The Cellmate

My knuckles were white and trembling as they tied themselves into anxious knots in my lap. My heart was throbbing in my chest to the point it seemed every vein in my body seem to quiver from it. 

In front of my seat, Victor was crouched, I couldn't see his face from where my eyes were trained on my lap, just his bulging gut, swinging at the top of my vision. 

“Ready for this kid?” He asked, in what I assumed he thought was a gentle tone, though in reality it was merely a quieter version of his only tone, rough, business like and not extremely compassionate. 

I nodded, not because I felt at all prepared but because my father's presence still loomed behind me and it made the hairs on my neck stand on end. There was a shiny silver coin in this for him and he wouldn't tolerate a break in confidence from his only solid method of income. 

“You'll be completely safe, we won't let anything happen to you.” Victor went on, his thick sausage fingers folding themselves in front of his gut as though they were trying to catch it before it sank to the floor. 

“He knows that.” My father growled, his voice gruff with impatience. I resisted the urge to cringe at the sound of his voice as it seeped into my brain and stirred an ancient fear that existed since I was a child. 

“You sure your kid can handle this? The guy's a loony if there ever was one.” Victor asked, addressing my father, the real person he wanted to talk to. He straightened and lumbered behind my seat to where my father stood. 

“There's nothing to worry about, Victor. My boy's a good actor. He ran away with the gypsies once before hijackers attacked them on the road and killed the all. Quite tragic.” I could tell by his voice my father's smile hadn't even broken before continuing. “But my boy was able to pick up a few tricks from the Satan worshipers before he came crawling back to me.” 

Heat flashed across my face as my nails buried themselves into my palms, leaving red crescent moons on my paper white skin. Father only called me anything other than b*****d when he was telling about my time with the gypsies, then I became the prodigal son, the foolish boy who had run away from his loving father only to be taken back again as an act of mercy. 

Liar.  I thought bitterly, thinking about the pounding rain and the slippery mud, coating and re-coating my tunic so you could barely make out the blood red colour and the edge of trimming around the sleeves that still kind of glittered. The tears streaming down my face but you couldn't tell because of the rain, my desperate pounding on the wobbling wooden door, hating myself with ever thumb of wood because coming back was the thing I'd sworn time and time again that I would rather die than do. The door swinging open and the lamp stuck out into the darkness, illuminating the tattered grey beard and the disapproving scowl. 

Well, look who it is. My ungratefully little gutter-rat b*****d.

No, it certainly wasn't out of mercy my father took me back. The only reason I stayed at all was because of this and the money that came with it. 

The money, that was all anything came back to. The only reason I did anything these days and the only reason father didn't throw me into the streets to starve like all the other naughty gutter-rat b******s who couldn't make money for their dead-beat fathers to spend.   

“They weren't Satan worshipers.” I said through gritted teeth, so softly that neither Victor nor my father had heard or had decided to ignore. 

“I'm aware of that, Gel. But the fact that your son can juggle-”

“Juggle, act, dance, sing, fire-breath, the boy can do it all.” My father boasted. 

I bit my tongue to prevent my corrections. I couldn't fire-breath or at least not very well. Flan had only given me a few lessons, he always said dancing with a partner like fire always had to be a careful one, a single wrong step and it'd cost you more than a stomp on your toe. Flan had wanted to teach me though, he had been fighting with Tom over me near the end. Both of them wanted me to stop running around and doing whatever I was needed to do; sing, dance, juggle or act whatever small apart required a small boy and become a full time apprentice of someone in the troupe. Flan had wanted me because I could already juggle and dance me way around John's two daughters, the acrobat girls and the only other children my age. He'd said it would be a smooth transition and fire would be a much easier dance partner to me than the daughters of the most intimidating man in the troupe. Tom, though, had also wanted me to be apprenticed by him, he said he just needed to pick out an instrument for me, then I could join him, his brothers and his wife onstage and then the whole family could make music together.

I said nothing though because father didn't like when I talked while he was still talking. Actually, to put it more accurately, he didn't like me talking at all. 

