Rensoth, Two Days Later
By the time Min La1 reached Rensoth it had finally stopped raining. The autumn morning was cold but the emerging sun was warm on his damp shoulders.
The city gates had only been open an hour and already the roads where bustling with crowds. Merchants, some from as far as On Dŭn2, Sona Gen travelers on their way to the capital, and even pilgrims bound for one of the many temples to the Ădol in Ŏno Soth3 all poured in a great blend of humanity through Rensoth’s broad north gate. Guards from the gate patrol checked the carts entering and leaving the city, they inspected the paperwork of foreign merchants. But none offered Min La even a passing glance. A small, young man in simple, worn cloth was all but invisible amidst the morning throng.
Min La put his arm protectively around the bag he wore across his chest. Everything he owned was inside. Caution and paranoia had become reflexes over the years. But even that had not always been enough to save him. Tightening his grip on the bag, he lowered his head and wove through the crowd.
The city of Rensoth, not twenty miles from the great walls of Ŏno Soth, the capital of Láokoth and the home of the king, was not large in its own right, nor was it particularly impressive. But it was the last city on the eastern road to the capital and as such was filled at all times with travelers and merchants. Ŏno Soth had built itself carefully into the shining center of trade in Láokoth, at the center of all roads and along the path to anywhere. Rensoth, smaller, less vibrant, and not as shining, had still managed to thrive alongside the capital. Travelers who could not afford the Ŏno Soth inns would house themselves in Rensoth instead. Merchants who could not afford to rent stalls or shops in Ŏno Soth would come to Rensoth to sell their wares. Those who had attempted to make a life for themselves in the bustling capital and had failed usually found themselves in Rensoth.
Min La’s first task this morning was, as always, determining whether it would be better to beg or to steal. Some cities would not suffer Houseless beggars. Some were tolerant of beggars but were more vigilant against thieves than even the royal Palace.
Recently Min La had spent a week in the city of Enlin on the western side of Ŏno Soth, where he had found that begging served him better. The Enlin merchants were not particularly vigilant, nor were the city guards any more intimidating than they were anywhere else. But with his small stature and his thin, worn golt, he had found that the people of Enlin were somewhat more generous than average. He suspected that had something to do with the stability of wealth in that city. Enlin was famously home to several estates owned by members of powerful Houses who did not want to live inside the capital. They seemed more charitable towards beggars, and didn’t even care that he was likely Houseless.
It certainly helped that his small size made him look like a child, especially if he used his hair to hide his face. By his count, he was probably twenty years old now, but he’d been homeless for almost half those years, and all that hunger and hardship had kept him small and weak. His skin was pale and rough, his long hair thin and dull. His worn, stolen clothes hung on him like he was nothing more than a wooden frame. It all worked well to make him appear quite pitiful. He had found, too, that if he removed his shoes and sat barefoot while he begged he did better. His skinny ankles probably conveyed a more urgent state of starvation.
In any case, he had spent a week there collecting enough silver to get him most of the way to his goal. But after some time, the city guards had suggested that he allow himself to be taken in by one of the temples that usually looked after young beggars. But Min La had flatly refused. Thereafter they had tolerated him a little longer but, eventually, they had had to do their job and drove him out. One kindly city guard had left him at the gate with a bag of steamed bread and a small piece of silver. He had been tempted to stay regardless. But it wasn’t wise to linger anywhere very long. So he had offered a bow of thanks to the walls of Enlin and made his way east.
Min La spent most of his first day in Rensoth begging in the market. Begging was always how he started; it was easier and much less risky. But as night fell, he had barely even enough to buy bread or a bowl of broth. And so he spent the rest of the evening cautiously stealing scraps from the vendors’ stalls until he had managed to forage a veritable feast. A small pack of beggar children caught sight of him and began trailing after him like stray puppies. They even followed him to the little abandoned stone house near the city wall where he had made himself a temporary shelter. They pestered him piteously until he gave them what he had. After they scurried off, he went to find more. But by then the city was closing down for the night and all he could find were wilted scraps of cabbage and a few shriveled potatoes.
