I
Casper’s head hurt.
His heart hurt.
His feet hurt.
His hands hurt.
His eyes hurt.
Casper just hurt.
He hurt all over. It was like an eternal throb all over his body, like he was being stabbed with millions of needles all over. It was like a migraine that he could never shake off, no matter how hard he tried.
Of course, if it was truly a migraine, he would be able to shake it off. He’d be condemned to bedrest by his father and given green tea by his governor to ease the pain. Now, there was nothing to help him other than his newly founded burning hatred for his father.
But that’s another story for a later day because right now, Casper was lying on suspiciously wet cobblestones, covered in blood that may of may not be his own, resting his head on what he could only hope was rubbish, because in a place like Port Weiss, it could be anything.
He’d only heard abhorrent stories about Port Weiss before he ended up lying on its’ floor. The gangs, the criminals, the violence, the brothels, and whatever else crawled out of the canal, it all sounded grim to a rich merchants’ son. How could a place be like that? he’d wonder. Despite his wonder, he never wanted to find out.
Now, Casper was going to get a crash course in The Westland’s underbelly, that is Port Weiss.
After feeling sorry for himself for god who knows how long, Casper managed to pull himself up off of the rubbish heap, with the help of the towering building beside him. He stumbled like a new born lamb for a few seconds before he finally managed to get comfortable on his feet.
It was dark outside, and Casper was struggling to find a way out of alley into the open. He waved his hands, almost manically, in front of himself, to make sure he didn’t bump into anything, or anyone he didn’t want to bump into. But soon, his hands met the cold, rough surface of the brick wall once again, and so he decided to that as a guide to find his way out into the open street.
The lighting wasn’t that much better out in the ‘open’, if you could call it that. It only seemed brighter thanks to the natural light of the moon, and even that was dim at the best of time and its’ failing light was barely helped by the smattering of street lamps along the side of the road that was meant for carriages and carts, but people walked on it anyway.
The people out now were the seedy sort. Most people wandering at any time in Port Weiss were seedy, but the people out now were those who wanted to hide affairs from their wives, they wanted to hide their drug habits and addictions, and they weren’t scared to silence Casper if it meant keeping their secrets secret.
Even if he didn’t know the rules of Port Weiss yet, the one thing he did know was to keep his eyes down low he didn’t want any trouble, and all Casper wanted was to find somewhere in which he could wallow in self-pity safely, without the risk of getting pummelled with a brick for whatever he still had in his pockets, and anywhere would be safer than he open streets.
Casper walked briskly, with his arms wrapped tightly around his torso, either because he was trying to keep his ribs in place or because he was cold, and he met no one’s curious gaze as he went. He avoided others by watching the movement of their shoes, or lack thereof, and he ignored the slithery calls of prostitutes and con men that told him to ‘follow me! I can show you a good time!’
He didn’t want a good time, he wanted a bed, he wanted a doctor, he wanted money, in a bitter and strange way he wanted his father, but what he didn’t want was a ‘good time’. Whatever good time they were trying to give him, wouldn’t be the kind of good time Casper liked.
Casper liked to read books, he liked to play the piano, he liked to paint, he liked to write music, he liked to question things and come up with answers for himself. He didn’t like being hollered at by unwilling women and heckled at by sketchy men with nothing else to live for.
This street appeared to be never-ending. It ran in a straight line, with what had to be millions of little turn-aways and snickets, with illicit businesses dotted all around, businesses that Casper would rather have nothing to do with, but he knew at some point he might not have much of a choice.
He might have come from a better place than this, but he was by no means better than these people. Who knows what’s happened to them, what’s dragged them down and smothered them in the dark canals of Port Weiss. Who was he to judge? Maybe the same forces would descend and drown him too.
God he hoped so. Because he’d rather become one of the revolting, delusional, disenfranchised criminals than return to father. That house wasn’t a home to Casper; it was a shell, a husk that was keeping him in and not letting him go.
After a few minutes of cautious speed walking, the street in front of Casper opened up into a dead, yet full port of ships. He looked around and tried to make sense of his surroundings, but he was just as confused in the port as he was in the street, that he’d found out was called Finster Street.
The port, named Port Fernweh, didn’t have the winding paths and dark, far-away corners, but it felt sinister, like thousands of eyes were staring down at him from the gabled roofs above, waiting for the right moment to pounce.