“And he'll get the confession out of your murderer.” My father went on to assure Victor, who was in the middle of wrapping his sword belt around his waist, though it was more the laboured process of Victor squishing as many roles of fat under his belt before the strained piece of leather snapped.

I'm related to you, aren't I? I found the thought creeping around my head, a bitter angry thought I didn't dare, for my life, speak out loud. You're a natural sneak and a liar. 

“I hope so,” Victor was saying, interrupting my train of thought. “We found him a little tipsy, if that'll make it easier on you, kid.” 

I shrugged, doing my best to make the gesture look careless and make it seem that it truly was no big deal to me that I was about to be locked in a cell with drunken, murderous lunatic. 

“And if anything goes wrong, we can pull you out of there in a second.” He said, pausing to suck in so he could click his breastplate in place. 

I nodded again, keeping any little thoughts I had about the situation clamped firmly behind my teeth, though I truly wished he would stop saying how safe I was going to be. Didn't he know that saying seemingly soothing things like that never helped anyone? 

I stood up wearily, my stomach feeling terribly hollow. Even if money hadn't run low and there was no food for either of us again, I doubted my nerves would have allowed me to stomach anything at the moment. 

Another guard had entered the room while Victor had been explaining. He had a young face, early thirties no doubt, and he smiled warmly at me.

“I'm Benjamin,” He said and I nodded yet again for it seemed all I was capable of doing at the moment. 

“Nervous?” He asked with his attempted concern. 

Why should I be? I thought with a bitter sarcastic tone no one could hear, after all, 'I'm perfectly safe'.      

“Good luck.” Benjamin said before Victor rubbed his hands together with finality in his voice. 

“Alright, boys. Let's get this over with? You remember the plan, kid?” 

“Yes.” I replied just because I was tired of nodding. 

Victor grinned, “Right then, let's go.” 

Gently he took my arm and Benjamin took my other. They began to escort me out of the room when a leathery hand grabbed my shoulder, making me instinctively flinch at the touch which had never, in all my remembered years, been tender. 

“Don't mess this up for me, you little b*****d.” My father hissed in my ear, his voice sending shocks of cold terror down my spine. “You get me my money, you got it?” I nodded meekly, not daring to look him in the eyes and trying to keep from trembling at the threatening tone in his voice, trying not to be the little cowering child I was when I ran away from him. Then the hand released me and before my heart had even settled we were through the door and gone. 

We walked on for a little bit, saying nothing, my stomach fluttering with butterflies like it always did right before a performance. 

Well, look at you, being all nervous. Tom's wife, Adeline had laughed once, seconds before I had been dragged on the stage to stumble through my two lines. 

 That's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Everyone gets nervous. But it's going against all your fears and being great anyway that truly makes one brave. 

I breathed a deep sigh as I tried to shake the woman from my mind. She'd been gently pushing me towards calling her 'mother' when she'd died. She might as well had been, I'd slept in her and Tom's wagon, I'd eaten her and Tom's food, I'd sit and listen to their song and well spun tales during late nights around the fires and on the long roads. She and Tom had been talking about making me my own fiddle, then Tom promised to teach me how to pour my soul onto the strings, saying the whole family could play onstage together. She'd stitched for me the red tunic with the glittering trim my father had ripped off my back and sold the first evening I'd returned. 

“Alright, kid.” Victor hissed softly in my ear. “Show time.”

I took a deep breath, a trick Tom's brother Joffin, had taught me. 

Breath in, He used to say, And when you breath out, be someone different.  

I held the air in my lungs for barely a moment, then I exhaled and everything about me changed....

They wouldn't listen to me, no matter how much I tried to explain, as they dragged me down the narrow corridor towards the waiting cell. 

“You don't understand!” I gasped, my voice cracked with desperation as I dug my bare heels into the stone floor. “I didn't take it! It's a mistake! Please!” 

The soldier on my left, whose name I didn't know, rolled his eyes as I spoke while his companion on my right let out a barking laugh. 

