Fleet O’Feet entered one last transaction into a ledger in the center of the well-polished counter he stood behind. One cheek wrinkled in a grimace, he strained to make his inscription perfect.

   As recently as a day earlier, the lad's master had rebuked him sternly over the deteriorating state of his handwriting, saying that often as not he had to resort to using a lens to make out words in his own ledger. During this discussion, Fleet wisely refrained from calling the master alchemist’s attention to his own nearly illegible scrawl, or the fact that the years and many journeys in the cruel sun had not treated the man’s eyesight very well. Such impertinence would surely earn him extra duties, cutting into the time he had reserved for spending with his friends.

   At fourteen, the alchemist’s apprentice was anything but bookish. Shorter than his master by a full twelve inches, Fleet was quick of mind and body. He was a handsome youth. Piercing blue eyes danced above a quick smile. His hair grew long, touched the collar of his tunic and covered his ears. He liked it that way and never failed to offer protest when dispatched to Hasaad the barber for a trim.

   Long hours of practice with both staff and sword hardened the lad somewhat. This training was supervised by various weapons specialists indebted to Grimm. Each of these strong men contributed a unique skill toward an ongoing effort to create a physically competent, combat tuned and mentally alert Fleet O’Feet. The hoped-for result would be a lad who could confidently travel anywhere in the city, on or off the street of dreams fearing no one. It worked too well, though. Occasional flirtations with overconfidence were a troublesome side effect that worried Grimm more than any dangers he might occasionally face.

   The inside of the little shop of poisons and potions had been Fleet’s personal domain since the day his apprenticeship began. He always organized the bottles and vials and packets of various materials in such a way as to be both pleasing to his master and accessible to himself. Least asked for items were stored on higher shelves than he could reach, even on tiptoes. These required a step stool, which Fleet always kept nearby.

   Ingeniously, Fleet had devised a rollaway system of stashing coins. Only a very few coins were kept visible in the cash drawer. Mostly they were silver but also there were coppers. Gold rounds were discreetly inserted into a slot below the counter, then silently conducted by means of gravity along a cloth-lined chute into a holding pouch hidden beneath a secret access inside the counter.

   The guard serpent’s cage also rested under this counter. It was very dark under there. Any would-be burglar would get only as far as the snake and not think to look underneath or near its wire frame for a secret door. Not that there were an abundance of burglars on the street of dreams with a death wish anyway. Stealing from Grimm was not the wisest of things to do. 

   Still, In the past, on several occasions, desperate or foolhardy would-be robbers had attempted to relieve the shop of its earnings strong-arm style. Those thieves had been met by a sad expression on Fleet O’Feet’s face, as he held up a cash box containing a few coppers and a couple of silvers offering an apology, shrugging and offering sagely,  "It’s been a slow day, today. Is this enough money to face my master’s wrath for?"

   It always was not. The malefactor invariably reconsidered the worth of his life, then beat a hasty retreat, secure in the knowledge that since nothing had been taken, Grimm would never discover his temporary loss of good judgment or feel the need to take action.

   The apprentice took all such confrontations personally. Despite Grimm’s direct orders to absolutely never to offer resistance during an attempted robbery, the lad felt it his duty to protect each and every coin. Once, a few months beyond his thirteenth birthday, freshly arrived at work from a visit to the sword master, he took on and defeated two dream powder addicts who had entered, knives drawn and demanded money. Flush with victory, he proudly displayed a minor flesh wound to Grimm, who responded to this bravery by throwing four separate pieces of furniture at him.

   Though used to such outbursts, Fleet, angry and on the verge of tears, still demanded to know why.

   "Because I can render retribution on robbers any time I wish! " The giant alchemist bellowed. "I have more than enough gold to see me through to the day of my death!  But tell me, where in the netherhells would I find another apprentice who can cipher, inscribe, and who has enough wits about him to not become addicted to street powders?"

