The Son of the General

I pull up my hood as the rain starts again. Nobody bothers to retreat under awnings on the busy boardwalk; the brief respite was welcome, but normalcy returns with the downpour. Vendors continue to shout into the crowd as people rush past, offering fresh fruit and bread at prices that are far too high for any Underling’s family to afford. Many will go hungry tonight, just like most nights.

A boat rushes past in the canal and the smell of diesel fills my nostrils, overpowering the scent of pastries from the shop nearby. I huff slightly and keep moving, my rumbling stomach encouraging me. I stop at a baker’s stall and fight my way through the stream of people to haggle with the vendor.

“How much?” I shout over the rain, leaning over his cart and gesturing to the loaves of bread between us.

“Thirty,” he replies, offering a loaf.

I wave him away. “Too high.”

“Twenty-seven!” he calls desperately at my retreating back. I clutch the two loaves I’d swiped in the deep pockets of my coat and ignore him.

Mother Laurie will be happy to see this, even if it isn’t much. Enough to feed six bellies for the night, maybe.

I hurry down the boardwalk, hoping the man won’t notice I’ve stolen his overpriced goods. Times are tough, and I would feel sorry for the man if I didn’t have other responsibilities. Judging by his full cart at nearly dinnertime, he hasn’t had many customers today.

It hasn’t always been like this, I’m told, although I wouldn’t know. My entire life I’ve been an Underling, a dock rat, thieving for a living and bringing back what I can to the orphanage and the woman who raised me. They say there used to be sunny days, though it’s hard to believe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the sun, at least for more than a couple minutes. Apparently, a lifetime ago, there were streets instead of canals and sidewalks instead of docks and boardwalks. Houses had basements instead of stilts, and people drove cars instead of boats.

I shake my head as I walk. My boots splash against the boardwalk; the canal water rises through the cracks. They’ll have to raise it again soon, and another floor of buildings will be lost.

Of course, not everyone lives like this; the Highlanders reside atop their man-made hills, raising taxes on us Underlings to pay for their fancy parties and unnecessary wars, while we battle just to survive. Some of us hold out hope for better days, for the rain to stop. I know better. If it hasn’t stopped now, it never will.

I reach under my coat and rub my fingers against the locket I’ve worn since I was child. A nervous habit. The golden heart’s engravings are almost worn off now thanks to me. Mother Laurie says I was wearing it when she found me on the orphanage’s doorstep as a baby. It’s real gold, and many times I’ve been tempted to sell it for a bite to eat, but something always stops me. It’s the only belonging I have that’s truly mine.

I am jolted out of my reverie when I bump into a large figure. My head is down and I see shiny boots. A copper, probably. Nobody here in the slums would own such fine shoes.

“Watch where you’re going, boy,” the copper grunts. I avoid eye contact.

“Yes, sir, sorry,” I say and move around him. “Pig,” I mutter as soon as I’m out of earshot.

Or at least, as soon as I think I’m out of earshot. An iron grip fastens to my bicep and I am yanked backwards, heart in my throat.

“What did you just say to me, rat?” the copper hisses.

“N-nothing,” I stammer. This copper could end my life if he wanted to, depending on how his day is going. And I’ve definitely made it worse.

I gain the courage to look up into the copper’s face, and it’s worse than I feared. The blood drains from my face. This is no copper. This is the General.

I’m dead.

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” the General says. He shakes me for emphasis, and the two loaves of bread fall out of my coat. He looks down at them, then back up at me. “Did you pay for these, boy?”

My mouth hangs open and no words come out. Mother Laurie always said I had a smart mouth, but right now it’s failing me.

My open coat reveals my locket as well. The General’s black eyes find the glint of gold and narrow. “Steal that, as well?”

I finally find my voice. “No. This is mine,” I spit.

“I’m sure. You’re coming with me,” he says and begins dragging me down the street. I try to twist out of his hold, to run, but his grip on my arm is strong. “Stop fighting me, boy,” he growls and nearly twists my shoulder out of its socket. I gasp in pain. The people on the boardwalk give us a wide berth and nobody makes eye contact with me or the General as we pass. There will be no pity from them; I’m just the unlucky whelp who accidentally bumped into the wrong person. I wouldn’t pity myself either.

The faces of the children of the orphanage and Mother Laurie flash through my head, and I decide I won’t be going willingly. I squirm and fight, pounding at the strong arm that holds me. I shout obscenities, my voice cracking.

The General brings up his other fist and knocks me in the back of the head. Everything goes black.

—

I awake in a dirty jail cell. A lone window in the top corner, bare but for bars, leaks rain into a puddle on the dirty concrete floor. My head pounds. I sit up slowly, wincing, then jump back at the sight before me.

