Author's note: I've borrowed a remote city from Game of Thrones, but this story is set in a much later 'Victorian' era and doesn't reference any GoT characters
Lucas looked out over the docks, the sea sparkling in the early morning sunshine as it lapped against the outer harbour. Beyond it, Seal Rock jutted defiantly upwards, a solid grey-green mass circled by distant gulls. It felt colder this morning, and he held his fingers up to his mouth, blowing warm air onto them, trying to get some feeling back into his numb flesh. Despite the cold, he liked it down here, liked the feeling of the freshness of the salty breeze on his face, away from the rotting stench of Fishpit, White Harbour's poorest area, and away from the noise, just the raucous cries of the seagulls over the gentle sound of waves lapping against the sea-worn wood of the docks.
From his position on top of a large wooden crate, he could see across the docks where stevedores unloaded schooners that had arrived from distant corners of the empire bringing silks and exotic fruit from the southern isles; slaves, coffee and rum from the colonies in the west; iron ore, coal and thick bundles of fleeces from the north. As always, he watched carefully, keeping an eye out for any crates left unattended, or friendly mariners he knew that might be willing to turn a blind eye to a little thieving in return for a share of the spoils.
Before long, his friend Eamon appeared around the corner, whistling and sporting a wide, gap-toothed grin as he hopped up beside him.
"Told you," Eamon said, tossing Lucas an apple. "Works every time with that old fool."
He was referring to Mrs Hobbs who ran a fruit and vegetable stall in Handgate Square and always fell for the same trick. Lucas would make an clumsy, amateurish attempt to steal something, yelling in mock surprise and turning to flee as Hobbs chased after him swearing loudly and swinging her broom, leaving Eamon to quietly sneak in and secure their breakfast. Through experience, he'd found the trick was to run quite fast, but not too fast.
"Thanks," Lucas replied, before sinking his teeth into the juicy flesh of the apple, his empty stomach rumbling noisily. "Did she chase you far?"
"No, just to the end of the street. Her shouting attracted a couple of gold cloaks, but I was too quick."
They were quiet then, relishing the taste of the fresh apples and quickly finishing them off. Eamon grinned as he produced a couple of stale-looking bread rolls from beneath his grubby cloak.
"Breakfast roll, Sir?" he asked.
"Don't mind if I do," Lucas said, returning his crooked grin.
"It's colder this morning, huh?"
"I hear it's going to get colder next week."
"Do you ever think about stowing away on board on one of those clippers, maybe heading down to the spice islands? I hear the dusky-skinned girls down there wear nuffin' but grass skirts, imagine that,eh?" Eamon suggested, nudging him in the ribs.
"I don't know. I mean it sounds good, but we'd still have no money, and we wouldn't speak the language. Knowing our luck, we'd probably end up as slaves, being brought back 'ere in chains," Lucas reasoned.
"Yeah, maybe you're right, you always was the smart one," he replied, not sounding entirely convinced.
The rest of the day passed as they so often did. After breakfast at their favourite spot by the docks, they strolled back up through the dense, narrow streets of Fishpit keeping an eye out for any dozing shopkeepers, unattended market stalls or rich folk that needed their load lightening. By noon, they were begging at another favourite spot at the dip in the road that led up to the castle gate. Eamon, who had an innate talent for these things, had spotted that the road was badly worn there, the cobbles loose, the mud visible through the gaps. Wagons would pass here all day, bringing supplies up to the castle and sometimes the jerking motion of the wheels catching the potholes would cause their goods to spill onto the road.
Today, they were lucky and laughed at their fortune, chewing on fresh loaves of crusty bread as they made their way up to the inns and taverns behind the markets, where they'd spend the rest of the afternoon begging for spare change. There were several gangs of beggars and street urchins up round Manderley Square, so Lucas and Eamon had to be careful not to encroach on their territories or they could be chased off or beaten.
Their luck changed in the afternoon though. A grey, drenching rain swept in from the west, and they found themselves begging in deserted streets. As afternoon turned to evening, they decided to try their luck near the Traitors Gate. Strictly speaking this was the territory of a gang of youths known as Spiders Gang, but the daylight was running out and they were desperate to get enough money to buy supper.
As the sky darkened, they huddled in a doorway in the flickering shadows of the torches that lined the street, keeping out of the way of the gold cloaks. Everyone called them the 'gold cloaks' although their proper name was the "city watch", the men that kept law and order on the streets of White Harbour. Despite their name, these days they wore smart navy uniforms edged with gold and carried billy clubs.Their cloaks and swords were reserved for ceremonial duties.
Eamon and Lucas watched as the drunks stumbled out of the many inns and public houses that crowded the street. Lucas shivered a little; although the rain had stopped he couldn't get warm, and his stomach felt hollow, its aching a nagging reminder that they hadn't eaten since midday.
"Spare some coins for the homeless, Sir?" Eamon asked half-heartedly as a young couple hurried past, barely glancing in their direction.
"Gods, it's cold this evening," Lucas said, still shivering. "Maybe we could try our luck down on the wharves. I still reckon we could break into that banana warehouse."
"Wait, they look like a good touch," Eamon replied, nodding his head towards a smartly-dressed couple emerging from an inn across the street.
Lucas could see what he meant. If you begged every day, you relied on being able to recognise what types are most likely to be generous. The couple looked young and well-off, but more importantly they looked like they weren't married. The man would probably be trying to impress his lady friend, and perhaps that might make him more inclined to show her how kind and generous he could be.
"Spare some change, Sir?" Lucas said, his hopeful face catching the light, his grubby hand outstretched.
They locked eyes, and Lucas could see his first instinct was to tell him to clear off. He could almost see the man's thought process in slow motion as he glanced over at his lady friend, who stared back with a neutral expression as if curious to see how he'd react.
"Of course," he said,his voice clipped and tight, and just managing to manufacture a thin smile. "One should always try and help those less fortunate."
"Thank-you Sir, thank-you Miss, you're most generous," Lucas said, tugging at an imaginary cap as the tall young man pushed a few gold coins into his grubby hand.
"Thank-you," Eamon echoed, moving closer as they watched the couple walk away down the wet streets, the lady clutching the man's arm a little tighter, no doubt congratulating him on his kindness.
"Eamon, look at this!" Lucas said, holding the coins up so that they shone dully in the torch light. "He's given us six silvers!"