   Fleet's anger melted away. he read what the grizzled old doctor had said between the lines,  that he valued his apprentice greatly and cared for him. The boy got the message. From that time forth, he relied more on wits,  than fighting skills as his first line of defense.

   The memory of that confrontation and its subsequent message crept into his consciousness bringing a smile to Fleet’s face. Just then, the door off the street opened, ringing the bell at the top of the jam. He closed the ledger and placed it under the counter.

   Fleet bowed in silent greeting as a caravan trader entered. This customer could be easily identified as such by his white gutra, thinly blue-striped ankle length robe, and a white thobe, a cloth head covering, banded also in blue. These traditional garment markings were uncommonly seen on the street of dreams, but the alchemist’s venue attracted people from all over the world and Fleet was well schooled in identifying from where customers might originate. Such information often gave him strategic advantage in transactions.

   Fleet found it difficult to mask his distaste. But he had a responsibility. "How can I help you, sir?" he asked in the most pleasant voice he could muster. Despite intense effort, his tone was tinged with ice.

   If he caught any of this, the trader did not show it. "I am looking for a particular powder." He wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. "I am not certain of the name of it, but I understand that it makes thralls more docile, easier to manage."

   Fleet responded instantly, saying,  "It is called ‘Follow Me Powder’" He paused authoritatively . "It is a very rare substance. This powder is heavily in demand by guildsmen of the trades. At this moment, we are without a single grain."

   Half of what Fleet was saying was true. The Thieves Guild did regularly purchase "Follow Me." They used it to disable guards. It left no aftereffects and was a non-lethal method to put human obstacles out of harm’s way when liberating treasure.

    The lie was in the quantity on hand. "Follow Me" was in a half filled jar marked with a numerical code no more than five feet from where the trader stood. Fleet just didn’t want to sell him any to be used on slaves.

   "Very well," the trader said. If he was disappointed, it didn't show. "I am staying at the Inn of the One-Eyed Ox for the next two days," he continued. " If some of this powder should come available, please contact me."

   Reaching into the folds of his robe, he produced a silver coin, flipped it to Fleet O'Feet, adding, "You won’t forget, will you?" He winked, then, without waiting for an answer, he departed, dragging the slave roughly behind him.

   Fleet stared after him, the caught coin in his left hand.

   "That’s the way of the world, lad," came a gentle voice from behind him. "Some are enslaved and some are free."

   "That’s it?" Fleet turned to his master outrage etched across his young face. "Some are enslaved and some are free? What kind of world is this where kids wear slave collars?" It was a question without an answer.

   Grimm sighed. His sometimes very streetwise young apprentice could also be more than a little naive. This would bear careful explanation. Fleet O’Feet was given to occasional impulsive behavior. Now had all the earmarks of being one of those times.

   "Lad," he said, "Do you remember that I’ve spoken often about the balance between law and Chaos?"

   "Yes." Fleet felt a lesson coming on and moderated his tone slightly.

   "Well, all slave owners are of Chaos, even those who treat their thralls well. that is why you are my apprentice rather than my slave. It is a life choice."

   Fleet opened his mouth to protest the idea that he wpuld ever tolerate being a slave, then shut it again because Grimm continued.

   "There is not much to balance the chaos of slavery within the Law. But one of those few balances is the coming to freedom of a slave. A former slave, having earned or stolen his freedom through honorable means, is a balance to Chaos. Do you understand?"

   Fleet nodded, half-heartedly.

   "Some day, that boy will earn his freedom and that will balance accounts. Meanwhile, you did the right thing in not selling him the enthralling powder, lad. But you must return his money to him. It represents an obligation that you cannot fulfill."

   Fleet did not disagree. He turned back to the counter, retrieved his carrysack from underneath and started for the door,  hesitated, then  turned back to once more face Grimm.

   "I’ll probably not be back in time to close up," he said, "is that all right?"

    It was the right thing to do. Grimm said, "Be careful. The city’s no place to play."