“Is that so?” He asked, looking down at me with a cold grin. “Well, we sure as hell don't hear that every day.” 

He took a moment to laugh at his own joke, his rust tinted breastplate seemed to stretch under the pressure of his bulging gut. 

“It's the truth!” Pleading had begun to enter my voice, killing whatever pride I had remaining in me. “I found it! Please...” 

The soldier's laughter died quickly. He shot me a hard glance as he tugged a ring of rattling keys from his belt with one hand.  

“Don't make this harder on yourself, kid.” He growled, all mirth gone from his voice as though it had never been there in the first place. “Begging will get you nowhere.” He said.  His companion smirked as I felt their judgmental gaze over my grubby attire, my worn through trousers and my tattered shirt.  They were my only clothing and  filled with too many holes and caked with too much dirt and grime from the street outside. It seemed even the material themselves had forgotten what it was like to be new and clean. I did, anyway. 

I felt my cheeks redden despite myself. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I wasn't a beggar or a thief for that matter. 

I wanted to but a small scream of protest from the old hinges, and a good shove from the two guards, and I staggered into the cell. 

There was a fatal clang as the door swung shut behind me; it resounded in my ears and seemed to go on and on forever. I swirled around to face the barred door, the two soldiers already strolling away. 

“No!” I screamed, rushing to the bars and shaking them, I don't know why, to have something to unleash my hysteria onto. The bars rattled like thunder in the still hall, but they held firm. “You can't do this!” I screamed to the emptiness. “I can't die!” 

At my words, a crackling laughter sounded from behind me. A bony hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around and a wild face was barely inches from my own, under a mop of tangled black hair peered two blue eyes, wide and shimmering with mirth. 

“What?” My cellmate laughed, pulling back his lips in an ear to ear grin, flashing me all of his rotten teeth. “What'd ye say, now?” 

He leaned in closer, throwing a puff of alcohol filthy air into my face.

I stared at him for a moment, my mouth feeling suddenly very dry and my knees very weak. I pressed myself against the cold bars, never wishing so badly that I could pass through them and be on the other side of this cage.

Oh Tom, what am I doing? I thought for one prettified moment before I caught my mistake and regathered myself, remembering I didn't know a Tom.  

“You? Can't? Die?” He said, rolls of laughter falling over each word, his head tilted to the side like a dog witnessing strange human behavior. 

He pulled back the hair from his eyes, only for it to fall right back into place again. He didn't seem to notice. 

“Why's that, short-stuff? Huh? Why can't ye die? Got something worth living for? Someone...to need ye? Huh?” 

He grabbed a fist full of my hair, his overgrown nails scooping up pieces of my scalp as he tugged it back so I was forced to look up into his face. 

“Why can't ye die?” He hissed the words through his worm eaten teeth. 

“I...” I tried to think for a moment, to keep my heart from beating its way out of my chest. “I...”

A snarl passed over his face for a moment. 

“Ugh.” He said in ultimate disgust. “Don't tell me yur in love, are ye?” 

Numbly, I shook my head despite the tug on my skull where he still gripped my hair. 

He seemed to shake off the thought like a fleck of dirt. “So what then? What ye got worth living for?” 

“Nothing.” I said, the word  felt like a punch in my stomach because it was absolutely true. “I just...don't want to die.”

His grin fell for a moment as he seemed to consider it. I could feel the breath freezing in my lungs. Then he threw his head back and laughed, he laughed very hard until the whole cell seemed to shake with it. He stumbled back from me, clutching at his side in pain. 

I stood by the door, watching him. He looked to be about twenty, making him probably some five years older than me. His only clothing was a pair of brown faded pants that were too long for him and skimmed the mouldy straw on the floor. He had no shoes, his chest was bare and laced with many an angry scar. 

The cell we were in was tiny and had the foul smell of filth, but I was used to that since father's house often smelt the same way. 

