Auberon’s morning was punctuated with aggravation. First it was the two members of Vancouver’s constabulary that woke him and the others at the Stanley Park camp at dawn, with dire warnings that they were to move on, and that if they were still there by noon, they would return to destroy their camp themselves.

Auberon briefly wondered about killing them. There were only two of them. But Ezra, as if able to hear his thoughts, only shook his head firmly. That was the second aggravation.

The third came after the cursed police upended and took away Ziggy’s shopping cart, which meant they would have to carry all they could by hand. Auberon was used to heavy lifting during his days as a prospect. In order to prove oneself capable as an Empyrean Rider, one had to care for a wyvern egg as if his future depended on it, and it very well did. Wherever he was, he was responsible for keeping the egg secure, safe and warm. In the mountains of An’Talei, where the air was thin, warmth was not always easy to come by.

He’d carried Vetzsche around with him for nearly a year as he rose in the morning, attended his training sessions, and learned about the finer points of caring for a wyvern. He was required to spend two weeks rough, with only the egg, a knife and a canteen, while defending the egg against predators and ensuring its safety.

And even after Vetzsche had hatched, his physical training had been long, arduous and full of back-breaking labor. It was all worth it for the moment Vetzsche had first taken Auberon upon his back and flown into the Sky-Circle at Aidsen, and been granted his posting with Raptor Company.

Still, the aggravations of the day were already high enough to cause him to grit his teeth. What did it matter to the local constabulary that they camped in the forest where nobody lived? They were not making the place messy. They were committing no crimes, and sought no violence. Ezra, Ziggy and the few others that came and went from the camp were not rough men. They merely slept rough. They survived.

And yet the Vancouver police did not seem interested in hearing that. They only ordered, and the rest complied.

“Not right,” Auberon said of the situation. He was carrying the lion’s share of the camp supplies. Tents, a propane stove, and a small assortment of clothing.

“Don’t have to be right,” Ziggy replied. “It is what it is, man.” He looked back to Ezra, who was trailing behind them carrying a backpack and a satchel at his side. “You okay old man?”

“Don’t old man me,” Ezra protested. He grumbled under his breath. “He’s right though, Obie,” he continued. “They don’t bother us so much if we just do what they say. Life’s easier that way.”

“If life easier,” Auberon replied. “Living harder. Assholes.”

“Cops are assholes,” Ziggy agreed. “See, you’re getting it. Aren’t cops assholes in Estonia?”

“Cops,” Auberon began, “protect. People like you. Me. Camps on edge of city. Slums. Allowed if no steal. No kill. They leave us. Help us if hurt.”

Police in Embrayya only bothered beggars if they were somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. They were free to beg, and citizens were free to provide foods and charity. They could set up in the slums, or camp on the edge of the city, and so long as there were no complaints of theft, they were left alone– even protected if they were beaten.

Here in Vancouver, it made no sense. Living in the park was not allowed. But then living in another park was– until it wasn’t. It reminded him of the fences he’d seen surrounding the park near The Door is Open. A perfectly fine park, with plenty of space for all, denied to everyone for fear that someone might sleep in it.

Ziggy’s phrase, it is what it is, bothered Auberon in a peculiar way. It spoke to him of blanket acceptance of the way the beggars were treated in Vancouver, and he did not like it. They were allowed to stay on roadside camps until told to move along. They were allowed to set up camps in various other places– until they were told to move along. It was a pattern Auberon perceived as a snake eating its own tail.

It was like the authorities were purposely trying to make the life of a beggar impossible to live, for people who already found it next to impossible to find hope. He wondered if that was the point of it all, or if there was something he was missing.

And now, they had to march through the city streets for hours to find a new place to set up their home. Auberon had suggested crossing the bridge and living in the wilderness, but Ezra and Ziggy both told him it was easier to find food in the city than in the woods. Auberon wasn’t sure he believed them, but Ezra seemed to think that a place called Strathcona Park was going to be their best option.

