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For months, the lord had tried to find the so-called “King of the Streets”. Months of sending out spies, looking for informants or glimpses. In desperation, he had turned to walking the streets himself, guards never too far away, hoping to find this pest. But so far, he had only gained a single hint, repeated from every person asked and every spy reporting back to him - “You don’t find the King; the King finds you. If you’re interesting enough, that is.” It was maddening, to have someone who claimed greater authority than him in his own city. He took a turn into a new street
Wait
What?
Where there should have been a street was only a dead end, empty but for a few rats and a blocked door. He had walked these streets a long while already, there was a street here. There was. But now there wasn’t. He looks behind himself, wary now, and sees there’s nobody around - not his guards, not other people. He was completely alone.
“You’re the one who’s been looking for me?” He whips around, and there stood someone, as though having appeared from nowhere. The walls were too tall to jump without harming oneself, and there was no way into the alley without passing the lord. The person’s hair was a wild tousle of short hair, their eyes sharp and clever, and they were quite short - reaching the lord only to his chest, if that much. Their clothes, too, weren’t much to brag about - plain, dirty, and worn out. In short, they looked nothing at all how the Lord had expected, and certainly nothing at all like some sort of king.
“You’re supposed to be the so-called King?” He had a hard time believing it. And yet… They held themself with a sort of authority, as though they were, and knew that people knew it.
“That’s me, yeah” No my lord, no respect, no recognition. How dare they! “You’ve been hassling my people, trying to find me, too. Well, now I’m here. What do you want?”
“I’ve been trying to find the King for months by now. Why only show up now?”
“You’re not very important, to be honest. Not very interesting either, for that matter.” The Lord spluttered at that, insulted. How dare they!
“I am the lord of this city, and you are some upstart streetscum pretending to be King, if that’s even supposed to be you! I am the ruler here, and yet you claim authority over the people!”
“See, that’s exactly what I mean. You look at the wrong picture, my lord. All you see is war tables and trade routes and political marriages. You say you see the big picture, yet you fail to realise that it is not one picture, but a great many little ones. Every beggar and bastard, every streetrat and slumdog, every pickpocket and pest, they all contribute to that picture. You fail to take them into account, see them only as a resource rather than people, and that will be your downfall.” The Lord was practically fuming with rage by the end of the so-called King’s rant, barely containing himself from threatening or harming them.
“HOW. DARE. YOU. I AM THE RULER OF THIS CITY, AND YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A PRETENDER PLAYING AT BEING KING, AND I WILL ROOT YOU OUT AND HAVE YOU KILLED BEFORE YOUR SO-CALLED PEOPLE” Spittle flew from his mouth as he shouted, and the King just stood there, looking faintly amused at him. Finally, he finished his ranting and screaming, and the King answered in turn.
“By all means, my lord. Send your soldiers down here to root me out - see how many of them will obey you, and how many will pretend they never heard you. Once again, you show your failure to take people into account; those oh so loyal soldiers of your will rather face court marshalling than try to enter my “kingdom” in hopes of rooting me out. You’d do well to listen to them sometime - perhaps you’ll learn something. How about a sample? Never deal business before cats and rats - you never know who’ll listen in. Have an otherwise good day, my lord.” And with that the King walked past him into the street. The Lord turned to look after them, only to see he was returned now to the busy street he had left some time ago.
