The First Binding, page 34
Some of the boxes, I guessed.
And a few of the sheets fell to the street, giving onlookers a glance inside.
I released my grip and ran with renewed energy matching my escape from the Ashura.
Shouting filled the air behind me, and I made note of a string of obscenities I don’t think I have the creativity to match to this day.
People rushed to the aid of the stall merchant—passing me by, fortunately.
I turned and raced down another alley. A few men lay slumped against the walls, letting their heads fall to the side rather than turn to follow me. They looked nearly lifeless at first glance, but they took no further action beyond staring mutely. I took that as a silent blessing as I made my way past.
One of the men locked eyes with me and I nearly stopped.
I could see no color in them beyond a milky white that showed all the signs of going further cloudy. I may as well have been looking into two balls of cotton soaked in old milk.
The man reached out with an open hand, his fingers gnarled and the nails yellowed. “Coin?” He licked his lips like he’d gone days without a taste of water.
I said nothing, looking back over my shoulder to see if anyone had followed me into the narrow street. A piece of me breathed relief to find I was alone, save for the slumped men all staring at me.
The one who’d spoken scraped against the wall for support as he got to his feet. “You have anything on you to help a poor soul?” He gave me a tired and uneven smile that showed gums nearly as white as his eyes. I could barely tell where they began from his teeth. And every other man had a smile the same.
One of them reached behind his back and pulled free a thin sliver that glinted in what little light reached the alley.
I swallowed, backing away from them. “No, nothing—sorry. I…” I didn’t finish my thought, deciding it was better to run.
But one of the man’s hands snaked out, clamping on the meat between my neck and shoulder. He squeezed hard enough that his overgrown nails nearly broke my skin. The strength of his grip surprised me as it shouldn’t have come from someone as emaciated as him. His clothes hung from him and looked like another few days of rough sleeping would finish eating through the fabric completely.
His hair hung thin and lank. The lifestyle he lived had taken all the healthiness from his skin, leaving him wan in places, sallow in others.
“Let me go.” I struggled, but all the strength and anger of earlier had fled. All I could hold to was weariness and the promise of pain now sinking in from the shopkeeper’s beating.
“Look him over,” said the white-eyed man, speaking to the others in the alley. “Maybe he has something we can sell. We can get another piece of white-joy.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Cheep-cheep.” The noise sounded like the imitation of a small bird’s call, coming from farther down the alley.
Everyone turned to regard the speaker but me, unable to twist properly under the man’s hold.
The source of the disturbance now released a trilling whistle. “Cheep-cheep.”
I struggled against the man, but despite his frailty he clung to me as if I were a piece of gold he couldn’t risk losing.
The man gripping me squinted down the alley. “Who comes?”
“The one who has what you seek—cheep-cheep. Let the boy go, and I’ll give you what you could want him for.”
The white-eyed man’s gaze widened. His tongue passed between his pressed lips and ran along the tissue as if he were thirsty. “You have some? How much?”
“I do. Give me the boy, and I’ll give you a piece of happiness—of bliss. Enough at least for you and your friends today. Tomorrow? Tomorrow you’ll have to find your own, huh?”
The man’s grip slackened and I grabbed hold of his wrist, squeezing as hard as I could to break free. “N-no.”
The other white-eyes now came to my side, each putting another hand on me to ensure I remained where I was.
Voices sounded at the end of the alley I’d entered through, and I had a suspicion they were spurred by my antics at the shopkeeper’s stall. It looked very much like I was ill-sorted no matter which way I went.
The white-eyes who’d first grabbed me now sneered at the newcomer I still couldn’t see. “We could sell the boy for more joy than that. Do you … have more?”
“Tch-tch. Shame. You could do that, yes. But how would you? Three little cotton-eyed birds with a small boy in hand? People would notice. People would talk. How long before kuthri come asking questions? And their questions always come at the tip of their long, long knives.” I had a feeling the speaker smiled.
“Could you sell the boy? I’m not sure. But if you let him go now, you’ll be sure to have a piece and promise of white-joy today.”
The group of men turned toward each other, whispering among themselves.
“It’s been a whole day and a half, Sashi. A. Day. And. A. Half.” One of the men scratched his cheek just under one of his eyes.
“Feels longer to me. My eyes feel dry. The man has a point. We can just take the joy now. Now.” The final word held a note of plea that I heard echoes of in my own mind on days deep hunger plagued me.
The man who’d first spoken to me finally turned back to the stranger. “Give it here and we’ll give you the boy. No tricks. Nothing funny, ji-ah?”
“Done. Pass me the boy and I hand you the joy at the same time.”
The three men shuffled me about so I could finally make out the speaker.
His appearance made me think of stories about one’s eccentric and gaudy uncle. The only hair on him sprouted from his bushy brows, threaded just enough to keep from being disastrously silly, and a mustache thick to the point it could have benefitted from a serious trim. He ran a hand over his bald head, showcasing a series of thick rings of gold and silver on most of his fingers.
His clothing spoke silently of wealth. He wore a matching set of shirt and pants the color of brilliant carmine. His shoes were pointed, clean despite the dirt road, and threaded with gold lace. And every bit of it fit him like it had been stitched solely for his body, which was lean in a way no starving man’s could be. This man ate, and well, but he held on to none of the fat.
