The guild was in shambles. There weren't any quests or requests for adventures posted on the boards, and the few papers that clung to the board asked for maids, baby sitters, and farm workers. The adventure guild had seen worse days, so the guild master told Rika. Months had passed and the city was worse than ever under Danial. The traffic stopped, the adventures left, the streets were in chaos, and the knights were disorganized. They weren't quite sure what was wrong, but the city was coming apart. And the guild Master was happy to see a new face drop by, so was the inn keeper, and the bartender...

"So you're from up north." A barfly tried to strike up a conversation.

"Yeah, came in yesterday." Spoke Rika.

He scratched his beard, burped, and took another swig from his cheap wine. His breath smelled and his eyes were red and blue. The blue formed a thin rim around his dilated pupils, and he asked: "How is it up there?"

"How is what?" Asked Rika, and the man grumbled and turned away.

"So what brings you here?" Asked the bartender.

The guard asked the same question, and so did the guild master, and Rika answered them all in the same way: "I decided to stop on my way south."

"That's a shame," said the bartender, "if you'd come a bit earlier, I think you would've liked it a lot better." He gave a sigh and poured himself a drink.

The time passed with nothing much but a belch, a fart, and a snort. And Rika took his leave.

The door to his hotel was ajar, his room baring the signs of intruders. The bed sheets pulled, the closet opened, but nothing was taken. Rika hadn't left anything in his room for the thieves to take.

A scream came from across the hall from the inn keeper's room, the last door in the hall. All her family crammed up in one room the same size as his leaves a strange imprint of the chaos within. He could hear "No"s screamed, and sobbed, the sound of shattered glass, and the babbling of a man. He left his room as it was, open and disturbed, and went to the inn keeper's. He knocked and all that crying and shouting ceased, like a well orchestrated composer's halt. He could hear a window frame bang against the wall, probably from his own room, the thieves had left his window open.

The door clicked, and opened. A man of 6 foot 2 with a bushy beard and bushy eye brows stood in-front of him. His brown eyes with pin prick pupils eyed him with a frown. He held the door with one hand, looked back into the room and said to his wife: "It's for you." He stumbled away, and there emerged in his place his wife, the inn keeper.

"What is it Mr. Moore." She stammered, her eyes red.

There are things you can't ask.

"It looks like someone was in my room." Said Rika.

"I tried stupping them." She said, "I em just an old women them soldiers won't listen to me. I em sorry but I dun't knuw what you want from me!?" Her voice was shaking.

"No, that's... alright... I only wanted to know. They haven't taken anything. Well, good night." He said and couldn't help but try to get a glimpse into the room. It was an unconscious act.

"Good night." She said and closed the door.

The walls bled with silence till he reached his door and the shouting began again. He was glad! To hear them shout, glad the walls hid everything we were all too ashamed to share. And we should thank this shame! For we aren't entirely vain yet. Even that is vanity whispered the wind, and Rika closed his doors and windows.

Hours passed before the hotel was silent. Rika laid on his bed for hours longer, but sleep wouldn't lend its aid. He wondered whether to head to the marketplace early. Perhaps it's a bit too early, he thought when he parted the curtains and looked out into the night. A stream of wind played with the clouds as it played with the leaves on the street. He listened to the wind which clattered the doors and windows and turned streets into rushing rivers.

The hour was well into the night and dawn near, he headed to the beach. The moment he stepped into the street he could hear the clacking of hooves, and the voices of knights distorted through the wind. He headed south-east, so that he could pass through the marketplace and look to see if any of the shops were open. He walked through alleyways where the stray dogs slept. A cat perched high on a window sill watched a little dog barking at it. Calmly it watched the dog, unmoving it seemed to yawn at the dog. Rika jumped over a pile of trash the obstructed his path, and headed south. A knight smoking a roll watched him pass by. When he reached the marketplace, he found it empty and the stores closed. He thought he saw lights flicker in a few stores, perhaps preparing before the dawn for the day, he did not approach them and headed further east to the ocean. There he passed a house with 3 soldiers at its door, that had its lamps lit, they watched him pass as they smoked their rolls, and halted their conversation only for a moment when they first felt his presence. So he passed the streets and reached the beach. On its sand he fell, and laid his back and watched the foaming tides. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and in the horizon he saw a storm brewing with sparks of lightning. Too distant for thunder to reach his ears.

