I looked up to the front of the door frame. A large adobe home, like a living orange worm. It seemed like four big bumps connected as one, stretching across the street. Little faces pried the windows open, a young boy had his hands out the sill and stared at me. I knocked on the door again. No answer, just a fumbling of small sounds like mice. The child kept to, lowering his face as he stared. A little flower pot dangled near him, herbs grew out. The scent of marjoram. Mint. Oregano. Though not the same thing, not in this world. But close enough that the distinction seemed almost irrelevant. As most things here, things weren’t that different. Most things were same, mirrored, but the same.
  Foods. Animals. People. War.
  “Why don’t you open the door, kid?” I asked. “I want to talk to Juna.”
  He said nothing. A scar ran down his face, his bug teeth stuck out from his mouth ajar. Off the side, he drooled. 
  “You listening?”
  “Mhm.” He nodded.
  “Then why don’t you go on and do as I say.”
  “Nuh uh.” He nodded.
  Little prick.
  To my rear, I dropped my sack. It was supposed to be a small gift. Little hard candies I’d bought from the market. Sticky and clumped red balls. Marshmallow, chocolate-tasting clumps. I walked over to the sill, coming up to it. The boy did not run. He just kept his eyes to my face. 
  “You don’t scare easy, do you kid?” I asked.
  “Nuh uh.” He said, wiping the drool from his mouth.
  “Open the door.”
  “Nope.”
  “Open. The. Door.”
  “Nope.” 
  My eye twitched and I lowered myself close to his face, eyes narrowed.
  “Stop fooling around!” Juna, from inside. “Let him in!”
  The boy jumped, his shoulders hiked. He scrambled immediately and I could hear him from inside, bumping over people, stepping over things. People complaining as he left his trail of violence up to the front of the house where - 
  The door opened. I walked over. Grabbed my sack. The boy stared, all the way through, as I came into the house. Gawked like some stupid hound. He trailed me. 
  “You don’t remember me?” He asked. 
  I turned. 
  “From the border.”
  “Yes.” He said.
  “Right.” I walked. The halls were long and they extended out into several little rooms on both sides, from the small peeks I gathered most were bunk beds. Paintings and infantile drawings littered the walls with bright, carnival colored pictures of flowers. Of animals. Sometimes of people. Children came and went, varied in nature. Some were loud. Obnoxious little criers who fought for wooden horses and doll toys. Others kept to corners, stacking blocks, quiet and focused and sullen. 
  “In the kitchen.” Juna said.
  I followed the scent of food. The boy still tailed me.
  “Are those swords or knives?” He asked.
  “Daggers.”
  “What’s the difference?” 
  I leaned down to him.
  “Size.” I said. 
  He looked at me, blank expression across his face. I kept to, walking towards the kitchen where I saw Juna by the side of a furnace. A bandana across her head that held her hair into a tight little bun. She was sweating, mulling over a cauldron that bubbled some green looking stew. On a butcher’s block she had four fowls plucked, some blood and feathers still sticky with fat and clung to the wooden slab. She walked over and chopped them into bits. Breasts. Wings. Thighs. Throwing salt and pepper along the bumpy flesh. One by one she dropped them into the pot and stirred, taking out a little mason jar. The kernels inside spinning and rattling as she dropped the whole thing into the pot. 
  I hung by the door frame, watching.
  “I used to do this type of stuff.” I said.
  “From an honest job to…whatever you are now.”
  “It’s all honest work.” I said.
  “Murderers tend to believe so.”
  “I don’t go around sieging your people.” I said. “We’re just, helpers. I guess that’s what you’d call us. The Kings helpers.”
She scoffed. Wiped her brow. Four onions, a garlic hand cut in half. She chucked them all into the pot.
  “Kings helpers?” She stirred. A bubble, septic looking, popped on the surface. 
  “He has us guard merchants. Defend borders. That type of stuff.” I said.
  “So you haven’t been to the eastern lands?”
  “This is as far as I’ve ever been.” I said. 
  She nodded. Around the kitchen were several pots and pans hanging by steel wire by the perimeter of the walls. A small room with a furnace down center. A chain attached to the handle of a cast iron pot, she slacked the chain and it lowered closer to the foot of the fire. Center the room was the island where all the chopping was done, next to it and sitting on a stool, the scrap bucket rotted away the rancid giblets and feathers. A little faucet rose crooked in the corner of the room, where the floor was declined into a little drain hole. I kept watch. 