There was a window with bars on it, above the man's head. Daylight streamed in through the window, winking off the dust particles that floated in the air. I watched them for a moment, a lazy swarm, drifting in golden splendour until the man's laughter seemed to burn itself out, and he plunked himself down on the floor, flattening his back against the smooth wall and spreading his feet before him. 

“That's priceless.” He said with a satisfied sigh, wiping a tear from his eye. “Really. Ye can't die 'cause ye don't want to.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Great answer.” 

He looked up at me with a smirk. 

“If only they let ye out for good answers.” 

There was a pause as we considered one another, his eyes darting up and down my fish bone form, my dusty bare feet and my tattered attire. My eyes scrutinizing his scared and battle weathered knuckles, his knobby muscles and his crazed eyes. 

Then the moment seemed to pass and the man tucked his hands behind his head with a sigh. 

“Nope. Sorry, short-stuff yer're gonna be swingin' tomorrow.” 

I stared down at the floor, at the straw that could have been yellow at one time but it'd forgotten it's own colour and at the muck underneath, seeping in between the stones. 

“Aw, don't look so down beat, short-stuff. It's either the noose now or the noose later, right?” I looked up at him to see his lips peeled back again in a sloppy half-grin. “Might as well take it now.” 

“Or never.” I snapped in return, then instantly regretted it, my muscles tensing as I looked for the man's reaction. 

His smile drooped slightly. He stood and took two steps toward me. He raised his hand above his head and instinctively, I flinched, taking a staggering step back until I hit the door again. His hand froze in the air, forgotten, his grin returned. 

“Knew it.” He snickered, he dropped his hand to his side and looked at me knowingly. “Yur old man beat ye.  Runaway, I'll guess.” 

“What?” I blinked, feeling my hairs prickling on the back of my neck like cactus fur, trying to remember that I wasn't myself, I was a different boy, one who hadn't been dragged out from my hiding place by an irritated John to be thrown into a glittering throng of painted figures, frowning at me in confusion as I cried and begged them not to tell my father where I was. 

The man said nothing, just kept on smiling at me, it could have almost been mistaken for friendliness. Then he turned away and wandered back to his spot against the wall, his step swaying and his head held high, like a king strolling back to his throne. 

I narrowed my eyes at the back of his neck. 

“What about you?” I asked suddenly, changing the subject while feeling my jaw beginning to clench. “Why aren't you hanging tomorrow?

The man paused and looked over his shoulder. 

“What? Me?” He threw another cackle into the stench-thickened air. “Nah. Them son of b*****s ain't hanging me. Not tomorrow, anyway.” 

I raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Then...why are you here?” I asked, casting a weary glance around. Beyond our cell the others were empty, though the man seemed oblivious to the suspicious fact or at least was putting on a good show just like me.

He shrugged. “They found a body outside a pub I was drinking at. Couple of guys saw me and the...um” He smirked, “the soon-to-be worm's meat leave at 'round the same time. So they're thinking I got something to do with it.” 

I let a concerned and startled expression flash across my face. He saw my look and laughed.  

“Ah, you’re killing me short-stuff, no joke intended.” His grin grew slightly wicked, holding my gaze for a long moment, relishing in my unease before his features softened and he waved his own comment away. “Re-lax. They're setting me loose in a few hours, you think I'm going to soil my good record now just to have some fun?”  

I sighed, slipped down the cold bars to sit on the floor, my back pressed against the rusted metal, suddenly feeling too exhausted to be terrified. 

“Lucky.” I grumbled as I began to pick at an old sliver in my hand, digging at the painful fleck with a nail, trying not to think about tomorrow, the swinging bodies in the gallows and how, if all went according to plan, none of them would be mine. 

I'd seen a hanging before, so I had a clear picture in my mind what it would look like. The twitching limbs at the beginning, the gasping mouth, looking like a fish freshly plucked from the water. How wide the eyes would get when they saw the executioner coming to stand above them. The sickening snap, like a dried twig when the man jumps down on their shoulder, snapping their neck. The body giving one last final convulsion as the soul left to wherever souls fly and then nothing. How slack the body would become, the shoulders sagging, the thrashing feet at last growing still. The face was the worse though, the head would lull, the tongue spilling out of the mouth and the eyes, glassy and staring at the ravens that circled above.

