Hearing Wayne's voice, Alex lifted his head. His clothes were ragged, his hair matted, and his face a swollen mess of injuries, several handprints clearly visible. His thin frame trembled slightly, a picture of misery. Yet, Wayne noticed a spark of defiance in the boy's eyes. Despite the beating, they held a clarity absent in most slum dwellers, a flicker of unwavering spirit. Alex tilted his head at Wayne, then after a moment's hesitation, shook his head.
"Thank you, sir, for helping me," he mumbled, "but I don't recall ever meeting you." Perhaps for Alex, warning someone of theft was a simple act, a minor inconvenience in his hard life.
Wayne reached down and gently pulled the boy to his feet. "You're hurt," he said, placing a hand on Alex's head. "I'll take you to the Temple of Melitele, to Sister Carol. They'll see to your wounds." Sister Carol, a priestess in her fifties, managed the Temple of Melitele in Vizima. Wayne had met her a few times last year while visiting his mother's grave. A kind soul, she was known for her compassion.
Alex flinched at the mention of the Temple of Melitele. "No, I don't want to go there," he mumbled. "My scrapes are barely there anymore, no pain at all. Sister Carol would worry sick if she saw me like this."
Wayne considered the boy's point. The injuries did seem superficial. "Alright, then," he said. "Where do you live? Need me to walk you back?"
Alex's response was a confused mix of nods and shakes. "The orphanage, by the temple," he stammered. "But it's not my home anymore. They... they sold it. The Sisters take care of me, but I don't want to be a burden. There are so many others there. I just want to learn a skill, make some coin, and leave as soon as I can."
Alex's resilience impressed Wayne. It mirrored the path young witchers were forced on, and a forgotten memory flickered in his mind – the Witchers' Trial of the Grasses. He'd long questioned the brutal process, and unlike his predecessors, he wouldn't force children down that path. Perhaps there was another way.
"Alright, how about this," Wayne said, placing a hand on Alex's shoulder. "I have a place to stay, and it seems you could use a rest. Let me help you clean those wounds. You mentioned wanting to work for coin? I have some chores around the house, and I could use a helping hand. How does twenty tung seeds a week sound, with three meals a day included? It's not a fortune, but it's a start."
Twenty tung seeds a week was a fair wage for a child Alex's age. Adult laborers typically earned five or six times that amount. Wayne wasn't being stingy; he knew showering a young boy with a coin could be dangerous. There were also other reasons for his cautious approach. He needed to learn more about Alex's background and character. Additionally, Alex resided at the orphanage near the Temple of Melitele, and Wayne had a connection there – Sister Carol. Before any decisions were made, Wayne knew he had to speak with her.
Wayne's offer of a home immediately sent Alex on high alert. He'd been warned by Sister Carol about strangers, especially those who might be traffickers. Undeterred, Wayne suggested they visit the Fox Tavern, where his friend Old Yueke could vouch for him.
Old Yueke was a notorious figure in the slums but was also known for helping the less fortunate. The tavern wasn't far, and Alex cautiously followed Wayne. Seeing their easy interaction convinced Alex to lower his guard. The prospect of three meals a day was a powerful lure in a world where many went hungry. Orphans like him had few options. The Temple did its best, but donations were scarce, and heavy labor wasn't an option for a scrawny child. Work for someone like him usually meant exploitation by the very people Sister Carol warned him about.
.....
Outside the Fox Tavern, Old Yueke puffed on his pipe while Aunt Melissa tended to Alex's wounds with scavenged herbs. After Wayne explained the situation, Old Yueke's brow furrowed. "Rat Tail Gang," he growled, eyeing Alex's bruises. "Just a bunch of backwater scum who think they run the place. They mess with kids on my turf, they'll regret it."
Wayne perked up at the mention of the gang. He asked, a hint of interest in his voice. "Need a hand cleaning them up? No real reward necessary, just that bottle of vintage you're hiding." He harbored a dark amusement for such groups – expendable filth. When he'd first arrived in Vizima, the Wild Dog Gang had practically gifted him a thousand oren. Easy pickings.
Old Yueke scoffed. "Gang? Hardly. A bunch of mud-slinging thugs. Bullies who prey on the weak, fold at the first sign of resistance. Remember what happened last year when you dealt with the Wild Dogs? Scared the living daylights out of every two-bit hoodlum in the city. Half of them packed up and left. Doubt we'll see another 'established' gang for a few years."
Wayne shrugged, a hint of disappointment in his eyes.
"Thoughts on my plan, Yueke?" Wayne asked, eyeing Alex. "I intend to test the boy's resilience. If he proves suitable, I might consider taking him on as an apprentice." He turned to Alex, a hint of challenge in his voice. "Being a witcher isn't for the faint of heart, lad. It's a life of hardship and danger."
Old Yueke, after pondering for a moment said thoughtfully. "I know a few tough youngsters who could use a good mentor. But promise me, Wayne," his voice grew serious, "you won't turn them into those... those mutants the Empire uses. I've heard whispers - trials that only a handful survive."
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