A Young Fool & The Giant

(Author's note: From a failed attempt at a fantasy novel came a world I truly enjoyed creating. This short story was the story's prologue and I think it stands alone well enough to be shared. I hope you enjoy what was the start of Frederick's journey.)

A YOUNG FOOL & THE GIANT

A rumble deep inside his belly reminded Frederick he hadn’t had a satisfying meal for days, and if he didn’t do something about it soon, he would yet again be going to sleep on an empty stomach. Sitting on a broken crate in a dark corner, he blew hot breath into his small hands to keep them nimble for a little while longer. The narrow street of Market Alley grew soft under the thickening mist, so there wasn’t much time left to act.

He glanced up, past the frayed hood of his wet cloak, to the skies above. Clouds moved about overhead, but the blue moon avoided their cover, providing plenty of light along with the lanterns and oil lamps dangling from the stalls and carts still open for business. Being of small stature, the pockets of shadow where scrawny cats hid or chased mice were big enough for him to move through undetected if he desired. Unfortunately, the red moon remained hidden behind the Iron Mountains, removing the opportunity to sneak through the weird and jagged shadows created when the twin moons danced close together.

A tiny raindrop landed on his skinny nose, pushing him to readjust his focus. With the mist turning into light rain, it wouldn’t be long before the merchants packed up and went home. Marthe, the short, older woman who sold bottles filled with colourful liquids, was already arranging her things to leave. Frederick had played his poor-child routine only once with her, but the uneasy chills she brought upon him had lingered for days after that encounter. He kept his distance when he could.

His mind was wandering. And his eyelids were heavy. The thought of going to Blossom Creek’s main market to beg for scraps weighed on him, but he wasn’t yet ready for defeat. The path that led him to become an old beggar like those around town needed to be avoided. He drew a deep breath, then let out a long sigh as he shook his head and wiggled his fingers.

“Focus, Frederick, focus,” he whispered, forcing his gaze back to the alley. His eyes moved from one passerby to the next until they landed on a heavy coin purse swinging at a man’s hip. He licked his lips as the fog in his head dissipated, leaving a clarity he’d not experienced in some time. That prize would feed him for at least a season; he was sure of it. But there was a slight problem. The man was massive.

If giants weren’t just tales and myths, Frederick would be telling stories of seeing one once. The man’s height reached at least six and a half and he probably weighed around eighteen stones. A thick coat hung heavily on his shoulders, its trim coated with fresh mud, skimmed the street as he strode in long, but worn black leather boots.

Every stride the giant took was a warning. Warnings Frederick ignored. Because with every stride, he envisioned himself slipping that pouch off of its belt, and when he would open it, he would find gold. Lots of it. Silver and copper swung with more chaos, and he was witnessing the steadiest rhythm he had ever seen.

The prize left his line of sight when the man stopped to look over the stock from Raddol’s cart. The old merchant was a chatty one, and he’d keep the behemoth occupied for a moment or two, giving Frederick a chance to study his mark. The cart’s lantern swayed, throwing shade around, making the man look more ominous than Frederick allowed himself to register. Warnings were like rules; they were meant to be ignored.

A thick, dark beard hid what Frederick could only imagine was a wicked grin to complement his large, flawless nose. He could see that the two men were talking, but the rain’s steady splatter against the walls and puddled street, mixed with the chatter from shoppers, browsers, and traders made it impossible to catch a single word; even when he hopped off his crate, leaned forward and concentrated really hard.

A shift in the mud beneath his feet caused him to lose his balance, but he leaned into the wall to steady himself. Another warning. He should let this one go. His belly grumbled a long growl, and he placed his hand on it to settle it down. The thought of the vast emptiness in his gut was interrupted when the giant threw his head back and laughed; a roar that echoed throughout the alley. Probably even throughout the whole town.

Eyes narrowing and lips curling into a thin smile, Frederick’s attention regained its purpose. This might be an easy target after all. They were always distracted when they were involved in a good conversation. It made him a little sad that he wasn’t able to hear what they said. It’d make for a better story. Not that he had anyone to share his stories with, but the joke could have been one he’d have recounted to Sefi at the Brown Mug tavern. She always laughed at his jokes.

He rubbed his hands together. They were clammy from the rain. Under his cloak he found a mostly dry patch of shirt to wipe them down. In the corner of his eye, the familiar rhythm of movement meant Marthe was ready to move on. Her lantern’s light would soon be snuffed out. Perfect. The darkening clouds dampened the moon’s glow, and with the rain heavier still, Marthe was about to shift shadows. It was time to act.

