Ankit and the Uncle of Refuge

Part 3:  A sister

The lanes in the outskirts of the Port District were empty at this time of night, so Ankit was free to fly along at a full sprint. There were few obstacles, but he instinctively vaulted the odd empty market table or leapt to the occasional balcony as he streaked along. He felt a gravity pulling at him. He had done so for days. Since that afternoon when he had run into a face from his past. 

When they arrived back in the Underhalls, Uncle had been even more outraged than Kirto had expected. Ankit was certain he was the only reason the fat man had not beaten her. For that reason, he had chosen to stick around for a while, to watch over her and the others. Uncle disappeared the day after and hadn’t been seen since.

Now he couldn’t wait any longer. His run-in with Zac had opened the floodgates. Memories he’d locked away had started coming back to him. Kirto pestered him to explain how they knew each other. He kept telling her he didn’t remember, but she wouldn’t let it go, leading to an argument the night before. She stormed off to her bed shortly after, leaving Ankit to his thoughts. He felt bad about leaving things that way, he’d grown very fond of her, but he didn’t understand it all himself, not yet. How was he supposed to explain it to her?

So, in the early morning hours, unable to sleep, he decided to risk it. He’d left his room, not even checking in on Kirto as he left for fear of waking her. The Underhalls were asleep, and no one would have noticed him moving about as he climbed silently up the racks and out through one of the skylights. 

The outskirts were a slum for the poorest of Refuge. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out here. As strong as the force pulling him in was now, it had been stronger all these years, pushing him away. These slums were his first home in Refuge. He, Zac and the other orphans from… where? He still couldn’t remember anything before Refuge.

His destination was coming up ahead, so he began to climb. First, up the side of an old factory building and onto the roof. He sprinted over a flat section, leapt to the next roof, and carried on. Another gap traversed, and he found himself running over a workhouse. Stopping for a moment to look down through a glass skylight, he saw a dormitory filled with tightly packed bunks and bedrolls. Young people, children, like he had once been, all but slaves. He could hear the factory below still whirring away, heavy machinery operated by the small hands of the night shift.

He continued, flying over a narrow alley before he landed, tucked and rolled, finally coming to a stop overlooking a wide street with a set of tram tracks running down the centre. Still too early for anyone to be moving about.

There it was, the collapsed, burnt wreck of an enormous factory. A crater towards the far right, all the metal structure and scaffolds folded outwards from that point. Left just as it was once the fires had been put out.

“I was beginning to think you’d managed to truly forget.”

Ankit spun around, pulling his club from the small of his back. Zac was crouched in the shadows, smiling, then laughing.

“You have nothing to fear from me, or any Blackboot for that matter, old friend,” he said, standing up and walking towards Ankit without fear. Only now did Ankit notice the gruffness of his voice, damage from the heat and smoke perhaps? Zac looked over at the building as he approached.

“I should be dead, you know. The kids too, and you,” he continued to stare down at the collapsed structure. “It’s only thanks to you that they got out. You managed to save them all,” he looked at Ankit again. “You remember yet?”

“Starting to,” Ankit replied. 

He was. It was coming through in bits and pieces, but he was. It hurt, and he was beginning to think he knew why the memories had been buried so deep. He and Zac were like brothers once.

“Good, I’m glad. We were amazing. Young, stupid, but amazing,” he looked at Ankit again. 

Ankit knew what question he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words.

“You never were much for talking, were you? How did I survive? Luck, and… her grace,” he motioned to a large banner hanging from a nearby factory building.

It carried the symbol of the Barony Rockerax. Having followed his gesture, Ankit looked back at Zac, confused. He slipped his club away.

“The Baroness?” Ankit asked.

“Yes. I wasn’t far behind you and the kids, but far enough. When the stores exploded, I was thrown clear across the factory. The flames had just reached me as the fire engines arrived and got to work,” he was stroking the left side of his face, “when the Baroness arrived to inspect, she had me taken away to the hospital, had me treated.” 

Ankit wasn’t sure what to make of it. The Baroness, none of the Baronage for that matter, were known to be merciful. She would have suspected, rightly, that they’d started the fire in their effort to free the children.

“The old man was still alive back then, and she wasn’t the one in charge. She guessed we’d been there to rescue the kids and knew all about the Black Boxers.”

Another wave of memories struck Ankit.


The Blackboots of the day would travel around with carriages that had large crates on the back. They came to be known as the Black Boxers. Any children out and alone at night were literally up for grabs, disappeared in those boxes and taken off to work in the factories and workhouses. 

Zac and Ankit had been out looking for scraps one night, leaving the younger kids, their adopted family, to fend for themselves. When they got back, the kids were gone, every last one of them. They managed to track them down to the chemical plant.


