One Good Turn...

[WP] You once fed a starving stray pup on the street when you were young. Years later upon your arrival at the gates of hell guarded by Cerberus, the monstrous dog gently nudged you away with his nose, and whimpered ?

*****

My grandfather once told me a story about an old hound that had been abandoned by its owner and was on the brink of starvation. But one day, it found a bone. The hound carried the bone to a safe spot, tucked away from wandering eyes, and started gnawing away. The hound was so hungry that it chewed the bone down to nothing, extracting every last bit of nourishment that it could. After some time, a kind old man happened upon the dog and its pathetic scrap and began quietly setting food out for it. As my grandfather told it, the poor wretch was so attached to its bone that it refused the man's food, instead gnawing and licking at its scraps until it eventually starved to death.

In my case, it wasn't an old hound. It was a pup. Of what breed I could not say. Its coat was the gray of river stone, stretched over its jutting ribs from starvation. But its eyes were strong, glowing like two burning coals. It had no bone, no scraps, and it whimpered as I approached. But when I offered it a piece of dried meat, it padded out from the shadows of the alley and yipped its approval.

I stopped by the alley every day on my way to work, and its tail wagged whenever it saw me. I started bringing a small bowl with me and poured it water from a sack. And of course, fed it some meat.

I did not have much to share at that time in my life. What wages I made at the forge went to my debts. And with the left over dullings, I bought dried meat -- perhaps an apple if they were discounted from overripeness. Those were lean times indeed.

At least I could feed the pup. Two wretches surviving in a city meant for nobles.

But after a week, the pup was gone.

I thought of the pup when things got hard. When the forge cut wages. When I couldn't afford my dried meat anymore or my rent. When I had no choice but to beg, borrow, and steal.

I was not a strong man, nor particularly wise. Work for a country mouse like me was limited to certain sets. I could follow direction and didn't mind sweating, hence the forge offered me a chance at earning a living. But that was gone. And while forced to walk in the shadows to feed myself, I learned something.

I was good at stealing.

My grandfather taught me much -- but his harshest lesson was around theft. To take from another is to take from yourself, he'd say. There is always another way. The country lords didn't seem to mind when they took my grandfather's olive orchard from him. And when facing another sleepless night, clutching at my swollen stomach as is it threatened to digest itself, taking from others didn't seem such a crime.

It started small. A dulling here, an apple there. Enough to cease the maddening hunger. Sleeping in stables too had become tiresome. So I pinched enough to rent storage room floors, perhaps even a blanket when the nights grew cold. I never got caught. Not even close.

I was soon noticed by the Bonepickers, a gang of hoods that proclaimed themselves the law amongst the lawless. Every one demanded their cut, it turned out. Even thieves.

But they fed me, housed me, and provided me with a new name. Fingers. My job, my new job, was to pick pockets, purses, sacks, and bags. And all my takings were brought back to the shabby little safe house on the outskirts of the city, in what was called Cheapside. They say there is honor amongst thieves, and that was true -- so long as you earned it. I made friends, shared stories, ate my fill, and slept. Gods I slept.

It was a simple life. Until it wasn't.

Grimjow, the leader of the Bonepickers, came to me one day with a special job. I was to steal from a certain noble. What specifically, he would not say. Only that it was a silk bag that the noble guarded fiercely. I was to pinch this bag and bring it back to Grimjow personally. There was no support for the job, no flaggers running interference, no watchers keeping an eye for bluecloaks on patrol. It was to be just me, alone.

By then, I'd stashed away enough shinnings to leave the city. To head back home. But my grandfather was long since dead. There was no farm. There was no home, so to speak. And, at the time, the idea of walking away from the Bonepickers couldn't have occurred to me. This was my life. Yes, I walked in the shadows. Broke one of the Three Laws daily. But the nobles broke it first when they took everything from my family. And when they cut the wages at the forge for no good reason. They'd make slaves of us. Or let us starve in the streets like dogs.

I accepted my assignment to Grimjow's approval.

The noble, a thick-bellied Fresian City Lord wearing a deep purple robe with gold vine patterns along the edges, did not walk the streets alone. He was constantly flanked by two bluecloaks, probably hired as personal guard. I watched him buzz around town like a bee in a garden, going from shop to shop, door to door. On his belt hung many pouches, but only one was tied to his wrist by a thin silver chain. My target.

The pinch was simple. I'd timed his route to the minute and set a small stick of fireworks to go off inside one of the stables along his path. Having unlatched the doors prior, the horses would most likely thrash their way free from panic. That's when I'd strike.

The day arrived and the fireworks went off. The horses thrashed. The noble started, clutching at his guards. He didn't notice me slipping through the riotous crowd, riding the chaos like a hawk on the wind. With one smooth motion, I cut the chain with a pair of jeweler's clippers, liberated the pouch, and faded back into the chaos. It all happened in three breaths.

What I didn't know, what Grimjow hadn't told me, was that the contents of that pouch were not coin or gold or gems. It was something far more valuable. Information.

Suffice it to say, what was written on that small scroll was enough to get a man hanged just for reading it alone. How could I not read it? I had to slip away into a hiding hole, wait for the chaos to cool before I sprinted for Cheapside to deliver my takings. It was just me and the pouch and the waiting. Grimjow never said not to open the pouch. He didn't say a lot of things.

Like how the chain that was still attached to the pouch was enchanted with a tracking spell. I thought I could keep the silver after turning in the pouch, sell it for a bonus.

They found me not long after, there in my hole.

When they hanged me, I did not think of my grandfather or Grimjow or the City Lord. I thought of that pup that I'd met all those years ago. That starving wretch, hiding in the shadows. Had it survived, wherever it was?

They did not place shinnings over each eye of dead thieves for burial. I knew that. And so, I knew where my soul would end up.

When I awoke, I stood before a massive gate of obsidian metal, as tall as the highest spire in Balor and just as wide. Through the slits I only saw flames. The screams and heat carried through, buffeting my senses.

And standing before the gate was a dog. It towered over the approaching souls, as large as a bull, larger. It's coat was the gray of river stones, stretched over thick ropey muscles. And it's eyes, all six of them, blazed like forge fire. Though it had three heads now, I recognized the pup.

And, as it turned out, it recognized me.

When I approached the gate, resigned to my fate, my endless torture, the monstrous dog sniffed at me, it’s breath hot and reeking of meat.

When I stepped forward, it gently nudged me away with his enormous nose, and whimpered.

“I do not understand," I said to it, uncertain if it would understand. “This is where I’m meant to go.”

It did not respond. It only stood and watched with those burning eyes, but from around its bulk I noticed its tail was wagging.

I sighed deeply, as if finally ready to confess my crimes. I was. “This is what I deserve. I-I have no where else to go.”

A growl rumbled up deep from its chest, shaking the ground beneath my feet, and it barked once. Then it nudged me again.

I understood.

I'd taken so much in my life, from others, from myself. But once, a long time ago, I gave what I little I had. Perhaps it was enough. There was no telling what the land between lands, between life and death held in store for me. But I would not starve on my regret.

*****

THE END