   Fleet laughed aloud at that notion and his eyes danced.. He’d been playing in the city streets since he’d taken his first steps. He turned on his heel and swept through out onto the street of dreams like a desert wind, leaving only the jangling bell behind him.

* * *

   Belestria, the larger city beyond the closed, compact neighborhood that made up the street of dreams, consisted of a huge and complex network of crisscrossed streets, courtyards and alleyways, each named for the tradesmen or other like activity that dominated it. The street of dreams, for example, acquired its name as a result of the many exotic "helpers to the trades" who occupied its buildings and side ways ("the trades" being slang for the guilds of assassins, thieves, wizards, alchemists, illusionists, and adventurers, the sanctioned organizations engaged in the war between Law and Chaos). The street of gems was so named for its precious stone merchants, and so on in that fashion.

   The street of tears was especially well named. That avenue paralleled the great wall of the city on the inside, curving as the wall curved along its endless circle. Beginning at the South Gate it wound through the fruit bazaar, past the City Guard barracks, then municipal jail.

   On the street of tears dwelled the very poorest permanent residents of the city in the most barren and basic of housing. The first stopping point for new immigrants of little or no means, it was in many ways as dangerous as the street of dreams in terms of crime and violence. 

   Slave holding pens and the slave bazaar marked the end of  the street of tears. Now the name changed to street of joy, as it was lined on both sides with bordellos, inns and taverns.. Between the two avenues, stood the commerce gate which opened each morning at dawn to admit incoming traders from the west and north. Proximity to this gate served the innkeepers, tavern masters and bawdy houses with an endless supply of fresh customers. 

   This was an area of the city Fleet O’Feet seldom ventured into. He had been warned several times by his master that lingering for very long on the street of joy could result in serious illness, possibly requiring ingestion of extremely rude tasting mold compounds. But the alchemist did not elaborate beyond that, simply instructing the lad to "check with me before you go there." That had been as far as it went. Chanai Pili and other boys of Fleet’s acquaintance subsequently filled in the missing information most eloquently, saving Grimm further need for explanation.

   Unlike so many destinations on the street of dreams, the slave pens were a not hidden or a secret. Slavery, as had been explained to Fleet,  was in fact a legal business. Auctioneers were licensed by the city-state. To be paid as a premium to Prince Ossarian, the law mandated remission of ten per cent of the sale of any slave. Tax collectors maintained station there from dawn to dusk to make sure this obligation would be satisfied. Written title in the form of certificates of ownership to slaves changed hands with as much caution and care as any valuable property might.

   Young Fleet O’Feet had to pass the slave pens, as he jogged along the street of tears. This route was the shortest possible from the apothecary to the Inn of the One-eyed Ox, located on the street of joy, five intersections beyond the commerce gate. Not one of Belestria’s more scenic strolls, this was not a journey the lad would have volunteered for, save in the discharge of an obligation.

   The stench of unwashed bodies and unattended sewage assaulted the young apprentice as he neared the slave pens. The sun had fallen into early evening by this time which put it below the wall, plunging the street into shadow. But enough light remained that the torches had not yet been set out. Indeed there was more than enough light for Fleet to see for himself, the despair in the eyes of the human chattel imprisoned in the pens to his either side as he passed.

   The slave pens were three roofless caged enclosures. A barred open front faced the street. A low fence separated pedestrians or would-be buyers from the merchandise. At the center of each 30-foot by 30-foot enclosure stood a stout pole some fifteen feet high. Attached to this pole at a height of ten or so feet were anywhere from one to two dozen chains, each of which led downward to a copper slave collar, securely attached to the neck of a slave for sale. Some pens held groups of men, others groups of women. They were never commingled.

   By the time Fleet reached the commerce gate the scene overcame him. It was just too much for him to take in at once. Holding both hands over his mouth, he retreated into an alley. He retched and spat until there lay nothing else in his belly to regurgitate. His body shook for several more moments with dry heaves until, finally, control returned to him. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he emerged back out onto what remained of the street of tears, now a hard look of determination on his face..

