The Flea Markets

Camden

Camden swung his mallet into the tent peg, driving it into the ground with one swing. Despite the cold air and frigid breeze, he was sweating. Today was another flea market day. One of the last ones before the island would freeze, and people would crawl into any hovel they could find to keep out of the wind.

Although this was a morally better job than fighting in the pits, it didn't pay as well. He just set up tent after tent until the sun went down. He'd then show up in two days to take them down, before going back to the Pitts to continue his usual job. Even though this work was harder, and less profitable, it was more honest. Many of the gang members agreed, participating in other jobs when they could. Harry was a few rows down setting up tents as well. There was a council meeting for their gang later. They were going to discuss a few pressing matters about the coming winter.

The wind was beginning to chap his face and exposed wrists and ankles. His core was sweating, but his fingers gripping the mallet were almost numb. Every reverberation of the pounding mallet made his fingers grip tighter to try not to lose it. He'd seen some people let the mallet fly from their hands and hit themselves or someone else. He'd also seen the field owners not only fire the offender, but send them on their way with a fresh new beating. Camden wasn't scared for his own skin, he knew he could take a few hits. He had a place to go back to for a few days to heal. Who he was worried for…

A few boys, no older than thirteen gripped their own hammers and mallets, pounding the stakes into the ground. A couple of them were shivering in the cold, one of them didn't even have a long sleeved shirt. A few of the owner's partners were walking around, shouting at people for stopping to take a break. Not getting paid to slouch. Camden continued his work, securing the canvas cover over the structure he had finished constructing.

He winced as the man, Horace if he recalled correctly, stopped by a few of the boys whose tent was slightly lopsided. He whacked one upside the head before ordering them to tear it down and start again. Camden inhaled a sharp breath. His gang would pay that man a visit later. Cruelty was seen all over the island, but these boys were freezing, and skinny as twigs. They were trying. In fact, it was almost a miracle that they could still lift the tools. He'd have to find some ground to charge Horace on besides that of cruelty.

Camden walked over to another pile of materials to start the next tent. Horace walked away. He stopped before he picked up a tent pole, and walked over to the three boys, tearing down the tent. "Hey boys, need some help?"

One of them jumped up in alarm. "What will it cost?" asked a shorter one. The one without sleeves.

"Nothing. I won't ask your names. I'll never stop at your doorstep or anything." He took a deep breath. "I just hate that you guys have to deal with Horace. He's been picking on me since I was little. When I got big enough to fight back, he surrounded himself with guards and somehow got on the good side of a few powerful people on the underground." Camden started to build the tent.

"He's been beating on my sister recently, so she stayed home," another said, handing Camden the correct pole. "He's a pig."

"What do you mean beating?" He stopped for a second.

"I don't know," the boy replied, "She used to come build tents with us up until about a few months ago. Horace told her that the owner wanted to see her for a minute or two about something. She tried to refuse but he threatened to bar us from working here, so she went with him. She didn't come back until the sun was setting when we usually pack up and get our wages." He looked about ready to cry.

His friend noticed and picked up the story "She was crying when she found us, and couldn't speak. She was sobbing so hard. When we got her back to the den, she told us that he was physically abusing her, and just…" he swallowed "violating her… She had bruises on her wrists, on her legs."

Camden shook his head, clenching his jaw in rage. "How long ago." He demanded.

"It happened four times until she just didn't get out of bed one day." Her brother said. It's been about a month since she's come to work. Every time we arrive without her, Horace or someone makes our lives miserable. I'm afraid he'll find where we live someday." He said, his breath shaky.

"Listen boys," Camden said, as they arranged the canvas over the frame, "I have some information that you can't tell anyone." Their eyes met his, "There is a home for boys and a home for girls being built within a month. As soon as it is up, you ask around for Camden or Harry and one of us will escort you and your sister there where you can be free from Horace, alright? And if anything bad happens to you in those homes, I promise you that I will help, alright? Just keep your sister safe until then, alright?"