A stoppered vial sat pinched between the forefinger and thumb of his other hand. Its contents were the color of water pooled with too much milk, a cloudy white.
The men shuffled me closer, the assumed leader of the group reaching out with an unsteady hand.
The well-dressed newcomer offered the white-joy with measured patience as if he were passing along something as simple as a pinch of pepper.
The white-eyed man grabbed the vial and shoved me hard at the same time.
“No!” I used the moment of freedom to flail, swinging my arms wide to deter anyone from trying to grab hold of me again. The book Mahrab had left me slipped inside my clothing. Coldness filled my chest and I stopped my frenzied motions and reached behind me to assure my sole possession wouldn’t fall free to those in the alley.
“Easy, boy.” The man who’d offered up the joy extended both hands toward me, open and welcoming. “You’re safe now.” He tilted his head to look past me at the men he’d traded with, arching a brow. “Isn’t that right?”
The men inched away from us, all whispering as they held up the vial to examine its contents.
“Come-come, little bird. Come with Mithu.”
A distant bell rang in my head at the sound of his name. I knew it, but I couldn’t recall where from. “Why should I?” I looked over my shoulder to the men still occupying the alley. While they paid me no mind, I didn’t know how they’d react to me rushing past them.
Will they try to take me again? What happens if I get beyond them? I’m just back in the alley where I started all that trouble. That shopkeeper will beat me black and blue.
Hands clasped to my shoulders and I shook free of the reverie. The stranger had taken me in his hold, yet he didn’t squeeze and try to keep me in place.
“Easy-easy, little sparrow—little bird. I just want to talk, and you’ll hear me out?” At that, he released his grip.
My heart still pounded, hard and heavy. The lining of my throat felt like I’d swallowed a fistful of sand. “And that’s all you want, to talk?”
He nodded.
I licked my lips, his answer doing nothing to abate the fear seizing my chest and shaking my arms. “About?” I took a half step back, hoping the action went unnoticed.
“About you, little one … and the kindness I just did for you.” He smiled but the expression left me empty. I couldn’t gauge it. All my time watching those in the theater perform had taught me the many kinds of smiles a man could make; Mithu’s carried no malice, and it carried no light. It carried nothing but practiced effort—a mask of the mouth if I’d ever seen one.
I breathed in deep and slow through my nostrils, using the moment to think. “Why do you want to talk about me?” One of my feet ground against the dirt, packing it tight below me should I need to push off and break into a run.
The man named Mithu scratched the underside of his chin. “Mhm. Well, how did a young bird like you end up in this alley, away from your family and in the hands of cotton-eyes?”
I didn’t answer.
Mithu took my silence as an answer. “Alone? No family?” He sighed as if that pained him. “Little birds on their own don’t last long in Abhar, especially in Keshum. They need a nest. A family. If you don’t have one, I can offer you that.” He smiled again, wide and empty.
“I…” One of my hands went to my back, feeling for Mahrab’s book. It was still stuck in place.
Mithu caught my movements and leaned to one side. “What do you have there, little sparrow?”
“Nothing!” I backed away, swatting at the air between us. The gesture did little to perturb the man, though.
He stood as solid and unmoving as the alley walls. “I won’t take it from you. I know the worth of a little boy’s possessions. You know, I still have a few of my own from when I was your age.…” He left the words hanging in the air like a question.
I didn’t rise to the bait and tell him how old I was.
“I promise you, I’m not here to hurt you. If I wanted to do that, well”—he reached under his shirt, pulling away the waist of his pants—“I could have done that anytime I wanted.” He pulled free a curved dagger longer than his palm, giving the weapon a little waggle to make his point. Mithu put the blade back where he’d taken it from.
“Then what do you want?”
Mithu took several long steps away from me toward the exit of the alley. “To talk, longer, in detail. To offer you something, little sparrow. It’s the least you can do me, to listen, that is. The kindness I offered you has a cost, and it’s a small one at that. One even a bird like you can pay. Just come and meet my family and see if there’s a place for you there. And I promise you this, if you find yourself wanting to stay, I will never ever take from you that which is already yours. All I want to do is show you.” He extended an open hand. “What do you say?”
I thought about the offer and all he’d told me. He had a point in that he could have done me harm had he meant it. And he hadn’t done so. He could have left me to the mercy of the white-eyed men, desperate to do whatever it took to procure another bit of white-joy.
I looked back to see the men passing the vial about, carefully tipping it to allow a single drop of the liquid to fall into each of their eyes. They shuddered upon the substance’s contact and went limp. Their mouths all slipped into the same expression of blissful lazy smiles. I watched their chests heave before moving so slowly and shallow you could hardly tell they were breathing.
I could take my chances out here with more men like that and who knew what else. Not to mention being found by Koli.
“What was that, little sparrow? What did you cheep-cheep?”
I hadn’t realized I’d spoken at all.
“Tell Mithu that name again. What’s that you’re keeping between your beak? If you want a place in my home, you can’t keep secrets like that, hm?”
