Chadwick Rye

Rat kept to the shadows of Silk Street, his bare feet silent against cobblestones still warm from the day’s heat. Evening brought a different kind of life to the merchant district—lamplighters with their slow procession, shop owners counting coins behind gleaming windows, guards growing weary as their shifts stretched on. Perfect conditions for a boy who survived by being overlooked.

The high, sweet scent of spun sugar drifted from a confectioner’s shop, mingling with the heavier aromas of spice caravans that had arrived with the afternoon tide. Rat’s stomach clenched in familiar protest, a hollow ache he’d learned to ignore since fleeing the orphanage three winters past. He pressed himself against the wall of an alleyway, watching a merchant lock his door with a key that hung from a chain thick enough to feed Rat for a month if he could pawn it.

“Shopping spree,” he whispered to himself, tasting the foreign words like exotic fruit. Old Magda from the fish market had said it that morning—her daughter was getting married, and they were going on a “proper shopping spree” to prepare. The phrase had lodged in Rat’s mind all day, a glittering impossibility more fantastical than the fairy tales peddlers sometimes told in the market square.

What would it be like, he wondered, to walk into a shop with coins weighing down your pockets? To point at something—anything—and make it yours with the simple exchange of metal?

As darkness deepened and the street quieted, Rat slipped from his hiding place and moved like liquid shadow between pools of lamplight. His imagination, usually leashed tight by practicality, broke free as he passed each shuttered storefront.

*If I had coins enough…*

The bakery would be his first stop—not just for the daily bread he sometimes managed to steal, but for those golden-crusted pastries filled with almond cream that wealthy children ate without appreciation. He’d buy dozens, enough to make his belly ache with fullness rather than hunger. He’d take extras for Sparrow and the other children who nested in the abandoned bell tower.

The thought of Sparrow—seven summers old with a hacking cough that worsened with each passing night—turned Rat’s imaginary journey toward the apothecary. Behind those green-tinted windows lay remedies in gleaming bottles, actual medicine instead of the murky concoctions Old Magda sometimes spared for street children. He’d buy enough to fill a sack—cough syrups and fever powders, salves for winter-cracked skin, tinctures to purify the rainwater they collected.

Rat paused before a tailor’s shop, its window displaying fabrics that seemed to capture and transform the dim lamplight. Not silk—silk was for lords and merchants—but sturdy cotton in colors that hadn’t faded from sun and rain. A shirt without holes. Boots that fit. A cloak thick enough to keep winter at bay.

“What would you buy, street rat?”

The voice nearly startled Rat into flight before he recognized its owner—Hemlock, a city guard known for unusual kindness toward the street children. The man stood relaxed, his uniform partially unbuttoned after his long shift, watching Rat with curious eyes rather than suspicion.

“Nothing, sir,” Rat replied automatically, years of survival instinct overriding his momentary dreaming. “Just walking.”

Hemlock’s weathered face creased in a smile. “Admiring the tailor’s work, I saw. Got a fancy event to attend, have you?”

Something in the guard’s tone—gentle teasing without malice—loosened the knot of constant tension in Rat’s chest. “If I had coins,” he said cautiously, “I wouldn’t waste them on fancy things.”

“No? Where would your shopping take you, then?”

Rat hesitated, suspecting a trap but finding none in the guard’s open expression. “The apothecary,” he admitted finally. “Sparrow’s cough is getting worse.”

Hemlock’s smile faded, replaced by something more complex. He’d brought bread to the bell tower sometimes, knew the children who sheltered there. “Practical choice,” he nodded. “Then where?”

The dam broken, Rat’s careful imagination flowed freely. “Boots for everyone. Real ones, not the ones we cobble together from discarded leather. Food that doesn’t come from someone else’s leavings. Blankets. A proper knife for protection. Maybe—” he faltered, encountering the edge of what he dared hope for “—maybe a book.”

“A book?” Hemlock’s eyebrows rose. “Can you read, then?”

Heat flashed across Rat’s face. “Some. Sister Constance taught me, before I ran. I practice with discarded newspapers.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant call of a night watchman marking the hour. Hemlock seemed to reach some internal decision.

“The captain’s daughter is getting married next week,” he said, voice casual. “They need extra hands to help with preparations. Good coin for three days’ honest work. Interested?”

Rat’s heart hammered against his ribs. Opportunity and danger often wore the same face in his world. “Why me?”

“Because you thought of medicine before sweets,” Hemlock said simply. “Because you’re still teaching yourself to read in a world that’s given you nothing. Report to the captain’s house tomorrow at dawn if you want the work. Ask for Hemlock.”

With that, the guard continued his patrol, leaving Rat frozen between shadow and light.

Dawn would come, and with it a choice. Real coins, perhaps. A real shopping spree—not for silk or silver, but for cough medicine and sturdy boots. For survival, which in Rat’s world was the only luxury that truly mattered.

He turned toward the bell tower, feet quick and silent against the cobblestones, imagination no longer dwelling on what he would buy, but on what he might actually afford. The difference was small but critical—the distance between fantasy and possibility, between dreaming and planning.

For the first time since he could remember, Rat allowed himself to feel something dangerous and fragile, something that tasted sweeter than any confection behind glass windows.

Hope.

What did you think of Rat’s journey? Have you ever written a story about survival and unexpected kindness? Share your thoughts in the comments!

If you like this little story please consider subscribing to my blog so that you don’t miss any new ones. Also you can check out other stories that I have written and are currently writing like Forbidden Bond, a tale about a human falling in love with a Half goblin while being hunted down by fallen angels and evil nobles. Or you can check out Chronicles of the Giantess and follow Valorie the Giantess as she adventures across the land of Calladan. Please feel free to leave me a comment. I would love to know what you think about any of the stories.