  Not a window in the room. Just sacks of grains. Shelves of foods. The scent of fermentation and raw meat and rotting all putrid in the air. 
  “Do you need some help?” I asked.
  “No. You’ve helped enough.”
  “You’re welcome.” I said.
  “I mean it.” She said. “But only for yesterday. Only for that.”
  “I understand.” I said. “You don’t like the king much. Do you?”
  “Does anyone? Do you?”
  “Can’t say I do.” I scratched the back of my neck. Felt something raise.
  “He’d have you killed if he heard that.” She said.
  “That’s the part I really don’t like about him. Too emotional. Too cruel.”
  “Too greedy.” She set down the scrap bin on a flat bench and held it, her head lowered. Stray strands poking through her head scarf. She tapped her fingers along the surface of the table, the beige dress she wore stained at its bottom with blood. Feathers. Grime.
  “You know he wants this whole world.” She said. 
  “What makes you think that?” 
  “Do you know anything about the war?” She asked. 
  “Can’t say I do. All I know is there were some insurgents, they wanted claim to the capitol and now we have a war.”
  “Is that how it’s told in the west?” She asked. “My people are freedom fighters.”
  “Your people?”
  “Your king marched inward the borders. Seizing villages, as a matter of fact-” She turned around, finger pointed at the ground. “This very village was one such dominion. And now? Now he uses it as a trading post. What would you do if someone invaded you?”
  “I’d defend myself.”
  “That’s right.”
  “But I wouldn’t do the same unto them.” I said. “Is it also true that your soldiers keep manning attacks? Bandits who roam the roads. Small ships that sink cargo loads. Is that all true? Is being a pirate part of self defense?”
  “Xanthus started it. He expected a response. Believe me when I say that the return fire was calculated too.” She said. “I know it. I just do.”
  “I’m grateful for the history lesson. But I didn’t come for that.” I said. “I want to know who those kids are.” 
  “What?”
  “The two you brought into this city. Who are they? Anyone important?” I asked.
  “No. No.” She said. “Just orphans.”
  “That right? Just orphans?” 
  “I rescued them from a hell. Do you understand?”
  “And I need you to understand that what I committed was treason. In all measures and understanding, I am an enemy of the state.” I said. “If someone finds out.”
  “Then sleep easy. No one will know a thing.” She said.
  “My secret for yours then. Who are those children?”
  “The girl? Nobody.” She said.
  “The boy?”
  She bit her lips and returned to the cauldron. 
  “I need you to see what life is like for us.” She said. “Won’t you stay for dinner?”
My eyes narrowed. She kept to the pot, leaning over like a hook, with the giant wooden spoon held by her two hands. She gripped hard the pot and kept to spinning the brew, over and over and over again. A witch. Some servant of chaos perhaps. A fallen angel? Her back to me, face obscured. 
  “Alright.” I said.

 

I waited and watched the children come and go the house. A clown factory. They’d come in and out of rooms, jump in and out of little obstacle courses made out of chairs or stuffed animals, or furniture. All to the impotent tune of Juna’s pleading to stop. So many of them. So, so, many. All Kavalians of course, as if it could be any other way. Children missing limbs. Children missing eyes. One with a side of her face burned and the lips melted and stitched together on her bad end. She was the most energetic. And there was a kind of frenetic anger to her play, as she smacked and bopped the other children.
  I observed, often being asked to play with them. Having some tuck at my pants, or try to steal my blades away. 
A little after noon we had dinner. The stew boiled down to some thick, velvety thing. The kernels bloated and firm. Not hard. Pleasant. The chicken fell off the bone and I found myself biting into it, mawing at marrow. 
  We ate long into the night, filling my bowl several times across the hours. Seated in long tables, in small round tables, on the window sills. On the patio. On the floor. The truth was there were too many children and too little space. What a struggle it was to have the children eat, too. For Juna to interrupt her own meal and to walk across the side of the house after hearing some fighting. It was like that, her taking small spoonfuls. Never really going in to devour anything. I found myself helping her, long after I had finished. Washing dishes in soapy water by the faucet. Throwing feed to the chickens outside that pecked at the ground. Their little feet scarred and blackened from the hot sand.
  Juna came into the kitchen, spotting me in the corner crouched with steel wool in my hand and a brush in the other.
  “You don’t have to do that.”
  “I didn’t have to stay either.” I said. “Or eat your food. But here I am.”
  “It’s good that you did. You’ll get to see it happen.”
  “What, exactly?”
