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[Amma]

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The air was stale in the city of Britain this night. A heavy fog was settling over the streets as the few meandering Sosarians lit their torches and lanterns and began the journey home. Toadslick watched from an alleyway and fumbled around for the moonstone in his pocket. Finding it, he held it up toward the barely visible moon for a few minutes, letting it soak in the dim rays until it began to glow faintly. Satisfied with the glow, he returned the stone to his pocket and quietly made his way down the streets, toward the entrance to the Britain Sewers.

"How many years 'ad it been?" he thought to himself as he approached the ladders that led to the depths below. The warm, putrid stench of the sewers wafted upward, cutting through the cool air above. Perhaps others would have wrinkled their noses... Toadslick shut his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, letting the familiar scent fill his nose and mouth. He drew the moonstone from his pocket and held it toward the darkness below as he descended into the catacombs he once called home.

As he reached the bottom and began to traverse the sewers, he found he no longer needed the dimming glow of the moonstone. Little had changed. The grimy, moss-laden cobblestones, the resounding echoes of the rats, toads, and trickling water, the popping of bubbles from the ooze as compressed gases rose to the surface... the familiarity of a time and place that was his namesake overwhelmed him. He dropped his crook and fell to the floor, curling in a protective ball as the rats and toads crept around and over him to investigate. A flood of nearly forgotten memories returned all at once.

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It was over twenty years ago that he first stumbled into those dank caverns he would call home. The child of a settled gypsy and a share-cropping farmer, necessities were scarce in the battered home unto which he was borne. Since his first memories he could recall the frequent nights without bread or meat, the rumbling of his own stomach and the thin bed of straw keeping him awake throughout the night. He would wander the streets in the morning, watching with envy as the farmers with surplus crop cried their wares, rolling carts or guiding pack animals full of excess grain, freshly picked fruits, or smoked meats down the stony streets. The hardly plowable land of his father's wasn't even enough to feed the three of them. In times of desperation he would chase the nearest farmer, begging for a fruit or a fishsteak, only to be shooed away or nearly trampled by wheel or hoof.

It was one of those mornings that would guide Toadslick's life forever. He came upon a farmer selling loaves of bread, some still warm from the heat of the ovens. He sought to get the farmer's attention, but the farmer was occupied with the business of a wealthy nobleman. The nobleman, obviously well off and well fed, was haggling the farmer about the price of his loaves and refusing to pay what the farmer insisted. Unable to get their attention, Toadslick simply walked around to the back of the farmer's cart. His stomach groaned as the delicious smell of the breads soaked his nostrils, and he stumbled slightly as a wave of dizziness overcame him. He clenched his teeth and snatched a loaf protruding from the corner of the cart, then dashed as quickly and quietly as he could away from the scene as the farmer and nobleman continued to argue. His heart pounded with each step he ran, his stomach groaned and his head throbbed. He collapsed against the wall of a narrow alleyway, held the warm, aromatic loaf of bread up to his face, and dug into it with the ferocity of a wolf upon a lamb. He paused for a second, burped, and continued to devour the bread, picking ever last crumb from his tattered clothing. The sun was peeking over the taller rooftops of the city, and as it lit the narrow alleyway he basked in its warmth. He patted his stuffed belly, enjoying the sensation, and a content sleep overtook him. Thus, a life of crime would begin.

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Weeks passed. Toadslick was growing in his skill and boldness as he practiced his new profession, taking advantage of his nondescript appearance and the busy city streets. Toadslick sat on the railing of the bridge which gave entrance to the western half of the city, studying his reflection in the rippling water of the river below. His clothing was rags... he could almost see through some barren patches. His hair was growing long and knotted. He dangled his toes curiously... he had never owned a pair of shoes. No longer content with stealing only food, Toadslick gazed in the direction of The Lord's Clothiers and a wayward grin crept across his face.

He spent the better part of the day loitering around the tailor shop, admiring the bright and regal clothing of its customers, the skill of the craftsmen and the dedication of their apprentices, noting the surrounding streets, the movement of local traffic, and the rounds of the guards. The hours passed... the sun was waning and the sky was just beginning to dim. In a matter of hours it would be dark. Having found no easy marks, Toadslick readied to return home for the night, when his eye caught one particular craftsman leading a young packhorse toward the shop. Toadslick walked around the side of the building as to not draw attention, and watched as the craftsman tied the packhorse to a nearby lamppost and proceeded to unload its bags. Over the next few hours the craftsman made a good number of trips, unloading bolts of various dyed cloths and leather of curious textures, returning later with all manner of fashioned clothing and, as Toadslick had hoped, footwear. The streets were emptying... It was almost no trouble at all for him to make his way to the packhorse between the craftsman's trips, snatching what he could from the animal's bags each time: a slightly baggy shirt, pants that would be useable if he tied them off and cut the legs, a pair of gloves that his father could use for his meager farm work. He needed but a pair of footwear for himself and he would be finished. As the unwary craftsman left for another load of goods, Toadslick began searching the packhorse, gleefully finding sandals in his size.

