Lost Valor by Kal Spriggs

Author:Kal Spriggs [Spriggs, Kal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-13T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12: I Learn To Live In The Barrens

“There’s three ways we can make it on the streets,” Simon told me as we squatted on a street corner. “First one, begging, that’s what we’re doing now.” He nodded his head at the plastic bowls we both held out. “Thing is, you look too healthy and big to be a proper beggar. Maybe if the Black Cloaks or one of the other gangs get you and rough you up, cut off your nose or ears or something or put your eyes out, you could pull it off. But you look too well fed, so most of these sorts,” he waved at the general crowd, “they aren’t going to spare anything for you.”

He patted his stump, “Me, I got an advantage.” Both of us wore more muted clothing and no cloaks. I was shivering in the rain and wet and so was Simon. He’d said that added to the look. I just felt cold and miserable.

A passerby slowed her pace, looking at him and I. Simon adopted a whining tone that set my teeth on edge, “Please, miss, spare anything for a crippled boy?”

The woman adopted a pained expression and her eyes darted around. Then she gave a pained sigh and dropped her hand inside her coat. A moment later, she threw a couple small chip-coded bits of plastic in Simon’s bowl and hurried off.

“Tenth marks,” Simon noted and he scooped them out, leaving the dried bread crust he’d put in the bowl when we’d both started this process. He’d said the bread was to look as if we had some customers, it made others more likely to give.

“She just gave you two day’s wages?” I asked in a shocked voice.

“Well, close enough,” He nodded. “Though she had the look of a clerk, probably works in an office, so for her it was probably a couple hours work.”

I shook my head, still. “Why?”

“It was probably what she had on hand and once she made eye contact…” Simon shot me a grin, “well, the guilt sets in. Maybe she read something that made her feel bad this morning, maybe she feels guilty because she stabbed someone in the back at work and got them fired,” he shrugged, “giving to me makes her feel better, lets her tell herself she’s not so bad.”

“That’s kind of messed up,” I said.

“You have no idea. Fellow I learned this from, he lived in a nice house, pulled in five or ten marks a week, maybe more,” Simon grinned at me, “a skilled beggar knows how to spot the guilty ones. The ones where they know they’re rotten and they just give to feel better or for other people to think they’re better.” He waved down the street, “He was as healthy as you, but he knew how to play them.” Simon sighed, “I only wish I was so good.”

“Doesn’t seem like an honest way to live,” I noted. It felt wrong to me to beg. I didn’t want or need help from these people, I just wanted an opportunity.

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