   The Inn of the One-eyed Ox was very popular with caravan traders, both as a refuge from the rigors of business and as a meeting spot for after hours business. On the evening of Fleet O'Feet's visit, it was especially crowded. A buzz of conversation mixed several languages and accents. The serving girls were veiled, in northwestern custom, though the northwestern disapproval of beer was not evident at all.

   The alchemist's apprentice strode through the double swinging doors of the tavern as if he were a once a week regular. Garbed in the Belestrian  tunic and trousers, the youth drew instant attention and the din of the tavern quieted perceptibly. Some patrons paused in their revelry or other interests to regard the audacious newcomer. Others eyed him peripherally. It was rare to see anyone city-bred here. It was not their side of town.

    Fleet's head moved from side to side as he scanned the room. At first he did not see who he was looking for. Eventually, his eyes came to rest on one particular trader, the same one who had earlier in the day been in the apothecary. In a tavern crowded with similarly dressed men, identification was a simple task. Beside him at the table on a chair, knees drawn to his chest in fetal position a slave boy sat, eyes closed, face a picture of misery. only now, he carried bore open wound over his eye. His hair was caked with dried blood. Bruises were visible on his arms, chest and upper body, as were several fresh burn marks.

   It was too much. A red rage washed over the alchemist's apprentice like a flood. Without even thinking, he brought forth a dagger from his belt and, whipped it sidearm more than thirty feet with uncanny accuracy. The razor-edged weapon rotated thrice, severed the leather leash attached to the young slave and finally sunk to almost hilt deep in a roof support five feet beyond .

"Assassin!" someone cried. As if of a single body everyone in the room dropped to the sawdust floor. An eerie silence followed.  

   "No, wait! Listen to me." Fleet shouted.

   Heads peeked up from behind overturned tables. He had their attention.

   The lad spoke again, this time more softly, "No one is to be harmed. I am only here to return an unearned coin." He reached into one of his pouches,  fetched it out and flipped it to the stunned trader for whom it was intended,  who caught it despite his state of panic. During all this, the slave boy hadn't moved, but his eyes were open and they stared blankly at Fleet. 

   "And I’m here to right a wrong." Fleet decided. Authoritatively, to the young slave, he commanded, "You, boy. Wait outside for me."

   The trader finally found his voice and with it a measure of courage. He snapped, "That boy is my personal property. You do not have the right to do this."

   Anger flared once more inside Fleet. He did not respond with words, but instead  took two steps toward the trader,  opening one of the small carrysacks on his belt as he moved. Almost immediately, a serpent’s head and body poked up.

   "Viper." someone gasped.

   "Sorcerer." whispered someone else. Most just hugged the floor.

   Whatever bravado, the trader had mustered now drained away. He was paralyzed with fear because now Fleet was close enough for him see a flicker of insanity in the boy’s eyes. Recognizing his peril and knowing he dare not do anything except what the alchemist’s apprentice instructed, he surrendered.

   "What do you want?" He croaked.

   "You will immediately declare all your slaves to be free." Fleet said, knowing that he now had the upper hand. By now,  the serpent had made its way partway up his tunic. It rotated its head and part of its neck around and was flicking its forked tongue in the general direction of the shaking trader.

   The man knew he was whipped. "I.. I declare manumission for every slave I own." The trader stuttered loudly, "In. . . In the eyes of the gods and these witnesses, they are slaves no more."

   "Now, boy." Fleet commanded, turning his attention to the frozen slave. "Go outside and wait for me now!"

   The slave boy complied, moving as if entranced. As far as he was concerned, Fleet was his new master, to be obeyed so as to avoid a beating. He arose and padded out through the swinging double doors.

   Fleet waited until the slave was outside, flashed a wicked grin, then tossed the snake onto the table right in front of the frightened trader, who involuntarily screamed and flung himself backward out of harm’s way. The snake shimmered for a second or two and then  immediately morphed into a length of green twine.

