills that many of the brothel women valued, and ones that their married friends wished their husbands had. We also learned about consent and trust, the cornerstones of the establishment and profession. We learned what breaking them would mean, what it could cause: a life of loneliness at best, and death by the streets at worst. I also learned what not to say or do to a woman, to avoid a slap to the face or a kick to the nethers.

One of the other things some of was taught was to be polite, courteous, and kind. "You'll attract more flies with honey than you ever will with vinegar." They also said that being cooperative made run-ins with the law less unpleasant. Everyone continued to impart such lessons. How to watch others without drawing attention to yourself, self-defense, routes to avoid patrols, things that could easily be misused, ever so casually. They taught me how to survive as a kid in the shadows, without crossing certain lines.

I suppose they were living dreams of parenthood through me. They always had my back, at least I thought so. I became less sure during one of my father's extended 'jobs'.

He worked nights, as mercenaries often do, and sometimes longer jobs where he'd be gone for days, maybe even a week. He always made sure he left money for whatever we needed. Esmeralda told me as much on more than one occasion, so it was a bit of a surprise when he was gone for more than a week and she was worried about paying for our various expenses.

She responded by sending me to the bar to ask around. She said they were more willing to talk to a child, especially his child. I knew them anyway, and the way there. There would be no trouble. I did as I was told and made for the bar.

I arrived to most of the usual crowd. Some were out on jobs, others likely in the company of Esmeralda's coworkers. It had been several days since I'd last seen them, not long enough for the changes I noticed. They all looked, felt, tired or sad. Some gazed at me and turned away, thinking I hadn't noticed. I knew they were all looking. They'd shown me how to watch.

They'd taught me how and when to lie, how and how to spot one. I put every personable skill they taught me to use. I was kind, courteous, polite, and tried not to pry. However, every time my father came up, they would deflect, have to leave, break eye contact, drink, anything to avoid it. Something was wrong, but I couldn't get to the bottom of it myself.

I finally got somewhat of a response from my father's oldest 'friend', Orvyn. "You're Joe's pride and joy. He ain't gonna leave his son out to dry. I bet he'll be back any day now!"

Something about his words felt fake. His laugh rang hollow and his smile didn't quite meet his eyes. We were interrupted before I could question further.

A wave of silence rippled across the bar along with the passing of footsteps. Frightened and hushed whispers crossed the lips of many a patron, "Kazamir" was the most common one I heard.

The footsteps stopped at our table, and I gazed up at the surprisingly short man. I looked up to meet his gaze. I knew his name and knew he too frequented this tavern, but this was my first time seeing him up close, speaking to him. It was our first meeting, and I felt like I wasn't well-spoken enough even in my native tongue to describe how unsettling he was.

He was older than most of the crowd, and in this world, that meant he was strong. His aura, the way people reacted, and everything I could perceive about him through sight or otherwise told me that this was someone I should not cross. 

I swallowed my spit and stifled a gasp when I met his eyes. They were brown, like mine, but the whites of his eyes... well, they weren't. They were black, black as the night sky, a thing of nightmares.

I'd heard rumors of people with strange eyes. Whites that are black, pupils that are white, and eyes that glow. Around here, they were called 'saints' even if some of them were people of questionable character. This 'Dekard' appeared to be one of them.

He spoke, his voice low, but not unpleasant, and full of authority. "Hello, young lad. You're Emil, yes?"

"Yes, sir. I'm Gregory's son. And who might you be?" I heard audible gasps from the crowd, who were trying to listen in, and doing a poor job of hiding it. They'd made it clear who he was as they muttered, but this was our first official meeting, and I made sure to mind my manners. I felt as though my life depended on it as cold sweat ran down my back.

"My name is Kazamir. I am your father's employer. I need to speak with you regarding his current... condition."

My breath caught in my throat and my heart felt as if it would stop. I hardly managed a nod in response. He took an empty seat at the table, and Orvyn left the table in a hurry, taking an open seat at the nearest table. Neither man asked if those seats were free, which, according to what I was taught, was rude. The only ones who do that are people with the power to back up their rudeness. Orvyn would likely be forgiven, as for the man who now sat across from me...

"Your father was... injured while working. I had him moved to the Fortress City of Azidon for treatment. The doctors and healers there are second only to those in the royal capital."

I wasn't great with maps and knew little of geography, but I knew enough to know that Azidon was not in this territory. Going to visit him would be hard, if not impossible, for a boy my age.

While I was considering my next words and trying to wrestle my thoughts, gasps sounded from the other patrons. Something was, again, not right, but I dared not question it right now. I wasn't given the chance anyway as Kazamir continued, "I've had to pay a great deal to ensure he returns to health, and if I recall, you are staying with Esmeralda. Your rent, along with other various things, will be due soon."

Esmeralda's complaints instantly made sense. This must've been what she was talking about. I continued to listen, a feeling of danger growing in the pit of my stomach.

"Emil, I'll be frank. His care and transport are expensive. I will require restitution, you understand. Also, you will be unable to afford rent and food on Esmeralda's income alone."

"I don't understand everything you said, sir." I understood that those things must've cost a lot, but without knowing what 'resti... whatever meant, I couldn't be sure or = think ahead, so I used a child privilege, ignorance.

Kazamir chuckled, showing a toothy grin. It was unsettling, and I understood why as soon as he explained, "It means to pay back."

The feeling in my stomach was confirmed. I was about to be presented with a choice that was anything but. An offer I couldn't refuse.

Food wasn't free. That's why other kids in the shadows stole. Housing wasn't free, which was why so many lived hidden in alleys. We were lucky with our 2-room hovel and somehow had enough food, but with my father's absence, and the loss of his money...

"Come work for me, and you can pay off your father's debts. I'll also ensure you and the woman are fed and have a place to stay."

It wasn't a request. I could only nod and ask, "Can I see my father first?"

"He's unable to receive guests right now, you see. And Azidon is rather far away from here. The journey would be too much for one of your age. I can send you once he is better, and some of the costs are recovered."

It felt fishy, but I wasn't in a position to contest or complain. My father was missing, and it would only be a matter of time before I ran out of food. A job was a job. I'd be helping my father while keeping myself fed. It was a win-win in my book.

I didn't realize how many disappointed sighs there were from other patrons.