Ankit and the Uncle of Refuge

Part 2: A brother

Ankit settled in quickly–it helped that there was no more to his name than fit in his pack–and Uncle put him to work without delay. His first task, keep an eye on Kirto as she carried out her duties, whatever they were.

About a week later, he watched over a familiar square in the Port District. Fishmongers, the vast open-air fish market. He had spent many days here, working for various traders and merchants as they sold their hauls. Some had even grown fond of him. Ankit was reliable and honest, qualities in short supply in Refuge. Here, he’d come closest to having a more permanent situation, thanks to an older woman who’d occasionally employed him. She had implored him to join her, but he had declined the offer. No matter how hard he tried, he was unable to convince himself that he could trust her.

Today it was a different type of work that brought Ankit to Fishmongers, the work of a lookout. Kirto was moving slowly around the square amongst the busy tradespeople, buyers, and ordinary folk. She had a task of her own. Ankit was simply there to watch over her, only to show himself should the need arise. It was the fourth time he had played this role over the week. So far, the money had been good enough for him not to question what she was supposed to be doing, but his ambivalence was starting to wear off. This much Coin, for this sort of work, nothing good could be behind it all.

Ankit had decided that he would get his answers today when he and Kirto were done and on the way back to the Underhalls. Either that, or he was done and would part ways with her and Uncle. 

So far they’d been dispatched to Fishmongers twice, and once to another market in the Cloth Quarter. While it was clear Kirto was surveilling some unknown target, he’d not been able to form a theory about Uncle’s overall objective. Apart from a few faces he’d now seen more than once, there was no common theme.

Fishmongers

Crowded Fish market.
Fishmongers

Speaking of familiar faces, one had just appeared not far from where Kirto was loitering beside a shellfish merchant. Across the walkway and a few stalls along stood a Blackboot, one of the very same brutes from their first meeting. Having seen him once since then in the Cloth Quarter and now again, Ankit began to feel uneasy. He dropped down from his overlook and made his way towards his friend. As far as he could tell, she had yet to notice.

He approached, staying out of the first Blackboot’s line of sight. As he drew near, he spotted another mingled in the crowd watching Kirto, and beside the second stood a third. This last face Ankit found disturbing. He knew him somehow, but in a way that could only be from a long-forgotten memory, and not a good one.

He slowed his pace and observed.

Kirto moved, possibly to follow someone, but he still couldn’t see who. The Blackboots headed to intercept her immediately. Ankit accelerated, staying behind the stalls and out of sight. As he caught up with her, he ducked between two traders, approached and took her by the arm.

“We’re leaving,” he whispered into her ear.

Kirto was startled by his sudden appearance and looked anxiously after her target. She tried to pull away, “I can’t, not yet. Give me space!” 

Ankit didn’t give her a choice. Holding her arm forcefully, he pulled her away towards an alley that led out of the market square.

“No, not now,” she continued to protest as they reached the alleyway.

“Do you know who he is, the man you’re working for?” A voice called out from behind them, short of breath from the chase. Ankit saw that face again in his head, the one from a distant memory.

They slowed as a fourth Blackboot appeared in the alleyway ahead of them. Ankit searched around, up the walls, the doors and windows. On his own, he might be able to give them the slip, but not with Kirto in tow. There was nowhere for them to go. He looked down at his feet, then turned around slowly.

“Ankit.” 

The smallest of the Blackboots greeted him as if they were old friends. Ankit stood still, staring, his memory a fog. Where in his past was this face from? The face stared back, searching for recognition, for a response. 

His eyes narrowed, and he finally spoke, “you don’t remember, do you?”

Ankit did not, but there was something buried deep, something painful. The other Blackboots did not approach, despite their number. Perhaps they recalled past beatings.

Or was it something else? The un-remembered face advanced. Ankit didn’t have anything to say but felt he had to say something, “you’re a Blackboot.”

“I am… yes?” His eyes narrowed even more as he drew closer, stopping barely a metre away.

Ankit could make out his features more clearly now. Half his face was scarred, badly burnt, covering his mouth and left eye, the right untouched. The scarring continued into the hairline on his left and down, stretching beneath his shirt. Loud bells were ringing in the depths of Ankit’s mind, but still, nothing clear came to the forefront.

He spoke again, looking briefly at Kirto, “you need to stop what you’re doing. Tell your Uncle his ambition will get his family killed,” he said before looking back at Ankit, “And you. You should question who you’ve taken up with, old friend.” 

He looked over Ankit’s shoulder at the Blackboot behind them and nodded. Sensing they had just been given leave, Ankit led Kirto out of the alley and away from Fishmongers as quickly as he could drag her.

They made it to the tunnels before Kirto asked, “who. The fuck. Was that?” gulping down huge breaths as she spoke.

“I… I don’t remember,” was all Ankit could muster. 

“What? He knew you!” 

That was beyond any doubt. How he knew Ankit and from where was still unclear, buried deep in Ankit’s mind, out of reach.

“Uncle is going to be furious. Today they were supposed to…” Kirto trailed off. 

Ankit stopped running and held back. She turned to face him, and he decided it was time, “I’m not going back with you unless you tell me what we’re involved in.” 

Kirto looked as if she was about to argue, so he turned and began to walk away. She caught his arm and pulled him around, “Wait. Ok, just… just wait,” she looked conflicted, scared, “I don’t know everything. He doesn’t tell me much, just who to look for and where. I’ve figured some things out though–” she took a deep breath. “–I think it has to do with the Rockerax and her Phungz business. I think Uncle wants to interfere somehow.” 

Deep down, Ankit had known they weren’t up to anything good, the money had clouded his mind, but he knew. Uncle had an all too familiar vibe, one Ankit had seen often growing up amongst the poverty of Refuge. Any orphan with an ounce of ambition dreamed of elevating themselves above it all. Too often, that meant dirty dealings, crime and corruption. Now Ankit was caught up in it all, something he had previously managed to avoid. 

That still didn’t answer the other question though, the one presently burning a hole in the side of his head. Who was he? Who was this forgotten face that seemed to know him?


Zac, his name was Zac. It came to him just moments later. Like a bolt of lightning to the brain. A face from his past, before Refuge and in his early days here. The bits he thought he’d forgotten. Pieces came flooding back, accompanied by a searing headache. Zac was family, or the closest thing he’d ever had to one. 

Fire in the side of his head. A rescue. The children. 

Ankit and Zac were attempting to rescue their friends–their family–from the factory. It all went wrong. Horribly, terribly wrong. Zac didn’t make it out. At least, that’s how Ankit remembered it.

More memories came rushing in, and more pain. 

An explosion. They had started a fire as a diversion, and it got into a chemicals store. Afterwards, he couldn’t get back to Zac. The fire was too hot. 

The fire was too hot, and he was scared.

Was that why he had forgotten?


Continued on Page 3 with Part 3: A sister

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