Dank Spaces
Iatr and Klem discover the joys of free board and meal service at the state's expense, and quickly pick a fight with the hospitality staff.
“This is stupid,” said Iatr, slowly knocking his head against the bars of the cell out of boredom and frustration.
They were getting their first taste of prison at the early age of 13.
After successfully evading capture for years, they’d been chased out of their sewer hideout by a monstrous dog from fairy legend - and straight into the waiting arms of the watch.
Iatr had been drifting between dissociated silence and periodic angry outbursts. The two of them had lived in those sewers for three years and never encountered anything like it before. It used to be safe for kids like them.
Well, not safe, Klem thought, but manageably dangerous.
Klem was a firm believer in conserving energy in moments like this, and had barely moved since arriving. But he quietly replied, “Yep.”
“What right do they have to lock us up? It’s bloody kid-napping… Kid-napping! And when our home has been invaded by monsters!” Iatr said, kicking the bars with his worn and shoddy boots. Though he did not kick it hard, because that’s how you break a toe.
His angry kick was a performative - done for an audience of Klem. Who was used to Iatr’s moods, and tolerated them out of co-dependent habit.
“Hey! Shut up in there!” came a shout from down the hallway.
The watch guard on duty was a prick who didn’t understand Iatr’s need to express how hard done by he was.
“Up yours, pig!” Shouted Iatr in retaliation.
Klem groaned. He’d rather Iatr didn’t antagonise the prison guards. Although this was their first stint in jail, it wasn’t their first time spent in captivity, and this behaviour never ended well for them. But Iatr had a drive to communicate to the world that he should be in charge of it, despite all evidence to the contrary.
The door to the cell block slammed open, and a grumpy faced guard stalked in with his beating stick in hand. Any watchman would have rightly called it a cudgel or baton - but Iatr and Kelm only knew it as the stick of beating, given the number of times they or their associates would catch the end of one with the soft tissues of their bodies.
The watchman did not look like he was having a good day.
This was a requirement for employment in the watch, as far Klem knew. [1]
[1] This has more to do with occupational proximity than any real employment standard of the watch. The fact that watchmen rarely had a good time whenever Iatr and Klem were about had more to do with “what those two were doing” than any psychological hiring preferences of the Captains.
These two had yet to make the connection between “their choices” and “the watch is having a bad day” so felt righteously put upon.
But as it would happen, Sanko of the city watch did have a bad attitude. Which was why he volunteered for prison guard duty - giving him many opportunities to exercise his bastardliness.
Sanko grabbed Iatr by the scruff of his collar and dragged him into the bars of the jail cell. Sanko then thrust the ‘beating stick’ into Iatr’s guts, who appropriately doubled over in pain.
But only so far - Sanko hadn’t let go.
“Hey let him go!” Klem said, jumping to defend his street brother. He wrapped his small arms around Sanko’s wrist as the guardsman went for another jab.
He was a large man, given his dedication to consuming as much food and liquor as his budget would allow over 17 years of adulthood. But Klem was fighting the good fight and things quickly devolved.
Iatr bit Sanko’s arm, while Kelm kicked Sanko in the shin. Sanko howled in rage and bounced both of them off the jail cell bars with a sharp jerk of his arms.
The two street ruffians collapsed to the ground, wheezing and bruised.
“You little shits did it this time,” Sanko said, his somewhat pudgy face contorting in a way that resembled an angry boar - though few would be foolish enough to say that to his face. His back would be safer. “I’m going to come in there and show you who’s the boss of this jail” he threatened, frantically patting down his dishevelled uniform, his frustration evident in the way he scoured his pockets for keys.
A look of annoyance was growing on his face when the door to the jail banged open with startling force. Everyone froze at the unexpected interruption.
“What the hell is going on here?” Said the first man, barging into the jail cell like he owned the place.
It was Rorrick Harinson, Captain of the City Watch, and thus had a pretty good claim on owning the place. His uniform, armour and cloak were fine, crisp and clean - and had a substantially better fit than anything Sanko wore. His authoritative presence filled the room, and the contrast between his immaculate attire and Sanko's disheveled appearance couldn't have been more pronounced.
