The Gleeman
Copyright© 2026 by KiwiGuy
Chapter 2
The next morning the square was already stirring, though the day had not quite settled into itself.
A young woman stood near the edge of the open space, a travel pack slung over one shoulder. Dust clung to her clothes, and there was a weariness in the way she moved, but it didn’t quite touch her eyes. Those were alert, searching — as if she were listening for something just beyond hearing. She slipped the pack from her shoulders and sat on it for a moment, then rose again almost immediately, restless. She turned slowly, taking in the square, the buildings, the thin threads of movement beginning to gather.
“This is the town,” she murmured. “But now what?” She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to catch a sound.
“You brought me this far,” she said under her breath. “But there are too many voices here. Too much noise. Or perhaps I’m just tired.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “What I need to hear is getting faint.”
A pause.
“But he’s here. I can feel that much.”
Her gaze moved across the square again, sharper now. “He’s strong here. Strong in the very things that weaken me.”
She let out a slow breath. “For now ... I need a place to stay. And something better to wear than stubborn hope.”
A movement caught her eye. A young man was making his way across the square, leaning heavily on crutches. As he drew level, he glanced at her briefly, then looked away and kept going.
“Excuse me!” the girl called.
He stopped, turned, and looked back.
“You were calling me?”
“Yes. Could you spare a moment?”
He hesitated, then shifted direction and made his way towards her.
“I suppose so,” he said. His eyes took her in — the pack, the travel weariness, the strangeness that didn’t quite resolve. “I don’t think I’ve seen you round here before.”
“I’ve just arrived,” she said. “Is there somewhere nearby I could stay for a few days? A hostel, perhaps. Or a mission.”
“There’s a backpackers’ about a block from here,” he said. “And the City Mission’s down by the Pitch. About half a mile.”
He paused, then added, “Not sure I’d recommend that, though.”
“Why not?”
“It’s...” He searched for the word. “Rough. Especially after dark. The street kids take over. Gangs, mostly. Police have tried clearing them out, but it never sticks. Too many hiding places, and they know the ground better.”
The nodded slowly. “The Pitch,” she said. “What is it, exactly?”
“Common land, I guess. Belongs to no one. Everyone uses it. There’s a market once a week. Kids hang out there during the day.”
He gave a small shrug. “But not somewhere you’d want to be at night. Not even the Gleeman sticks around after dark.”
The girl’s attention sharpened instantly. “The Gleeman,” she said. “You know him?”
“He turned up about a month ago,” Cameron said. “No one seems to know where from. He busks down at the Pitch most days. Kids love him. Juggling, tricks, that sort of thing.”
He glanced down at his crutches, then back up. “Bit harder for some of us to join in.”
“You may yet be glad of that,” she said quietly.
Cameron frowned slightly. “Why are you asking about him? Do you know him? And what’s your name?”
Considering for a moment, the girl responded, “Gislane. And where I come from, everyone knows the Gleeman. It’s as if there was never a time we didn’t,” she said slowly.
She lifted her pack. “But I wasn’t his friend.” She turned as if to go.
“Wait!”
She looked back. “Yes?”
Cameron shifted awkwardly on his crutches.
“I was just thinking...” he said. “We’ve got a spare room. At our place. I live with my gran. She takes in boarders sometimes. Helps make ends meet.” He nodded across the square.
“It’s not much. Upstairs over the pet shop there. But she keeps it tidy. I could ask, if you like.”
Gislane’s eyes dropped briefly to his crutches.
“Upstairs,” she said. “How do you—” She stopped herself. “I’m sorry.”
“I manage,” he said, a touch of steel in his voice. “People think I don’t. But they’d be surprised what I can do.”
She met his gaze, and something softened. “I can see that.”
She hesitated. “It’s a kind offer. But I’m a stranger. I can’t impose.”
“It’s not imposing,” he said quickly. “You’d be paying. And it’s cheaper than the backpackers. People like staying with us.”
She studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. “You’re very persuasive,” she said. “What’s your name?”
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