   Inside of the Inn of the One-eyed Ox, all eyes were silently trained on the alchemist's apprentice as he retrieved his dagger. In fact, the silence was so utter that for the next 20 seconds, as Fleet backed through the double doors out into the street, a flea walking on the sawdust would have created a din. Then a roar of laughter erupted that could be heard two intersections in each direction along the street of joy.

   Fleet and the slave he’d just stolen vanished to the echo of that laughter. Together, they ran the entire distance back to the street of dreams, as if in fear that demons of the netherhells were chasing them.

* * *

   Morning found Fleet O’Feet hard at work in the apothecary upon Grimm's arrival. The master alchemist raised an eyebrow in regard to this uncharacteristic early appearance by his often tardy student. He offered no comment beyond a deeply rumbling "Good morning," in response to the lad’s cheerful greeting. Long experience had taught the doctor that explanations regarding the inexplicable almost always would be forthcoming in their own time. Where young Fleet was concerned, probing for answers prematurely inevitably resulted in rebellion and chaos, two things he tolerated from no one, and from the apprentice, only occasionally. He disappeared into his laboratory, leaving the lad to his tasks.

   The bell above the door jingled, announcing the first customer of the day. Captain Sypos, of Prince Ossarian’s Guard entered the apothecary. Hat in hand, resplendent in his uniform, he appeared before the counter tall and straight, the very model of a Captain of The Royal Guard. A large moustache contrasted his tanned handsome face. Today, though, Sypos wore a stern expression on that face, A grave demeanor clouded his usually pleasant disposition.

   "I would speak with your master, apprentice." The Captain said quietly, causing Fleet to marvel at the usually less formal Captain's demeanor. " Please fetch him at once." 

   "No need, Sypos, I am here." said Grimm, as he pushed aside the curtain to the laboratory. "What brings you so far from your jurisdiction?"

   In truth, the street of dreams was in Sypos’ jurisdiction. City guards seldom came around here though, in some part probably due to the extremely chaotic nature of most of the street’s residents but also in respect of their demonstrated ability to solve criminal problems on their own.

   "A complaint has been lodged, Grimm." Sypos stated flatly. This attempt at being official was tempered by a touch of sadness in his gruff voice. "I have been asked to accompany your apprentice and yourself to the Imperial Courtroom to answer charges of theft by unlawful taking."

   "What do you know of this, lad?" Grimm asked quietly, not succeeding well in disguising his rising anger.

   Fleet stared at the floor for a moment, then beckoned the two men to follow him. He pulled down a foldaway ladder leading to the loft where he sometimes spent the night, not wishing to face his mother for one reason or another.

   "Come down, it’s ok." he called up. A moment later a small round face appeared at the top of the ladder. One look at Grimm and Sypos was all it took. The face disappeared again. No further cajoling could make it return. Exasperated, Fleet finally climbed up into the loft and fetched the slave boy down into the shop.

   Both Sypos and Grimm were tough men, each a veteran of his own wars. The sight of the child’s bruises and scars was almost more than either could take, though neither man said so aloud. They were both looking to Fleet for an explanation.

   "The way of the world," Fleet reiterated Grimm’s words back to him in a low steady voice, "is that some are enslaved and some are free. This boy, who does not know any name, other than slave, is now free. I will fight whoever I have must in order for him remain so."

   Grimm, for one, absolutely believed him. He’d known this lad too long. No one could be more stubborn or thickheaded than Fleet O’Feet with his mind made up. He cast a sideward glance at Sypos, who  cleared his throat and said,  "We are expected at court. You will be able to state your case there." His look was even sterner than before. "I hope you have thought this out, youngster."

   Grimm hoped so too, but did not comment. Instead, he opened his key ring to the apothecary front door key and nodded his readiness to proceed. 

"Let's go." He said with a tone of resignation in his voice. The law of the city was a fickle thing. it was never wise to keep it waiting.

