“I act like a noble to you?” the strange man drawled and went back to smoking his pipe, expression gone deathly serious as he regarded Gavrail from across the table.

Born and raised within Vorslav’s city limits as he was, Gavrail had never actually met a wolf before, but being studied by the older man whose name he had yet to learn felt a lot like what he imagined being stared down by a particularly hungry wolf would. It wasn’t even just his unusually dark eyes— it was the way he moved, how he held himself, and the way he obviously knew not only how many people were in the room with him, but that none of them were a threat.

He put Gav’s hackles up and left him feeling just like the so-called ‘pup’ the man kept referring to him as— but his survival instincts wouldn’t let him protest too loudly about the epithet. The stranger had already proved how good he was with a sword and he’d yet to even unsheathe the thing.

“No,” Gavrail answered honestly and sipped at his ale a little to buy himself time. It was some of the better ale he’d had though the fear looming over him like a shadow left him unable to fully appreciate the taste. “But you’ve got them eyes— like the duke. Everyone knows only the duke’s folk have got black eyes like that.”

The man snorted and Gavrail tensed, then relaxed a little as his captor seemed to do the same. Fortunately he didn’t seem offended by the answer.

“Name’s Hastur Ward,” the older man said non-chalantly, though he put some small emphasis on his surname. Most common folk like Gav didn’t have a surname at all— but keeping track of bloodlines was important to nobility so they came up with separate names just for their family to mark their offspring with.

However, Ward wasn’t a noble name, precisely. It was a name given to bastard children the nobility didn’t wish to claim directly, but reserved the right to do so later should they prove useful enough.

It’d never made much sense to Gavrail, who had always figured family was family whether you wanted them around or not, but nobs always had strange ways of viewing the world so he hadn’t put much thought into it.

Usually you wouldn’t be able to tell what family a bastard belonged to just by meeting them, but Hastur was an exception thanks to his peculiar eyes. Even someone like Gavrail, who knew nothing of the movements of the rich and powerful that controlled the day-to-day operations of his homeland, knew that much about the ducal family.

“So, what’re you doing here, then?” Gavrail asked suspiciously. Hastur wasn’t technically a noble, but there was always a possibility that a Ward might claim their status as a proper noble one day should their former family require them. Slumming it in Ashtown and picking fights with the gangs there wasn’t exactly the fastest way to get in their good graces. It was suspicious no matter which side of the wall you came from.

Hastur thought for awhile, long enough Gavrail thought maybe the man wasn’t going to answer him at all. Eventually, though, Hastur said, “Settling in. Think I’ll stay awhile.” He cast Gav a side-long look, then added, “You’re halfway bright, pup, so here’s what I’ll do— I’ll let you walk out of here and in return you go tell that bossy little mandor of yours to keep her nose clean and out of my business.”

The older man was smiling but his tone was deadly serious as he stared Gavrail down, black eyes unnerving as they burned into Gav’s. The younger man’s heart twisted behind his ribs and his palms began to sweat as he fought to maintain eye contact when he replied, “If you knew anything about Jasna you’d know that’s the fastest way to get her to kick in your door, old m— I mean, sir.”

Hastur barked a laugh, mouth twitching fractionally when Gav barely avoided calling him ‘old man’ again. “You’ll just have to help her see the light then, won’t you, pup?” the older man mused and blew a cloud of smoke at Gav, haze blurring the sharp edges of his wolfish grin.

~~~

True to his word, Hastur let Gavrail escape without any interference, leaving the young man on his own in the streets of Ashtown, taking the long way back to the semi-dilapidated house he and the others had holed up in.

There were ten members in their as-yet unnamed gang— sixteen if you counted the younger siblings or children those ten members had brought along with them. They were mostly a young group as far as gangs went, with the oldest of them being twenty-four and the youngest proper member being sixteen. This was more by happenstance than by design, just like the formation of their gang in the first place. None of them had parents to speak of, and those that did were runaways fleeing the sort of home life that made even Ashtown’s streets seem like the better option. They had gathered together in the interests of survival against larger forces that might have them snatched off the street and into forced labor of one kind or another.

At best they might find themselves sold into indentured servitude— at least then there was ostensibly a contract and an end date for their labor, maybe even some pay if you were lucky. On the other hand you might wind up in one of the shadier brothels down by the docks or press-ganged into serving on one of the ships beyond…

Gavrail shuddered and shook off memories of the terrifying stories he’d heard at his now dead mother’s knee as a child— stories of great beasts beneath the waves, ship killers and man eaters from the deep. The others— the forced laborers, the exhausted streetwalkers, the emaciated beggars… those Gavrail saw every day and every day he thanked the bright star and the gods beyond that he’d met Jasna.

She was their leader, their own bright star in the night keeping their many disparate parts together and in working order. Sure, there were hungry nights, but not so many as there were days he at least got some bread and cheap ale to keep away the chill sea winds.

Making a bid to join the White Street gang had been her idea in the first place, one the majority of them had supported once they’d taken a vote on it. There were just too many mouths to feed and the ever looming threat of winter on the horizon made them all more willing to take a few risks for the sake of making it through to next spring.

His old mother had died three winters before— the dire chill stealing the breath right from her consumption weakened lungs that they hadn’t been able to afford medicine for. Just last winter, Sveta, Gavrail’s friend in the gang, had lost her little brother to the cold. The frozen ground meant they hadn’t been able to bury him themselves, so in the end Gavrail had helped her carry his little body all the way out to the potter’s field at the edge of town and paid what little money they could muster to have him laid to rest there.

Sveta had left the gang after that and settled in at a brothel instead. Gav missed her, but he couldn’t blame her. Unlike him, she got to eat every day and an entire room all to herself.

If they could gain entry to the White Street gang, though, they’d never have to worry about losing another of their number to the cold. No more hungry nights, maybe even a proper roof over their head…

Hastur Ward, unfortunately, was an unforeseen bump in the road on the way to happiness.

Gavrail stopped on a street corner near the old wall and look skyward. He could just make out a smattering of stars in the darkening sky and he didn’t stop looking at them when someone bumped into him and blatantly picked his pocket. He let them— he didn’t have anything in there anyways.

Old Stanislaus, White Street’s defacto leader for the last thirty-something years, hadn’t just told them to pick a street and take control of it to prove their capabilities, he was charging them an entry fee. The majority of the money they’d been getting from the Red Bird and other businesses on the street was all going to White Street, with little left over to keep themselves in semi-regular meals.

If you take money for protection, you’re still supposed to do the protecting, kid. That’s the deal— or all you’re actually doing is scheduled petty thievery…

Hastur’s words echoed in Gav’s thoughts and made the young man grimace because he knew he was right. They’d miscalculated just what it took to run a protection racket and now they were in danger of losing it all. Problem was, how were they going to bounce back now? What were their options?

As much as he admired Jasna, thinking about this sort of thing wasn’t always her strong suit and Gav knew her instinct would be to go for vengeance on the old man in the hopes of putting him in his place and keeping him out of their way. Unfortunately, Gav wasn’t convinced that was possible now. Sure, they had the advantage in numbers but clashing with the man once was enough to convince Gav they were well outmatched.

He didn’t just know how to use a sword the way nobles were taught— he knew how to street fight like he’d been doing it all his life.

It was a deadly combination.