The Premonition's Trap
His makeshift door secured with scavenged planks, the floor swept clean in a small working area, Johann didn't linger.
The scales.
His mind clicked back to the thousands of iridescent scales drying precariously by the bakery wall. They had been out since yesterday afternoon, baking under the sun and then cooling through the night, their moisture slowly giving way to brittleness.
They would be ready.
And Klaus would be waiting.
.
He squeezed back out of the narrow cellar opening, carefully repositioning the loose bricks and obscuring it with grime and weeds, making it invisible once more.
The city above was stirring now, a faint rumble of carts and distant cries replacing the pre-dawn hush.
He moved with a newfound confidence, his new, plain clothes blending him into the early morning stream of workers and peddlers.
His bare feet, still accustomed to the cold cobbles, were silent.
The bakery wall was just as he'd left it, the cloth scraps now undisturbed.
Relief washed over him as he pulled back the covering.
The bakery wall was just as he'd left it, the cloth scraps now undisturbed.
Relief washed over him as he pulled back the covering.
The scales, once moist and clumpy, now shimmered with a dry, almost crystalline glint.
They crackled faintly as he touched them, brittle to the touch, no longer clinging to his fingers.
Perfect.
He no longer had Klaus's large sack as he'd returned it yesterday.
Johann looked at the substantial pile of dried scales; he couldn't carry it all by hand.
His gaze drifted.
He needed a proper container.
He knew a few nearby general stores that sold simple, sturdy items.
With a determined set to his jaw, Johann walked to a small, nondescript general store just a few streets away from the market.
It smelled of dry goods, wood, and a hint of dust.
The shopkeeper, a plump woman with kind eyes, barely looked up as he entered.
Johann pointed to a pile of simple, rough-spun sacks, used for carrying grains or produce. "How much for one of those?" he asked, his voice clear.
"Three pfennigs, child," she replied, her voice surprisingly gentle for the early hour.
Johann pulled out his pouch.
He had 14 pfennigs remaining after buying his new clothes and paying Klaus his early wage.
He counted out three, the smooth copper feeling substantial in his palm, and handed them over.
"I'll take it."
His funds now stood at 11 pfennigs.
The sack, while plain, felt sturdy and perfect for his purpose.
.
He returned to the bakery wall with his new acquisition, feeling a quiet satisfaction.
Carefully, he unfurled the sack and began scooping the dried scales into it.
It was heavy, a dead weight on his small shoulder.
While Klaus, with his lanky frame and greater physical strength, could manage a full sack of wet scales in one go, Johann, barely five years old, knew this single bag of dried scales, though lighter, would still require him to make two trips, perhaps three, to move it all to his hidden workshop.
The effort tightened his small muscles, but the thought of his secure cellar spurred him on.
He left the heavy bundle of scales inside the cellar, carefully re-securing the makeshift door, and hurried back for another load, ensuring no one observed his movements.
Only when the full bounty of dried scales was safely transferred to his new cellar did Johann allow himself to pause.
He looked around the dim space, the sacks of shimmering flakes now neatly stacked in a corner.
.
This was it.
His private factory.
Sitting amidst his newly acquired dried scales in the cool, still air of the cellar, the immediate satisfaction of securing his first harvest and his private workshop was quickly overshadowed by the growing list of challenges.
His mind immediately turned to the practicalities of production.
The darkness was absolute; he couldn't work without light.
And his crude brick-and-stone method for grinding would be agonizing for this new, larger quantity.
He needed tools.
He needed light.
With his remaining 11 pfennigs, he would find out what he needed at the market
Beyond that, a more pressing concern loomed: Ralf, whom Johann had outsmarted, would inevitably return for revenge.
Their next meeting, Johann knew, wouldn't go well, and Ralf's earlier visit had already rendered the bakery wall completely compromised.
The cellar was perfect for grinding, but disastrous for drying.