The following morning, Min La knew to skip begging altogether. The people of Rensoth didn’t seem to have much patience for beggars. And if he wasn’t going to beg, he’d need to take a different tactic in his appearance.
After he had tidied the nest he’d made for himself in the little stone house, he set about tidying himself. He washed his face with ice cold water from the well a few streets over. He washed his hair as well as he could with soap he’d stolen in Enlin. It smelled of lavender and pine and made his dull black hair hang like rough yarn. He had been letting his hair grow for years, ever since he had found himself Houseless and homeless, and it was now well past his shoulders. He looked tolibin now, as the tolibins never cut their hair out of respect for Níoth, who had gifted man their bodies. After he combed his hair with his broken wooden comb, he bound it in a low knot. Having a comb was essential. Nothing helped a man blend in better than well-kept hair.
That said, his clothes weren’t helping him very much. His thin pants had not been white for years and the short inner golt that went past his knees was threadbare enough to feel like nothing at all. With stiff, cold fingers he fastened the ties down the front of the worn woolen golt he’d been wearing for the last two years and then cinched it tightly around his waist with the rope he used as a belt. Always a little tighter, it seemed, especially this morning. The tiny shriveled potatoes had done very little to ease the ache of hunger that had begun to soften the edge of his focus. After a day of travel, it hadn’t been wise to sleep on an empty stomach. He’d need to remedy that today, if he did nothing else. With a sigh he rubbed his cold, numb cheeks and wondered how much longer he’d have to prioritize filling his stomach over everything else. For almost ten years this had proven to be such an all-consuming daily task that he’d had little time for anything else.
Before he left his little borrowed house, he donned his only coat. It was too long for him and nearly dragged on the ground, with sleeves that reached his fingertips. The pale blue cloth was thin and not enough for the coming winter. He’d need to take care of that soon. He had another golt and a few pairs of socks in his cloth bag. If he had to, he could layer it all and last another month or so before it got colder. But the knitted gloves that had carried him through last winter were long gone. He also needed to take care of that soon.
Standing at the house’s threshold, he paused and took out his little bag of silver in order to feel its weight in his hand. He nearly had enough already. For a moment he considered skipping the market and leaving Rensoth right now. If he hurried, he could beat the weather south and then he wouldn’t have to concern himself with knitted gloves or new coats.
But he knew that it wasn’t yet enough. If he set off too soon, he’d find himself stranded in Gŏhíth4 or somewhere equally unpleasant. So he tucked the little purse deep inside the cloth bag and then looped it over his head and across his chest.
Min La made his way with the morning crowds to the main road through the city, where the merchants and the tradesman had their shops and their stalls. Rensoth only had one marketplace, but it was almost as big as the markets in Enlin. Shops and stalls occupied almost six city blocks, and at this hour the entire space was filled with people. To Min La’s left a small donkey pulled a large wooden cart laden with potatoes, apples, and large green cabbages. Another ahead of it was filled with pumpkins and bright orange carrots. Already it had been weeks since he’d seen a tomato or a cucumber. The hardy winter crops would soon replace the summer vegetables entirely. But the farmers of the Sona Gen Houses were among the savviest in Láokoth. However sparse the selection, the northern marketplaces would never be empty, not even in the dead of winter.
A few large apples bounced out of their swollen brown sacks and rolled around in the back of the cart. Min La snatched them up quickly and tucked them into the bag across his chest. It was a good start.
The warm aroma of baking bread had pulled a line of eager customers toward the front door of a baker’s shop where a round old woman was setting out the first steaming loaves of the day. The piles of warm golden bread tempted Min La for a moment, but he had to focus if he was going to get what he needed before the end of the day.
A pair of young women lingering to the side of the baker’s shop caught his eye. They were discussing the morning’s offerings while they adjusted their cloaks over their fine silk golts. One of the women wore a jeweled silver comb in her hair and the other — probably her maid — carried a parcel of gleaming brocade fabric that had been neatly tied with a length of ribbon.