“Yeah, lucky.” The man muttered, staring blankly at the opposite wall, not really seeing it, his mind carrying him miles away. “That's me.” 

A silence fell between us as each seemed lost in the gloom of our own melancholy thoughts. Then the man seemed to perk up again, looking over at me with that grin plastered back on his face, though it seemed a little too forced, even for him. 

“Well, where are me manners. All this talk and I haven't even asked ye yur name.” 

I frowned slightly. “Um...Tristan.” I replied with uncertainty. The word sounded strange in my mouth, so very few people asked it of me now a days I'd almost forgotten it myself.

The man nodded, almost in approval.

“Raf. Name's Raf.” He leaned his head back until it thudded softly against the thick stones. “Rafael. Saint or something right? Ha! My ma picked good when she named me alright.” He gave a thick snort of laughter. “Nah. I was just like you when I was your age. Running around the streets, all wild with no one looking after ye. Shoes a daydream, hunger a gnawing pain ye deal with. Got beat up more times than I can count, other street boys, older men, a soldier or two on occasion. They all liked picking on me because I was short for my age, just like ye. They all look down on ye, eh? Push ye around 'cause they can, 'cause ain't nobody gonna stand up for ye. I remember one time I got cornered in a back alley and one of them pulled a knife and nicked me. Right here.” He twisted his side to show me a ragged scar, white lightening stretched across his ribs. “They left me there. Thought I was dead. I had to drag myself around the corner to the doctor's. It was all dark when I got there and when I knocked on the door, this tall fellow pokes his head out. Tells me he's closed for the night, tells me to come back tomorrow. Had to bribe him to stitch me up. Paid him with the only thing I had at the time. Can ye guess what it was?” He didn't wait for my guess, he pulled back his lip to reveal a gaping hole in his gums. He released his lip and grinned at my disgust. 

“Teeth.” He answered. “I had nice white teeth back then and they go for a lot if you talk to the right people.” 

I cringed, resisting the urge to clutch at my mouth in sympathy for the gaping hole in his line of rotten teeth. 

Raf chuckled softly and leaned his head back again, growing comfortable as he began to close his eyes. 

I bit my lip as I plucked up the courage. 

“Did you ever...” I started to say but trailed off and looked down at my feet.

“What?” Raf asked with true confusion. 

“Did you ever see them again?” I asked, looking back up at him, curiosity leaking into my voice, and for the most part authentic.

Raf raised his eyebrow. 

“Who?” 

“The men that stabbed you.” 

Raf 's jaw muscles seemed to tighten just slightly. 

“Yeah.” He said curtly. “Yeah, I saw them again.” 

“You got even with them?” I guessed. 

Raf's eyes darted, back and forth, through the bars to the other cells. Empty. It was just the two of us. For a moment I feared that the game was over, that in an instant he'd see the wrong in this set up. Why would they, after all, stick me in the only occupied cell? Then he'd clam up and refuse to do anymore talking, they'd have to let him go then and my shiny coin would be as good as gone and father...father would be so mad.

I tried not to look too hungry for the answer, tried to look like I was just asking a casual question. A curious kid, that's all I was.

My composure was in vein for he still wasn't looking at me when very slowly, he nodded. 

“Yeah. I did.” A shadow seemed to pass over his face, though it was just a flicker, like the shadow of a candle, there one moment and gone the next, so I had to wonder if it had been there at all. “It was a couple years later though, when I was bigger. Most of the boys that had been involved were dead by then. Street life, you know how it is.” He gestured to me, then to our tiny residence. Grimly, I nodded. Yes, I knew quite well. Raf continued. “But the one who had gut me was still alive, miraculously he'd survived our ruthless childhood. Well...no, I suppose it wasn't miraculous. He was a big fellow, even as a kid he was a head taller than the rest of us.  Could break jaws like it was nothing. I saw him break a lot a bones in my time, lot of skulls, I don't think he ever had a real reason behind it half the time, he just liked it.” 

