There is no refuge from memory and remorse in this world. The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us, with or without repentance.
--Gilbert Parker
Dreamer clutched at the cart's edge, steadying himself as it bounced over the rocky path. Someone, somewhere, he reasoned, had forgotten to add this roadway to the long list of things that needed fixing.
One of the two horses dragging them along whinnied, shaking its head and mane against the humid, cold air of that afternoon. "Yeah, it's a dreary one," said the driver, uttering his first words since Dreamer had boarded half-a-dozen blocks ago.
The younger man chose to stay quiet, preferring to leave action for later when they would arrive. Instead, he adjusted the edges of his clothes. The cheap and dingy outfit dug into all the wrong places, making him want to scratch himself. If this is what the Lucrum wear, it's no wonder that they're a group of angry masochists.
The cart lumbered onward. The dozens of boxes piled in its back thudded against one another with their contents rattling louder than the transport's loose wheels. Within the boxes was enough food to feed an army's worth of lackeys. The food was periodically brought to the same place from the same trusted source--it was food that he could not tamper with.
He glared at the non-descriptive containers, then carried his eyes and thoughts back to the mist-covered roads ahead. The Lucrums, of course, had decided to place this particular refuge in one of the shadier parts of the city. It wasn't the slums, per se, but it was certainly not the quaint neighbourhoods where one could trust his or her acquaintances.
Water from the previous night's showers was stagnating in the over-filled gutters, attracting a panoply of insects that landed on the floating mounds of trash. The cart's wheels sliced through the tepid liquid, sending splashing onto the cracked sidewalks. Dreamer took in the stench and cringed. It's going to be far worse in there than it is out here.
The driver quietly led his underfed animals around a corner and into a broad alleyway, one mercifully cleared of detritus. At the end of it, half-hidden amongst the shadows were a group of young men, chatting, laughing, and playfully fighting with one another before a wide set of double doors.
And here we are, Dreamer thought, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. If things go according to plan, it shouldn't take long. Go in, find out who's in charge, get out. He released a long, slow breath, one that emptied out along with his tension.
"You get them boys," the driver said. "They deserve what's coming."
Dreamer and the driver shared a nod. When their eyes met, they were filled with a certain understanding; one in which two victims of the same crime could understand.
"Hey, the grub's here!" one of the Lucrum Boys shouted before clapping his hands. His comrades rose up and moved along the road, making room for the cart and its contents.
The horses plodded forth at a depressed rate with their heads held low. Their master tugged at their harnesses until they coasted to a stop. The cart lurched and the contents of one of the sacks spilled out, toppling a few fat potatoes along the wooden surface.
"Knowing what to do, the Lucrum lackeys jumped to work. One slid the double doors open as the others looted the fallen goods and carried them inside. They marched like ants burdened with provisions for their colony.
Dreamer hopped out of his seat and climbed into the cart's back, gingerly avoiding the crates before he began passing some of the lighter ones down to the Lucrum men milling about. Eyes devoid of any recognition looked up at him, then the men picked up the packages and carried them into their warehouse.
In no time the cart was empty, save for a few of the heavier chests. He placed himself behind one, grabbed it and waited for one of the Lucrum men to lift the other end. Grunting in unison, Dreamer and the lackey heaved the chest out of the cart and manoeuvred it into the building.
And I'm in, Dreamer thought as the darkness of the edifice engulfed him. For a moment he was blindly led deeper by the pull of the other bearer on the chest, seeing only green as he tried to blink back his light-blindness.
The two men marched through the loading area. Droning voices that sometimes broke into scattered laughter filled the area. The heavy stench of cigarettes and cheap alcohol permeated the air and soaked into everything.
More boxes and crates lined the walls or were stacked up to serve as impromptu chairs and tables for playing cards. "Where do we put it?" Dreamer asked, gesturing to the case he was carrying with his chin.
The lackey motioned somewhere behind him. "Kitchen, Ah think. Today's grub day!" he replied as his face contorted in jubilation and he led Dreamer into the deeper parts of the compound.