Frederick moved from his dark corner and edged closer to the thinning crowd, making less noise than a scurrying rat. His eyes stayed locked onto his night’s prize. Exactly as anticipated, Marthe reached up with her long, crooked pole and extinguished her lantern the moment he reached his mark. The giant’s coat hung open just wide enough for nimble fingers to relieve a stranger of his purse. As expected, it was heavy. And as usual, the pick was easy.

Warnings were for fools. A smile crept across his rain-soaked face. He’d feast tonight. But maybe, just maybe, he was the fool. A huge hand wrapped around his tiny wrist. His smile vanished. Breath tight, he met the behemoth’s scowl.

“And where do you think you’re going with that, boy?” asked a voice so deep it shook him to his core. With his heart pounding out of his chest, Frederick kept his wits and avoided panic, acting on pure instinct instead. He straightened the fingers of his right hand holding the pouch, letting his prize fall, and catching it with his free left hand. The giant’s eyes flickered and his grip loosened. Frederick yanked himself backward, freeing his slippery arm from its trap.

A quick spin on the ball of his foot on a softening street that didn’t betray him, Frederick found purchase and took off in a sprint down Market Alley. Soon, his steps in the heavy muck were the only ones he could hear, so he slowed his pace. His quickness and stealth would do him little good if he slipped and hurt himself.

A sly smile returned to his lips for a moment. Warnings were for fools. And fools didn’t have the wits to get free of sticky situations. Frederick was no fool. But that giant was quick. Almost as quick as an alley cat. Not too smart, though. That sleight of hand fooled him good. Frederick was still the undisputed master thief of Blossom Creek.

Bright lights hit his face; he’d reached the town square, and its market remained lively. His jog slowed to a walk, and then he stopped just before stepping foot in the well-lit area. His breathing was a touch laboured, and his heart was still racing. He needed a plan. About to turn to peek down the alleyway he’d just come from, his cloak was grabbed violently. Losing his balance, but the stranger’s hold kept him from falling.

“What’re you doing out so late?” said an old, toothless wretch in a shrill voice. A beggar at Sarkas’ door. A pauper sneaking around for scraps. Fear and disgust brought on a violent reaction as Frederick threw his slight frame into a punch, striking the middle of the man’s chest. The ragged man lost his grip, stumbled back and fell awkwardly into a mud puddle with a dull thud.

“Get your hands off me,” Frederick spat. He was still holding the coin purse out in plain view, so he tucked it under his cloak, then ran into the brightly lit square.

***

Jules. A single word hung on the sign above a large red oak door. Not that he could read it, but Frederick remembered things; he wasn’t stupid. When people talked, he listened, and people talked a lot around him, a young boy they probably thought was stupid. He learned which places were safe and which weren’t. While Jules wasn’t a tavern, he was familiar with; those inside would also be unfamiliar with him.

After the pick in Market Alley, anonymity would do more than safety and comfort. Plus, this one was all the way across the town square from the street that led to Market Alley. It was a good plan. Rest, get dry, and hope the rain died down before trudging home.

Fingers wrapped around the cold, blackened iron handle; Frederick’s hold was ripped away when a couple of husky men barged out. No matter, he was fine with slipping in unnoticed, letting the door shut behind him.

The familiar smell of stale beer wrinkled his nose reflexively. How could adults drink that stuff? The place was bigger than he thought it’d be, but it wasn’t any rowdier than other drinking holes he’d frequented around town. Weaving and dodging through and around legs, chairs, tables, pillars, and half-walls, Frederick finally found himself a small table in a dark corner. After hoisting himself up onto the chair, water drops fell onto the table. He slid the drenched hood from his head, slicked his hair back from his face, and took in the tavern from a slightly better perspective.

The fireplace at the back lit half the room, and sitting close to the flames was a young man with short blond hair playing the tambouras. The stringed instrument could barely be heard above the chatter, grunts, shouts, and laughter, but the musician smiled, oblivious to his surrounding chaos.

A roar erupted from the far-right corner table. Two large men stood from their seats and cried obscenities at each other, while their three table companions sat back to enjoy the show. No one else in the building seemed to care. Barely a glance was thrown their way. Of the five, only one was of slight stature, and when he slammed his fist down, the arguing men slumped into their chairs, and the entire table erupted into laughter that muted the rest of the tavern noises.

Frederick shuffled his chair. Best to be sure he was fully in the darkest part of his corner. The rowdy table settled down with quieter shouts and a touch less bravado. The skinny fellow was well dressed compared to his friends; compared to the rest of the patrons, actually.