"You..!"

Toadslick froze, not wanting to look up. The rounds of the guards! How could he have been so clumsy? He met eyes with the heavily armored guard and the sharpened halberd that was slowly approaching him. The craftsman, startled, stepped out of the shop as well.

"Thief!" the craftsman yelled toward the guard. "Don't just stand there, stop him!"

For but a second the guard was distracted, and Toadslick took the moment to act. He bolted down the street, weaving swiftly between the traffic of mounts and people. The guard, bulkier and weighed down with armor, was at a disadvantage, but Toadslick could hear the commotion behind him as the guard charged nonetheless. He turned a corner to an emptier street, only to find a second guard approaching from that direction as well. Not wanting to retrace steps, Toadslick bolted down a darker alleyway. Once again his heart pounded and his head throbbed. His legs were numb... they ran on their own accord, needed no instruction from the rest of the body, carrying him swiftly down path after path. In his head he plotted a route that ran northeast, hoping to find refuge in the quieter parts of the city. Losing focus for but a moment, he stumbled and collided into a shepherd making his way down the street. The collision sent them both sprawling. Ignoring his scrapes and cuts, he quickly picked himself back up. The shepherd had not recovered, and the crook he was carrying had landed near Toadslick's feet. Toad knelt and retrieved it.

"Thief! Don't move!"

It was the second guard, the point of his halberd but inches from Toad's neck.

"On your feet, scoundrel!" the guard ordered.

Time slowed to a crawl. As Toad prepared to stand, his eyes returned to the crook. Its bent neck was positioned almost directly between the guard's legs. He quickly returned his eyes to the guard and clenched his teeth. As he arose he quickly yanked the crook, hooking it around the guard's foot, sending him to his back with a startling crash. The helmetless guard did not move. Toad steadied himself on the crook as he crouched, breathing sharply and brushing the dust from his scrapes. He had but a few seconds to rest; the sounds of heavy breathing and clanking armor was swiftly approaching... The first guard would soon be upon him.

Once again Toad ran, with the determination and urgency of one whose life hangs by but a thread. His head spun, he had lost his sense of direction and was running blindly. He hit the south side of the city wall and dashed across the length of it, stepping into a dark entrance where he might lose the guard. He fumbled around in the darkness of an unlit corridor, moving ever so slightly, listening as the guard approached outside. Toad crawled toward the back end of the corridor, that no light would reach him. As the guard made his way into the corridor's entrance, an unexpected step caught Toad's foot and he tumbled and fell into humid darkness.

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He woke almost a minute later. His head ached terribly and he could taste blood in his mouth. The smell of warm sewage coursing around him permeated his mouth and nose, and he gagged.

"Come out, boy! You're trapped! There's nowhere for you to go!"

Toad slowly turned his head upward toward the voice of the guard, whose barely visible figure loomed above the sewer entrance.

"Turn yourself in, damn you! If I have to climb down there I swear on the King that I'll slay you where you lie!"

It seemed Toad could not be seen! He focused through the pain of his aching head, feeling around with his hand to steady himself and get his bearings. His crook and stolen clothing were nowhere to be found. His hand groped a large rat. Startled, he let out a sharp yelp.

"That's it, boy!"

The guard tossed his halberd aside and began climbing down the ladders that led to the sewer below. As the guard made his descent, Toad quietly crawled deeper into the depths of the sewers, keeping on his hands and knees lest he stumble into the river of sewage he could hear from both sides of the narrow walkway. The guard had reached the walkway. Toad froze in place. The guard was moving in a slightly different direction than Toad, and stopped when his shuffling feet kicked something, producing a light wooden sound. The crook! It had landed near an edge!

"Ah ha, I've got you!" the guard billowed as he lunged toward the empty darkness above where the crook lay, leaving him surprised and off-balance. Once again time seemed to slow as Toad prepared to act, and he charged headfirst toward the sound of the guard. The guard's metal leggings, no match for Toad's bare feet on the slippery sewage floor, gave way, and with a cry he was sent over the edge into the murky sewage below. Toad crouched and covered his eyes and ears... the guard was crying for help and splashing around in a frenzied panic as the thick sewage began to fill his already heavy iron armor. It was a minute before the guard's cries were muffled by the overwhelming sewage, and a minute later before Toad could hear no further movement. In the thick, infested darkness of the sewers Toad lay, frightened and exhausted. He curled into a protective ball and was enveloped in the darkness.

Part 2 -----------------

Toadslick slowly awoke and uncurled, sitting up and brushing the caked muck from his face and hair. He fished the moonstone from his pocket, tossing it a short distance in front of him. Its dim glow had noticeably changed color, the now reddish tint drawing the attention of a few nearby rats and toads that lurked over to investigate. He scooted close to the stone, scooping up a small toad as it tried to scurry away. As he watched it hop around on his gloves he continued to reflect upon his memories.