He paused again to bit his nail absently.

“So...what happened?” I asked, when the pause had carried on too long.

The man cast a glance over me and grinned. “Why should I tell you, Trist? Tris? Trisy-Fishy?” He cackled at his own joke and I tried not to look too agitated at his words. I shrugged. 

“I'm swingin' tomorrow, remember?” 

“So?”

“Dead men don't talk.” 

“No. But little boys do, when you dangle a noose in front of their nose. They do a lot of talking.”

For the first time in what felt like centuries, I gave a faint chuckle. 

“What good would talking do me? It won't stop them from killing me tomorrow so why would I help them?” I flashed Raf my most menacing smile and he smirked in return. 

“Ha, looks like you are just like me.” He folded his arms across his chest, rolling his words over in his mouth before answering. 

“His name was Lyle. We called him Vile when he wasn't around. Vile Lyle. When we got older, the king hired him as a soldier. Nothing fancy or anything; he still crunched skulls, only now he was paid for it. Honestly, it was no wonder he lived to as long as he did. The real miracle was that I'd made it. The little short-stuff no one would help. The reason I'd made it was because I was quick and clever. So when Lyle's back was turned outside the bar one night, taking a piss out in the rain, all drunk as he was, I quickly and cleverly came up behind and slit him. Unlike him, I aimed right. He was bled out before he knew what hit him.” 

He gave a half smile until he noticed the look on my face. 

“What's a matter? Squeamish?” He shrugged “It's the streets, Trisy, people die. You know how many people missed Lyle when he went? Nobody. The girls down at the pub were glad he wouldn't be bothering them no more and that's it. The soldiers poked his body a bit, scratching their heads, figuring who did it. But you think they'll be looking too hard? Nope. Because even in his fancy uniform, Lyle was just scum like the rest of us. Like you and me. And nobody really cares what happens to us.”

I tore my eyes away from him down at my lap again because he was right. A whole troupe of low-class scum could die and no one would care accept for the little rat b*****d that got away. My sliver was beginning to bleed, a single tear of crimson welling up in the centre of my palm. I watched it grow, blood was a beautiful colour, nothing else was quite like it, the deepest crimson there was in the world. If only blood wasn't so messy and didn't come at such a price. 

“Alright so....your turn.” Raf said after a long moment had passed. “What ye do to get in here anyway?” 

“Stole a horse.” I replied, my voice almost too automatic to be real, still staring thoughtfully at the drop of blood cradled in my hand. 

“A horse?” Raf's eyebrows disappeared under his mess of tangled hair. “What the hell ye steal a horse for?” 

“Running away.” I gave a small shrug. 

“Ye do know they hang people for that, right?” Raf's voice was drenched with sarcasm at his words.

I continued to stare down at my hands and said nothing.  

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Raf scratch the stubble on his chin as he thought. I wasn't in the mood to speak to him anymore. I just wanted to leave, the silver coin was as good as mine now, the price they paid me for selling them this man's life but I would have to wait till tomorrow before I could go anywhere. 

“Seems a shame, kid.” He muttered, “Seems a real shame.”

There was silence for a moment, in which only the flies buzzed, round and around a suspicious hole  dug in the corner, then Raf spoke again and his gaze was fixed on me. 

“Such a shame. In fact,” He said, “It makes me want to go to the pub and sulk about it. Care to join me, short-stuff?” 

My head snapped up to see an evil grin return to his face, followed by a sly little wink. 

“You mean...” I cast a glance around the empty room and leaned forward slightly. “Escape?” 

Still grinning, Raf nodded. 

“Why not? Better than sticking around this place.” He scoffed as though it were nothing.

I inched myself closer to him, my heart beginning to pound in my chest until every vein in my body seemed to quiver with it. 

“So...you have a plan?” I asked, eagerness filling my voice despite my mounting fear.

