Lord's Protection

Demenik hobbled into the alley two days later, favouring his right side where the majority of the internal damage had been inflicted.

Mouse appeared from the shadows. "What in the name of the gods happened to you?"

Demenik winced. "Nothing. Have I missed anything important?"

"Here, let me help you." Mouse moved to Demenik's right side and grabbed his arm, putting it around his own shoulders.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. Tell me what happened."

"I can't."

The two walked in silence for the rest of the way. When they got close to their spot in the alley, Oak looked up and let out an excited shout. "You're back! Thought you'd gone for good there, boyo." His smile melted as he saw Demenik's face. "What in seven hells happened to you? Who did this?"

"Someone bigger." Stick stood and moved to inspect his friend, touching the bruises and running a finger over the swollen eye. "Boots and fists, it looks like."

"Aye."

"More than one, at least?"

Demenik pursed his lips and shook his head.

Stick frowned and helped Demenik sit down. "Was it someone from the alley? Or another alley?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't tell you. I'll be fine. It was a stupid mistake. I was caught by surprise—twice—and it won't happen again."

"Again?" Mouse raised his eyebrows. "Are you earning this money by fighting in the Pits?"

Demenik laughed. "Do I look like Oak to you? No way. What makes you think I have more money?"

"Am I wrong?"

Demenik grinned and removed a handful of coins—the change from Arkell, which the doctor had refused to accept as payment for his service.

"How does your tribute work?" Stick asked.

Demenik told them the terms.

"That's a high percentage for no protection," Mouse said.

"It's a start." Demenik pushed his back against the wall and stood.

"Where you going?"

"To pay the lord his due."

"That can wait."

"No."

Oak put his arm gently around Demenik. The boy was strong, barely exerting himself, and still Demenik felt most of his weight lifted by the support. "I'll help you get there and back."

"Thank you."

The two walked down the alley, leaving Stick and Mouse behind.

"What is that boy up to?" Stick reached for his quarterstaff and resumed carving a fresh design into a bare piece of the wood.

Mouse watched Demenik disappear from sight. "I don't know what he's up to, but I intend to find out." He looked at his friend. "Interested in helping?"

"Of course."

***

Lord Caladan's expression conveyed boredom as he sat on his throne and watched Demenik approach the table and place his tribute on the surface. "What happened to you, little lion?"

"Nothing."

"That's the story you tell the Keepers or your friends in order to look tough. When your lord asks you a question, you answer it."

"I was beaten."

"By who?"

Demenik bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head.

"I have other things to do today, Demenik. Tell me who beat you."

The boy shrugged. "I don't know."

"Was it one of us?"

"No."

Caladan tapped his fingers against his left armrest. "I told you last time that you don't pay for protection."

"I'm not asking for it."

"I see." His eyes moved to the small stack of coins on the table. "If you have added the extra percentage, then your income is the same amount as last time?"

"Yes, Lord."

"I'm surprised to see you back here so soon. A kid your age doesn't make that kind of money once, let alone twice in the same number of weeks."

"Thank you."

Caladan laughed. "Thank you." He got up and walked to Demenik. Almost tenderly, he pressed points on the boy's torso, nodding when he hit a spot that caused Demenik to wince. After a moment, he stopped. "Whoever did this to you was big. You have deep tissue damage and broken ribs."

"How do you know that, Lord?"

Caladan smiled. "Has my reputation faded? Do the young no longer speak about where their Lord Caladan came from? Is the Wolf of the Pits no longer worthy of stories?"

"Your reputation is well-known, Lord." Caladan had been a gladiator champion of the Pits, the fighting arenas that provided entertainment for the wealthy and elite. Most competitors came as slaves and died within a year of their first fight. Caladan had come to the Pits voluntarily at the age of sixteen. He had survived and triumphed for over a decade before being granted something rare: honourable retirement. He had taken his years of prize money and donations and used the funds to become Lord of the Alleys.

"I learned from some of the best healers in the world. The ability to mend a fighter and get them back into the pit quickly is an art. The Pits attract the best healers from throughout civilization."

Demenik nodded.

"Someone your age never earns protection."

"Yes, Lord."

"The main reason for that is that someone your age rarely tributes enough to earn it."

"I understand."

"When do you next expect to return to me with another payment?"

"Next week, Lord, and every week after that."

Caladan looked at one of his advisors, a middle-aged man with a bald skull and long spider web-like scars running from the corner of his mouth to the back of his head. The man raised one eyebrow and nodded.

"Fine." Lord Caladan sighed and put one hand on Demenik's shoulder. "As of this moment, you are now protected by the Lord of the Alleys. No one in the alleys may harm you without answering to me."

Demenik bowed his head. "Thank you, Lord Caladan."

"Keep offering tribute as you say you will, and that will be all the thanks I require." His grip tightened on the boy's shoulder. "Stop offering tribute and the protection ends. Do you understand, little lion?"

"I do."

"Off you go, then."

Demenik limped to the front door and exited the building. The giant guard nodded at him and the boy returned the gesture.

Oak waited for him against the far wall. "How did it go?"

"I now have the Lord's protection."

Oak whistled. "By the gods, that is impressive, Demenik. No one will lay a hand on you now."

"It only protects me from the people of the alleys. Unfortunately, my danger lies outside the Lord's reach. If the Keeper catches me again, I think he'll kill me."