“She took me in, gave me a home. When the old man died, she swore to me that kids would never be taken like that again,” Zac continued.

“She lied,” Ankit replied.

“Times have changed Ankit, at least they get a meal, a place to sleep,” he defended. “Besides, what about your Uncle? Do you have any idea of the trail of young bodies he’s left in his wake?” 

Ankit looked up at Zac, his confused and conflicted expression apparently answering the question.

“I didn’t think so. I never imagined you’d work for him if you knew. Or once you knew. I’ve been watching you all these years. You didn’t think the Blackboots gave you a pass just because of a few sound beatings, did you?”

Ankit had, at first, but recently he’d started to wonder.

“No, when my Baroness made me Chief of the Blackboots. I made sure they knew never to mess with you,” he added.

“But… why? I left you for dead.” A pain rose from Ankit’s chest and into his throat. He stared at Zac, who looked confused for a moment.

“What? You think that was your fault?” he asked, pointing at the building. “Really? No, you did what we set out to do. You saved the kids, and you couldn’t have saved me. Besides, here I am.” Zac stood proudly and raised his arms wide. 

Ankit wondered if he’d have seen things the same way if it was him left behind. He looked at his feet, the pain was still there, but the fog was clearing. Somehow he knew it was partly that guilt that had locked those memories away. All of them, good and bad, were now coming back. They had been like parents to the kids, something the two of them had never known. Still, a question lingered. What came before Refuge? 

Before he could ask, Zac continued, “No, Ankit, it’s your Uncle that’s the villain. It’s him you should be worried about now. He fancies himself a Barony all of his own. Did you know that?” 

“How could he manage that?”

“He couldn’t.” Zac paused, and Ankit looked at him. “Doesn’t stop him trying though. For a start, he aims to get into the Phungz business by taking over ours. That’s what he’s had your friends spying on, tracking our supply routes, locating the labs and the dealers. But even if he managed that, they would never give him a seat at their table,” he paused and looked over Ankit’s shoulder. His expression changed, “Do you know where your friends are this morning?”

Ankit followed Zac’s gaze with a sudden sense of urgency. Over towards Fishmongers was a pillar of smoke, with flickering lights at its base.

Then, a blast, and the smoke turned into a ball of flame. Moments later, the crack hit his ears, and their building shook. 

Ankit looked back at Zac, anxious, his heart pounding.

 “I’m sorry, friend. I hope no one you care for was hurt. Your Uncle had to be dealt with. Though somehow I doubt he was the one getting his hands dirty…” Zac’s voice followed Ankit, who was already dropping down the face of the building, grabbing the windows as he went.

Fishmongers Incident

Factory exploding and on fire.
Fishmongers Incident

A short while later, Ankit crouched over a body. It was Kirto. He’d found her quickly amongst the rubble and debris. He felt no sadness as he stared at her lifeless shape. There was no room in his head for another emotion.

The warmth from the flames licked at his face. The blast had cleared away most of the fuel, so he was safe enough for now. Several others were milling about the site, dazed, nursing burns and other injuries. Some he recognised from the Underhalls, others were helping to search for survivors, and more were no doubt looking for valuables to loot.

He heard the Protectors arrive, followed shortly after by a pair of Arakiists, the police and the judges of Refuge, respectively. They stood a short way away from him and were discussing the incident. 

“Honours,” said one of the Protectors, bowing his head as he spoke, “We have been surveilling this site for some days. It was being used as a Phungz processing plant, operated by these youths on behalf of a man who calls himself Uncle. Of Underhall infamy.”

Ankit heard the conspiracy played out for the Judgement, no doubt a concoction of Baroness Rockerax to put paid to Uncle’s ambitions. It was all irrelevant to Ankit just now. He simply looked down at his friend. Finally, the tears came, and he started to sob, convulsing several times before he could restrain himself. He squeezed both his hands into fists and started to shake. Anger overcoming sadness. 

He reached into Kirto’s pocket and took out her rusty blade. Taking another look around, amongst the fires and shattered rock, he saw young faces. He knew most of them, some better than others, from his short time amongst them in the Underhalls. They were children, just like before. 

That Zac had a hand in all this was too much for Ankit to process right now. Besides, the Baroness was no doubt the key to his involvement. No, to Ankit’s mind, there was only one person truly to blame for the children being here tonight, for them being involved at all. 

Ankit stroked a bloody, matted lock of hair from Kirto’s face and closed her eyes. Then he disappeared amongst the debris.

I’m coming for you, Uncle.


Part 2 of Ankit’s story is already out. Read Ankit and the Champions next.


Illustrations by Midjourney & G.G.B.


Find us on Medium or Substack if you prefer those platforms, or:

Consider subscribing here:

One comment

Comments are closed.