Crossed Paths — Beka (Patreon)

The hot day moves on with the speed of a slug dragging a boulder.

The top of your head is almost pulsing, heat seeping in numbing waves into the flesh of your cheeks, your neck, the lines of your shoulders. You feel heavy and slow, each step akin to moving a mountain, and you can't even find respite when you close your eyes for the sun, that relentless, burning, insufferable sun pierces the thin skin of your eyelids and manages to light what is meant to be dark.

It is hot. Too hot. And you roam the cobblestones of an uncaring city as if you drift through a dream. Bodies and faces are blurs, sounds are distorted, smells seem alien, and the outside is almost distant for almost all that you are is focused on the sweat that pours out of your pores with the diligence of a river.

The street branches, one side continuing up an incline with a tall, white building at the end. You can see the top of its roof, towering over the world with a giant cross carved on its front. The other side goes down, the street narrowing until it turns into an alley that sneaks between somber houses and cottages.

You stop in the middle, looking left and right, lips pursed and eyes half-closed and brain working at half the normal speed. Where should you go? It's curious how little you actually care, but that building promises shadows, and it's almost enough to make you chase it.

Almost. Your lips purse further, studying the tower. It seems so high in the sky that to get to it, you'd have to conquer the incline, and as you stand there, swaying slightly, you can't think of anything you want to do less.

With a lazy spin of your heels, you start drifting down the left path. Maybe there'll be some roofs there too. Or maybe, someone will invite you for a chilled drink at their house. Wouldn't that be pleasant? A kindhearted, generous stranger that'd welcome your armed self amongst their family and most precious possessions. Yes, that's exactly what—

"Whatcha doin' here!?"

A yell, shrill and piercing right through your chest has you jumping three feet in the air. You spin, hand halfway to your weapon, snapping quickly out of your stupor.

To face a pair of dirty cheeks and a scowl and two muddy green eyes narrowed into slits. "I told ya I'd do my job, I did. No need to check on me like the bloody Inquisition." Beka whispers that last word, her lips puckering in indignation as if it was you blaspheming in broad daylight. "If ya gonna work with me, Richie, ya gotta trust—"

You put a hand up. "Beka," you say, cutting through her barrage of words. The girl pauses mid-sentence, and then her scowl turns meaner, but by the grace of God, Beka shuts up. Your head is pulsing, sunrays dig into the back of your neck, and your heart still races as if you're being hunted for sport.

When did you get so jittery?

Beka takes a short step closer, watching you in barely-hidden anticipation. You make sure to hold her gaze as you let silence stretch for just a while longer. "... stop talking."

You're tired and hot and about ready to give up on this wild chase and let Rafael keep the cursed maps, but the face Beka makes looks so utterly startled that you can't help but grin.

"That's what I'm doin'! Do ya hear me speak?" Beka comes back with a fury, tiny fists clenching, and your grin widens because between the dirt and grime, you see her cheeks turn darker.

"I hear you loud and clear."

She gives you such a deep frown, her eyes flashing with all the content only a child could carry, that your grin breaks into a chuckle.

Which only makes Beka even madder. "Ya think you're real funny, don't ya, Richie?" she accuses you, lips lifted in contempt. It would be insulting if it wasn't for the gap between her teeth.  "Real funny, you find yourself."

"No, but I think you are," you quip, biting back a laugh at her snarl. But before she's able to speak, you go on. "Be calm, young Beka. I wasn't trailing you, I didn't know you were here."

She huffs. "'Course you'd say that."

You ignore the jab as you look at the barracks ahead. "Do you live here?"

Beka hesitates. She opens her mouth, closes it, and then turns her head to the side. You think she watches the houses too, but her matted hair hides her eyes from you. "I don't." Comes her answer, her voice completely different from before. It's quiet and lifeless, and it makes you bite your tongue.

The sun is too hot, and you are a fool. You want to apologize, but you think that'll only make matters worse. Silence falls for a moment, Beka facing away, before the carrot thief spins on her heels, and you were never happier to see her frown back in place.

"But I hang around here lots, so it's suspicious, ain't it? A fat-pursed, fancy pants like you being here too."

You grimace. "To be honest, I'm uh. I think I'm lost."

Beka stops, eyeing you up and down, and you like to think you have a pretty sturdy pride, but damn if you don't feel it crack when a street urchin throws her head back and laughs in your face. "Ya know what? I got no problem believing that," Beka says between giggles, her tooth gap mocking you too from behind her wide smile. "You're a thick head, Richie."

You shrug, trying to seem unbothered. "This is one big city, Beka. Not all of us have the privilege of being born in it."

The girl smirks, thin chest puffing up. It's hard not to find the sight endearing, even if it's at your expense. "I know it like the back of my hand," she says proudly. "That's why you did good, yeah? Agreein' to work with me, I mean. I won't let ya down, Richie."

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. "I know."

Beka's smirk dies. She watches your face for a moment before her eyes fall to the ground. "Good," she mumbles. She starts to twirl the ball of her foot, scrawny shoulders tense. "A-anyway, ya look like shite." Beka snaps her head up, smirk back in place, chest puffed once more.

