Chapter 55

 

It’s a single fucking silver coin. When I look up at Derriv in confusion, there’s a huge grin not only on his face but Bertrand’s as well as he quips, “What’d you expect? A treasure trove filled with gold and gems? Well, that’s what you threw out the window last night. Reed didn’t have anything else on him except that coin and his equipment wasn't all that great either. We could probably get a nice little sum of 10 silver for all of it and I’ll toss it to you when we sell off the equipment we scavenged. But he was a cheapskate through and through. Wouldn’t even arm his men with anything more than a cheap 3 silver sword.” 

 

I still don’t get it. “But what about the bounties? He was offering his men 100 gold coins for all of our heads last night.” 

 

“Oh I don’t doubt he had the coins to back up those bounties. He’s been selling Belle for the better part of a year now give or take and he’s been building up his cache steadily the entire time. But he’s not going to carry it with him. C’mon, use that head of yours like you did last night. It’s probably still hidden somewhere in his territory right now being looted by his former men as we speak. We managed to put down a good portion of his men last night while they were fighting amongst themselves over the goods you tossed out but an even larger portion got away with the majority of the valuables. 

 

“I’d have a mind to deploy the entirety of Candle to the slums right now to look for Reed’s hoard but the whole place is a scorching inferno right now and Reed’s death was the spark. Reed wasn’t the top dog in the slums but the dissolution of Midriver’s Finest is like tossing a leg of mutton into a pack of wild dogs. More blood is being spilled right this moment in the slums over his territory than the entirety of last night. Not much we can do except cut our losses and rebuild the compound.” 

 

Damn. I can’t help but think about all the work we did, all the hardship we went through and nothing came of it. I don’t know. I kind of expected after everything was over, we’d be able to claim our spoils of war but I guess things aren’t as simple as I wanted them to be. Seeing me moping, Bertrand chuckles and says, “Don’t look too down now, golden boy.” 

 

I swear if I ever find out who originated that nickname for me, I’ll challenge them to a friendly little spar. “Got word this morning Emerelda took over the directorship of Itia’s church and orphanage after the whole fiasco of Jerome’s body being discovered. She’ll be fine as the director and she has a backbone as well from what I’ve heard. Mary will be fine at the orphanage and you don’t have to worry about her anymore.” 

 

Here it comes again. I was able to delay thinking about Mary for the past few days by solely focusing on the war but now that it’s over, I need to sort out my feelings. My guilt towards that little girl has only gotten worse this whole time. It was already eating me inside when I read about her in Jerome’s ledger and when I finally met her and got to know her… dear gods what do I do? Fuck, if I could turn back time and let Kayman live… stop it. I know full well I couldn’t let him live. He had to die and I’ve accepted that the moment I stood over his bleeding body with his own pickaxe in my hand. It was me or him. There’s no two ways about it. 

 

But what can I do for Mary? Do I even still need to feel responsible for her? I don’t think I do but I can’t help it. I can hope Emerelda turns out different from Jerome and I can hope Mary finds a loving family but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Nothing feels like it’s enough. 

 

It’s difficult for me to reconcile my feelings because even I don’t fully understand myself. What makes Mary more special than the people I’ve killed thus far and their loved ones? What about the boy in the cave? I still agonize over his death even now. I realize it was a freak accident that I could have never predicted would happen, especially when my mind was preoccupied with the goblins, money, and Midriver. He was my first ever murder of someone innocent and his death pains me the most. 

 

But I don’t have any desire to rectify my mistake. Why is that? On one hand it’ll be incredibly difficult to find out who he was considering what Wraine and I did with his body but most importantly, I don’t care enough to go through all that. Does that make me a bad person? Well yes, but I think I’m already well past that point with the amount of blood on my hands. Then the difference in how I feel regarding Mary and the boy has to lie in Mary. 

 

Is it because I had a direct hand in her life going to shit? That’s where the guilt comes in and that’s where the sympathy comes in as well. But what about the people I’ve killed? Not just Alister’s crew but all of Reed’s men and Reed himself I suppose. They have to have families right? They obviously have mothers and fathers but many of them had to have sons or daughters themselves right? If those sons and daughters appeared in front of me right this instant, would I feel the same about them as I do about Mary? I don’t think so. 

 

Then what’s the difference? Isn’t it hypocritical of me to feel guilty for killing Mary’s father and ruining her life but remain callous towards those other children I’ve orphaned these past two days? It is. Then what? This whole thing, all these confusing feelings inside of me, and this dilemma I find myself in can be boiled down to one question I’ve already asked myself: how is Mary different from all these other people? What makes her special?

 

Is it because I’ve seen her in person? Maybe. I think seeing her and being able to put a face to one of the direct victims from my murders is influential to what I’m going through. Is it because I’ve gotten to know her over these last two days? I think so. Getting to know her hasn’t lessened this guilt in any way and did the opposite instead. But there’s something more here that I’m not quite getting. 

 

As I stare down absentmindedly at my rough, callused hands, I still see specks of dried blood under my fingernails. Even with the soap it was hard cleaning out the dried blood from my fingernails and I eventually just left it like how it is right now, I think it’s clean enough. 

 

When I see the specks of blood, I can’t help but think about the blond bandit. Why do I keep thinking about that son of a bitch? I hope he’s rotting in whatever hell he ended up landing in. Why would I even think about him while I’m trying to sort through my feelings regarding Mary? They’re not similar in any way whatsoever… Or are they? That’s ridiculous, what the fuck is wrong with me? 

