When I read books about adventures, such as the tales of traders venturing into Africa or the stories of missionaries traveling the world, they often depicted dreadful days filled with hunger and thirst, especially for those who weren't prepared in terms of food and drink. The elderly lady couldn't provide enough food for both of us, and even though I wanted to carry something, my journey had no clear destination. I was merely escaping to nowhere and nothingness, uncertain of when I would put an end to my escapes.
The evening arrived rather quickly after the dreadful policemen searching for me had departed. I believed Ezron had sold a dozen fish, as I could hear the chatter of men enjoying their meals during lunch hours and at various times throughout the day. Throughout this time, I remained hidden beneath a large wooden table, which faced the villagers. I was waiting for one thing: nightfall and the cover of darkness. I planned to borrow a hat from Ezron or find some way to cover my head. Alternatively, I might shave my hair, although that wasn't part of my immediate plan. Perhaps, one day when I grew tired of running, I would return with long hair that nearly reached my shoulders, appearing a bit older, my skills more honed, my reality harsher, and my words wiser and more commanding. However, I dreaded that day. While I might say I looked forward to it, I feared it. I anticipated the day when I would decide to return and face the king's wrath. If the king were to die and I returned, I was likely to be the rightful heir to the throne, as dictated by the kingdom's constitution and guidelines. Strangely, I had never entertained the idea of being a king in this world, perhaps envisioning myself more as a leader expected to take over my father's businesses. These various thoughts swirled through my currently chaotic mind.
I contemplated the journey I had yet to embark upon and felt uncertain about it. I desired the experience, as anyone would, an experience that would make me a conqueror. One day, when I finally settled down from my escapes, I envisioned starting my own community. In this community, I would rule, establishing a society that lived by my principles and didn't face the divisions caused by haves and have-nots. Sometimes, I even questioned why the have-nots were poor. Was it their mindset that had trapped them in poverty, or was it society that had shackled their minds? As I thought about these matters, I checked to see if darkness had truly descended, and to some extent, it had. It was hard to describe, but some parts of the sky still showed traces of light.
"Hey, Ezron," I said, trying to get Ezron's attention. "Would you mind assisting me with your hat?" I added, and he turned his full attention to me. He left for a moment and returned with a peculiar crocheted hat that covered most of my head and ears, with strings on the sides, perhaps to tie it under the chin. "Thank you," I simply said, and then continued, "I'll come back later tonight. Let me go to the lake to get something, and I'll discuss the ideas that have formed around our shared desire for adventure." With that, he nodded, and I left him to tend to the fish.
I stood up, brushing off the dirt that had collected on my clothes, and began to leave. As I walked away, I overheard Ezron speak in a hushed tone, "Don't think of going to Armstrong." I nodded as if acknowledging his advice, but in reality, I was planning to seek him out. I feared that my father would be deeply worried about me, to the point of falling ill, burdened by the idea that he had failed both his friend, my late mother Lady Isla, and me. I didn't want to cause my father any more distress than I already had.
I walked quite a distance before deciding to approach an older man sitting outside a ramshackle building. I knew the police wouldn't have instructed him to look for me.
"Excuse me, sir," I began. "I apologize for interrupting your contemplation, but I was hoping to ask for directions to the Assafied Clyff Hotel. I've heard it's nearby but can't quite seem to locate it." He looked at me with aging eyes and slowly pointed to a certain direction, his dirty nails suggesting they hadn't been cared for in nearly a month or more. "Thank you," I said as I walked in the direction he indicated.
As I made my way toward the hotel, I recognized a familiar scent. It seemed that the "INN" sign I mentioned earlier was now partially obscured by smoke, making it less visible to those with poor eyesight or nearsightedness. I entered the inn and my gaze immediately fell upon the person at the cashier's counter, the same man who had been present when I was beaten up. Nervousness washed over me, fearing that he might recognize me and call upon the people who had previously assaulted me.
"Hello, sir," I said, partially concealing my face to avoid drawing attention. "I'm looking for Armstrong."
The cashier responded with a thunderous voice that drew everyone's attention, including mocking laughter. "He's looking for you, sir! 'I'm looking for Armstrong!'" the cashier mocked, mimicking my statements, as the other members laughed too making me feel less human.
"Who's looking for me?" I heard a voice with a thick English and Italian accent ask, and the entire room fell silent. Even the cashier, who had been making fun of me moments earlier, squinted his eyes nervously, seemingly at a loss for words. I had been told that Armstrong was a big man, physically imposing, perhaps twice or even three times my feeble frame, which could be blown away by a strong gust of wind.
"Sir, this boy, this peasant boy, seeks an audience," the intimidating man added, his voice nervous and slightly lowered.
"What's your name, boy?" the voice suddenly demanded. I was caught off guard, and the verses and statements I had rehearsed before coming here had vanished. I felt uncertain if they would even let me in.
"He asked a question!" the cashier snapped at me with a rough voice.
"I would like an audience with Armstrong alone," I stated, my tone firm but tinged with nervousness, although I hoped no one could hear it.
"And what makes you think, with your tattered and dirty appearance, that you deserve an audience with me?" the voice challenged me.
I began to wonder if this man was even Armstrong, perhaps just his right-hand man protecting him from potential threats with his questioning.
"I come..." I started, then abruptly stopped, realizing that everyone was listening, and one of the officers might be present. "I need to speak with Armstrong," I reiterated, causing sarcastic laughter from the onlookers.
"Okay, come with me. I'll teach you how to answer questions properly," he said, as if warning me. I worried that he might give me a thorough beating and then throw me into the river to be eaten by crocodiles. I followed him up the wooden stairs, and from the top, a voice echoed, "Who is searching for me?" Everyone present stood and bowed, even the drunks who could barely stand upright. "This boy seeks an audience," the man who had intimidated others earlier explained, bowing before rising. Throughout this, I kept my eyes fixed on the ground, waiting for an invitation or a dismissal, but one thing I was certain of: I would never reveal my name.
"What's his name?" the man who appeared to be Armstrong asked.
"He hasn't given his name, sir. He only seeks your audience. I believe he's mad, sir, we should deal with him," the intimidating man replied.
"Where are you from?" the man I assumed to be the real Armstrong inquired.
"He hasn't revealed that either, sir. He just wishes to meet with you," the intimidating man answered.
"Do you want work? There are no jobs for skinny boys right now," the man who appeared to be Armstrong asked, causing me to glance at my own slender frame.
"I seek an audience with you, sir," I stated, my tone now confident, although I was unsure how I had found that confidence. When I lifted my eyes to meet his, I saw shock in his expression as he viewed me.
"Are you... come, boy, bring him in," Armstrong said, and a series of questions followed as we ascended the stairs into a spacious room filled with wine and beer barrels.
"Sit," the intimidating man ordered, pointing to one of the lower chairs in the corner.
"Willock… Lord Willock." Armstrong stated, which made suddenly the intimadaiting guy wake and bow slightly towards me. "…I heard you were beaten by my men, my apologies about that. Robbed and left to die in the streets, they have paid the consequences for that." He stated, and knowing he already knew me, I was sure that, there was hell of a conversation set to start between him and i. And so, I wasn't sure when this will end or how it will end, but I was sure Ezron was waiting for me at the other side.