And you can't even be offended. "I feel like it too," you admit with a sigh. You fall back against the side of a random building, its stone verging on too hot, but it gives a rest to your tired legs. "I feel like I've been walking for hours." You grimace. "Which... I have."

Beka comes closer until she's leaning on the wall too. She faces the street, eyes trailing after a man who walks past. "Hmm, ya need a rest," she states, lifting her hand as if she's about to reach for your arm, but stops midway. "Follow me."

You cock your head. Beka smiles. "I know a place," she says.

Your back melts against the wall. More walking? "What place?"

And it seems you've burned through the street urchins' patience because her smile drops instantly. "Just come!" she snaps, jumping into motion. She starts walking away, and you think she meant to seem like she doesn't care whether you follow or not, but you see her sneaking a peek at you over her shoulder.

You give another sigh, peering up at the sky. It's blue and endless and so mind-numbingly bright. You can feel a headache coming.

But slowly, you step away from the wall and follow in the footsteps of a thief.

-

"See?"

Beka sits on top of a small fence, cracked and irregular as if it was once part of a larger building that eventually broke and eroded. The deserted square is quiet as if it sits inside a bubble that mutes the might of Tarragona. There are no cobblestones beneath your feet, but the soil is so dry from the lack of rain that the ground feels as if it's made of stone.

But above all, like the protective hand of the Lord Himself, a broken arch half-erected behind you sheds its shade onto the square. And it feels so good, just standing away from the sun, that even as you breathe in the scorching heat, you can feel the relief seeping into your muscles.

"Good enough for ya?" Beka asks with a smug grin.

You wink as you sit beside her. "It'll do."

The girl laughs. "You can get water from there," she says, pointing at a well not far away. Its border is broken, let everything around this part of the city, and dust clings to the cracks between the stones. "It's deep, so the water's usually cold."

The thought of getting up is almost nauseating. "I don't need wells," you say, taking out your canister. You take a big swing, and while the water isn't exactly what you'd call fresh, it's still enough to cool your parched throat. You put it down with a big, satisfied sigh. "I got this."

"Humph," Beka huffs.

You smile. "Want some?" you ask, offering the canister.

The girl looks from it to you, her eyebrows raised and eyes saying all that her mouth can't. You fight to keep your smile gentle, for there's a weight on your chest. She's always surprised by every act of kindness, no matter how small. Always suspicious too. You wonder, in a flash, in a brief thought, what she's lived through to make her like this.

"It doesn't have any poison," you tell Beka, making your voice sound amused. But you look straight into her eyes, and you smile no more when you push the canister into her hands. "Have some, Beka."

The street urchin hesitates before she brings it to her lips. She holds it in both hands, the canister seeming so much bigger on her, and you're reminded once again of how young she is. When Beka finishes, she gives it back while avoiding your eyes.

"Thanks," she says, wiping at her mouth.

"'Welcome."

Beka bites her lip, hands clenching in her lap, and you do her the favor of looking away. Beyond, a tall hill conquers the sky, packed with what seems to be warehouses. You can see the faint shapes of people and horses walking up and down one of the dark roads of Tarragona. The day moves on agonizingly slowly, like time itself has stopped working.

But as you sit here, you're in no rush to set it back in motion.

"Where are you going?" Beka suddenly speaks.

You blink. "What?"

She frowns up at you. "You said you're lost. Where do ya want ta go?"

Oh. "The market," you say, leaning your elbows behind your back. "Do you know where it is?"

Beka scoffs. "'Course I do," she spits and then points a skinny arm to the right. "That way. It's not too far, Richie, you weren't that lost, after all. I can show ya where to go from here."

You follow her line of sight. "That'd be appreciated."

Beka nods, but neither of you make a move to get up. If anything, you see her relax further, her legs tucked on each other and her back curving into a slouch. The girl glances at you, and for the first time since you've run into her, she gives you a genuine smile.

It's fondness then, what blooms in your chest.

Wordlessly, you ruffle her hair. "Hey!" Beka swats at your hand, smile gone as she gives you another one of her scowls. "Stop it!"

"You're a good kid," you say and ruffle her hair even harder.

Beka elbows you in the ribs, shaking you off her. You laugh when she glares between cheeks so red, that they rival the sun. "And you're a pain in the arse!" she yells, voice shrill and almost broken. She crosses her arms over her chest in what you can only call a tantrum. "If ya didn't have all those coins, I wouldn't even bother."

You chuckle, looking back onto the square. "Fair enough," you whisper. Beka makes a face, but she stays quiet, and after a while, you feel her scooting closer to you.

Her shoulder meets your arm, the bones sharp, but you stay completely still. You can feel her eyes on you, peeking from between dirty strands of hair, but as you keep looking away, Beka settles.

And leans into you.

The sun pours down, burning the horizon, and soon, you'll have to go back under its reign. Soon, you'll have to return to work and find the thief who stole your maps. But for now, just for this moment, as time stretches so thin it almost freezes completely, you'll stay seated under the shade.

And keep this other thief company.