My answer was yet another nod.

“Yup.”

“What is it?” 

Raf paused to take a nibble at his nails. 

“Well,” He said, spitting. “It's quite simple really.”

The knobby muscles under his skin coiled and a blinding pain like needles sprang up from my face. 

I fell back, clutching at my bleeding nose in pain. Raf was on top of me, sitting on my chest and punching me again and again. I threw up my arms to protect my face as I felt my skin bruise and split under his rain of blows. Between my trembling arms, I caught a glimpse of Raf's face, his smile had gone, his eyes were blank as though his mind had shut itself down.  He was just punching, no thought or feeling involved and I realized why it had been so easy for him to kill Lyle. 

There was the pounding of footsteps, and the door to the cell was flung open with a crash and a flood of curses. The two guards that had escorted me into the cell in the first place stood over Raf and me. Benjamin grabbed Raf's shoulder and as smooth as a dance move, Raf spun on his knee and gave a sharp upper cut in between the man's legs. Benjamin was lifted onto his toes, his eyes growing wider than the full moon. He began to bend himself double and Raf was already on his feet and taking the Benjamin's head in his hand, smashed his face against Raf's upraised knee. 

“Run, kid!” he shouted to me, spinning on Victor. The element of surprise was gone and the two of them grappled for the Victor's weapons, their teeth gritted in the effort and I watched them as though in a daze.

“Don't just sit there! Run!” Raf snarled, he turned his gaze to me and that wild look of his was back, back and violent as ever. 

Shakily, I staggered to my feet and darted through the open door. 

In the hallway, I paused and looked back at the two grown men. At the soldier with his bulging gut and Raf, whose fish bone form, which had served him so well for its speed and agility in the past was doing him little good now. 

My eyes drifted back to Benjamin, dazed and sprawled on the floor. He had no sword on his belt, just  a wooden club with a smooth sanded head. I looked back up at Victor and Raf, neither of who seemed to notice me anymore.  I looked to the end of the hallway, where I was sure daylight waited, then I looked back to Raf, the soldier and the club. My legs were longing for me to run, to get away from this place and have nothing to do with any of it. To go running back to my troupe, where all I had to worry about was whose apprentice I wanted to be and where everyone had seemed to want me around. That all was just a daydream now and my heart was quivering with fear as I took a trembling step back into the cell and scooped up the club. It felt much too heavy in my hands and my knees buckled under its weight. My arms felt limp like blades of withered grass as I lifted the club and brought it down as hard as I could on the back of Raf's head. 

A tremor ran down Raf's spine, he swayed on his feet for a moment, a very long moment like a boat rocking on the sea, then he collapsed in a crumbled heap to the ground at Victor's feet. 

I let out a trembling sigh and let the club drop from my hands with a heavy wooden thud. I shook all over, Victor wiped some blood off his chin. 

“That was close.” He sighed, casting a weary gaze down at Raf, lying face down in the straw. “Sorry about that, kid.” 

I made no reply, blood was running freely down my nose and into my open mouth, I didn't try to wipe it away. 

“D-did you get the confession?” I finally managed to say. Victor nodded, going over to where Benjamin, lay. 

“Yeah, we got it. Heard it all from the window. He'll be hung for Lyle's murder tomorrow.” He dug into his pocket and the silver piece gleamed in the thick air as he tossed it to me. I caught it with ease, bit it just to make sure and curled a tight fist around the coin. 

“Best get out of here before he comes around.” Victor said, pulling Benjamin to his feet. “Wouldn't want you getting beat up twice in one day.” He flashed me a smile, a wicked smile that sent chills down my spine but I didn't let it show. “Give that to your father, will ya?” 

I nodded. I tried not to look down at Raf. I turned on my heels and strode from the cell, down the hallway and out into the dusty street filled with noises, filth and people, where no one seemed to notice or care about one more bloody street boy. I clenched the silver coin in my hand, tighter and tighter until it dug into my palm and my hand began to drip blood. 

I didn't look at it once all the way home.