Strathcona, as Auberon had been told, was much smaller than Stanley Park. It wouldn’t be as easy to go unnoticed in Strathcona, but the community there was bigger. This brought both advantages and disadvantages.

One advantage was that there were more people willing to keep an eye on your things in your absence. But a strong disadvantage is that some of those people would only do it in order to rob you blind. But Ezra had been part of the community there before, and he knew the ones you could trust versus the ones you couldn’t.

The first rule, he’d explained, was to never trust someone who was using. Auberon didn’t quite understand what he’d meant by that at first. He then explained further. Drugs. All sorts of them. He listed them off nonchalantly. 

There was heroin, known on the streets usually as dope or down. He explained that one could identify users by scarring along their arm and vacant expressions on their faces. As demonstration, Ziggy had shown his arm, and told stories about what the drug would do to him before he finally managed to drop the habit the year before. Auberon felt chills run up his spine as he listened to Ziggy explain it.

He spoke of it almost like it was a close friend that had betrayed him. It was a speech he’d heard before, on his own world. A speech he’d heard from many of the men he’d trained with who had been injured and chose to live on the milk of the poppy rather than rehabilitate themselves.

There were other drugs as well, he’d learned. Crack. Speed. Fentanyl. All had the side effect of creating desperation amongst users, which increased their likelihood of stealing and lying to support their habits.

Even the alcoholics, Ezra had said ironically as he took a swig of his own stash of whiskey, weren’t to be trusted.

If anything, it just made it more clear that Auberon had much to learn about life beyond Ayndir.

The walk to Strathcona took a couple of hours. The edges of the park were lined by small copses of trees, but he marveled at the number of tents. Each grouping of tents were set up in their own little corners and came in varying sizes, numbering from six to a couple of dozen tents grouped together. There was enough distance put between each grouping to clearly delineate the different camps, but there had to be, collectively, a few hundred tents set up all through it.

They were also entirely set up at the edges of the park, near copses of trees and the edges of the roads. When they’d arrived, Ezra pointed them toward one of the camps. There was an area covered in a deep blue tarp that was far larger than most of the tents around it. He had Ziggy and Auberon wait outside while he went inside to talk to someone.

“I don’t understand,” Auberon said.

“Eh,” Ziggy said, shrugging. “Ezra’s known Gums for years. He keeps the peace in the park. Best they talk, he’ll tell us where we can set up.”

“Gums?” Auberon asked.

“Old fart,” he said. “No bullshit. He’s got a lot of respect around here.”

Auberon looked around. The park certainly was a bustle of activity. Groups of people congregated all throughout the park in their own little sections. There even appeared to be some who passed through the park that carried themselves differently– they walked briskly, with purpose. He could tell simply by the cleanliness of their clothing they were not beggars.

“Oh as I live and breathe,” a man’s voice called from nearby. “Is that Big Zig?”

“Shit,” Ziggy said under his breath.

Auberon turned to regard a man walking toward them. He was about Auberon’s height, but was built more solidly than most of the beggars he’d seen. Fit. In shape and groomed reasonably well. He wore a white t-shirt and had a shaved head.

It was the eyes, though, that told Auberon what he needed to know about the man. He had the eyes of a predator.

“I’m not gonna lie, Zig. I heard you died last year. You been hiding from me?”

“No,” Ziggy said. “I just… I just got clean, Roman.”

“Clean, huh?” Roman asked. 

The closer he got, the more Auberon prepared himself. He didn’t know what to expect, nor did he know if having to deal with a threat in the open like they were was smart. Nonetheless, this man, Roman, seemed like bad news.

“Well that’s great Zig,” Roman said, wrapping his arm around Ziggy. Auberon noted Ziggy tense up as it happened. “Good for you for getting clean.” He looked to Auberon. “Who’s this?”

“Obie,” Ziggy said. “He’s from out of town.”