They navigated through a long, thin corridor that ended in a storage room where a dozen more men mingled. Almost all of them were garbed as cooks or as serving men. In particular was a whale of a man wielding a ladle in much the same way as a king might wield his sceptre. "Put that over there!" he ordered, pointing the end of his wooden stick to one corner before twisting around to the others. "What're you bunch of lowlife bums doing? Miss Leonie is here and I want to see you people hustling about like there's no tomorrow. This day might be your last, and I want it to be a horrible one!"
Dreamer obeyed, somewhat awed by the speed in which the men and women sitting around found was to make themselves look busy, no matter how inconsequential. The case dropped with a solid thump and he was glad to have the use of his arms back, no matter how strained and taut they felt.
The man he had carried the chest with walked out, giving him a quick nod and an amicable pat on the shoulder before disappearing into the long tunnel. And now I'm in for real. Where should I start? And with what?
He occupied himself by catching his breath and watching the staff buzz around like a nest's worth of bees. This place is not how I imagined it to be. No gun-toting freaks, no monsters or bogeymen. The décor's a little dated but simple. The staff seems to know what they're doing. The fact that there is a staff is surprising on its own. This place is supposed to be a hive of villainy, and the Lucrum are far from the civilised sort.
Brows knitting, Dreamer pushed himself away from the wall and crossed the floor, deftly avoiding the fast-moving cooks. His nose led him to the kitchen, where a dozen meals were being prepared at once.
An array of cooks swirled their pans around. Their sizzling fodder hopped into the air with a flick of their wrists. Others tucked full roasts into ovens. The succulent meats added their own aroma to the tasteful scent of spice and flame. At the far end of the room were cooks filling silver platters with the prepared meals before gently adding the final touches and then topping everything with domed covers
The fat chef surveyed his kitchen with sharp eyes as he rubbed the massive bulge of his stomach. One of the younger cooks crossed the room with a platter in hand, deposited it with the rest, then beelined to the back of the room. Dreamer watched as the cooks spoke in quick, hushed whispers. Then the large chef let out a deep sigh before flapping his wrinkled jowls. "Oi, all of you, stop that racket for a bloody minute!"
At once, the cacophony died down and all attention turned to him. "I need a volunteer. Miss Leonie wants her food."
The silence grew thicker, until even a pin's drop would have sounded like the retort of a rifle. Eyes widened, then slid away from the chef, not wanting to meet his dark orbs. Miss Leonie? She's related to Charles Lucrum, the family head. I'm here to learn who's in charge.... Almost without realising it, Dreamer lifted his hand above his bent shoulders. "I'll go. If it's no trouble."
A whooshing sigh filled the room, and, as one everyone returned to work, many giving him pitying stares. The head chef beckoned him over with a wave of his finger. Dreamer obliged, his path made clear as people practically jumped out of his way.
With startling speed, the chef's greasy hand landed on his shoulder with a wet smack. "You're new here, aren't you?" the man asked.
"Yes, yes I am," Dreamer lied easily, only a tiny pang resonating within him.
"Aye, I can tell... always the new ones that volunteer. Right stupid of them, and you, too." His grip still strong, the chef led Dreamer towards the back of the room with short, waddling strides. "No getting out of it now, though; it's simple enough, anyway. Just grab the platter, then run on over to Miss Leonie. Place it before her, silently"--he admonished--"then take the dome off and scamper away. There's someone else to pick the plate up for her."
Dreamer nodded. Sounds simple enough, but if their reaction's anything to go by, then there might be an issue or two to face.... I should have brought a gun... no, no, that would complicate things. I just need to find out who's who in the Lucrum, then I can leave. No problem. Not like last time. A deep shudder wracked through his body.
The chef noticed, smiling a gap-toothed grin. "Aye, you'd better be a tad worried. Worry will keep you alive," he said. Like an oversized viper, his arm shot off and grabbed one of the serving boys. "Oi, you. Take off your jacket and give it to this here lad."
The young boy glared at the chef and prepared a retort, but just as quickly, the chef cut him off with, "The lad's going to see Miss Leonie. He should look half-decent, at least."
"Oh," was all that escaped the serving boy before he looked at Dreamer and nodded gravely.