The solution to his drying problem would have to be separate, and equally well-hidden.
He needed a new, secure, and discreet location for drying, a place that could handle the sheer volume of his growing enterprise, and a strategy to fend off Ralf.
Of these, one problem demanded his absolute, immediate attention more than any other: drying Klaus's next delivery.
.
Klaus would return with a fresh, wet sack of scales by afternoon, perhaps even a larger one given his doubled pay.
The bakery wall, once his reliable drying spot, was now a dangerous liability, compromised by Ralf's knowing gaze.
He couldn't risk leaving his hard-won product, or future product, exposed there again.
And the cellar, while perfect for grinding, was far too damp and lacked the airflow necessary for efficient drying.
.
His mind, sharp and analytical, began to sift through the urban landscape of Berlin. He needed a place that was:
Dry and airy: Essential for the scales to cure quickly and properly.
Hidden and secure: To deter casual thieves and, crucially, Ralf.
Accessible: So he could easily transport the wet scales there and retrieve them once dry.
Unused or overlooked: A place no one else would bother with, a forgotten nook in the sprawling city.
Rooftops came to mind, but they were too exposed.
Abandoned courtyards, perhaps, but many were visible from windows.
He thought of forgotten attics, but access would be difficult and noisy.
His thoughts drifted towards the city's less-traveled edges, the overlooked spaces between buildings, or perhaps upper levels of dilapidated structures near the canal.
He decided to focus his search on the quieter, older districts, away from the bustling market, similar to how he found the cellar.
After ensuring his cellar was re-secured and his new sack was ready for future transport, he slipped out into the morning.
His eyes now scanned not for discarded wealth, but for the perfect, hidden drying ground.
He moved with a practiced stealth, keeping his ears open for any whispers of Ralf's presence, his small figure almost invisible in the burgeoning morning.
His search took him away from the main thoroughfares, down narrow lanes where the houses leaned in conspiratorially, blocking out much of the sky.
He bypassed crumbling warehouses, too exposed despite their height.
He sought out the less obvious, the truly forgotten.
Finally, tucked behind a long-abandoned tannery whose brick walls were crumbling like old biscuits, he found it.
It wasn't a single flat spot, but a series of narrow, elevated wooden walkways connecting several disused outbuildings.
They were shielded from street view by the tannery itself and a thick cluster of overgrown ivy.
.
Above them, the sun, when it peaked through the gaps in the city's skyline, would hit them directly.
Crucially, beneath the decaying wood, there were gaps, allowing for a constant, gentle airflow, perfect for drying.
The height offered a degree of security against casual passersby, and the narrowness meant it was unlikely a larger group like Ralf's gang would choose it as a hangout.
The faint, old smell of leather lingered, but that wouldn't harm the scales.
He tested the wood carefully; it groaned, but held.
The access was through a broken window in the tannery's upper floor, surprisingly easy for his small, agile body to slip through.
It was a place only someone actively looking for hidden nooks would find.
It felt right.
.
This spot presented a new logistical challenge, getting the wet, heavy scales up to the walkways, but it offered the security and airflow he desperately needed.
It was far from perfect, but it was another crucial piece of the puzzle falling into place.
This would be his secret drying rack, out of sight and away from Ralf's vengeful gaze.
.
With the secret drying rack secured, a wave of urgent relief washed over Johann.
It was far from perfect, but it was a solution, and that was all that mattered for now.
He knew Klaus would be wrapping up his morning rounds soon, making his way back towards their usual meeting spot at the market.
Time was short.
He had to be there to collect the next batch of scales before Klaus simply discarded them or, worse, before Ralf or another gang noticed Klaus's efforts.
He quickly slipped out of the abandoned tannery, carefully navigating the maze of narrow alleys.
His small frame moved with purposeful speed, his bare feet making barely a sound on the grimy cobblestones.
He kept his senses sharp, scanning every shadow and listening for any familiar, unwelcome voices.