Jules catered to simple folk, at least on this night, who probably had nothing worth stealing between the lot of them. Whatever few coins they had, given away for full pints of ale or whichever drink they could afford, brought to them by a waitress whose full figure they leaned over to grab for, only to be dodged and blocked with a grace that spoke to her experience.

Her curly blond hair bounced gently as she snaked through the busy tavern. Even though he’d fixated on her movements, she somehow surprised him when she reached his corner. She wore a soft smile that did not quite reach her dark blue eyes.

She leaned in closer and asked, “Isn’t it a bit late for a young boy like you to be out?”

“Yeah, I hear that a lot,” he answered. He wiped at his knuckles as his disgust lurched in his chest at the thought of that wretch.

“Well then, what can I get for ya?”

“I, uh…” his jaw tightened. He peeked around the waitress, and no one else was paying attention to them. This was a bad idea; he should have gone straight home. A grumble came from under the table. He placed his right hand on his stomach to quiet it down.

“Listen, kid,” the waitress said, straightening up, her smile gone. “You can’t just sit here. Order something or leave. We don’t do charity here.”

“No, please.” He glanced at the heavy oak door, then back to her. “Uh… stew? And some bread.”

Hands on her hips, she was definitely judging him. “The stew is fresh from this morning, but the bread is a bit dry. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine.” Fine that he was being judged, he didn’t care. He’d soon be left alone again to slink back to his dark corner. Not soon enough, though. The woman paused, then leaned in, this time with eyes filled with suspicion.

“And how are you going to pay for this?”

The pouch. He hadn’t even thought of it since he walked into this place. With a jolt of excitement, Frederick stuck his hand under his cloak and into the coin purse. As suspected, he found the fine, ridged edges of a gold crown. And then another. A smirk touched his lips. Then he touched something intriguing, but he would have to check it out later, as the waitress had cleared her throat impatiently.

From under the table, his hand came up with a single crown and offered it to her. Her eyes widened for an instant, but her features softened as she palmed the gold piece.

“You’d be smart staying in this part of the room,” she said, tilting her head towards the table with the five rowdy men. She stood straight and asked, “Do you like hot cider?”

Frederick gave a simple nod, which satisfied her question as she turned and left. Pulling his attention back, Frederick dipped his hand under the table and into the pouch. His quiet fingers grazed the contents until he found it. He threw a quick glance around the room, only lingering on the table of five. Warnings weren’t only for fools. With care, he snuck out the little rectangle tablet, just enough so he could peek at it. A dragon ducat.

Those golden tabs were used by large traders who moved across territories throughout The Lands. Or so he’d been told. If what he’d heard was true, these things were worth twenty gold crown. He was rich. Pushing the ducat back into the pouch, and the pouch back beneath his cloak, Frederick trembled with excitement. He was rich. Filthy rich. Well, if he could trade it. That might be a problem. What if he kept it? Yeah, maybe he would keep it instead. That way he would hold proof that he was the greatest thief in Blossom Creek.

Absentmindedly, his legs swung beneath his chair as he enjoyed the notes he could hear from the young man by the fire through the chattering noise of the crowded tavern. A scruffy man, wet from head to toe, walked in. A table of three got up and left. An argument broke out between two women; hair was pulled, screams were yelled, and fists were thrown before a big lad intervened. And then, he spotted the bouncy blond hair coming his way. A last long and low grumble emitted from under the table as the waitress approached his table with his meal.

First, she set down the hot cider to his right; a sweet vapour brushed his nose. Then, a big bowl of stew was dropped in front of him. Pork! Steam filled his nostrils with the smell of cooked pork and vegetables mixed with herbs and spices he didn’t even know existed. He wiped drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. A large piece of bread topped off this supper fit for a king. A king of thieves.

“That should fill you up,” she said with a friendly smile that reached her sharp eyes. Her fist hovered near him. When he didn’t react, she lowered it and opened her hand, dumping a small pile of shillings by his bowl. Annoyed, but just because he had to pull himself away from his food, he slid the silver pieces into his new pouch without counting. He knew how to count high enough, but he figured a rich man didn’t need to. Plus, time wasted while his belly caved in.

After securing the purse, he looked up, and she was already gone. He didn’t care to look for her, as his feast was waiting for him. The wooden spoon, gripped tightly in his right hand, dug deep into the thick stew, fishing for a piece of that pork. He couldn’t remember the last time he had meat in his stew. Bringing the steaming spoonful to his mouth, he shoved it right in, burning his palate, but he chewed through the pain, making sure his tongue also got singed. He picked up the bread with his left hand, ripped a chunk with his front teeth, and let it sit in his mouth for a moment, cooling his eagerness. He blew quick puffs of air on his next few scoops before devouring them.

