Chapter Forty-Two: The Slums
When Daniel vanished, a strange feeling washed over him — an emotional tide that pressed on his chest as if dredged from a deep, familiar recess of memory. He had felt it before, back in the black-between-worlds when he crossed from Earth into this strange realm: a mix of astonishment, a numb hollowing inside, a faint disorientation. The sensation faded, leaving a sharpened awareness in its place.
Suddenly the girl on the brink of death was no longer before him; wood planks were under his feet. He opened his eyes slowly. A modest room met him: half-aged, half-lived-in — rough-hewn stone and weathered timber walls, tiny slits where a thin strip of daylight sneaked in, simple furniture made from crude boards, a thin rug before the smoldering remains of a hearth that still smelled faintly of burned wood.
He studied the place for a moment and crossed to the single chamber. Scattered belongings lay about — men's and women's clothes of various makes, a few personal items, a small box of tattered books, a broken bottle. The detail that snagged him instantly was the men's clothing: the fabric, the subtle embroidered trim — it was the very same style Azrian favored. He understood at once: (This is Rozia's house.)
There was no time for pondering. Daniel snatched a few garments, pulled them over his face to hide his features, and stepped out. Before him unfolded the quarter — the slums — and for the first time he took it in properly, both an intruder and a ghost.
Houses here were woven from rotten planks, torn canvas, and brittle mud. Few doors shut tight and windows were often only heavy curtains that barely kept the cold and thieves out. Floors turned to sludge with the rain; vermin and rats moved freely in the alleys as if they were native citizens. Every lane breathed the smells of rot, poor fuel smoke, and old blood hiding in corners no one wished to approach.
Food came from market leftovers: stale bread, meat with a dubious smell, wilted vegetables sold cheap or stolen. Water was drawn from soiled roofs or brackish wells and sometimes mixed with ash to remove insects; survival here was craft, not comfort. Children learned early that whoever held bread must eat fast or fight for it — survival lessons that taught pickpocketing, barter, or sudden brawls.
Despite the name "the slums," some rich folk hid here too — living illegally among the poor, wealthy but fearful of being exposed by the Order's knights or preyed upon by greed. Others simply ended as corpses forgotten in a shadowed corner. Some preferred hiding here from the knights' reach; without the money the Kingdom gave Daniel, Lucas, and Sanjay at first, they might well have ended up among these alleys.
Currency here did not always mean silver or gold — value had other measures: a loaf could buy an hour of watch, and an unknown piece of information could guarantee a family a week's food. It was networks and loyalties and tricks, not coin, that governed these streets.
How people survive: Children: pickpocketing, spying, selling scrap. Women: housework, cooking for the powerful, selling herbs. Men: carrying loads, guarding, digging, fighting, killing.
Daniel's thoughts gnawed at him without pause, full of fear and accusation. One thought rose dominant and cold:
(Those two called Niral "Prince" behind us — there is no Prince named Niral except the king's son who was to be crowned within a year. This must have been an assassination attempt on the prince…)
The questions followed like burning arrows: (Why didn't he tell us? He caused the deaths of Malik and Risha; what happened to Lucas and to Rozia? Doesn't he know the danger of being with us? Malik has children; Risha has parents and a younger brother. Lucas and Rozia — why did he hide his truth? He has ruined families by keeping this secret…)
His heart hammered; tears pricked his eyes. He brushed his face and felt the warm moisture at his temple. He told himself: (No, no — do not cry. I promised I would not cry, not since mother died and raised me and Salem alone.)
The moment of weakness faded and he tried to think more calmly: (Calm down… Niral went to fight them away from us to protect us, that was clear. If he had fought near us, we'd all be dead — that was beyond his control.)
He wavered between doubt and reluctant admission: (He cared for us.) (Calm.)
But the larger question pressed on him like a weight that would not lift: (What will I do now? I don't know what happened to them. I don't know the fate of Lucas or Rozia.)
He sat and thought as long as his head would permit, his gaze fixed on the worn floor. Inside, a conflict burned: vengeance versus the duty to save the living.
(I must find somewhere to hide now — if there was an attempt on the prince, and I am his friend, I am in grave danger. I don't know whether this came from an enemy realm or from traitors within the Kingdom. I must vanish so no one sees me.)
Daniel paused and felt the air as if reading it, then rose to move. The urgency in his mind demanded action: erase his trace, change his clothes, obscure his face, slip away through trailing grasses or a dark alley. The danger was no abstract possibility; it thrummed in his veins, urging immediate motion.
(It's good I came here to the slums — this is the best place for that in the Kingdom.)
The slums would be his shield for now; in its crowds faces dissolve and records blur. Here no one asks lineage and few check a boot's heraldry. Disappearing was easier among the clamor of poverty and the scramble of survival.
He pulled his cloak tighter, rubbed the rough fabric across his features to dull them, and hurried off in search of a room to rent in the slum. He moved from alley to alley, eyes scanning dilapidated doorways, feeling splintered jambs and checking windows. He knocked and asked the same question of every opening: "Is this place for rent?" Everywhere his feet carried him he sought a space where he could vanish from pursuers.
After much searching, he found a place — cheap, nearly falling apart, but rentable. He took it.