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After the guard had drowned, it had been at least a full day before Toad dared to leave the sewers. He had no doubt that his escape had caused enough commotion that he could be remembered, and the disappearance of a city guard would not be taken lightly. He found he did not mind the sewers as much as he thought he might. The thick vapors kept him warm in the late hours, and after a short time the vermin ignored him and went about their business. During the night he would sneak to the provisioner's, eventually supplying himself with flint, tinder, a few torches, and a sharp blade. On particularly brave nights he would venture to the stables to wash himself as best he could. During the days he remained below, hunting the larger, slower rats for sustenance. This would continue for many months... Toad would never return home. When at last he was discovered, Toad would be sickly and pale, malnourished and delirious. His once dark, tanned skinned turned a fragile olive tone, his hair a knotted infestation.

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"Well, what have we got here?" The guard questioned to the receding darkness as he held the torch down the slipper hallway of the sewer. "I think ah found something! First day on the job... what luck, hmm?" Crime in the city had been on the rise and the Royal Britainnian Guard had just increased their amount of patrols. New guards had also been enlisted to further patrol the more dangerous parts of the city: namely the graveyard and sewers.

He directed the flickering light of his torch toward the shadow of a boy, curled in a ball and wearing but tattered rags, lying very still. A dirty and weathered crook was cradled in his arms, and a few toads were huddled around his sides, enjoying the warmth.

"My..." The guard looked upon the sight with pity and compassion. He took a moment to lay the torch on the walkway and reached down, gently sliding the crook from under the boy's arms and shooing the toads away. "Hmm? I think he's still alive." He prodded the boy in the shoulder a few times... getting no response at first, then some short breaths followed by incoherent speech. "We'd best get you to a healer, lad. You poor thing... haven't you got a home?" He scooped the boy up with one muscular, plated arm and sheathed the crook behind his back, squeezing it in with his halberd before making his way to the sewer entrance.

As he crested the top of the ladder which led from the sewer, he felt behind his back to assure himself that the crook was secure. He frowned when he did not find it... he did not wish to make the trip down those slippery steps again if it had fallen. But the boy seemed to be rather fond of the thing. "Oh!" He blinked with surprise. The boy appeared to be deeply sleeping still, yet had the crook clenched loosely in one hand. His arms dangled limp from his shoulders. "I say! Slick as a toad, this one is." The guard smiled slightly and continued on his way.

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Toadslick stirred, He tried to open his eyes, barely able to manage narrow slits. His once cold, dark world had turned to white... burning, blinding white. After months living underground his eyes were no longer accustomed to daylight. He weakly moved a hand in front of his eyes, barely making out its silhouette. "Eh.. em I.. dead?" It was a few moments more before the softness of the bed he was laying in registered. His head was a swimming mass of confusion and delirium. He felt around for his crook... almost whimpering when he could not find it. He curled up against this strange and unfamiliar world.

"There, there..." An older, comforting voice spoke softly. A damp cloth was pulled from his head that he hadn't realized was there, and for a moment was replaced by a soft hand. "Hmm, still fevered... drink this, you need your strength." Toad felt the edge of a clay bowl pressed to his lips. He slowly sipped the warm mixture of herbs and potions. The thick liquid, though not pleasant tasting, was soothing to the mouth and throat, and it's warmth traveled throughout his body. It's strong vapors filled his nose and lungs, spreading a warm, comforting feeling to those areas as well. His head and eyelids grew heavy, and he felt himself sinking into the pillow and thin mattress. "Some gentlemen are curious about you, boy... very curious. But do not concern yourself with that. For now, sleep." And Toadslick slept.

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"Boy! Boy! Wake up, boy!" In the deepened sleep Toad heard his dreams calling out to him. He wanted to follow the voice, to find out where it lead, but he could not. His head and body were barely obeying his commands to move, and they felt so terribly heavy...

The dream began to fade, but the voice did not. Toad opened his eyes to find two dark, cloaked figures looming above him. He was too sedated to be frightened. It was night now, he could see again! His muscles felt like pudding, and his sedated drowsiness was making the room spin. Even if he tried to speak, he did not know what to say.

"So this is the one we been lookin' for?"

"Aye, ah think so... s'pose only she knows fer sure. Eh..? Whassat?"

One of the two cloaked figures moved to the other side of the room. Sitting on a small table was the clay bowl with the healer's concoction, held upon a heating stand. The pungent aroma of the concoction was filling the room, and even the two cloaked figures were beginning to feel the effects of it. "Dammit," the figure exclaimed, "he's had some strong stuff in 'im." With a swing he knocked the bowl from the stand, letting it shatter against the floor and it's contents spill. "You'd better carry 'im. C'mon! We mustn't idle. I'll find 'is things."

Once again, Toad found himself being carried away, unknowingly rescued.
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Episodes by Toadslick: http://www.geocities.com/jamesthm/