The haze left no room for shadows. Dawn’s luxuriant light was stripped of its radiance, repackaged, and scattered by particulate. The whole of the district was cast in an uncanny amber glow. There was no direction Arthur could face where his eyes were not forced into a precarious squint by the corrupt light.
Arthur was making his dreaded monthly visit to the workers, give them a bit of a speech and encouragement. It took so little to motivate the wretches. The visit wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for the smell. The stench was palpable. It was an amalgamation of sulfur, human waste, and aromas boiling off countless pots filled with all things rotten and synthetic. It clung to everything. He knew it would permeate his suit, following him all the way back to his pristine home. The dirt road had occasional patches of cobblestone. It made for an awkward gait and dusty clothes. Perhaps he would have been better off taking the carriage all the way to the factory, but then he might miss out on a bit of sport. An old woman passed him slowly. In the tinted light, her skin was the color and texture of a long spoiled pumpkin. She passed too closely by far, smiling nervously her head bowed so as not to accidently meet his gaze. The stench was overwhelming. He held back the impulse to vomit. Why was it that the poor all had that same smell? Each had it to a different degree, but it was unmistakably all the same bouquet. He had a superfluous nose for red wines, but he couldn’t fully untangle that smell. It was like a mixture of stale overused spices, old sweat, and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on—a sort of sickly sweetness.
People might look similar on the surface, but in reality, deep down, where it counted, there were protagonists and side characters, kings and pawns, men and men-shaped animals carried forward on pure instinct. A mendicant lacking several fingers and a leg was slumped against a wall. His face was coated in a thick layer of dust, begging bowl in hand. His jaw had the unbalanced appearance of one who has been missing most of their teeth for a long time, like a cow in the middle of chewing cud. Clearly, the beggar should be on a work crew, but he looked too damaged. Given the disorder in the lowlands, a few stray wretches were to be expected. Perhaps I should take matters into my own hands, he thought as he reached into his pocket. Arthur felt the leather in his back pocket. He looked into the sunken soulless eyes of the beggar. Eyes wreathed in cracked salt, hoping for nothing more than a few scraps to chew on. Arthur let it go. He wasn’t worth it. One can’t teach old dogs new tricks. The beggar’s dull wet sullen eyes stared intently at the empty hand that emerged from his pocket. Arthur raised his leg and mock kicked at the man. The beggar fell clumsily on his side to dodge. Laughing, he kept his foot raised as the copper curled up whimpering. Arthur left the sobbing malformed ball where he lay. His oxfords were already dusty enough.
Arthur had only been walking in the lowlands for a few minutes, yet the acrid miasma was already burning his throat. He resisted the impulse to cough, it would only make it hurt worse.
A little boy bumped into him. Arthur felt a tug at his back pocket and smiled. That little boy did it to himself, Arthur thought. As the child ran off, the bemused Arthur turned around at a relaxed pace. He tapped his finger against his thigh once, twice, three times, and then, right on time, the little boy fell to the ground, screaming. The boy was thrashing back and forth as if he could somehow dissipate his pain by turning it into kinetic energy.
The trick wallet worked exactly as the salesman had described. The pain sounded exquisite. He was one of the first to get one. His friends, all of whom enjoyed a bit of sport, would be so jealous when he told them the story. One less thief.
Arthur ambled over to the child who, at this point, managed to get the blood from his hand seemingly everywhere, his face contorted, howling like a dog whose leg was stuck in a bear trap.
A woman, on hearing this commotion, came running from one of the nearby squalid stacks. She looked down at her son, appalled, and finally traced the blood to its source—a right hand clutching a blood-soaked bit of leather that had erupted with cruel gleaming black spikes.
Arthur loudly cleared his throat. The woman spun around, sheepishly casting her gaze downwards, doing her best to ignore the cries of her still screaming child. It seemed that she understood the situation well enough. Coppers should really know better than to raise thieves. Since the constables didn’t go far enough, it was up to men like him to help put them in their place.
“Sir,” She said, eyes still firmly cast on her shoes. “What was it tha’ my boy did?”
“It should be perfectly obvious he tried to steal from me. I don’t imagine this is the first time he has stolen, is it?”
The woman’s eyes cast down, “No… it’s just that…he’s ‘ad it hard.”
“Do I look like the kind of man who wants to hear your whole wretched back story?”
Her face darkened.
“But don’t worry too much. I am glad that if he tried to steal, it was from me. I’m guessing with the negligence down here, the boy could use a lesson or two.”
“Yes…” She pushed the word out of her throat as if it were a boulder, her eyes glued to her ratty shoes.
Not good enough of a response. He could sense her still clinging to some pretense of dignity. He knew well when someone was actually broken. She wasn’t quite there yet. “Well? Aren’t you going to apologize to me? Another noble would have beheaded the boy by now and been in his rights to do so.”
“…Yes, yes, I am so sorry… I deeply apologize.” Her son’s screams clearly pierced her, but she knew better than to turn away.
His soft dark brown gloves firmly grabbed her under the chin, forcing her gaze upward. Her face was a little puffy from crying, and she had the general dejection that adorned the faces of all the lowland girls. Her cheeks were sunken, her eyes dark. It was that exact brand of helplessness Arthur had found so impossible to resist. Certainly, she was no lady, but she had her charms.
The boy continued to cry, his instinctive attempts to clutch his hand with the other repeatedly foiled by the unyielding spikes.
She was shaking throughout her whole body. “Sorry, sir, very sorry sir…would you sir like me to give you that back?”
“Oh, that thing?” He said, trying to change his tone slightly to one more cavalier. “It was a prototype, ruined by your boy and rendered worthless now. Who would want to keep hold of something after that anyway.” He said, pointing to the sobbing blood-soaked boy.
“Yes, sir…” She nodded, then following his finger, finally got a chance to look at her mewling babe.
“Tell you what,” He reached into a hidden pocket near the front of his coat, producing two crisp fifty denarii notes from his real wallet, “I am going to have mercy today. Use this to see to his hand. With this money, he should be able to retain enough use in it to find employment.” He tried to say in a soft tone. After a brief pause, he said, “But scars help you remember the lessons pain teaches you.”
She turned pale. “Thank you so much for your kindness, sir…”.
With the confidence of a predator whose quarry was well caught, he moved in close, his breath on her ear, and whispered, “Oh, I am sure you know some ways to pay me back for my generosity, don’t you?”
She didn’t respond, merely issued a defeated, diminutive nod. Breaking in a new toy was always the best part. As much as he would have liked to start then, he didn’t want to be late for his inspection.
“Good, I will stop by later. Now, go see to your son before his screaming gives me a headache.” He turned nonchalantly and began to walk away from the crying child.
Yes, today is going to be a particularly good day, Arthur thought. It was only a pity about the smell, or he might try spending more time down in the lowlands. How could they stand to live in such filth? A true gentleman, he reflected, would give up his life before he would debase himself like a dog. But what should he expect from them? There were protagonists, and there were side characters, footnotes on the journey of important people.
Yes, today is going to be a good day indeed.
A clang. He felt warmth flow down his head as cold spread throughout his body as dust filled his lungs.
Homo Economicish 