Spring 78: rocks

Dear Zann,

One of our new recruits decided not to be a guard anymore so I had a double shift today. When I got off the longcoach at Blackfloors I was as weary as you please. I suppose I was a draggy sight as I slogged home through the crowds.

I didn’t take Procession, which is the biggest street going anywhere near our roost. Too crowded. Council Street is quieter, narrower, prettier, and runs parallel to it. And sometimes I stop in at the fountainroom that has the frostmint flavouring. I might not go that way anymore, though.

Because today I passed a roost-tower on Council and there was a kid sitting on the stairs in front. Hadn’t quite started to grow hair on his face. I noticed him but didn’t really look at him. Anyway, he threw a rock at me.

It bounced off my shoulder. Only hurt a little. I stopped, turned, amazed.

“What?” he said, grinning.

“What did you do that for?” I said.

“I didn’t do anything. Anyway, you smell bad.” He threw another rock. I dodged it. I probably didn’t smell bad, and even if I did, he was too far away to tell.

I wasn’t sure what to do next. Could I catch him? Maybe? And then what? Forget it.

So I kept walking. He slipped off the stairs and followed. He bounced a rock off my back.

“Stop doing that,” I said.

“Or what? Are you going to thrash me? A young boy? You’d be a big man then! Is that what you’re going to do?”

“What are you going to do? Keep throwing rocks at a stranger?”

“I’m not throwing rocks,” he said, and threw a rock. Smirking. There weren’t any crowds around, but there were some other passersby, and they were watching us out of the corners of their eyes.

I wasn’t sure what my options were. I’d run away if I wasn’t so tired. I certainly wasn’t going to thrash him.

In the end I just kept walking home. He followed the whole way, throwing rocks and asking questions. “Why do you smell like that? What’s your name? Why don’t you like me? Why don’t you say anything? Did you know your chin is bleeding? Are you angry? Do you live here? Can I come in?”

In case you’ve forgotten details from previous letters, I’m a professional guardsman and soldier. I never expected to feel this helpless.

Love,

Ybel