The shopkeeper, through Ninian’s tears, had begun to look troubled. “When I say repayment,” he said slowly, “I mean money. You know that, right? Money.” He lowered himself to a squat, bracing his elbows on his knees. “All I care about is the food you ate and the money you owe me for it.”
It was hard to inhale normally, but Ninian focused on it until it felt more natural. “R-right.”
“So here’s the deal, boy. What is your name, anyway?”
He pushed himself shakily back to his feet. “Ninian.”
“All right. Here’s the deal, Ninian.” Máel Máedóc stood as well, once again towering over Ninian like a mountain. “You get to pay me back for the food you ate.” He crossed his arms and leaned forward, and Ninian did his best not to shrink back. “But boy,” he said. “I don’t want a single coin of stolen money.”
Ninian gulped. “Then how…”
“Figure it out,” the shopkeeper said flatly. “You work out how to be an honest young man, and we won’t have any more problems.” He extended his hand. “Deal?”
Looking at Máel Máedóc’s callused hand, the alternative option hung in the air. I would break your neck…
Ninian shook.
“Good call,” Máel Máedóc said. He stepped aside and held the sheepskins out of the way. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Ninian.”
There was no doubt in Ninian’s mind that Máel Máedóc would enforce that.
Ninian’s throat was tight, as if a millstone hung about it, and he was barely conscious of himself walking past the giant shopkeeper.
“Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Ninian’s head was empty. His palms were sweating, his heart had begun to race, and he didn’t know quite why. The moment was past, and he had bigger things to worry about, but his brain was stuck on don’t touch me.
“Focus,” he muttered. He found the nearest building and squatted against it, pressing his head between his hands. “Come on, Ninian. Focus. You need money. Think about how to get money.”
Don’t touch me.
He shuddered and shook his head hard. No matter how deeply he breathed, his lungs didn’t feel full enough.
“You’re fine,” he growled angrily at himself. “Get it together.”
He forced himself to his feet and started walking as fast as he could so that his legs would burn and maybe it would break the cycle that kept running in his mind. He started into a run, and his breath came a little easier as the gray city raced by.
He was in debt.
Máel Máedóc owned a part of him. That’s what debt was. Ownership.
Ninian wanted to throw up.
After a while, he stopped in a rare patch of sun and, with a shaky hand, pushed his hair out of his face.
“Better,” he panted. “Gods.”
He looked around, catching his breath and feeling the morning air scrape his lungs. This part of the city was familiar, but he didn’t know it terribly well. It was full of short single-family homes in which lots of families lived at once, and ratty children younger than him watched as he braced his hands on his knees and gathered himself.
Just two years earlier, Ninian had lived in a neighborhood like this. It had been safe—as safe as the Maze could be—for it was full of families with protective parents to defend against gangs and vagabonds. Ninian remembered his father herding Ninian and his sister inside whenever danger presented itself while Ninian’s mother went out to wreak graceful fury on whoever had threatened her community. When she came back in, she’d always held her children close and explain what she’d done. Someday, she’d said, it would be their turn. It would be their duty to keep people safe.
But Ninian was the vagabond now.
That period of his life was over.
Leaving the squat little houses behind, he turned back into the web of streets.
He must have unwittingly sprinted through some places he ordinarily avoided, for as soon as he was out of the familial neighborhood, the atmosphere of the city around him changed. It didn’t feel as dangerous as the Inner Maze—nothing did—but it had a darkness to it from the soot that covered every brick surface. Fresh black graffiti covered older marks, wordless stories of blood and hate and desperation. This wasn’t the sort of art that people scrawled harmlessly on the sides of busy streets. This was violent. Angry.
Ninian touched the closest wall with his fingertips. Soot came off in oily smudges and stayed on his skin.
Usually, he stayed away from places like this. Today, he was in no hurry to leave.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked deeper into the streets.
✽ ✽ ✽
Glinting, embittered eyes. Gaunt frames, even by the standards of the Maze. People glanced at Ninian like he might have something worth stealing before they turned away—Ninian knew the look.
This was not the place to find money. He reminded himself of that as he turned corner after corner, trying to get lost in the rotting streets. He couldn’t run away, he knew, but the deeper he wound through the streets of the gritty neighborhood, the easier it was to ignore his situation.
He was so tired of thinking. He was so angry—most feelings felt better as anger, and that condensed behind his breastbone. It was safe to hate. Hatred didn’t hurt.
A door opened abruptly in front of him, and a man stumbled out onto the street. He was an average man, with reddish hair and a square build. Ninian didn’t know him.
Ninian turned away, pressing a palm to his mouth.
His head had begun buzzing, and his heart had started into an uneven gallop, firing icy-hot spines through his veins. “Oh—"
It was happening again. Sweat had broken out on his palms and temples, and Ninian tripped into a run. He sprinted away from the man he didn’t know, feeling like he was falling.
People snapped at him in irritation as he shoved past. He barely noticed.
Damn kid.
Watch it!
Bloody—
The world looked funny, kind of yellow, and not as clear as it should be. He couldn’t see anything but what was right in front of him as if the streets were closing in.
He didn’t even know that man. But—
Someone grabbed his arm, swinging Ninian to a stop. “For Gods’ sakes, kid,” a man’s voice said. “Watch where you’re—”
That familiar heat spiked behind Ninian’s breastbone, and he slammed his elbow into the man’s face.
The man abandoned his grip on Ninian’s arm, and Ninian tripped back, heart pounding. “What the…” The man touched his face, and his hand came away bloody. His expression darkened. “Why, you…”
Eyes widening, Ninian dodged a swing. Instinctively ducking, he launched himself up from a crouch into the man’s space. Unable to land a blow at such close range, the man stumbled back, and Ninian took the opportunity to sweep his leg behind the man’s ankle.
Ninian’s head was clearing. As the man regained his balance, enraged, Ninian stepped to the side to let another swing go by. Once the man was off-balance with the force of the unmet strike, Ninian dropped, using the weight of his motion to drive his elbow hard into the man’s kidney.