Huzzah!

Here is the (kinda short) third chapter. Look at that, two posts in one day.

(Btw, happy birthday, Dad!)

First Chapter
Second Chapter

Tom’s stomach protested every step. But he had to keep going. She told him to go, and he had placed her somewhere she should be safe. He could get on with life for a little bit, maybe even a few hours. She wasn’t stupid; she would live. Tom scoffed at his thoughts. She hadn’t even known when she was kidnapped and he expected her to make her own decisions and protect herself if anything happened… So really, nothing could happen. Tom groaned and forced himself to keep going. He wasn’t anyone’s slave.

Which exactly what he was going to try to do. He would start this very moment, forgetting about Alisha and princesses and kidnapping, and he would find a trade. He wandered through the city a bit, looking for someone that had something that would work for Tom. He had no idea what kind of job he wanted, but he knew he couldn't really be picky. It was only midmorning, so most of the workers should be in their workplaces. He clearly avoided the bakery, still feeling awful about that. This town wasn't his home town; that's for sure.

Tom swallowed, staring at his bare feet on the doorway. He shouldn’t even try. He should go back and make sure Alisha was okay. She was probably bored and might get into trouble. What if she left the house and got kidnapped again? Or what if a slaver found her? Tom shuddered at the thought. It was one thing for someone to think you were a slave, but another for you to be one. There were processes... Tom tried not to think about it. Not that he wanted to think about what he was trying to do now, and probably going to fail doing.

               The door opened to reveal an older woman, about thirty. Her black hair was in a bun at the top of her head, and her eyes were sharp, yet kind. The woman gazed at him with a mixture of pity and distaste. Tom hadn't seen the woman when he spied on the shop before. Just a man who Tom now spotted behind the woman. He had on an apron and held a small hammer in his hand, for Tom had gone to the smithy.

Tom had gone to the smithy for a couple of reasons. One, it looked fairly empty, not many workers. This mean Tom would have less people to deal with and less people asking questions about him. Also, the smith seemed a calm and nice man. Tom knew just by watching for a few minutes what kind of character he would be like. The smith also didn't seem to be a drinker. Easily read, so any mood swings would show warning signs. Tom really just wanted a master that would be an apprentice type of master, and not a slave master.

"What do you need, boy? This isn't a charity." the woman said coolly, but still frowned with gentleness. Her eyes searched Tom's face.

Tom turned red and lowered his gaze. "Ma'am, I would be pleased to know if I could find anywhere I might serve as an apprentice," he mumbled.

"Son, speak clearly," the smith said, not unkindly.

The woman stared with curiosity.

"I would like to enter into an apprenticeship, sir." Tom repeated, louder. His eyes were still locked on the ground.

"Why hasn't your father already set you with a trade? Why not learn his?" The woman asked. She didn't wait for an answer though, but she grabbed Tom's wrist and yanked him around, pulling up the back of his shirt. Tom gave a surprised yelp before grimacing. He knew exactly what the two adults were seeing. A couple of whip scars, one circular scar on the bottom right of his back, and an "X" on the bottom left. The latter two were both made by fire and iron, a brand. The circle one was a small seal that marked him as a slave. The "X" was to show two different things. One slash was to show he was a thief; another was to show he was a runaway.

The man grunted. "Why have you come here, slave? Do you want to rob me, too?"

"N-no, s-sir," Tom stammered in fear after the woman released him.

"Wish to waste years of my life, and then leave before the apprenticeship is finished? Waste my time, money, and effort?" the man growled.

"N-no, sir!" Tom said. He had known this was a bad idea.

The smith sighed. "Come here, boy."

Tom's legs had been halfway to the abandoned house at that point. He trembled and shook his head.

The woman just watched with a tender look as the smith called again.

Tom hesitantly stepped into the workshop and over to the smith slowly. His legs were heavier than ever, and he was forcing himself each step. "Sir?"

"I believe you," the smith put a hand on Tom's shoulder, ignoring the small flinch. "I do not think you wish to continue the thieving or running. No one likes to run," he said quietly.

Tom gave a faint smile in relief. Not only was the smith not going to hurt him or take him to the officials, the man wasn't mad at all. He seemed okay with Tom. Tom began growing a small hope.

"But-" The word, such a small word, dashed Tom's hopes and shattered them to a million pieces. "I am old and have already taught my own sons. I don't want to make a promise I will be too old to complete. Sorry, boy," the smith sighed and pushed a few coins in Tom's hand. "Good luck to you."

Tom’s smiled had been stripped off his face. He shoved the coins in his pocket and headed out, under the watchful eye of the two adults. He stepped out and sighed, shaking his long hair out of his face. He groaned as he slipped into the crowd. He had failed. Miserably. He was never going to find a trade; no one would take him. His hand felt the marks on his back. Not as long as those were there and it was impossible they could go away. The brands were deep and made well.

Tom pulled out the coins in his pocket with a sigh. It was a little bit of money, but not too much. Not enough to buy his freedom. Those prices constantly moved up with your age, doubling, tripling, until it was nigh impossible to buy yourself out of slavery. Tom glanced back at the house. If someone wasn't afraid of him and his past, yet still didn't want to have him as an apprentice, there really was no hope. He put the gold coins back. Now what? Keep searching for a master, or give up? He could go back to Alisha. His stomach churned, hoping she was okay.

Suddenly, a yell. A man came running down the said road as Tom. He yelled again, "It's the thief!" Only then did Tom notice that the man was looking straight at him, speeding toward Tom.

Tom paled and turned on his heel, rocketing away. Oh gosh, someone had recognized him. It was the man the baker had been talking to. Tom cursed, realizing he had wandered onto the same street as before. At least now he knew the way. The wall. He was coming up to the wall. Tom turned the same direction as before, but this time he didn't hit the wall. He knew if he ran a certain way, he could find his way to where Alisha was 'serving' and where she was now. But the man knew where he was going too.

When Tom was turning to go to the house, the man jumped out in front of Tom. Tom swore and ran the other way, and now he was completely lost again. A few more people had joined the chase. Tom wondered what the smith would think if he heard that Tom was indeed continuing his life of a thief. He really didn't want to, maybe. It was the only life he found easiest. Where else could he get food if he didn't take it? He usually didn't take the best, fresh bread, only the old bread. But Tom could tell by the angry yells of the people behind him, not everyone agreed that this was any better. He sped up, only to have to dodge a woman and her child. He ended up falling and landing on his face. He was roughly yanked onto his feet by a firm hand.

He winced under the gaze of the baker's friend, who held the back of Tom's neck tightly. Tom tried to shrink away, but the man held him firm. A couple guards joined the man, and a crowd of people flocked. For the second time that day, a person from behind him, presumably a guard, examined Tom's scars.

"Slave," a deep voice said with revulsion. "Thief and runaway."

The baker's friend spat. "I knew it!" He shoved Tom roughly, and the boy stumbled into some guards. He shrunk further, fingers reaching for his dagger.

"We'll take 'im to the captain. If a cell doesn't fix his attitude, there are other things for a slave like him..." the guard growled, grabbing Tom. Another guard did the same, and no matter how much Tom tried to wrench away, he couldn’t. “Hold still!”

After one more attempt to escape, a guard punched Tom in the stomach. Tom gasped and tried to recover his breath. It was too late to run now.