Chapter 2 – The Slum Existence
After dashing far out of the forest, Franswift looked back and reassured himself nothing was coming after him. With the sense of urgency to run regressing, he flopped down on the ground for a breather.
I should be more careful; the wolf almost had me for lunch.
He looked at his malnourished body that had fresh new scratches. Maybe a snack.
As he sat down, his excited state began to recede, and he felt the stings of the newly implicated cuts slowly surge over his body. He let out a hiss through his teeth and took out an ointment from his pocket to spread on the wounds. It would not heal the cuts, but it would kill the pain and make the scars left afterward less noticeable.
Finished, he felt a soothing sensation spread through his skin and placed the tin back in his pocket. He looked at the sun and mumbled, “It seems that I will stay here for some time.”
He had harvested the flower earlier than he thought. He had thought that the flower would bloom by noon like it was commonly known and that he would not return anytime before the afternoon. But nothing these few days was "common". He laid down and watched the sky letting time pass by since he had nothing to do. He would be a fool if he returned to the slums now.
By the evening, most of the people would have gone around and been busy hiding their loot. They would not go troubling others. He'd had his fair share of being robbed and nabbed by going early. And although he was no longer afraid of the trouble, he would rather not meet those green-eyed goblins.
Franswift waited until the sun started to set down. When its light that fell upon the northern part of the city dyed it in red light blood, he decided it was time to return.
As he walked over the brown cracked ground once more, he saw the same depressing scenery in the distance. Franswift looked forward, and he glanced at the city from afar. As atrocious as ever.
It was surrounded by a lofty grey wall enveloping it in a circle. The closer one gets to the wall, the easier he would see the engraved small glyphs and patterns, as well as the profound dark color covering its bottom. What made Franswift abhor the sight was the dark black color smeared on the bottom that gave it a fiendish aura.
The city had two walls. Standing in the sky and looking down, one would see the second circular wall inside the city. The residents named what is within it the "Inner City". Looking from above, the inner city would be a bit hazy and distorted. Still, the towering buildings, castles, and blockhouses, which all stood in contrast to the outer city's low-rise buildings, could be easily discerned.
The outer city was divided into three parts. A part of it was the slum, the only area enclosed by walls from the inside to separate it from the other two. The outer wall held four entrances corresponding to the four cardinal directions. The people of the slum could only enter through the northern gate where the slum was.
When Franswift reached the city gates, he saw the other residents also going in and out of the city. Still, most of them were entering as always. No matter what, the slums always seemed to accept new people. To outsiders, the procedure of entering and leaving would be bizarre, to say the least. The strangest would be the guards manning the gate and the wall. They bothered to neither organize nor search the people passing through the gate, save very few people.
The rules the residents knew were simple. If the entrant had large baggage or a visible weapon, he would be halted and searched. Otherwise, all other people can enter but at a maximum of two at a time. It goes without saying there were different procedures at the other gates.
A single guard stood beside the gate and permitted entry, while the rest surrounded it two rows. One from the inside and the other from outside. All the guards wore the same thing: A full set of intricate armor. It was golden-colored with white horizontal stripes, with inscribed glyphs across its torso. As Franswift passed through the gate alone, he locked eyes with the entry guard for a second. He swiftly sneaked a couple of coins while whispering, “Any news?”
The guard was carefully weighing the coins in his hands before handing Franswift a piece of paper as he shook his hand. He whispered back, “It is very abnormal, so be careful.”
Franswift shoved the piece of paper in his pocket and walked through the gate as if nothing ever happened.
Fortunately, he reached his tent without trouble as he wanted.
When he settled into his tent, the first thing he did was to take out some food to eat and replenish his energy while he read the paper. As his eyes rolled down, his face slowly started to wrinkle. He placed the paper back into his pocket with a frown on his face.
I will ask him about it while I am at it.
He had finished what he needed to do, so he got up and out of the tent. This time he walked towards the south. Whilst moving, the view of the slums started to change as buildings began to appear in his sight. Although they were dilapidated, cracked, and damaged, they were still better than whatever the people in the slums lived in.
However, the area itself was still part of the slum. It had the same disgusting sights, smells, and sounds. The building area didn't differ away from the chaos of the slums; it was as improperly planned, to put it kindly. It had its wide streets be connected to each other by much smaller ones that could not handle the flow of people. While the tiny alleys between the buildings that were basically a riddle and a maze for those who don't know their path took more than one-third of the area.
Franswift walked the street and then in-between the damp alleys littered with garbage everywhere. Being familiar with the area, he was able to move quickly while also avoiding the people that riddled the alleys.
Finally, he reached the place he wanted – a backdoor of some dilapidated building in the middle of the alleyways.
He knocked three times, waited a small period, then knocked two times again.
A sound came out from behind the door. “Who?”
“The swift bird.”