They nodded. Camden let his shoulder slump a minute as he collected tent pegs. He knew Gisa was trying her best to make reforms back on the continent. And it was honestly amazing that she had worked so fast, but children's homes… No. Gisa knew. She had to have done the best she could. At least they wouldn't be freezing. They wouldn't be getting their hands removed for stealing, or selling their lives for food and clothes. Too many young kids auctioned themselves off just to be alive.

He looked towards the other side of the fields. Just over the crest and a little ways from the docks, the homes were being built. Right offshore. He'd walked by them this morning to see if the rumours about the strange construction were true.

As soon as he'd confirmed it, he'd written to Gisa. He had received a letter a few days ago, but was working so hard that he hadn't had a moment to himself. He was trying to work with three hours of sleep. He had scribbled out a long letter and mailed it just in time to show up at the fields to check in so he would receive some type of pay at the end.

He worked alongside the boys the remainder of the day. Horace and an associate wandered by, but left when they spotted Camden.

"I'll see you guys for teardown in two days, alright?" Camden said as they lined up to receive their wages. "I promise things will get better, okay?"

The boys said thanks. From the looks on their faces, they didn't seem to believe him, but Camden had every intention of fulfilling that promise. He walked by the table where a short young girl stared back at him. "Name?" she asked. He blinked a few times. She looked so similar to Gisa.

"Uh, Camden." He said, trying not to look at her. She even had the same dirty blonde hair, though Gisa dyed hers purple every now and again.

She walked back towards a cabinet, searching for his name. Her nails clicked against the metal as she flipped through them. Camden absently pulled on his hair. He needed to get it cut before some of his fights tomorrow night.

"Here." she said, placing an envelope on the table. He peeked into it. One electricity voucher and a couple meal coupons.

He caught Horace and a few others laughing as they watched him look through the envelope. Of course they would shortchange him. "There's nothing else Miss?"

She shook her head. "Sorry," she shot a nervous glance towards where the owner and his partners were now passing around a flask, "I was told that I can't recount payment, only hand it out."

Camden shook his head, "It's fine, I get it." He needed more than this. They'd lost power in his building the past few days. But the vouchers only lasted a few days at most now. It was getting more expensive day after day. "Thanks." He stuffed the envelope into his pocket and walked off the fields towards his neighborhood, but circled back around.

The clouds that constantly covered the island let very little moonlight in. Perfect for following someone. He crouched in a bramble just beyond the shacks and tables where the workers were receiving their wages. There were only a few left, all waiting for that one short woman, who looked just like Gisa, and a couple of others to sift through the filing cabinets for their wages.

As the last people shuffled through, the clerks gathered the wages from those who never came and dumped them back into a case, before handing it to the owner. William Sykes. There were so many charges against him that Camden could easily win a trial against him in the gang. But going after him would be suicide. He was as ruthless as they came. One of his preferred methods of disposing of people he didn't care for was to shred them with those dogs he kept chained by him all the time. He was considerably one of the most vicious people on the island. Condemned here for his cruelty and disregard of life. But the mob boss seemed to have learned nothing from his sentence and ran many businesses such as the flea market and others that were sure to be covers for another shadier dealing. Things that Camden himself didn't even pry into.

He watched the crew gather up their things, a few people carrying loads much too heavy for them. Horace took a bag from someone, stuffing it in his pocket, before starting to depart from the group. Just follow him. Camden told himself. Don't watch the others. He tried not to look, but he heard the weeping, and saw the girl, saw the girl that looked just like his girl, the girl that looked just like Gisa pleading for a moment. He felt the lump in his throat as he watched someone grip her wrist hard enough for her to cry again and pull her after them.

He swallowed. He couldn't follow them. It was suicide for him, and nothing would change for that poor creature. He might even make it worse for her. He couldn't save everyone. Besides… He was going after Horace. Horace was bad enough. He had an assault charge on him now. He glanced over at the young woman, trying to pull from men. He tore his eyes away, tears gathering. With a deep breath, he dashed after Horace, leaving her cries in the distance.