New jacket on and platter in hand, Dreamer was firmly, but gently, pushed out of the noisy kitchen and into the hallway beyond. Right, Dreamer thought, looking down both ends of the corridor. Where to?
The passageway was not quite what he had envisioned. Brilliant electric bulbs glowed hot within their iron-worked cages, illuminating the gilded frames that hung on every wall. As Dreamer took off to his left--on a whim--he absently looked into the images of far-off landscapes untainted by man and machine. His footsteps echoed along in the busy passage, broken up by a myriad of sounds provided by others rolling hand carts, or pairs of guards with badly-concealed weapons poking out of their jackets.
This is almost like home, he thought as he circled around a tight bend and met a few cleaning maids. The same colour for the walls, the dull taste in art, the avant-garde lighting. A slow, half-grin slid across his features. I can almost hear dad complaining about the market or the neighbour's lawn being uncut. The humour faded, but the smile remained, becoming something darker. These people are the ones that took him. Pointedly, he glared at a few of the men strutting by.
"Something wrong?" one of the men asked, rustling as he turned to face Dreamer.
"Oh." Dreamer snapped out of his reverie, the danger and risk of his surroundings coming into stark relief. "Yes, sir. I'm looking for a Miss Leonie. Do you happen to know where she is?"
The man's expression softened and the set of his shoulders relaxed. "Hmm, yeah. She's over there, round that corner to the right, then the... sixth door. The one to your left, I think."
Dreamer nodded, bending over in what was almost a bow, the platter firmly held in both hands before turning around and walking off. He knew that the men behind him would quickly move on.
A moment later, Dreamer spun around the corner, moving the platter to compensate for the momentum as he took long strides through the corridor. With a quick count, he found the sixth door, one with a tall, dark-suited man standing beside it, arms crossed and back resting against the wall.
Their eyes met, and Dreamer broke contact, focusing on the ground below and at his feet until he slowed to a stop in front of the guard. Meet her; learn what you can; ascertain her position. Then you can prowl around and maybe question a person or two. "Um, hello, sir. Is Miss Leonie in there?" he asked simply.
The guard pushed himself off of the wall and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "Who wants to know?"
In answer, Dreamer grasped the platter in one hand and tipped the dome back, allowing a puff of steam to swell out. Ignoring the scalding pain in his fingertips, the young man held the lid up until the foggy smoke reached the guard's nostrils. He slid the cover shut with a firm clap.
"Oh, Miss Leonie's dinner. She loves turkey. Shoots them herself," he mused in a thick, raspy voice before flicking his thumb at the door.
Nodding meekly, Dreamer circumvented the man, lifted a knuckle to the door, and hesitated. "Ah, just knock," the guard said, "She'll tell you to come in or not. Oh, and when you head back, remind the cooks about how hard we work, huh?" He smiled at Dreamer.
Three taps sounded out at the behest of his knuckles before he gently grasped the handle and bit his lower lip.
"If it's Dexter, go jump off a cliff," said a gravelly, rough voice, but one that was still very feminine, almost sensuous. Quick as a whip, the voice changed, becoming girly, sweet and high-pitched. "Anyone else can come in!"
Swallowing hard and quelling his mounting anticipation, Dreamer twisted the handle and pushed the door open.
A table took up a great part of the room, laid out along the centre with a dozen chairs all around. The middle was occupied solely by an elaborately decorated electric lamp with a coloured glass holder, one that cast a myriad of tinctures across the room and table.
Bathed in a deep green hue was a large man bedecked as a constable of the City Guard. The heavyset man glanced at Dreamer for a flicker of a second, then glared across the table and leaned back into his seat, the position of a man on the defensive.
Flanking him were members of the Lucrum household, two women in tight dresses and business jackets better tailored for men. The dolled-up guardians shuffled on the spot, but did not deign to notice Dreamer. Instead, their attention was on the fourth and last person at the table.
Ah, so this is Lady Leonie.