The door creaked ajar after he answered. A stout man with a bald head and a chubby stomach appeared at the door and let Franswift in. He wore some relatively decent looking clothes. A mix of white and dark yellow, trying to appear grandiose. But the dirt at the edge of the attire could not be concealed.
At the sight of Franswift, the fat man exclaimed, “What do we have here. After not seeing you for a week, I thought you were either dead or in big trouble. But you seem in tip-top condition. Where were you?”
Franswift chuckled. "Yeah, real tip-top. Just a few scratches here and there."
"We always consider that a perfect condition going by your profession." The stout man asked, "So care to explain what happened or where were you?"
Franswift did not answer right away. He just entered the shop as the familiar scent of old leather filled his nose. He sat down on a chair and took out the pouch while looking around.
Franswift squinted his eyes as he sat down. The shop still had the walls covered in a dark color, making the lighting inside seem faint.
His eyes focusing, he finally saw the inside clearly. The shop had another two doors, one behind the counter and the other opposite of the backdoor. In the middle laid three chairs and a rectangular table. The counter had a few books on top. Behind it were four rows of shelves, filled with all types of herbs, weapons, armor, vials, and other strange objects he did not recognize.
“Well, you aren’t going to say anything?” The stout man was frowning, apparently annoyed due to Franswift disregarding him. Still, he laid back in the opposite chair with no apparent anger on his face except the few wrinkles.
Franswift put the pouch on the table nonchalantly. “Stop with the tricks, Joe. I was hunting for this.”
Within his three years of contact with Joe, all he knew about him was his name, he would buy any goods, although the price differed from one person to another, and that he had some backing from the outer city. But the thing he knew about him, like the back of his hand, was how he would always squeeze the information he wanted from anyone.
Joe opened the pouch as his eyebrows drew closer and saw the red flower lying within. He remarked, “No wonder, well, it’s the blooming season for the flower after all." Then asked, "So you were waiting for it to bloom?”
“You would love to know, wouldn't you? Will tell you when you say how much you will pay for it.”
“Alright, the standard price would be around 600 neutral coins. In other words, 6 lesser ghost coins. But, since we are in the slums, 50 neutral should be enough.”
“Customers must be loving this place. No wonder I don’t see anyone when I come.”
Joe just formed a big smile on his face and said, “They certainly are; otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Anyway, 50 neutral coins for the slum price.”
Franswift said, “Well, as your one and only customer. I would like to state I am not dealing with a leech. I am cooperating with you, constantly getting out of the city to get uncommon goods for you. I should get a better deal. Right?”
Joe relaxed in his chair, and his smile grew even more prominent. He said, “Then we should take into account who was the one that taught you to read, write, calculate, and also able to even identify those uncommon goods.”
Franswift retorted, “Also take into that superficial account that I had to only trade with you for two years, and it's way past its expiration date. Plus, it was not you who taught me how to fight or to survive. You did it so I would bring you better goods at the cost of some time for teaching me.”
“Wasn’t it you who found me and requested the deal?” Joe questioned back.
And as usual, the two continued to go back and forth until they ultimately settled for 150 neutral coins as the price.
Franswift accepted the money and sighed profoundly as he also laid back in the chair. The reason he was slaughtered for a price like this was simple. To start with, it wasn't only him undergoing this treatment, but all the people in the slums were treated the same. Every way to gain money was absolutely suppressed to only give away the bare minimum. That was the reason the guards search the people with big baggage.
Every way to gain money must go through official checked channels. To most people, they could only use those channels. For example, The beggars who begged at the front of the other gates had to pay at least 70% of their earnings to the guards. The hunters and scrapers would get at most 10% of their stuff's market price in the official shops or, as they called them, "Leeches". Only manual laborers obtained a full salary, a salary not touched by this blood-sucking system.
The dirtiest trick of all was the price of the food. It was priced at the point where most people could only buy enough to continue living, saying it is an "incentive" to make them work harder. While they all knew, it was so they could squeeze them dry.
According to what Franswift knew, the slum only existed to be exploited like that. Otherwise, there would be no need to put the slum inside the walls. The whole scheme was akin to taxes for living inside the wall.
All the people in the slums, if they wanted to live inside the walls, would try to get some money whatever way, to eat and drink. All those ways were being closely watched, but he did not know exactly how. But it appeared as there were also holes in the system since Joe was one of the few traders who gave higher revenue and lower food prices. As it would seem, his backer had a way to sneak past the system.
“Incidentally, Joe. Did you overhear something about the other guards coming to man the walls and the gates tonight? It seems something shady is going on.” Franswift inquired as he produced the piece of paper he got from the guard to Joe.
Joe received the paper and looked at it. “I was told it was a drill for something. Nothing to worry about.”
Franswift frowned, “The guard I have been dealing with for the past three years cautioned me about this. He is trustworthy. He never imparted me unreliable information. Also, during all the time you have been staying here, did you ever hear of guards doing a drill in the slum?”
Doubt was finally written on Joe’s face. He frowned, realizing something was fishy.
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