“Oh yeah?” He looked Auberon in the eye, smiling at him. It was the sort of smile one gave when one believed they controlled the situation. The smile of a man who knew he could get away with anything. “Obie, huh? Where you from, Obie?”

Auberon looked to Ziggy, who avoided eye contact with him, then back to Roman. “Europe,” Auberon said. “Far from here.”

He released his arm from around Ziggy and stepped up to Auberon. Roman was sizing him up. For what, Auberon didn’t know, but he was prepared for it. He slipped a hand into his pocket and began to prepare for the moment he’d have to pull his knife out.

“Obie, tell me something. In Europe, when a man owes another man money, and doesn’t pay, what happens to him?” He reached up and grasped Ziggy by the shoulder. “Zig here seems to have forgotten.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you, Rom–” he was suddenly cut off by Roman pulling him close.

“I didn’t fucking ask, did I?” Roman asked.

“Let him go,” Auberon warned.

Roman raised an eyebrow at Auberon. He then let out a laugh. “Or what?”

Auberon firmly gripped his knife. Roman was close enough that all it would take was one strike. He would plunge it into the man’s throat, and with his last, desperate, gurgling breath he would understand his mistake. He took a step forward–

“Problem here?” a voice called from behind him. It was Ezra, emerging from the tent. He looked up to Roman. “Roman?”

Roman turned around to face Ezra and smirked. “Ezra you old fart,” he said. “Been a while.” He released his grip on Ziggy’s shoulder. “Nah I was just reminding Zig here about the importance of repaying debts. Especially old ones.”

“If you couldn’t tell, Ziggy’s not exactly liquid right now,” Ezra said. “And he ain’t chasing anymore.”

“No offense, Ez, but that ain’t exactly my problem,” he said. “He owes me, and I’m going to collect. Unless you wanna vouch for him.”

“How much does he owe?” Ezra asked.

“Way I figure, with interest– eight hundred bucks,” he replied. “The Candy Man remembers.”

“No way, I only owed you–”

“We’ll deal with it,” Ezra said curtly. He looked to Roman again. “Go fuck off back to your trap house, Roman. Give him some time.”

Roman furrowed his brow and made a fist. He took on a rigid stance and took a step toward Ezra. Auberon quickly stepped in the way and put his hand out, blocking him. Roman, realizing he was outnumbered, quickly softened.

He pointed at Ezra. “You and me go way back, Ez,” he said. “I’d hate to think you were turning your back on our friendship.”

“Not turning my back on nothing,” Ezra said. “Just keeping the peace.”

Roman smiled. “Point taken.” He took a step backward and put both hands up in the air. “I want my money, Zig,” he stated, then looked to Auberon. “And I’ll be seeing you around, Obie.” He took a few backwards steps away before turning around.

Auberon scowled in his direction, watching as he eventually met up with a ragged-looking woman and chattered boisterously with her.

“I don’t like him,” Auberon said.

“Keep the peace,” Ezra said. “Just avoid him. He’s way more trouble than he’s worth.” Ezra looked to Ziggy. “You okay?”

Ziggy nodded, but said nothing.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get that money together. Obie will help, won’t you, Obie?”

“Eight hundred bucks?” Auberon asked. He was still coming to understand how the number system worked in Canada, but he believed that was ten times more than the most money he’d seen since he started begging with the others. It was a lot of money.

“Three heads are better than one,” he said. “Gums said we can set up with Granny over there.” He pointed toward the far corner of the park. He looked to Auberon. “Granny’s good shit. She looks after people. Keeps the users away. Besides, Roman’s scared of her.”

“Everyone’s scared of her,” Ziggy said. “She’s a mean old bitch,” he explained.

“Not if you’re on her good side,” Ezra said. He clapped his hands on Auberon’s shoulder. “And I know for a fact young, good-looking European men fall on her good side easier than most. Just make sure she don’t convince you to wake up on her good side.”

Auberon raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“Pray that you never do, Obie,” Ezra said with a laugh. “Pray you never do.”