Second Chance

« Valetta Port, Malta »

« Anno Domini 1420 »

— ☯ —

A haggard child, barely ten years old, ran hurriedly through the hectic market streets. A middle aged man howled as he ran in pursuit with a stick, his face twisted from growing frustration.

Despite being three times his height and having a much wider pace, he seemed wholly incapable of catching up to the small runt. It wasn't without reason, because the child breezed like the wind amidst obstacles, whereas he had to tackle his way through like a bull.

The pursuit had been ongoing for quite some time, and despite giving the actual victim the slip, a guard continued to vehemently pursue him. Originally, the boy expected the guard to run out of steam and give up, but now it seemed like a better plan was needed.

Without any panic, the boy looked left and right as he ran numerous calculations in his sharp mind. His ears perked up, and he purposefully slowed down just a bit to shorten the distance. Although seeming counterintuitive to do so, his gamble paid off a few moments later.

Keeping his breath steady, the child neither looked back nor seemed overly hurried as he sprinted sideways into an alley. Reaching the nearest corner, he ducked and rolled across the ground just as a porter emerged with a heavy load on his shoulder.

Had he reacted any slower, he'd undoubtedly crash into him. Yet, ever since he had been a few years old, he seemed to have an uncanny spatial awareness. His preternatural instincts saved him yet again, and he slipped past unimpeded.

When the fuming guard ran into the alley, he crashed head-first into the porter. As if by some well-timed miracle, both tumbled to the ground. The box inclined to the side and crashed right into the pathway leading into the alley.

This saved the child just enough time to make it to the next corner and ghost it. By the time the man cleared the obstacles, the young thief was long gone. Helpless, the guard could only vent on the innocent porter.

Steadying his breath behind a tree, the child ensured the pursuit ended. Then, he calmly left through the city gates and narrowed the distance to the Lasoretto creek, where he took a cold bath.

Once clean, he dug into a narrow cliff crevice and retrieved new clothes, swapping the rags he wore earlier. Tidying up the robes issued by the church, the young thief merrily counted through the pouch with a soft hum and made his way back to the abbey just up the hill.

Having been born an intelligent child, he knew very well what fate awaited thieves. That was why he always disguised himself as a beggar when he ran his weekly 'marathon' through the markets. He'd pick either sailors or guests that wouldn't stay long on the island, and steered clear of the locals. That's how he made ends meet in a time that had no sympathy for urchins.

Making his way through the forest, he stopped at another one of his hideouts and dug out a few apples he'd appropriated earlier. Just like a crafty rabbit has three burrows, this sensible child had numerous places wherein he hid his spoils.

Consumables were stored closer to the abbey and within reach. Restrictive goods meant to be sold later were buried underneath a dying oak's roots, and his 'equipment' was concealed beside the town creek.

Finally, ensuring no one was around him, he clocked out and snuck back into the monastery while biting down on his spoils. That place was where the privileged few sought shelter. He rightfully claims it's a privilege, because not every urchin on the street could live there. There were always immigrants to compare to, or the children of slaves. Those 'creatures' had it far worse.

Comparisons can be made in both directions, however. Even while hospitable, he would never go as far as to call this run-down place a 'home'.

"Leonardo! Where have you been? You missed morning mass!"

A strict, but strangely youthful voice woke him from his reverie and forced him to a halt. His face scrunched up with displeasure, but he hid it quickly lest he get his buttocks hit. Recollecting some courage, he faced the young woman and replied briskly.

"Sister Bella, please forgive me, I helped an old man down the road and lost track of time. He even gave me some apples, see? Don't worry, I'll make up for mass by praying in my room!"

Having quickly spun some bullshit that sounded pleasing to the ears but held no truth to it whatsoever, he quietly made his escape before the spiteful nun became any wiser to question it.

Frankly, it's not that he disliked the stuck-up woman that much. She also used to be an orphan, and took care of him ever since he was brought here as a baby. They could even be said to be close.

His opinion was soured because of one simple reason — he had no freedom. Just because she was some 10 years older, the lass thought herself his superior and often forced him into religious nonsense.

"Hmph! The gall of that woman!"

If he hadn't accidentally seen the nun's self-relief escapades for himself — and counted just how many fingers she stuck in — he might have actually thought she was a saintess.

'You just went through puberty quicker. Why even feign maturity when you can barely read?'

Despite thinking out a variety of cuss words he didn't even know the origin of — he'd never voice them aloud. Though he had superior intellect (self-acclaimed), he was still starkly weaker in comparison to a full grown adult, female or not. That lass was too brutal!

The shadow she left on his heart after repeated spankings quickly wiped out the smug grin he had from his earlier heist, and spoiled his entire mood.

Leonardo retired to his room unhappily, where he would supposedly pray to a deity for two hours, despite inwardly complaining about having to go hungry again tomorrow. He never quite figured why the Bible claimed that 'even sparrows' were taken care of by God.

That point seemed especially moot during a funeral, when a fellow orphan died of malnutrition and disease. That happened not long after he learned to speak, and just before he was forced into reciting verses. It came as no surprise that the event played an indelible mark on his views on God.

After the old abbess died a few years back, the oldest among them, namely Anabella, took over the orphanage at 16. It wasn't unexpected, but she knew nothing of raising children. She just beat them when they didn't listen, beat them when they didn't sleep, and beat them just because they complained they're hungry. As if by some miracle, none of them died under her charge, and against all odds everyone made it 4 years in a row.

Having ranted in his heart for a good ten minutes while devouring even the core of the apple in his hand, he tossed his angst to the back of his mind and sat cross-legged to meditate.