“Shut up, you. I owe you a beating anyway, in return for the one I got for not stopping you last time.” The burly arm was wrapped around Octavian’s neck, squeezing his throat as he was dragged backward into an alleyway. He strained to get away, but it was hopeless and the rushing crowd didn’t even look in his direction.

There were three other boys with the butcher’s apprentice. All of them had the long-armed rangy growth of children used to hard physical work. They wore aprons stained with fresh blood from their labors at the market, and Octavian panicked, almost fainting with terror at their cruel expressions. The boys jeered and punched at him as they turned a corner in the alley. There, the din of the market was cut off by the high walls of tenements that leaned out above, almost meeting the ones opposite and creating an unnatural darkness.

The butcher’s boy threw Octavian into the sluggish filth that was ankle deep in the alleyway, a combination of years of refuse and human waste thrown from the narrow windows above. Octavian scrambled to one side to escape, but one of them kicked him hard enough to shove him back into place, lifting the small body and grunting with the impact. Octavian screamed with pain and fear as the other two joined the first, kicking with hard feet at whatever part of him they could reach.

After a minute, the three boys rested with their hands on their knees, panting from effort. Octavian was barely conscious, his body curled into a tight ball of misery, barely distinguishable from the dirt he lay in.

The butcher’s boy pulled back his lips into a sneer, raising his fist and laughing coarsely as Octavian flinched from him.

“Serves you right, you little Thurin bastard. You’ll think twice before stealing from my master next time, won’t you?” He took careful aim and kicked Octavian in the face, whooping as the small head was rocked back. Octavian lay senseless with his eyes open and his face half submerged. Some dirty water flowed between his lips and, even unconscious, he began to cough and choke weakly. He didn’t feel the fingers that searched him or hear the pleased shout when the older boys found the silver ring in its protective pouch.

The butcher’s boy whistled softly as he tried on the metal band. The stone was a simple dome of heavy jade, held to the metal with tiny silver claws.

“I wonder who you stole this from?” he said, glancing at the prone figure. Each of them kicked the boy once more on behalf of the owner of the ring, then they walked back to the market, thoroughly pleased with the upturn in their fortunes.