Those who’d been loitering around in Finster Street seemed reluctant to walk through Fernweh. They turned away down the mysterious alleys or walked in the opposite direction to the port, seemingly all to avoid it. Later, Casper would learn that Fernweh was the cusp of the law’s control, it’s where the police and legality still mattered, and anywhere south of it was the same. Anywhere north, towards Finster and beyond, was fair game for anyone. The law was according to whatever gang had control of the area at the time, and anyone who walked down the unlawful streets in any uniform was asking to get hurt.
By no means was the south of Port Weiss safe though. It was still fair game for the gangs and cons men and kingpins that seeped out of the north, it just meant they might get in trouble for doing what they usually do, which only made playing the game more fun for those who liked to play with fire.
There were still turf wars, brothels, gambling dens and red rooms, you just needed to knoe where to look. It wasn’t called the underbelly of The Westlands for nothing.
Casper continued walking down the port, looking up at the rotting signs that hung outside of the dilapidated buildings, hoping that one of them would be an inn, or a hotel, or a boarding house, but non of them appeared to be. They were either curiosity shops, small banks, restaurants or fish mongers, which would explain the smell. But non would give him a bed, or at least a well worn sofa.
To be honest, Casper could’ve laid there on the wet ground, put his head on the cobbles and could’ve gone out like a light. But he slugged onward, praying he’d find something around the corner. And again, he didn’t.
Instead of somewhere to sleep, he came upon yet another street. It was called Voodpret Street and it was full of drunk, or maybe stupid, tourists stumbling in and out of pubs and what most certainly were gambling dens disguised as perfectly legal casinos, but that wasn’t what Casper was thinking about. If there were tourists, there would be places for those tourists to sleep, because even wasted tourists need somewhere to crash before they piss off back to wherever they came from.
Though there would be places to sleep here, he then realised he’d actually have to pay for wherever he was going to stay that night. He wasn’t sure if he had any money, lest of all money in the right currency, but surely in a street like Voodpret, full of dimwitted tourists, they’d still take whatever he had? He hoped so.
Casper dug his hands deep into his trouser pockets in an attempt to find something he could use to pay for a room. Though he couldn’t remember leaving home with anything, he pulled out a handful of silver rial coins, enough to pay for a room for at least a night or two.
It was unusual to carry this much money around, he thought, lest of all in a currency I don’t use. So where did all of this rial come from?
Casper elected not to think about it much more because he, to be quite frank, didn’t care where the money came from. He had money that he could spend, and that was all that mattered. He didn’t give a rat’s arse where it came from or who it belonged to. It was in his pocket and that was all he gave a shit about.
Despite all the rial he had, Casper knew he had to be wise with it, so he couldn’t say in the fanciest hotel around and live in the lap of luxury, he knew he had to find a cheap inn or boarding house to stay in until he either ran out of money or managed to find work of some kind.
After prowling Voodpret for a few minutes, looking in and out of the inns and hotels he passed, he finally managed to find one that looked cheap enough to last him at least five days with what he had.
The interior of the inn, called The Scheitholz, seemed to perfectly match the dirty, dis-repaired look of the exterior, but Casper didn’t expect it to be otherwise. The wooden window frames were slightly rotten meaning that the shutters didn’t really work, the walls were as bland as plain flour and there were a few chairs spread sparsely around the floor for those waiting to sit in. Just by the entrance to The Scheithoz was a wooden front desk that looked in much better condition that the window frames, and on that desk sat a small brown money box, a pile of well-worn books and a log of people who’ve come in and out of the inn recently- unsurprisingly, it looked rather empty.
Behind the slightly unwelcoming welcome desk sat a woman, wearing a dirt-stained white shirt with dark brown breeches tucked into dirty white socks. Her shoes had been discarded by the side of her chair, her feet were swung onto the top of the desk and she appeared to be nose-deep in a book; until Casper walked up to her that is.
“Sorry to interrupt you’re reading.” Casper asked, subconsciously wiping the blood away from his nostrils. “But, can I have a room?”
The woman seemed surprised at the sound of another person’s voice, but she quickly put her book down, picked up her pen and drew the log book closer. She looked Casper up and down, before raising an eyebrow at him. “Don’t usually get thug-types in this part of town.” She said as the flipped to right page of her book.