When the mistress gestured at the steaming bread, the motion opened her cloak and Min La could plainly see the silk purse that hung from her embroidered belt. It was not large, but was clearly full, judging by the way it pulled at her belt. Just as he was considering whether or not it was worth the risk, a small, rag-shrouded shape darted out from behind one of the bakery stands, collided with the women, yelled a hasty apology, and darted off. Min La almost laughed. He had immediately recognized the brazen little urchin as one of the boys who had followed him to his stone house last night and pestered him for his stolen scraps.
Of course, the woman’s purse was gone. After a few seconds, she noticed as well. Min La watched as she and her maid turned at once to the fleeing child and called out, “Thief!”
The boy stopped as if stricken, glanced back, and then, with a crooked little smile, broke into a run. Min La took out one of his apples and began to eat it as he watched the matter unfold.
The woman’s cry alerted half the street. Vendors reached for their money boxes while the people all clutched their own purses protectively. A pair of city guards had been eating fried bread and eggs one street over and had nearly overturned their table when they jumped to attention at the woman’s shout. They were distinctively dressed in the short yellow golts of their office, armed with short swords sheathed in black leather. Min La felt a rush of relief. He hadn’t even seen the guards until that moment and would likely have been caught had he attempted anything himself. Hunger, it seemed, had made his mind a little dull this morning.
The guards caught sight of the fleeing beggar and immediately started after him.
The boy paused, his ratty shoes slipping a little across the muddied stone street. The guards were close behind him, but, putting his fingers to his lips, he let out a thin whistle. Just then, another child appeared, his head peeking out over the terrace of a small teahouse on the corner. He held out his hands and the boy on the street tossed the silk purse up to him. Catching the purse easily, the boy on the terrace disappeared back inside the teahouse.
Seeing this exchange, the guards made a quick decision. With the original thief bolting off in the opposite direction, they had no choice but to abandon their pursuit of him and instead head inside the teahouse to find the new holder of the stolen purse. Min La couldn’t help but but shake his head in disappointment. While the resolve of the city guards was indeed admirable, their capabilities were somewhat lacking.
Still working on his apple, Min La walked quickly around the back of the teahouse. Just as he had guessed, a door there was propped open creating a path from the teahouse to its fragrant storeroom across the alley. Concealing himself a little behind the corner of the building, Min La waited while he ate the last few bites of his apple. After a moment or two, the boy burst through the teahouse’s back door, assessed the alley, and then walked to the right, in the direction of Min La. At first the decision seemed like a bad one, given that this route would take the boy back to the main thoroughfare of the market.
But at that moment a third boy jogged over from behind the teahouse’s storeroom. He met up with his comrade, who transferred the purse to his care. The entire operation was surprisingly smooth and practiced, neither child even broke stride. Crouching behind the wall, Min La couldn’t help but admire the careful planning and neat execution of these little thieves.
As the boy from the teahouse — who no longer carried the stolen goods — sauntered casually back towards the marketplace, the other made a more cautious start in the opposite direction. As he did so, he tucked the purse carefully into the inner pocket of his oversized golt. Min La took a moment to study the alley and the buildings that surrounded it.
Tossing the apple core, he turned and went back around the front of the teahouse. As he passed the front doors he redoubled his speed. Behind him, the bewildered city guards emerged from the front of the teahouse and saw that the boy from the terrace was now making his way casually across the market. With great energy they renewed their pursuit. The boy let out an arrogant laugh and started running. Min La, meanwhile, went to the end of the street and turned. If he’d timed it right, he should— yes. The third boy, the new carrier of the purse, was just down the alley, walking towards Min La, hands at his sides, head down.
At that moment a man emerged from the back door of one of the other shops. The door burst open so suddenly that the boy was nearly knocked over and the man nearly lost his grip on a precariously balanced tower of wooden boxes. The boy staggered and stepped aside muttering “excuse me.” Min La took advantage of the opportunity, slipping past the boy as he bowed at the irritated man. The child’s outer golt was baggy and loose and the silk pouch shone when it was exposed by his bowing stance. Min La slipped it deftly out of the boy’s pocket and into his own as the man swung the boxes wildly and snapped something about the menace of little Houseless urchins. Without stopping, Min La continued down the alley, then disappeared into the bustle of the marketplace.
