Hopes and Dreams

Chapter 1

"George! We need bread at table three," a voice called over the commotion in the tavern.

"Yeah yeah, I got it," George said wearily. The tavern was busier than usual today and he was up to his elbows in work. Putting his exhaustion aside, he grabbed a plate of steaming brown bread and started over to where the voice had come from. He had to push past many tables crowded with people to get there. Finally, he arrived at a table where five men dressed in old, washed out clothes sat. The sight wasn't uncommon in this part of the city; all he cared about was whether or not they could pay. He set down the plate and turned to the person that had called to him, the tavern's co-owner.

"Any idea why it's so busy today, Karl," George asked, wiping his hands on a dirty dish rag that hung on his belt.

"No clue," Karl said with a quick shrug. "That's just the way it is some days." With that, he hurried off to attend to more customers.

George watched his friend scamper away with a sigh. His tireless work ethic was admirable, but it was a lot to measure up to. He wove through the crowded tables taking orders and answering questions. When he looked up, he realized he had inadvertently made his way to the grimey window looking out at the street. The roads were tight and mostly empty. Tall buildings fought each other for the last bit of space on the side of the road. The few people he did see looked like the rest of them: tired, worn down, and poor. George frowned and turned away, but he quickly turned back when the sound of shouting caught his attention. He stared outside as a figure went sprinting past, much too quickly for him to get a good look. Four castle guards followed close behind, their armor and swords flashing as they shouted for the criminal to stop. As fast as they had appeared they were gone. George turned back to the tavern to see a few customers had turned their heads to look, but they didn't seem bothered by the scene.

Hesitantly, he tried to go back to his work. It wasn't the first time he had seen the guards chasing someone, but the scene still threw him off every time. Why anyone thought they could get away with anything while the guard was around baffled him. He shrugged the scene off and walked to the counter to see Karl there filling cups with alcohol. "Hey, did you see what just happened," he asked him with a worried look.

"What? No, I didn't see anything," Karl responded. He had to talk louder than usual to be heard over the chatter in the tavern. "What happened?"

"Some guards were chasing a criminal outside." George picked up a cup and began to clean it absentmindedly. He tried to remember every detail of what he had seen. "I didn't catch much."

"A criminal?" Karl looked anxious as he tugged on his pale jacket. "Gosh, I hope he doesn't come back. What do you think they did?"

George shrugged. "Beats me. Whatever it is, they'll be caught soon. You know how the king's guards are."

Karl nodded but he still looked worried. He filled a few more cups with beer and checked his notepad. "Hey, someone at table four asked for dried beef but we just ran out up here. Can you check the back?"

"Sure," he replied, setting down the cup he had been cleaning. George left Karl to tend to the customers at the counter. He followed the hallway that twisted behind the counter, past the break room, and to the door labeled 'storage room.' The chatter from the tavern was muffled back here. He reached for the doorknob but froze when he heard a crash and a voice whisper what sounded like a curse word. George threw open the storage room door. Inside in the dim light crouched a figure holding a crate of food that had fallen from a shelf. He wore a tight black shirt and either yellow or green jacket. His colorblindness made it hard to tell. He wore black pants and large boots. His arms were covered in scars and he had a hood pulled over most of his hair. George tried to look at his face, but it was covered by a white mask with a chilling smile painted on.