I’m shaken from my thoughts when a street urchin, quick as a shadow, snatches something from Taron’s jacket pocket.
“Hey, thief!” I shout.
Taron pivots, attempting to seize the boy, but he’s swift and slips down an alley.
“Come back here, you little runt!” Taron is fast. He races after the thief, and I struggle to match his pace.
We round the corner into the alley, and the thief is almost at the end when Taron’s arm shoots out, fingers curling with purpose. In an instant, the thief is jerked back through the air as if pulled by invisible strings, crashing on to the ground before us with athud.
Taron towers over him, his boot pressing down on his chest. In the dim light of the alley, the thief’s face is revealed, marked by fear and tears tracing lines through the grime on his cheeks. He’s only a teenager.
“You stole from me.”
“Please, don’t hurt me, sir,” the boy pleads. “I … I’m only an orphan… I’m hungry.”
Taron’s jaw is clenched, his chest still heaving from the pursuit. “Get up,” he growls at the thief. When the boy hesitates, Taron, using his talents, lifts him to his feet and shoves him against a wall. He stands there, regarding the boy with a hard stare.
“You’ll starve to death if you keep getting caught like this. Even worse, thrown in a cell by the Principal Guard,” he says through gritted teeth. He puts out his hand, and the boy drops the stolen object into it.
I can see it more clearly now – an antique pocket watch with the three moons engraved on it.
“Learn to be better.” Taron takes a step back, freeing the boy from his invisible hold against the wall.
The kid drops to his knees. “I … I’m sorry, sir.”
“Stand up and stop apologizing.” Taron’s voice seems to soften as he adds, “If you’re hungry, try staking out the back entrance of taverns. They don’t always take in food deliveries right away, so the wagons just stand there unattended.”
“Th-thank you, sir.”
“Take this.” Taron hands over the last bread roll. The boy takes it gratefully. “Now go – get out of here.”
The boy spins and runs off without a backwards glance. Taron keeps watching the end of the alley until his footsteps fade.
My mind is a-swirl. This can’t be right. Taron is meant to be cold and heartless, yet here he is, displaying a flicker of compassion.
“What?” he says, noticing me watching him.
“You didn’t punish him,” I say. “Why is that?”
Taron scoffs through his nose and marches away. “A street urchin like him isn’t worth wasting my energy on.”
Something about his tone doesn’t convince me. It’s intriguing, to say the least. That advice he gave the boy about food deliveries almost sounded like he was speaking from experience.
After a long, silent walk back to the Lucky Fish, we arrive to find Mr Bo waiting angrily behind the bar.
“You’re late to check out,” he snaps.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “We’ll fetch our stuff now.”
“Too late. If you want to use the room, you’ll need to work another shift.”
“But we’re leaving in…”
“You want your stuff, you work. Oh, and there’s a delivery for you.”
Chapter Fourteen
When we get to our room, two brown paper packages are waiting on the bed. One for Maeve and one for Wren. I frown at Taron, but he doesn’t seem surprised.