The thought of Ralf was a cold prickle at the back of his neck, but today, the urgency of his expanding enterprise overshadowed even that persistent threat.
As he neared the bustling market district, he spotted Klaus.
The older boy was leaning against a stall, looking tired, his large sack slung over his shoulder, heavier and fuller than yesterday.
He spotted Johann, his eyes holding a flicker of anticipation.
Klaus, diligent as ever, had been working.
.
Johann approached him directly.
"Good morning, Klaus," he said, his voice clear.
He gestured to the full sack. "That looks like a good haul."
Klaus managed a weak smile, nodding towards the sack.
"It's all here, Johann. Took me a bit longer today, but it's a full one."
He shifted the sack, its weight evident even through the coarse fabric.
Johann took the sack from Klaus, feeling the substantial damp weight settle into his smaller hands.
It was a dead weight, pulling at his shoulder, far heavier than he anticipated for his small frame.
His muscles strained immediately, and he had to brace his bare feet, digging them slightly into the dirt, just to manage the balance.
These were fresh, wet scales, far heavier than the dry, brittle flakes he had just moved to his cellar.
He noted Klaus's tired demeanor.
Having already paid Klaus his advance at dawn, there was no further transaction needed for this delivery.
"Excellent work, Klaus," Johann praised, his tone firm with appreciation.
"This is exactly what we need. Rest now. I'll see you tomorrow."
Klaus nodded, a weary relief softening his face as he watched Johann, barely five years old, shoulder the surprisingly heavy sack.
.
As Klaus started to turn, a chilling sensation pierced Johann's usual composure.
It wasn't just a thought, but a cold, heavy premonition, a sudden, undeniable certainty that Ralf wasn't simply plotting, but was close, waiting.
An imminent ambush, a trap being set even now.
He couldn't face Ralf and his gang, burdened by the heavy, wet sack, alone.
Not with his small body. He needed a shield. He needed an extra pair of eyes.
He needed Klaus.
"Klaus, wait!" Johann blurted out, the urgency clear in his voice.
Klaus paused, turning back, a flicker of surprise on his tired face.
Johann swallowed, pushing down his pride.
This was a tactical necessity.
"I... I need your help. Just for a little while. I have a bad feeling. A very bad feeling about Ralf. Can you... guard me? Just until I get these scales to a safe spot?"
Klaus looked from the heavy sack to Johann's unusually intense gaze.
Fear flickered in his eyes at the mention of Ralf, but then something else, a nascent loyalty, solidified.
He nodded, once, sharply. "Uhhh sure, I'll guard you Johann."
A wave of genuine relief washed over Johann, and a rare, small smile touched his lips.
"Good," he said, his voice softer than usual.
"We're a team, then."
Johann, however, still had much to do.
The wet scales couldn't stay here.
He glanced towards the concealed tannery, a new logistical challenge already taking shape in his mind.
He had to get this bulky, wet load to his new drying rack, maneuvering it through the city's streets and then finding a way to lift it up to the elevated walkways.
It would be a laborious task, but the thought of the valuable essence it would become fueled his determination.
.
The word "team" hung in the air, a silent promise, as Klaus fell into step beside Johann.
The sheer weight of the wet sack of scales pulled at Johann's small frame, threatening to drag him down.
He gritted his teeth, his grip tight, but he knew he couldn't carry it all the way alone.
Klaus, seeing Johann's struggle, didn't hesitate.
"Here," he grunted, reaching out and taking a good portion of the sack's weight, hoisting it onto his own broader shoulder.
His face, though still tired, showed a quiet determination.
With Klaus sharing the burden, the sack, still heavy, became manageable for Johann, easing the strain on his aching muscles.
They moved quickly through city, their footsteps barely a whisper on the cobblestones.
Klaus, true to his word, scanned the alleys, his head turning constantly, his eyes sharp.
Every shadow seemed to hold a lurking threat, every distant shout a potential alarm.