 

But what if they are similar? Not in the literal sense but in how I represent them in my mind. The blond bandit became my greatest inner demon because I needed something, someone like him to use as a scapegoat for all the troubles I went through since I got to Midriver. The most important thing I blamed him for was Kayman’s death. If it wasn’t for him, Kayman wouldn’t have needed to die. Then what? Is Mary… Oh, I’m doing to Mary what I did to the blond bandit. 

 

She isn’t the scapegoat for all my loathing and blame like the blond bandit was but my guilt and remorse. That’s why I thought of the blond bandit just now. She’s the representation of the regret I’ve tried to ignore this entire time and I’m also using her in my own strange way of repenting for my crimes. Huh. Is that fair to her? I don’t fucking know. Is that fair to anyone else? Probably not. Does it change what I want to do to feel at peace with myself again? Not really. 

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There’s a feeling of determination that’s welling up inside me that I’ve long missed. I haven’t fully worked out my inner restlessness yet and I doubt I ever will but at least I figured out why I feel the way I do right now and I know how I want to approach this, for better or for worse. 

 

Taking in a deep breath, I interrupt Derriv and Bertrand’s conversation while making direct eye contact with Bertrand, “I want to take Mary in. I know we’ve talked about this a few times before and every time you’ve convinced me thoroughly but I can’t quell this guilt in me. There’s no guarantee she’ll turn out fine considering the city we’re in and the only way I can feel tranquil again is if I know personally how she’s doing. I’m the one who ruined her life and I need to be the one who fixes it.” 

 

Derriv and Bertrand both stare at me as if I just grew a third eye on my face. Bertrand blinks his eyes a few times undoubtedly flabbergasted by my idiotic thoughts before remarking, “Isaac, look, I get it. I’ve been in your boots before and I’ve felt similar things, although not as wildly. But this is just a part of our trade. You can’t get bogged down by your feelings or you’ll be the next one on the ground, bleeding out. You need to learn to let her go and realize you’ve done enough for her already.” 

 

“Why can’t I take her in? She doesn’t have anyone, even her mother abandoned her and I don’t think I’ll ever have peace of mind unless I can see how she’s doing personally. If you’re saying she can’t stay at the compound then once this is all over, I’ll get a room at The Sleeping Hornet for her. I mean, I have the funds now, even if Wraine doesn’t agree with me and wants to split our coins, I’ll still have enough to take care of her.”

 

“What the fuck are you saying Isaac? Listen, I’m fucking sorry I put you through so much shit a few nights ago but you don’t have an obligation to take in Mary just ‘cause you killed her father. Guilt’s one thing and wanting to help someone’s another, but this is way beyond feeling guilty or helping someone already. We’re approaching levels of altruism that you can’t have as a bandit. 

 

“You’re a fucking infant yourself and you want to take in another infant? Are you crazy? You don’t know the first thing about raising a kid. What the fuck will you even tell her? “Hey Mary, I know I killed your father and all but I feel really bad about it and now I want to make amends by raising you.” Do you think that sounds like something a sane person would say?” 

 

He’s right. He’s right but this is the only way I can think of that I can get my serenity back. I’m not willing to budge but he’s not willing either. Derriv looks distressed by our argument as he darts his head around, looking back and forth between the two of us. 

 

When it seems neither of us are willing to say anything further, Derriv decides to chime in, “Look, I think both of you are right to a certain extent. Isaac feels guilty for putting Mary in the position she’s in and wants to make reparations the only way he knows how. That’s a good attitude to have and that’s what we look for in Candle, right? Bertrand’s worrying about you, Isaac, because he feels you’ve already done enough to make amends with Mary and anything more than that isn’t necessary. He’s right for the most part and taking care of her is a huge responsibility that I think you need to take into consideration. I’m not sure, I honestly don’t know what the right thing to do here is.” 

 

Derriv’s right but what else can I do? All of a sudden, a tiny shadow rushes into the room and latches itself onto Derriv’s leg. When everyone looks at her, Ilya raises her head and innocently asks, “Daddy, is Mary going back to the church?” 

 

Seeing Derriv’s strained face, I can tell he doesn’t know how to answer her. “Well, Ilya, Mary has to go back to the church so that she can find a new family who loves her and will take care of her.”

 

Ilya buries her face deeper into her father’s leg and mutters, “I don’t want Mary to go back to the church. She told me she doesn’t like it there and she said she feels really lonely there. Can Mary please stay here?”

 

Derriv’s strained look worsens with each word Ilya says and by the end of it, he looks distraught before looking towards Bertrand for help. Bertrand’s not better off and his face looks worse right now than last night when he nearly lost his leg. Derriv turns to me for salvation. That was a mistake. “You know Ilya, I really want Mary to stay here too. I can read stories to the both of you before bedtime, how does that sound?” Sorry Derriv but this has to happen. 

 

“Really? Please daddy, can Mary please live here?”

 

Derriv takes a deep breath as he rubs his eyes before exhaling it slowly, looking like he’s aged a few years in the last couple of minutes. “Alright, Ilya. Mary can live here.”

 

“Really!? I’m going to tell her right now!” 

 

I watch Ilya run out of the room with a smile on my face when Derriv turns to me with an odd grin on his. “Bertrand told me you had talent with the sword. Why don’t we head to the backyard and you can show me how good you are?” Uh oh. 

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