Tinged in a deep, crimson red sat Leonie. Her teeth looked to be covered in blood as she flashed Dreamer a welcoming smile, one that was anything but hostile. Her free hands brushed lightly against the tailored dress-suit she wore, one coloured the deepest burgundy. Her predator-like eyes shifted to the officer and drilled into him. "Pardon the interruption, constable, merely my dinner arriving a trifle late.... Now, where were we?" she asked, suavely directing the conversation back to the agent of the City Guard.
"You, Lady Leonie, were just making some rather rude, pretentious and plainly ludicrous demands towards the City Guard," he replied in an even tone, his face gaining an unsightly red tint as he spoke.
She hummed and invited Dreamer to place the platter adjacent to her position. "Yes, yes, that's where I was at. The 'ludicrous demands' bit. Usually when someone says no--which is, unfortunately, often the case--we add a little incentive to it all. However, this time we're not going to be so lenient."
The constable huffed. "You're crazy. I don't enjoy coming down upon a woman, but your words and actions are more than enough to drive a man mad. You dare to ask that I go against everything I swore to uphold? And for what? Pity revenge on some punks?"
"Not just any punks. The punks that hurt my family: the most despicable of crimes. And they will pay, whether you aid us or not. What we ask for isn't too difficult." She placed both hands on the table, then began gesturing excitedly, animating her telling. "You see, there are only four rulers in this fine city. The Proditionis have their board, but everyone knows that Louis is in charge. The Paradisia have some mysterious person or other. The City, that's the third player, have Mayor Egale and your own little bureaucracy. We have Charles, but he's old. Now Mortimer's in charge, but he's drooling on a hospital bed and laughing like a maniac." Leonie smiled, eyes slanting menacingly. "I think you see our little problem?"
"Oh, so you lost one of your puppets? Well, I honestly don't care, nor does the Guard. Your little squabbles are your own concern as long as you don't cross the threshold of the laws." His brows knitted and he leaned forwards, placing both elbows on the table. As he did so, he entered a beam of blue light emanating from the lamp. "And I know full well that your boys care little for the law."
One of her perfectly plucked eyebrows rose to a sharp point. "Do you think that they respected the law when they sent that harlot over to poison my brother?" she asked, the seething within her evident through her snarl.
"No, of course not. But that does not excuse you from retaliating, as you wish to do."
"Not a retaliation. I just want you to turn a blind eye. And that attention you're diverting could be placed on the other friendly families... to great profit," she said.
The constable played with the golden band around his finger, staring at it as the seconds ticked by. "I'm sorry, but I refuse. I swore my life to uphold the law, and nothing you can say or offer will change that." He began to stand, tugging his coat into place as he did so.
Leonie made a motion with her forefingers, directed to the two bodyguards standing behind the officer. One of them took a half-step to tower over the man and roughly grabbed his shoulder, forcing him back into his seat.
Indignation immediately twisted across his features, but that too was cut off as one of the women--the one standing back--ripped a revolver from within her jacket.
The lady turned to Dreamer, staring deep into his eyes. "You forgot to remove the dome, sweetie," she said.
Dreamer blinked a few times, his mind catching up to the change in subject. "Oh, of course," he said before sliding to her side and moving the platter across the table and to the lady's front. There, he removed the lid with a flourish. "Please forgive me. Your meal, Madam. I hope everything is to your satisfaction," he said, struggling to remember what he had heard when he was the one seated and being served. It felt like a lifetime ago.
She smiled back. "Thank you, young gentleman," she said before daintily picking up her fork. "You're rather cute--"
"Will you stop this tomfoolery? Threatening my life in such a fashion will not go unpunished!" the constable said, voice rising to a shout.
"Shut him up," Leonie ordered.
With both grace and dignity, the woman holding the revolver pulled back on the hammer, placed the gun behind the wide-eyed constable's head, and pulled the trigger twice.
Two thunderous booms filled the room. The sound was still reverberating against the walls as the constable toppled onto the table, face smashing into the hardwood.
Bile rose up in Dreamer's mouth and he coughed, fixated on the twin tendrils of smoke drifting out of the forest of matted dark hair. The acidic taste burned at his throat before he could turn away and face the wall behind Leonie with a watery, blank gaze.
"Eleonor," Leonie began, glancing at the revolver-wielding woman before diving back into her meal. "Next time, use a knife. It's rather loud in here. All right?"