* * *

   Prince Ossarian’s  public courtroom was as regal as might befit the royal ruler of a powerful city. To the left of the throne on marble benches sat counselors to the court. To its immediate front stood a massive table of polished wood behind which sat both the Lord Prosecutor and the Lord Defense Counselor at opposite ends. Behind that, a vertical barrier separated this working area from several dozen wooden benches, a gallery wherein on a given day might be found spectators from any class of the citizenry taking an interest in the workings of law, or persons with future business with the court.

   Fleet, the master alchemist and the slave boy, looking even smaller and more helpless beside the bulk of Grimm, stood at the defense end of the table facing the throne. Sypos, the Lord prosecutor and the caravan trader stood at the opposite end also. All awaited the arrival of Prince Ossarian.

   The prince appeared from behind a velvet curtain to one side of the throne platform. He dressed differently than Fleet, who had never been in court before, expected. A simple black robe hung loosely about him from his shoulders to the floor and a matching black skullcap adorned his head. The Royal Person seated himself on the throne. Then he nodded slightly to a swarthy, red-faced man, who bellowed, "All be seated." The words echoed in the hall along with a rustle and a murmur everyone obeyed his command.

   The Prince nodded toward the Lord Prosecutor, who rose and began, "Before you to be heard, Royal One, is a claim of unauthorized theft brought by an illustrious visitor to the city. The accused has no guild affiliation. Therefore, he can show no warrant to steal."

   He paused to let that damaging statement sink in, then continued, "Yet, steal is exactly what he has done. The accused has thieved the personal property of one  Abda Ha ‘Abaad, a trader enjoying the the protection of Royal Law. Additionally the accused has humiliated the petitioner before his peers causing him to fear for his life."

   The Lord Defense Counselor rose and said, "We will show a different story, Royal One." Then he sat back down.

   Prince Ossarian's voice boomed out. "Rise Fleet O’Feet, face your accuser." He commanded.

   Fleet rose to his full height of five foot six inches.

   "Rise now also, Abda, Ha ‘Abaad," the Royal One commanded. "Face the accused."

   The trader rose to a height well above that of the apprentice alchemist.

   The Prince studied them for a moment then motioned them to resume their seats. He commented, "The Lord Prosecutor would have me believe that you are very formidable for one so small in stature."  This comment invoked a scattering of laughter.

   Fleet felt his ears redden. He was sensitive about his height and felt it acutely when standing or even sitting near Grimm.

   "Who speaks for the trader?" The Prince went called out. The question was a required part of the court protocol. The Lord prosecutor always presented his argument first.

   Several traditionally clad traders who had been in attendance the night before stood up in the gallery.

   "Come forward and be heard." Concluded the Prince.

    Each of the Lord Prosecutor's witnesses wove a tale of killing rage. They told of the ferocity of Fleet's attack on a helpless and defenseless Abda, Ha ‘Abaad. One even described fire coming from the lad’s nostrils and smoke pouring out of his ears, a statement not lost on the gallery, which tittered in momentary amusement.

   The Lord Defense Counselor waited until that witness to cross-examine.

   "Were you ever afraid that the young warrior you have described would attack you personally?" came the question.

   "No," came the reply, "it seemed that his only goal was that of the theft of the slave."

   "Did the young warrior actually touch the person of Abda, Ha ‘Abaad?"

   "No. He only threatened him with a knife and a snake."

   The Lord defense Counselor produced a green short length of cord. "Would this be the snake with which Abda, Ha ‘abaad was threatened?"

   The gallery tittered again, this time more loudly.

   "It was a snake when there was threatening." The witness insisted. "It changed into rope only afterward."

   "Did Abda, Ha ‘Abaad yield, or did he take action to defend himself?"

   " He yielded immediately. He took no other action than that."

   Again, came a murmur of laughter.

   The Lord defense counselor dismissed the witness and gestured, arms apart toward the Prince of the City. "Royal One," he stated, using his best  Defense Counselor voice. "I submit that there has been no theft here." He swung his gesture around toward the trader. "Since Abda, Ha ‘Abaad immediately acquiesced and did not offer to defend himself against the supposed attack, he subjugated himself to the will of Young Fleet O’Feet."