I swallowed, finding my throat hoarse even at the thought of uttering that name. But I found what moisture I could and worked it through my gullet. “Koli.” I waited. I watched. Ready for Mithu’s reaction.
His eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned to a line sharper than that of his blade. “That is a name I am not fond of, little bird. And less so of the man it belongs to. If ever you want to see the other side of me, the one that could have done hurtful horrible things to you, speak that name again, and you will see. Better yet, bring the man to me, and I’ll see to it.” One of Mithu’s hands balled into a fist tight enough to elicit small pops from his fingers.
I found a bit more courage at the expense of tipping my heart into a faster pace. “You hate him?”
“I’ll kill him. If not today, then tomorrow. If not then, then one day. He and I are at ends over—” Mithu stopped short and gestured around us.
“The alley?”
“The streets of Keshum, little bird. The streets of Keshum. And one day I’ll wrest them all from him, and more.” The first hint of true emotion flooded Mithu then.
I saw a fire I knew all too well. The one from the night I’d lost my family. The one the Ashura had started in the theater and the one I kept burning low in a part of my heart. Mithu meant to see Koli die.
And so did I.
I took his hand. “Yes. Take me to your family.”
That was the start of it. The beginning of how I earned my first title.
TWENTY-SEVEN
A FAMILY OF SPARROWS
Mithu led me to a squat building, wider than those around it, but standing no higher. The place had been fashioned from old brick, weathered smooth and cleansed of its original deeper color. It looked like it had been washed with a paint somewhere between sand tinged with blood, and faded rust. Several arched openings ran along the third floor. Sheets of all colors blocked the view inside.
We approached the dark and solid double doors. Mithu rapped his knuckles against their hard wooden surface and trilled a bird whistle I couldn’t identify.
“Where are we?” I looked up at him, then the doors, waiting to see who would answer.
Mithu didn’t regard me as he spoke. “We’re home, little bird. Or, I am. Whether it comes to be yours is something for me to decide. And for you, of course. But I have a feeling you’re in need of a place to put your head at night and somewhere to fill your belly, hm?”
I didn’t reply, but nodded. A cold practicality took hold of me now that the morning’s excitement had passed. I couldn’t quite grab the mindset of the candle and the flame to lend greater clarity, but there’s something to be said for time, even a small amount.
One of the doors creaked open enough so a single eye could peer outside. A whistle, much like Mithu’s, sounded but fell apart halfway through into wet sputtering. “Mahl!” The speaker of the curse didn’t sound to be much older than me.
“Cheep-cheep, little bird. You’ll get it.” Mithu placed a hand on the door and pushed it open.
“Ah!” The person behind the door tumbled to their ass, rubbing the spot while bringing their other hand up to shield their eyes from the morning light filtering inside. At first glance, he looked like any other Sullied child.
His breeches and vest had their hems sewn up to not reveal any straggling threads that could further deteriorate the fabric. The numerous holes in his attire had long since been patched.
Mithu did nothing to help the child to his feet. “Juggi, why are you standing so close to the doors? You’re to stand, listen, open … then move. That’s it. You’re no guard, no kuthri. And if that’s what you want to be, you’re very much in the wrong line of work, no?” Mithu smiled and the boy matched it as he sprung to his feet.
Juggi dusted himself off, then turned his attention on me. His eyes widened and he shot Mithu a look of silent question. The boy reminded me of a dozen others I’d seen in his state of poverty, and I worked to try to identify a single unique feature about him, but I struggled.
“I found this little bird today.” Mithu patted me on the shoulder once. “I’m showing him our nest and seeing if he wants to join your brothers and sisters. I think he could be a very good sparrow.”
Juggi’s mouth tightened and his eyes flashed Mithu a look that said he didn’t agree. The boy didn’t voice his opinion, however. He ran a hand through his hair, which had been cut and tousled to hang just below the lobes of his ears.
Mithu moved a hand to my back and eased me inside, shutting the door behind us.
Coolness radiated from inside the dark room. It took me a handful of seconds to adjust to the low light of the ground floor.
The room was large and packed with cushions and low-standing tables. You could think of it as an organized mess of sorts.
Another child crept into the room from an opening at the far right-hand wall. They looked nearly the same as Juggi down to the color and thread of their clothing. Their hair … the same color and cut. Their eyes were the only things that marked them differently. Juggi’s were an unforgettable brown. The new boy’s, a tired green washed with gray, softening the color.
“Cheep-cheep, you’re up early, little one. You don’t work until the evening.” Mithu made his way over to the other boy, easing him toward one of the nearby cushions.
“I had a bad dream.” The boy rubbed his eyes, sinking to his knees on the soft padding. Neither of the children looked to be older than ten.
Mithu gave the boy several reassuring pats all while Juggi stared knives into the side of my head.
I avoided his gaze, focusing on my surroundings.
Nothing had been done to temper the horrid color of the brick walls. A few rugs hung from nails to mask parts of the building and bring it better to life. But apart from that, I couldn’t make out what the room’s function was but to sit and lounge in. A far cry from my home where every floor had a specific purpose. Even the roof had one after Mahrab and Vithum started my training.