  Her eyes narrowed. She waited by the kitchen door. I sat, crouched, the warm water leaking past my boots and into the drain. My sleeves rolled up to my elbows. 
  A knock on the door. She closed her eyes and sighed and walked over. I put down my wool and brush and watched. The children ran single file into the hallway, each going their separate ways into their rooms. A colored ball rolled past my feet, down the hall and towards Juna. She bent her neck, went crone, and opened the door. Two guards. Xanthus’ men.
  “Hello, madam.” They said.
  “Hello. Jean, Sayo.” She said.
  She nodded to each and they both smiled.
  “Lovely smell. What’s in there?” Jean asked. “And not a pip from the children. It must have put them to sleep. Is that stew? Stew always makes one sleepy.”
  “Yes.” She said. “Poloso.”
  “Oh my. A treat. What’s the occasion.” 
  “Jilly’s tenth birthday.” She said.
  “May we have some? The barrack pantry is rather rough on the tongue, so to speak.”
  She put her hand to the door frame and blocked entrance. Her whole body tiny compared to theirs. Scrawny, lanky. 
  “We’re out.” She said. “Everyone had big appetites.” 
  “I’m sure they did. I’m sure they did.” Sayo said. Cold. Not a change of his face.
  “Don’t be so rude, Sayo.” Jean asked. “We’re just hear for the payments. Tax money?”
  She took out her purse and dropped some coin. He kept his hand out, gesturing with his fingers.
  “Protection money?” He asked.
  She dropped more. The bag in her hand flattened, almost to the base. 
  “Silence fee?” Jean smiled. 
  She turned her bag over, not a drop of litter fell through. Complete air, a deflated leather bag. Juna took a step back. The men approached.
  “That won’t do, Juna. Not again.” He said. She stepped into her own counter top, a picture frame fell from the edge and broke against the floor.
  “I already collected.” I came through the door, into the hall, far across from all of them at the other end of the house. A long, decorated hall with several pictures and drawings and drawers. My sleeves rolled still, and my armor clinging on by few straps along my shoulders. The crow banner clear as anything on my right chest.
  “Excuse me?” Jean asked. 
  I walked, holding my blade handles. Sayo twitched, his fingers crawling towards his sword. Jean rose his hand to match him, flicking his eyes.
  “I said I collected already.” I said. “And she has nothing for you now.”
  “You’re a Crow, aren’t you?” Jean asked.
  “It’s no business of yours.”
  “It is now.” He said. “What stops us from reporting you?”
  “The same thing that stops me from reporting you.” I said. “Truth is, neither our commanders would give one shit about a little bribery. But I’m a mercenary. You are…soldiers. Are you not?”
  His eye twitched.
  “Only the finest.” Jean said.
  “Fuck you.” Sayo hissed.
  “Sayo, please.”
  “You leave. You can collect next month.” I said.
  “Next week.” He turned to Juna who was still leaning against the table. “One way. One thing or another, we’ll collect. You understand, right Juna?”
  She nodded. The door closed. I stood by, watching through the little window frame the two men walk out and into the streets. Jean with the lazy left eye, fat cheeks. Sayo with the long blond hair. Pretty boy, mole on his neck.
  “Who are they?” I asked.
  “Soldiers. Like anything other, here to make a quick buck.” She said. “Or here to fuck. Whichever mood they’re in.”
  “How long has this been happening for?” I asked.
  “Who knows. I’ve forgotten.”
  “How do you even afford it?”
  “Smuggling.” Her eye twitched. “Stealing. Other things. Shameful things an honorable man like you would hold me against.”
  “There ain’t no honorable men in this planet.”
  “So now you understand.” She said. “Now you see for yourself what Xanthus makes. You see, he doesn’t care for rule. He cares for ownership. We’re a blip. And our unsightly, insignificance allows him and his men impunity. As it always is with tyrants.”
  “I am not one of Xanthus.” I leaned towards her, teeth gritted. “I am a fucking Crow.”
  “Fine. Crow. Whatever.” She said. “Do you see now how we live?”
  “I see. But what do you want from me, why’d you show me this?”
  “For a favor. Is all. Just one final favor.” She said. “I’d like you to get me out of here. Yes, you could do that. Right? You’re going to guard the merchants, correct?”
  “How do you-”
  “Men tell many secrets when they’re in love.” She smiled.
  I looked around. The children peaked from small cracks in the doors. They’d close them when I spotted them, but I noticed them all. Noticed and nodded my head, left and right. 
  “Maybe.” I said. “Maybe.”