   The Lord Prosecutor bounded to his feet and shouted, "I object to this line of reasoning. In the face of deadly force, anyone might employ discretion."

   "Obviously the gods intended that ownership of the slaves in question be nullified," interjected the Lord Defense Counselor. "Had Abda, Ha ‘Abaad conducted himself in a more manly fashion, no mere slip of a boy could confiscate property with a throwing knife and two turns of twine."

   Now the court erupted in boisterous laughter, then hummed with discussion.

   Fleet leaped to his feet and shouted, "May I be heard?" 

    Immediately the din quieted to a whisper.

   "Of course, you may speak in your own behalf." Prince Ossarian replied..

   The muscles in Fleet's face tautened. He asserted,  "These are the facts. May the gods strike me if they are not." Then he walked out from behind the table onto the open area beyond and approached the throne by five steps.

   An undertone of voices rolled quietly through the hall while Grimm gaped in genuine astonishment.

   Taking a deep breath, the lad pointed an accusing finger back at the table. His eyes flashed with blue fire. Despite his youth and slight stature, the youth commanded the moment with audacious expertise.

    "This man, Abda, Ha ‘Abaad treated his slave in a cruel and inhumane manner." Fleet declared emphatically. He then turned his head back toward the prince and beseeched,  "If a man flogs his donkey on the street an unreasonable number of times, he may be arrested and held accountable for cruelty, is that not true?"

   Prince Ossarian affirmed with a not that is was.

   "Then what I did was to act in response to unreasonable cruelty." Fleet stated flatly. "When I went to the One-eyed Ox, I did not intend free any slaves." His tone changed slightly. He threw a side glance at Grimm. "My master has explained to me how slavery is the law of the land, that it is sanctioned and taxed by the Royal Family. I went there that night intending only to return an unearned coin, following my master’s instructions."

   Fleet motioned for the slave boy rise with a motion of his hand. In response to a nod, he removed the fresh tunic he’d been provided revealing fresh bruises and scars. The gallery breathed a collective gasp as the young slave rotated slowly to allow his injuries to be seen.

   Fleet continued. "But this boy was bleeding when he came into my sight for the second time that day. And I had already witnessed his maltreatment earlier."

    Pausing to let his words sink in, Fleet cast a disdainful eye on the person of the trader who only now was beginning to realize what a formidable opponent the alchemist's apprentice had become.

   "He had bruises on his body where this man - " Fleet spat the word disrespectfully, "had beaten him cruelly, rendered him nearly senseless."

   The entire court had fallen into an awed silence. Fleet paced back and forth for a moment, the cried out, "Cruelty to animals is an act of chaos, is that not so?"

   Grimm regarded his apprentice with utter amazement. He could not believe that Fleet was questioning the Prince of the City as easily and vehemently he might one of his friends who had the misfortune to disagree with him. The Lord Defense Counselor's mouth hung open in just the faint outline of a smile. He had dealt with the law for more years than the boy had been alive. he knew where this argument was going. 

   Meanwhile, Prince Ossarian nodding in agreement, had that same imperceptible smile crossing his face as well, but he caught it in time and resumed his former stern demeanor.

   But Fleet wasn't giving any quarter. "Than logically, cruelty against any human being, slave or freed man, but particularly a child with no defense available to him is an act of chaos as well." He gestured dramatically. "What the Lord defense counselor has stated is not true!" Fleet drove home the point. "There has been a theft!"

   The onlookers groaned in unison. It seemed as though the brash apprentice was confessing, thereby undermining his defense.

   Fleet pointed again. "Abda, Ha ‘Abaad committed an act of cruelty against an innocent." He paused. "This was an injustice, an act of chaos that demanded balance."