Walking in behind him, Sheriff Ratcliff wore an expression of bemused disinterest.
Rorrick seemed determined not to let Ratcliff see how a petty bully was in charge of the jail cells, and was in the middle of threatening two children in his custody. [2]
Rorick dragged Sanko away, with the pudgey jailor looking back vengefully at Iatr and Klem as he left. There would be consequences, that look said.
[2] While Rorrick technically didn’t report to Ratcliff, the office of the Sheriff collected the taxes that paid the wages of the city watch, and could ‘cut his budget’ at any time. This breeds a certain amount of necessary deference.
“I’d ask what that was about, but… well that’s really none of my business,” Sheriff Ratcliff said to the two prone boys, his tone tinged with amusement. “I can see that you are going to be in for some trouble in the not so distant future if you remain here.”
Klem and Iatr exchanged exasperated looks and groaned.
“We wouldna be here if you’d left us be, Ratcliff,” Iatr spat and a small gobet of blood came out with it. Slowly, Iatr began to roll onto his side and sit up, glaring at the Sheriff. “We were just mindin’ our own business like law abidin’ citizens and you kid-napped us! What kinda decent city-watch goes about kid-nappin’ poor kids minding their own business! Deviant child gropers that’s who!”
Klem’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head from sheer frustration at his friend’s oppositional defiant disorder. [3]
[3] He wouldn’t call it that, not knowing the finer points of popular psychology, but lacking the professional terminology for a thing doesn’t mean you don’t know what it is.
“Are you law-abiding citizens? I have two guards who claim to have witnessed you two stealing food satchels from Tanner off his wagon yesterday. Tanner, who described both of you, in detail, nearly lost his job at the Silver Lions pub because you robbed him. Did you know he has a wife and twins? Two year olds… that hardly seems law-abiding,” Sheriff Ratcliff said, his tone tinged with a mix of accusation and disappointment. He absentmindedly tugged at his moustache.
Klem and Iatr exchanged guilty glances but remained silent.
He went on, “And I doubt you own property. Hold any title with the crown. Belong to any guild. Completed any terms of service with the military…” He trailed off. “No, neither one of you are citizens of the state. You are, at best, undocumented and unemployed residents. Which leaves you with few rights under the law.”
Klem knew very well they weren’t citizens and had no protection under the law, or more accurately, from the law. Iatr, on the other hand, preferred to take a more creative approach to life and his understanding of what was and wasn’t legal.
“We have rights! I demand to see… I demand to see my lawyer!” Iatr said, more confidently than he should have.
“It would be an interesting world where two street kids who steal sacks of food from a local pub could afford a lawyer,” Ratcliff said, a smile on his face.
“I’m a sovereign being! I demand you acknowledge my natural rights as a sovereign being!” Iatr went on, pointing at Ratcliff accusingly.
Klem sighed audibly, shaking his head. Iatr had been going on about being sovereign ever since one of their street colleagues had told a story about how he heard a guy get himself out of a trial by using arcane legal language to force the law men to magically grant him immunity to prosecution. Or confuse and frustrate them into letting him go, he couldn’t remember which it was.
“Hm. No. I don’t think that’s how that works,” Ratcliff responded, continuing to act with tolerant patience.
“Let it go, Iatr,” Klem said. Sheriff Ratcliff’s eyes fixed on him.
“Yes, let’s let it go, Iatr,” said Ratcliff, his eyes unwavering. “Because I’d much rather ask about what you were running from when you delivered yourselves to us without a chase or a hunt.”
Iatr and Klem exchanged looks.
Iatr frowned and said, “We shouldn’t talk to the pigs”
Klem wasn’t interested this time.
“It was a Mauthe Doog,” Klem said, firmly and clearly.
Sheriff Ratcliff raised his eyebrow. “What do you know about Mauthe Doogs?”
Klem, now sitting up, just shrugged. “Not much. Fey dog. Hates humans.”
Iatr looked pissed. Klem was going to hear about this later.
