The Rokkoh Adventures

Rokkoh and the Final Year, Chapter 2

Three months down, nine to go. I can do this. No fights, no petty thievery, no curfew violations. Easy enough so far. Then again, my fellow wards have shaped up and stopped harassing the younger kids. Maybe they truly did learn their lessons. Or they're just making sure I don't see anything. That would be smart, but I don't want to give them that much credit.

As we all sit in the dining room, I keep an occasional eye on the worst offenders: Wassim and his little group of cronies. Though he is only fifteen, he has managed to assemble a loyal troupe of troublemakers. Bullying the younger orphans has always been a staple to their operation, but some members have branched out to other crimes.

Janco and Jibara, a pair of brothers who I swear must have giant ancestry, work as Wassim's muscle; whenever a kid stands up to Wassim, one or both of them are often dispatched to take care of the problem. Max, Kym, and I have all worn their bruises like badges of honor more than once.

Telarria, a small and slender girl who slinks like a fox, is Wassim's go-to for anything that requires sticky fingers. A dedicated loyalist, she has buddied up to the leader since his first day at the Tower.

Last is a small boy, Pinnow. Some, myself included, speculate that he is a halfling; in all his years at the Tower, he has not grown even an inch. Though he seldom speaks most days, his eyes tell stories that would frighten the most fearless warrior. No one knows why Pinnow is part of Wassim's group, but no one dares question it. As far as anyone can tell, the maybe-halfling has never required disciplinary action like the others. My friends and I wonder if perhaps the little one is under Wassim's protection, but that raises further questions to which there are no answers.

"Maybe if you keep staring at them, they'll finally do something," Kym jokes from the other side of the table. She wears her sarcastic smirk as her fork pushes potatoes around her plate. Max sits beside her, focused more on picking something out of his teeth.

"It's been months since they've been caught doing anything," I tell her. "They've got something going on, I just know it."

"Watch the hero complex there, Rok," she warns.

"They probably just don't wanna spend their weekends being punished for stupid shit anymore," Max reasons, digging out a tiny green leaf and analyzing it with great curiosity.

"There's no way they went clean," I shake my head, breaking from my watch. "They're cooking something up, I can just feel it."

"Hey," she says soft, reaching out and taking my hand. My eyes go to the gesture, and for a moment I forget what we're talking about. Memories of that night in the Recovery Room return, and the only thought that remains is that I would do anything for her to never let go. But her voice brings me back from the little daydream.

"You're being paranoid," Kym accuses. "Let it go. If they fuck up, the Baroness will find out and Cy will take care of it. It's not your job, Rokkoh."

"So you want me to stop sticking up for the other kids?" I ask. My thumb moves soft and slow over her finger, and she doesn't stop me.

"No," she smirks. "There's a difference between catching some asshole in the act and stalking someone until they do something bad."

"Pretty much, just stop being stupid, Stupid," Max chimes in with a cheeky grin.

A cold breeze breathes through the room and brushes past my back. Kym's eyes go wide for a moment, and Max straightens in his chair. Out of instinct, I do the same. Conversations hush themselves mid sentence. All heads turn to the end of the dining hall, to the lone long table atop the platform.

Stern hazel eyes look out from a pale white face. Sharp cheekbones, a pointed nose, and a blood red sneer fill the space topped by a high and intricate copper bun. A deep emerald dress flows from her shoulders to her ankles, her arms covered by white gloves that end at her elbows. Her hands clasp together as she looks upon her wards. The Baroness examines the crowd, and all lingering noise ceases.

Rumors have made their rounds over the years regarding the Baroness and her strange nature. Some say she is made of porcelain and would shatter at a touch. She covers up so much to hide damaged and replaced parts. Others think she is an ancient vampire, immune to the effects of the sun thanks to her age. It would explain the harsh hand that deals punishments. Some speculate that the Baroness is an elf from the distant War of the Sun and the Moon, having rounded off her ears to hide from pursuers. Augustin liked to mix theories together and craft a story of an elf bitten by a vampire in a long-forgotten time.

I just think she's a cruel woman who hates kids.

"Good afternoon, children," she says, light and chilling.

We return the greeting in the simple cadence taught to us in our early years.

"The Tower of Lost Children has opened its doors to the orphans of Sylzaria for nearly half a century. To commemorate this ostentatious occasion, in three months' time we will hold a lottery. Those selected will have the opportunity to travel to Allendar and enjoy a night of theatre. Only children with no disciplinary infractions for the following three months will be considered for this privilege. The select chosen few will be allowed one guest of their choosing. However, this guest must adhere to the same qualifications. Behave, and you may be rewarded. That is all."

As she leaves, that chill passes over us once more. I'm certain that little ice crystals form on the rim of my cup and melt as soon as she's gone. Excited whispers fill the dining hall; it even lights up Kym's eyes. Max, on the other hand, seems unbothered by the announcement as he digs dirt out of his fingernails.

"Allendar!" she squeaks. "I bet there will be music and ballerinas!"

"They are staples of the theatre industry," Max quips in a bored drone.

"Shut up. You're not invited," she smacks him. She returns her beam to me. "Rokkoh will go with me, won't you?"

"Yeah, of course," I answer with a small grin. She gives my hand a squeeze, a pleasant reminder that she has not let go. Afraid to jinx it, I keep my mouth shut about it. "How come you don't wanna go to Allendar, Max?"

"It'll still be there when Kym and I get out," he shrugs. "Besides, there's no way I'll make it three months without getting in trouble. I know myself too well to think otherwise. Odds are I'll let out a little "fuck" and Sister Signe will get mad and report me."

"Then stop swearing," Kym suggests.

"Good fuckin luck," he laughs, the bright rolling sound encouraging Kym and me to release our own.