A girl with long scraggly hair crouches in front of my cell door, which is also barred. Her dark eyes are unreadable. “Good, you’re awake.”

I gape at her, then reach for my locket. My fist closes around air, and panic rises within me. She must see it in my face, because she reaches into her jacket pocket.

“Looking for this?” My locket dangles from her fingers. I resist the urge to snatch it back.

“Who are you?” My voice is raspy. She puts the locket back in her jacket.

She ignores my question and stands up to fiddle with the lock on my cell door. “We don’t have much time. We need to get you out of here.”

“We?” She doesn’t answer. In a few moments, there is a click, then a screech as my cell door opens. We both cringe at the sound.

“Come on,” she hisses. I stand at the back of my cell, unsure.

“Why are you helping me?”

She rolls her eyes, as though it’s obvious, then pulls out the locket again. “Because of this, idiot. Now come on!”

I look around my cell, then at the door. I’m more than happy to get out of here, but I can’t shake the feeling that my freedom comes with a price.

She huffs in frustration. “Someone will be here any minute! Do you want to be free or not?”

I hesitate a moment longer, then step out of my cell. “What’s your name?” I ask, peering down at her.

“Pretty stupid for the General's son,” she mutters, more to herself than to me.

“Wait, what?” I say, my stomach dropping. But there is a screech from the end of the hall. We both turn to see two coppers heading our way. The girl curses under her breath. “Run!”

She doesn’t need to tell me twice. The coppers shout at the sight of us, and we both sprint in the opposite direction. She swings open the door at the end of the hall and we hurtle down the staircase. One flight, two flights… Was I that high up, or are we heading underwater?

My question is answered when I hear water lapping at the walls of the stairwell one floor beneath us. The sound is quickly drowned out by the coppers flooding the stairwell above us. The girl grabs my hand and swings open the door to what I assume is the main floor of the building I was held in. I barely take in my surroundings as we fly through the hall — right turn, left turn, left, right — my heart pounds and adrenaline lends my feet speed — and then she flings open an exit and we tumble out onto the boardwalk. I’ve never been so glad to feel rain on my face.

We’re not done running yet, though. I struggle to follow the girl as she makes her way through the crowd. She’s much smaller than me and has an easier time of slipping by. She takes a sharp right turn into an alley and hops a boarded-up fence. I jump too and expect to land in water, but instead, my boots hit the wooden floor of a canoe.

“You expect us to outrun the coppers in a canoe?” I say incredulously. She smirks, grabs an oar from underneath the seat.

“Canoes are the only boats that fit into the sewers,” she says, and instead of pushing off toward one of the main canals, she maneuvers us to the left into a much smaller space. I open my mouth to protest, but we disappear quietly into one of the many sewer tunnels that run through the city. The stench of the sewers, always lingering in the main canals, hits me like a train. I try not to gag. The girl seems unbothered and guides our canoe into the darkness ahead. She nudges another oar on the deck with her foot.

“Help me out, lazy.”

I reach down to grab the oar and begin to row. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out.”

Silence but for the steady drip, drip of water against the walls.

“Why’d you free me?” I try again.

“I’m beginning to ask myself the same question.”

Her coldness is beginning to annoy me.

“What did you say earlier? About the General’s son?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“What about my locket?”

She whirls around. “Will you shut up? Jesus.”

“You just sprung me out of prison and rowed me into the sewers. Wouldn’t you have a couple questions if you were me?” I snap back.

There’s silence. She sighs in defeat. “They say the General’s wife killed their only son when she killed herself,” she says. I knew that already, that the General was so terrible that his wife killed herself and her only child to keep them safe from him.

“But they never found the child. He would be around your age, we assume, and probably already big.” She turns around and nods at my wide shoulders. At fourteen, I am much larger than most of the other teens at the orphanage.

“And your locket — that’s the same one that was missing from the General’s wife’s neck when he found her body.” She falls silent, and for a moment, all we can hear is the rain at the end of the tunnel. It’s so dark now that I can’t see her anymore, and I only know where the boat is because I’m sitting on it, blindly plunging my oar into the smelly water.

“So, you’re saying that I’m the General’s son?” I ask.

“Well, you could be,” she says. “Personally, I doubt it.”

I can’t decide whether to be insulted or not. “So then why’d you free me?”

“Because we need you.”

“Who’s we?”

“The rebellion.” She says it almost casually. I barely have time to register her words before the ground drops beneath me. The rushing of water in the background isn’t rain. It’s a waterfall.

And we are plunging to our deaths.