"Yes, Lady Leonie," came the chastised reply.
For a moment, peace reigned in the room. The constable's head lolled to one side, hiding the horrible scar from Dreamer and giving him a plentiful view of glazed-over eyes. The two guardians backed up to the far wall, one of them absently rubbing a crimson stain from the lapels of her coat. Leonie ate her turkey, dipping the cut-off portions into a thick gravy before chewing on it ravenously.
"So, young boy," she asked, her question obviously directed to Dreamer. "Could you give my compliments to the chef? His sauce was perfect this time. A truly excellent recipe he has."
"I'll be sure to tell him..." Dreamer said with a croak. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the compliment."
"No, he won't," she said wistfully, waving the silver fork about like a pendulum. "Oh, and tell him that if I ever feel like finally caving in and learning how to cook, then I'll be sure to ask him for directions and counselling. Now that will make him nervous!" she tittered. The two women accompanied her with a pair of hollow giggles.
"Are you new here?"
"Yes, Lady Leonie, I am." Snap out of it you fool. This is your chance, he thought, yet still his gaze lingered on the corpse across from him, something that Leonie picked up on.
"I thought that I didn't recognize you... I know all the cute blond boys under our service, after all. Does the constable disturb you?" she asked, lips curving into a seductive pout as Dreamer squirmed on the spot.
"In all honesty, yes. Yes, his presence is rather disturbing here. It detracts from the... beauty, residing in this fine room."
Leonie flashed him a warm smile, then, with her fork-holding hand, made another gesture at the two young women. Immediately one of them grabbed the constable by the armpits and hefted him up. Sprinklings of blood marred her dress shirt as she dragged him out. "Better?" the lady asked as the officer's spit-shined shoes disappeared into the hall.
"Much," he said, giving her a curt bow, "I thank you again, Lady Leonie."
She shrugged and hummed, returning to what little was left of her meal. "Not the cold-blooded type, I see. Did you never see a murder before?"
The word stung at him, and Dreamer stiffened, limbs becoming as sluggish lead bars before he forced himself to cough. "Y-yes, I have."
"Did you ever kill someone before?"
Yes, I have, haven't I? "No, of course not."
"Well, if you've seen one, you've seen them all. Human life's a rather fickle thing, isn't it? One moment it's there, the next it's gone. Death isn't such a bad thing in my line of work, in my family. But what they did to my brother.... That's shameful."
"You believe that all deaths are the same?"
"Oh, no. Not quite. But all murders are.... I'm done," she said, tossing the fork onto the porcelain plate. It clattered around aimlessly, the sound both jarring and painfully loud in the deathly quiet of the room.
Swallowing hard, Dreamer leaned over and picked the plate and platter up before replacing the dome above it all. "I hope you enjoyed your meal, Lady Leonie. I hope that your brother does well, and that you lead the Lucrum with tact in his absence."
She flashed him a cold smile. "Aren't you a charmer? I've been dragging this family around by the nose for longer than you've been around, boy. Now get going... we might see each other again."
To Dreamer's great discontent, she winked at him as he turned around and barged through the door. On the other side, the door guard was aiding now, dragging the constable's corpse along the hallway, legs disappearing around the corner while leaving a trail of blood.
He began marching in the opposite direction, legs flying with long strides as he quickly put distance between himself and the scene behind. Murder's all the same? Heh, if that's truly the case, then I'm no better than the one that assassinated my father.
Dreamer walked on, pace slowing down as he entered unfamiliar corridors and passageways, no one paying attention to him due to his servant's livery and tray. No, that's not right, is it? The one I killed deserved it. He was a villain too.
The beautifully crafted corridors with their rich decorations, so similar to the house of his childhood, gave way to stark grey utility halls that smelt of ammonia and urine. What would he have wanted?
The thought suddenly rooted him to the spot, loafers glued to the cement floor as a swirl of dizzying emotions ran through him. Memories of his youth returned; his mother's silent death and the massive toll its toll on his father; how that man had changed, cutting off ties to the world around them, simplifying his life and how he began to find joy in smaller things; days and weeks spent together, talking, playing, reading throughout the evening or tackling the mounting piles of paperwork generated by the few businesses they owned; through it all, his father was the voice of reason.