Halfway through, though his appetite not yet satisfied, he slowed down and took a gulp from his cider. It was sweeter than expected. But tasty. The heat of the cradled mug soothed his nerves, and he let his attention glide through the room. Karnyx! The table of five had become a table of four when he hadn’t been paying attention. It was the skinny guy. He was missing. Frederick scanned the room but couldn’t spot him. Maybe he was a fool after all. Or paranoid. Probably just paranoid. No one had looked over his way, except the waitress, who continued to slither about, bringing more ale to men to make them more drunk.

Releasing the warmth of the mug, Frederick picked up his bread and leaned on his elbows. Casually munching away, he followed the waitress’s movements through the maze of tables. The heavy oak door was pushed open, freezing him mid-chew. His supper attempted to climb its way back from where it came, but he swallowed hard, keeping everything in its place. His throat tightened, and he prayed to whichever of the five Great Gods would listen, to reveal that his eyes were deceiving him. They were not. Listening or deceiving. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The drenched giant had not even bothered to pull up his hood. That guy was crazy. Why would he decide to check this place? Maybe if Frederick stayed really still, he wouldn’t be seen.

The big man strode to the counter and exchanged a few words with the barman, who shrugged, turned away for a moment, then waved. Frederick’s gaze followed the gesture to the waitress. She dropped off the last of the drinks on her tray before joining them. Beside the giant, she appeared petite. They exchanged words.

Thud! His heartbeat ran through his entire body.

She nodded.

Thud!

She turned.

Thud!

She pointed.

THUD!

The giant’s eyes, burning like fire, met his.

Thud-thud-thud!

He took a step towards his corner.

Thud! Frederick dropped the bread and jumped off the chair. Let there be an unlocked back door, or else he would meet Sarkas tonight. It was a chance worth taking, as he’d never reach the front door with the giant standing nearby. With a quick spin, he leapt, bouncing headfirst into someone before he completed his first step. About to fall, he was saved yet again by a stranger holding onto his cloak.

“Not so fast, kid.” It was the skinny man from the table of five. He was taller than expected, and wore a stupid grin across his face, exposing white teeth so perfect it was unnerving. “Where’re you off to in such a hurry?”

“Let me go,” Frederick growled, shaking and tugging away. He didn’t have time for this. Arms up in the air, fingers locked into a double fist, he brought them down hard. When his hands hit the wrist that held him prisoner, he winced as a jolt of pain shot through to his shoulders. All that, and the man didn’t budge. Didn’t even flinch. He had to get away.

“You ain’t going nowhere, kid.” The smile twisted menacingly, digging into what little sanity Frederick had left.

“Let him go. He’s mine.” He’d planned to never hear that voice ever again. Once had been enough. But there he was, trapped and about to die. He let his body slump; the only thing holding him up was the skinny fellow’s clutch of his cloak.

“Find your own.” That voice didn’t feel so tough or menacing now. Frederick cocked his head to get a partial view of the unfolding events.

“I don’t think you understand. This one’s mine.” Yeah, the giant was way more frightening.

“Oh, trust me, it’s you that don’t understand.” Without warning—because warnings were for fools—Frederick was pushed hard, losing his breath as his rump hit the floor. And without as much as a glance, Skinny said, “don’t dare go nowhere now little one.” He might dress fancy, but he didn’t sound fancy.

A warning he did listen to was to scuttle back against the wall. Things got interesting when Skinny’s friends arrived and surrounded the giant. They all wore arrogant sneers, standing all aloof like. Fools. Unbothered, the giant stood his ground, his head moving slightly to get a look at each one of them, ending by returning his gaze to Skinny, their obvious leader.

His eyes visibly dilated just before sending his right elbow back to the thug behind him, catching him square on the nose. Blood exploded everywhere, the man’s head snapped back, knees buckled, and he fell to the dirty tavern wooden floor in a heap, all while the giant then swung the same arm forward, fist first, into the head of the one to his left. Blood gushed on all sides, and before the fight even started, two big lugs were out cold.

The brute to his right lunged at the giant, who grabbed the front of his coat with both hands and flung him into the air. He crashed into Frederick’s table, sending the remainder of the stew splattering against the wall. There was a pinch of sadness at seeing his first meal in days go to waste. The last of Skinny’s bruisers thought he was ready for the fight, but his fate followed that of his friends, and he would also make the floor his bed for the night following a single, massive blow to the face.