   The lad raised his voice enough to be heard in the back of the hall. It was a cry of defiance. He shouted, "I stole the slave by trick! The accusation is true! By illusion and intimidation, I acted to restore the balance between Chaos and Law."

    He spread his hands apart in a gesture of emphasis and lowered his voice. "I am guilty of theft," He said, pronouncing each word carefully. " Guilty. Of theft! But I am innocent of unsanctioned theft."

   Of the Sovereign, he asked, "Does not the thieves guild code plainly state that anyone, Guildsman or no with wits enough to do so, may steal by deception?"

   Prince Ossarian threw a sideward glance toward his Chief Steward of the Thieves Guild, who gravely nodded in affirmation.

   Again, the courtroom fell silent. All those looking on breathlessly strained to hear what else the apprentice alchemist would say. How far would he go?

   Fleet summarized as he resumed pacing. He said, "My theft of the slave was legal. My freeing of all Abda, Ha ‘Abaad’s slaves by trick balanced all accounts against order created by his inhumanity. I think I need say no more."

   A thunderous roar of approval erupted from the gallery. Every one to a man stood and applauded this bold youth who dared demand justice for an abused slave.

   For twenty minutes or more the row of counselor judges deliberated amongst themselves before rendering advice to The Royal One. Fleet had returned to his chair and now sat slumped deeply in it, eyes closed, muscles slack. Now he looked more like a lost child, rather than the stormy orator who had audaciously just shaken the Royal Court to its foundations. The lad had taken a gamble, and he knew it, a heavy one. If he lost, his master could possibly face fines or even dungeon time, since he, himself could not be legally imprisoned. It was a heavy burden.

   Finally, the court came back to order. The principles were invited to rise to face judgement. 

   Prince Ossarian spoke. His voice was calm and his tone deliberate. His gaze was focused on the trader. 

    "Abda, Ha ‘Abaad," The Royal One said sternly. "It is unfortunate that your coming to our city has cost you your slaves. Perhaps you will be more careful how you treat your property in the future. It is the decision of this court that all those you freed under duress, shall remain in Belestria, under the protection of the Royal Family for one year, after which, they shall be free to go anywhere they wish."

    Before a single cheer could be uttered, The Prince’s gaze turned immediately on Fleet O’Feet, who's eyes met his respectfully.

   "As for you, alchemist’s apprentice," The Prince’s voice was somber. "I shall be sending someone to check on you from time to time to see that you are behaving lawfully. I very much expect that you will be doing so and will be gravely disappointed if you are not."

   Then it was Grimm's turn.  The prince said, "Master Alchemist, I suggest that you keep this youth close at hand, lest his impetuosity or some miscalculation in his interpreting of the law land you in a dungeon cell."

   Forthwith, and to thunderous approval, Prince Ossarian dismissed the court and departed the room.

                                                 * * *

   "Where did you learn to speak in public like that?" Grimm asked of Fleet O’Feet, on the outer steps of the great hall as they were leaving.

   "My friends and I debate a great number of topics," Fleet answered simply, and grinned disarmingly, glancing upward into Grimm’s face with that look of innocence that almost always indicated that he was telling only as much of the truth as was needed.

   Grimm was nonplussed. "If you ever do anything like this again, I will drop you from a city wall top to count the number of times you bounce." He growled. "The law is no game, boy."

   "That is to be expected," Fleet answered respectfully, his head bowed to hide the smile that would have betrayed that he did not believe it for a moment.

   The alchemist and his apprentice paused long enough to watch the slave boy and his mother who had been among the trader's other property, reunited at the base of the steps. They waved as Guardsmen escorted them away to a new life in the Royal Quarter. Grimm then did something he almost never did, hailed a ride cart, ordering the trembling driver who recognized him to conduct them straightaway to the apothecary on the street of dreams.

   The apprentice fell asleep within a minute of their departure. Grimm took it in stride and heaved a long sigh of pure astonishment. The giant man, feared by dangerous persons, privately wondered to himself how he would ever survive the apprenticeship of Fleet O'Feet.