Johann felt a flicker of the premonition, the cold certainty of Ralf's proximity, but with Klaus beside him, the fear was muted by a burgeoning sense of security.
They were a pair, two small figures against the indifferent backdrop of Berlin, but together, they felt less vulnerable.
The journey to the abandoned tannery was tense but uneventful.
The towering, dilapidated walls loomed before them, silent and foreboding.
They slipped through the broken window on the upper floor, Johann first, then Klaus, carefully handing up the heavy sack after him.
The air inside was thick with the faint, old smell of leather and dust, and the silence was absolute.
Now came the real challenge: getting the wet scales onto the elevated wooden walkways.
The sacks, damp and heavy, were too cumbersome to simply toss up.
Johann surveyed the situation, his mind racing.
He noticed a sturdy, long wooden beam lying discarded near one of the outbuildings, likely from a collapsed part of the roof.
"Come help me here please," Johann instructed, pointing to the beam.
Klaus, without question, gripped one end.
Together, they maneuvered the beam until it leaned against the lowest walkway, forming a makeshift ramp.
With painstaking effort, they began to slide the sack up the incline.
It was slow, laborious work. Johann pushed from below, his small body straining with every inch, while Klaus, positioned on the walkway above, pulled from the top, his bare feet scrabbling for purchase on the rotting wood.
Sweat beaded on their foreheads, and their breathing came in ragged gasps.
Each foot of ascent felt like a victory.
.
Finally, with a soft thud, the sack landed squarely on the wooden walkway.
Once all the scales were safely on the walkways, Johann carefully untied the sack.
He meticulously spread the thousands of shimmering flakes in thin, even layers across the elevated planks, ensuring maximum exposure to the air and any sunlight that might penetrate the ivy.
The faint, metallic smell of fish filled the secluded space.
He turned to Klaus, whose face was streaked with dirt and sweat, but held a newfound sense of accomplishment.
"Thank you, Klaus," Johann said, genuinely.
"You were a great help. My premonition was right; it felt safer with you. We'll be quicker next time." He let out a small sigh of relief. "And it turns out Ralf didn't even ambush us after all."
Klaus nodded, a rare, tired grin spreading across his face. "Anytime, Johann,"
he chuckled, then added,
"Though, if we keep moving sacks like that, I might start needing my own strong premonition... of a warm meal and rest!"
Johann let out a short, genuine laugh, a sound rarely heard from him.
It was a raw, unburdened sound, born of relief and the unexpected camaraderie.
"Go on, then, Klaus," he said, still smiling. "You've earned it."
Klaus, with a final tired grin, turned and departed, his steps lighter now that his burden was eased and the promise of rest beckoned.
Johann watched him go for a moment, a sense of satisfaction settling over him.
His premonition about Ralf had been strong, almost suffocating, but they had made it.
Perhaps it had just been a heightened sense of fear.
He was about to turn back into the quiet solitude of the tannery, his mind already drifting to the tools he needed, when a sudden, jarring commotion erupted from the alley Klaus had just entered.
A sharp, mocking laugh that sent ice through Johann's veins, Ralf's.
Then a choked cry, unmistakably Klaus's.
The premonition had not been wrong; it had merely been a moment early.
Ralf had waited, patient and vengeful, and Klaus, though barely out of sight, was now caught in his trap.
.
Johann's breath hitched, the sudden terror a cold fist in his gut.
His eyes darted from the alley's echoing sounds to the newly spread scales shimmering on the elevated walkways.
Leaving them now meant risking their discovery, perhaps their immediate destruction by Ralf, ruining everything he and Klaus had worked for, jeopardizing their only chance at escaping this life.
But not acting meant leaving Klaus to Ralf's mercy, a fate Johann knew would be brutal.
The choice wasn't about selfishness; it was about survival, for both of them, and the crushing weight of that impossible decision slammed into him with the force of a physical blow.