He hated only one thing, and that was unfairness.
And what was the greatest unfairness but the taking of life?
No! I didn't have a choice then, and they deserved it! Dreamer's mind screamed. He charged forward once more and found an exit, which he burst through. Outside, he was assaulted by the cool air of the evening, made colder by the shade of the building behind. With panting breaths, he swallowed the air in large gulps, ignoring the small group of guards looking at him with slack jaws and wide eyes. One of them, the obvious leader bedecked in a leather jacket and wielding a nightstick, took a few errant steps his way. "You okay?" he asked.
"Piss off," Dreamer snapped at him before stomping over to a nearby garbage bin. Opening the top, he tossed in the silver platter, then tore off his waistcoat and added it to the trash.
The day's warmth shimmered around him as he trampled out of the alley and into the streets, both hands deep within his pockets. "He wouldn't have wanted it," he repeated in a low whisper as his cheap loafers tapped along the clean sidewalk that arced along the front of the warehouse. This was the public face of the building that stood out amongst its peers by the simple means of not looking abandoned.
I did what I did. Father wouldn't have wanted me to do it. Would he have been mad? Dreamer trotted on, focusing squarely on his feet as they flashed in and out of his line of sight. In moments, the Lucrum hideaway was behind him, forgotten by his turbulent thoughts. No. I didn't just do it. I did it because I had to. But did I? Maybe I could have... no. He always said to stand up to what you did. To admit to your actions and errors.
Biting his lower lip, Dreamer wondered if it was an error. Yes, it was wrong, but the reason was right. Did a right, right a wrong? He was doing it to prevent that same, vile sort of pain to touch others, to hurt people like him again. The three families deserved to fall, to be brought to some sort of judgement. And who else but he, a victim, and a group of silent benefactors and allies, to bring about that end?
But it was wrong, improper, truly disgusting of me to have done that. It's done, and there's nothing I can do about it.... Dreamer sighed and found an alcove to an office building to hide in, a place cast in shadows that seemed firm and solid against the brick walls. There, hidden in the partial darkness that bisected his frame, he placed his face in his hands and groaned. What should I do?
The city needs us. But we're doing the wrong thing! The wrong thing for the right reasons and with only an inkling of a chance that it will work.
"Get the heck out of my store!" an aged voice bellowed with a breathless wheeze.
Dreamer spun around, his reverie momentarily lost as he tried to find the source of the action.
Across the street was a line of storefronts. Signs marred by age and weather were dangling in the feeble wind over façades that had seen better days. Despite their age, most showed signs of tender care, freshly painted doors and spotlessly clean glass panes that displayed the wares they sold to prospective customers.
One of these stores had attracted trouble. A threesome of young men lingered near a candy shop covered in gaudy and bright colours. Jeering laughter and snide voices echoed along the sparsely populated street, indistinct but undoubtedly hostile.
An older gentleman, bedecked with a pair of clean pants, a warm sweater and a long, once-white apron waved a broom at them. The shaft swept through the air, missing the nearest boy by a landslide. "Leave me alone, you inebriated, no-good twits! I know your parents and I swear to the almighty Lord that they will be hearing about this!"
Dreamer began to march across the cobblestone roadway and followed behind a wobbly cart as he approached the scene. Where's the City Guard? They should be here.
One of the young men, vested in the dingy waistcoat common to the Lucy Boys, stepped up to the old shopkeep and swiped at the broom, young and strong hands grasping the handle in an iron-like grip before he tore it away.
The old man stumbled forward, pulled by the impromptu weapon he had been holding. "Give that back you thick-headed imbecile!"
"Maybe, after you pay for protection, you stinking old mule," the youth said as he held the staff just out of reach.
"When my old bones turn to gold! You'll never get a penny out of me."
The Lucy Boy shrugged, his lithe shoulders bounding up and down below the perpetual and idiotic grin plastered on his face. "Then I guess there's nothing stopping me from doing this!" Grabbing the wooden rod in both hands, the would-be thug brought it down and onto his knee. The two collided with a firm slap and the boy's face turned an awful shade of purple before he stumbled to the side and dropped the bent broom.