He awoke to see gray clouds, and to the lightest touch of rain drops. For a moment he observed the sand that clung to him, the light drizzle that was starting, the empty beach, and the people in the distance. He arose to his feet, startled at his own resistance to cold and heat, and walking back to the streets as he brushed off the sand that clung to his cloths.

He arrived at the marketplace drenched in rain, which had begun pour, with sand still clinging to his back where his hands wouldn't reach. Gazes turned as he walked past the people. They, under their umbrellas and awnings and canopies. For a spy, for an undercover clone, I am not doing so well, he thought. He seemed a strange animal covered in nature come to look at the human shops, for he looked, he turned here and there, read shop signs and street names. Then he came to a halt in front of the slave shop. A big shabby tent. A puddle at its entrance. He stepped into the puddle and into the shop.

Rusted buckets overflowed with leaky rainwater, cages hidden behind cloth made walls, and puddle and mud made spidery webs. On the corner sat a little bearded man murmuring and laughing to himself. He plays with his beard, scratches his eyes, cleans his ear, and licks his teeth. He saw no one else in the shop, and so he went to the little bearded man.

The little bearded man slapped his desk, and murmured 'mosquitoes', and looked up at Rika. He scrutinized him from head to toe, and asked rudely: "What is it boy?"

"I'm looking to buy a slave." Replied Rika.

He looked him over again, and said: "My slaves are expensive."

"I think I have enough." Rika said to the little man.

"You think? Come back when you're sure."

Rika ignored him and said: "I want a child, younger the better, but old enough to take care of itself. So, maybe between 6 and 10."

The little man squinted and wrinkled up his nose, and looking over him again, he rose from his chair, sighed and said: "Follow me."

They walked past the cloth made rooms. The ugly turned beautiful, and the beautiful turned ugly, and they walked past them, and the children were wet.

"What do you want!? What do you want!?" The man said. "You want this or maybe that." He said, pointing to this cage and that. Little boys and little girls, and that one looks dead, and that one is dead! "What do you want!? You're wasting my time, kid. That one I'll sell you for half the price." That one is dead, thought Rika. He walked between rooms, browsing for himself while the bearded little man followed him reluctantly. "Come on kid, come on." He said, "Pick something. Pick something."

Rushed and pressured he said "I'll take that one." Pointing to a little girl shivering in her cage.

Her ears twitched when she heard him, and she looked up. Her dark and dry eyes rolled in their sockets and saw him. Her weariness had dried her tears, and her gaze faded away, she let fate take her, a slave to the flow.

"100 Gold." Said the little man sternly.

Rika handed him the gold. That surprised him, vexed him, he took it stubbornly and -despite the profit- unhappily.

He opened the cage and dragged her out. "I can clean her. Have my assistant wash her, if you're willing to come back tomorrow." He said, holding her up.

"No, that's fine. I'll take her now."

"Fine." He said. "Bitch!" He yelled slapping the girl, "Were you listening!? You'll be going now! Listen to him, and be good. I don't want to see you again." The little beast girl stood meekly taking the slaps that came her way every time he exclaimed. And after a wag of the finger and a reproachingly repugnant stare that seemed to pinch her soul, he said: "Go, go." With a simultaneous smack and push to the head that propelled her towards Rika. She came to him with her head hung low. Her wet hair clinging to her face and shoulders, tattered and physically slim and bonny. "Take her, take her," the man said, almost shooing him away, "she'll do anything you say."

Rika took her hand and led her out the shop, looking about for the ‘assistant’, though he saw no one but slaves and the little man. Though the little cat girl said nothing, she did not resist or limp, and followed him dutifully. As they walked through the rain, back to the inn, when he looked to her -who he was holding- he saw a puddle, and reflected on this puddle a little girl shivering, crying for her mother through soundless sobs and echo-less words. And when he blinked, and tightened the cold hand he was holding, the hallucination gave way and he saw the little cat girl again stiff and dutifully following his gentle pull. He stopped, and studied the girl again. They were both drenched, and dripping. The people moved around them under their umbrellas and crude raincoats. They stood for some time before she looked up at him, and for the first time they both gazed into each other’s eyes. He brushed aside some of her hair that still clung to her face.

"Let's go get you some cloths." He said.

She sneezed; which he took for a reply, a 'yes.'