The Hell of It by Peter Orullian Page A

enforced the law was practical. Men Gynedo would use to play an entirely different kind of game. With the kind of stakes that could warm his blood.
    Malen felt suddenly small and silly for having gone to the boat with Marta’s things. Had he really thought he could gamble his and Roth’s way out of their lot?
    I’m tired, Marta.
    But he couldn’t afford to be tired. He still had Roth to look after.
    The city guard who was seated looked across at the Leaguemen and nodded. In a swift movement, one of the Leaguemen swept Roth close, holding him tight. The bright sound of steel being drawn filled the small room as the first city guard drew his blade and held it out in front of Malen. A warning.
    â€œLet him go!” Malen cried.
    Roth looked scared. “Da?”
    The other city-man stood and came around behind Malen, hauling him to his feet and jerking his arms back. The guard crossed Malen’s wrists, and bound them with a lash of leather. “Let’s go,” he said, and began pulling him toward the door.
    â€œNo, Da! Don’t let them!” Roth began to struggle with all his boyhood strength, his eyes filling with tears of worry and fear.
    Malen yanked his arms free, feeling something tear in his left shoulder. But he got loose and went to Roth, kneeling down again so the boy could see his eyes.
    â€œIt’ll be all right. I promise.” He hated the taste of those lies. But they were the only words that made sense to say. “I’ve made some poor choices, but I can get past them. Be brave until I do. I’ll come for you soon.”
    Malen then looked up at the nearest Leagueman. “You’re taking him to the orphanage?”
    The Leagueman’s eyes showed a touch of sympathy, but before he could speak, the city guard broke in.
    â€œIt’s no loaf of oat bread you took. You robbed the mayor’s tax man. You stole the coin of people all along the seaside district. People who will now be asked to pay again.” There was a long pause. “Finish making your goodbyes.”
    Roth began to weep openly, silently. Malen’s boy shook his head, trying in his only way to deny what he’d just heard.
    â€œNo, Da. Don’t go. Tell them about Ma. Tell them we’re rough men. Tell them we just wanted to sell her nice things. Get a stash of our own.”
    It took all the strength he had left not to break down. Because he was looking at his last broken promise. He’d never be able to make good on the assurance he’d given Marta that he’d take good care of Roth. He’d tried. He’d done the only things he could think to do. But it hadn’t been enough. And maybe worse … he’d had some real lapses in judgment. His boy would now pay the price for his failure.
    He turned it all over in his mind. Could he have done any of it differently? What play did he have left? After a few moments, his thoughts only jumbled together, pressed under the reality of what was happening.
    He looked up at the Leagueman still holding his son. In a broken voice he said, “Isn’t the League supposed to see past the lettered law? Can’t you help us?”
    The second Leagueman opened his mouth to speak, his expression sharp. He looked like one ready to reprove. But the man holding Roth held up an arm, calling silence with the motion.
    He looked down at the top of Roth’s head, then back at Malen. There was an idea forming in the man’s mind. Malen could see it. A moment later, he loosened his grip on Roth and hunkered down beside him.
    He gave Malen a serious look, and spoke softly. “I have an … arrangement for you to consider.” The lean Leagueman sounded genuine enough. “I’ll appeal to the city.” He looked at the two guards. “Get you acquitted here, now, without trial. And in exchange, you’ll place the boy in our care and service until the debt is paid.”
    â€œI’m