“I know all about Xenophon and his travels, old man,” the child said squeakily and angrily. “I am not a stupid child you can pick on.”
“Hey. Weren’t you the one who just pick pocketed me? I have every right to insult you.” I paused, and gave the kid a little shove. “And how does some common street criminal know his Homer as well as his history? Shouldn’t you be hanging out with Aristotle or somebody?”
The boy opened his mouth wide and raised his hand as if to yell something back at me, but a third voice interrupted him.
“Who’s your friend?” A voice that could only be Helena’s asked.
I looked to my right, noticing her approach but did a double-take at what I saw. She wore native garb colored in dull yellows, oranges and reds, complete with a thin, see-through veil over her face. It had a distinctly eastern flair and style to it, one that reminded me of something from an episode of I Dream of Jeanie. I had fallen hard for Jeanie when watching reruns of the show as a kid, her scandalous attire and overt sexual undertones always getting my blood flowing, and Helena’s sudden association with my childhood crush brought on such urges even now, and it didn’t help that I knew Helena was available in ways Barbara Eden had never been.
“Who this?” I asked nonchalantly, trying to play it cool as I glanced down at the thief. “Just some young punk who tried to rob me.”
“I see,” she said.
Ever since Xenophon had laid eyes on Helena, he hadn’t been able to look away. His posture was sagged, his shoulders were slumped and his head was lulled longingly to one side as he stared at Helena strut towards us. The kid’s eyes never stopped moving. There was too much to see. His eyes darted from ample cleavage to legs clearly visible beneath the sheer fabric that hung tightly around her thighs and into Helena’s eyes, which were gazing at the boy in a way that would melt any man’s heart. The kid’s mouth hung wide open and his tongue dangled from it. I rolled my eyes, reached out, and shut his mouth, snapping him from his trance. He shook his head and tried to focus.
I chuckled. I knew he had to have been experiencing one of those dreams meant only for the movies. The ones where the girl walks in slow motion, her eyes locked with your own as she slowly removes her clothing, purring that she wants you. It was always a great gimmick in the movies because few men could honestly deny not having had one of those dreams at one point in their lives.
Helena walked over and put her hands on my right shoulder, resting her chin upon them and tilting her head to give me a kiss on the cheek before scrutinizing Xenophon.
“So, dear, what should we do with this young thief?” She asked.
“I’m not sure,” I replied, turning my head back towards Xenophon. “I hear authorities further east would cut off his hands for such a crime.”
“Oh my…” Helena purred.
The boy scoffed, unimpressed at my threat and turned to simply walk away, but before he could take another step, I reached out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to a stop.
“Heel,” I ordered.
I reached into my bag, and felt around for the last piece of gear I had brought with me. Finding what I was looking for, I pulled out my Balisong knife, more commonly known as a butterfly knife. I’d found it on a dead South American mercenary during an Op that took my SEALs and I deep into Brazil. Taking prizes from dead enemy combatants was frowned upon in the modern military, but it wasn’t a trophy, it was a tool, and I had no problem admitting it wasn’t the only thing I’d taken from the dead.
Philippine designed Balisong knives were pretty flashy in their presentation, especially when opening and closing. A skilled handler, which I’d become after a bit of practice, could manipulate the blade in a way that made it appear like they were twirling it in fancy patterns, known as “flipping“.
So, just to scare the kid a bit, I pulled it out and twirled it in a figure eight pattern a few times before allowing the safety latch to catch the two handles together, securing the knife in its open position. I looked him in the eye, waiting for him to meet my inspection before I shifted my look towards his hand, Helena still casually hanging from my shoulder. I gently gripped his arm and tapped the blade against his wrist. I nicked him on my third tap, drawing a bit of blood to pool around the injury, and I felt Helena’s hands tighten upon my shoulder. I ignored her and continued looking the kid in the eye, noting as he winced at the quick jolt of pain.
But on my fourth tap, I released his hand and went through an intricate pattern to close the knife. Once it was closed, I tossed it in the air and caught it in my other hand, holding it there for a few seconds before tentatively extending it towards the boy. Xenophon gazed at it with glazed eyes, not knowing what to do, so I shook it a bit to grab his attention. He held out his hand cautiously and took the knife from me, looking at it in wonder. He held it in both hands, opening it carefully before closing it again.
“Why?” He asked.
I cocked my head to the side. “Honestly, I haven’t got a clue. Just take it and get the hell out of here, kid. And leave the pick pocketing to the professionals from now on.”
Xenophon smiled and quickly ran off to find someone to show his new toy.
“Why did you do that?” Helena asked from my shoulder.
I shrugged her off, stepping around to face her.
“Like I told him, I really don’t know.” I sighed. “Maybe I’m just getting soft, but at least he knew his history.”
“If only we could all show such promise,” she joked as a thought came to her. “You do realize you just gave a piece of modern technology to a child… not to mention that it was a sharp knife.”
“I think he can handle himself,” I said. “Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? Some inventor doesn’t make his millions from the patenting of his precious little knife two thousand years from now?”
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact.”
“I…” but I couldn’t think of a response. Maybe I actually didn’t care what happened to the timeline anymore. Was there even a reason to care? “… Whatever. Let’s just go.”
She nodded silently, but her look said enough. We turned and walked out onto the main street in the direction of our apartment. She tried to hold my hand as we walked, but I pulled away and looked off into the crowd. A hurt look crossed her face.
“Are you all right?” She asked.
I didn’t look at her. “I’m fine.”
“Still upset about what happened on the barge.”
Her comment came out like a statement rather than a question.
“It’s not just that,” I replied honestly. “I mean, yeah, that part weighs the heaviest, but it’s not everything. It… it doesn’t excuse the way I treated you before it ever even became a problem, nor how I’ve treated you since.”
“Sometimes people just need their space and that’s okay. This is one of those instances, but how many times do we have to go over this? Everyone makes mistakes. Even you.” I felt her fingers attempt to intertwine themselves with mine once again. Her hands were so soft and welcoming that I accepted the gesture this time. Her fingers slotted between my own and she squeezed fiercely. She leaned in close. “Especially you. At least you seem to be learning from them.”
I smirked at the quip, knowing without seeing that she was smiling as well, and allowed myself to relax. I brought our joined hands to my lips and kissed her hand gently, looking down at her as I did so. She was in fact smiling and decided to use that moment to snuggle her head against my shoulder. Despite everything, I decided that, for the moment, it was best to just keep my mouth shut and let it be just that: a moment.
We strolled casually through the streets of ancient Byzantium, the surrealism one would expect gone after years saturated in a surreal world. There truly was nothing right about the life we had been thrust into, but if one thing felt natural it was having Helena on my arm. To quote an empty platitude — life’s too short — something I should have realized long ago because in this moment, life certainly felt complete, and I allowed myself the opportunity to absorb it. The sky was blue, the sun warm and no one was trying to kill me. That alone was reason enough to…