“And you’re sure it was a Mauthe Doog and not a Barghest?” Ratcliff asked. “Or a stray black dog with rabies?”
Klem blinked. Iatr scoffed.
“It was a huge, black dog… with huge teeth. Tried to kill us. What’s the difference?” Iatr said, the scorn in his voice was still present since he was talking to a watchman, but curiosity was getting the better of him.
“A great deal,” Sheriff Ratcliff said crossing his arms, his gaze rising to the ceiling as he went on, “The Mauthe Doog aren’t exactly known for being… well… in our sewers. Neither are Barghest. Perhaps the occasional stray dog with rabies.”
“Mauthe Doogs tend to live in the wilds. The hills, forests or marshes. A Barghest is more likely to come from the underlands. But neither would have a reason to be in our sewers,” Ratcliff had gone back to tugging at his moustache. Klem thought it made him look like a rat.
“And why would a Mauthe Doog or a Barghest reveal itself to you and attack? Which is what I’m assuming, since the two of you were in full flight when you left the warehouse. We searched the warehouse later. Found the entrance to the sewers, and a smear of blood underneath a pile of fallen bricks. Clever trap that. But no dog. Of any kind,” Ratcliff said, his piercing gaze returning to the two.
“We recovered the food you stole, though it was mostly ruined by the time we found it.” He added.
Iatr and Klem looked at each other, frustration evident in their expressions. That was their food. They’d earned it.
“So as far as charging you two, we have all the evidence we need to send you for a term in the quarries to pay back your debt to the crown,” Ratcliff said with a smile.
Iatr and Klem both leapt up from the ground, shouting angrily at Ratcliff. [4]
[4] This wasn’t the first time Ratcliff had sent children to the quarries. He believed it was a tough life, but it usually straightened them out by the time they’d left.
At least by the city-watch’s definition of straightening them out.
“But you have revealed something interesting to me that should not be in my city. So I’m going to consider what to do with you. If I give you a job to do instead of the quarries, would you agree to it?” Ratcliff said, stunning both of them to silence.
Iatr opened his mouth but Klem clapped his hand over his companion’s mouth. [5]
[5] Which was for the best, as Iatr’s usual approach to these scenarios was to tell the offending watchmen to “go peg yourself.”
“Sure. Ya. Whatever,” he said hurriedly before Iatr could free himself. “As long as we get fed.”
Ratcliff nodded to Klem, his eyes narrowed. “Yes, of course. I’d rather you weren’t robbing people while working down your debt. I’ll consider how this will work and return.”
He turned to leave and walked up to the jail door. He paused when his hand touched the handle, turned back to them and said, “Don’t go anywhere!” Winked, laughed, and then left. The door to the cell block closed behind him with a thud.
Iatr and Klem watched him go.
Iatr pulled out a key from his shirt. “Let’s get the fack out of here,” he said, with an evil grin.
Klem groaned.
Editorial Note;
After discovering that my Facebook profile had been ‘restricted’ by Meta due to my attempt to circumvent recent Canadian news-blocking rules the company instituted earlier this year, I have caved to the inevitable - and launched a facebook page called “Tales of the Godswood” to repost these stories and some other content to that platform.
If you’re unfamiliar with Canada and its conflict with Meta over online news sharing - well - don’t worry about it. You probably don’t live in Canada. But if you do, it would appear that Meta will actually slap you for attempting to bypass their rules. So be careful, lest you wish to be digitally silenced.
The summary of this is that if you’d like to follow me on facebook, you can find me here https://www.facebook.com/TalesoftheGodswood/ . If you found me there and subscribed to me here - Welcome! And thanks for joining me on this journey.
In either case, I’d be incredibly grateful if when you see me posting content on facebook (and here) to hit the “Like” and/or “Share/Restack” buttons.
Building an audience as a fantasy writer is proving incredibly challenging, and it will be easier for me to dedicate more time and resources to improving this content if you can take a moment of your time to help me reach a bigger audience.
Cheers, and as always, thanks for reading.
Robin George