The first town he arrived in after his failed robbery barely gave him five coins for the silver necklace, which was enough to get him a couple of loaves of bread. If it weren’t for Spencer, he would have been able to buy vireen off a desperate moron who was more than happy to sell it.

But he had nothing. While he’d been riding, he’d wanted nothing more than to hunt down Spencer, even if it meant going from one end of Ilsania to the other. There wasn’t much point, Spencer was long gone and Vincent was in no state to try fighting him again. Having no vireen meant he had to let his injuries heal normally, which took far too long and left him with a migraine.

The small town of Hurendi Creek was one he liked to frequent, despite the wanted posters of him hanging on the wall outside the police office. They paid quite handsomely, or they would if the police could actually afford it. None of them could and everyone in the towns Vincent liked to visit knew it, leaving him free to do as he wished.

And that morning, what he wished was to get a little more food than two loaves of bread. “No can do,” the old shopkeeper in front of him said. “One gold coin ain't enough for another loaf.”

Vincent bared his teeth, drumming his fingers against the counter. He could easily rob the store, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to do that without vireen. The police might not be able to afford a reward but that wasn’t going to stop them from arresting him should he slip up. It was hard enough avoiding them as it was. The last place he wanted to end up in was a penitentiary.

“Fine,” he growled and pushed away from the counter. He’d have to make do with bread and whatever else he happened to find out in the bush. If there was one thing he had learned during his time without a home, it was which berries he was able to eat without making himself sick. He wasn’t the best at it, but he could at least find something to keep him fed on the way to New Feridian.

At least this time, he wasn’t going to let his anger get the better of him. He had to keep his mind clear and calm if he wanted to get out of town without issue. He’d been in the small country towns like Hurendi Creek for far too long. It was time to go further, find more, and hope that the Governors of the other two provinces of Ilsania were faring better than Governor Thompson.

The door of the shop slammed against the wall as he stormed out. Sparks was tied to the post nearby and regarded him with a bored look when he reached her side. He’d take her everywhere with him, to New Feridian and beyond. That was the plan anyway, to head for the capital of Ilsainia’s biggest province, Morgot, and then to one of the other two. He’d figure out the details on the way.

If he was being honest, he didn’t hear much about North Ilsania or Cinko, but maybe that was a good thing. Nothing he heard about Morgot or its Governor was good. From his experience, the whispers and rumours were right. If Governor Thompson knew what she was doing, Vincent wouldn’t have been kicked out of his orphanage at the age of twelve and told to fend for himself.

He also wouldn’t be struggling for money and vireen like everyone else living in the cluster of towns around Hurendi Creek. He wasn’t supposed to struggle, everyone else was supposed to because of him. And he would have been fine if it weren’t for Spencer, who usually didn’t try to steal from him unless he was truly desperate.

Or if he found it fun. Over the years, there had been a few times where Vincent had stolen something truly valuable and for a few days, he and Spencer would fight and steal it from each other until one of them eventually sold it. It was silly and childish and those in their area knew to steer clear of them when they were feuding. They’d never worked together on a job and never would. It was far more entertaining to fight and take from Spencer than it ever would be to work with him.

Although, maybe if he had worked with him, he would have plenty of food. Then again, he’d rather not see the smug smirk on his face, even if he did wear a mask. It was better to rob someone on the way east than ever beg Spencer for help. He’d never live it down if he did.

A hand pulling at the leg of his pants made him stop next to his horse. With a frown, he stared down at the little girl next to him, surprised that someone had actually come near him. She peered up at him wide eyes on a too skinny face, dirt smudged on her cheeks. There was a boy behind her, even smaller and younger than she was.

“Please, sir, could you spare us some food?” she asked in a meek voice.

Once, when he was a lot younger, he would have gladly helped the kids. He had been their age once, struggling on the streets until he got his hands on a gun and vireen, he knew what it was like. But things had changed over the years, especially in the last few months, and as a result, he was nothing like the kid he had once been.

He only had one gold coin and two loaves of bread. The kids were very obviously orphans, very obviously starving, but it wasn’t his problem. At that moment, he had to look after himself and Sparks, that was it, no matter how wide and sad the kids' eyes were. At least he felt guilty, that meant he wasn’t completely heartless.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he closed the bags on Sparks’ saddle. “I haven’t got anything for you.”

Looking after himself and his horse was more important, it probably always would be. The disappointment in the little girl’s eyes stung, but he willed himself not to care. He shooed the children away before the voice in the back of his mind made him take back his words. They ran away, scampering between the houses to bother someone else.

As it was, he hadn’t exactly cared much for other people before food and money started disappearing. He stole from them, hurt them if necessary, all to keep himself alive. He’d never cared about what he was doing to their lives when he robbed them, but children he never hurt. Most of them were innocent, but he couldn’t always help them.

Vincent sighed, long and heavy, filled with exhaustion. He hadn’t slept well the night before, his head pounding too much and embarrassment making him relive his terrible beating at the hands of Spencer. He flicked his gaze over to the small wooden hut that made up the police office, eyeing the wanted posters on the wall next to the door.

His was normal, with a painting that somewhat resembled him and his full name, Vincent Mortimer. In one of the bags on Sparks’ side was a copy he had taken from the police station two towns over. He liked how they drew him. There was none of the roundness in his face, his lips were thinner and the scowl he wore looked menacing. He looked like a man.

Spencer’s didn’t even have his name. Because of the mask he wore, they called him Cannibal, believing his mask was made from the flesh of people. Jealousy swirled in his gut at the nickname and the bigger reward written under it, but he pushed it away. Where he was going, he wouldn’t have to worry about Spencer anymore.

A man stared at the posters as Vincent packed the loaves of bread into one of his bags. He was tall, with greying hair and a posh air about him. Vincent narrowed his eyes in interest. A silver watch glinted on his wrist in the mid-morning light and it took far too much effort to hold back a grin. Maybe he wouldn’t have to wait until he was on the road to find something after all.

But he had to keep up appearances. As the man turned away from the police office, Vincent climbed onto Sparks’ back and gave her a gentle pat. He watched the man out of the corner of his eye as he turned down the main dirt road of Hurendi Creek, the thin breeze playing with his hair. It was a cloudy day, but it would quickly warm up. Summer was coming soon and with it came days of awful heat.

Summers in Ilsania were terrible. Vincent may have been born in the new country, but most of the older people he saw had arrived on the first ships from Nuran only forty years beforehand. They’d brought seeds with them, thinking they would grow easily in Ilsania’s soil, but they’d been wrong. The crops never fared well in summer, but it wasn’t something that worried Vincent. Unlike most, he’d learned that the island country had its own plants and animals that could keep him fed.

The rich man walked only a few paces ahead of him as Sparks trotted down the path. A few others around him saw Vincent and his horse and steered clear. They knew better than to bother him, but the rich man didn’t belong in Hurendi Creek, if the grey waistcoat and the watch were anything to go by. He didn’t look over his shoulder once, no matter how loud the sound of hoofbeats became.

Of course, if he didn’t want to make it obvious that he was planning to rob the man, he had to go past him. Vincent felt eyes on him as he passed but didn’t look. He kept his gaze on the horizon, where the sun was slowly rising. The small wooden huts that made up the tiny town were bathed in orange light, as were the fields of farmland beyond them.