“Now,” the giant said, turning to Skinny. “Do we have an understanding?” Vanished was the perfect white-toothed smile, replaced by a slack jaw and wide eyes. The destruction of his crew had been absolute. And quick. And Skinny wasn’t sticking around to help his buddies, not saying another word as he scurried off, stumbling into everything on his way out of the tavern.

With the distraction delt with, Frederick regained the full attention of the giant. This wasn’t part of the plan.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me,” he said, his tone a touch more gentle than when he was talking to Skinny. His fists on his hips, he waited, and for a moment, Frederick felt weirdly safe. Behind the big man, he looked at the poor bastards who thought they had the upper hand because of their numbers.

Fools. He’d better say something while the giant stayed calm.

“I bought supper,” Frederick said sheepishly, hands sliding into his cloak to cling to the pouch.

“Surely it didn’t cost you your entire fortune.”

“No, sir.” And it was his fortune.

“Well then, consider yourself lucky that I’m not asking you to take me to your guardian. He’d be sorely disappointed in how badly you’ve botched this one up.”

Frederick sat quietly against the tavern wall; fleeing no longer remained an option. The giant was quick. And maybe he was smart, too. The thudding in his chest was still a touch heavy, but he was not yet willing to part from his stolen wealth.

“Come, boy, hand it over.”

“No.” Well, that was stupid. He couldn’t believe he had just uttered the word. Frederick winced and waited, eyes shut tight. Within his darkness, he jumped at the sound of roaring laughter.

“You’ve got spirit, kid, I’ll give you that,” he said. “On second thought, I think I’ll meet your guardian after all. Now on your feet and take me to him.” He did not wait for him to act; instead, leaning over and taking Frederick’s arm, picked him up to his feet with ease. He then reached inside the ragged cloak and easily ripped the coin purse from his grasp. Once the pouch was safely hanging from his belt, the giant stepped behind and pushed Frederick towards the exit.

For the first time since the waitress betrayed him, the tavern phased back into focus. Every single person stared at them. Even the young musician had pulled himself away from his playing; only the fire’s crackle sounded throughout the tavern.

When they reached the front door, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him mid-stride. The jingle of what used to be his gold, inside what used to be his pouch but a moment ago, rang through the quiet room. Frederick didn’t have to check to know it was a gold piece that landed on the counter.

“Sorry about the mess.” A shove followed, pushing him out of Jules and into the downpour. The streets, mostly deserted save for those running from one dry corner to another while holding something or other above their heads, were still loud as the sound of the rain hitting the cobblestones was deafening. Frederick reached for his hood and threw the soaked cloth over his head for what little good it would do. This was stupid; why were they just standing there? The giant looked unbothered and said, “I’m waiting.”

“For what?” Had he missed the first question? He got his gold back, and Frederick owned nothing else to give him.

“Boy, I told you to take me to your guardian.”

“What?” He should just make a break for it. He would have if he wasn’t a fool.

“Take me to the adult who takes care of you.”

“No one takes care of me. I take care of me,” he shouted through the heaviest rainfall he had ever experienced. There was a good chance he’d find a wet bed if he ever made it home.

“You live alone? You’re not lying, are you?”

“Yes sir. And no, sir, I’m not lying.”

The man laughed. “Who taught you to steal like you did tonight?”

“Nobody.” He trembled with shivers. Why wasn’t this conversation being held inside the tavern?

“Maybe that’s why you’re so bad at it. Where are your parents? Brothers? sisters?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know anything?”

“I know that I’m wet and cold,” he grumbled, arms outstretched in defiance.

The giant laughed again. “Like I said, you’ve got spirit, kid. I’ll ask you one more time, and no lies. Do you live alone out here?”

“Well, not out here, but yes. I have a small place just outside The Creek. Why does it matter?” Frederick was getting really cold, and any adrenaline he’d used up during the night had dried up. He was ready to crash.

“Well, isn’t that something?” The giant clapped his hands together and threw his head back once more to laugh, letting the rain soak his face. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Frederick.” Maybe he should have lied. But… he was no fool.

“Frederick, this is your lucky day. My name’s Bengard, and I’d like to offer you a proposition. Come with me and I’ll teach you how to be a real thief. Maybe someday you’ll be able to repay me. How does that sound?”

He shrugged. Whatever. At this point, he didn’t care; he just wanted out of this rain. Bengard chuckled and slapped him on the back. It stung. “Let’s go someplace warm and dry, shall we?”

It was about time.