Min La did not linger in the market, but he also did not rush to leave it. After the excitement at the theft had calmed in the marketplace, he had used a bit of his own silver to purchase some meat cooked in steamed loaves. As the bells tolled midday he began his cautious retreat back to his little stone house, laden with stolen silver and a hot meal. In that moment, each seemed equally precious.
Weaving a complex path through the alleys of Rensoth, he made his way to his temporary residence where he wedged the collapsed door shut over the opening, careful not to leave any gaps for cold drafts. In the dimming afternoon, the little space was dark and so he had to use his rusted old striker to ignite a little pile of straw and dry grass. With this he lit the fire in the stone house’s ceramic stove and also a small candle stub he’d found in the pile of rags. The candle would probably only last him the evening, and the stove was small and inefficient and probably wouldn’t stay lit through the night. But if he sat near it, it was enough to keep him warm.
The fire in the little stove grew and the air inside the stone house began to warm. Min La felt his muscles relax even though a trill of panic was quickening his heart.
It was then, when he had begun to relax in the warmth of the fire, that finally — half-excited, half-afraid — he pulled out the stolen silk purse.
It was indeed quite heavy. The silk was fine, a beautiful soft shade of creamy sage green embroidered with white swans. The delicate, braided ties were strung with shining green beads. Opening it carefully he spread the contents on the dirty stone floor in front of him. The silver was new and had not been dulled by constant handling. It shone in the firelight.
After a moment’s hesitation, Min La tossed the empty silk purse into the stove. As it burned, he took out his own silver.
The contents of the woman’s purse just about doubled what he already had. The sight of it was almost frightening. Never in his life as a homeless beggar had he been in possession of this much silver at one time. Holding it all in both hands, he tried to guess the weight. It had to be several sen5 at least. More than enough, much more than enough. That certainty was so strange to feel. For a moment he considered leaving his little stone hut and buying a room in an inn. But then he closed his fists protectively.
No. No he would endure one more night of hardship. Every piece of silver would be necessary, he couldn’t waste it on needless luxuries, not when he had finally achieved his goal. He put the combined silver into his old cotton purse and tucked it back in his bag.
A sound outside made him jump, but he settled himself. Despite his paranoia, he was reasonably sure that he had nothing to fear. He had been careful in the market today and doubted the city guards had taken any notice of him, much less believed him associated in any way with the pack of little beggars.
He knew he had been too bold, however. He couldn’t return to the Rensoth market tomorrow. After today’s incident, the city guards would be on the lookout for unfamiliar faces.
Within the protective enclosure of the little house, Min La felt as safe as he could feel. Most nights he had no shelter, or if he did he had to share it with others, whose intentions towards him were seldom good. This little house felt almost luxurious.
While fire warmed his thin limbs, Min La slowly ate. It had been a while since he’d had meat, so he took his time. The flavor filled and warmed him in a way that even the fire could not. Focusing on nothing else, he simply ate his meal. He ate until his stomach was full, and then he leaned against the cool stone wall of the little house.
Evening came quickly, followed just as quickly by darkness. The long cool nights of late summer, it seemed, were finally over.
The fire dimmed as he tucked himself into his little nest of rags for the night. A cat or a raccoon skittered across the mud outside the little house. But his door was securely wedged shut, and he was too tired to give it much thought.
One more night of hardship.
Tomorrow he would leave Sona Gen. He would take his silver and start south. If he was lucky he could make it through Gŏhíth in less than a month. And from there he could cross into the Kingdom of Bá Hoth. And then, finally, across Lun Bay into Srenléth. It had taken him nearly ten years, but soon he would be able to leave Láokoth behind forever.
Min-LAH
Ohn-DIY-un
IY-oh-noh-soth
GIY-oh-hithe
Similar to an ounce
I’d be lying if I said that I liked you cutting away from So Ga, … but Min La is interesting, mysterious. Is he a member of that disgraced noble family? Is he a prince that didn’t actually die? He’s not an urchin that was originally from the streets… is that why he has two names? I think he would have hidden and waited an hour to see if anyone followed before he reentered his temporary stone hut.