“I’m not a thug-type.” Casper replied, sounding almost insulted by the suggestion, until he realised that he was splattered in blood and covered in bruises. Then he saw her point. “I swear.” He added.
“If you say so.” She shrugged, not really believing him. “How long you planning on staying for.”
I don’t know, he thought, I don’t know how long I’ll be technically homeless for.
What happening to my life?
“Three nights.” He answered. “I’ll check in again if there’s a change of plans.”
“Didn’t ask for your weekend plans but sure.” She said as she wrote some illegible words down the log. “That’ll be fifteen rial pal.”
Casper nodded and began to count out fifteen riel coins in hands. Overpriced for a place like this, but sure, he thought as he handed the coins over. The woman counted the coins before opening the draw to her left and pulling out a small, golden key with 11 carved into it. Then she pulled out another key with a B on it and put them both on the desk in front of her.
“I need your name mate, to say you’ve been here.” She continued. “So, what are you called?”
“Casper...” He trailed off. “Casper.”
She raised her eyebrow again in confusion, and possibly frustration. “Just Casper? Like you’ve got no surname or nothing?”
Casper shook his head. He wanted to keep his true identity a secret from the people in Port Weiss, at least for now, until he’d sorted himself out. And until he could take a beating, or give one better.
“I’ll put you down as Casper ? for now.” She sighed, before writing his name down and picking up the keys lain on the desk. “11 is your room number, top floor and B is for the bathroom on the second floor. Thought you might appreciate a bath, can’t promise it’ll be warm.”
“Thanks.” He replied, turning away from her and heading towards the rickety stairs in front of him.
I don’t care, he thought as he walked, I just want to sit down and realise I’m not dead yet.
Casper had always had a flair for the dramatic, and still carried that internal monologue now, but his external flair had long since disappeared. He’d turned silent when he lost his reason to be loud.
He hadn’t asked himself before now what he was going to do with himself, because he hadn’t had the time to, or maybe that’s what he’s been telling himself. Whatever the reason, he now realised he had nothing beyond the mysterious rial that had appeared in his pocket; he didn’t even have any other clothes besides the bloodstained, dirtied and torn ones on his back.
The bathroom wasn’t much more than a chipped porcelain tub, a toilet in a similar state and a sink that looked like it hadn’t produced any running water in the past ten years, but Casper didn’t care much for the state of the room. All he cared about was having a bath and cleaning the crusted blood off of him, whether it felt like bathing in the Sturmfrei Sea or sitting in the Sonder Desert, he didn’t care.
Once the bath had filled, Casper stripped down and sunk himself into the water, with the biggest sigh of relief in the world. Even if he didn’t know what was coming next.
It was two, and Dell wanted nothing more than to go home, but she couldn’t. She had at least another few hours to go before her shift was over and it made her want to tear her hairs out one by one. But The Scheitholz was easy work so she couldn’t complain; it’s like working for nothing.
Whilst she was reading her book, she heard the door open for the second time that night, or rather second time that morning, making the place more busy than usual.
The heavy footsteps of the second person to come in were familiar to her. She’d hear them more often than not down Finster Street, or just in that part of town, paving their way through the crowds, taking control of every soul they saw without so much as a word. Those footsteps controlled Finster with an iron fist.
The footsteps came to a stop right in front of Dell, and for the life of her she wanted to ignore them, but their presence made it impossible to not sneak a glance.
“Did a Casper Van Dyke check in here?” They asked, when they noticed Dell looking at him.
“A certain Casper did.” She told the man. “Didn’t give me a surname. Why? You a friend or something?”
The man shrugged and pulled a small envelope out of his pocket. He placed it on the desk and slid it closer to Dell, after which she could see it had Casper Van Dyke written in scrawled handwriting across the back.
“Give that to him, would you?” He said. “Don’t look in it, just give it to him.”
Dell nodded, because something internally was telling her she couldn’t say no to a guy like this. At least she couldn’t if she wanted to stay alive. “I sure will.” She replied trying to hide her quivering fear.
“Yes, you will.” He sighed as he headed towards the door. “He’s going to need it.”
And he shut the door behind him.