"Hah! Teach you to mess with my things!" the old man gloated, clutching at his ribs as he wheezed out a hearty laugh.
The other two boys gestured at one another and began to march towards the shopkeep, cracking their knuckles and popping their necks. "Now ya deserve it, old man."
Dreamer stepped out from behind the slow-moving carriage and onto the cracked sidewalk, his presence immediately grabbing the attention of the two parties as he came to a rest between them.
The old-timer spat at his feet and sneered at Dreamer. "Another one, eh? Damn buffoons are like a cold, keep popping up when you don't need it."
"No, sir, nothing to worry about with me," Dreamer said as he presented his open palms to both groups, "In fact, I'm here to end this little squabble."
"Who're you?" one of the lackeys asked, jutting his chin out at him.
"My name's not important, I, uh, I work for the Lucrums too," he explained.
The shopkeep harrumphed. "Just what I needed, another one. My daughter was right, I ought to leave this flea-ridden dump of a city."
The others examined Dreamer but said nothing. He chose that moment to speak, "Look, guys, leave the old guy alone. It's not the best way to act, all right?"
"What are you talking about, chump? We were told to get some cash out of these dumb-bells and that's what we're gonna do," said the one who was now limping off the pain in his knee.
Come on, think fast... "Lady Leonie's at the.. the house. And when she leaves, she'll be driven by here. If she sees the bunch of you messing around... well, you've seen how she can be when she's not in the best of moods, eh?"
Eyes widened and looks were traded. "Ah, are you serious? She's coming over here? Dang, thanks mate!" one said before turning to his comrades in crime, "Come on guys, let's hightail it." The three spun around and ran or ambled away, two on either side of their injured friend before they disappeared into one of the stinking alleys they called home.
The older man turned his attention to Dreamer, uncertain, stuck between a glare and a look of hopeful reproach.
"Why aren't you going along with your friends?" he asked.
Dreamer shrugged. "They're not my friends. I just don't like their sort. honestly, I'd rather see that kind of sleaze-bag...."
"Dead?" the shopkeep filled the silence with one of the few words that sent shivers down Dreamer's spine.
"No, not quite. Um, I mean...."
He smiled, a slow, but honest thing honed by years of experience goading little children into trading their hard-earned coins for handfuls of sweets. "No, not quite. But something similar, eh?" Bending his back, the shop's owner picked up the broken broom and sighed as he hefted it, discerning eyes looking at the shaft then at the alley in which the Lucy Boys has faded. "This whole city needs one heck of a clean up. The sooner the better."
Dreamer bit his lower lip, and unconsciously, his arms crossed over his chest, as if protecting him from an unfelt cold. "Isn't that a little, violent? I mean, to answer pain with suffering.... Maybe it's not the best solution?"
The shopkeep grunted. "Maybe not the best, but those two-bit, no-good, thieving idiots deserve a good spanking. And it's not the Guard that's going to deliver it, that's for sure!" With another grunt, he shoved his thick hands into the pockets of his apron and pulled out a handful of hard candy. "Here, for helping me out. We need more folks like you, that go out and do something for a change... next time you come over I'll give you a discount, all right?"
With a firm slap on the arm, Dreamer was left standing on the sidewalk alone with a handful of confectionery delights. I helped... but only a little. How many times a day does this sort of thing happen? And father. He was taken from me. How many more are taken every month, every week? What I want to do is so, so wrong. But it's right.
Dreamer began to walk along the sidewalk, head low and back bent. I don't want to do it. But it has to be done. Who else will do it?
It's my dream, after all.
* * * * *
The next morning, they arrived. Not two, nor three, but a dozen young men with bandages and cloth covering their features. They held torches, crowbars and long machetes as they rounded out of the alley.
The old shopkeeper had only the time to scare his young clients away before the tide crashed into his store and rampaged through it.
In moments, they were gone, and the now-flaming form of the old candy store stood testament to what happened when one defied the Lucrum.